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Wednesday, March 22, 2017

About How Much I Hate This Weather

The feeling of inhaling cold air is strangely reminiscent of drowning. I'm uncertain of which I dislike more; being unable to breathe on land or being unable to breathe underwater.

Nine months of cold; what a strange and cruel joke. There was a time last winter when I would get excruciatingly sharp pains in my chest.Thankfully, it was not heart disease but something that often mimics one. According to the doctor, the muscles between my ribs were inflamed due to low oxygen intake. Ha. 
It's gotten a lot better now. I'd like to think I can generally breathe for most of the cold months. Perhaps not today though, it is above freezing temperatures, for sure, but hardly the nice breeze I'd been kindly subjected to in the past few months. Walking to my classes though, have been a challenge. If not my respiratory deficiency, the wind would surely get me. I'm afraid that if I get any smaller, I might be blown away. 

Perhaps I should just invest in a denser, comfier coat. 

Sunday, January 8, 2017

Come Home

That morning, there was no sense of dread.

The room still faintly smelt of lemon balm bath oil. How could I forget? You'd complained about it the whole night. But you woke up and turned to me with your stupid smile and messy hair, nuzzling the nook of my neck, "Good morning, smelly." It is my favourite thing. 

To Samson, there is nice smelly and bad smelly. When I smelt of that floral scented perfume you'd bought me from Canada, I was "nice smelly" smelly. And when I smelt of kitchen and sweat, I am "bad smelly" smelly. Regardless, to you, I am simply smelly. 

I didn't want to get out of bed that day. I just wanted to exist next to you, your arms around me. Me, Smelly, and you, Sassy. 

But you had to pack, go home and leave me. I pretend to be okay. 

I understand, I do. But why does it have to be so sad? Jet Lag plays in my head. 
You say "good morning" when it's midnight. Going out of my head, alone in this bed.
& I wake up to your sunset. It's driving me mad, I miss you so bad.

At noon, we grab lunch with mum, dad and Jin. We had Malaysian food, comfort food. It made me feel better. They say their bon voyages to you. 

We come home, and we're alone. I play some crappy pop music you hate but endure, because you love me most when I am happy. I tell you I'm going to miss you. Nonchalantly, you tell me you will miss me too, as you continue to fiddle with your suitcase. I walk over to you and crawl into your lap. My arms around your neck, face into the crook of your shoulder, "I'm going to miss you," I say again. Tears slowly find their way out of my eyes and onto your shirt. You, unsurprised, hug me tighter, "I'm going to miss you too, honey."

I miss you, honey.
I know you're having the best time and you're getting fat from all the good food and wonderful company. But I miss you.
Come home.

Wednesday, January 4, 2017

What Has Changed?

My grandmother rings me and she says to me, "Hello darling, lovely to hear from you again! What'are you doing now?" I respond, "Hello nana, I'm sitting on the sofa with Yu Jin, watching telly."

Recently, it has come to my attention (thanks, mama) that nana does not in fact mean the immediate "now" but rather, the general now. And so, we begin a general inspection of my life: -

School's up. The holiday season is done, but not quite as I'm still currently on holiday. The semester has not yet started. Heck, I haven't even gotten my classes in yet! Samson's in Macau, thus, dissipating 80% of my social life.

& so I spend my days lounging on various surfaces watching Legends of the Blue Sea.
Hmmm. I suppose not very much has changed after all.

xx, Char

Wednesday, November 23, 2016

My Samson

I have always been that girl; that girl that said too many things. That girl that loves wordy letters and pretty script; love songs and post-it notes. 

You have always been that boy whose eyes could convey more feelings than words ever could. That boy whom needed guidelines on how to write a post card:
No less than five sentences. "I love you" and "I miss you" do not count towards these five sentences. Ways of telling me you love me do count if written creatively. "I love you like I love pizza" does not count.
That boy whom bought me a bouquet of roses on Valentine's day with a card attached that read:
 Congratulations, Samson Kot is your boyfriend. 
My armchair, my good night pillow, my hot water bottle,
my person,
My Samson.

Happy 2 Year Anniversary, mon amour.
xx, Char

Saturday, November 19, 2016


I got it bad.
I see you in my sleep,
 and I want you mad, madly.
Come running after me.
You're in my bones.
I gotta let you go.
But I don't know how,
when you're rooted in my soul.

I gotta tell you,
I had a dream last night;
you came back to me after our goodbye.
My arms you fell into,
and you asked if I'd run away with you.
I ain't felt that way before;
like I couldn't wait just a minute more.
And I don't want to let you go but,
dreams slip away, I know.

- Tessa Violet