Last night cured me.
Cured me of my insensibilities and nonsensical notions.
Thank you.
You've done it.

I went overboard/fell down the rabbit hole.
Damn my overtures!
Mel - 0, Overtures - infinity and beyond.
Sitting behind dooms me a little right from the start.
Still, no excuse.

I study medicine, the epitome of logic and reason.
But I realise that no matter how many times I proclaim that the best thing I could do for myself is avoid kismet, I balk at the very sight.
My tummy drops right down, my feet sticks to the floor.
I chew on my bottom lip.
My palms sweat.

It's hard to think logically, sensibly, reasonably.

of trying and egos

One thing that gets on my nerves is not trying at all.
Not even giving a fool's fight for what's worth.

Maybe it's not even worth the energy that you would expend just to ball up your fists.
But hey, don't even think about it if you don't think it's worth it.
Much less talk about it, dream about it.

So, here's the bottom line:
I'm pretty poofed out by the fact that not much effort was put into it (I don't like using the word 'disappointed' in any context but I'm strongly leaning towards it).
The miniscule first step might have satisfied the ego.
You know, come to think of it, it just might have been all an act in the little thrill of satisfying the ego (Too much has been joked about said ego to not be true).
And maybe it's me that was fighting the fool's fight after all (Too much effort has been poured in to justify the end).


So, you know what, I'm going to find another source to say to me, "I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the words... I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun."

of Rose and kismet

I've lost count of how many times I've read Eight Cousins and Rose in Bloom.
And I've lost count of how many times I want that very ending until that very last full stop of the book.
And much as I love my name and wouldn't trade it for the world, I do think being called Rose must be the nicest thing ever.

But the 19th century is not the present day and will never be.
But shouldn't love and relationships between people transcend time and places and cultures and societies?
I do have the most naive, fairytale-perfect notion of love and relationships.
That's because I was brought up on a steady diet of wholesome books full of starry-eyed wonder by parents who til this very day hold hands and sprinkle kisses liberally on willing foreheads and cheeks and bestow hugs on weary bodies.

So my notion of love is simple.
Innocently naive.
Almost painfully easy.
Chemistry.
Sparks.
Kismet of the ultimate form.

Sure, you get world wars in the midst of all that kismet (coz what kinda supernova of epic proportions isn't full of hot air and blinding light?), but a sort of peace and calm settles as quickly as quarrels flash and thunder.
Because shouldn't love be gentle and kind and unwavering and forgiving and happy and true?
IMHO,  it's really that simple.

love deep, love hard, love true

of groceries bliss

IMHO, grocery shopping is the ultimate sign/experiment/test of domestic bliss.
No, I like those pretty toilet paper embossed with butterflies. It has to be at least 3 ply, darling.
Omg, you have sensitive teeth? So this means we need to get Sensodyne.
How can you not like alphabet-shaped pasta?!
No, I hate brussel sprouts, it makes me fart. But I love them.

My humble 2-cents-worth take on it:
Pick your battles.
Get the damn butterfly embossed toilet paper. 50 cents more for a gratified smile on her face is nothing.
Do you need to share even toiletries too, when you're already sharing your lives and bed and house and bank accounts and food and that cute golden Labrador puppy?
Be adventurous and spontaneous - pasta tonight will have both alphabets and penne. It's your new life together as a couple, go ahead and make your own rules.
Eat the damn brussel sprouts. It's good for you anyways.
And then, carry the grocery bags out of the supermarket together holding hands if possible, walk through the front door of your new house together, put the groceries away together, beached on the sofa together until dinnertime where you make carbonara with both penne and alphabet shapes.

And yes, the repetition of the word 'together' is intentional.
Rejoice that you do know the meaning of that word in every way and sense possible.

it must be a familial trait.
i love kisses on foreheads
more than kisses on cheeks
more than kisses on lips
more than kisses on hands
or could be a less-than-feminist trait.

so they say
honesty is the best policy
but which kinda policy?
the type of policy that keeps your butt off the fire
or
the type of policy that retains your clear conscience
or
the type of policy that doesn't give a damn
or
the type of policy that is without regrets
or
the type of policy that cloisters you in a happy little bubble
or
the type of policy that cloisters others in their happy little bubbles
or
the type of policy that washes your hands clean off any blame
or
the type of policy that cuts you so deep
or
the type of policy that is balm to your weary, secret-keeping soul
or
the type of policy that burns everyone in its way
or 
the type of policy that builds stronger bridges
or
the type of policy that aches your heart
or 
the type of policy that paints a smile on others' faces
or
the type of policy that destroys any semblance of security
or 
the type of policy that answers every 'what if's whether rightly or wrongly

I have a mindful of legal-pad-written pros and cons
to prove the greyness of it all
but everytime I see those doe-shaped eyes
it explodes in colours
ribbons swirls around me
squeezing my ribcage
daring me to yell
the very thing that honesty is not the best policy for
'I'm here'.