Words that come undone
Do you have those situations where you read a blog entry and you want to comment to let the person know you’ve read it but you decide to do it later because you want to make a proper comment? Well it happens to me almost all the time. And when you go back to it, the person has already blogged something new and you comment on that entry instead of the previous.
There has been many possible blog posts in my head but I’m afraid I’m not one who blogs with intention. Most of the times, it is what I feel or have in my mind. I suppose this is quite like me. A person who goes with the moment or flow, who doesn’t plan (not saying I never plan, I do love planning actually, especially for big important things), who feels! Ah yes, is this the idealistic, romantic artist in me speaking? Or is it the trapped soul who gave up struggling? What am I? Who am I? I hope that by blogging it out of my system, and fixing up the website, I would find myself or at least pieces of it to learn how to love myself.
How can you love someone you do not know? It depends on what kind of love we are talking about. Recently, I’ve come across online friends who have freely shared their love with me, without asking for anything back. And I am the moon to their sun, reflecting the lessons they taught to me. It is okay to be open with our love because it is bountiful.
My friend Qwen had once remarked something along the lines of me easily expressing my love for others and I think it’s a good thing. It took me a while to become comfortable with that notion. Living in an asian society, we do not say things like “love you mum” or hug our dads when we feel like. It was an alien concept. Initially, I felt weird but the more you do it, the easier it gets. What about you reader? Do you tell your parents you love them often? Do you hug them still? I love my parents and even if they drive me nuts sometimes, I know they’re the people I can always count on to love me the best.
I’m a daddy’s girl. I never grew out of hugging my dad since I was young. Every day when he comes home from work, I’ll rush to the door and give him a hug. Once a lecturer asked the class if anyone hugs their parents still. No one raised their hand. I wished I had the courage to admit I do still!
I gotta run now, I’m going to meet Siti. Maybe I’ll edit this post later.
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