memory box

Going through your old MP3 folder is like flicking through an old photo album; every song has its own story, a piece of memory tucked away in every note. You can't help but listen to these songs again, even though each one pricks your heart like sharp thorns.

Nostalgia has visited once again.

I have a box full of old letters under my bed, a few boxes of old presents from former boyfriends, and several boxes of junk from primary and high school ranging from class notes and Christmas cards to Sailor Moon tapes and the Spice Girls album. I've contemplated throwing these things out as they are of the past, but I'm quite sentimental, so I haven't had the heart to dispose of them yet.

A person's bedroom, or what's under their bed, can reflect the type of person they are. Take a quick scan. You glance at your possessions and see your whole life right in front of you. Can you see that these material items are still with you, yet certain people have left your life?

Don't throw away the things that people have given you because, like the old Spice Girls CD or those embarrassing pictures you took with your friends in the photo booth, they too deserve a place in your shoebox.

wasted talent

I have a confession to make: I'm a closet Hilary Duff fan. Her songs are catchy, even if the lyrics are terrible. And while I’m at it, I might as well admit I also like The Veronicas. Right now, I’m listening to their new song “When It Falls Apart” and debating whether to google the lyrics… just so I can sing along at work. LN will not be thrilled - she says my “singing” scares the customers.

Today, while I was in the office (aka the storeroom) doing magazine returns, I thought I’d be considerate by closing the door so I could sing my heart out. When I emerged, I asked LN if she heard me, and she nodded with a look of sheer disgust. I noticed a magazine left outside the door… I guess she didn’t want to interrupt my one-person karaoke session.

Clearly, I’m in the wrong industry.

opposites attract

"He wanted to lie in an ecstasy of peace, I wanted all to sparkle and dance in a glorious jubilee. I said his heaven would only be half-alive, he said mine would be drunk. I said I shall fall asleep in his, and he said he wouldnt breathe in mine."

:: Wuthering Heights, By Emily Bronte

changes

Recently, I started noticing some peculiar things about myself. Most of you have probably already picked up on a few of my quirks. That's mostly because I'm a weird person in general. The latest strange thing I’ve noticed is my sudden fascination with properties and home decorating.

Oh, it gets worse, folks.

I began to realise that my nesting instincts have somehow swallowed the little tomboy who used to look a lot like me - the one who thought it would be fun to climb the mulberry tree and who once intentionally scraped her knee against the pavement just to see it bleed. The little tomboy who talked tough, tore herself on barbed wire fences for the sake of adventure, and climbed over the neighbour's yard just to be chased by their vicious dog.

When did that little girl suddenly realise that maybe scars weren't the coolest things in the world and there was more to life than challenging fear and tempting fate? How did she turn into such a girly girl?

Now, instead of fantasising about catching grasshoppers in jars, I dream about decorating my house one day. Instead of searching for ladybirds in the garden, I search my heart to see if I have what it takes to be a mother someday.