promises

Disappointment is one of the worst feelings I can experience. It usually stems from high expectations and broken promises. A promise can be defined as a declaration assuring that a person will or will not do something, to afford a basis for expectation, or just a hint that something favourable may come.

I always make promises to myself to remind myself to do certain things. It's a way of setting the bar higher, and if I fail to meet my own promises, I let myself down. When someone promises me something, I expect them to follow through. If they fail to deliver, I will definitely be disappointed. I've learned that people can and will let you down. Some take my trust for granted and make empty promises just to shut me up, or they make promises as a form of trading. All of my ex-boyfriends promised that they'd love me forever; I guess that promise had an expiry date I wasn't aware of.

Many of us make promises to God to act in certain ways if He'll grant our requests. Do you realise these promises are often driven by selfish motives, rather than a desire to please God or improve ourselves? It's tough to be good all the time and to make unselfish prayers, but if these wishes are driven by genuine purposes, God has promised He will answer them, and His promises are never broken.

no glove, no love

It was windy yesterday. Every time I feel that familiar gentle cold breeze wash over my face, I reminisce about my senior school days. We waved farewell to an all-girls environment and moved to a new school to merge with the boys next door.

The hideous aqua plaid uniforms that resembled tablecloths were packed away to make room for the freshly ironed, somewhat sleeker grey checkered skirts and blue blouses. Blue socks, big meadows, jammed lockers, Hot Raymond in 3 Unit Maths, and pizza pockets all come to mind whenever I recall the first day of 11th grade. We were juvenile, full of life, and ready to begin a new chapter in our academic journey.

A classmate managed to hack into my combination lock and stole my locker; the little punk and I took turns moving each other's things to and from our lockers when the other wasn’t in sight. That was some high-class flirting technique right there. We were labelled as a married couple because of the daily quarrels, so needless to say, we became the best of friends. He carried my bag and books for me, we exchanged letters during class, I copied his homework, fell asleep on his shoulder during Physics, and he even lent me his blazer since I always forgot mine. We shared his gloves, one each because he didn't love me enough to give me both. Talk about selfish. I guess frostbite wasn't his favourite thing in the world.

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.