Mantra Part 2

A rehash of my old Mantra post. Under different circumstances this time.

First commandment when you’re ABOUT TO pursue a relationship with me.

1. Be intimidated, yes. I can do all sorts of crazy things to you. Call me ball-crusher, drama queen, enchantress, what have you. But thou shall NOT falter. No matter what.

I need to know…something. If you are that Superminion you claim to be.

Strawberry ice cream and other guilty pleasures aside, whenever somebody SCARES me, for some weird reason I end up hurting, and I become a walking disaster. I can’t really explain why I hurt, but I end up being on a self-destruction mode. I end up doing evil, cruel, unthought-of things.

I feel remorse after a while, though. And I hate myself for that.

I actually feel like shit, really. I know I can’t take things back, but don’t hate me. Please.


I’m supposed to be asleep by now. But no, my mind refuses to cooperate, thus this entry. It helps sometimes. I usually write late in the night when I can’t sleep. I’m running out of sleeping pills again, but I don’t want to take one now. Too late. I have to be up by 8 anyway. So that means by the time I’m finished with this entry and by the time I wake up, I’d have had 5 hours of sleep. Great. Sucks to be me.


Today was pretty mundane, if not boring save for one thing. You see, I’ve been in that “Me and You and Everyone We Know” kind of loop for a while. It’s getting pretty old, to be quite honest. I forgot how fun it is to talk to a random stranger. Interesting, even. Yes, I’m talking about you, Siomai.

I didn’t realize that some people, readers, voyeurs, minions, some of you are scared shit to talk to me. 

Why is that, I asked. I’m nice. I don’t bite. 

Ah, yes. The whole “mystery/dominatrix/Cleopatra/alpha-female” thing.

You’ve put me in a box, you fuckers.

Will you love me just the same if you found out that I’m just an act? Or if I’ve changed? Speaking of which, I remember somebody commented that I’ve changed. Don’t we all? Would you adore me less if I have? 

I’m a Leo. I bask in adulation. So yeah, give it to me. Now.



The Bag Lady

Men are like bags. Eye candy. I get that rush of wanting when I see a new one. I simply MUST have him it. Each one has it’s own personality, it’s own function, it’s own story. I always surprise myself at how much I’ve amassed and moan that I didn’t even get to take all of them out for a spin.

I could go crazy for a while, obsessing over that new man bag. What I really hated the most, however, was that with every acquisition, I start to build my life wardrobe around him it. All that constant fussing, the constant update; if He it could be perfect for this party I’ll be attending, or if it’s the right shade of pink that will go well this new pair of Louboutins I got online (which has been patiently waiting for its perfect match). They are useful for a while, and after a short infatuation with it, they are carefully wrapped and tucked away to my bag closet, and will patiently wait to be remembered. The bag has finally faded into obscurity.

And so, every couple of weeks or so, I unearth everything from my closet and review my bag collection. Every time I get a new one, I have to rid of an old one to make room. I can only keep just as many (or at least what my heart closet allows me to). My rule is to let go of the bag that hasn’t been used for two months. That must mean I don’t even remember having it. Nor obsess thinking the perfect outfit with it when I use it the next day. No more planning weddings outfits.

And this past few weeks, I have been purging like crazy, ridding myself of unnecessary feelings clutter. There are too many of these men bags that I kept flitting here and there but never really learned to appreciate the beauty and function of each one of them. And so, I decided on which ones to keep. It was a very long and painful process; I lovingly caressed the satin linings and examined closely the monogrammed leather, thoroughly evaluating and justifying if I should keep him it, not wanting to regret that should the right dress, heels or occasion come, he’s it’s no longer there to complete me the ensemble.

Needless to say, it hurt. I’ve invested so much on these men bags that I’m not even sure if I’m getting what they’re worth, or at least claim to be. I’ve been in a buying frenzy for the past year, only to realise that I don’t even know what I want in the first place. Some of them are so intricate and complicated pretty to look at that I didn’t even want to use it, thinking that I didn’t have the right dress or heels for it yet. In my insecurity inadequacy, they have become useless.

But it had to be done. It’s all about me now and liberating myself from the unnecessary. I’ve never really focused on what I want and what I really needed that I thought I needed every man bag that came my way. I always reasoned that I will eventually use them at some point. You know, the just-in-case’s. But it turned out to be a mere quick fix, a quick high to fill that void called emptiness closet space.

And I’ve never felt so light. All that excess baggage just had to go.