So this is the sprig of leaves I had drawn freehand, with my new love – the pentel ink brushpen.
Sketchbook has been coming along a tad slow due to a bunch of reasons.
I was a bit unwell, my parents were visiting and I’ve just been super busy overall. But more frequent uploads from now on, promise.
The nudes keep on happening and I swear it isn’t even me. It’s the brush pen. Something about it is making me do mad things like this one here, with the crazy eyes and curly hair, the cheeky grin and her fearless, shameless, square pose – no slouching or making herself small as we women do when we feel watched.
She is unapologetic about the space she is taking up, because she believes she deserves to be admired. And I admire that.
Contrary to all the relationship advice, my husband and I continue to be super clingy. We do everything together and feel no need for separate lives. Which is not to say that we are uber affectionate in public or anything. And it seems to me that if we grow old together we will be a lot like this.
I am on my phone all night, every night. My fingers hurt, my left eyelid is now permanently jumpy. And sometimes I feel a bit sick from all the fast scrolling.
Yet I cannot seem to stop.
Then I wake in a couple of hours and the first thing I do is reach for my phone. I pull open one eye and squint at my phone, ruffling through all sorts of things till I can open both eyes and feel fully awake.
And if someone takes my phone away from me, I have such anxiety, I can’t even tell you. Does this happen to everyone? Is this extreme? Should I seek help?
In the blistering heat of South East Asian summers, the visual of a hilly little Portuguese village is a bit incongruous. But it’s also somewhat like time travel. In the center of Macau, away from the gaudy casinos and futuristic lights, is the colonial Portuguese quarter — full of dark old churches, tiled and cobbled streets, and pots of hot pink bougainvillea and ranunculus.
My husband and I sat here on green park benches dating back to the 1800s. He had a cream soda to cool off, while I did a quick sketch.
How am I literally the only unfit person at my yoga class? Here I am sinking deeper into my pool of sweat with my big belly and all, while all around me is a sea of stretched out rubber bands.
Sometimes I think people who really need to work out often don’t because they feel fat shamed into staying home and eating their emotions. The giant mirrors, the itty bitty outfits, the unsmiling women staring at your love handles – it’s all intimidating and it makes you feel like a bit of a failure.
If you’ve ever felt like that, just chin up and go for it. You don’t owe anybody perfection.
I’ll admit though, it wouldn’t hurt if someone cracked a smile once in a while. But I guess, peeps are just being super introspective while decidedly checking out their ass in the mirror.
There are days when my bed is an island — surrounded by murky stormy waters and dark thunderclouds. Stepping off this island doesn’t feel safe. Not even to open the curtains and let in some light. Not even to eat the leftover chicken in the fridge. Not to speak to mother or answer the door.
There’s nothing to do but sleep, waiting for the storm to blow over.