Back to Blogging

After a long hiatus, I'm back to blogging.
Here are some of my ealier entries. Indeed, I was quite nostalgic reading them again and so I've posted them here to start with. Hopefully, I 'll discipline myself to post more.

Reminiscing Repose

The theme of 'Taxi Driver' always transports me to another realm ..of something sublime, surreal..somewhere.
This is just one of the tracks playing on my 'subconsciously put together' playlist.

Its been raining.. drizzle to heavy, thunder to pitter -patter; its misty, green lush. All of this and the dim light inspire me, at the same time make me reminisce.. Of times forgotten, of smiles, of long drives, of walks in the rain, of inner peace, of times of gratitude, more songs from another time.. more reminiscing.

It takes me back in time , to puddles, to showing off our shiny wellington boots, usually yellow or red.
Funny how jumping the puddle then seemed like a challenge, an adventure..now it seems like a big 'icky' mess.

Of times, where I'd look forward to going to the terrace, wet my face, inhale the earth..I still want to, but its a fleeting thought.
Proactive inhibition? I'll call it that for now.

Strangely so, Lionel Ritchie's 'Stuck on You' plays.. and did, around this time, a couple of years ago. It still has the same effect. More reminiscing..

So here, infront of me this misty haze..with my sharpened eyebrows, my eyes blur with nostalgia, a tad wistful, a bit eager to know what follows.. a tandem of slides, sometimes whizzing by, sometimes in slow motion, sometimes spiraling upwards and fading into dust, at others, crumbling to the ground- I sit here and exist..

6th July, 2006

Does Any Man really Understand You ?

Who knows you as you really are? Does he?
Who knows the secret hopes that warm your heart?
Who knows the dreams you dream, the words you’ve left unspoken?
Who knows the black-lace thoughts you think while shopping in a gingham frock?
Who knows you sometimes long to sleep in pure-silk sheets?
Who knows you’d love to meet a man who’d hold your hand and listen while you say nothing at all?
Who knows there was a morning when your orange juice sparkled like champagne?
Who knows the secret, siren side of you that’s female as a silken cat?
.. A trifle shy, but oh-so warm.. and just a little reckless, deep inside.. as strange and unexpected as cherries in the snow.