Debbienho !

Sigh freed.  Thank God. 

I drew an Indian woman. Oh. I rephrase: I attempted drawing an Indian woman. (For my self-esteem’s sake, her name is [conspicuously] withheld.) I was excited, brimming with vim right down to the tips of my toes. I had a new sketchbook, and most of my pencils were obedient. I was mastering shading and blending, lightening and darkening, making wisps and block lines. There was nothing I could not do. I could conquer the world! The annoying ‘Small girls are young’ had never been this true . Halfway through the right eye, I wanted to give up. How I did not, is a complete miracle. It may be a while before I draw again. 

I’ve fallen out of love with telenovelas. I’m not sure why. Maybe I grew up, and decided they weren’t very realistic. Or I grew old, and knew I would not be bothered with emotional roller-coasters I had no control over. It could be that I grew tired, of names like Dalmonella and Escondida de la Contravez, which conveniently missed my birth certificate. Whichever it is, I’m not part of the gang of giggly girls who revel in post-show analysis, and I don’t miss the days I moped in a corner because ECG had visited at the time Rosalinda was due to air.  This…hypothesis, does not, at all, stop me from enjoying telenovela music. Word! Some songs from these three-hundred-and-ninety-two-episode-long television shows (not counting the moments of absentmindedness which cause the television channel to repeat some episodes, and the breaks to show football matches, which make telenovelas four-hundred-and-seventy-two-episode-long shows) seem to hit me hard on some soft spot, and ambush me ...

Greetings, my loves, from nigh and yonder, ’Tis I, Dame Thistle, Fairy Godmother, Here resting after thousand journeys, From creating slippers, winging tourneys. I’ve come to see with no small misery, It’s much desired by all and sundry At some point of their animation   To feel and love without condition. But how, they fear—and here I frown, Can they, when they’ve none to call their own? Taking respite after many wonderings, The answer nipped me after many ponderings. Propped up behind my desk I touch A quill to paper—or parchment, or such To give, at last, the besought secret Of love, yes love, you best believe it! For although you may want me there, I, my dears, can’t be everywhere! And so here goes the detailed list, Of rules to make love’s precious mist! First get some dew, some fresh good dew, Best what you find at dawn—say, two. ‘Not water?’ you ask? Oh goodness, no! Then how’ll the potion surreally glow? Instructions chil...

‘What do you want to be in future?’ I blinked. Eight simple words on the board. English class. Two miserable periods of lousy lighting, stuffy ventilation, and Miss Q’s eyes burning into us. Eighty minutes till the bell boy graced our senses with the distant sound of tolling bell. ‘Start work,’ went the Q woman’s voice, an incredible mix of deep and hoarse for a woman as ant-sized as her. I sighed. It felt like I was acting Exam, cross out favourable conditions. I stared at the board, leaned a cheek against my left fist, my pen drumming an incoherent rhythm on the table. What did I want to be in future? The answer must’ve been stuck somewhere in another life, so I busied myself with looking around. My gaze flicked over classmates seriously scratching the surface of their sheets with the tips of their pens, and I could not help wishing I had half that much drive right now. My eyes fell on Peter Mitsubishi. He was probably writing that he wanted to work at NASA, or own M...

Oh happy new year, by the way. If you’ve made resolutions, all the best keeping them! Thankfully I’m off the bandwagon of new year resolution makers, like I’ve been for a long while now. Not because I think they’re a bad thing—it’s nice to make good plans for yourself. I just find it adds a ton of pressure to my life when I look at those lofty goals I set for myself, and consider all I have to do to make it happen. In the end I fold, frustrated, and wait for December 31 st to make new resolutions. So I’d rather just take the days as each one comes, making tiny contributions and tiny plans. Seems a lot more practical to me than the entire ‘New year, new me’ biz. So I drew something. Yaay. First, because I had the privilege/ misfortune of showing an enemy of mine an old drawing I did, and he’s been bugging me ever since to draw again. But the bigger reason is, I came across this quote that scared the everything out of me: “I have offended God and mankind because my work did...

Christianity is weird. There, it’s out. And I don’t mean the Sunday ritual of going to church, because we know that stuff is nothing more than a display. I’m not talking religion either. That is rigid, full of rules and has absolutely no joy in it. I’m talking living with Jesus Christ at the center of your life. That one is a little strange. The point of Christianity is to follow Jesus. Following Jesus means turning from my selfish ways and taking up my cross (Matthew 16:24). Following Jesus means refusing to be conformed to this world, and instead being transformed by the renewal of my mind (Romans 12:2). Following Jesus means letting go the reins of my life and trusting God to lead me where He wants. Sounds technical, doesn’t it? Let’s break it down: If I follow Jesus, I serve Him. He is my master. Everything He tells me to do, I do! That’s…scary, isn’t it? Yes. It is. I’m born with free will. A mind of my own. So, okay, I’ve accepted Christ. Still I know what c...

So I got bored and drew Jolie. From Wanted . I figured if I couldn’t replicate her train stunt I might as well still keep some memory of her. So there. (Ignore the outline of clothes in the white parts.) (Ignore the 60s look the picture has.) (Ignore the picture.) P.S. A gun was supposed to appear. It didn’t. I got lazy and stopped after doing the hair. Don’t judge me. Or…maybe judge me, if you want. Anas is coming. 

Cain liked his younger brother. He really did. Seriously. Abel was so…different. He was so innocent, too innocent for this world, Cain reckoned. He looked at the world through rose-coloured lenses, saw beauty where there was none, thought there was good in everyone. He didn’t believe in vengeance, no matter how petty it was, like hitting back when someone punched him. To him people needed to be loved, and forgiven, not given a black eye for a black eye. Seriously . Who thought like that? Cain shook his head, giving his hands the temporary job of playing with the waistband of his garment. Right now Abel must’ve been gliding on air for all the joy he radiated, excited and chattering and talking some gibberish he must have considered boy-talk. Seriously . Abel had to be living in some eternal paradise of the mind. Too bad it was all gonna end. Soon. Because, much as he liked his younger brother, Cain could not quench the hate he had started to feel for Abel since the sacr...

The English Premier League starts again today. Yay. Oh, well. After waiting for it most impatiently (since June, when the Golden State Warriors broke a forty year jinx to win the NBA trophy against the all-LeBron Cavaliers, and there was no other league I got to follow), it’s come back and I don’t feel as much excitement as loads of people I’ve come across. Not that I blame the league, though. There are times I’ve felt such extreme hunger for such a long time that when I finally got my eyes—and hands—on some food, I had no appetite to deal with it. I’m positive I’ll catch the fever soon enough. I mean, there is so much to look forward to, considering this year’s pre-season drama. (Congrats, Wenger. You are proof that every dog has its day.) I do try to remain neutral, though. Try, because I still sympathize with Manchester United and Chelsea, having supported them both in the past (and simultaneously at one time, even), one boasting my face of Gillette Juan Mata, and the ...