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When life is better, it
gets boring.
I don’t have any more
crises to agonize over.
Occasionally, Ph makes me
wonder if it is possible to love and hate a person at the same time, but I
choose not to dwell on it for long, knowing it’s for the best.
This stillness takes me
back.
As a kid, I had a book
with sketches of a woman and a man in each page.
The man would always be standing
next to the woman.
One night my Mother asked
me to stop drawing ‘such images’.
I stopped eventually, but
not because she asked me too.
It never occurred to me
why she said so then but now I do.
It was too ‘indelicate’
for a kid to harbour thoughts of a man and a woman and put it to ‘art’.
I’m not a sex maniac now, and
never will be but I can never comprehend the drawings.
