continuing from my unfortunate entry below.
i shall now fear 25th february.
about midnight, feeling mighty stressed over unfinished due essay,
i accidentally knocked a full mug of steaming coffee onto my laptop.
i made a swift glance at my screen, willing it to be strong.
it ended with a ‘click’.
i saw a homeless man offered his half-butted cigarette to a homeless woman.
the homeless woman walked over to the man sitting by the wall with a shy face.
she hesistated. the man smiled kindly and put out his hand and gave her the cigarette.
a few puff left, to braze the cold.
i saw the lady’s crutch by the sidewalk.
its fehy’s birthday. she is 22 now and she shall now officially be off teenage tantrums. instead, it will be quarter-life crisis.
may she have a beyond boho-happiness for life to come. it will be hard for her to be so without her bff, moi.
today we shall learn, time management.
time is more precious than gold. and time wasted is like suicide.
i shall now proceed to this heart-wrenched feeling of the heart with remorse.
with 5 minutes, i have missed the opportunity to run for Vice President of the Kings’ Photo Soc.
i shall continue my grieve.
today i have also mistakenly put in wrong home address in midst of excitement at purchasing my first shoes online. it was OFFICE, high heels, 25pounds from 60.
the woman in Flat 2 shall now receive my petal puff peach platform sole high heeled shoes, size 4 and the last remaining pair entirely. no more in the world.
i shall have to wait till to morrow to call customer service and correct the mistake.
i shall lie again in grieve for an unfortunate day.
a landmine of broken pieces,
i pick up the breeze and blow on the ashes.
a heart of swollen tears,
screaming whispers no one hears.
a little strayed, a morbid step,
a dancing twirl falling trap.
a car that rode to rainbowed hill,
sun that shone and almost real.
slip a bit of dew on my palm,
rosemary falling through the realm.
a light, and wind affluter hair,
heart a disease, as sore and rare.
a mottled clot of lumped dots,
thicken, blacken,and breaking bloods.
a gasp, a silence, a wedged sanity,
engulfing soul and entirety.
a limp broken puppet,
twitching fingers in its socket.
the last breath,
a heaving sigh,
prayer,
frozen tears,
unblinking eyes.
a florette for the dead.
i was disgruntled.
for every bell that rings, with foreign view on our security camera and voice calling for mail. its never mine.
today, an old man rang our bell. i asked for whom the letter is for. he just said : its for you, i know its for you. both of us sighing. him for having to convince people the letters are theirs and not just someone next door for you to pick up for, and me for having to don my scarf and wear my jeans and braze the cold. albeit only barely 5 minutes.
went down. he was slotting mails into the post boxes. i waited by the door. the wind was cold today. weather very chilly. the old postman was sniffing.
he began searching for the package for my house. couldnt find it. i helped him search for it in our box, in case he had somehow put it in. it was not there. he heaved a heavy sigh. must have left it at the mail office, he said. he’ll come back. i shrugged, and went back to my comfort warmth in my room.
few minutes later, a bell rang again. this time, i was huffing and screeching.
answered the call. the old man, of course. i said hello politely. he just said : miss, i got your mail here, and i have put it in the mailbox, and shall sign the special delivery form myself so you dont have to come down.
i said thanks.
ran to the window. i saw him walking, hair fluttering in the wind, hand rubbing at his nose. his shabby bag full with letters swung heavily by his hip. his coat looking worn out by years. and me standing by the window, above the heater puffing hot air into the room.
guilt and shame and bile covered my throat.
how could i have been so horrid? eventhough i did not treat him impolitely or with any remorse,and i certainly did not put on any face to him, i was perfectly civil and pleasant, i did feel troublesome for having to come down to pick the mail, wherelse this old man, doing what he can for his living have to face people like me everyday!
putting myself in his shoes, it would stink! imagine you’re carrying important packages, where someone would look forward to receive it, but because you are pressing the dreadful bells to interupt their lives, they would sometimes come down looking a bit awful, or a bit disturbed or annoyed. of course, they are the pleasant ones.
i shall now vow to be a pleasant and happy resident.
there are charity shops out there with vintage bags and excellent bargains. for some charity or other, you never really know anymore. so long as theres good buy and its for good cause, surely thats the best deal you can get. or so i thought.
went to bayswater. a warehouse of a charity shop along the busy road. shop was huge and spacey, not enough item to fill them in. a sort of bare granite feel to it. ROMANIA CHARITY FUND. and the people mending the shop are two ladies, which i personally find a tad horrible.
i wanted to ask, for whom is this charity for?
i got the answer right away.
a group of romanian ladies walked in. with babies. long drabby skirts, shabby scarves tied on their heads. one of them pushing a pram. hushed and excitement to wander through the shop. hushed whispers, squeling over bright pink skirt and a brown cord one.
busily roaming the aisle of clothes and coats, trying it out against their bodies, with eyes so lovely a hazel green hue and skin like porcelain lightly coloured with pink warmth.
the shop people were eyeing them with daggers. one of them even had hostility and somewhat fear in her eyes. a pathetic look as if scared of the poor people. shifting uneasily, staring rudely, obviously unwelcoming.
if there is one place young girls, who are beggars by the street could even find any decent clothes, it would be the charity shop. CHARITY shop. and here, they are unwelcomed as if they are in PRADA. it is ridiculous.
eventually the girls left, after long minutes of baby crying heavily which further invite cold stare from the salesperson.
i looked through belts. a woman, who looks like shes new and had that pathetic look in her eyes tried to talk to me. her senior called out to her : its okay, they are all gone now.
and suddenly it striked me. they didnt leave voluntarily. they were asked to leave! the woman at the counter thought the pathetic saleslady was trying to talk me into leaving too!
for one thing, i was wearing my scarf and had on my green contact lenses. though definitely not as lovely as the romanian girls, of course.
i asked her. what is the charity for.
we give the money to the poor people of romania. the women and children, especially.
which one? the one far away, or the one right in from of your own eyes?
she said, the one with no help in romania..these romanian people here, they take on the benefit. there is nothing we can do to help them. her eyes looking with most unsatisfying burden at the door.
i walked away. she called out, are you romanian?
coldly, no.
i clenched my teeth. upset and ashamed.
she never met any soul like Monica. May God one day show her.
nothing else is talked about these days except snow, palestine and the usual banters. i love the snow that fell in london : soft, powdery and pure white. it covers the streets, cars, houses, hill, playground and gardens. for once, london look extraordinary-ly beautiful and clean.
london, never gone anything beyond sneezes of snow and hiccups of sludges, turned into excitement galore. people were not expected to turn in for work and school. transportation got confused. people just want to roam in the cold. kids sprawled all over ground for snow angels.
we were lucky to have brazed the cold in midnight when snow was a virgin and we the plunderers. it was gorgeous. we slide here and there, made pillows and cotton candy. and made two snowmen. the second looked a bit like sam.
and i love rolling down the hill at the playground. the hill was snowy clean. and thing about snowy hill downdrop is you never stop, even after you reach the flat land! you just keep on rolling.
white soft sheet of snow covers all the mottled, blackened streets of london. turned it into crystalised winter wonderland.
the snow in turn will turn to sludge, grey and wet after the magic stop falling from the sky. the dreaded day when you drag that feet in dull grey slush and feel bitter cold snipes on your toes.
and on this day, heaviest snowfall in 18 years, where even facebook is ‘snowing’, is one of the best experience in my life 
