Emotional-diarrhea

  I'm filled with anxiety knowing the horrible world she is coming to.  Dear baby girl, my prayer for you is that you are protected from the world's miseries. I pray you are better than me in every way.  I pray you never experience pain the way I have.  I pray you receive love in all the ways a treasured soul should.  I pray you hold your own, and never feel like you are at the mercy of anyone but God.  I pray you are not dissappointed by men.  I pray you will be guided in the straight path.  I pray you never have to grow up too soon, and carry burdens the oldest daughter and child often carries.  I pray I don't dissapoint or hurt you.  I pray you are able to see beauty in all things, and extend your hand to those who need help.  I pray you are healthy inside and out.  I pray you are protected from evil that haunt women.  I pray you are wise, and discerning of a convulted world.  I pray you have more patience than you...

 Rumble tumble disrobe  Nails scratch you  Digging deeper  Asking for more Take me  Devour me  Show me you want me  And I’ll show you how I want you —- tales of HL f(26) and LB m

Loss lots of loss 

 Ma thinks of you 1 and half. Forever came too soon🤍

 

  What is home?  Home is a feeling of safety in that which seems familiar.  Home is a space where there is no need for pretence or show, because home accepts you as you are.  Home is a manifestation of comfort, that emerges in both the animate and inanimate.  From the chocolate brown sofa that sunk you as you sat into its snug embrace,  Or the Myna perched on the hanging planter by your bedroom window sill, intent to wake you up with its incessant cooing on a Saturday morning.  It's the smell of ginger milk tea being poured into your mother's wedding china, as you chatted on the steps of the backdoor.  Perhaps it's your grandfather's oversized bubble textured rubber Batas - the ones' you used to wear when you played run-and-catchers in the garden.  It could be how the edge of your father's bed was always the best place to watch Tamil movies on school night.  Or maybe it's the smell of fresh grass watered by missing Uncle Hello on a monso...

I remember as a child being given a doll. I can't remember her name but a vivid picture of her still remains in memory. She was a hand-me-down doll, about 50 centimetres tall, with forever gaping blue eyes and dead-straight brown hair. I remember cradling her, bathing her, changing her. I remember using my mother's shawl to make a cot. With its edges strung across the door handle I'd rock her to and fro off to sleep like she was my baby. She was the first of many dolls I owned throughout my childhood. The first of many baby dolls that planted the seed of desiring motherhood in my heart. I have always wanted to be a mother. My mother was and still is my role model in so many ways - when I think of being mother. When I think of motherhood I see a safe haven, I see trust, unconditional love, sacrifice, loyalty, I think of undying perseverance. I see a full time gig I'd take in a heartbeat every time.  I guess that's why I felt completely and utterly barren w...