Lauv

"Either your head or your heart, you set the other on fire."

To the drawing board we go

She frowns, deep in thought, brows furrowed in concentration. "This can't be right," she points at the pieces strewn across the carpeted floor in disbelief.

"Huh?" Monster yawns.

"The puzzle. Why doesn't it fit? And please, focus."

Monster snaps to attention. "Well, this puzzle is only missing one piece, but the one we have isn't the right one."

"You're just stating the fact. That, I already know." She presses the piece, hard. Forces it to fit the other piece. Presses on and on until her fingers hurt.

"You're wasting your time," Monster cackles. The happiest she's seen in a while. She gives it a dry look. "But it snugs nicely. See? One of its legs fits nicely. It suits the puzzle, it's comforting, it's everything the puzzle needs to be complete!"

"Doesn't always mean it's the right fit."

"But WHY -"

"Stop asking questions no one knows the answers to. Some pieces fit, some pieces don't,  and some fit because we force them to be. The more you try to force it - the longer you press with that tiny hand of yours - the more painful it will be."

The girl glares back, eyes wide and full of determination. Angry because she lost. But mostly disappointed, more disappointed than she let on.

"But hey, your call," Monster shrugs. "What do I know? I hide under beds for a living. "

"That's right," she shoots back, fiery. "And I'm the one with the brain and the conscience."

"Speaking of which, where's the latter? Taking another one of its naps?"

She's positively fuming now, but also knows when she no longer has the high ground. "So what do we do now?" she asks after a pause.

"Glad you asked," Monster stands up and stomps across the puzzles, destroying it one by one until the mess scatters across the carpet. "Now, we do it again. From the beginning. You ready?"

***

The small voice among the chatter

"I suppose it's when he bought me soup when I was sick in bed..."

"How sweet! For me it's when he drives me around to make sure I go to my meetings in time, even when he's not feeling well."

"No no no - for me, it's when he remembers the little things like what kind of foods I like and what I'm allergic to. And the little surprises he gives me - like flowers and stuff."




Get a house maid, hire a driver, and they're supposed to remember those 'little' things (especially if an allergy is involved, hello?) And FYI, flowers wilt and die. 

And for the record, the answer "Oh when you know he's the one, you just know - you know?! I can't explain how but you just know ~" has always sounded like an utter bullshit to the ear. 

When you finally stop second guessing - that's how you know.

***

The unsettled

'Out of all of the fools in this world, who is it you're really fooling?'

Isn't that scarier?

+ "What if in the end you grow old with someone who, as it turns out, doesn't love you back?" A friend asks, shuddering at the very thought. 

- "What if you end up being with someone you don't love?"

***

an advice

I get it, it's what you do when you're at the restaurant; you ooh and aah over the dessert selection, you take Instagrammable pictures of them as they line up with their salutes at the glass display counter, you fight-giggle with your friends on which delectable piece you will order later. After promising each other that you'll swap them so you will both get to taste the dark chocolate fudge and salted caramel pudding, you go back to your seats which the waitress has kindly directed you to.

And then you order your appetizers. And your main course. You're actually a bit full, but why not get another basket of cheese fries to share? 

And then you talk. And laugh. And shovel your main course into your mouth, fleeing from one story to another. By now the sun has completely set outside and the afternoon tea crowd has fully morphed into evening diners. And yet, as more and more friends join your table - after making a quick detour to gasp at the variety of desserts - you rub your stomach, complaining on how full you are and how good dinner was. You decide to bring one paper bag of onion rings for to accompany your Netflix-ing at home later and oh there goes the waiter, could you please do one last refill of this beer and bring us the check, please?

And by then, you didn't even take a second glance at the dessert display on your way out. 

I get it - it's just what you do.

But have you ever stopped between mouthfuls to think; think how many tons of disappointment those little guys at the display counter have to bear every single night as history repeats itself? It really is endearing how you think the dessert is always going to be there, looking up at the patrons, trying not to flinch and be blinded by your camera shots, all the while fluffing their chest in the hope that one of you selfish human beings will eventually point your finger at them and make your order. It's funny how much compliments you throw them at first and then forget all about them the second you sit down, the minute you're presented with mouth-watering selections of meats just because you assume they're always going to be there. 

Just because desserts are always listed the last in the menu doesn't mean you shouldn't prioritize them every once in a while. Just because they're tiny and colourful and underrated does not mean you get to take advantage of them. 

Next time you're at a restaurant, think about it. Think about why they deserve to wait, and wait, and wait some more - just so you can finish your main course and then leave. Think about it before it's too late. Because once, I promise you, once you realize that it's sweets you're craving for after all, once you're hit with a sudden realization that you've been taking them for granted, once you start to gaze at the leftover pie crumbs at the next table, you turn your head at the display counter so fast you're afraid you'd break your neck, only to discover that the counter has been closed and all the lights have been dimmed. 

For good.

I got you

I am tired of loss. Of feeling the churn in the stomach and the squeeze of the guts. Of the fingers grazing and heads bowing down. Of a similar hole, of lifting a leg then ending up in a messy somersault. 

Scratch that; I am exhausted. Drained, knackered, running out of breath. 

I don't want to do this anymore.