Washed shores.

For this moment of time I haven't been blogging, I have certainly been busy. Busy dating my lovely man, letting him charm me over and over again, busy with monetary management, busy with getting funny stomach aches, busy with handling new work-related issues and upcoming ones, as so I've foreseen.

If there's a word which should ultimately derived from this whole fashion industry, the finest word of all would be 'bitchy'. There's an infinite link between the word 'fashion' and 'bitch', it's been an ongoing affair and I imagine it to be an occurring one so as long the need to be clothed stays in the Maslow's hierarchy of needs. I could be one, but do I have to resort to such level? If by lowering myself earns me somewhat a form of so called success in life, I wouldn't know who I would become in another two years' time. Wearing branded shoes, dresses and carrying leather handbags do not define me. What's worse, now it's no longer the quality since more brands are getting manufactured in China (and China is infamous for evil merchants). I might cry later, only because I have just realized that I've forgotten who I was and should be, for a year. When I strip myself naked of all the pretense (I've called 'thresholds'), that's when I am being most true to myself.

My relationship with Desmond is the talk of the town (as so I've heard). It may be a party-starter or a tea time coffee talk, may invite cynicism, may create stars and miracles, may crash but it's all up to one's speculation. There's a mixture of narrow-mindedness and kindness going on in the company now. Superiors who indirectly taunted our uphold of moral principles and work ethics, and colleagues who actually feel happy for us. And to the colleagues who actually got delirious for us, I am sure you are a happier person now that we've shared a piece of joy. Extremely sorry to the haters because you have gotten yourself one more piece of worry to fret about (okay, I am making this sound like we are playing Montague and Capulet).

Having an authority does not denote abuse and respect from others certainly does not draw from here. Many have chosen to turn a blind eye to the word 'responsibilities'. After all, who wants more work when they can make use of this time saved to shit, smoke, eat, fuck or masturbate. It's only natural for anyone to assume, jump to conclusion and waddle in a pool of deceit. And so often in our daily events, we've come across aplenty who would leap lightning fast in order to keep their asses warm and safe, when no fingers were even pointing towards them yet. At this snap of the truth coming to light, I found out that I am a bigger man than most men. I am finally on the top level of Maslow's hierarchy.

I am taciturn and shy by nature. I do not talk much unless a friend is in need of comfort. I like to look, listen, feel and observe. Even though I curse and swear a lot, that's because my mom introduced me South Park when I was young. I try to understand the metaphor of everything and that euphemisms are what I am good at coming up with because I am sensitive enough to say sorry after I've thrown a 'fuck you' at you. I do not brag myself to the world and impress you with hypothetical hopes that I am good. It's always up to anyone to judge. I shouldn't care how you think of me as long as you are not going to be one of the few who's going to hover around me by my deathbed.

I am washed, up on this clean shore. And I should not attempt to seek my inner self again by typing out letters that you are reading.