Just last Thursday Macky and I had dinner, and we went on to talk about how Ro was jealous of you  because of 'yah, I wanted to tell him that you are not hanging around because of her but because of me. I wanted to tell him because I want to claim you for my own. That the promise you made 8 years ago still stands, regardless how immature it sounded then.

On Beauty

This would probably be one of my most popular status ever, I just sure hope that those people understood what I was talking about.

     

      My father likes pets, and ever since I could remember, there will always be at least one variety from the animal kingdom that will be residing with us. There was this one particular time when I was around 4 or 5 years old that we had a cat. My father was quite fond of it. It then got pregnant and soon after there was a litter of blind kittens meowing and stinking up the house. Once, I was left alone in the house and incidentally, the cat left her litter, probably to hunt down some rodents which are quite populous in our humble abode. In my young mind, I didn’t intend to harm the little kitties, I just wanted to play. I started to pick one up, tried to make it stand and dance. It was like playing with dolls. I made it walk around the park of Paris, made it dance on a stage in New York and made fly like one of those circus acts in Vegas. I was having fun, till my mom found me with a lifeless kitten in my hand. I could still remember the look that she gave me.  It was a mixture of horror and disappointment with a tinge of pity. Pity for what, that I didn't know, but in retrospect I think I should have been punished then, because now I feel horrible about what I did. And nothing could bring back that kitten, and I probably will always think of myself as a kid with psychopathic tendencies when I was younger because of what happened.

     This whole reflection made me think about you, and how you are breaking my heart now. Were you just like me when I killed that kitten?  Were you foreign to the concept that you are man-handling my emotions just like how I was with that poor creature? And will I have to wait at least 2 decades for you to ponder on the emotional damage you are bestowing upon me now?

I should have left those newborns all by their selves, like how you should have let me be. Years passed, we grew apart and I how I wish that we just let things the way they are when we were still awkward around each other. If only I did just that, then that kitten will still be alive and I won’t have a broken heart.

                

“

Never play the princess when you can
be the queen:
rule the kingdom, swing a scepter,
wear a crown of gold.
Don’t dance in glass slippers,
crystal carving up your toes—
be a barefoot Amazon instead,
for those shoes will surely shatter on your feet.

Never wear only pink
when you can strut in crimson red,
sweat in heather grey, and
shimmer in sky blue,
claim the golden sun upon your hair.
Colors are for everyone,
boys and girls, men and women—
be a verdant garden, the landscape of Versailles,
not a pale primrose blindly pushed aside.

Chase green dragons and one-eyed zombies,
fierce and fiery toothy monsters,
not merely lazy butterflies,
sweet and slow on summer days.
For you can tame the most brutish beasts
with your wily wits and charm,
and lizard scales feel just as smooth
as gossamer insect wings.

Tramp muddy through the house in
a purple tutu and cowboy boots.
Have a tea party in your overalls.
Build a fort of birch branches,
a zoo of Legos, a rocket ship of
Queen Anne chairs and coverlets,
first stop on the moon.

Dream of dinosaurs and baby dolls,
bold brontosaurus and bookish Belle,
not Barbie on the runway or
Disney damsels in distress—
you are much too strong to play
the simpering waif.

Don a baseball cap, dance with Daddy,
paint your toenails, climb a cottonwood.
Learn to speak with both your mind and heart.
For the ground beneath will hold you, dear—
know that you are free.
And never grow a wishbone, daughter,
where your backbone ought to be.

”

—	Poem by Sarah McCane, last two lines are a quote from Clementine Paddleford

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