perfect companion

I have a weapon in every room. No, not a gun (though I prefer to have one but…)

In the master bedroom, I have an axe which I bought accidentally without even knowing I did. I mentioned it already before, being in a DIY shop and admiring this beautiful little axe and testing the weight in my hand. In my memory, I put it back; but when I checked out I found that the cute axe was among my purchased. I didn’t return it. Not even crossed my mind to do so.

In the guest room I have this gorgeous ice pick. It feels good in the hand and looks so… harmless. I keep it in the laundry basket. The axe is hidden between my clothes. In the other bedroom there is a hammer, sleek and thin and all steel. It got a slim neck and easy handle of perforated rubber material for a good grip.

Kitchen… also a hammer but in different style, square head and really, heavy.

I know the place by itself is an arsenal, I don’t have to secure it one might say, but I feel better that way. Besides, anyone would know about the knives; but I’m the only one who know about the hammer (grin)

Next to the TV is a real axe, almost as tall as me. I found it in the shed when we bought the house. Must be for chopping wood, but I like it so much I wanted to hang it on the wall; but I can’t do it without damaging too much the already damaged wall, so on the floor it remains.

Why on earth I have these things? Same reason why I am locking doors of whatever room I’m in, I don’t want to be surprised defenceless. I remember buying two; no three massive bronze cats with extra long necks (for easy grip) from auction and putting them on my night stand simply because I thought it will come in handy. And I even hate cats!

And of course all that beautiful fireplace accessories! Poker and all! Handy.

All my candle holders are bought with the same purpose in mind. I can be anywhere in the house and I will be able to depend myself (ha ha) I remember the look on everyone’s face when I decided to put grills inside the French windows of the garage.

But they don’t see what I see. I can understand why they have to put locks and bolts and that entire security thing on doors but will leave the garage at the mercy of anyone who wants to come in. That window there take up the entire top half of the whole place, and it’s not even double glazed! Amazing!  It’s like saying: come in, come in.

What my-reason-for-living-in-Europe thinks about it…? I don’t really know. As far as I can see, it doesn’t bother him at all. He said he sleeps better when I’m in the room (God knows what that means) and I sleep better when nobody is around. I cannot even stand a smell of another individual on sheets and pillow cases. I want the room to smell fresh forever and its damn difficult if someone is insisting to sleep in it…




…mine is nonexistent. I can be pregnant, gain weight, stand on my head; they stay looking like a twelve year old might have under her shirt.

I remember an ex-boyfriend said to me once to cut half of what down “there” and put it up “here”. I broke up with him right away. The jerk! It took me only three days to get over him.

Sad to say, but he’s not the only one with the same opinion. A friend and neighbour once told me under the influence of one too many beer that I could have been “sexy” if I have a decent bumper. I told her, hers is nothing to write home about either. Good that we were both in drunken stupor or otherwise…

I myself have no real problem with what I’ve got. In fact, I’m thanking my lucky star that mine is next to nothing; at my age and after two children…if I have a huge pair, it could be hanging on my lap by now. I have to confess though that I almost never breastfed. I tried for three months but my milk wasn’t sufficient enough my GP advised me to stop and never do it again.

If I’m being brutally honest, the only thing I have a bit of trouble about are my “tips.” They are very pointy and huge and look as if they are always in cold. It shows even through my brassiere. (I know there are some pads exist for this sort of problem; tried them, no good, never again) I heard it’s a fashion nowadays, pointy nipples… I even saw one episode of Sex and the City where Samantha was wearing fake ones. It was hilarious when she removed and threw them in the middle of the party. 

Another thing is__ I hate brassiere. I have few lying around somewhere, but I rarely use them; only if I really, really have to. They’re uncomfortable and they choke me! Must be something to do with growing up and not owning one for the simplest of reason that I could not afford to buy them that time.  My first training bra was bought by my adviser when I was a freshman. She couldn’t  stand that her leading character in the winning school play would go on stage bra-less.

And I don’t even know why I am writing this aside from I’m suffering (again) from lack of sleep and feeling rebellious that I can’t celebrate my birthday because I have to work.. 


a myth

I always want to be a man. I envy their double standard and never ending privileges. They can run around half naked be bald be hairy have beer guts be obnoxious loud and still consider sexy. They don’t have to paint their faces wear heels bleed get pregnant risk their lives giving birth nurse infants sucking the very life out of your body have stretch marks drooping breast osteoporosis and PMS.

They grow gray hair they look distinguish. They womanize be unfaithful chase every moving thing have multiple partners mistresses and nine out of ten it is considered as one of their male prowess. Society even invented written global excuses for them like: men are born polygamous. Here is one example I read and lifted up from somewhere…

“If you look back at nature (where our basic instincts come from) the male of most species tries to reproduce with as many females as possible in order to ensure that his genes are being passed on. The female doesn’t have this desire. Whatever kids she has are definitely hers so she tries to find the best possible suitor. That’s the basic thinking of most species about reproduction. Those basic instincts still reside at the base of our subconscious. Being civilized hasn’t completely removed it. That’s why these problems continue to exist. It’s a matter of civilization against basic nature. There could never be a perfect woman who would fix that because that’s not the cause.”

Imagine that! If a woman does the same she will automatically be labelled as a hoe. Men don’t even suffer menopause. Okay there is something called mid-life crisis, but how it manifests when they are concerned? Buying hot cars exchanging their partners for much younger version and live life as if there is no tomorrow. Is that a crisis? Looks like another privilege to me.

I can go on and on about the pluses like higher earning better jobs prominent life long seat in the society and so on which no amount of emancipation could ever alter.

I know, I know, we are in better position today than our grandmothers of yesteryears, but we are not there and will never be. The word equality when it comes to genders is nothing but a myth. There is exception here and there but thinking that someday the scale will tip totally towards our own advantage and things will magically turn 360 degrees is just a wishful thinking. We have to be a man to enjoy such privileges.

This is not meant to be a debate but merely a personal reflection of my own experience and views regarding this matter and I am more than happy to entertain and talk about different opinion from different people. Maybe I could learn a thing or two in the process…


Parting Gifts

I will send off someone who is dear to me with the same objects I will bring with me if I end up being stranded on a desert island. Here they are:

Magnesium Flint Stick

I’m debating between a diver’s knife and a machete

Fishing net

Snorkeling gear

Spear gun or Bowfishing gear

No need to explain.


Daily Prompt: Someone Else’s Island

“common friends”

That’s what I call them.

The sort I have to curl my hair dressed up to the nines and put on make up for. The ones I go to Mallorca or Canary Islands, Sarah Brightman concerts, discuss the stock exchange, Swarovski collection and wine; but never about racism, street children or global warming. The real life how real people live it, they don’t want to know.

We see them every other week, once a month if I can help it. Each couple takes turns to entertain in their own homes mostly on Saturdays and would last till about early in the morning.

At the table, men often talk about their latest achievements in their chosen fields, hobbies like paragliding and windsurfing and what their financial plan once retired.

Women, career people or not would debate about the quality of sectional ports, ski holidays, hotels, spas and who is going with whom together with the prices of haircuts, their latest purchased and how silly their husbands are becoming. I, in turn “always” shut up.

I learned that if I say something, the table will suddenly go quiet, everyone will try to begin another topic all at once and the laughter will be more stressed and high pitch than ever before. I have a feeling they are all wary of me. As if I carry a grenade somewhere inside my purse and will drop it in their middle on slight provocation. Imagine that.

Why I socialize with these friends? Well, because in our line of works we need networks, we need references, and viva voce is still is the best and the most credible form of advertising and crucial for every business. You need to give some to receive some. Maybe they don’t understand me as a person but they have respect for what I do and they all adore my partner, the golden boy.

So, once in a while I go put on some decent clothes, smear some war paint and do what I do best; excelling in things I dislike the most.

(No wonder that Emily Dickinson is my favourite poet)

Deprived of other Banquet,
I entertained Myself—
At first—a scant nutrition—
An insufficient Loaf—

But grown by slender addings
To so esteemed a size
‘Tis sumptuous enough for me—
And almost to suffice

A Robin’s famine able—
Red Pilgrim, He and I—
A Berry from our table
Reserve—for charity—


i’m an alien

Most days I’m confused and hysterical I can even hear my brain screaming inside my head though I try my best not to show it. People at work and in the streets probably think I’m a perfect picture of balance, peace, happiness and serenity while the truth is: in my current (self-appointed) alienated position I feel I’m becoming more alien than alienation itself…

Puppy Love

Yesterday, during one of my daily walks; this energetic little dog followed me for kilometers and kilometers through fields woods and even crossing highways.


I met this puppy when I passed by a group of houses after having been through dozens of neighbouring orchards. This cutey enthusiastically emerged from an open gate together with bunch of other dogs, all of different breeds. The puppy itself I thought is a Jack Russell or Boston Terrier or a cross-breed of both (if that one existed) I’m just guessing. I don’t know much about dogs.

I thought the puppy was just being friendly and only going to hang out with me till it satisfies its curiosity. I reckoned he (yes, I decided it was a he) will lost interest soon and will head back where he came from. But when he continued following me after a kilometer or so I begun to have my doubts.

I told him several times to go home but he ignored me and acted as if I am his owner; always walking side by side with me, bestowing me side glances once in a while as if thinking: What you mean you don’t know me… We’re friends. we’re buddies… Don’t you remember?

I lost him when I decided not to follow the sign for that specific walk because it was getting dark and I decided to take a short cut.

The little dog tried to change my mind though by first running ahead of me then stopping, waiting if I would follow. In any other circumstances I will go with him, but the path he wanted us to traverse leads to a dark woods and how much that I love anything dark, sometimes you have to choose safety first. what I did was pretend I didn’t see what he was trying to do and crossed the big road instead. It will bring me to the churchyard where my car was parked.

When I looked back, I saw the puppy running so fast after me, then stopped at full force just few steps from the highway. We eyed each other across the road. Then he turned around and ran, back to the path leading to the woods, he sat there waiting for me. It was my turn to walk away…

I saw him poking his head from behind the hedges few times before disappearing into the woods again. I took one last look and moved on… Goodbye puppy.

I learned one thing though by this experience. All my life I was terrified of dogs and quite hate them. But this little one stole my heart and I have trouble forgetting him. He radiates so much sweetness and love. I hope he found his way home safely…


Dear M.

Now that I’m staring at mortality straight in the eyes, now that I am beginning to realize I will not be here forever and my expiration date comes sooner than I have expected, I remember you. I remember the time you saved me from drowning. Twice. The first time was when my so-called cousin Rosana (which I never knew existed and have met for the first time) tried to drown me because of the ring you gave me. Remember the ring? The one you fashioned from copper especially for me? The same ring you have thrown away in the sea for safekeeping and promised the waves will deliver it back right at my feet when the time comes. Unknowingly, that must be the reason why I spent so much time on the breakwater when I was growing up, just staring at the sea. But you lied. The ring is still out there lost.

The second time you saved my life was a major, major case. I almost died. I didn’t know anymore why I decided to follow my eldest sister out in the sea that day. I saw her having a good time with a fella and they seemed to be walking in the water. I thought the water was not deep. I forget they could swim and I cannot. And before I know what was happening, I found myself sinking. I had no idea that drowning feels like that. As if you’re spiraling endlessly down a very dark abyss. I remember calling my father, then nothing.

The next thing I knew I was laying on the sand and you gently slapping my face telling me to wake up, as if drowning was a funny joke. But that’s you. Everything is a joke to you. Maybe it’s your way of coping with the circumstances that we were in. I will not go into detail with that. There are certain things that better left buried and forgotten. I’m sure you understand what I mean.

You said you saw me disappeared from the surface and grabbed a big zinc basin which is normally meant for transporting fish and rowed as fast as you could where you saw me vanished. You had to search for me down there for seemed like ages you said before finding me at the bottom unconscious. For a moment there you were scared, you told me. I don’t believe it. You scared, a seasoned Huckleberry Finn… no way! You even teased me about it afterwards, saying you’re my first kiss. In my book it doesn’t count.

Anyway, I never properly thank you for saving my life twice. In fact, I never talk about it. Not even to you my best friend. Perhaps I was too young to understand it all. I was barely eight years old. You were twelve.

I don’t know where you are now. Fate separated us oceans and continents apart. I wonder what happened to you and what you become. The last time I saw you I was aboard a moving bus. My family decided to move again. You were running alongside the vehicle calling my name. You handed me something through the window before you let go. It was another of your creation. A copper pin name.  My name. I lost it in the bus. I must have fallen sleep. Sorry about that.

Once again, wherever you are thank you. If you didn’t save me, I would not have this rich and multi-coloured existence. I hope we see each other again so I can say this to you face to face. M. you’re one of the few people I didn’t regret I’ve met.


 I wrote this yesterday for the daily prompt: Never Too Late but decided not to post it. Now, here it is, Daily Prompt: Leftover Sandwich.  And by doing so I’m killing two birds with one stone.

silver lining

Why there are days that nothing seems to connect? That you feel like being trapped between two walls and they are slowly closing in and breathing is too painful? That no matter what you do, reality is very far, far away and you float hovering above going nowhere seeing everything gray from morning till evening and your head is like an over stretched balloon with a few bricks inside about to burst at any moment with or without provocation then suddenly you will find yourself plummeting under water and you realized you cannot swim which is good because it’s nice to stay there at the bottom where no one could find you and you don’t have to do something you don’t want to do or talk to people and say things you don’t mean but keep saying anyway because that’s what they expect from you?

I can picture a cartoonify version of myself going from frame to frame, a dark cloud following me hanging above my head and once in a while it releases some water and I just sit there with a gloomy face letting the persistent cloud rain on me feeling indifferent being oblivious of the world around because I lost my groove and I cannot find it back and all I can do is walk and walk and walk…



Been tipsy last night. One glass of champagne and I was up there flying! I have to learn to handle my drink. Alcohol and I are not the best of friends. We’re not good together. I tend to be a bit loose when I had few glasses. So loose I can take a shower fully dressed and sleep wearing the same wet outfit. Or forget a whole chapter altogether. On(c)e (upon a) time, someone asked me the morning after where his clothes might be and if I happened to know where they are can he have it back please! I cannot even remember who the person was! (For the record: he didn’t sleep with me. Seemed I scared him away) Yesterday, before I knew; I was blurting out all my insecurities to somebody whom in normal circumstances is the last person I would confide anything let alone my deepest secrets. I’m not suited for drinking. Or I have to drink more often to get used to it…


My words will either attract a strong mind or offend a weak one.


A daily selection of the best content published on WordPress, collected for you by humans who love to read.

Cee's Photography

Learning and teaching the art of composition.


My words will either attract a strong mind or offend a weak one.

The Blog

The latest news on and the WordPress community.

Susan Rushton

Celebrating gardens, nature, photography and a creative life

The Daily Post

The Art and Craft of Blogging

King of States!

I'm Michelle. This is my blog. I write about women and fatness, expound upon semi-coherent thoughts I have in the middle of the night, and offer tough love to those in whom I am disappointed; they are legion.

Creative freelancers | Our services | ProdGic

Creative and technical writing, design and translation services

My Point of View

Life Through The Lens

ClarkWP WordPress Magazine

Students Serving Up WordPress Tips and Techniques for Clark College Students and the World

Kristen Lamb

Author, Blogger, Social Media Jedi

A Writer's Path

Sharing writing tips, information, and advice.

P. S. Hoffman

Writing Guides, Fiction, and More

%d bloggers like this: