Sandals. Tim Sum maggi mee. 3 headless patridges. Orange light. A/X shop window lights. Cinnamon sugar pretzel. Jackets. Sweaters. Trinkets and knick knacks. Soft toys. Cheesecake sticks. Mmmmm. 'Talent scouts'. Loose passion fruit tea leaves. On the bus. Off the bus. Blue-coloured popcorn. Crazy First Love!. Love Actually. Bags. Clothes. Batik skirts. And these are a few of my favourite things. No. Not really. But had a pretty good time in town with dear ol' Candice yesterday - Thanks for the company and pigging out together.

***

Looking at photos of Squee as a palm-sized creature brings back memories. And unfortunately tears too. Like I shared with some people, I'm so sick and tired of crying. 7th May seems to have taken place decades ago. I guess you can refer to what I'm feeling as bitter-sweet right now. The inner me dryly noted that it seemed to be a case of 'easy come, easy go'. Just 5 days short of 8 months that he was with us. And who would have known I was to experience the nurturing, the training, the fun and irritations, and finally the loss of, all under 8 months. Sometimes I feel like screaming out that this is all just too cruel. Anyway, I intend to keep the soft toys he grew up with - the tiny Ikea teddy bear was the first soft toy I handed over to him during his shoebox days. I used it under the pretext of a fellow littermate and made him fight with it as he would in a proper litter of kittens. Argh ok. How much more do I want to reminisce??

There was this instance when I bent down to pick up something that had rolled near a cabinet, and I half-expected to see a playful paw shoot up from under it. The blur between mental reality and actual reality. I don't really know what to say, that I feel better? Then I'm inclined to think that I'm cold-hearted. But when my eyes start welling up again I sometimes wince and wonder how long more. So it is that I haven't replied to any sms that started of with "Are you feeling better already?". The first one I got made me feel utterly confused and to a certain extent, annoyed, and I very nearly sent back a nasty reply.

The periods between the moments of sadness grow longer. Slowly slowly slowly... One day at a time. And please, if you're going to interpret this as 'Oh, she's getting over it" and tell it to me in my face, I'll feel inclined to scream at you. I don't expect everyone to understand how it feels, but having to deal with their response, sometimes I wish they all did.