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While I am waiting for my hair to dry after my post-workout shower from 24hr Fitness and looking at my uploaded pics from Vegas, I ponder why it is such a big deal to have bigger boobs.

LET ME GET SOMETHiNG OFF MY CHEST

Men staring unwaveringly at my chest used to bother and angered me more if they looked away when caught. At age 13, my C cups confused my emotions on whether I should feel guilty for liking my massive growth spurt or be disgusted at some of the special attention from the “uncles” (creepy old men at clubs).

When we were in China, the pink tank top that never had any complaints were causing commotion from classmates who were embarrassed to be standing next to my almost DD pushed up knockers. Granted we were at the Buddhist temple, but it was hot and raining. Otherwise, I would not have any problems wearing just a bikini top. We already wore a condom, I mean a poncho, while watching Xi Hu Water Impressions in the rain for two hours. There’s only two instances I don’t mind getting wet: in the shower and in the pool =P

Did I mention an old man came up to me in Beijing and nonchalantly-blatantly put his hand on my left breast? Yea… no concept of personal space.

RED CARPET @ Ei8HT

Also, when my fellow breast-blessed best friend Bernadette and I were standing in line for the bathroom at Houston’s new club Ei8ht, an angry, flat-chested white girl came up and pointed an inch away from her boobies and shouted, “THOSE ARE NOT REAL, YOU’RE ASiAN!!!” It is not the first time we have been accused of surgical enhancement, not that there’s anything wrong with plastics. However, I should never defend what God gave me nor do I have to argue that they are naturel.

Just the other night, even the lover shared his “observation” that I must like wearing low cleavage clothes. Perplexed and a bit offended, I retorted what I thought was overtly obvious since he just finished telling me how much he loved my big tits while I was on top, “did you ever think that they have been a bane to my fashionista freedom?” Many a cute outfits I sadly sacrificed in order to conform and not offend anyone. “Cannot pass the biggie boobs” was clearly my slogan behind most fitting rooms since I can remember. In Asia, I am considered odd and way too big;  wo shi hen da. While shopping inside China’s trendy malls,  Josh and MC can attest that there was no point trying on anything for I was beyond XXL. Imagine how frustrating it is to buy only shoes and belts?

It is not my fault they do not fit or it looks like I am spilling over. Don’t you all think I haven’t tried to squeeze them into smaller sizes? I end up short of breath or popping buttons and splitting seams. For many years, I have contemplated getting breast reduction. Having huge boobies constantly afflict me with back pain, it should not give me head and heart aches.

Kim Basinger once said, “I don’t have time to be classified as difficult, and I don’t have time to care.”

So, when I do find a dress that fits me well in ALL the right places or a costume I can clearly day dream about all day because it makes me feel good, I am go’n wear it, dagnabbit!!! It is never ever for you. Ergo, if I am aware you have eyes to see and am not offended when you are hypnotized, then spare me the psychobabble.

I am not into that mainstream stifling, stereotypical bondage mentality that good girls should only wear sweaters. Heck, I love layers in the fall. However, in Houston’s hot and humid summer, I prefer tube tops and sarongs! Need I remind people that this is the land of the free or that if you cannot think for yourself, then you’re doomed anyway? You do not have to remind me that when I look like an exotic dancer (stripper is such a derogatory term, unless sexy is in front of it), the visual porn will attract the wrong men and advertise the wrong message. First of all, I am not one of those girls that flaunt and use it just because they have it. I  have yet to accept all the drinks brought to me by bartenders. Those that know me can attest I can buy my own, thank you. I have found that men are perplexed by me once our conversation starts. “You are not as I imagined you to be.” To which I reply, “Oh, yeah? That’s because you were looking down there instead of up here.”

Just goes to show you that it is strongly better to be disliked for who you really are than to be loved by who you are not.

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Recently, I witnessed something so troubling I believed only existed in afternoon soap dramas, I did not know how to react to the sorry situation. Never have I interrupted a lovers’ quarrel; however, in this surround sound situation, where their toddler could be traumatized by this memory, it took all dignity for me not to say more than what I did to both of them.

First, if this person I deeply love is reading my post, I am not going to apologize rather I want you to read because I am not going to repeat myself.

Repeatedly, you complained you’ve had enough of “this” for the past four years. How much longer are you going to allow “this?” My response to you that day will not change. Let it go and live a better life. They say fear and love give off the same smell and illicit similar senses because the same center in your brain is stimulated. That is not love you feel for him. I will bet all my money that it’s fear confusing your emotions, my dear. Well, I am afraid that when I saw you on the floor holding onto him and would not let go of what masquerades for a man nowadays, I could not help but be angry at you. You have fallen in your own grave. Now, it is time for you to find that strength I know is inside and dig yourself up. Pray harder, sister.

Especially when necessary, many a girl fail to take a break or a breather because of the possibility that he is “the one” or her “soul mate.”  Please know now, if you didn’t already, that you cannot change anyone. This dream dangerously feeds a myopic view that he is the center of her life.

A real woman is confident and not governed by fear of losing any man, because she knows the real price to pay is when she loses herself.

“Almost immediately, women give themselves up in small ways. The cumulative effect of these subtle concessions; however, is what amounts to feeling depleted.

Here’s the cycle:

  • She develops a myopic view that what he gives is absolutely vital.
  • Because of this fantasy, she gives up everyday needs [most of the time without realizing].
  • She feels more and more drained but continues to try harder, believing that he’ll be the one to make her fulfilled again.
  • He senses her willingness to exert herself, and relaxes what he gives even more.
  • She senses this and works even harder to jump through hoops.
  • The cycle gets worse, as she becomes more and more depleted.

This is why she is exhausted and constantly proclaims she is tired of this. If you are going to resent something after you give it, don’t give it. If you truly value yourself, give only what feels comfortable to give. This will enable you to stay firmly planted with both feet on the ground.”

Think and remember that it is not about a boy who says he’s your man. You are awesome; so show your son how to be the right man… not the wrong one.

This is YOUR LiFE… and it’s too short and precious to waste.

You survived before you met him… sure as hell, you will live even better after him.

Sadly, some people mistakenly believe that their loneliness is a product of another person’s abscence.

Early this morning, a girl friend I have not heard from since she got married two years ago woke me from my designated sleep-in Munday. Although my mobile’s screen’s still selectively showing numbers or recognizing contacts whenever it feels like it, I decided to answer the call. Because I could barely piece together the words I did understand in the midst of bawling , I decided to meet her up for brunch. Never did I expect her husband to be the one that would cheat on his pregnant wife and divorce her through text messaging. His reason was because he realized afterwards that she is not what he needed in his life.

“Wow,” was all I could mutter at first. Then, you know me… I preached strength and forgiveness. Honestly, what’s done is done. Etc, etc, etc… As I spent almost an hour listening to her story [wallowing in woe, lamenting her loss], she asked why I was not offering words to console her or “saying shit” about him at all. For those of you who know me, I am sure you can picture my face at how annoyed I was with her moment of stupidity. We all make mistakes; ergo, shut up and move on.

Am I supposed to say forget him? You’re better than him? What for? You should know that, already.Why waste my time and energy, too? You’ve probably dehydrated yourself from crying and not eating. He left you three months ago. He stopped thinking of you when he had that affair. Obviously, he does not want you; so, why give him any more of you?

That made her stop crying instantly. At first she was mad, but if she was looking for sugarcoated sweetness, she called the wrong person. Ivory towers belong in fairy tales that we believed in childhood; we’re in adulthood now. I’m sorry, but I think we need real people around us who’ll tell the truth in your face. How many times are we all going to get hurt? Oh, plenty and maybe too many times to count.

“The world breaks EVERYone,” Hemingway once wrote, “and afterward, many are strong at the broken places.” A broken heart is simply a heart that has a chance to heal and become stronger.  Right now, it is bleeding, just bleeding… All wounds must go through pain and inflammation before it can heal. I told her to put a band-aid on it and quit over-emphasizing on that bastard.

Eventually, we all experience that being in love is unexpectedly intoxicating, that special someone so compelling, that lovers often drop some of the obligations and rules that dominated their lives before they met.

Hence, why I shall stay single forever…  that’s another post.

I’ll only do one thing: keep you in my prayers, my friend. Live and stay strong =D

.

literally means

“dried fish,”

a Japanese expression

used in one of my fave J-drama “Hotaru No Hikari”

to describe the main character,

a woman in her 20s

who has renounced the pursuit of romance.

Thots on turning thirty:

that makes me a “dried up woman?”


Someone said once:

that women are like Christmas cakes. After the 25th, they belong in bargain bins.”

Further added:

“Almost the 31st… pretty soon it’ll pass midnight and that’s a new year for you.”

Allow me to pimp-slap that fool.


I try not to live in fear; however, AGiNG seriously scares me to death.

Since I turned 13, I was anxious about all the major markers: 21, 25, 30, 40.

Childhood memories of my hunched over maternal great grandmother in her 90’s left me with quite an impression that summer.

Instead of listening to the exposed roots of an ancient tree’s advice, I stared at her sun spots and skin tags, wondering what was written in those wrinkles around her eyes.

Taking care of the neglected elderly of America did not help either.

Before,  I used to proudly brand myself  forever 21

Wenzdai even gave me a James Avery charm for shamelessly saying so.

Today, I told classmates I shall be 25 for the next few years,

regardless of how many times the youngins will try to correct me.

bwahahahahaha

I’m Asian, I can pull it off, right?

Hey, isn’t the 80’s horribly com!ng back?

Gosh, I just had a RDA flashback o.O

[McGyver theme song blares in the back]

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