When I was a Child, She Taught Me How to Sing

One Christmas ago, when I was in Kindergarten, my teachers asked me to sing. They expected me to sing and that I could sing because my mother sings beautifully – like an angel. They believed that such a voice comes out from her daughter, too. “Like mother, like daughter,” they had reasoned. It was a DNA thing which they supposed. “She got it from her mom,” and they were also so sure of it.

What was I to do? I was such a miniature credulous being then. I could have only said YES or NO. I did not know how to retort “I’ll think about it” then.

Hitherto, I subjected myself to a so-called “practicing” with Mama.

“Learn to control your breathing…”

“Aim for one long phrase…”

“Don’t breathe between unlikely places…”

“Breathe where sentences end…”

“Fill your lungs when you inhale.”

“Do not lift your shoulders…”

“See how my chest alone expands?”

“See how my tummy jutts forward as I breathe?”

“No shoulders involved there, you see?”

Her nostrils flared as she breathed air through her nose. “Breathe through your nose and not your mouth,” she would say. “You wil sound better – sing better. I assure you that. You’ll have longer breath reserves and a better voice quality at that!” Then she further added, “You’ll have better support with less effort and no strain. You’ll endure more and sing more songs…”

I thought I was cracking a secret code to successful singing. And as I belted out Away in a Manger that Christmas eve – my feet rocking sideways like two boats about to capsize – I felt like I, indeed, cracked a code to beautiful singing!

People clapped and cheered. That reception from the audience whetted a certain musical appetite. From thereon out, I wasn’t afraid to sing another song.

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Screen Saver

Such a rare moment
To get ahold of your phone…
I was giddy all over…
I wondered though,
Do you have my picture?

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Lifesaver

That’s not him – not my boyfriend; not the man I thought I knew. He has changed somehow…

I look at him now and see someone different. He has light and life in him, this one. My light and life – my only means and ends to survive. Without him, I could not go on; without him, I will not survive further on.

My husband – D****. My guardian angel. The very person who saw my pain when I did not see it; the one who helped me define and process my feelings. If he did not insist on going to the hospital that day to have an emergency check-up… If he did not persist in coaxing… I never would have thought to help myself, not even in the slightest bit of chance, not even if my bones crimped and coiled in excruciating pain.

It turned out that an unfortunate combination of Cancer, Cushing’s Syndrome and some complications a sundry befell me…

Thus, I look at him now with Cushing’s eyes but with surging gratefulness for having him in my life. I must have done something good in the past to even deserve him.

Insert Julie Andrews’ song in The Sound of Music:

“…’cause here you are, standing there, loving me… for somewhere in my youth or childhood, I must’ve done something good.”

My mind is foggy and blurry. I can’t rely on my powers of recall – not anymore… not now, especially. But I know for certain that he loves me.

I love him, too.

D****, what would have happened if you weren’t there? What would have befallen me? A shattered vessel, surely.

Thank you for being such a guardian angel. Thank you for being my life. Thank you for saving me from further damage. Thank you for loving me… for buying me more time… to live.

Belts

Generally, anything can hang loose; except the waist part.

That reminds me of the need to buy a sturdy belt. It does the trick for me.

It holds up…

It doesn’t budge…

When some parts expand, the belt is there to bond
-makes the waist retain its shape…

like a trusted friend who can keep secrets…

Who keeps the unruly well-behaved…

Who loves my quirks and keeps me in check…

Thank God for belts. It’s like a lover who binds and ensconces me in a tight embrace and never let’s me go.

Gap

It’s so hard to find short shorts that will not lift in the middle while I walk.

How could other girls pull off short shorts without the creasing in the middle when they walk?

I hate having to do the occasional wobbly spidery walk just to discreetly put the shorts back in place.

This is the time to wish for a thigh gap…

Two parallel legs…

Pencil

Pencil cut skirts made for curvy girls are hard to find.

They have to have a certain shape… and they have to be stretchy; not to mention, elastic enough to suck in those soft extra bulges.

The skirt has to be dark in color…
No unwanted shadows…
No unnecessary highlights…
Lest bulges show.

Cinchers

Corsets and waist cinchers are a curvy girl’s best friends…
I wish there was a cincher for the whole body…
I hope they can invent a cincher that absorbs fat. 
That will definitely be my bestest best friend.
Such desperation… 

Don’t judge.

Barely Breathing

Anything that’s tight in the waist area will give the illusion of sexy curves. 
That loop…
That indent…
Wavy lines…
Never mind breathing properly as long as I appear sexy and my waist look smaller…
And my curves defined…
Flawless lines…
I wonder if duct tape works…