let lemons be angry

Do you ever feel like you're an old lady, no correct that, an aging filmstar, with drooping feathered hats and cracks in her makeup, and fans who start betraying you for newer idols, with tired wave-and-smile routines, plastic coyness for the cameras, and the overwhelming weariness of one who has realised all this has gotten her nowhere? Don't you dare say "what?" and make me feel all alone in this feeling. We are all old ladies at some point of our lives, between meals and between days, when our metabolism drops low enough for us to think rationally.

Where do we go now? I wish i had a map to follow. Friday was the day sheila and i drenched ourselves in the perfect combination of sun, water, couch and chocolate. Saturday brought The Notebook, which i can't decide made me touched, or annoyed at the employment of every single romantic device in the book--opening scene: gorgeous clear blood-red sunset, man rowing on a flawless lake towards the eye of the said sunset, heart-rending music soaring and dipping and promising sad scenes later with good acting, and to top it all off, white birds flying with impossible slowness, flap, flap, flap, flaaaaaap. I was distracted by the birds, for i never noticed that some birds have to flap more than others, or that wings are so irregularly-shaped, or that they all fly with different slants. There's the Notebook for you, a perfect example of Nicholas Sparks romance. Watch it if you like a simple love story you've heard before and want to hear again.

Sunday, and i found myself getting drenched in a game of touch rugby/waterbomb. I was ever the old lady on sunday, independently removed and involved at the same time, sitting on my wall and looking at the little flirtations of the young ones, glad to be out of it all but sad that i've come to belong to a wall. Sure, i can say anything i think now, because age buys you that little bit more of confidence, but what if it's not confidence at all, and is indifference instead? Am i so out of touch that i can be an observer now? Something to think about as i drink my tea. Strangely juxtaposed with a little boy's comment that i look like lindsay lohan, which is far too ridiculous to jolt me out of old womandom. I'd rather be a little old lady than a teenybopper Her.

Monday, and i was forced to watch the ndp after a break of many years. The whole Tan family with their Tan ways, in front of the tv, doing Tan things. I never really bought into the Tan culture, but i've somehow burrowed a little nook within it to live with it on my own terms. It was fun though, seeing live fireworks from the balcony, if a tad too faraway. Fireworks are most beautiful when they're right above you and you can smell the smoke and your ears ring from the explosion and you scream and laugh, even if they're small backyard fireworks you buy from the store. Ha. See what the old lady is doing, she's exalting a memory from long ago. What was that line from Name? Reruns all become our history. Makes perfect sense then, that you don't play our reruns anymore, although moving is getting on slower than the white birds. But of course, sentimental reasons. You assist in aging me, because when i deal with you, i frown.