You Make Me Wanna Quit

Friday 29th April 2005

I had a lot of happy thoughts.

Happy thoughts to turn into happy blogs.

Of course, I have happy thoughts. I am happy. I just got married to the man I love and who loves me back, without condition nor question. Euphoria becomes an understatement when a woman is in the state that I am in now.

And so I had the longest entry typed out on Word to be posted up, with pictures to boot. Of my hen-night, of my wedding countdown, of my wedding itself...everything. Everything. Not Abang Yunos's pictures but pictures by my Ixus, taken by me, Azim, my bridesmaids and their other halves on those significant nights and days.

I was going to thank all those dear to me. Family. Old friends and new friends. Bridesmaids and bloggers. For their presence, presents, posts and pictures that pose a lovely ode to the happiest day of my life.

I poured my every emotion out in that entry.

About how I felt the moment I stepped into Room 2911 for my hen night.

About how I felt the moment I stepped into Suite 3212 for my wedding.

About how I felt the moment I ringed his finger and he ringed mine.

About how I felt the moment I knew I was approved by MUIS as Halal meat.

About everything that I felt, with every breath that I took as a bride-to-be, a bride and now, a wife.

Why?

Because I am oh so happy.

But now, someone, without feeling, has hurt me and this time, I'm hit hard for I am still oh so happy and it's just cruel to hit someone when she is on a vulnerable high. For that is when you hit her low. So low. So low below.

So, my abominable Anonymous. Welcome back.

Your encore performance is timely and your words just as sharp. Since you appear to know more of me than my decade-long galpals or my other friends who have seen my heart on my sleeve, tell me.

Tell me what did I do to you to deserve this? What is my alleged worst that you know so well but won't tell? What kind of knife did I twist in your back to make you pour out your venom with lethal hate?

Tell me what I am entitled to write., since you appear to rank high on moral standings and blogging topic regulations. Correct me, if you must for I always did think I can write whatever the heck I wanted to write about. Even though what I wax lyrical about might be boring crap or old news or yesterday's breeze. Yeah, I know I can be quite monotonous and ho-hum. Even though I wax lyrical about Ritz-Carlton or Gucci or Dubai. Yeah, I know I can be quite a braggadocio. Even though I express thoughts about fired make-up artistes, sleazy ex-es and faltered friends. Yeah I know I can be quite a bitch.

Tell me, is it okay that I love my life so? I do. I do love my life, I am constantly thankful to Allah for His Graces and I'm not ashamed to flaunt my satisfaction. I'm happy. I'm not ashamed to holler happily o'er the hills yonder. Is happiness a sin that I have to hide? Should I just ramble on about how slow my toenails are growing instead? Or the fungus in my bread? Or just talk about how the rain patters a stacatto tune on the tin roof of my little imaginary kampung house in Kuala Benut just so that I sound more palatable to you so that I won't get such horrible hate tags? Can't I just write what I feel like writing albeit about my latest Prada purchase? Or my "superfantabulous snazzy glitzy Ritzy" wedding? It's more honest, don't you think? Modesty is hypocrisy, after all.

Tell me so I can justify this thing I'm feeling.

For at this point, I feel like I should be quitting the blogging scene.

Though I have not had enough of lovely blogs and lovelier bloggers.

But I have had enough of you.

Khalas.