While on the way to school today in the train, I saw this old man about 60 plus with his little grandson probably aroooound 4 or 5. They sat on
Old man then took out some stuff from his black sling back and passed it to the little kid that was dressed in a green uniform with a tie and vest. Old man then took one for himself, something red.
Imagine an old man and the little fella playing with toy cars on the seat. Granted, I was supposed to be pissed off right, but the scene kinda touched me a little.
Somehow, when I see grandparents playing with their grandkids, it's quite heartwarming. By playing, I don't mean grandparents just bringing their kids to some theme parks or under HDB blocks kind of theme parks and just let them run along, making sure they don't get scabs or cuts in the 'running along' process since a scar would put off everyone. (Yeah, right. Scars speak about your character.)
Getting down, physically to play with their grandkids is my definition of playing. I can't imagine my grandparents playing pillow fights with me though. I'd prolly knock their brains out then I'll feel guilty for eternity for landing them in the hospital.
Shit, I keep digressing. Bad habit, Sam.
Back to what I was talking about, what I meant by getting down physically, is when their grandkids are high on slides and swings, grandparents feel high too. They too, get up on swings and are at the same frequency as their grandkids, feeling the adrenaline and happiness as the swing goes up then down.
I don't really have much of happy memories with my grandparents although I remember my maternal grandfather made me quite happy when I was a kid. I remembered that he used to make up magic tricks to entertain me and I'd fall for it, thinking that magic really happened.
As you know, kids being kids, very naive what. I was a strong believer in magic until I saw a disc, revealing how magic was done.
Needless to say, I was pooped out. ): I can't believe magic wasn't REAL!
Then, while on the way back home, I saw a mother with her daughter on the train(Again. As I said to countless of friends: In the MRT, you see all walks of lives. And I mean, ALLLL WALKS, very interesting).
Sweet looking girl was lying on her security pillow, her mother's neh. I mean, everyone has their own security pillow right?
Mine was my mom's thighs, I remember my head resting on her thighs everytime she sat at the back of the car on the way back to our place after visiting my paternal grandparents.
So anyway, as the little girl laid on her mother's breasts, she suddenly pointed to her mom's boobs and screeched, 'EEEEE!'
Okay, granted. I was like that little girl when I was younger.
I always wondered what in the world was the use of 2 round and soft things which only seemed to appear only on women's body. I also wondered why do women have it, not men? Men look quite okay with boobs what.
And since I was quite a tom-boy when I was younger, I swore that I'll never have neh neh poks.
When puberty smack me right on my forehead, I started to wear sportsbra in attempts to get rid of my growing boobs. Wasn't easy, it was painful and I couldn't breathe from the tightness of the sportsbra, it almost feels like I was wearing a freaking corset with a Nike symbol across it. I was hoping that boobs would go away. I hated boobs.
Then of course, when puberty comes, femininity comes after right? Then, I decided that, "OKAY, ENOUGH! PROPER BRAS NOW! I WANT REAAAAL BOOBS!"
So of course, the rest is history. My boobs have their stories to tell and I just told them to you, I'm quite sure everyone has their story to tell. Its just whether the question asked is quite appropriate ornot.
Ahhh, I'll get going with my class now. Jaded, as usual.
Skinny Pig
Beating hearts baby, is this love for real?
