Monastic Monday Morning

Rain rain rain.

I could vaguely hear the strains of pitter patter from my warm fuzzy enclave. Ignoring the light streaming through curtains, I pulled the covers closer to me. Anyone who walked in this very moment would have found nothing but a heap of blankets and pillows. I am safe.

Until the darn alarm rang that is.

I slammed my hand on the clock, grunting displeasure that my dream of Adam Sandler was rudely interrupted. Wouldn't it be nice if we could sleep ALL day? Free from the cruelties of the world, and from the mundane issues of mortality?

But I know this is just one of those days. When I'm all lazy and the weather's simply perfecto for sleeping in... Ok enough of wistful thinking. Time to wake up and smell the coffee. I've always thought that coffee is the best invention ever, you know. After air-conditioners and cars that is. Hey! Even health gurus recommend some caffeine to aid weight loss...

"Weight loss" . Now we're talking. I don't deny that I was a fanatic over my diet, figure, portion sizes, blah blah and blah. Just ask any of my friends and they'd tell you I eat like a bird and would never be happy with my size. It is a very real issue especially here in Singapore. You trot down the streets in town and the girls are all on the verge of anorexics (or maybe some of them already are). As I sipped my morning cuppa and flipped through The Straits Times, I start to wonder how the HECK do all those ad models keep slim and why the HELL do we girls fret over a little flab or two? When the boys are all jollymolly-ho-ho-ho over their jiggles AND patting their beer bellies as I speak.

Perhaps it would've gone down easier for me if I don't love food at all. You know, like seeing it as a fuel to keep me going instead of linking it to da soul. My soul. It's not that I've never tried. I tried! I really tried... When I was with my ex-boyfriend I really thought I've done it. Food to him is just to keep him going. He doesn't bother with the nuances of tastes... textures... whether there is enough effort put into a dish etc. Nor does he bother to go places with the "Famous" this or the "Number One" that. Being all blurry-eyed by infatuation, I hid my disappointment when he couldn't understand what I'm talking about when I said this dish has too much ginger and he sees no ginger at all (which is in the meat's marinade).

Perhaps it's the way women are programmed. We innately aim to please people no matter how vehemently we deny that trait. And I am darn proud of it, as it sets us apart from the other less sensitive gender. (But all things in moderation please; don't EVER become a doormat.) And men happen to be more visual than us ladies. I once came across a quote that said, 'Women fall in love with their ears; men fall in love with their eyes'. (It amused me quite a bit because of the acerbic humor.) Perhaps that's why we feel some pressure to maintain our looks? That it's never enough to just have an awesome personality inside?

Disclaimer: Now don't get defensive with me, fellas. I'm just exploring issues here! This is a blog after all.

MAYBE, just maybe. We are all genetically visual creatures. We like looking at pretty stuff, nicely put together and everything. Aesthetically therapeutic. The big guy up there put our eyes before our ears. Maybe that's why we're more inclined to judge a person by his/her looks, before we open our ears enough to hear the soul that's inside.

Whatever the reasons may be, I'm sure there'll be exceptions. That's one of the beauties in Life. As for me? I've learnt not to take everything so seriously, as long as I'm happy and healthy. Definitely less obsessed than before. I looked at my empty cereal bowl, happy that I polished it off.

Now how many calories was that?