Monday, March 5, 2018


First time I heard about the term “nesting” was when my friend in church told me about her experience when she was pregnant. She said that as she was approaching her due date, she had this urge to clean up the house. Funny, I never remembered experiencing this with my 1st and 2nd pregnancy. Probably because I was living with my mom and with her nurturing disposition, she always presented to do the chores herself. That, or I was just lazy.

However, this weekend, I came to understand and experience first-hand this so called "nesting." It's like an unknown force feeding me the urge to clean and organise the house despite the fact that I can barely move about already. On top of that, I also wasn't feeling well because of this viral illness that struck me.

Just so you know, the kitchen cupboards are now clean and orderly, the girls’ dollhouse pieces cleaned, baby clothes (about 50% maybe) washed and of course, my books, which are my prized possession, are now all sitting safely on the shelves, as organised as I can make them.

Both shelves are overflowing now! :)

I probably would have went on except that I stumbled upon this worn-out notebook which contains letters between me and my best friend from 1998-99. Letters about our everyday experiences, mostly whinging about homework and studies that seem to take 90% of our precious time, daily school travails and the rest about our crazy infatuations. The last one sent me back to memory lane when I was 15 and silly. In fact, I realised I probably never grew up. Physically, I aged but inside me was the same 15 year old Jenny/Enny/Penny/Posy and all those other nick names my dear friends called me – still childish and foolish.

Especially when it comes to “love.” Seriously, when I was reading our entries about my crushes, I wanted to give myself a good smack on the head. It’s a wonder I ended up marrying a good, responsible man. Thank God, He interfered. I have always known that I don’t rely on outward appearances (I’m not implying anything about my dear husband hehehe – he’ll kill me now). But relying on pity and confusing it with “real love” was just gobsmackingly stupid. Now I’m scared. I hope it’s not in my genes otherwise I would have passed it onto my offspring which means I’ll be facing TROUBLE soon as the puberty hormones hit. Oh deeear.

Anyway, it was refreshing to go back to 20 years ago. It was so long ago, and yet re-reading our letters made it seem like it was just yesterday. I do feel a little nostalgic now and how I wish I could stay stuck in that time. Stay stuck there but have the people around me now too. Is that even possible? How I wish! :)

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