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i have things to say

Shine On
“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.
It is our light, not our darkness
That most frightens us.

We ask ourselves
Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?
Actually, who are you not to be?
You are a child of God.

Your playing small
Does not serve the world.
There’s nothing enlightened about shrinking
So that other people won’t feel insecure around you.

We are all meant to shine,
As children do.
We were born to make manifest
The glory of God that is within us.

It’s not just in some of us;
It’s in everyone.

And as we let our own light shine,
We unconsciously give other people permission to do the same.
As we’re liberated from our own fear,
Our presence automatically liberates others.”

~ Marianne Williamson ~

 

Love, SG

Lately, I’ve been somewhat obsessed with oatmeal.

oatmeal

For the longest time, I couldn’t fathom why.  I mean, I could take the easy route and blame it on my new trainer (from hell) who gives me a list of what to eat for my six meals a day regime.  To understand that, you’ll need to know that he’s a huge oatmeal aficionado, like of epic proportions.  Or I could attribute oatmeal to my desire to regularise certain bodily rhythms and we shall leave it on that ambiguous note.

But in truth, it’s none of the above.

Oatmeal simply reminds me of home.  My home in Kuching, Sarawak, East Malaysia.  It reminds me of growing up as the youngest of two and being utterly spoiled (shhh, brother, let’s not delve into details now).  You see, my Dad loved oatmeal, Quacker Oats to be precise, and he even had a special pot for it.  The cutest most la-la-land looking gizmo ever.  There was a specific ritual to the entire process from weight of oats measured with the precision of a heart surgeon to how long the cooked version needed to chill in the fridge to the milk that was used as a (generous) topping.  Yes, my Dad had my Mum nailing this to a scientific art.

He wanted his oats (or porridge as he would call it at times, spoofing the fodder from Goldilocks and The Three Bears) chilled just so, with that perfect helping of Condensed Milk, mug of Nescafe to the right sporting that blue cap (my Mum had the green cap), and the occasional serving of sliced bananas.

Sesame Street

So anyway, after all that rambling and post the consumption of countless bowls of oatmeal, I’ve come to the conclusion that I am homesick.  Or, more specifically, parent-brother-sick :) it’s been three years since I went back to Malaysia and I think it’s high time to have a bowl of chilled porridge with my Dad.

Love, SG

p/s I promise the next post will be less melancholy

pp/s I promise it will not be another three months to the next post

The Phoenix Rises From The Ashes Metal Print By John Edwards

Yes, a post has indeed been a long time coming and, honestly? Looking through the Archives, I see that my last post was dated 22nd February.  Oy.  Cringe, I cringe.  I’ve not been resting on my tush, I swear.  No indeed.  In fact, I’ve been working very hard.  As someone recently coined, I do have a grown-up job and it’s been keeping my nose pressed firmly to the grindstone of late.

Also, I’ve had back-to-back trips to NYC within the space of a fortnight, then a week’s worth of time was spent in San Francisco for two separate events and when I finally got home, I realised it was month’s end.

So this is just a quick note to say HELLO THERE and to assure everyone that I’m still (barely) alive and kicking and well :)

I shall post more later, I promise.

 

Love, SG

That would be a flat NAY.

I don’t do flats.  Even my boots walk a height of no less than 2.5″, at the bare minimum.  So, let’s not even get me started on my heels.  As I once told someone, the height of my heels appears to escalate in tandem with my age.  On that note though, I do hope it peaks at 40 because 5.75″ is about the max for me.  Anything more and I may as well go with stilts.

Here are some glorious flats I found while scouring the web.

Blue Monarch Butterfly Flats

Blue Monarch Butterfly Flats from here.

Muse Leather Flats

Muse Leather Ballet Flats in Olive from here.  This store does have some wedged heels that I’m positively aching to get my hands on and feet in.  I shall keep you posted on that!

Hand-Painted POW BAM Flats

Hand-painted POW BAM Flats from here.

Pastel Pixel Leather Oxfords

Pastel Pixel Leather Oxfords from here.  Several chunky boots available too.

Vintage Cork & Mesh Flats

Vintage Cork & Mesh Flats from here.  These are simply magnificent, why couldn’t they be heeled???

Retro Polka Dot Ballerina Flats

Rainbow Retro Flats from here.  I feel like doing the jitterbug now.

I do so wish these came in the kind of heel and/or boots I’m partial to, so I could strut loud and proud in them ~ maybe I could find some heels somewhere and stick them on.

What say you?  Are you a heel kinda woman (or dude) or you like being grounded?

Love, SG

So I had a heart-to-heart with myself last night.  It was a combination of having read the first few chapters of Yuli Ziv’s book, “Bloggin Your Way To The Front Row”, as well as having returned from the IFB Conference with my head spinning.  I had to come to terms with many things namely my reasons for wanting to blog.

As much as it pains me to write these thoughts in public, it’s probably a healthy way to start the detox process.

I envy those nubile young things who look perfect from every which angle and whom can make even a potato sack look like haute couture. I am fiercely jealous of how skinny they are and how the world adores them, particularly the fashion houses. I want to be noticed too. I want to be famous.

I. Want. To. Be. Just. Like. Them.

But I can’t. I’m no young thing.

I’m not skinny. I’m not photogenic and I most certainly don’t have a figure to rival that of a clothes rail. I’m 40. I’m a mother of a teenage drama queen, and two stepsons aged 15 and 18 respectively.  I work and I cook and I clean, and I keep house, and I have a family. Blogging was “supposed” to be an outlet for me to express myself, a means for me to be me. To write whatever the heck I wanted, without censor, without boundaries, without fears, without restrictions. And certainly without this (recently, it would appear) overwhelming desire to be part of “the cool crowd”. To be recognised on the street. To be lauded at every turn for my sense of style and my bravado in putting together outfits.

Blogging was meant to be a natural extension of my thirst to write. Something which has been in me for as long as I can remember.  I mean, I wrote my first story when I was 7, in true Enid Blyton “enchanted woods and faerie folk” fashion.  Blogging was supposed to be my small corner of the world, wherein I could be me, just me. Not the Sheela my husband loves. Not the Mummy my daughter calls me. Not my brother’s sister, nor my parents’ daughter. Not the Ms Goh my clients write to.  None of those.

And yet, somehow, somewhere along the way, I lost track of all these important things and because of that, I feel like I have lost myself.  And I need to rediscover who I am.  I must.

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In summation ~ Life Is Way Too Short To Covet What Others Have.

In other words ~ Get A Grip, Sheela.

In conclusion ~ I need to work on liking myself more.  Then, and only then, will things start to fall in place.

 

Have you experienced such internal conflict?  When you felt pushed and pulled in a gazillion different ways?  What steps did you take to rise above the din?  Did they work? 

Love, SG

p/s this probably won’t be the last time you read such thoughts from me but hey, if it helps me in dealing with the issue and work towards becoming the person I was meant to be, I’m just going to roll with it.

pp/s I know I’m going to regret putting it out there the moment I hit the Publish button so, be gentle with the comments :)

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