Snowdrops for Ike

I have 2 previous blogs before this. You know how sometimes things just don’t work out. The problem is, I think too much. I think too much about what i want to post in my blog. If the material is appropriate. If others will find it boring, dull…. if it reflects too much about my personal life. Is it a proper article, or is it a release of my emotions? Is it intended for a specific person, or is it for Ike? I visited my friends’ blogs and always envy them for being able to post whatever they want up there. And I couldn’t do the same, fearing if my blog seems like a diary, who is interested in reading about my life anyway.. i kept looking out for themes and topics to write about. Messages to send across. Emotions to be felt. And seeing my blog idle for a while makes me sad, how I am restricted and limited in my own space, own corner in the Internet. And I was thinking of starting a new one all over again. Just like how my mom ‘ditched’ our 15 years old home and got a place in a condominium with swimming pool, nicely refurnished with expensive sofa, huge TV, new kitchen top etc. A dream place, to relax and wind down, for the weekend. But what I see is a dead place. So lifeless and cold. Not familiar to my senses. No Ike running up to me. Do I give too much thoughts to the content of my blog? Is it fully concentrated with emotions? Is it making a difference to its readers? Is it affecting them in anyway? Can i just write what happened in my life today? Can i just say i am not very happy today? And why am i even asking a permission? Why am i not setting my own rules of life, instead of keep listening to what others have to say? Even this post is a product of excessive and unnecessary thinking. And yes, I am not very happy today.

i have a friend
she dreams of a perfect love
a beautiful castle
and its humorous prince

he would lead her by the hand
twirl her into a dance
sweep her off the feet
and walk her down the aisle

i have this other friend
she keeps her diary safe
imagines a love story
and wishes it is hers

he has this grin on his face
looks straight into her eyes
locks her fingers with his
and mouthes the three little words

he brings her pretty flowers
writes her little poems
strums on his treasured guitar
and keeps her in his thoughts

she knows nothing is perfect
but pretends it doesn’t matter
what is there in the future
to fill her days now with burden

so my dear little friends
my god, you are so strong
you refuse to cry
but raise your head and hang on

you know you will find him there
his hand will reach out to yours
he will keep you safe
from thunder and storm

don’t listen to what others say
it can be so confusing
but who knows your little heart best
who knows exactly what you want?

as i sit by my diary
looking at the withered flowers
i wish you will be alright
with sweet dreams to hold you tight.