♥
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♫ I, I pray that something picks me up and sets me down in your warm arms. ♪
neo amiyeon andwae
eXTReMe Tracker
Sunday, June 27, 2010 @ 5:45 PM

Hush.

I had a long talk with my mum.

My mum told me when I was a little girl, barely 3 or 4 years old, I had an affection towards the black crayon. I would draw an apple and colour it black. I would draw a house and colour it black. I coloured everything black and I would draw the sun and clouds at the bottom of drawing block and sketch my black grasses at the top. She got worried and thought I was colour blind so she decided to send me for art classes at the CC nearby. I remembered getting scolded and was sort of forced to use beige to colour a person's face and colour my carrots orangey.

I grew out of black eventually when I moved on to primary school.

Years back when my mum was still teaching at the kindergarten, she attended child psychology seminars, and it was then she found out that my black drawings meant something. I was the only child she had who coloured in black. And she said I was not a very happy child and that I was already starting to put on a facade then. She said I was eccentric and am still.

"Own mother also cannot understand you. Sometimes like this...sometimes like that. I think you act happy when you know you are not," my mum confessed.

As my mum tried to tell me about me, I cringed.

Black. Seriously?

Am I not someone full of rainbow colours and bubbly sparks and endless laughters that will light up the whole room? What is it that I am hiding? What makes me happy? Why do I disappear when I get emotional? How is it that I can transit in between different social masks and still appear sane.

Who is the Diana you know/knew? And which of these masks portrays the truest me?

I don't know anymore.

**

When words becomes superfluous...



A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
-Ecclesiastes 3:7

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