About Nude Not Naked

In the past month or so, I have had ink marks all over my clothes. I have blue ink mark from my cheap Faber Castell 0.7mm pens all over my newly acquired Nike t-shirt (during the Otto Wants To Stay Healthy phase). I had a small 2cm ink mark, from the very same pen on a pretty bright magenta tulip dress I wore last Sunday for an office function. And I did it again today, with a permanent marker pen on my “groupie” t-shirt while I was cranking up some paperwork for my father, who is the church's secretary.

It is beginning to bug me. This business of my clothes being stained is bugging me. How I never was ever this clumsy through my 30 years of living and suddenly within the span of a month, I repeated the same offending stain trick three times on three different tops that I still keep on my “yes, I will wear these until they turn mouldy” rack.

It is as if all my emotional baggage and stains are now physically manifesting themselves on my less than impeccable dressing and stupid stains that make Bozo the Clown look smart. There is a crossover somewhere and now even my clothes and my real life is marked and stained. Just like my emotional self.

I have been immensely busy lately. So busy that it took me the equal amount of time (one month) to drive myself to my local Tesco to buy a bottle of Dylon Stain Solve. While my father was busy playing the commentator on the local politics via Malaysiakini.com, I was squatting with Dylon's promise to remove any fabric stains. I took out the magic stain solve and dabbed the cap on the stains. I tried it out on the “groupie” shirt, seeing that it was the least of my priorities. 15 minutes and another squat next to my father later, I was jumping for joy. The permanent ink stain was gone! One hour later, I have three beautiful stain-free clothes that I will have the pleasure of wearing for the next month or so. Until they are replaced with new shopping conquests.

Sometimes I wished that life was this simple. Head to some DIY store and get a bottle of something that would fix all my aches and pains. So I will not feel like I am floating aimlessly in a sea of uncertainties. Or drown in so much sorrow. I wished that I have a magical bottle of emotional stain remover, so I can dab on my heart where it hurts and I can wash myself clean 15 minutes later.

And I will feel like brand new.


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