(but really, what’s wrong with thee?),
or you can hate me
(by golly, what’s wrong with yours truly?),
but who I have turned out to be,
I like to think that I owe no one an apology.
But if you seek to praise a deserving name,
Or, more likely, finding someone to blame,
For crafting my odd personality that is prone to various levels of lame,
And, when not losing my shoe, as is my fame,
Would most probably clumsily set something aflame,
Let me tell you that this is all thanks to one amazing dame,
My infinite gratitude is hers to claim.
Without her as my sister,
My world would never be filled with the laughter,
That puts hyenas to shame.
For you must know,
That despite the early years of sisterly row,
The seeds of awe and wonder she still sow,
In my childish, awkward soul that was more graceless than a crow,
She was the Big Sister in which perfectness and brilliance flow,
She carried herself with such confidence, such glow,
She was popular in school, with impressive achievements in tow,
While I struggled to survive the primary-school low,
I looked up to her, occasionally my friend and mostly my foe,
And by secretly parroting her personality, my character found a way to grow.
The years went by, and as sisters do, we grew inseparable,
The fun we have; we guffaw more than we chuckle,
Together we survived various degrees of terrible,
For instance, Mum’s anger when our wee-hour -chats were not so subtle,
And the college years when our combined net assets worth only slightly more than rubble,
And when we caffeinated ourselves after watching a possessed child cackle,
And when we pigged out at a mamak,
with workers that like to soundlessly appear beside our table,
And how about the time when we were rolling in hunger,
waiting for Dad and the lunch in his motorcycle?
Thank you,
For saving my ass,
And saving my shoe,
For being my conscience,
And my cheerleading crew,
For standing by me,
Even when there was no reason to,
For Being There,
The difference it made, you have no clue.
To my uber awesome cool sister,
With her very own brand of humour,
One day the world we shall take over,
For Pinky and the Brain is born to conquer,
But for now a toast is in order,
Here’s to your spirit, your enthusiasm, your character,
May your strength and energy continue to inspire,
And although this will be that big 30th year,
I wish you never lose that joie de vivre,
For age is really but a number,
Ignore the details and we’d all be happier.
(This post will also serve as a reminder to myself: never attempt to rhyme past midnight again.)
or you can hate me
(by golly, what’s wrong with yours truly?),
but who I have turned out to be,
I like to think that I owe no one an apology.
But if you seek to praise a deserving name,
Or, more likely, finding someone to blame,
For crafting my odd personality that is prone to various levels of lame,
And, when not losing my shoe, as is my fame,
Would most probably clumsily set something aflame,
Let me tell you that this is all thanks to one amazing dame,
My infinite gratitude is hers to claim.
Without her as my sister,
My world would never be filled with the laughter,
That puts hyenas to shame.
For you must know,
That despite the early years of sisterly row,
The seeds of awe and wonder she still sow,
In my childish, awkward soul that was more graceless than a crow,
She was the Big Sister in which perfectness and brilliance flow,
She carried herself with such confidence, such glow,
She was popular in school, with impressive achievements in tow,
While I struggled to survive the primary-school low,
I looked up to her, occasionally my friend and mostly my foe,
And by secretly parroting her personality, my character found a way to grow.
The years went by, and as sisters do, we grew inseparable,
The fun we have; we guffaw more than we chuckle,
Together we survived various degrees of terrible,
For instance, Mum’s anger when our wee-hour -chats were not so subtle,
And the college years when our combined net assets worth only slightly more than rubble,
And when we caffeinated ourselves after watching a possessed child cackle,
And when we pigged out at a mamak,
with workers that like to soundlessly appear beside our table,
And how about the time when we were rolling in hunger,
waiting for Dad and the lunch in his motorcycle?
Thank you,
For saving my ass,
And saving my shoe,
For being my conscience,
And my cheerleading crew,
For standing by me,
Even when there was no reason to,
For Being There,
The difference it made, you have no clue.
To my uber awesome cool sister,
With her very own brand of humour,
One day the world we shall take over,
For Pinky and the Brain is born to conquer,
But for now a toast is in order,
Here’s to your spirit, your enthusiasm, your character,
May your strength and energy continue to inspire,
And although this will be that big 30th year,
I wish you never lose that joie de vivre,
For age is really but a number,
Ignore the details and we’d all be happier.
Happy Birthday, Pinky.
(This post will also serve as a reminder to myself: never attempt to rhyme past midnight again.)
1 comment:
Eh you still HAVEN'T mention the part where you try to murder me by throwing your sandals into the sea you ZP!
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