Wearing Sunscreen

on the race

2010-10-26T18:07:00.004+08:00

apparently the race is long and in the end it's only with yourself

but sometimes you want to know,

in the eyes of everyone else,

if in this race called life you've bested the person who tripped you up

and when you think about it,

you know

that in your heart and in your eyes you have

and in that realisation realise that you truly have won

Image courtesy of marco_welt on Flickr!

on who I am

2010-04-09T14:49:00.003+08:00

"Life is a series of choices. A big combination of moments. Little ones that add up to big ones that create who you are"

Will Schuster

and I need for this next phase of my life to happen.

because I need a life that is...

more than this

more than me.

more.

Picture courtesy of angus clyne on Flickr!

on perspective

2010-04-09T14:41:00.003+08:00

timetabling mishaps led to me being at a session a whole hour before i should have been.

I had a choice.

I could rant and rave and be upset about the mistake.

I could give thanks for an unexpected hour without my laptop, to make the millions of calls and send the many texts I was owing people.

I chose the latter.

It's all about perspective

argh sniffle sob argh

2010-03-18T17:01:00.002+08:00

a return to tea without milk

2010-03-08T00:12:00.006+08:00

this post has been a long time coming. 3 years to be exact.

I drank tea without milk. Except as a child. When I would only drink tea and no milk. So they had to give me milk tea.

But then I drank tea without milk. Because it was what was normal.

Then I moved. Houses and countries and continents.

So fast it made my head spin.

So quickly it made me giddy.

So many sights to smell and scents to touch.

And along the way, I met people. Some drank tea with milk. Some without. Some with lemon slices. Some with condensed milk. I tried it all. And for the longest time I was content, to just drink my tea without milk.

But then you stay away for too long. And you meet people who are too strong. And so I started drinking my tea only with milk. Forgetting, or perhaps not remembering, that I liked it without.

A heartbreak and a homecoming later. I drank it exclusively with for a while. To keep that last tenuous thread intact. Then exclusively without for a while. To ensure the thread was severed.

And now, I drink it with and without. Depending on the wind and my fancies on the day.

Because you learn that real friends are like slipping on an old comfortable pair of jeans you always loved but forgot you had. that home will heal your soul and take you back, when you're grown up and ready to be taken back.

that the people and moments that matter will stick with you, no matter how you take your tea.

Tea-mages from lorises on Flickr

all bottled up

2010-03-08T00:02:00.004+08:00

She feels all bottled up of late.

And so thinks she should write again.

Photo by the artistry of Georgia Wiggs on Flickr!

Apologise

2009-05-15T10:48:00.003+08:00

Lyrics speak to me, for the simple reason that they say what you feel in beautiful beautiful ways.

Lately I have been dreaming, I always do. It tells me that my soul is ok. I worry when I do not.

In my dreams of late, people from my past pop up in unusual places and situations. Last night it was a dream of Hitman and bumping into him at my friend's (who has superhero powers) wedding. He was a friend of the bride. I miss you Hitman. Pat your self on the back for me *grin*

But, I digress. There is one character that appears in my dreams every so often. The dreamer in me wants to believe that this happens when we both feel the loss of that friendship. The realist in me realises that it's probably just me and the fact that grudges are not my natural state of being.

There was a time when this song was indeed true of this relationship of mine. I did love this person with a fire red and it did turn blue. And no I would not take another chance, take a fall, take a shot for you. No longer, not any more. It really is too late to apologise.

Apologise or not though, I forgive you. As Ghandi once said- If we practice and eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth, soon the whole world will be blind and toothless. The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is an attribute of the Strong.

So really, there is no shame in saying it would be nice to one day, once again, be able to take a fall for you. There is no shame in saying I miss you.

Inspired

2009-05-08T15:35:00.003+08:00

Now I know that God gives us all different talents and strengths. I know I have been blessed with many abilities. And I am thankful.

But really, do some people have to be so freaking musically talented?! It really gets my goat and makes me want to kick them!

I have to work really really hard at being able to play any musical instrument and even then it's not brilliant, just good. It's not talent, it's passable.

I can't help but feel that much music these days is rather uninspired. It now normally relies on the lyrics to make or break the song.

I have to admit, that is why I initially loved Coldplay's Viva la Vida, it was the lyrics. It was when they sang "I know Saint Peter won't call my name". It was the rush of heady, rebellious, me- against- the- world- and- i- don't- give- a- crap.

But then I didn't know it could sound like this...

This... is truly inspired...

back and melancholy

2009-05-01T00:06:00.004+08:00

She is back to this virtual world this girl. She has been absent for a rather long time.

Funny how in her moments of melancholy she finds herself back to the writing. This must be a hard blog to read.

It has been a good few months. She will tell all in the posts to come. She is indeed very blessed.

But at the moment she feels like the black and white parts of a picture accented in red if that makes any sense to anyone else at all. Like a Gaugin, somehow sombre in vivid technicolour.

But for now suffice to say, she is feeling melancholic, wondering why, wondering how, wondering, wondering wondering....

Image courtesy of SayDirect on Flickr.

all my bags are (not quite) packed

2008-11-29T20:48:00.004+08:00

... and i'm (not quite) ready to go

Today I started packing.

A little anal I know as the move is 10 weeks away. But the elves that Santa is lending me to help me move are leaving in approximately 3 weeks and seeing as how I don't know how much stuff is moving with me I thought I should make full use of the said elves.

and as I thought of packing, suddenly the magnitude of what I am doing HIT me.

I do not know how to pack for this move. i lived away for almost a decade and never had a problem. some moves were more bitter than others. leaving England was painful to say the very least. but none before this one has had quite this much finality. it is a somewhat edifying thought that mum and dad are not turning my room into a home gym, that they're not taking down the photographs and boxing away the trophies. that they will keep this room mine. that there will always be room here for me.

but it doesn't change the fact that below the surface, this move is a resounding close to life as i know it. i don't mourn it's passing. i am excited beyond measure for the start of the new chapter and i know from the very core of me that i have chosen the right man to keep me company on this journey. but i mourn all that i leave behind. or more accurately, who i leave behind.

i am rubbish at goodbyes. i don't know how to to them without a stuffed up nose, red eyes and a tear stained face. and this will be one giant goodbye won't it?

yes yes i know that it's only two hours flight away, and the internet is great and all that malarkey, but really, let's not ease the blow. i am leaving everything that has been a constant in this nomadic life of mine. and it was that constant that made it a little bit easier. it's like that bit from my favourite Donne poem

If they be two, they are two so

As stiff twin compasses are two;

Thy soul, the fix'd foot, makes no show

To move, but doth, if th' other do.

And though it in the centre sit,

Yet, when the other far doth roam,

It leans and hearkens after it,

And grows erect, as that comes home.

A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning

John Donne

i don't know how to leave Mum and Dad. i don't know how to cope with knowing that i will never live under the same roof as them anymore. i don't know how to deal with the fact that should something happen, i will not be there. i will instead be at the mercy of aeroplane schedules. can i really make sure they're ok from that distance? is it normal to feel like you're breaking a promise you made to them at birth? the promise that you would be there for them when they're old and grey, that you would make sure that they're ok?

there's that story about the person with the patchwork heart. you know the one. about the person who gave pieces of his heart to people that he met. well it's always felt a little like that for me. now more so than ever. because the pieces of my heart will definitely be separated by the seas.

like i said, i'm rubbish at goodbyes.

image courtesy of mainemomma2007 on Flickr.

hyperventilate

2008-11-26T19:05:00.005+08:00

My To- Do List is 3 and a half pages long...

and I have 70 days...

and 6 kg to lose...

*gulp*

oh i wish i were a tai tai with chopsticks in my hair?

NB:- For the non- asian lingo people out there a "tai tai" is a stereotypical rich chinese lady of leisure :)

Image Courtesy of { Karen } on Flickr.

Truly...

2008-11-17T14:12:00.005+08:00

... if God made you, He's in Love with me as Five for Fighting says.

A wonderful woman of refreshing faith I know, reminds me constantly that The Will of God will never send you where the Grace of God cannot keep you.

And you truly are part of that Grace extended to me, for just in the nick of time

He brought you to me.

Image courtesy of Shelby Nycole on Flickr.

Starry Starry Night

2008-11-04T01:15:00.004+08:00

because his work paints beautiful images in my soul

because his life story plucks at the heartstrings and touches a chord

because of the understated beautiful melancholy of the music and words of this song

but Don McLean was right...

Perhaps we never will

Fur, thank you for reminding me how much I've always loved this piece.

Video courtesy of tdifatta on youtube.

on rain

2008-10-29T16:15:00.003+08:00

Life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass

It's about learning to dance in the rain...

Image Courtesy of xmonstermaggie on Flickr

dream dream dream, when i need you...

2008-10-26T02:06:00.004+08:00

I'd like to be married to you now.

Pleasethankyou.

Image Courtesy of Steena on Flicker.

rewind

2008-10-23T19:50:00.003+08:00

What I would give

to have Soba noodles with you today

Image Courtesy of Sakichin on Flickr.

what a differance a year makes

2008-10-23T19:11:00.007+08:00

a year ago today i embarked on a life changing journey.

a year ago today i met the man who would change my life.

and as i sat across from him at lunch that brisk, bright Tokyo afternoon with the programme stretching ahead of me sparkling with possibility, there was no way i could know that i would be sitting here now, merely weeks away from binding myself to him for life

but the experience was much much more than just him. in fact we had little to do with each other outside of official stuff then *smile*

this anniversary has snuck up on me in more ways than one. firstly, the year has flown by. secondly and perhaps more surprisingly is that it has left me feeling rather nostalgic.

the wide expanses of ocean as far as the eye could see, time spent on the decks immersed in amazing company...

perhaps at certain points it will always sneak up on me...

perhaps i hope it always will...

random fact number 96

2008-10-23T10:34:00.005+08:00

Treasury Tags remind me of exams.

Exams remind me of Hitman and how we would always wonder what we would hear if we could read minds, when the invigilator says "5 Minutes!"

We always figured it would be a collective "AAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"

*LoL*

Hitman if you're reading this, pat yourself on the back *grin*

Image Courtesy of viodyna on Flickr.

a dream is a wish your heart makes

2008-10-21T17:31:00.004+08:00

when you're fast asleep

because...

even when you've been granted the serenity to accept the things you cannot change

sometimes, when all is said and done

the heart still yearns...

Dreaming with a Broken Heart

John Mayer

When you're dreaming with a broken heart

The waking up is the hardest part

You roll outta bed and down on your knees

And for the moment you can hardly breathe

Wondering was she really here?

Is she standing in my room?

No she's not, 'cause she's gone, gone, gone, gone, gone....

When you're dreaming with a broken heart

The giving up is the hardest part

She takes you in with her crying eyes

Then all at once you have to say goodbye

Wondering could you stay my love?

Will you wake up by my side?

No she can't, 'cause she's gone, gone, gone, gone, gone....

Now do i have to fall asleep with roses in my hands

Do i have to fall asleep with roses in my hands?

Do i have to fall asleep with roses in my , roses in my hands?

Would you get them if i did?

No you won't, 'cause you're gone, gone, gone, gone, gone....

When you're dreaming with a broken heart

The waking up is the hardest part

Image Courtesy of Deepa.Praveen on Flickr.

of pyjamas and things

2008-10-21T16:46:00.004+08:00

I slipped into my pyjamas last night and curled into bed with my favourite pillow and a good book.

then the edges of my consciousness were awakened to a different time by the scent that wafted up from this old pair of PJ's.

they smelt of a different life and many many moons ago. the smelt of my apartment in Toronto, the bed I hardly slept in, the couch i spent far too many nights on, the kitchen and dining room I was proud of. they smelt of my first real taste of being a grown up.

a lot changed for me that year. i had a complete life earthquake. it was a year of many many firsts. in one flight, my whole world had turned on its head. i left my first grown up relationship (i came back to it and left it again many times that year which probably didn't help any), started my first job and started living alone in my own apartment in one fell swoop. i also decided to do it in a new city on a new continent.

*grin* I never was one for doing anything by halves.

it was the year i discovered a love for hiking and learnt to knit and sail. the year i fell in love with good photography. it was the year dance was rekindled in the form of Lindy hop. the year i realised who my friends really were. the year of devouring books by the harbour in the midst of a hot T.O. summer's day with a delicious ice- cream cone.

it was a growing year that i loved and abhorred in equal measure and i would never want to relive it that exact same way again.

it's perhaps the only year i harbour any regrets from. i was so caught up in trying to survive that i forgot to live. so intent on keeping afloat that i forgot i could swim. i spent too much time in bed, afraid of the world and not enough time living in it.

and though perhaps i could blame someone else for that, at the end of the day to use a ridiculously cliched phrase, no one is the captain of my own destiny but me. but you get through the darkness in your own time, in your own way.

No.

I wouldn't relive it the exact same way.

I would relive it and do it very very differently.

In the hopes of taking away more than I did the first time around.

Image courtesy of getthebubbles on Flickr.

on being "that girl"

2008-10-21T11:18:00.003+08:00

as far back as I can remember, I have always been "that girl".

you know the one. the one with the starry look in her eyes everytime she met someone new. the one that was convinced that every man she dated was the one she would marry.

I've never been one to date "for the experience" or to "play the field". it was always done with the intention of forever. the wedding, the kids, the rest of the whole sha- bang... i guess that was always on the periphery but not the heart of the matter.

a lovely boy i used to date found this all a little strange. he dated because he liked someone without the thought of the possible future. he didn't get it when i said that as much as i didn't need to know the future now, i just needed to know that that sliver of possibility was there. it scared him a little and made me question my normalcy a lot.

but i think that somewhere in our heart of hearts, most girls have a part of them that is "that girl". it's in our genes, in the Disney we watched, the fairytales we were read, the hope we cradle.

i tried not to be "that girl". it ended in quite a few amusing.. shall we call them blips? amusing for me now, but not then. and definitely not amusing for the blips i think.

and then i came to terms with it.

it's ok that I am "that girl".

because he is and has always been "that boy"

*smile*

Image Courtesy of jesusroxslm on Flickr.

to you who may never read this

2008-10-16T16:49:00.005+08:00

Dear Children- who- are- hopefully- in- our- future,

I have been toying with writing this for the longest time, but I was worried I would jinx it. Then I realised that jinxing it is not possible as it's all in God's hands.

I am about 15 weeks from marrying Baba (he has decided that is what you will call him, I'm not sure you have a choice in this matter. I on the other hand can't quite decide what you should call me yet. Apparently ibu will take you a while to say) and we're both quite excited.

I'm writing this because I'm not sure we will have you in our future as it's not for us to dictate, but I wanted you to know that in our decisions for our future, you already factor in.

In case I forget, I want you to remind me to tell you one day how Baba proposed, because it's a funny little story that I think you may appreciate.

If you're a girl, know that we decided on your name a sunny day in May when Baba and I were putt- putting around on a dinky motorbike in Koh Samui. I picked your name, whatever he says! He just agreed it was lovely.

If you're a boy, then the credit (or curses?) for your name go to him. He texted me one humid night in July when I was at a beach party and he was being the old man that he is at home. He had just read your name in a book called "Freakonomics" that forecasted popular names in the future. He was desperate that you have a "hip" name as unfortunately you are the product of two geeks.

I wanted you to know that you matter. Whether we ever have the privilege of meeting you. And that years before you even appeared, you were already loved.

Me x x

image courtesy of *Mama*Lola* on Flickr

To Ulanbataar with Love

2008-10-16T16:20:00.007+08:00

Absence makes the heart grow fonder they say. And it does because I miss him. More so than normal because He's not just a phone call or a text message away.

He's off in a far off land that is but a concept to me, doing what he does best.

I guess even with the distance, you get used to being in touch and I feel strangely robbed of him despite knowing that it's only for a while. Despite never really having him here in the first place.

Last weekend was wonderful in the most obscure of ways. We did nothing of consequence but everything that mattered and it heralded a future filled with nothing, but everything to me.

And to be without him in its wake leaves me feeling a little out of sorts.

For in a relationship like ours, without the contact, what are we? Little more than an invisible glittery string that stretches across the seas I think.

It reminds me that it's too easy to take his being "around" for granted. It reminds me of this, sappy though that may be.

i carry your heart with me

E.E. Cummings

i carry your heart with me
(i carry it in my heart)

i am never without it

(anywhere i go you go,my dear;

and whatever is done by only me is your doing,my darling)

i fear no fate

(for you are my fate,my sweet)

i want no world

(for beautiful you are my world,my true)

and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant

and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root

and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky

of a tree called life;

which grows higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart

(i carry it in my heart)

image courtesy of Lars F. Menzel on Flickr

for all the little things

2008-09-04T22:10:00.003+08:00

that He does *smile*

because...

unable to share this Ramadhan with me

He calls me each Sahur

and makes me happier than I ever imagined I could be

Image courtesy of blueberrymom on Flickr.

random fact number 632

2008-09-04T21:31:00.003+08:00

She loves jelly.

She thinks it is one of the best types of comfort food.

The colours make her smile.

The texture makes her giggle.

And it makes her tummy happy.

So there *grin*

Image courtesy of Keith Kerr on Flickr.

a better man

2008-08-20T19:26:00.005+08:00

so I was reading today about someone's unrequited love. you know the one. most of us have one of them, the one you feel got away either because things just didn't work out the way you planned or just because you never got around to saying anything.

i used to have one of them. i said goodbye to him a while ago. because i realised there was a difference between what i wanted to see and what was actually there.

but this post really isn't about him. it's about a far better man.

throughout the course of the past few days or so i've had moments when it just randomly enters my mind that I love this better man. and it's a strange, humbling, heart warming moment everytime it happens.

the man in my past chose to betray my trust. he then came back, seeking my forgiveness. i took him back. his reasons for his betrayal were manifold, i forgave him because i loved him still and i made the excuses i had to in order to justify my reaction. now looking back, i see that there is a reason an excuse is an excuse.

he blamed it on the distance. said he was feeling down and lonesome and needed the company. i'm not even sure he apologised. i think he just made excuses.

in the months after, he got angry that I wasn't over it, upset that I found it hard to trust him, didn't do much to ease my soul into trusting him again and the biggest kicker of them all, he eventually left because he could not cope with the guilt he felt having betrayed me in the first place.

*LOL* What a load of baloney! and i fell for it too. hook, line and sinker.

this better man though, he's different in the most wonderful of ways. he thought long and hard before we even got together if he could deal with me being a plane ride away. when he finally realised that me a plane ride away was better than no me at all, he made it very clear that he would find it ridiculously difficult. it was a very practical thing to say in a moment supposed to be rose tinted, but now i realise it is the essence of what makes him better.

he struggles with this distance, yet through it all i see that he's determined to persevere. he doesn't blame it for any of the problems that crop up, but rather he tries to find ways to make it work in spite of the distance. because he is a better man.

he never said it was do- able, he simply said he would try. he never said he was ok with it, never pretended it was a breeze, he simply acknowledged it was a problem and moved on. because he is a better man.

Resoundingly, I can say that there is no other. there is no "one who got away". there are no "what if's". not for me. not anymore.

it wasn't a moment in a field full of daisies, there was no bicycle built for two. it was not the summer solstice. But it was perfect in it's own awkward, quintessentially He way.

I have been blessed with a better man. and i could not ask for more.

Image courtesy of ccurtiz on Flickr.

the truth is...

2008-08-10T02:37:00.003+08:00

... that i am barely through without you.

... and i need the next 25 weekends to fly

... February please come soon.

Image courtesy of flavita.v on Flickr.

a view from the dumps

2008-08-10T02:20:00.002+08:00

She tries very hard to look at things on the bright side. To find the silver lining in everything. She is conscious of how much a positive mental attitude helps. She's generally quite good at this.

But the truth is she is prone to bouts of depression. As is much of her family. Perhaps more than the asthma or the eczema, it's the hereditary depression that bothers her.

She wasn't always quite so susceptible or at least no more so than the average Joe. But three summers ago she started to feel the tremors that would lead to a full blown life earthquake that lasted about a year. Two summers ago was when it was at its worst.

That summer, what most people don't know and didn't see, were the hours upon hours she spent in her bed. Unable to get up. Unable to eat. Unable to really do much. Watching hours and hours of Charmed and Poirot, Friends and Family Guy, just to get through the day. She managed to get out of bed about once a week to attend a Lindy class because that was the only thing she could deal with that involved being around people. She spent a small fortune on phone calls to friends in far flung corners of the world because they gave her the light she couldn't see for herself. She cried. Every single day. For hours.

But she got better with time. She is proud that she never resorted to the drugs to make it better. Thankful that she had angels in her life to help lift her up. Grateful that she found it within herself to make it through.

She went from crying everyday. To once a week. To once a month. And now it's once every so often.

But she hates that it happens even once every so often. That once in a while she visits the dumps without even meaning to or even knowing how she got there.

She needs to start with the crazy exercise routine again she thinks. She could do with losing the weight and the endorphins are always welcome.

Bring on the treadmill.

asylum

2008-08-01T10:25:00.004+08:00

On days like this I would like to climb into a box and stay there.

I am exhausted.

I should not have to defend or feel bad for crying. I am not made of steel. I have a heart and occasionally it hurts. and when it does it should be allowed to grieve. perhaps what I cry about doesn't make sense to you. but it doesn't have to. you're not walking the road i'm walking, you're not feeling the things i'm feeling, you're not me.

I am tired.

of being the apparently horrid ungrateful child. you have expectations of me that i struggle to meet. i feel inadequate when i can't meet them. when i say i don't know and leave the decision to you, it's not code for anything else. I genuinely don't know. i should not then be at the receiving end of your wrath for not knowing. it's not being recalcitant. it's not because i'm being difficult. it's because i feel out of my depth and would like you help. i know however that I get frustrated and that it shows and for that i am so very truly sorry.

but i am worn out.

i am pooped.

i am beat.

bushed.

done in.

and i would like to climb into a box and stay there.

Image courtesy of Centre for International Education on Flickr.

at last...

2008-07-21T15:51:00.003+08:00

... i begin to see, just how it happens that one love could last a lifetime.

because with you, when it gets all difficult and grumpifying,

the overriding thought isn't resentment

it isn't helplessness

it isn't anger

it's this...

it's that this too shall pass

it's a certainty that things will be ok

a conviction that you will stay

Truly...

grow old with me...

with you i honestly see

that the best is yet to be

image courtesy of cosairstw on Flickr.

a million little pieces

2008-07-11T02:42:00.002+08:00

she has had her fair share of heart struggles this girl. they have almost always had to do with boys.

but this heart struggle is different. it has nothing to do with boys, but it goes to the very centre of her being.

and she is scared this girl. scared in a way she only remembers being once before. because this is the very essence of her.

the research terrifies her more and more. she wonders if she has said goodbye to something without even knowing. without even appreciating it. she wonders if she was to blame in some way.

and she feels helpless. completely and utterly useless. she has no plan. she doesn't understand. all she can do it sit here and be scared.

so no, there are no pretty pictures to this post. because with what she saw today her heart broke.

and now all she sees are the million little pieces.

Random fact number 317

2008-07-10T10:32:00.005+08:00

She likes vanilla in her tea

She also hopes that she acts like summer and walks like rain

but that's another fact

and another post :)

Image courtesy of Simon Goldenberg on Flickr.

2 days a month

2008-07-09T23:22:00.004+08:00

...

she gets despondent and paranoid

she over thinks things

she frets and cries

...

this is her lot, being a woman, and it's ok

but she does wonder

as it's the same recurring issues these two days a month

are they issues that she buries the remaining 28 days

or phantom issues that she imagines into place

to keep the grey thoughts company

for those 2 days a month

What if...

2008-07-01T13:40:00.005+08:00

What if we stop having a ball?

What if the paint chips from the wall?

What if there's always cups in the sink?

What if I'm not what you think I am?

What if I fall further than you?

What if you dream of somebody new?

What if I never let you win, chase you with a rolling pin?

Well what if I do?

I am giving up on making passes

and I am giving up on half empty glassess

and I am giving up on greener grasses.

I am giving up.

What if our baby comes home after nine?

What it your eyes close before mine?

What if you lose yourself sometimes?

Then I'll be the one to find you Safe in my heart.

I am giving up on making passes

and I am giving up on half empty glassess

and I am giving up on greener grasses. I am giving up.
I am giving up.
I am giving up.

I am giving up on greener grasses. I am giving up for you.
I am giving up for you.
I am giving up

Giving Up
Ingrid Michaelson

the many facets

2008-07-01T13:18:00.006+08:00

Light hits a surface and reflects at different angles.

Perhaps this is a lot like Love.

For is there more Love...

... in letting your mask fall and knowing that you can ask for help from that one person when you're drowning?

or

... in realising that watching someone you love flounder is painful and scary and so choosing to keep your drowning to yourself?

Maybe there's not a lot between them.

Maybe it's just Love reflecting.

Photo courtesy of Karin Elizabeth on Flickr.

I CRAVE

2008-06-26T19:27:00.003+08:00

MERINGUE

crispy on the outside
gooey marshmallowy goodness on the inside

*slurp*

i WANT!

Photo courtesy of PMT Cupcakes on Flickr.

yet another little piece

2008-06-24T21:34:00.004+08:00

as i start to let go of this lifetime

piece by piece

i am reminded everyday

of the things i will leave behind

and i know i will yearn

for the beauty in these Brunei skies

Photo Courtesy of Jasmine Wong.

on being daddy's girl

2008-06-21T03:30:00.004+08:00

There is a story that people tell me. Apparently when I was born, Abah took me out into the garden, held me out to the sky and said that everything could be taken away from him but this.

It's a notion that appeals to the melodrama in me. Whether it's true or not, it doesn't really matter I suppose because it's a sentiment that Abah has echoed throughout my life.

We fight. We're similar in that we have strong opinions, stubborn and proud. But he's always hated seeing me cry and I remember many moments in my childhood when he would gather me in his arms after yelling at me and remind me that he only got upset because he loved me. And in those arms, I knew I was safe and I knew that his love was there to stay.

I remember when he went away to study and how I used to climb into the wardrobe where all his clothes were kept when I missed him. Just to pretend that he was around. The songs I made up for him that Mama would record and send over for him to listen to, because phone calls were just too expensive.

And how now, well into my 20's, he's still the first person I call when I'm scared and I need saving.

I came home a few days ago and found Abah asleep on the couch as he is most evenings. I realised that when i leave, I will miss seeing him asleep on the couch. I realised that soon Abah really cannot be the first man in my life.

I wonder how much longer I'm allowed to be Daddy's girl. And how I can even come close to letting him know just how much he means to me.

Photo courtesy of 62Lofu on Flickr.

the musketeers

2008-06-21T02:55:00.004+08:00

There were once five little girls.

Many had known each other since they were in single digits. They had been to each other's 9th birthday parties. Those were the days of games of "Police and thief" in the school court yard, losing your front teeth, fairy dresses.

These then gave way to first crushes, training bras, first boyfriends.

They formed a circle these little girls. They were really not so little anymore. They called themselves the musketeers. They cheated in physics tests, fantasised about Prince William and Will Smith, picked up the pieces of each other's broken hearts.

Then school ended and they had to go.

Between them, there were three continents and millions of miles. And slowly these little girls grew up.

Now, ten years on. We see five beautiful, charming, capable young women where the five little girls used to stand.

Some are married, some are engaged, one is even expecting a little one of her own.

But when they are together, perhaps they will always just be five little girls...

Image courtesy of cesphoto on Flickr.

because losers don't necessarily weep

2008-06-13T15:22:00.014+08:00

lost

Pronunciation: \ˈlȯst\
Function: adjective
Etymology: past participle of lose
Date: 15th century

1: not made use of, won, or claimed
2 a: no longer possessed b: no longer known
3: ruined or destroyed physically or morally
4: taken away or beyond reach or attainment
5 a: unable to find the way b: no longer visible c: lacking assurance or self-confidence

Perhaps for something to be lost to you, it also denotes a sense of wanting to find it.

It is for this reason that Lost One will no longer be called that in this blog. He will simply be known as Nomad if at all he ever appears here again. For that is no more than merely descriptive of what he is.

In his aftermath, she was angry, lost, hurt.

She very slowly became comfortable with the new circumstances. She still however wondered how he was occasionally and pondered if she would ever have him back in her life. In a different capacity, but back. She wondered how it would happen and how she would react to it if it ever did happen.

And now, with another lifetime looming in her horizon. She's realised that she's stopped looking.

He was lost one to her at some point. Because he was the one she lost. Because he was the one that she, at that point, felt had gotten away. Because she felt that he was lost in life, didn't know what he wanted from it.

But he's not lost to her anymore, because she has lost interest in finding him... *smile*

Image courtesy of jez_zimbo on Flickr.

the ties that bind

2008-06-11T11:53:00.005+08:00

I have often wondered what the big deal was with engagement rings. Sure I get that being engaged is a big thing. But is the ring a part of that?

Perhaps now I get it.

It's a tie that binds. It's a solid reminder of the promises that you have made. A physical manifestation of the future that awaits.

It says.. I'm serious about this, I'm serious about wanting you in my life.

It whispers... Grow Old with Me. The Best is Yet to Be...

Image courtesy of MHA Photography/ Michele on Flickr.

Dendang Perantau

2008-06-02T23:09:00.003+08:00

The title of this post is also the title of my mother's favourite Hari Raya song. It translates loosely to "Traveller's Song". With a sense of melancholy, the singer talks of things and people missed and gone, on this day of festivity.

For those unacquainted to Malay Muslim culture. Hari Raya Aidilfitri is the occasion by which Muslims celebrate the end of the fasting month. For a Malay child growing up in a Malay country this means new clothes, yummy food, lots of friends and family, fireworks, green packets filled with money and generally a lot of the best things in life. It's a time of celebration.

As a child with this perception of Raya, I always found it strange that Mama chose this sad song in such festive times.

Growing up, this knowledge gave me some small insight into the woman my mother was when she wasn't busy being mother, wife, daughter, employee and all the million other hats that she dons.

As an (dare I say it) adult. I perhaps now understand her song choice. This Raya, may prove to be my last in this incarnation of me. A prospect I look forward to with much joy, but, truth be told a little sadness. For in leaving this part of me I leave perhaps the last vestiges of childhood. But this is the subject matter of another post and for another time.

Faced with the prospect, that after this Raya, the lyrics of Dendang Perantau may once again apply to me, this time permanently, has made the song more poignant.

That this song will always remind me of her. The woman she is, that eludes me in so many ways as her child. The bitter sweetness of the possibility of future Raya's away from the ones who love you and formed you. That one day she will be gone and how this brings me to tears even now. That when that happens, I can think of no one else I want at my side other than He.

Image courtesy of djflowerz on Flickr.

grumps grumps

2008-05-30T11:10:00.003+08:00

I don't get people who don't use their BLINKING indicators!

Pun fully intended

Seriously, those knobs by the side of your steering wheel are not purely decorative

*exasperated sigh*

Photo courtesy of biopot on Flickr.

and I can hardly wait

2008-05-28T00:29:00.007+08:00

Cause it's you and me and all other people
with nothing to do
nothing to prove
and it's you and me and all other people
and I don't know why
I can't keep my eyes off of you

You and Me
Lifehouse

my dope

2008-05-25T02:49:00.005+08:00

The BFG once said to me that music is my dope. And he was right. It's my dope, my Aspirin and my Achilles heel. It's everything. Because music makes me feel.

In the lowest of my lows, Big Band music picks me up. Perhaps it reminds me of nights spent in a shabby Irish bar, jitterbugging the night away. When the cares were left at the doorway, stuffed deep into my snow boots. When despite the dark and the dreary, I managed to dream with my feet. It was only those nights dancing that year that I allowed myself to dream.

Randomly it was also that period of my life that I listened to music the least. For the simple reason that it was too painful. Too many songs on the radio were, and still are, about love and its loss. It was depressing and my obsession with lyrics made it hard not to personalise what I heard. So I stopped.

It was also around then too that I stopped singing. Or rather, trying to sing. I go through life with the most random collection of songs passing through my head. And very often it makes an appearance in my physical world. Much to the chagrin of others, I might add *smirk*. Crease worried when I didn't sing. I seem to recollect a conversation with her one summer to that effect. She said she was happy because I was singing in the shower again *smile*. It told her that I saw light at the end of the tunnel again.

The loneliest and happiest moments of my soul correlate directly to the absence and presence of music respectively. It lifts, it drags, it turns cartwheels with my heart. So perhaps music isn't just the food of love, but rather the sustenance of life.

Play on.

Image courtesy of Llina S. on Flickr.

for this is love

2008-05-24T01:45:00.004+08:00

"I love that you get cold when it's 71 degrees out. I love that it takes you an hour and a half to order a sandwich. I love that you get a little crinkle in your nose when you're looking at me like I'm nuts. I love that after I spend day with you, I can still smell your perfume on my clothes. And I love that you are the last person I want to talk to before I go to sleep at night. And it's not because I'm lonely, and it's not because it's New Year's Eve. I came here tonight because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible."- From When Harry Met Sally

Image Courtesy of |ash| on Flickr.

in the looking glass

2008-05-24T01:31:00.005+08:00

it now blares out at her undeniably that she has abandonment issues

Image courtesy of |ash| on Flickr.

Sans

2008-05-22T15:44:00.004+08:00

She kids herself by saying that the reason for this melancholy is the post holiday blues. But really she knows better.

The fact is this, He makes her smile. And being without him is like having an ice cream sundae without the cherry. You still enjoy the ice cream. You don’t need the cherry. It just tops it off nicely.

She has done this before, but somehow this time is just that little bit different and this difference is bemusing her no end.

Because the difference is that she knows they have a million tomorrows, but they don’t have today. It is the sweetest, most charming, realization that is making this, that much harder. The perfect oxymoron.

She was a little concerned a few weeks ago about how it would be spending day in day out with him. Their relationship was based on being apart. Prior to getting together they had in fact spent the equivalent of about half a day alone in each other’s company. She worried about the dynamics of it all. She wondered if being able to bounce off each other in company and being able to have the funniest, most heartfelt online chats would transcend.

She has since learnt since then that being with him was, from the very beginning, strangely natural and so very easy. She is obstinate, paranoid, and occasionally unreasonable. She is impatient, hot tempered and occasionally caustic. She is certainly far from perfect. It sparks, not because she thinks He’s perfect but rather because she likes that He isn’t. She likes his idiosyncrasies and that in these idiosyncrasies He is perfect, if only for her.

And this time it’s harder because of the promise He holds. Because this time the promise is tangible, but still just barely out of her reach. Because despite being more in control of the situation she can’t make tomorrow come any quicker. As Harry said "when you realise you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible".

So no, it’s not the post holiday blues. It’s just ice cream sans cherries.

Image courtesy of photomato on Flickr.

writer's block

2008-05-22T01:09:00.004+08:00

She is feeling...

a little melancholic

a lot out of sorts

perhaps it's a crazy version of the post holiday blues

as Dido puts it... I still have sand in my shoes....

Image courtesy of Terrible76 on Flickr.

on empty beach benches

2008-05-21T18:07:00.005+08:00

RINDU!

You owe me a sunset Mister

and some ice cream...

*smile*

Image courtesy of juga4ka on Flickr.

because because because because because

2008-05-15T16:29:00.007+08:00

because of the wonderful things He does

*smile*

because He never says "I Love You Too"

because with him the response is never an afterthought

He says something else

and that...

is my delicious little secret

*big smiles*

Image courtesy of AquaAmber on Flickr.

Mettle

2008-04-27T13:43:00.003+08:00

It's going to be a spectacular explosion.

And not of the pretty firework variety.

Nauseous. Anxious. Strangely mentally calm.

Bring it.

For it is in these moments that you realise the cloth you are cut from.

Image courtesy of Paolo Mossino on Flickr.

he needs to be...

2008-04-23T16:59:00.014+08:00

"he needs to be Big enough so you can both take cover under his coat when it rains.
Small enough for you to wrap your arms almost around.
Strong enough to restrain you from leaving too easily.
Gentle enough to know when to leave you alone.
and Man enough to know when to give you his hand."

the above is an exerpt from "The Datin Diaries" a now defunct blog I used to read. The Datin blogs no more which is a shame as her entries were thought provoking, heartfelt and well written. It's not often a blog with no gimmicks, of a random stranger, keeps me coming back for more. Some of her entries are reproduced in Notes from Venus.

The Datin's right. That's all he really needs to be.

Image courtesy of rebecca whitney on Flickr.

...

2008-04-23T07:27:00.002+08:00

* big giant heavy sigh*

that word

2008-04-22T12:01:00.007+08:00

She thinks that the word “Love” is bandied about too easily. One only has to watch an episode on American Idol to hear it umpteenth times. She’s no superstar so she does not know how they feel about their fans but seriously, LOVE?

It’s such a big, little, word isn’t it?

Not to say that she does not love easily. In some cases she does. Very easily and very quickly. Perhaps it comes from having family constantly separated by the big blue sea. When she sees them, she loves them, in the space of a heartbeat almost. Because she knows that if she doesn’t fall in love with them now, the next opportunity may be a squagillion light years away.

But then to say those words. To say “I Love You”, it’s a big thing to her. It’s not something to be thrown about. It’s not “luvya” or “love ya” or any other derivation. It’s those three words. In Malay “bulat bulat”. Literally meaning roundly, actually in context meaning unequivocally I suppose.

With some people she knows it instantly, and she tells them then and there. She’s not really one that waits for tomorrow, there’s no promise it’ll arrive. But with others she has taken her time, thought about if she meant it, before saying it, if ever.

Because it’s the lightest but the heaviest thing to say. It carries such resonance, so many unspoken vows.

It denotes a promise, a steadfastness of belief, an actual- honest to god- will defend with my last breath- feeling. It’s a pledge to stay, to try, to hang on for dear life, to see it through. An oath to be honest, to be true, to be vulnerable. To let go, to have faith, to aid that faith in every way you can.

So no, she does not bandy it around. She has meant it, each and every time she has said it. And she is proud of that.

Image courtesy of Hawee Ta3kees on Flickr.

in a steaming mug of tea

2008-04-21T15:12:00.004+08:00

Ali my love,

It’s been over two years now.

And I still think of you with every cup of tea I make. Because I remember you coming over to ours on Warwick Street and drinking jugs of the stuff. This was when you decided it was scandalous that I hadn’t been to Durham and we made plans to go that very week.

I remember the last time I saw you up and about. We watched the then new Harry Potter film. It was one of my last few nights in the Toon. I needed to rush off straight after to catch the RSC doing a Midsummer Night's Dream at the Theatre Royal. There was a sense of urgency which I should have recognised in your embrace that night. You were never one to make a big deal of things. I should’ve known.

At what point do I take your number off my phone, your name from my birthday calendar and your email address from my book?

I miss you…

Photo courtesy of Yoshiko314 on Flickr.

the things that matter

2008-04-21T09:36:00.005+08:00

She realises that she has become complacent. The danger of living in this country is that it is so easy to become apathetic towards the world at large.

In her university years she did many little things. She bought fair trade and the big issue, she gave to charity regularly, spent at least a week a year if not more helping out good causes, the list goes on. She was not an apathetic student. She is shamed to admit that now the only vestige of this left is that she doesn't eat shark's fin soup and doesn't buy ivory.

She is in a job she generally enjoys. It keeps the spirits up and the soul happy but she has realised that though the soul thrives, it doesn't grow.

She's wanted to do what she does now since she was eight. She's often wondered what comes next now that she's got here. She thinks she may have always known but not seen the answer to that question.

There may be a move in the not too distant future. Perhaps she should take that as an opportunity to find something less self serving. She's not altruistic, there's still that precious little girl in her dreams who she has to clothe, feed and read bedtime stories to.

But she does need to return to a life that reaches further than this. She needs to give back, she needs for this life to matter.

i'm looking for baggage...

2008-04-20T00:19:00.004+08:00

the course of your life can change with one simple action. similarly your outlook on life i suppose can change with a gesture, a person, a moment.

i don't know one person in their mid twenties without baggage. some travel lighter than others, but ultimately we all have baggage.

my heaviest items are anxiety and insecurity. i know where it started, but perhaps my natural temperament only exacerbated the situation. The BFG says I have this need to be everything to everyone, I deny his triumphant proclamation vehemently, but perhaps it's true that I protest too much.

for almost as long as I remember, I have tried to give more than what is expected. with this comes the natural desire to preempt a request before it's even formulated. it kept me one step ahead.

but i remember a relationship where i just couldn't preempt. looking back, it was so very unfair. he expected me to know what he wanted, even before he knew he wanted it. the lasting memory I have of this, is the many times when he would ask me to keep him company a little longer, only to then have to deal with the fall out when he decided that I had over stayed my welcome.

this to- ing and fro- ing left me ridiculously anxious and insecure. i constantly felt like i was treading on egg shells. and i think in many ways I have been ever since. i constantly get hyper- sensitive and pick up discomfort when there isn't any. because previously such vibes in the air normally preceded the man in question wanting to walk out on me.

and logically i know it's ridiculous to figure that everyone will expect me to preempt them. and it's silly to be anxious and insecure when I detect even the slightest change in someone's rhythms.

it must be infuriating to see it from the other end.

i need to somehow trust again that just because one can change one's mind in a heartbeat, doesn't mean that one will. and even if one does, i need to trust that I don't need to have foreseen it.

perhaps i am simply looking for baggage that matches mine...

Image courtesy of Jonnyfez on Flickr.

the sucky thing about being grown up

2008-04-18T19:52:00.008+08:00

is not having someone fuss over you when you're ill.

and having to drive yourself to the doctor

*wrinkles nose in distaste*

God bless my Mummy for still trying to.

Image courtesy of sesame ellis on Flickr.

feh

2008-04-17T11:06:00.004+08:00

Today I don't want to :-

tip toe around oversized ego's

speak to clients who think they own your ass because they pay you

be considerate

be thoughtful

smile because it keeps the social fabric intact

hold my tongue

keep up pretences

Today I want to crawl into a little box and be grumpy because that's how i feel

Picture courtesy of whisKAz on Flickr.

what makes her reel

2008-04-16T21:37:00.007+08:00

She realises that she doesn't deal with disappointment well. In fact that is perhaps an understatement. She in fact deals with it badly. It often reduces her to tears.

She also realises that this is really not a good thing.

It's strange when you think of it, because she has taken some fairly hard knocks and she bounces back from them. Sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly, but she always bounces back.

She realises however that the ones she tends to take the worst almost always involve her significant other. With her friends she thinks she is more forgiving and so she is disappointed less.

She wonders why this is so. She believes it is symptomatic of a deeper more fundamental fear. She just wishes she knew what it was....

She thinks it might be linked to a fear of abandonment because she takes partings very badly too.

She thinks she needs a shrink.

Photo courtesy of DaizyB on Flickr.

on letting go

2008-04-16T17:20:00.010+08:00

it's a sad fact of life that as you grow you have to let go of certain people and certain things.

the recent episode with adopted Bruneian is a prime example of why you really should do this. there if nothing else was a prime example of someone who just couldn't let go. couldn't see that it had nothing to do with him. in not letting go he lost things. perhaps he would have lost them anyway, but it would have been done better. less hurt. more dignity.

Rapunzel came to mind this morning. She was such a big part of my teenage years. i remember the one fight we had back then and how it ended with both of us in tears telling the other how hurt we were but how much we loved and missed the other. if only it were now so easy.

Rapunzel had a hard time adjusting to being home. I called regularly, checked up on her regularly. I remember this because I regularly felt hurt by the refusal to see me when she was so happy to see everyone else. I tried asking her what was wrong, if she wanted to talk about it, if she was upset with me. I received no response.

in January just gone it was the 2nd Muskateer wedding. Nut of all people *grin* and i thought we were on our way to making up. despite the distance to her i felt that night i thought it was a start. i have since sent her messages to get her to meet me to talk it out. again no response.

the truth is different to everyone, and i wonder what the truth of this whole matter is to her. perhaps it is simply that we grew apart. i couldn't give her what she needed and in her hurt at this, she hurt me.

i don't harbour resentment. i miss her. i wonder what she's up to. but i've also come to terms with the fact that perhaps i'll never understand. i can't understand without her and she doesn't want me to.

so i let go.

there is more grace in this than in kicking and screaming for an answer.

you just got to hope that for every thing you let go of something else comes along to take it's place.

Photo courtesy of Emerging Design & Photography on Flickr.

on change

2008-04-16T16:25:00.006+08:00

She was a little taken aback a few days ago having found out that Buddy was telling people that the reason for their demise was because she had "changed" after the programme.

She has never seen change as a bad thing, simply different. But perhaps her reaction came from the word being used pejoratively.

He helped her put things in context by saying that yes she probably had changed. For if she was the same person she was prior to the programme then she would still be with Buddy. Perhaps the only change was that post programme she realised that there were things she was putting up with that she didn't have to. But that was change enough.

And if Buddy needs to believe that was the reason for their demise, then so be it. We all need to somehow explain the bad things away. Is it the truth? Maybe it's the truth as it seems to him. She believes the truth is coloured by one's own perceptions.

Has she changed?

Probably

Is that a bad thing?

She doesn't think so. She likes the person that she is and where she is heading. And that person was partially moulded by that experience. We are the sum total of our experiences right?

He is a star for reminding her of that.

he...

2008-04-13T20:41:00.004+08:00

... has made an appearance in this blog before. however the name attributed to him then is no longer applicable.

She feels the differance in this, in that she does not feel the need to trumpet it from the rooftops. She wants to, because it makes her happy, however there is no need. There is such a marvel and a wonder to that statement that she is still very much getting used to. She is just comfortable in knowing she is with him and he with her. And that's enough.

So without promises, without saying too much, without declarations of endearment, without fanfare. He is now, simply that... He.

Photo courtesy of J- C- P on FLickr.

I was not born in a barn...

2008-04-11T23:59:00.005+08:00

... therefore I close doors.

Literally and otherwise.

Lost One once told me in not so many words, that there were some women who he previously dated, to whom the door was always left ajar. At that time he was trying to close the door to me, hence the enormity of what he had said did not strike me.

It was not till many make ups and break ups with him later that this sentence came back to haunt me in the form of his first love. I have opinions on what the reasons were for their demise from what little he said. However, that in the context of this post is neither here nor there. What matters is that he had never closed the door to her.

And it stung.

How does one really take the fact that in some part of the man you thought loved you, is this tiny spark of hope that someday things might work out between him and someone else?

To me anyway, a large part of being in a relationship is tcerebral. I believe you can emotionally cheat on your partner without lifting a finger physically. I don't believe that the absence of the act makes this any less wrong or any easier to swallow.

So I close doors. At the dregs of a relationship, I will flog that horse till it is good and dead. I do this so that when I leave that relationship, I know there is nothing more I could have done. So I know I will never go back.

Some enter again through a different door, in a different context, in another lifetime. But it will never be that same door and never those circumstances.

Sure, it's natural to stare at that door for a while. To, in some way, wish it would open back up. And that's ok, so long as you don't look at the closed door so long that you miss one that's open.

Open doors let in too much, and seldom anything good. We owe it to the ones we will love in the future to close those doors in our past.

Photo courtesy of Engineer J on Flickr.

because because

2008-04-11T12:23:00.002+08:00

Because the sea is our place...

Because randomly, I miss you most on Fridays...

Photo courtesy of Jerri Johnson on Flickr.

would you

2008-04-09T11:53:00.004+08:00

If we are the sum total of our experiences........

would you relive your darkest days thus far to be who and where you are today?

harbour

2008-04-07T15:39:00.010+08:00

"Sunday mornin’ rain is fallin’
Steal some covers, share some skin
Clouds are shrouding us in moments unforgettable
You twist to fit the mould that I am in"

Sunday Morning by Maroon 5.

There’s something about the image of two people asleep under the covers that makes this song my favourite from Maroon 5.

The bed is a strange sort of place. It moulds to suit the purpose for which you need it. No, not in that way and No I’m not the perennial bed- hopper *grin* In fact this post is actually nothing to do with anything carnal.

We’ve all I’m sure shared a sleeping space with various people, absolute strangers included, out of necessity. I know I have. The list ranges from random people I meet on diving trips to drunken acquaintances who’ve misplaced their keys. In such circumstances it really is something born out of necessity, to rest weary bones, recharge and nothing more.

But then you get the moments with the people that matter.

To share sleeping space is one thing, to share your bed is another.

For to share your bed is to share your most vulnerable moments, the vessel that allows you to dream, your harbour.

I remember moments spent growing up with Simian in her old double bed in Tampines when we would gossip till we fell asleep, Smeagol jumping into my bed with me when I was so floored by life I couldn’t get out of it. Breakfast in bed with Lost One talking about everything that mattered, yet nothing of importance. The many many nights when my bed seemed too big and the room too unfriendly for my broken heart when I would crawl up to Crease’s room, favourite pillow in tow, and all she would do was flip open the duvet, make room and let me sleep with her.

It is these moments when you realise how intimate sharing a bed with someone is. When you twist to fit the mould the other person is in, or they twist to fit in yours.

It’s saying, when your shelter fails you, let me engulf you in mine.

It’s saying, let’s run away. I’ll make sure you’re ok.

Photo courtesy of hdahlby on Flickr.

the language of the heart

2008-04-04T12:51:00.003+08:00

She is English spoken this girl. When she needs to express herself she does it in English. She speaks Malay of course but does not have anywhere near the eloquence as she does in English.

But when she loves, the word closest to her heart is Sayang. Because for all her English speaking, she grew up with love in her household, and the language of that love was Malay.

There’s a certain sense of poetry, of sincerity in this language that she loves. Perhaps because it’s not language she uses to communicate her daily needs, Malay holds a certain romanticism for her.

Why is it that “tercari cari bayanganmu” means so much more than “looking for your shadow” which is what it translates to? The Malay conveys a certain hopelessness and despair which the English doesn’t.

Her head may speak in English, but her soul whispers in Malay.

And she would be lost if she never heard tender Malay words in her household.

Photo courtesy of Adibi on Flickr.

the vulture speaks

2008-04-02T15:47:00.005+08:00

Seriously?!

You are a complete and utter moron. Shame on you for doing what you did, but then shame of me for being such a shocking judge of your character.

If I am honest I am appalled at some of your behaviour whilst we were on the programme. The most shocking parts of your behaviour I kept pretty much to myself. I did this because you were a friend and because I did not want your reputation to be tainted. I could have but I didn’t.

Since then you behaved like a child with the situation we found ourselves in. A situation I have to add became what it was because of your immaturity. Again I turned a blind eye, because I figured you should be allowed to deal with it in your own way.

You then chose to hurt someone who means a lot to me. You took her for granted and treated her with little respect. You made her feel worth very little. Then when you decided things were ok for you, you expected her to take you back into her life with no repercussions.

She is a better woman than I for she did.

Try though I might, to remember that this was not a slight to me, I did find it trying to pretend the way you did that nothing was wrong. This was the turning point. Despite what we had, I saw facets in your personality that did not sit well with someone I wanted to remain close to. I thought we could just then be acquaintances. I even extended you my hospitality, perhaps somehow hoping to rebuild those bridges.

Your behaviour when we met again was initially despicable. But yet I forgave you and chose to say nothing.

But now THIS…

You had every opportunity to clarify your “conspiracy theories” with either of us. You chose not to. You chose instead to continue with the slander. You called yourself friend. The cheek!

I do not have to explain anything to you, but know this. Your theories were ridiculously and utterly wrong. Whatever has happened between me, him and her is really none of your goddamned business.

And since you know NOTHING about what has happened what really gives you the right to judge?

When you know HALF the story should you really be making such despicable conclusions?

You are a child amongst adults. You throw tantrums when you don’t get what you want. You’re selfish, immature, cowardly, sly and just generally a nasty piece of work. More so, because you martyr yourself when you really are no martyr sir.

And when this anger subsides, I wash my hands of you.

We’re through.

Photo courtesy of James Sagi Kirshenfeld on Flickr.

Partir, c'est mourir un peu

2008-04-01T16:59:00.008+08:00

So once again I grapple with the distance thing. It seems that my relationships tend to fall into one of two categories. The religion thing or the distance thing. It pays to have a sense of humour about these things *grin*

I never said I had sworn off long- distance relationships. I just said I wasn’t a big fan. Having done them for a while, to some degree of success, I do believe however that I am more optimistic than most about their practicality and survival rates.

I know all the depressing statistics, trust me; I researched them like my life depended on it the first time around. I still wouldn’t advise them unless you both really want it to work.

But there is something to be said about them. The first relationship that meant anything to me was long distance. I was 16; he 17 and we thought we were going to get married. We didn’t. Through him however I learnt how much I valued being able to talk to the one and how much I enjoyed having a life apart from him.

Ten years on I find myself in another such relationship and I have to admit I do see things a little differently. Though I don’t feel like I’ve changed much, my perception is definitely a little different.

The challenges are still the same. It’s still the simple things that get me. I wonder when we can do things as simple as watching telly on the same sofa or see each other for a random unplanned coffee. I still miss him the most in that instant just after we say goodbye.

I know however I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t see the possibility of a future in his eyes. I would not do this for an indefinite period of time anymore. Where once I was happy to wait on the possibility of a possibility, I now need more concrete plans. It’s a mollifying thought that ten years older, I also have more control over those plans.

I still however keep every finger crossed. And I still know that with each goodbye a little part of me dies momentarily.

Photo courtesy of Rrinie on Flickr.

on loss

2008-03-31T22:02:00.003+08:00

grief

noun

Mental anguish or pain caused by loss or despair: heartache, heartbreak, sorrow

But yet can such a simple sentence really relay the true meaning and depth of this emotion. As I sat in the church today I couldn't help but wonder how deep the well of grief really is.

Have I grieved?

Yes, undoubtedly, but on the periphery of my consciousness I am also aware that I've merely scratched the surface of it all.

As I watched Artemis say goodbye to her father today, I couldn't help but to cry with her. How can one possibly look at another, whose heart is clearing breaking before your very eyes and not grieve? How could I possibly stare into the eyes of this woman, whose 8 year old face I remember, and not want to somehow make it all better?

And yet you know you can't, and perhaps a part of you grieves for that. For knowing that no matter how much this person matters, there really is nothing you can do.

And I wondered if it was my place to feel for her in her grief. After all I did not know the man, I simply had vague memories. Is it not a feeling so intensely private that my tears may be seem to be a mockery of the other, stronger memories of the people who clearly had the right?

Rightly or wrongly, I empathised, I held her and hoped she knew the millions of things I couldn't and didn't know how to say...

the parts i forgot

2008-03-29T01:19:00.006+08:00

in her elation she forgot, why it was she swore off relationships where he lived far far away oh so long ago.

tonight she remembered.

tonight she remembered the tears

Photo courtesy of *Vali on Flickr.

Free Falling

2008-03-27T02:41:00.004+08:00

Photo Courtesy of AraiGordai on FLickr.

It has been a while since these words meant anything.

This year's love had better last
Heaven knows it's high time
I've been waiting on my own too long
But when you hold me like you do
It feels so right
I start to forget
how my heart gets torn
when the hurt gets thrown
feeling like you can't go on

Turning circles when time again
cuts like a knife
if you love me got to know for sure
cos it takes something more this time
than sweet sweet lies
before i open up my arms and fall
losing all control
every dream inside my soul

and when you kiss me
on that midnight street
sweep me off my feet
singing ain't this life so sweet

From "This Year's Love" by David Gray

Think I'm free falling. For the first time in a long long time. And it makes me smile.

She is...

2008-03-26T18:04:00.000+08:00

twitterpated

to be twitterpated

2008-03-17T02:18:00.001+08:00

and you,
a windrose, a compass,
my direction, my description of the world.

-Ian Burgham

Most people who know her know of her silly preposterous chain of events that will ultimately lead to her wedding. These flights of fancy aside however she has been worrying lately that she has become rather jaded and desensitised in matters of the heart. She doesn't know if this is simply growing up or if she is just in some way... broken.

She used to fall helplessly, hopelessly, accidentally in love. It has been years since this last happened. She used to pray that she be made insensitive a la Jann Arden. Now that she might possibly be that, she misses what she was. Maybe it wasn't so bad after all. Those lowest lows that made the highest highs possible.

She now thinks through it more. She's more afraid to take that blind leap of faith into the abyss. And because of this, when things go pear shaped, she doesn't weep and feel the raw emotions she used to. She just accepts that it wasn't working or wasn't going to work and moves on.

She feels... just not so acutely.

She still loves the sappy love songs. But ultimately the ones that reverberate in her soul are the ones that make no promises of everafter. She sees more romanticism in the ones that don't. The ones that see their human failings and hope that their personal brand of love is enough, despite those failings. The ones that are simply more honest. Like this one....

"And who am I to tell you that I would never let you down
That no-one else could love you half as much as I do now
And who am I to tell you I'll always catch you when you fall
Well I, I wouldn't be myself at all
I wouldn't be myself at all, at all"

Who Am I by Will Young

At the end of the day, for her it's the words. It's always been the words. It's not the Alexandrite ring, the daisies or the white marquee. She has moved from Frost to Donne. Maybe it's not desensitisation. Maybe it's just that now, more than ever, the honesty matters. It's the words...

Photo from the collection of Jeanine Payer.

when we lose our humanity

2008-03-12T11:22:00.007+08:00

With images like these I wonder how anyone could justify eating Shark's Fin Soup?

Yes we are the top of the food chain. There is however no need for this senseless torture.

Time and time again we lose sight of our humanity.

And if we lose that, do we not lose the very essence of being human?

Images taken from womaninawetsuit.blogspot.com

to live by

2008-03-07T10:56:00.001+08:00

Abandon doubt Be adventurous Call Dance Eat cake Forgive easily Give joy Hope Initiate romance Just say yes Kiss discriminately Love passionately Make out more Not in public Open your heart Play Quench desire Reciprocate Save yourself Touch Upset convention Vary technique Wear very fine lingerie X- rate often Yearn Zip

going going gone

2008-03-07T10:17:00.003+08:00

I deserve better.

I'm going.

NOT wasting the pretty

*grin*

Photo courtesy of anna makaske on Flickr.

the curves

2008-03-06T16:40:00.003+08:00

I'm not stick thin. I was. But I was also 16 then. And no, I don't miss it.

I have curves and a wiggle in my walk. I think it complements the giggle in my talk.

And that's not bad at all *smile*

sizzlin'

2008-03-05T12:35:00.002+08:00

he makes me giggle.

i thought i would pay it forward

on being a good person

2008-03-05T11:36:00.011+08:00

At Jie jie's wedding i was reminded of an old Irish Blessing.

May the road rise up to meet you.
May the wind always be at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face,
and rains fall soft upon your fields.
And until we meet again,
May God hold you in the palm of His hand.

In that moment, in the serenity of the church, I realised that I wished all that for Lost One. I breathed a sigh of relief because it was all finally over.

But a few days ago I learnt that Lost One has had a spot of amazing luck and has been given the opportunity, for a little while, to live the nomadic existence that we both so coveted. And upon hearing this I was engulfed with a myriad of conflicting emotions. It was amazing news but yet I was finding it hard just to be happy for him. And it was an alien thing to me as I have never had that problem before.

Bad things happen to good people. It's horrid but we deal. But conversely good things happen to bad people, and for some reason that smacks harder and stings more than the opposite situation. There's a certain heightened sensation of injustice to it. You can't help but wonder where the Karma is in all that.

He was unrepentant and showed no remorse, perhaps it was an edifying thought that he was not where he wanted to be in life. That some part of him wasn't quite happy, wasn't quite satisfied. Perhaps though I forgave him and I wished him well, I didn't want to wish him too well. I didn't want anything bad to happen to him, I just didn't want anything too good to happen.

I suppose that makes me a bad person in some way.

Maybe I do give a whit.

And maybe that just makes me human.

on the pain of decisions

2008-03-03T00:54:00.004+08:00

It is not hard, it is only painful.
You know what to do already.
If you didn't, you wouldn't be in so much pain

Grey's Anatomy, Season 2 Episode 5

money it's so funny

2008-03-02T01:15:00.004+08:00

Argh!

Where in the world is Robert Kiyosaki?!

by some odd twist of fate

2008-03-02T01:04:00.003+08:00

she has realised that most, if not all, the difficult men in her life- past and present- drive VW Golf Gti's

Hmmmm....

Is that their demographic she wonders?

Image courtesy of Auto Exposure Canada on Flickr!

the meaning of silence

2008-03-02T00:24:00.006+08:00

Seller used to say to me that he never wore a watch because it nagged at him and reminded him that he was late. From this he deduced that all watches were female. This, amongst his many other idiosyncrasies, used to make me laugh.

Women nag. Apparently. Thing is we don't see it that way. To us it's discussing a problem. To us it's opening that discussion. Admittedly, not in the most conducive of ways, but really, generally when you've GOT to talk about something, it really bothers you so you're probably not going to be thinking how conducive your opening words are. It's unacceptable to pretend it never happened and hope it goes away. Women by nature are not Ostriches.

And men complain about this. However if we never nagged then nothing would ever get resolved. Men grumble about it like it's the worst thing in the world.

But it's not.

It's when she's silent that there is a problem. Because when a woman is silent it's because she just doesn't care anymore.

Contrary to what we were taught in primary school, the opposite of love is not hate. The opposite of love is indifference.

For as long as it matters to her to talk it out. For as long as she is trying to understand and to make you understand. For as long as she brings the matter up. That is how long YOU matter. For that period of time your thoughts, actions and feelings matter to her. They have a bearing on how she thinks and feels. They count.

But when she is silent, she has given up on you. When she is silent, it just doesn't matter anymore. When she is silent she has no more expectations of you.

When she is silent, YOU do not matter. She is indifferent.

So yes, the opposite of love is indifference.

Image courtesy of Urban2forest on Flickr!

a touch of whimsy

2008-02-29T11:15:00.001+08:00

on soulmates and spirituality

2008-02-16T03:49:00.004+08:00

This image speaks a thousand words. It's not the boy (for he is still in many ways a boy) in the picture. Though he is dear to me.

It's what he represents. The tie, the bandanna, the funky watch, so supremely modern. Juxtaposed with a gesture so ancient. A gesture that to me signifies piety and faith. It was a moment not too long ago, etched in my memory, of two men that mattered to me with their heads bowed in prayer. A powerful image that i revisit from time to time to try and remember the lesson.

I am Muslim.

It's something I identify with more now than I did as a child. And that strangely enough came about from living in a country where being Muslim wasn't part of the air that I breathed.

Am i a conventional Muslim?

Definitely not, and I am very much still learning.

Am I a good Muslim?

I could be better, but then I feel that that judgment is something for God and God alone to make.

Here's the thing, for some reason unbeknownst to me, I seem to have mostly been attracted to and subsequently dated non muslim men. 66.66 % in fact have been non muslim. And 3 of the 4 relationships that have made an impact on my life have been with non- muslims. Queenbee asked recently, what it was about them that made it so. I really don't know. Perhaps it was their confidence, perhaps it was their non- judgmentalness. Perhaps perhaps perhaps.

Maybe it's simpler. Maybe it was simply to show me what to look out for but also to impose a test of faith. A test of faith that i have to admit that I failed many many times.

With 1 of 4, I was too young to even understand the repercussions though I got a tiny smack on the wrists.

With 2 of 4, i convinced myself it was ok if he converted just to convert and not for the actual faith.

With 3 of 4 I failed spectacularly. I looked into the possibility of civil marriages. I had mostly convinced myself that to marry within the faith was overrated and not necessary as long as I kept my own. The family would get over it and I wouldn't be spending most of my married life with them anyway so it wouldn't really matter. I had to however draw the line when I realised he wanted children raised without any faith at all. This to me was unthinkable and I left (though it took a while *smile*)

Recently, faced with the possibility of this choice yet again. I had to revisit old, worn out paths in my thoughts. Walked that road again, eyes straining to see something new that would show me the right way. I questioned why I had to keep making this same decision. Then Psyche Doppelganger asked me if i had learnt the lesson expected of me from all the previous times. And I realised in that moment that perhaps I hadn't. Perhaps that was why.

The memory induced by that picture is precious as that moment brought with it a moment of clarity. Suddenly the reason stole over me. That it mattered to me that the man I grow old with is able to take that spiritual journey with me. To hold my hand when I'm scared and mess up. To lead me when I get lost. And even to lead when his path is that little bit murkier.

That only a man with faith would be able to understand that part of me and only a man of my faith would walk with me.

It just matters.

And I think I've finally learnt that lesson.

Let's just hope it's not an easily forgotten one

*fingers and toes crossed**eyes scrunched up in concentration*

Photo courtesy of Kama on Multiply.

on being the crazy cat lady

2008-02-16T03:18:00.004+08:00

maybe it's just me?

*sigh*

can it be parrots and chinchillas and my tortoise instead of cats though?

Picture courtesy of AraiGordai on Flickr.

the bruneian goldfish bowl

2008-02-14T17:31:00.006+08:00

a month on and people still talk.

amazing

i'm strangely flattered

but really, ask... don't assume

"Breakups are awful, and they are private. And they are not necessarily symptomatic of what two people had together."

Carrie Bradshaw

let down your hair!

2008-02-10T03:15:00.002+08:00

*giggle*

Let's just say that after today I won't be playing Rapunzel anytime soon!

the sweetest thing

2008-02-10T03:03:00.000+08:00

Image courtesy of Vijayal on Flickr

"Will you be my shoulder
When I'm grey and older
Promise me tomorrow starts with you"

High
James Blunt

The difference between full stops and commas.

2008-02-08T23:57:00.001+08:00

So it's Chinese New Year and as in years gone I have gone to Buddha's house. And as every year since the end of that era it's been a little awkward.

He was after all, the highschool sweetheart. The first man I honestly loved enough to want to grow old with. And though we parted on mutual terms. Perhaps there were parts of that goodbye that could have been done with more grace.

In the aftermath, I discovered things about him I would rather not have known. Things that made me doubt certain parts of that puppy love. But no matter. For years now I have considered him no more than an acquaintance. One that meant the world and more to me many moons ago, but nothing more than an acquaintance. For the simple reason that he did not know the woman me, as I did not know him as a man. And for the even simpler reason that I was not interested in knowing the man he was.

But today, with the lion dancers causing the biggest hoi polloi outside his house. I noticed he did not run out with the pure childlike ecstasy that used to engulf such encounters. And as I left I saw in his eyes the sadness of a little lost boy.

Why is it after all these years I can still see the sadness in his eyes? Why do I know still, instinctively, with one glance when something's amiss in his grown up world? And why does my heart still become that little bit heavier in these moments?

Perhaps, despite ourselves, whatever the circumstances, they never really stop mattering.

Perhaps in our heart of hearts all endings are really just commas.

Image courtesy of gudufish on Flickr.

Confessions

2008-01-30T00:59:00.000+08:00

And there it was, this picture. Of him. That face. That beautiful decent face.

And in that instant, I was reminded of the future I lost when I lost him.

Being with him, a Malay Muslim man, the first, the only, changed me in so many ways. With him I saw a path I'd never seen before and I realised how badly I wanted to go down that path holding his hand. How, finally, spiritually I understood how much I longed to have a companion on that road to faith. How, I must confess, that parts of me never really want to go down any other path from this point forth.

He was like slipping on an old pair of trousers that I always knew I had, but had forgotten how comfortable they were. With him I had allowed myself to fully indulge in that dream of the future.

I worry about him, about the fact that the company he keeps now is company he always despised before. I wonder why the sudden about face. I wonder which him was the act. And it hurts to know it's none of my business. Not anymore.

And I know it's not fair to miss him. To want him back. And logically I know it cannot work at this point in time and knowing him and how his psyche works I know it may never work again. Perhaps at the demise of it, it's easier to remember what I loved about us. What I adored about him. And what in many ways I still do. Perhaps at the demise of it all it's easier to see la vie en rose.

Whatever the reason, despite the justifications, I must confess...

i miss you

And I wonder how you are and I hate that people know more about you now than I do and I wonder if thoughts of me cross your mind and what those thoughts are.

i miss you

it's that simple. but it's really not. it's that easy but oh so complex

i miss you

i miss you

perhaps if i say it enough and click my heels together...

i miss you

i watch too many fairytales

and i miss you...

Image courtesy of ®°ôn|y Gôd Knôw§°® on Flickr.

it hurts that this may be the only way

2008-01-22T01:55:00.000+08:00

Buddy,

In the aftermath...

May God hold you in the palm of His hand

as was sung that one stormy night when Jazz echoed in the halls of a careworn hotel...

I wish you nothing but love

Maroon 5 Lyrics
Nothing Lasts Forever Lyrics

that island

2008-01-17T18:09:00.000+08:00

and suddenly I realise that I do so miss it

more than i care to say

The Picture

2008-01-16T15:54:00.000+08:00

If a picture paints a thousand words, I can't help but wonder what this one would whisper...

I'm sorry...

I think I may love you....

Perhaps....

In another lifetime....

What if....

If only...

Goodbye...

...

This
...
I will never really know.

This
...
will probably always be the big question.

This bittersweet longing.

This is how a heart breaks.

Sometimes love just ain't enough

2008-01-11T01:43:00.000+08:00

Sometimes Love Just Ain't Enough
Patty Smyth

Now, I don't want to lose you, but I don't want to use you
just to have somebody by my side.
And I don't want to hate you,
I don't want to take you, but I don't
want to be the one to cry.
And that don't really matter to anyone anymore.
But like a fool I keep losing my place
and I keep seeing you walk through that door.

But there's a danger in loving somebody too much,
and it's sad when you know it's your heart you can't trust.
There's a reason why people don't stay where they are.
Baby, sometimes, love just aint enough.

Now, I could never change you, I don't want to blame you.
Baby, you don't have to take the fall.
Yes, I may have hurt you, but I did not desert you.
Maybe I just want to have it all.

It makes a sound like thunder, it makes me feel like rain.
And like a fool who will never see the truth,
I keep thinking something's gonna change.

And there's no way home, when it's late at
night and you're all alone.
Are there things that you wanted to say?
And do you feel me beside you in your bed,
there beside you, where I used to lay?

And there's a danger in loving somebody too much,
and it's sad when you know it's your heart they can't touch.
There's a reason why people don't stay who they are.
Baby, sometimes, love just ain't enough.
Baby, sometimes, love... it just ain't enough.

Time and time again this is brought home.

But really, shouldn't it? Shouldn't it be enough?

She aches.

2008-01-09T10:43:00.000+08:00

She does not survive limbo well this woman. In fact the last time she had to she almost self destructed. She only survived it that time because she was propped up by many shining stars.

She realised things were not great. She voluntarily put herself in limbo because she saw no other way. She was proud of herself this time. She had taken that step back, and here she was in limbo again, but with the ability to function, to laugh, to smile. She thought perhaps this part of growing up wasn't so bad, she's learning to deal with grace. She was keeping her head while her heart was in flux. She was alright.

Then today arrives and she realises that all this time she has been ok because she has been dealing with the logical part of limbo. The part that makes sense. The practicality of it all. And that now her heart needs to catch up. Herein lies the difficulty.

She wishes it were different, that she believed he would be able to get past this. She still hopes, she after all sees the glass half full. She sees him, flaws and all. She loves parts of him. She is not so sure about the other bits as she worries that they may not survive these bits together. She is in some ways scared of him. She is sad that they may decide to part. She wants to clap, but it takes two hands. And his hand is too bitter and too insecure to meet hers.

She aches.

Image courtesy of CrazyFast on Flickr.

Is it just me...

2007-12-26T04:51:00.000+08:00

Compare

Is it just me or does the Predator look like a souped up Rastafarian?
*quizzical look*

No offence intended

Images courtesy of Fotosearch and Wikipedia.

Wearing Sunscreen

on the race

on who I am

on perspective

argh sniffle sob argh

a return to tea without milk

all bottled up

Apologise

Inspired

back and melancholy

all my bags are (not quite) packed

*hyperventilate*

Truly...

Starry Starry Night

on rain

dream dream dream, when i need you...

rewind

what a differance a year makes

random fact number 96

a dream is a wish your heart makes

of pyjamas and things

on being "that girl"

to you who may never read this

To Ulanbataar with Love

for all the little things

random fact number 632

a better man

the truth is...

a view from the dumps

asylum

at last...

a million little pieces

Random fact number 317

2 days a month

What if...

the many facets

I CRAVE

yet another little piece

on being daddy's girl

the musketeers

because losers don't necessarily weep

the ties that bind

Dendang Perantau

grumps grumps

and I can hardly wait

my dope

for this is love

in the looking glass

Sans

writer's block

on empty beach benches

because because because because because

Mettle

he needs to be...

...

that word

in a steaming mug of tea

the things that matter

i'm looking for baggage...

the sucky thing about being grown up

feh

what makes her reel

on letting go

on change

he...

I was not born in a barn...

because because

would you

harbour

the language of the heart

the vulture speaks

Partir, c'est mourir un peu

on loss

the parts i forgot

Free Falling

She is...

to be twitterpated

when we lose our humanity

to live by

going going gone

hyperventilate