Apologise

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

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...

all my bags are (not quite) packed

... 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*

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...

... 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

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.

dream dream dream, when i need you...

I'd like to be married to you now.

Pleasethankyou.

Image Courtesy of Steena on Flicker.

what a differance a year makes

To Ulanbataar with Love

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

Random fact number 317

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.

What if...

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

Dendang Perantau

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.

and I can hardly wait

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

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.

writer's block

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.

harbour

"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

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.

Free Falling

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.

to be twitterpated

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.

the sweetest thing

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