on being daddy's girl

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

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

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

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

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.