that fat old man in red

this year my daughter realises that santa is really her mummy. she hasn't made any comment about her newly gained knowledge, or showed any signs whether it will scar her indefinitely and turn her into an unbalanced weird lady who is borderline psychotic. she seems to have accepted the fact well, as long as mummy santa keeps on delivering. a wise little girl i have on my hand.

still, it's a little sad for me, and i should think for her as well, that the santa fantasy has popped. there is something very magical about the fat red old man bringing presents for children. i mean, presents from anybody will do just fine from a kid's viewpoint, but nobody beats santa. it brings out the christmas spirit in you, that little spring in your walk, that little christmas hum, that spirit of giving and sharing and that 'ho ho ho'. christmas will definitely be a lot quiter, a lot less cheer without santa.

i had a secret santa when i was a kid too. well, just for one christmas, and i knew straightaway that it was my uncles, but it still felt special and wonderful. and it was this feeling that i wanted to recreate for my kids when i took on the role of santa since they were little wee ones. it wasn't an easy task, worse every year that they are growing older and wiser, since i have to sneak around to get presents, wake up in the middle of the night to wrap them and place them where they will be found, and not forgetting acting very surprised the very next morning together with the kids. they can only be gullible for so long.

the younger one is still lost in his world of dreams. he hasn't caught on to the fact....... i think. unless he has caught on and he has a better poker face than his sister. he's still wishing for psp's and has even got the entire toys 'r' us catalog circled. santa won't bring presents for greedy children, i told him. but i think he's still keeping his fingers crossed. i like the naiveness in him, the innocence, the pureness and i wish i can keep him like that for as long as his childhood lasts.

what i can't understand is why some adults have to be so cruel. during an art lesson last week, we were so engrossed in our paintings and the cheery christmas song in the air, when the teacher said out loud, 'you know that santa doesn't exist and is just your mummy and daddy'. if i wasn't so much in the christmassy mood, i would have very much like to clobber her. to stomp on her a little and say 'ho ho ho'. what did she get for breaking other children's dream? i think she is mr. scrooge reincarnated, revelling in bursting the bubble of little ones and the happiness and laughters that go with it. she had nothing to gain, absolutely nothing. what possible ulterior motives could she have? to do something bad when you have absolutely no benefit is of such low moral character. luckily only my daughter was around, my son wandering a little off hearing distance. i sushed her into silence. and to think, she was this sweet soft-spoken artistic lady, or at least to all outward appearance.

i'll be a little sad when my son doesn't believe in santa anymore, for when santa disappears from his fantasy world, a little part of me will have to disappear as well. that little playful fun-loving happy part. the part that watches her children's faces light up with joy as they open their presents from santa. sometimes it was inconvenient, the secret santa's job, sometimes it was troublesome. but it was worth every minute of it.

born like that

...is irritated by how compulsive my personality is. i can't rest easy until i have finished playing that pc game, until all the challenges of each level are met and the screen comes up with 'return to main menu'. it's like i need a perfect finish to each and every task and wrap up the entire thing in a beautifully wrapped package, complete with a ribbon on top. for each and every game that i come across. used to be when tetris was in fashion, i'll play tetris all night and day, until i see coloured blocks falling when i close my eyes for the night. it is weary. yet the compulsiveness is at the very core of me.

i recently did something about my passion for creativity; i joined an art class. but i can't rest easy unless i'm painting every second of the day. long periods of time go by in a flash when i'm painting. i walked in the door at 12pm and the next time i checked the watch, it was 5pm. where did the 5 hours go? i suspected that the venue of the art studio is wrapped in a time-warped zone where time is stolen without one's conscious awareness, where they take your time and give it to others who need it more (like when someone shoot a bullet at you, and you see the bullet whizzing towards you and the 1 second is like 1 minute, frame by frame ala the matrix), but then again that is just my theory. after the 5 hours, i go home and my hands are still itchy. it feels incomplete without a paintbrush in hand. i'm imagining strokes, blending the colours in my mind.

the only thing i can think of, to remedy this diseased mindframe, is to do as much of it as fast as i can so that i can get a burnout and at the very least, slow down. an overdose of sorts. at the moment, the overdosage is not working, i'm lapping all the time i spend on it with much satisfaction. such is the behaviour of one's compulsive disorder. whatever i get my hands on, i need to do it all the time. like the book i pick up, i'll read it to all hours of the night until i reach the very last page, until i know the ending. should i be attending some psychotheraphy lessons? to teach me that it is alright to stop, to wait for another day. virgoans are supposed to be perfectionist, or have an insatiable drive for achieving perfection. it is so tiring, i feel sapped even i as speak, as i recall all the ways in which i am compulsive. a few more days later, or a few more days earlier and i'll be without this obsessive streak. would life be much easier then?

self-worth

there is nothing more humbling, nothing that can bring you down to earth more than the innocence of a child.

he has spent the better part of his life building his empire, dedicating his time, his waking hours, his life to his work to be where he is today. he walked into the room, and a child innocently asked, 'are you the chef?'. in the majestic beauty of his cold hard majestic residence, he was not the master, the king, the supreme but instead, to outward appearance, a paid employee of the residence. yet the little child did not mean any malice, nor did he say it with sarcasm or insult. it was just a naive guileless question. to which brings the question to mind, is it all worth it?

fear

just when you think you are jaded, just when you think you know the world and it has nothing new to offer you, life surprises you in many ways. i'm trying new things nowadays. it's putting butterflies in my stomach. or is that just my gastric juice acting up again?

finally went on the trapeze, after hours and days of nagging from the little ones. for some strange reason, they want to see their mother, the person who went through much pain and hardship to give birth to them, go through the fright of her life and possibly suffer a heart attack in the process. kids are such little devils.

many will not understand what the big deal is about, but those closest to me know. my family understands, especially since they have been there with me everytime i freeze with fear in high places. i would sooner crawl on the dusty floor of hillside ledges rather than trust my own shaky feet. when people stood at the cliffside of the grand canyon in las vegas, enjoying the beautiful sceneries of the breathtaking gorge, i waited safely in the comfort of the bus, not missing a little bit of the acrophobia that i know will suffocate me.

my fear of heights is quite a strange thing. one day i was leaning over the balcony of the 23rd floor and dropping water balloons without any apprehension about the height and another day, i realised i was terrified of heights. perhaps it's the acknowledgement of mortality in all of us.

anyway, i am at a loss for words to describe the trapeze experience. i was mentally geared up, having been bomblasted for days on end by the kids but that didn't stop me from screaming just as i was approaching the trapeze site, just to let out all the tension and pent-up fear. the people in charge gave me a weird look. what? you never have a crazy petrified woman going on the trapeze before? the whole thing was surreal. it felt like i was emotionally removed from the physical experience, automatically performing what i was suppose to, hanging upside down from the swinging bar. my mind was a blur. i was rambling like some pathetic idiot. when my legs were back on safe ground, i realised my limbs were shivering uncontrollably. i don't know any other idiot who is so petrified of heights who will do such a dumb thing. after that experience, i think i am less afraid of heights. to face your fears, they say. but i am in no hurry to test my new found confidence. not for a very long time.

for now, i am all geared to try more new things. next on my list is roller blading along the east coast in that little island down south. first i have to get over my fear of falling down on my bum and spread eagled on the pavement like an idiot. then again, i'm already used to the feeling of being an idiot. one down, another to go.

driving to freedom

taking our first road trip in malaysia was an eye-opener. not the first that we have travelled to other cities and towns in this country but the first that we have driven there ourselves. over the past two years, we have made numerous trip down south, whizzing past oil palms and rubber trees, rest stops and open blue skies and most of the time we were catching up on our z's whilst someone was behind the wheels. last weekend, i finally took the steering wheel into my own hands and made our way to the east coast.

the feeling was exhilirating, taking over control of your life rather than passively sitting around until the destination is in sight. this time, the whole journey was an adventure, from start to finish. music blasting away, kids dozing off in the back, a polite robotic-sounded lady reminding us constantly that a police speed trap was ahead, screaming our heads off in unison to the music, the picture painted was at once warm and beautiful. this is what family memories should be about. i was reminded of the times that i took long journeys during my university years, during the times when i was dumb and fearless. i wonder at the audacity of the youth, when you do things because you wanted to, when you don't have to ponder, calculate, plan and strategise, when execution was too long a word and you have gone before you finished saying the word. things were simple. life was simple. you wanted to go someplace, you rent a car, you pack some clothes and you were there. the freedom. that was what i was reminded of on this trip.

when the highways opened into clear blue skies, filled with palm trees and fields on both sides, my heart opened with it. not knowing what lies beyond the next corner, flying past at 130km/h, sceneries so beautiful but i couldn't take my eyes off the cars in front of me, not even for one second. it doesn't matter. i couldn't see with my eyes, but i saw with my heart. perhaps the sceneries were the same as those journeys down south, but the feeling was different. so dramatically different. i was taking control of life in my own hands. i don't seem to have much opportunities for that nowadays. this time the holiday didn't only start when we reach the destination, it started when i laid my hands on the wheel.

lost in communication

what does the passing of time gives you? besides wrinkles and slower metabolism, confidence. or is it simply that you don't really give a damn anymore? i find my tongue looser with age, that i have a higher tendency to say what is at the top of my mind, without care of consequences or deliberation, without bothering how it will be interpreted. i have been misunderstood more than once, more than twice, so many times that i have lost count. but i seem to be less perturbed by it. and i marvel at why that is so.

perhaps it is the art of communication that i am lacking. maybe it's in literal presentation that something is misinterpreted. the only place i seem to be able to express myself is here, in my blog. elsewhere, out of this imaginative world, i am at a lost - to explain myself, to express myself, to portray what i am. it is too much effort. i am too lazy. or is it because i simply do not see why i need to try so hard. just to be myself. if others can't see who i am, am i at the losing end, or are they?

on reflection, i have people mistaking my loose tongue for ulterior motives in friendship, my seemingly sudden enthusiasm for closeness as a scheming maneuver for their privileged lifestyle. i should have been hurt perhaps, especially when a friend of many years whom i have lost contact with also shares the same opinion, but the absurdity of such suggestion only makes me chuckle inwards. if only they knew. and so i let it be.

sometimes, i ask myself. perhaps it's me? sigh. in this world where walls are high and compassions are low, people read into situations with a lot more caution. self protection. who can blame? that is the way this world has evolved. perhaps i am also guilty of as much defence. who bothers to answer one question with a hundred words anymore? who will look up lost friends with such enthusiasm? unless one has ulterior motives. when the phone rings, i pick it up and wait for the caller to go through the usual niceties of 'good morning', 'how have you been?', 'how are the children?', 'how are your parents?', 'have you been on holiday recently?' and a whole multitude of polite mannerism before they embark on their purpose for calling. i am weary. so i understand. yet i do not attempt in any way to change; who i am, how i communicate or how others see me.

age has made me less concerned about the opinions of others. time has taught me that friendship is not the meeting of two people. it is a collision of fate. fate that we will meet. fate that we will become friends, against all odds. fate that we have remained friends. i have lost too many friends that i value through the cruelties that we call life. i do not seem to have the strength to foster new ties. let fate play its card.

worn out

i spread myself too thin, i know that. like a piece of toasted bread with a very thin veil of butter, hardly any taste of the soft velvety richness that melts in the mouth. that is the problem when you spread yourself too thin. but we live our life the only way we know how, the only way that works for us. i have been too fortunate in my life, this is the only way i know to give back; to give love to others and to be there for others.

i get tired too. physically worn out. sometimes i try too hard. i refresh by remembering the beautiful things that bring joy to my heart, the kaleidoscope of memories that is in my head. like the drive in the night i wrote about a few weeks ago. like that beautiful glimpse of starbucks that day when i walked past, window all misty, inside all red, warm and chrismassy. like the hugs i get from people who care. like the basking in the sun that is very imminent. all these are things that make me tick. that make me whole again.

parenting 101

sunday was about de-cluttering. there wasn't much to do. no groceries to buy, no errands to run, so i decided to start clearing up the children's school books. another year, another end to the school term. time to sort out the old ones, recycle the disused books, tear out the unused papers for scrap and clean out the cupboards.

so many hours later, after much back-breaking labour, i have finally cleared little princess' shelves and was halfway through little batman's. their cupboards were once again empty to receive the new books for the next school year.

little princess has been helping me throughout the morning. only towards the end, just when we were going to break for lunch, she asked, 'mum, did you throw away all my books?'. i wonder what we were doing for the last 3 hours. did an alien possessed my daughter and just now released her body and brain? 'i still have one more week of class?'. gasp! errrr..... in my enthusiasm to get rid of the clutter, i have forgotten that they may still need the books. after all, exams are already finished and they have started teaching next year's scope. why do they need the old books? still, daughter wasn't easily appeased. 'i still need some of those books'. she couldn't tell me that when we were just starting.

if teacher asks you why you didn't bring your book, just go, 'oh, oh, i have a stomach ache. i need to go to the nurse'. and then come back to class only when it is over. and if the next teacher also asks you the same thing, go 'oh, oh, i have a stomach ache' again.

sigh. some parents. the nonsense that they are teaching their kids.

saturday

saturday was about family and friendship.

little batman's concert was in the morning. the schedule was for parents to arrive at 9.30 am. i think we arrived slightly earlier than that, to be greeted by a mammoth crowd of parents already gathering outside the hall, waiting for the doors to open and be admitted within. by the time we could make our way in, most of the seats were taken. we were left with not-so-favourable ones and i ended up holding the tripod stand on the chair, between my legs, like an enormous joss-stick reaching up into the sky throughout the show. ok, that was because i was dumb enough to bring a tripod that was not long enough, but then if i had good seats, like the very first row, i didn't have to do that to avoid the sea of heads. should have just ta-paued my bee hoon soup and squat infront of the hall first thing in the morning after we dropped little batman off. that kiasu i am not. so i contend with holding the giant joss-stick for the entire show. i tried to make little princess scurry between the legs of the parents and rush into the hall when the doors open, like the little rabbit that she is, or perhaps squirm on the floor like a snake but she refused. sigh. kids nowadays, you just can't make them do dumb stuffs anymore.

afternoon was about friends. old friendship. a friend of 27 years was holding a first birthday party for his daughter. we had to walk all the way to the venue. how cruel. no transportation. we couldn't find anybody who could give us a ride. it was also raining quite heavily. so, we walked in the rain, all in the name of friendship, the 100 steps to the venue. to say that it was very near my house is an understatement. there is some satisfaction from going to a party that is so close in proximity, i don't know why. the very idea of just walking down there, eat, smack your bums and walk back up to the comfort of your own home is extremely appealing. more people should hold parties and get-togethers next to my place. :-p

the creme of the cake was perhaps in the evening. driving back from dinner, it was slightly misty and the night was cool. all around was pitch black, except for the red, yellow and white lights from the hustle and bustle of city life. the rain made the lights flared and diffused, almost magical, shining through the windshield. it was like i was lost in time, in another country, in another moment, where nothing mattered, where everything is beautiful, where contentment is perpetual. i drove as slowly as i could. i carry the picture of that beautiful night with me, for as long as i can.

on my way to eccentricity

in my old(er) age, i find myself getting more eccentric. more whimsical. i find it harder to hold my tongue. or is it that i don't want to anymore.

i slid into the booth chair and the seat coverings are torn, patchy and run down. the waitress approaches to take our orders. the first thing i tell her is that the seats are run down and to tell the owner to change it. i have no doubt that what i said to her went in one ear and out the other. nevertheless, i wanted to say it. i had to say it.

he handed me a box of very wet, very black noodles, all soggy and unappetising. this is penang fried kway teow, i asked him. yes, penang fried kway teow is the wet one. the kway teow goreng is the dry one. many people have that mixed up, he replied. no way!! you can't have visited penang! the famous penang char kway teow, by the two sisters, next to the big tree, is the yummiest lightest DRY kway teow ever fried. it's so well-known. 'i'm from butterworth', he claimed. 'the fried kway teow there is wet'. what is this? a racial difference thing? theirs are wet whilst ours are dry? anyway, if you use the phrase penang char kway teow anywhere, everybody knows it's the dry type. 'do you want to change it, miss?', that man finally offered. no, it's ok, i rejected his offer, and continued to argue with him over the authenticity of his 'penang char kway teow'. after another few minutes, he offered again, 'miss, nevermind i'll change it for you, you wait for a few minutes'. he must be very frustrated. and very thirsty. he was desperate for an end. no, it's alright, and again i launched into the difference between the food. even when i don't intend to change the course of actions or the results, i enter into a verbal debate. for what? what possible purpose can it fulfil except as an outlet for my verbal diarrhoea. sometimes it is the principle of the matter.

i'm old, i'm eccentric. perhaps this is the arrogance of the old.

whimsical monday

if i live in a house, as opposed to an apartment, and

if i live in a country with four seasons....

i will plant a lemon tree.

a yellow lemon tree in the corner of my garden.

and all that i can see is just a yellow lemon tree.

a big tree, full of yellow lemons. lemons in my salad, lemons in my house, lemons in my drink, lemons everywhere. i'll be sick of lemons very soon. but not now. now i like lemons. yet i forget about them as soon as i buy them and leave them to dry out in my fridge. i'm sorry, lemon no. 1. i'm sorry, lemon no. 2. i'm sorry, lemon no. 3. and their many many siblings.

in need of medicine

friends. why do we seek out the company of some and shun others? for all sorts of reason; social standings, common interest, familiarity, even physical proximity to home. for me, the reason is simple. i am drawn to those who make me laugh. not that i will shun others who don't, but i find myself drawn to companionship that makes me exercise the gut muscle. laughters, who doesn't like to laugh. getting older, i find that i hear my own laughters less often. that once familiar sound which flitters nearby when i'm nervous, excited and most certainly when i'm happy, is like a distant relative now. it seldom comes for a visit.

is it more difficult to make me laugh now? no, at least i don't think so. i'm willing, even desperate to laugh myself silly over the smallest of thing but it seems opportunities are rare and far in between. quick, tell me a joke, i promise i'll laugh. i'll even tickle myself if it would help, but unfortunately i'm not ticklish. perhaps, that tells a lot about my frame of mind. joke books are read with an occasional snicker or more usually, a bored and impervious countenance. i even tell jokes with a straight face nowadays! i'm really scrapping the bottom of the barrel.

why is it so difficult to seek for laughters? of all my friends, i only know one or two who makes me laugh. and most definitely, not female. aren't women funny? is that why most stand-up comedians, and clowns for that matter, are men? maybe men are natural born jokers. ha. did you see that? even literally, my laughter has been reduced to a single 'ha' instead of the usual 'ha-ha'. life is pathetic. i need a dose of laughter medicine.