not quite the same anymore

coffee bean on a sunday morning is enough to drive one insane. headed there today morning for an hour of escape from the maniac hustle and bustle of city life, only to find myself being drowned by the craziness that has invaded my private enclave. who sneaked in unheralded and thrashed the very essence of the place that was my hideout from the cold insane world? gone was the warm ambience, the soft piped in music, the quiet retreat to reflect, to read, to release a little of the pent up tension. in its place were groups of people with very loud boisterous voices, intent on overwhelming the music of natalie imbruglia that was already shoved as deep into my ear canals as it could go. the scraping of the new heavy wooden chairs on the cold hard tiles made the hair on my neck bristle. children and adults alike crashing thoughtlessly into my chair, jarring the little peace that i have left. the frenzied clashing of plates and utensils, the slamming of cabinets, the whining of the intense blender, conversations i am trying almost desperately to shut out, it is all a little too much. it is intruding into my mind, my thoughts, my walls. yuri's free-falling is like a whisper above all the din. my neighbourhood coffee bean has been bitten by the local coffee shop flavour, the original beauty sucked dry and the similarities are rapidly becoming apparent. half an hour here feels like a lifetime. too bright, too noisy, too busy.

it's time to bade farewell to this enclave that was all mine for years past and seek for a new sanctuary.

the past week

another night spent tossing and turning in restless sleep. kept waking up to look at the glowing numbers beside me. i didn't want to fall into comatose slumber and miss him leaving without so much as a click of the door. 15 years of marriage and i still miss him even before he is out the door.

it has been the longest 2 weeks. i am surprised that time can pass so slow. the last memory that father time crawled was when i was still young and naive and a weekend in a beachside resort was like a year in an underground torture chamber. now that will sound like heaven to my ears but then that's a different subject matter. for the last week, we have been waiting for a single piece of paper. 25 people with their breaths caught in their throat, waiting for a single piece of paper, their lives in limbo, doing nothing significant, making no significant decisions until that paper is out. a paper that will determine our lives for the rest of the year.

finally, mil's biopsy report came back, normal. a big sigh of relief for all concerned. cancer is so scary not because of the shadow of death that lurks behind the diagnosis but the long slow ordeal that follows. the hours of sitting all alone whilst the chemo medications drip into your veins, waiting endlessly for the final drip so that you can get back to your life again. the looking into the eyes of other similiar tortured souls, sometimes eyes so young and lonely that your heart bleeds. the suspension of all life and activities until the final session of chemo and radiation have been carried out. the soreness when your skins rub against the clothes and the retardness of the throat to swallow. the waiting, the endless thinking, the long nights when you just can't sleep. intermittently, for no apparent reason other than a shadow on the film and to be safe than sorry, the doctor orders that a hole be poked into your lungs and a tissue sample taken. other times, he requests for more extensive tests to be carried out; blood tests, pet scans, x-rays, all taking a toll on the wallet but even worse, taking a punch at your apathy and raising fresh doubts and uncertainty. you can be brave the first time and fight it head-on with all the spirit in the world but can you be so brave the second time? the third time? the fourth time? there, we saw a man who has been there since our day 1, 4 years ago. for him, the battle has been a long companion on his dark nights. for us, we have been blessed. we have been given a second chance. every day is a day earned.

learning as i go along

it never rains, but it pours. such is my life.

they say that what can't beat you makes you stronger. a little melodramatic perhaps for the little hiccups that i am facing but certainly not any less true. whilst i can't say that i am stronger, i have learnt to take it one step at a time. i wake up in the morning light and the day ahead overwhelms me. there is so much to do, so much that lies in the shadow of the gargantuan mountain that obscures my day that it is intimidating to even climb out of bed. when things don't go smooth, nothing goes smooth. from the major picture or the little details to the hairline connections in between, everything falls apart. and so, i learn not to think. not to plan. not too far ahead anyway, but there is no stopping a virgoan's predisposal to mapping and organising. i take it one task at a time, and i do what i have to do. automatically even, like a robot's automated limbs. when humanly emotions such as fatigue, stress, exhaustion and recalcitrance are taken out of the equation, what is left is a surprisingly smooth flow of events.

and at the end of the day, i lay comatose in bed, re-energising for the start of yet another challenge.

poisoned

we were just starting out our new home, the hubs and i. with no pitter patter of frustrating children yet, we had more time on our hands than we knew what to do. one aimless weekend, we embarked on yet another home-improvement attempt. must be too much of those tim allen shows.

we thought we could paint the study room wall. yes, wall. one single wall, how difficult could it be. we always thought we could do almost anything. of course, most of the time we had to get a professional to rectify the outcomes but confidence was over-brimming then, though not always justifiably. so, we bought the paint, we bought the brushes, the roller and the tray. we laid the newspapers and a long afternoon of being cooped up in the windowless study followed. after many many hours later, and slightly tipsy from taking in all that paint fumes, it was a job well done.

later in the evening, as we we relaxing with the family before dinner, hubs suddenly emerged from the bathroom with a worried look on his face. he stuck his tongue out at me; the center of if was all dark and blackish. strange. looks like being poisoned, i remarked. immediately, i rushed off to the nearest mirror to check out my own condition. my tongue was also blackish and dark!! oh my god!! we have been poisoned! as the alternatives speed through our brain, we realise we could only have been poisoned by the toxic paint fumes. all that long hours of exposure in an enclosed space. what do we know about being poisoned by paint fumes? sadly, nothing.

i informed the rest of the family gravely, hoping for some insights on what we should do next. naive as we were then, we haven't fully understood the gravity of the matter on hand. as we were all solemnly discussing the issues, the hubs meekly spoke up. 'i think it was the sweet that we were sucking on in the afternoon'.

this is where you mentally insert the image of the family members falling backwards off their chairs, and their hands and legs thrashing in the air, like dead cockroaches. not that they actually did but it's mostly how movies portray our absurdity. our denseness. our imbecility. mistaking the dye from sucking on a sweet for toxic fume poisoning. i bet that's the first.

friendship

have you ever been stood up by two people, on the same day, at the same time? last sunday was suppose to be about old friends catching up. as i was seated in my chair at the hour, i realised that they were not going to show. that's the inevitable consequences of having cavalier friends, and unfortunately, most of my friends fall under that category. not that they aren't good friends, or good people for that matter, it is perhaps partly my fault for fixing the appointment with owls at lunchtime rather than dinnertime. but then, being a wildly-fluctuating insomniac and narcolepsic, i wouldn't know that was a taboo.

strangely, anger was taking an extended holiday and couldn't make it either. i was more like amused, amusing as it was to be reacting that way. i could drive myself crazy with thoughts of how much our friendships were worth and what i was to them, but i don't like to go there. such is the definition of a friend, they accept you for what you are. still, a little tad of disappointment crept in unannounced, like a church mouse.

the first friend went back to bed after receiving my call. the second promised to appear in 45 minutes time. 45 minutes time. i wasn't sure i could sit around for 45 minutes, mincing on my food whilst he brushes his teeth and whatever other morning rituals he has to do to make himself presentable. i was still deliberating when he hung up the phone on me. when the food started arriving, i decided i didn't want to wait. i just wanted to enjoy the delicious spread before me with peace of mind, no deferrence, no intermission, no lingering. i texted back don't worry, no need to hurry. have lunch with you next time, and settled down to delicious dim sum.

half an hour later, with half a steamed siu-mai still inside my mouth, a man materialised from thin air, shoes still partly worn, hair hardly combed. we spent the next 2 hours with good food, good conversation and good friends.

this story is not meant to make the one who didn't turn up feel bad. this story is about the little surprises we get from friendship; just when you want to give up on all that is sincere, someone makes a little more effort. this story is not about the number of times we meet to catch-up but about the laughters and the memories when we do.

lesson no. 444

an important lesson.



never, never, ever google for haunted houses in your immediate vicinity. because when the back of your neck suddenly tingles and the tiny hair stands on its ends, and you feel a cool breeze carressing your neck, you wouldn't be able to tell the difference whether it is the real mccoy or if it is just your imagination acting up.

ready, set, action!

i feel utterly exhausted, like the weight of the world is on my shoulders. so consumed, so debilitated. exhaustion that is gnawing away at the spark, the vigor that is inside of me. not merely mental exhaustion from the rough bumps that is in our everyday lives, but fatigue at having to constantly repeat myself. things never seem to get done with the proclamation of just one plain sentence. people hear, people nod, people say yes yes yes..... people don't do. all the people. what is wrong with the world? having so many things on my plate, saying one sentence one time is already driving me to the brink. having to repeat it umpteenth times pushes me over. some people hear but nobody listens. please, tell me, why is it so? i feel like i have the audience of 3-year-old children. what type of world is it when sweetness and polite mannerism do not get things done, but aggressiveness and shocking rudeness do? it is so tiring.

what millionaires want

what is wrong with you people?!

a townhouse, long and dark like a coffin, black, oppressing and stiffling without windows. leasehold. price: Rm6 million.

a villa. by the side of the highway with cars zooming past at all hours of the day, and night. hopefully, none will crash into the side of your wall. price: Rm4million to Rm11million.

a condo. by the side of the busiest highway and a petrol station as your neighbour. you will never have to run out of petrol, but remember not to slam your doors incase you ignite the fumes. price: Rm2 million.

another condo. prestigious neighbourhood, on one side. the other, what may be kl's busiest access road. you will never feel lonely, what with the constant roaring of cars and buses to keep you company, even with your windows closed and barricaded. accessible and convenient, if you are thinking of scaling the wall, climbing to the highway on the other side and stopping a bus zooming past at 100km/h. price: Rm3 million.

a serviced residence. if you are thinking 24hours butler service, little maids in cute outfits fluffing your pillows and laundries folded nicely, you are still in la-la land. serviced residence means no service. leasehold. most prestigious shopping downstairs, which means no going for char kway teow in your flip-flops and bermuda pants. price: easily Rm3 -Rm5 million.

a semi-detached house. guarded. playground. nice neighbourhood. people are so busy looking at the houses that they have forgotten to look up. look ma, high tension wires. government officials have long disputed the link of long-term exposure to high tension wires and health risks, which goes to show that we should re-locate all government officials, and their families, to high tension cable areas. apparently, most people either don't care or they believe their government. personally, i know of 2 households staying very near communication towers and lo and behold, members of both separate households have cancer. price of naivety: Rm 3 million.

we are talking about millions. millions. since when did government give us commonfolks the authority to print money? why wasn't i informed? did money started growing on trees and toilet papers. nobody had the decent courteousy to enlighten me? harumph. dwellings are worth millions now. tens of millions even. when one char kway teow is Rm4. if i don't eat one char kway teow everyday, i should be able to save enough in ....... 2,055 years? inflation not taken into account, of course. maybe i'll need to give up breakfast and dinner too.

if i am a millionaire, would i want to stay in a house with no windows, no ventilation, no certainty of being able to hand down to my future generations, with lots of 'symphonic orchestra of thundering engines' to keep me companyand a very high risk of developing grave illness? apparently, that is exactly what many millionaires out there crave for.

the faces i met

the show was about to begin. everybody was swarming like bees to get the best seats, running aimlessly to the seats nearest to the action. we walked leisurely to a row of seats somewhere in the midst of it all. as we were just about to take our seats, we realise we were one seat short for the six of us. a caucasian gentleman (i use the term very loosely) was seated on the seventh chair, with his wife about to plant her behind on the sixth but for only reasons known to herself, or her booties, was still standing and looking around.

i enquired as sweetly as i could, 'do you mind moving one seat? there are six of us and we are one short'. something in that sentence triggered an explosion akin to the volcano at mount fuji, with hot bubbling lava spewing forth from that man's volcanic hole. 'oh my god! there must be like thousands of seats in this place!! you want us to move?!', the immediately-very-irritating man thundered at the top of his voice. apparently i had asked him to pack his belongings and move to alaska! technically, he was right. we can move a few rows back, but it's not like we were asking him to move the empire state building, we were just asking him to shift that butt of his a few inches. not that tall of a request, i didn't think. then again, i didn't check out the size of his behind.

loss for words and traumatised by that man's amplified reaction, i conveyed the beast man's response to the rest of my party. when i turned back round, the man had moved one seat down! go figure. you ask someone for a very casual request, and he spits in your face. then he spontaneously complies. if he was a woman, the words 'menopause' will be flashing in bright neon above his head by now. unfortunately he is a man, but i do get what that was all about. really, i do. i totally understand him, his grief and his pent-up frustration. he's not getting any from his wife tonight. sigh, you just got to sympathise with him. for the interest of studies on abnormal inconsistent behaviours, the man and his wife later changed seats to a few rows infront. he fought so hard, with his snarling tooth on the matter and his mouth drooling with rabid saliva, for something that he wasn't so sure he wanted.

as i sat in my seat, in the quietness of the night, i pondered over what i have just witnessed. to me, perhaps, the man's abusive reaction was not the frightening part. what was frightening was that the well-dressed caucasian man could very well have been a ceo of some mega corporation, or some hot-shot director of some company, someone that i could very well have rubbed shoulders with in the course of business. someone who would, to all appearance, have seemed like a perfect gentleman and i would have been equally charmed. until a simple situation ignites the pent-up frustration simmering underneath..

just imagine, the next time i ask someone for the time, i could very well have my head chopped off!

outlook

apparently, i look like a venetian blind today

:-)

cold tea

some people you automatically take an instant liking to. there is something very familiar, very personal about them, like there was a close bond at some point in your past life. others, not so dramatic but their personality shines through. they are easy-going, friendly and chatting with them is like sipping a hot cup of tea on a cold winter day; warm, cosy and gives you a nice buzz all over.

i am not one of them.