my world

i've often been told that i'm cynical, perhaps much more than a typical 38 years old should be, possibly more than any old person would be. i don't look into the mirror much nowadays because i don't like what i've become. yet it is not something that i can choose and pick, like the apples in the supermarket. the cynic has become the very core of me, driven by years of experience.

i don't know how many other people face lies on an everyday basis, words that come out from mouths measured for desired effect. conversations held not for social communication but so as to provoke a desired response. how did i come to be surrounded by such puppetry geniuses, i do not know but everybody's very skilled and talented indeed. i am the only amateur in the field of experts, choosing not to think too much of it or to read behind the lines. but if i were to let my guard down, even if only for a little while, i'll be taken advantage of and not realise it until too late. even the maids are playing the little game of manipulation, excuses flying out from their mouths before the blink of an eye. manipulated by a maid for goodness sake, i'll laugh hysterically if it's not depressing enough already. mr silly says i'm being too emotional about it. i don't know how many people will like playing mind games on a regular basis, day in day out. he's blessed because he doesn't have to do it, but he doesn't see the pain in mine. when something simple becomes complicated merely because others like to maneuver, to control, to change the course of action, life gets so tiring.

the saddest thing perhaps is not knowing when to turn off. not everyone in the world is so calculative, so manipulative, just the people i am surrounded with. somewhere, sometimes, there are people that you can trust, that renews your faith in innocence and all that is pure. i have friends that are true, they know who they are. the problem lies in being able to turn off that wall, that defense radar, to let my guard down for a little while. if there was such a physical switch, life would be so easy but the switch lies only in my mind. sometimes i read too much into a situation, but it's how i've been trained, how i've been taught. to my mind, the possibilities are endless and to be prepared is the only way to survive. whilst others are learning to walk out into the world, i was learning this. while others are learning to make a living, i was learning that acting all prissy, high and mighty and all cool and cold gets the job done.

most times i try not to think about it and just continue with my journey. at times, it gets tiring and pisses me off terribly. and i dream of a life some place else, far away from all the complications, far away from all the ugliness.

port dickson untold

the sun was slowly rising from behind the mountains in the early dewy sky. the varied hues of red, yellow and orange was like the palette of a talented artist. cold morning breeze caressed her face and carried her hair in a slow playful dance. she was all alone, sitting in the wet sand, watching as the sun slowly makes its way up into a new day.

port dickson. where it all began, and where it all ended. she remembered the moment they locked eyes on the beach, as if it was just yesterday. when she first saw him, she knew that he will be her future. it had been a fast courtship, with an equally fast matrimony. perhaps they knew subconsciously that their time together will be limited. their lives together was blissful, even if it hadn't been as long as she had imagined. if she had known that cancer will take him away, she would have devoted every single minute of her days to him. now, it's too late.

looking into the horizon, she could still picture themselves as old grandparents, hair grey with age and posture stooped, holding hands together, sitting in the swing that now lie broken and rusty in the garden. so much regrets are locked in her heavy heart. regret at not being able to see how he would have looked in his old age. regret at not giving birth to a child so that she can have someone to hold in her arms right now, someone who looks like an exact image of him. regret at not telling him more often that she loves him with all her life. regrets that are now drifting in the wind, meaningless and aimless.

tears streaked down her face with the thought of that. with a heavy sigh and a shake of her head, she stood up. it's not technically correct, she thought. cancer didn't take him away. the bitchy nurse who attended to him day and night did. with her sexy short skirt, her soft melodic voice and the swinging of her hips as she walked. he survived the cancer treatments but he didn't survive the temptation of that bitch.

that bastard!

what could be a diamond

PD.

not post depression. nor post dated cheques. rather, port dickson. that little town south of here, our nearest reach to a beach, if we can still call it that.

think of port dickson and it brings back a thousand memories, ranging from when i was a wee little girl, running around in the safe comfort that my parents are always there for me to the latest memory of me being the woman that i've grown up to be, once again visiting that town which should have more to offer.

it's like watching a flashback in a movie. that little 7 year old me, running around in flip-flops in the holiday home, full of wonder at the throng of little 'water mosquitoes' that has swarmed all the lightings, commiseration that they only have 24 hours to live and antipathy towards the hundreds of wings that lay on the floor, telling a very sad tale. it was a time of innocence, a time of carefree, a time of simpleness.

the next vivid memory of port dickson is a visit with a group of friends after college; classmates that i have not been very close with but were the only friends who could make the trip. the exams were just over and we were relieved, happy, our hearts light with nary a concern in the world. thoughts of university, the next step of our life, was a million miles away. the week before, a fortune teller has told me that i will have danger related to water in the coming days. i was apprehensive, for sure. to go or not to go. i didn't want to let go of the last opportunity to have fun for that summer, but yet i didn't want it to be a chapter in my life that i will ultimately regret, if i lived through it. i spent days deliberating, and made the final decision to go, but to stay away from deep water. i never told my mum about that fortune teller's prediction, which i didn't know in the end if it was merely a load of crap or did i inadvertently changed the path of my life. we had fun that day. sweet light-hearted fun. we went as a little more than strangers but we returned a little closer.

the last memory of port dickson was a celebration of my mother's birthday in avillion. the whole family, except for mr silly who was away, jumped into the cars that took us there. my dad was singing in the car. he always sing when he's going on a trip with the family, the light heartedness of an impending break from the hustle bustle of our lives. with the family getting larger and bigger, we have been having fewer and fewer holidays as a family. many varied opinions, time-table clashes and the lack of insight to understand how important it is for the family to spend time together has brought us to where we are now. i have not hear my dad sing in the car for a very long time. that night we had fun in the karaoke room. pure simple fun.

there isn't much to do in port dickson. they don't have very good restaurants there, a far cry from sai kung in hong kong, a place where everybody flocks to in the name of good and fresh seafood, locals and international visitors alike. they don't have very nice beaches or waters there, with pollution the disgrace of the game. they don't have very nice hotels there; the latest 4-stars hotel to be built there was in the 90's. there hasn't been much progress to the area in the last decade, to my disappointment. a place that could have been so much more. a place that can hold many memories, of stories untold, of magical moments, of wonderful occasions. a place that can be our hideout from the city life, with its proximity. a place that can be integral in our lives, with it's huge potential. all it takes is someone to identify that it is a diamond in the rough.

doctor, doctor.

sigh.

i'm losing my sanity here.

apparently online diagnosis is not for hypochondriacs like me who imagine that they fit all types of symptom. the internet tells me that the pin-point red dots on my skin maybe some serious skin disease that can be potentially dangerous. petechiae? lyme disease? campbell de morgan spots? viral infection? allergy? take your pick. the options are mind-boggling and scary. then again, it can be just plain vanilla aging. just aging. equals to the process of growing old.

and then they tell me that the dark vertical streak on my toe nail can be a malignant melanoma. *thump* that is the sound of me dropping in a faint to the hard concrete floor. cancer on the toe? that's the last thing i want to hear, toe or any other parts of my body.

for some reason, i'm not dropping all my things and making a bee-line to the nearest physician. i very nearly was, for one heart-stopping moment, especially when i saw the word melanoma. but deep down, i know and i believe that this is just another of my dramatic hypochondriac moments. not that i won't be getting a doctor's opinion to confirm it. that wouldn't be me. it can just wait until my next appointment with the dermatologist. where i'll be bombarding her with all these questions, and a lot more. good luck, doctor.

more lies

i don't mind if you lie, really i don't. just don't make me follow your lead. actually, i do, but if you're not lying to me, it's really none of my business. i don't get why humans like to complicate simple things, to fabricate normal matters into a web of deceits, until i don't know what to believe anymore. but it's really when i'm forced to go along that it really irks me. i can't even keep track of the truth, how to keep track of all the lies i'm suppose to be conjuring up. really. it affects my credibility to be spewing forth such pathetic lies. one minute she supposedly went to the market. the next, she has flown off to destination unknown. sigh. destination unknown? how am i going to get away with that. what's wrong with telling the truth? sorry, she is not here, she has gone overseas. deal with it!

people has the most pathetic reasons for lying. i find myself blogging about the same topic over and over again, like a broken record. but why oh why is a person who hates lying so much being forced to lie? why is her world surrounded by countless webs of deceit? apparently her family members know nothing about her personality, and cares nothing about her peeves. and apparently telling the truth is the hardest thing to do for some. and so, here i am, lying to an old lady. sheesh!

memory

glancing up from my breakfast of semi-cooked eggs and hainanese toast, i saw her standing there. cleopatra-styled hair cut. skin as fair as snow. her skirt in the most glaring of colour. for a moment there, i caught my breath. my heart skipped a beat. the resemblance is most obvious. if only that was really her, standing there right before my eyes. if only i can call out, 'hey lis! what are you doing here?'.

with a sigh, i acknowledge that i still remember.

typical mother

lying down here, eyes barely open, trying to blog despite having half a brain left. the other half has been taken over by a zombie. spent the night trying to alternate between being in sleep so deep that an earthquake wouldn't have woken me and being so light a sleeper that the merest flick of the light switch woke me up.

little batman was down with high fever last night and i spent most of the night trying to sponge off some of that heat. sent him off to school same like any other day yesterday morning, only to receive a call during noon. excuse me m'am, i'm the nurse calling from the school. it's phone calls like these that make my heart go ka-thump and drop to the floor in the blink of an eye. ba boop, ba boop, i looked at the floor as my imaginary bloodied heart continuing beating on the floor. imaginative scenarios flashed through my mind at a hundred pages per second, possibly the most effective and efficient page-turner machine ever invented in history.

ah, so he wasn't feeling well. ah, so his friend brought him to the school nurse. ah, so she's going to give his some paracetamol while waiting for me to come pick him up. funny. despite knowing all the facts and that our dear little batman will be safe and sound until i pick him up, it did nothing to slow the red car(that i had to 'steal') that flew down the highway barely minutes later.

when will i stop being such a typical mother, i don't know. when will i stop exercising some of that common sense and less of that impatience, i have no answer. and so it was, that i picked him up. nursed him through the day, and night. and so it is, that i am lying on the bed now, so sleepy whilst the 'sick' little batman is wide awake, sitting on the sofa, watching his favourite cartoons all day. and so it is that i forgot to write the cheques, and send back the documents, and a whole load of stuffs that i have forgotten that i forgot. and so it will be until i get some sleep in this deprived brain. so, don't call me. it's not ready.

marriage

i've always thought i don't have much advice for anyone else on what makes a good marriage, despite being married to mr. silly for 13 years. one marriage is so different from another and what works for one may not be the cup of tea for others. the point being that we do the best we can in the circumstance with a given set of conditions, but the road that we walk along to reach that very best varies from one to another.

so, what makes me speak on the matter now? because i feel that i have finally figured out the barest minimum qualification on what makes a good marriage, and i mean this is the lowest acceptable limit.

respect. i never knew what that word was supposed to mean when others say it during their wedding day, infront of hundreds of witnesses.. respect. we all wear that at the tip of our tongue, but what does it mean to respect someone? i promise to obey and respect bla bla bla, the 'obey' part i'm not so crazy about - what are we, the sixteenth century?! but i do believe that at the very least, a husband should not speak badly about his wife in public, to others, and of course vice versa. calling her names, bad-mouthing her or projecting the image that life with her is hell. for some, it may be the very truth and sharing this information with close friends is the only way to get the weight off the chest. but for some, it's a gag, an unhumourous and unwitty line repeated over and over again like a broken record. i cannot understand the point of it for it seems not the least bit funny, nor witty or even endearing. instead of 'honey, you're the apple of my eye', have some graduated to 'she's a monster'? is this the next stage of marriage after the '7 years itch' that i'm not aware of, for if it is please warn me NOW!

from what i see, the men who say it are not exactly cracking their heads trying to get out of this 'worse-than-hell' marriage. they seem comfortable in their marriage. so, why this false masculinity? dissing on someone should not make you a better person, stepping on others do not elevate your confidence. is it a sign of frustration, of trying to tell the other party that it's not working out? then why do my eyes deceive me and i still feel that they are wonderful together? is it that some man cannot spew forth loving terms of endearments and as close as they can get to sweet talks of nothings....is foul expressions? i cringe when i hear someone say badly of their spouse, not simply loving banters of long-married couples, nor jokes meant to tease their little faults, but words said without provocation, labels called for no reason than to hurt. if i am cringing, i wonder how the spouse must be feeling.

however, strangely enough, those marriages that really break down in the end are not those that curse their wives in their desperate attempt at humour, nor those that hold their wives in loving rose-coloured terms of endearment, but rather those that do not speak of their spouses at all. in their eyes, they have stoppped seeing their existence. perhaps those are the saddest of all.

my memoir

sometimes i don't have the mood to write. sometimes i am too caught up in my world to write. and sometimes i don't have the words to express, so i don't write. but i look back and i realise that i have given up another page of my life.

stephen king once said 'i write to find out what i think' for when you write, you try to find that perfect word to describe your experience, and only then you will fully appreciate and understand the experience. my writings are my legacy, my life, my memories.

pieces of my life become a hazy picture in my mind with the passing of time. i can't remember most things, i can't even remember most people. i don't think that it is because they are any less worth remembering to my mind but yet they are like sand in my hand, slipping through my fingers no matter how tight i try to grasp it.

this is how i remember.

the dawn of a new day

6.54am

that is the most beautiful time of the day to be behind the wheels of a car.

soft ballads were playing over the air, singers of yester-years serenading me with their crooning, whilst the cool breeze gently roused my sleep-ladden mind. the quiet traffic was a far cry from the hustle and bustle that will materialise from thin air an hour later. no impatient honkings, no flaring of tempers and the no restless growling of hot engines.

all around i am surrounded by the mystical blend of colours, as if i am caught in the middle of a van gogh painting. orange, red, grey, blue, the sky was bursting with the colours of the early dawn.

it is moments like these that i am glad i am alive.