my uncle has left. he wasn't someone that i was close to but his name, his face has appeared sporadically throughout my 40 years of life. i was one of the little flower girls during his wedding, not that i can recall it vividly but the photos in the albums show me glimpses of my past where my memory fails. he was not close, yet i can't help but tear when i think of his departure.

i don't recall having one direct conversation with him, aside from work-related matters on and off. i have written his name many times during the course of working for my dad, yet i have never had a personal conversation with him. how can that even be possible? someone so familiar, yet so alien? i never knew him, i never knew the story of his life, now i will never have a chance.

it had all been too sudden, for me anyway. one day, very much like any other, when i was out shopping for groceries in the supermarket, my handphone rang. are you free to talk? uncle so and so has passed away. my body started shivering. this isn't how bad news should be relayed, so casually, so by-the-way. he had left. he didn't say goodbye, he didn't give anyone a chance to say goodbye. then again, as someone who didn't have anything to say to him for the last 4 decades, what would i have said to him? yet i can't help feeling like i wasn't given the chance to say my final goodbye, to bid him farewell to his journey on earth which, eventhough we had not walked together, we had grazed and we had enough destiny for him to be my uncle.

time has passed so fast, i have been so busy, one day so much like another that i can't even remember the last time i saw him. perhaps one year ago, perhaps two years ago, but i can still recall his face, his mannerism so vividly. it was like he has been around all this time. his absence wasn't really glaring, which is perhaps why his departure was. i was not mentally prepared to say goodbye.

at his funeral a sense of calmness overcame me. here, now, i will say my goodbyes, eventhough i have nothing much more to say than that. one cannot come into this world, walked all those footsteps, touched all those people and leave, without telling everybody close at least, without bidding adieu and thanks for the journey together. i did not fall into the 'close' category, that is without a doubt, but i was still relative. in my mind, every opening should have a closing, every hello should have a goodbye. how else do we close the door and move on?

we walked behind the altar for a glimpse of the body, for a final look at my uncle, to see him in the face and say a silent goodbye. i was shaken. did they put the wrong person in there? there must be some unwritten code that one should not stare at a dead body but i was pretty sure that was not my uncle in there. there was no faint resemblance at all. he wasn't even of the same built for goodness sake. realisation struck me. my uncle has been sick for a very long time. he was thin beyond recognition. he was a far cry from that energetic, fit image i saw in my mind. my heart ached. he must have suffered so much. this was perhaps better for him. i finally understood why he didn't want to say goodbye to anyone. i would have wanted to remember my uncle as he was then, happy and healthy. instead, now, when i close my eyes, i will forever see the final image of him, a sad suffering sick man, thin to the bones. i bid my uncle a silent goodbye, hoping that he is happy and healthy once again wherever he is.

my heart goes out to the widow, my aunty but i see her surrounded by her children. all grown up, all independent, well-behaved and very capable. they have also been suffering all these time. hopefully now they can move on, eventhough their hearts will throb with pain for a very long time.

i'm sitting here cringing backwards into my seat, shutting my eyes and mentally preparing for the force that will throw me into the windshield and end my life, as cars zoom past me at 150kmh, or rather i zoom past them at 150kmh. i want to the driver next to me that i don't really mind arriving half an hour later, as long as i do arrive but i'm trying to refrain from making any sudden moves or sound that will bring the end closer faster. i keep telling myself that i have a long lifeline on the palm of my hand and that i'm going to live to a happy healthy 100.

he's texting and doing all kinds of things aside from driving and focussing on the road. his hands are not on the steering wheel! i want to reach out and grab the wheel but that may shock him into jerking the wheel to the right and the car straight into the divider. so here i sit, frozen in fear, having a little faith because we have made it thus far, but still frozen in fear.

did we just miss that car by a couple of inches?! close my eyes, quick!!

my cousin told me the story of my dad when he was younger. my heart ached for not knowing the him that was then, the him that was passionate, the him that was so alive. the him that was flexible, so mischievious and so young. the him whose world revolved around more than just his work.

perhaps it had also been the same then, perhaps it is just my imagination. he is so one-dimensional now. perhaps all successful man are. perhaps this is what they call focussed.

my alarm today morning is the sound of slippers slapping on the not so distant floor. someone is running a mini marathon in the living room. at 7am in the morning.

whilst the cat is away, the mouse is out to play. the mouse cooks and eats, cooks and eats and cooks and eats. the problem is that the mouse has grown too fat and can't get back in it's hole.

'tis a season to be jolly. and crazy. and knock your head continuously on the bedroom door. simply because no one works during the year end, and all phones are constantly busy, to the point that even the recorded machine operator voice sounds stressed and annoyed. it's no more 'our operators are presently busy, please hold on for assistance, your call is very valuable to us'. now they are saying 'our operators are VERY busy! please leave your name and number and we'll get back to you'. ya, right, i wasn't born yesterday, you know! they never ever call back. never.

everyone's trying to clear their remaining leave, so no one's behind any desk in any office. if, by a miracle, you actually find someone, her machine will not be working, because apparently machines need to clear their leave too. broadband, on the other hand, is slow as snail and all websites are jammed to the max because what are those people on leave doing? surfing the net! sheesh! that or sitting in their cars going round and round midvalley or one-u, looking for a carpark. apparently, they do this every single day too, judging by the traffic jam there everyday. this is causing me serious grief, santa.

the time before christmas should be quiet, and peaceful, and dreamy, with a warm drink on one hand and wood burning somewhere closeby, and i don't mean indonesia! christmas should be a time you reflect on what you have done for the year and what new resolutions you want to achieve for the new year. at this moment, i just want to scream my lungs out and use my forehead to make close contact with the door.

you dress to the nines. spent hours and hours trying to make yourself look beautiful. manicured nails, styled hair, flattering make-up, sexy dress, stiletto heels and a glittering pouch. not half bad. you stand there with the rest of the beautiful people in the room. smile, the cameraman says. thousand-watt smile, click. you are frozen in time with a beautiful photograph. at least you think it's beautiful, because you never ever get to see the photo!!

why is it that people always ask you to smile, to pose and to take photos but nobody ever sends you the copy of that photo? for all you know, you look wonderful and someone is doing something really weird or distatasteful to that photo of yours. or contrary, you smile and you have this huge spinach stuck to your teeth. you'll never ever know, will you, because nobody ever shows you the photo you took with that killer-watt smile of yours?

not the first time, probably will not be the last. it will join the other lost photos in the sea-of-dead-photos. not just weddings or formal events. gatherings, birthdays, parties, anywhere that the camera will travel. i have half a mind to stick my tongue out the next time someone ask me to smile. there, you can freeze me like that for all i care. i don't ever get to see it anyway.

are friendships suppose to be hard work? perhaps that is why i hang around families so much and i shy away from others. there must be other people out there who are not blood related that i can just shoot off my mouth without first weighing the consequences, deliberating the effects or trying so hard to sound witty and sweet, because the one thing i've found out about myself and that is i am not sweet. i am not the 'ohhhh, how are the families? we have missed you. you look gorgeous in that dress. where did you buy it? how is the little one?' type. i am also not the 'your little one looks so absolutely precious! so adorable' kind either, nor the 'how poor of you, you must be so sad. don't worry, you are a wonderful person, bla bla bla'. yawn.

any calls for cynic of the year and i will definitely be the first to line up, so you can bet i won't be saying sweet goo-gahs to your little kids and calling them little cuties of the year. i snarl, and i bite, but usually i can't, so i just keep quiet and paste a fake smile on. oh ok, so i do the occasional goo-gahs and 'you look wonderful in that', and it's always sincere, but my lack-of-practice 'sincere look' makes it seem otherwise. the snarl trying to escape from my repressed inner subconsciousness doesn't help either. if anything, i look unapproachable. i'll let you in on a secret, that is a survival technique.

we stood around after the first few minutes of greeting, hiding in some corner, carefully blended into the background. the initial euphoria of hello's, hi's and congratulation's have lapsed and we are waiting until we can hide our ackwardness behind the safety of a table. the socialites are working their way round the room, chatting with one group for half a minute then on to the next. tick tock tick tock, another 20 seconds to go, 10, 5.........*hits timer* tooooooot, sorry, i've got to move on to the next group of people. amusing to watch. we see many familiar faces but we keep our distance. whatever do you say after the first inspiration of witty conversation-starter? you stand around ackwardly looking at your feet, at the distant crowd, at the group of people beside you and you send out silent pleas of rescue with your doe eyes. i guess we are not 'people' people. especially not when i have an inch of make-up on, two caterpillar-related fake eyelashes ladden on my eyelids like a ton of dumb-bells and a kilogram of black pins stuck into my scalp like a voodoo doll. give me my shorts, my tee shirt and my loose swinging hair and perhaps i can act like a normal person once again. and perhaps i can actually smile sincerely too.

seriously. i think i am the only one in my entire organisation that needs to issue a memo to let the whole world know that i will be going on leave. even the big boss doesn't have to do that. *rolls eyes*

i am considering taking out a one day advert on the local dailies next time.

at this particular moment in time, i'm soaking up the ambience of my favourite jaunt, immersing in the blues and familiarity of the place. i feel like an episode of cheers, returning once again to a place that feels like an extension of my personality. it's been almost a routine to come every weekend; 3 items at $8.90 and a cup of british breakfast tea, with some cold milk, please. i didn't get my fix this weekend, time didn't permit but a twist of fate landed me back on the same exact spot, one day late.

i sit here, with my cup of tea and my book of tales, or more accurately, their book of tales, deliberating on the realisation that i have not had a deep thought in my mind for the longest time. since when had i shut my brain and put it in shallow mode, i can't really tell. one day melts into another, routine takes over. the way it is going, i'm not surprise if dementia greets me early.

a familiar tune from the 80s is crooning over the air, i stop for a minute to listen to the song that has not entered my mind for the longest time. it's true, old songs stir up memories. if only i can remember what those memories are. if only i can remember the name of the song :-p

i'm the epitome of the poor little rich girl, with no vision to inspire for, no goals to fight for. things come way too easy, yet i'm afraid of the time when it won't. one such day will come, it's inevitable. i try to find my own goals, my own dreams, but i think i've left it behind somewhere. in the interim i make do with some short impertinent ones, ones that i'm not really impassioned to meet. life is so and life goes on.

i'm all alone again in this lounge, everybody has moved on with their day. mine is beckoning but i'm hiding, reluctant to join the craziness, the shallowness, the meaningless, craving for another moment of escape. in this place time stands still, reality is separated by a window glass. i can see the real world beyond, but they can't see me. this is the way i like it.

my phone is ringing. one call, and i'm gone.

my pink sneakers are alright, but when justin bieber wears his almost identical purple sneakers, he is so way cool, and she wants a pair just like his. hello dear daughter of mine, mine looks just like his, the only difference is that it is pink. why isn't mine cool?

*pout*

this is the warped perception of a teenage girl. this is what the mothers of teenage daughters have to put up with. :-p

i spent the last 3 days trying to wipe out the memory of my computer and restart everything from a clean slate. over the years, we have accumulated too much deadweight that the computer was running laggard. erasing files, pictures and unnecessary programs just wasn't good enough, so i decided to restore the computer to day 0. the hubs said that i was wasting good time, that i could have paid someone else to do it and made better use of my time. ahhhhh, but the satisfaction of resurrecting something from the dead, and breathing back air to it a little by little, one driver by one driver, one program by one program, that is nothing that money can buy. now i've reconnected my link to the internet world again and my computer is whole once more, and i am one proud satisfied person.

have you ever missed someone whom you see everyday? he is right there, infront of me most times, lazing around watching tele or hunched up in some corner playing his nds. yet i miss him so much that it hurts. not the him now, the one who is starting to have the coolness and rebelliousness of a breaking out teenager. not the wise mouth, smart talking youngster who never listens to instructions. not the one who has me screaming night and day to pick up his stuffs and do his homework, but the adorable little boy with the toothy grin. the one whose innocence shines out when he cracks silly jokes in the sweetest voice. the one who makes me smile and is so affectionate. someone sneaked in when i wasn't paying attention and made a switch. i am still me, but he is someone else now.



he is still my son and i love him, undoubtedly. but i missed the other one too.

motherhood is a thankless job. that is a given. i dare say that none of us go around expressing our gratitude for the sacrifices that our mother has endured for us. nor wear our love on the corner of our mouth. we are that and we expect as much. it is in the mysterious manual of motherhood that they give you the day you signed up for it. no thanks required. still, it was a slap in the face when they dismiss your request ever so nonchantly, without so much as a second of thought. like the pesky mosquito, they swat away with a flick of their hand and turn their attention back to the tv. flushed down the drain in an instant all the running around that you have been doing, all the hours that you have put in. was it all worth it? love isn't a circle. what goes around doesn't come around. neither is it a business deal. you don't get back sixteen ounces of love for one pound of affection. i have a vague memory of my mother crying when i was a teenager. apparently i was giving her grief. how, why, i still do not understand to this day.
perhaps it does come a full circle, just not in the way we expect it to.

life shouldn't be so tiring. but i am tired. work is draining all of my energy. it's not so much that i have so many things to do, eventhough the pile of work seems to be mushrooming at a nuclear-experiment-gone-astray speed. what tires me is interaction with inefficient people. there are hundreds and thousands of things to do. you call people up, give some instructions, pass work handled to the next person, and you move on to the next work on hand. however, the next person in line doesn't get back to you for days, weeks on end. the work doesn't get done, or it gets done and is sitting in somebody's drawer cultivating mold for yet another evil experiment. after a while, you realise that there is no feedback on the work that is supposed to be done. in other words, it comes back to your court. you have been standing still, motionless for weeks without knowing it, not moving forward, eventhough you have done everything that you are suppose to do. you call up the other person and try your hardest best not to shout or even raise your voice. in your sweetest voice, you ask what happened to the work. in the friction of a second, they remember the piece of mold in their drawer. sigh. and things get moving again. if you are lucky. if you are not, the response is an 'ahhhh, i'll get right to it', followed by another prolonged period of amnesia and things are still standing on the same spot.

this, times ten, times hundred, times infinity gets a little tiresome. i don't want to call them idiots. heck, i WILL call them idiots!! why are they attracted to me like moth to a candle. i can't stand mediocrity. i do not expect professionals, i do not expect experts of the highest levels. i just want people who can get a simple job done. why aren't people doing their job? i think it is the sweet syrupy voice with all the necessary courtesy. i should substitute that for the screaming of the shrew and some kick-ass attitude. i'm going to collapse from aggravation very soon.

will someone who doesn't know love knows how to love? will it be a vicious cycle that is hard to break? like the one who was abused will abuse, will the karma of not knowing tenderness, understanding and communication be able to break free and give all that is true and sincere?

randy pausch said it is not the things we do in life that we regret on our deathbed, it is the things we do not. how come i am cringing in embarrassment over the things i said in haste, not the things i said not? time and time again, you will think that i have learnt my lesson well. apparently, i'm a slow learner.

four hours! my daughter asked me in amazement yesterday when i came home. you had lunch for four hours with your friends? my daughter is my mother now! she forgets that she has a full 7 hours with her friends everyday, for 5 days a week, whilst i meet no one day in and day out, travelling between one house to the other with no human interaction other than family members. i only have one 4-hours in months.

perhaps she has a mental vision of us eating non-stop for 4 hours, gobbling things down like turkeys. it is the human interaction that we all crave, i think. the chance to sit down and just chat about nothing in particular. what do we talk about for the 4 hours? topics ranging from morbid and serious dealing with reincarnation and sickness to senseless things like movies that we will see again and again, company logos, football (which just went over my head), crazy jokes and just mostly catching up on the latest with each other's lives. i can't remember half of the things we talk about. it is not the topic that is the focal point, it is taking time off to slow down.

sometimes even i wonder why my friends give me the time of the day. whenever i suggest lunch to catchup, the big bosses drop whatever they have on hand and give me the rest of the day. i feel honoured but why, i've often asked myself. i'm not the most interesting person to talk to, i'm not the most sociable and definitely not the most important. i'm regular run-of-the-mill-joe. lately, i'm not even funny. i think the answer lies in time. merely taking the time to just sit there, and talk about nothing in particular, sitting there whilst time drifts past, for us all who are trying so hard to live life right, it is really a rare opportunity. we all have our own fires to put out, our hurdles and obstacles, our own appointments to run to. rarely do we get a chance to sit down, do nothing, bother about nothing and just talk off the top of our brain. it doesn't matter if we have nothing to say, it doesn't matter if there is a lull of silence, being able to just sit there with no expectation, no pressure, no stress, it is why we have 4-hour lunches.

time is the most important thing that we can give others, in this day and age where everybody is so cold and always hurrying from one place to the next. where interaction is mostly through technology rather than good old face to face. time is the most precious gift. i feel blessed that i have friends, albeit the few, who will give me the time of their day.

yesterday was a difficult day. i could feel the toll on my physical self. i was distracted, to say the least. i didn't want to see any of my family members, not because they had any hand to play in the way my moods were playing, but because i didn't want to wear a mask and pretended everything was a-ok. i was still angry, but she has always been who she is. there is nothing i can do to change that. it all boils down to tons and tonsful of frustration. frustration at not being able to do something very simple and natural, like showing care and affection to the family, frustration at not being able to stay away but not being able to go closer, frustration at how complicated things lie.

however, i learnt one lesson yesterday. one lesson that i've learnt time and time again but each time it feels like new. i've learnt to let go. que sera sera. so things cannot go the way it rightly should, or the way i want it to be, or the way that everyone wants. life goes on. the moment that i announce to everybody that all plans have been cancelled, i felt a release from all the things weighing me down. i felt a great liberation. in part it was the guilt of letting people down that was making me unhappy. many were looking forward to the plans we have made. all but one. for that one, we are cancelling everything. still, que sera sera. the decisions have been made, the complication dealt with, and now time to close that chapter. granted, some things will remain the same, for she is still who she is, and granted i will have to do things differently from now on. i may not be able to do the things that come natural to me, like caring and loving for those that i do, but you live life the best you know how.

when did life become so complicated? why did life have to be such an intricate web of complexities? i'm a very simple person, with a very simple mind. my wants are very basic and it boils down to the very core of who i am, what i am. i just want everybody to be happy and healthy. on a perfect world, in a perfect situation, i love everybody. i exist on a very limited employment of my hard drive capacity. in other words, i don't keep much things in my brain. that explains for my happy-go-lucky attitude, the fact that i can sleep as soon as my head hits the pillow, and also that my heart feels as light as a feather. it is the basis of my architecture. if i retain but one thing, small as a sand it may be, i cannot function. i cannot sleep, i cannot eat, i cannot rest. for my sanity's sake, i like life simple.

i have never once blogged about what frustrates me most. i have never once in all these 6 years mentioned her, who drives me nuts. her irrationality, her shrewness, her preposterousness, her shallowness, all the craziness that surrounds her interaction with me. for all her faults, i am still fiercely loyal, because she is someone close and dear, someone who is and should be regarded as blood. there is, however, no denying her wilfulness and the frustration that is compressed deep inside me now threatens to erupt. to let the world in on it will only be a betrayal, to bitch about her will only be graceless but i have no avenues for releasing my irritation. life is simple when you can just walk away, but is convoluted when that option is not available.

yesterday night, i nearly exploded. nearly. i've always kept my mouth quiet, unwilling to retaliate, not wanting to cause a commotion. i've taken in all her irrationality, her moodiness, but yesterday it seemed all a little too much. i wanted to give her a proper scolding, oh how much i really wanted to. to tell her how wrong she has been all these time, how unreasonable she had been. i clamped my mouth before it was too late to take it all back, and i feigned deafness once again when she insinuated and alluded.

i can feel the physical difference. my head throbs with vexation, my heart feels as if an elephant's butt is firmly planted on it, i can't breathe right and i couldn't sleep. it is strange how the mental mind physically affects the tangible body. what i really need now is a round with the sand bag to punch away all these pent up frustrations. failing which, i'm going for a run on the treadmill.

yesterday i caused a car accident with my ravishing beauty.

i was at this '+' junction, waiting to merge into mainstream traffic. there was a car on the opposite lane, also waiting for his turn. it wasn't an extremely busy road, but it being a '+' junction, cars were going in all direction. there was an endless stream of cars, all moving very slow. soon enough there was a gap in the flow of traffic. i was in no hurry though, so i signalled to the car opposite that he may go first. he hesitated for a fraction of a second, and then he started to move forward, very slowly.

i have enough reason to believe that the guy behind the wheels was so awe-struck with my radiating beauty that he was blind to everything else. otherwise, my soft waving hand was like a hypnotising wand and the guy was rendered imbecile with my charm. one thing for sure, he was blind. he was moving at supernaturally slow speed and supernaturally slowly hit a car that was driving along the main road. it was like a slow motion picture, brought to you by mgm studios. crash, bang, boom. the young girl behind the wheels was shocked beyond words. how he could miss the car that was also driving very slowly, i have no idea. where else could his eyes be looking except at yours sincerely, because the last time i checked, the registrar of road transportation does not allow blind people to drive. the setting sun was reflecting off his windscreen so i have no way of verifying where his eyes were staring, or if he had any in the first place. perhaps to all purpose he believed that his grandfather owns the road, and he could take his own sweet time to cross it and the world will stand still for him. alternatively, he thought it was the red sea, he was moses, and the traffic will part for him to cross at his will. a million of theories, but no answers.

in a way i feel responsible, because i let him go first, because i am too beautiful, because i entranced him and he couldn't think straight. :-p

people seem to be very crabby these days. is it the weather? is it the food? is it the economy or the politics? perhaps they are not getting enough action in the bedroom. headline: sexual frustration causes all types of social maladies.

one day not very long ago, i walked into the neighbourhood cafe to order a birthday cake. a distinguished looking caucasian man walked in to order 6 pieces of cake.

do you want 7 pieces, the lady behind the counter asked, seeing that there were exactly 7 pieces left of that particular cake. a perfectly normal question if you ask me, and a very entrepreneuring one. sell off the leftover pieces so that you can release the space for a new cake. very commendable, and if she was my employee i would have earmarked her for promotion.

the man, apparently with a lot of pent-up issues, in his pants and in his head, replied in a very agitated voice, "6 pieces mean 6 pieces!". he didn't raise his voice though, i give him that much. i turned to have a better look at him, at this well-dressed man, seemingly an expatriate with a high level position, and wondered why a simple reasonable question could spark off such irritation. a single 'no' wasn't good enough for this smart-looking man, he had to let the woman know that he can count. i never knew a situation when one didn't mean one, two didn't mean two, three didn't mean three, but apparently he did.

she asked meekly after a minute or two, "would you want that separately packed?" with the most arrogant yet indifferent look, he just gave a shrug. some people think that standing behind counters for 8 to 9 hours a day is a bliss, and having rude gruff customers is the icing to their day. forget common courtesies like thank you's and please's, expressing your request in a simple decent way was apparently asking for ice from hell.

i learnt that day not to judge a book by its cover. i've always known to respect people who are lower in the social hierarchy but never thought that the idiom goes both ways. a beautiful red apple doesn't mean there are no worms wriggling inside.

it's quite scary the number of scams that are going around. if you are not on your toes, for even a split second, someone may just be lurking around to cheat you, hit you, deceive you or whatever else they have up their sleeves. you could be doing anything; withdrawing cash from the atm, window-shopping, picking up kids or even just strolling around, you could be the victim of an elaborate well-thought out scheme to hustle you of your personal effects, or even you! your physical self.

the scams are endless, infinite. the ones that are exposed in the newspaper are immediately replaced by more imaginative ones. there is no contest to the imagination of mankind, especially when his boundless wit is used on illegitimate means. i've heard of so many, i've seen quite a few myself, but personally i know of one most elaborate con-job that is not often spoken, yet to be exposed but is probably the most widespread and threatening.

i'm talking about babies. you know, those big-shinny-innocent-eyed, chubby-rosy-cheeked thing. those that you can spend hours after hours looking at them doing absolutely nothing except sleep. the ones that melt your hand when they utter a single 'goo-goo' or wrap their hand around your finger. the irresistible, adorable, cute little babies. it is a well-thought out scam. really. exceptionally angelic packaging, enchanting audio, an enchanting package all in all to lure you into the trap. into what exactly? firstly, diapers and diapersful of shit! who in their right mind will want to clean up someone elses' bum and vomit if not for that aforementioned charming packaging? then, a verrrrrry long spell of sleepless nights, guaranteed to transform you into the not-so-distant cousin of the panda. it cries, and you drop everything and come a-running. sounds like some evil plot where you have been hypnotised into a deep trance and is at the beck and call of this thing yet? your life goes on hold for a couple of years, whilst this little thing grows up, possibly trashing whatever material things you may have; computers, cars, walls, clothes and definitely the thickness level of your wallet.

well, if you think that this is the extent of its control on you, you have already been scammed. you are looking at a lifetime of endless worries, back talk, insolence and aggravation. at some point in your journey of parenthood, you are bound to have the thought of 'is there a return policy for this?', however fleeting it may be, and let me tell you right now, right here, that there is no return policy. no exchange either. you are stuck with them for life. you didn't think about that when you were staring at the dark bottomless pool of black innocence and they were batting their eyelids in all sweetness, did you? you spend countless and countless hours supervising their homework, nagging good manners, etiquette and all the good virtues in life, only to realise in the end that they do not necessary practice what you preach, especially when you are not around. you threaten them, you cajole them, you bribe them, you scold them. they have transformed you into a shrew, a gangster, a nagging old woman and a mother who will always be worried about her children. always. all these because they were once a cute,irresistible,adorable little baby. would you have got into all these if babies are disgusting looking things?

if, one day you stop and think, that this is all worth it, that when they are happy, healthy and playing blissfully, that all this has been worthwhile, that you do not need to get back anything for all that you have done and given out, as do all parents, you have truly and totally been scammed. :-p

birthdays are always nice, if nothing more than that people are generally nicer to you than on normal days. you get to exercise your 'comeon, it's my birthdayyyyyy!' prerogative, blink your eyes a couple of times and it gets people moving. even the hard-core lazy bones ones.

they ask you what you want to eat, but you still don't end up screaming 'Japaneseeeee' because you know they are not maniac over sobas and unagis like you are, and there is only so much japanese food a normal person can take before they explode, japanese people not included. they ask you what you want to do, and they shuffle alongside you in the shopping centre like zombies, eventhough you don't patronize your favourite shops or see your favourite things incase one of them does turn into an actual living dead. they give you hand-made birthday cards and write the sweetest things, which kind of make you feel like you are reading your own eulogy, except that you are still alive and kicking, which is always a good thing. they fill your facebook page with the same exact two words, 'happy birthday', and you have to think of a thousand of different witty ways to reply to that. thank you for all the heartfelt brain stimulation. they bake your favourite cookies and name the receipe after you but they don't tell you what that name is, leading you to suspect that they say the same thing to every girl out there, and they crush you with bear hugs, all the time maintaining that cool tough rebellious and definitely aloof teenage exterior. they ask you whether you want to eat your red egg on your english birthday and call you 'girl', transporting you in the blink of an eye to your sweet childhood days when everything was easy and simple.

birthdays are always good, and the age is only a number game. 12 o'clock feels like the bewitching hour and very much like cinderella, everything is transformed back to the way it was.

tick tock tick tock. the clock marks each second with a slight movement of its hand. time has never passed more slowly than when you are waiting for news on the health of your loved ones. to top that off, you are thousands of miles away. the agony of not knowing, not being there, of waiting and hoping, of not being able to take things into your own hands. i have never known such torment. you laugh, you play, you walk, you talk and you eat, just like any other day, except you have a 10,000 pounds weight sitting comfortably on your heart. everything pales by comparison.

the day after i left, the nightmare began. she started out with a weak, listless voice over the phone. i felt guilty for not being there already. the next day, someone called with news that her blood sugar reading hit the roof. what?! she was never a diabetic in all her regular annual blood checks. something is wrong somewhere. the news got worse with each passing day. her ca19.9 reading has just passed the borderline. i feared for the worst but hoped for the best. i was hesitant to speak to her over the phone, afraid even, that my voice will betray what we were all trying to cover up. she has been complaining of a loss of appetite and discomfort in the her abdominal region recently. she has lost some weight. suddenly, for no apparent reason, now her blood sugar and pressure is sky high. piecing all the puzzles together, i am fully aware of what the picture shows. i have been down that road before. yet i could do nothing except to continue playing, eating, walking and talking. my hands fidgeted with the handphone the entire day. i wanted to call, to know what was the lastest development every other second, yet i was afraid of disrupting some important meeting. i waited. i was restless. i said a prayer with every step i took.

finally, the report came. there was inflammation. where? why? what? how? emergency surgery was scheduled. i don't know if i was relieved that it wasn't something related to oncology or distressed that she will have to undergo surgery in the next few hours, and i wasn't even there beside her. sure, it was a small operation. sure, it was routine stuff for the surgeon. but what if? there is always the what if, and i wasn't arrogant nor naive enough to ignore the possibilities.

everything went well. however, even when she rose from the anesthesia and called me back, i couldn't rest easy. the nights are the worse. she was gasping for breath from the lack of oxygen supply in her blood. i didn't dare to talk more. it was going to be a very long night.

i am blessed that the story had a happy ending, as happy as a successful operation can be anyway. by the time i returned, she was once more waiting at home for me. everything seemed surreal, like i imagined the entire incident in my delusional brain. when i came back, everything was back to the way it was. except for that 4-inch gash on her abdomen, surrounded by an entire patch of bruised blue-black.

i'm used to being over-worked and over-demanded. i have accustomed to being the solution for each problem and task. suddenly, it was taken all out of my hands and i was left weak and helpless, not even able to look in from afar. life sometimes mock me to show me how i am blessed but i am left with my energy drained.

the day that nobody remembered.

it started out as a day like any other, but deep in my heart was a sinking feeling because i knew that nobody remembered. it is not such a big deal, i kept telling myself, but i felt myself disappearing just a little. into oblivion, into transparency. how do i describe the feeling of fleetingness, of immaterialism, when nobody remembers the day that you commenced to exist? it was as if nobody valued the significance of your existence; no hands to tie you back, no worth to weigh you down, and so you evanesce a little, fragmenting into a little twirl of entity and dissolving into the air.

it was my lunar calendar birthday, so nobody bothered to remember the date. "not like it was your real birthday". for the past 39 years, i had red eggs and vermicelli to mark the day, with the occasional lapse in celebration. 2 years ago, everybody forgot too. funny how you don't really remember celebrating it, until nobody does as well. this year i marked my birthday with a little tear, brushed away hurriedly with the back of my hand just incase anybody caught me crying. like a cry baby, even at 39.

i have never given much weighting to my real birthdays, being surrounded by interest-motivated people most of the time. i have received large bouquets of flowers, delicious cakes, expensive presents, and i cringe because i can never be certain of their sincerity. i take it with the grace and gratefulness that is requisite of the social game. however, it means nothing more than attempts to further solidify their position in the ladder of life. letting it all go to your head will be a receipe for suicide. many extends their well-wishes, some less, others more. who is real behind these walls of grinning smiles and nodding heads, i sometimes can no longer tell. for some, i know, it is nothing more than a run-of-the-mill business commitment. there is the occasional one, who gives something from the heart, from the hands, and you know, that this is a friend. however, i have learned to take that day with a pinch of salt.

which makes the chinese birthday all the more distinct. only those closest and dearest have privy to that information. only those who are most sincere and true. perhaps when you are setting yourself up for something like that, you are destined to fall the most painful. life is that cruel. what you don't care for, you have plenty. what you value, you have none. it hurts. no doubt about that. but what can you say? you can't force people to remember. you can't make people value you more. you take what you get, and you move on.

and so, it became a day like any other day.

received a friend invitation in facebook today.

sooooooo?

received one from someone i do not know. no inkling whatsoever. her face, name, or anything else for that matter, does not ring a bell.

sooooooo? what's so special about that? at some point in their facebook existence, everybody receives a few of these invitations from 'very friendly' strangers hoping to increase their circle of friends, by a couple of hundred thousands. doesn't really matter if you are fat or thin, tall or short, pretty or ugly, as long as you are a human being. actually, i don't think that is a requisite either, as long as you have a facebook account and you qualify as one extra friend. apparently, some people out there are collecting 'friends' on facebook like i will collect stamps, and my daughter collects aluminium can tabs. go figure. the evolution of the hobbies of collecting to include modern technology :-p

well, the thing is this lady in question has only 4 friends. not exactly the high-flier in facebook. i don't know any of her friends. it sure does not help that her profile picture is a black and white creepy side profile in dark lighting. you can't see it here, because i won't repost it but brrrr, believe me, it gives me the shivers just remembering it. actually, the creepy part is that she has posted my profile picture on her wall! her wall of almost nothing short of a few posts, and i am on it grinning in a kawaii way. how creepy is that?

?!?!??!!? what is that all about? please kindly interpret what does all this mean for me? i seem to be the only other race in her group of 4 friends. i get friendly, but i seem to be singled out for very peculiar reasons that even i do not comprehend. freaky.

our side of the world is becoming less and less efficient, because we tolerate mediocrity. we accept the flaws in people, as we rightly should, but even lame excuses and feebly -covered laziness are part and parcel of the deal. it has grown to the point of being so in your face. yes, i am lazy, yes i am not willing to lift a single finger and get off my metaphorical big butt. soooo?

somewhere out there someone expects me to stay at home 24hours a day, and that person isn't even my hubs, until he sees fit to visit. he assumes, in that empty echoing brain of his, that i have nothing better to do than sit at home and lay my golden egg. without even asking what i do for a living, what type of lifestyle i live and what my schedules are like, he assumes that i will be at home, waiting, pining, anticipating his arrival.

gasp! who can be so righteous, so full of himself, you may like to know. a charity organisation, would you believe? i am trying to donate the sofa that we have grown to love and adore to someone else who may still be able to extract many more years of good use from it, seeing that it is still in very good condition. i vetted potential candidates as i didn't want it to be abused by those worms missing cardiac organs and conscience, who milks charitable intentions for their own personal profit. finding a respectable organisation, i emailed them to see if they can pick up the sofa. what is the condition of your sofa??? three question marks! she must be a very inquisitive person. i commiserate that many people genuinely mistake their organisation as dumping ground for whatever rubbish they have brewing at home, but that is another kind of worm which i do not want to go into. i send her photos of my sofa and she was apparently satisfied. can you please pick it up on 24th morning? ok, i will make the arrangement on 24th morning. please kindly read carefully. not 'i will arrange for the pick-up on 24th' but rather i will make the arrangement on that morning only. i know not how to answer to that. i emailed her again on 23rd morning; can you please ask them to come before 10.30am? she did not reply. apparently, charity is a very busy organisation.

i woke up bright and early today morning to give a last clean-up and a lingering look to the sofa. i have not heard from them since their last email agreeing to make arrangements. what arrangements exactly, i am apparently not authorised to know. it is top secret stuff, this sofa recycling business, lest people may come and kidnap the sofa.

i called her but no one answered. i tried again later. they will come before 12pm. can you let me know around what time? before 12pm. only now i understand that it takes rocket scientist discipline to come up with the scheduling of charitable pick-ups. i'm not asking for the timing right down to the seconds and milli-seconds. the approximate hour will do as i have to make a trip back home to be around for them to pick up. they will need detailed complicated calculations to come up with a decent answer, with theorems, algebraic equations and formulas. apparently, all people who will like to donate their stuffs to charity are people who have nothing better to do than shake legs at home.

so, i joined the group of well-meaning people out there and shook my legs until 11am, when i still haven't heard a peep from them. there goes my morning, but this is for a good cause, lady, so pipe down. by 11.20 i know they will not be turning up before 12, as the good lady says. i called again and asked for the lorry driver's contact. lorry drivers have a very esteemed position in the charitable organisation's framework, it would seem. as you have often heard, it's not what you know but whom you know. in this case, it is the lorry driver! so people out there, don't look down on the small people. *shaking index finger* so i called him. before 3pm, he says. why do i have the funny feeling i am being given the run around? sigh. before 3pm? yes, before 3pm.

so, now i have nothing to do but continue to shake legs until 3pm? at this rate, i will have very skinny and toned thighs. however, as i have grown rather attached to my elephant thighs, i threw in the towel. i actually went out and did some other productive stuffs. gasp! the nerve of me!! when they see fit to appear ala david copperfield style. i will then do my harry houdini too.

who knew charity can be so complicated?

coming down with a bug.

why is it coming down and not up? is it because you are feeling down when you are sick? or is it because you lie down when you are not feeling well? i want to be coming up with a flu! *sniff*

feeling sick sucks. people ask you where are you feeling unwell? duh, the whole body! from head to toe. sick and yet you have to conduct indepth analysis of your sickness. please do not bother me if you are not handing out t.l.c.'s.

*grumpy mode on*

the stupid alarm clock rang. i turned around, ready to hit the off button on my alarm, only to realise that it is coming from the other side of the bed. 6 o'clock. crazy as i sometimes am, i am still not deranged enough to set the alarm to ring whilst the sky is still dark out, the roads quiet and no soul is stirring. even the imaginary cock is fast asleep in his warm hut. however, someone in my household is a full-fledged member of an asylum and wakes up at the same time every day. the looney, however, is nowhere to be found. barely conscious, i rolled over and tap the source of my irritation.

i still have another half hour before i have to join the legion of semi-conscious zombies. come on, sleep! just when i was about to fall back to sleep, the darn alarm clock ring again. oh noooo!, i whined to myself. peering with slitty eyes, i realise that it is again not my clock. why are there so many alarms ringing in the dead of the night, and no one is waking up?!?! what's wrong with my room, the den of haunting alarms?! an unseen hand stirred and reached out to stop the alarm. no one woke up. sigh. one minute later, my own alarm rang. by then, i've already thrown in the white towel and was ready to wake up, lest another alarm ring in the cursed room.

there really is karma in this world, so people beware. whatever you do, or not do, will come around and haunt you. many eons ago, so long that it seems to be the dinosaur era, i was a pig. in that i really need my sleep. not that it did anything to help my case for beauty, but it was something that i needed a lot of nevertheless. one less hour of sleep, or even half an hour for that matter, and i will fall sick. sleep came before anything else.

apparently, i've over-used that quota for the rest of my life. i've dried up the number of hours i can laze in bed and vegetate until the sun shines down my bum, or the my mother breaks down the door. by contrast, i now have to wake up whilst the sun is still snoozing and whilst the cock is dreaming of sexy hens. no more excuses, sleeping beauty.

i am tired. i seem to be tired all the time, perhaps more from the routine that is life rather than physical strain. i have forgotten how to stop, to slow down and smell the flowers, so much so that i feel too guilty to indulge in such unproductive pleasures. a good book, a warm cup of tea, blues filing the air, my feet tucked under me whilst i snuggle into the folds of the oversized armchair. my soul yearns for the comfort. laughters, good company, a glass of red wine. all these are missing from my life for too long. i feel drained, dehydrated of the little pleasures in life.

i feel like i can't breathe. i take a deep breath but the air is not reaching into the finer bronchioles of my lungs. i am gasping for breath. i feel like i am drowning; the lapping water is reaching to the bottom of my nose. my chest is tight.

i am tired. i can only seek solace in sleep, letting time pass, trying to gain strength from the respite but i wake up in a jolt. i think i'm too stressed. i feel like i'm always the one picking up the slack when the rope goes limp. the fact that i had to google for the word 'rope' just now affirms my fatigued condition. my brain is shutting down.

it is always me, the cry of my name when things need to be done. me, this. me that, me this and that. for once, just once, i wish someone can take over the lead and i will just follow. i feel like i am doing more than i can take on but i am only human.

'punctuality' is not in the dictionary

i'm sitting at coffee bean, writting down the lyrics to 'according to you', eventhough i already have a printed copy at home. i need to do something to keep my mind occupied; the dumb moronic kindle chose an inopportune time to die on me. my pen hang in midair, i look up in frustration and i feel like shouting at the top of my lungs. i'm so sick of mediocrity. it's the story of our lives, of our generations. i'm sitting there, 24 minutes into the appointed time. i can't remember the last time someone was ever on time, or god forbid, early! nobody strives to be punctual anymore; that word should be struck off the dictionary.

i don't dislike the person, just the attitude. i seem to be forever waiting, be it relating to professional or leisure. yesterday i was late for an appointment myself, something that happens in a blue moon and not as a matter of habitual regularity, being held up by unexpected parking problems but even then, i was still facing an empty chair and equally empty air when i manage to reach the venue. knowing that they will be late, for they have never been on time, i was deliberately laggard myself, but apparently many people have gprs tracking devices implanted into me so that they are able to be fashionably later than me. why is late even fashionable in the first place? i have no freaking idea.

it's a lack of respect, i opined. maybe a presumption that other people have nothing better to do than wait around for you, that a few minutes wouldn't hurt. a few minutes turn into ten minutes, twenty minutes, half an hour. categorically, a lack of consideration. it's always the same story, i was busy or caught up in something else, that most times the excuse is not even said anymore. yes, i'm late, so? seems to be hovering in the air. i'm busy too, yet i'm sitting here, for a good half of an hour, waiting for you to show up.

strangest thing is irritated as i am with the attitude, the lackadaisical disposition, i am not angry at the propreitor of such demeanor. how i manage to separate the flesh from the seed boggles me but perhaps they are all friends of mine, dear and near. friends for a very long time. so, that's why i am still here, sitting, waiting. even after the millionth times.

nothing doing

ah, friday. friday like it hasn't been in a month of fridays. in many months of fridays.

today's friday has been very leisurely, very relaxing. even the dark overcast sky agrees with me. no stressful glaring rays from the reprimanding sun. no hurried schedules to rush off to, no deadlines to meet. na dah. nothing that i want to be doing today and can't wait until next monday, anyway.

it has been so long since i stop that i think i am a little rusty at that. stopping to smell the flowers and feel the breeze, take in a good book and not just skim the words, rushing to get to the end. not exactly rocket science stuff but it is amongst one of the hardest thing to do.

i started the day, after driving for an hour to send the kids off to school, with breakfast at my favourite haunt. no, not coffee bean. that over-commercialised place is for quick afternoon romps when i neither have the luxury of time nor mood. whilst it sells itself as the place to let your hair down, to stop and smell the coffee, it is superficial at best and a little too much like other coffee-places to bring comfort; almost like churning out identical factory moulds of coffee places. ching chang, chug-a-chug.....poof! another xerox copy of the place for you to relax. chillingly eerie. like you are in an alternative reality world. you turn the corner and you see another one that looks like the one you just had tea in. strange. wait! there's another one!! are these things stalking me?!

anyway, this little one that i always like to sneak off to and hide for a little while is cosy beyond words. i love their little library of travel books and light readings, all carefully cover-wrapped with love. i wish all my books at home are like that, but i will need a book-fairy to execute that for me with a little wave of her wand, and a little shake of her bum, because there is no way i am spending hours after hours doing that. as i chose a book and stepped on the little foot-ladder to take it off the shelf, i feel like i am intruding into someone else's library, complete with a fireplace in the corner, albeit fake. apparently, i am getting a warm glow from breaking and entering, trespassing and 'borrowing' people's books.

coupled with an egg, turkey ham muffin and a cup of warm tea, my morning was perfect.

one hour later, however, i was restless. i was ready to close my book, go and face my day. a part of me wanted to stay, to hide some more, but another part of me wanted a change of scene. looks like i still haven't perfected the technique of 'doing nothing'. i am going to need more practice.

legit triad

do you know what is the most difficult thing to do in the world? apparently, it is trying to close a bank account. it is almost like joining a triad group; once you have put your feet into it, don't dream of pulling yourself out again. at least not without a lot of hassle. that is what i am goinig through at the moment. the legitimate triad members are very unhappy that i will no longer be banking with them.

why do you want to close the account? can i interest you in this other investment that i have? puhleaseeeee let me go, let me find my own happiness. i know that you cannot bear to see us part, but we can not be together forever. this much you should know, even from the start. i was honest and straight-forward from the beginning. i told them i wanted to close the account, that my very intention was closing the account. there were no lies, no misleading. i wasn't the cheating philander. my lover is not as clingy!

still, they wouldn't let me go. can i make an appointment to see you? will next year be soon enough? i want to close the account, why do you still want to see me? i gave them a date so far in the future, long after the account has been closed, cold dead and buried six feet underground. hopefully, they will have forgotten about me by then. i'm not keeping my fingers crossed though.

people out there, you need to take out your crumpled dollar notes from under the mattress, from the cookie tin, from inside the toilet tank and put them into our banks. these people need more clients to hassle.

sense of humour required

so, tell me, why is it that women don't have a sense of humour? well, if they do, they are keeping it very well hidden. veeeery well hidden. most women i know don't crack jokes. at least not on a regular basis. i don't know about after they have downed a series of tequila or took some magical mushrooms but on a daily basis, in their regular lives, women just don't crack jokes. now you know why women cry almost over everything and are crabby all the time. and you thought it was pms.

gasp, did you just call me fat?! , eventhough you may be discussing about the weather.

are they talking about me?! *peering with slitty eyes at the next table*

sounds like i'm dissing on my own kind, but it's frustrating how women are so uptight about everything and super-sensitive all the time. you need to see the funny side of life. loosen up a little.

for some women, men with a great sense of humour is a point-scorer. so, what do you like about him? he makes me laugh. laughing is important, who wants to cry, right? sorry, i wasn't talking about you, mr depressed psychotic man, you can continue to indulge in your misery. so, for women, being funny is one of the things that we will definitely appreciate. some perhaps will value money more, then comes good looks and big attachments (haha, i'm just adding that in there for the kick of it, how do i know if size matters or not?!?!), but shallowness can only go so far. a good sense of humour will be somewhere on the list; number 99 out of the 100 basic requirements perhaps for some.

on the other hand, no man looks for a sense of humour. it's like they want to be facing this crabby bitchy ms universe-lookalike with big boobs for the next four decades! seriously! ask any man! first on the list, if they are being really pretentious, will be a good heart and a nice smile. then comes big boobs, sexy figures, legs to die for, shapely bum..... and that's about it. see? if you want to be shallow about it, shallowness is what you'll end up getting. no matter how a man says they want someone with good character, you will never see a slightly-below-average looking woman on the arms of a proud-looking man. mine has beautiful sexy character! the other day, she fed a stray cat and saved some homeless folks! nope, it only works out if she's pretty, or at the very least, pleasant on the eyes, as well, so they all say. ya, pleasant on the eyes turn out to be ms. america lookalike.

anyway, back to the list, shallowness or not. a sense of humour is never on the list, above or below that imaginary good heart and wonderful character. why is that not important for a man? because he already has enough sense of humour for the both of them? i can just see that happening. dahhhling, why did the chicken cross the road? what chicken are you talking about? did you take the tesco chicken out of my fridge again and played with it?!?!? you are in serious trouble! see what you are getting yourself in? i guess men are a really tolerant lot, as long as they have eye candy to look at.

oh, for goodness sake!

i called to ask if she has a canvas in a particular odd size. after all, i have checked out the last few shops by foot, or almost by foot, this is after all malaysia, and it's getting to be tedious.

oh, we have so many types here, you will have to come look for yourself, she replied.

*rolls eyes*, which she can't see :-p. you can't have a look and call me back when you are free? i have been to many shops and they did not carry those sizes. i don't want to travel all the way there for nothing.

have you been to our shop?

is it the latest addition to our country's tourist attraction?!? i don't want to unless you have what i am looking for. duh! i didn't say that as you can see because it is not in bold but how fun life would be if you can say what you wanted to deep down in your heart. she will probably slam the phone down on me but it would still have been fun. too many years of proper upbringing is so constraining, and boring. *more eyes rolling*

no, i haven't. see how lame the answer will be if we don't speak our mind?

you really have to come. we have so much art supplies and canvases of all sizes.

you can't have a look and tell me? i'm pleading here, give me a break, won't you? you call this service?

no, i'm really busy. ya, i can hear the conversations in the background. you really have to get back to your chatting. *more more eyes rolling*

fineeeeeeee. so i made the trip there. all the wayyyyy there. her shop turned out to be half art supply and half copying-slash-photo-developing place. half! it wasn't even a proper art material shop. i could punch her. i seriously could. in the end all i did was gave her a pat on the shoulder. wished it was harder, for giving me the round around, but... (read the part above about all the years of proper upbringing). several hard smacks even, like trying to help her dislodge an imaginary bone stuck in her throat. that would have been satisfying. violent? you'll have to be in my shoes.

the conversation that followed wasn't really important because it was more of me not speaking my mind. i would have asked after her well being but i'm not inclined to curse. i would have done some of that eyes rolling, in her face!, but i'm too nice. please kindly note, if you only carry a few measly art item in the back of your photocopying shop, do not, i repeat, do not call yourself an art shop. my corner indian newspaper vendor carries more art items than you do.

i am too nice for my own good.

price of not paying attention to details

sometimes i think i am a man. or at least a man incarnated into this life. i do not pay attention to details. i do not retain tiny bits of information like most women do. for example, i do not remember what colour shoes i have at home, nor can i tell you what type i have. i know many women who can go into details, very minute details about the different types of shoes that they have living in their closet. ahhhhh, but i do have more than one pair of shoe. at least that part i have retained my feminity. it's more practicality than anything else. we really do need so many different types of shoes to go with our clothes.

another thing, i can't differentiate between the different shades of colour, like beige, cream, cosmic latte, eggshell, ivory, pearl. *rolls eyes* try arguing with a woman about the colour that she wants her wall to be painted and you will understand in a jiffy what i am saying. to me, they are all white! you want cosmic latte, and then when the sun shines on it, it turns out to be ivory! gasp!! whatever will you do? tear down your wall?!

i don't remember faces either, though i think that is more of a 'me' thing rather than a male thing. another tiny detail that i can't seem to remember is what's wrong with the clothes that i wear. i can never remember that the dark blue shirt needed to re-sew one loose button, the white dress is way too transparent or the turquiose dress is a little too low-necked, no matter how many times i have worn it. i don't think women, well normal women anyway, will forget things like this and end up fidgeting here and there trying to hide their all-too-showing knickers or pulling up the neckline, for the umpteenth time. i always remember at the wrong timing, and usually that's when i'm already out and about, that a certain clothing need a pin here, or to sew up there.

today, in a lesson never learnt, i wore something that is too short, too low and too bright. i tugged my dress down to make it less short... and more decent, which ended up pulling my already low neckline lower, giving the people having tea at coffee bean a big eyeful of my bra and probably causing a few to spurt their teas like water-spouting whales. i immediately pulled it back up, of course but unfortunately, the inconsiderate shopping centre doesn't dig holes in the ground for people who intends to hide in them, and so i walked nonchalantly passed, knowing very well that i do not know those people nor will i be seeing any of them anymore, so darn if i care. sigh, some people never learn. thank goodness that i have a fairly thick skin to compensate for that.

barb wires

"where is my bag?! are you trying to steal it from me and bring it home?"

those words were like barb wires piercing deep into my heart. coming from my nearest and dearest, the thorns twisted and turned deep into my vulnerability. i would never have expected those words to come forth from her mouth. never in a million years. she has never ever spoken like that to me.

in that very moment, i knew, i realise that she was in pain, in extreme frustration; about the things that could have been, should have been and the things that are. i understood. i sympathised, but it did not lessen the sting one bit. i have been with her almost round the clock for as many days as she needed me. i was there for her, when others weren't. i served, i helped, i anticipated, i listened. i gave of myself because i love, and never expected anything in return, least of all hurtful words.

still, i comprehended, and because i comprehended i let it flow in from one ear and out the other. i forgave her as soon as the words were uttered. four years down the road, i still remember. once in a blue moon, of the words uttered but not meant. it does not hurt. it does not mean anything. but it is still there, in my memory. i guess some things, once said, cannot be erased.

ramblings of a mother

sigh. my daughter is growing up. i didn't have a chance to bade farewell to the toothy-grin adorable little girl who was so attached to me, or vice versa i'm beginning to think.

it was in the blink of an eye, the transformation. one minute she was still that needy toddler who is a little too mature for her age, and the next she is wanting her own space and privacy. i didn't realise when she stopped telling me things, about her life, about her school, and most about everything. she still tells me the run-of-the-mill stuff, like which teacher said what, which friend did what, which i should probably be grateful but she doesn't share her deepest fear, her innermost secrets with me. sigh. when did she start having secrets?! that little cheeky grin with the dimple on her left cheek, just below her eye.

i'm not quite sure i know how to bring up an adolescent. i believe i was absent the day they covered this lesson in children for dummies class. theoretically, you know what to do, but when it comes to actually doing it, it's darn hard. being nonchalant about the whole thing, taking each day as it comes, cutting your protective apron strings, heck i'm even at a loss on how to discipline them. they start to talk about lovey-dovey stuffs and they talk about boys and crushes. help!! they are barely out of their diapers. funny how you can keep cool when other kids are talking about it, joking and teasing them even, being their next best friend, but when it comes to your own child, you are ready to barricade the door and ground them for the next 120 years.

i need time to adjust, but the rate at which i am going, i will be ready to face my teenage daughter when she is 40 years old, by which time i'm outdated and will need to re-adjust again. this is a mother in denial. this is a mother who is constantly shaking her head from side to side and plugging her fingers in her ears. i look at other mothers who have little toddlers tottering about and i think in my heart, you have it easy.

excuse me, i need to rush off to the nearest book shop to get the latest copy of adolescent for dummies.

no taming of the shrew

the sad fact of life is that one must be fierce, brusque even to guarantee results in this cold, heartless world. it's a dog-eat-dog climate out there where one sign of weakness means you are at the losing end. when i was little, i thought that phrase was just for the movies, for fables and story tales. now i find myself adopting the same defensive stance where it makes a difference.

you walk into the room, you hold your head high, a little nose in the air even. you act like you matter, like you are someone important, and everybody else will think you are. i'm not preaching that you should be rude, never rude at any cost. all the requisite please and thank you's but with the air of someone who doesn't take nonsense and the answer 'no'. for that is what most people will tell you, NO. it's their very basic instinct, goes deep down in some unknown rookie training we have never heard of. NO. that's the one thing they teach you to say when faced with any question. sorry, we don't have it. sorry, we can't do it. sorry, it's not possible. give them a little of that 'i'm very busy, i can't wait, i won't take no for an answer' and wa lah! what do you know, yes, we have it, yes we can do it, yes it's possible, difficult but still possible.

why does our sick world work in this way? i have no idea. in my ideal world, you can be as nice to anybody as you please, you can smile, you can let your guard down, you can do nice things for strangers and not get hacked to pieces. however, there is no country out there that such a dream society can exist, not even in deserted islands. smile at the locals and you may just be staring down the eyes of a drooling man-eating cannibal. so, if you want results, if you want to be heard, act like you are the next primadonna in town and chances are, they will believe you are and fall over themselves serving you.

mum bought herself a gold loop earring whilst window-shopping one day. she called me the next day to moan that the earring broke when she attempted to open them. not perform wild acrobatic acts with them, mind you, just open them. sigh. i knew what will ensue but still there is no way out. i can almost see the scene that will unfold next. i was already worn out before it began.

we went back to the jewellers and complain about their poor quality product. i reasoned with him. i showed him how we opened the earring, which broke again in my hand as we spoke. he kept shaking his head. sorry, we can buy them back from you but you will have to lose some money, they said. lose some money?! it's less than 24 hours that we brought the item back and haven't even had the chance to use it and we have to lose money? they come up with lame defective stuffs and expect us to lose money over it? a classic case of big corporations against small individuals. i had no choice but to unleash the little shrew that i brought along with me in my little pocket. i went ballistic. . he kept shaking his head. sorry, he said, that's the rule. what rule? i don't see any rule displayed out loud and clear. i asked for his supervisor. i asked for his manager. i would have asked for his mother but obviously she has nothing to do with the matter. sorry for that man but i minored in law. i brought in what little knowledge i had about merchantable qualities and reporting him to the consumer association. i threatened him a little about the company's reputation, which i believe he doesn't really give a heck about. i brought out all the bullets i had and a little bit more. after i was done talking, he finally agreed to change it at the same price. i didn't feel one bit of satisfaction. why do things have to be so hard? why can't people do the morally correct thing? i felt totally drained and exhausted, despite winning the fight. life shouldn't be like that.

warning: epidemic of high fever

a new type of specie has just crept out from the woodworks, fresh from the oven. piping hot too. they are making more of it with every ticking of the clock. NFFBFF they call it. a lot of F's. neff-beff, that's how it's pronounced. stands for 'not football fan but fifa fever'. you see them all around you. could be your mother, your aunty, your brother or even your wife. they know nuts about football. they never watch a single match in their lives but suddenly, with the fifa bug going round, they talk ball, eat ball, breathe ball, sleep ball and of course watch football.

who's your favourite team? england, most probably. why? that's the only team they know. who's in the team? with beckham missing in action, most NFFBFFs are at a loss. wayne rooney! okayyyy, that's one. yes, of course now they will remember robert green as well.

hey, did you watch yesterday's game? portugal scored 7 goals against korea! yes, the defence was weak whilst the offense was not aggressive enough. *silence ensued, followed by the buzzing of a mosquito entering the scene flying past from left to right* not knowing how to talk ball, she turns quietly back to her work. when the ball's back in her court (pun intended), she drops it. that's the problem. they don't really know ball. they know it's 7-0 and it's big story, but that's all they know about it.

that's why i don't get it. people who doesn't normally follow football from any country, be it england premier league, spanish primera liga, argentinian football or even malaysian football, they wouldn't even blink an eye if chelsea's winning the cup this year or the red devil was just one point short of the winner. suddenly, they are interested to know if england will enter into the round of 16 and every other damn country. who watches korea football normally?! besides korean, that is. it's still the same black and white round football. now that the whole world is in on it, and it's THE hottest topic, they are suddenly very interested to spend hours after hours in front of the tv, watching the ball being kicked left, right and center. what's the deal? is it because it's only on every once in four years? so, something rare must be something good? i'm rare! there's only one of me in the whole world. *smirk*

i don't watch football, fifa or no fifa. i don't try to talk football, even if it's the most heated topic of the day. to write this post, i had to do research. an ton of research (translated to mean: a pure football fan grumbled in my ear). ok, so i'm blogging about it but i'm actually blogging about the 'neffbeffs' rather than fifa. two months ago, i don't sit in front of the tv to catch 22 men running back and forth 105 metres of grass. today, i don't either. hey, i've got principles. :-p

a sigh for a sigh

she gave the loudest sigh ever, reverberating the silence with her mournful sound.

granny has just took another fall. perhaps not as serious as the fall a couple years ago where she broke her leg and required surgery, this time she twisted her arm and has to be in a cast for several weeks. she sat there, ever so sad and forlorn. i am going to die, she sighed. ever the dramatic persona, she says that at least once or twice a week, especially when everybody is too caught up in their own lives. i don't see anything wrong with her playing up once in a while; everybody needs attention every so often. then again, i only listen to her dramatic predictions every once in a long while. there is only so much i can think of to talk to her. she has never been in my life much when i was growing up, being so far away in her own town and running her little shop. then again, my paternal grandma who had always been in the vicinity never appeared much in the reel of film that is my life either. come to think of it, big as our extended families are, with a total of 7 aunties and 6 uncles, none of them ever played any role in my life as i grew up. no uncle who bring us to the park, no aunty who bought us ice-cream, no granny who knitted sweaters. for that matter, no brother who stood up for me, who bought me little gifts, who helped me with my homework or looked after my welfare either. i'm digressing into this big major soppy feel-sorry-for-myself episode. bah humbug!

as i was saying, granny was feeling very sorry for herself. is your hand hurting, i asked. she shook her head and gave another loud sigh. i'm going to die. i told her that it wasn't so bad, she's able to sleep, she's able to eat, she's able to go out. we just had the most extravagant seafood dinner in celebration of father's day the night before. life wasn't so bad. it felt strange for someone much younger to remind her to count her blessings. true, life isn't just about the three things, but knowing how to be contented is the key to a happy life. still, granny sighed. when you return to your town, remember not to jump up and down anymore, ok. don't attempt any aerobics. my attempt at humour was met with a blank stare. i'm almost tempted to sigh too.

after our little chat, she never once told me again that she is going to die. she did however continue to sigh. a lot. sigh.

to love, to live, to be happy

the faces whirled round and round as the horses spinned, gyrating faster and faster as the merry-go-round picked up speed. faces of children and adults melted into a pool of blurry hazy silhouettes. have you ever been to a merry-go-round? have you noticed something peculiar? nobody ever laughs. nobody is smiling. perhaps it is only this one. nobody seems happy.

for the 2 days that i was trapped in a theme park, myriad noises filled my ears. the screeching of machines, the screams of terrified adolescents, the cries of babies and the whining of children. but no laughters. no twinkling melodious sound of laughters that brighten the sky. what is wrong with the picture? what is wrong with the world? in a place that is every child's dream, where imagination comes true, where every child's ultimate fantasy in fulfilled, no one is laughing.

in my travels, i see their faces. weathered, tired, senses dulled by the same spiritless routine. i hear voices, talking, chatting, greetings with pleasantries, civilities a thin tissue of superficiality. everyone is talking, is anyone listening? the only laughters that ring loud and filled the empty space are our own, four silly heads bent down with laughters over silly jokes.

i stopped to ask for direction. he wouldn't entertain me; he's attending to a couple. they wouldn't entertain me either, it's not my turn. their heads bent together once more in conspiracy over nothing more than pointless babble.

then, the immigration officer who only takes out his mint when we have placed our passports on his counter, takes his own sweet time to pop one into his mouth, and stop for a little chat with his colleague, procrastinating as much as he could before the inevitable task of attending to us. i couldn't help but imagine that his little stage show has more to do with the colour of our skin than his undeniable craving for mints at that particular moment. then again, i was on holiday, i'm in no hurry and the train doesn't leave for another 20 minutes. how long can you drag your little one-man-show? i'm amused that i'm treated to a personal entertainment, lame as it was, at the immigration counter. i much prefer the silver mime statue at covent garden.

nobody bothers, nobody is willing to give you the time of day eventhough they have nothing to rush off to. kindness and graciousness buried in a dark bottomless pit. yet i take it all in stride. all the frustrations, all the injustice fizzle into a whirl of dissipating tiny bubbles. i shake my head. not to censure their tactlessness but to commiserate the sadness that is in their lives.

to love, to live, to be happy, you have to open up your hearts. i am reminded to laugh and to cherish the life that is mine.

conspiracy theory

how is it that my body knows something that my mind doesn't? it will appear that my stomach is in cohorts with the rest of my body and is not letting my brain in on the act. a pandemic conspiracy. collusion at the highest level.

i was debriefed that the mind is the controlling tower for the entire operation. however, apparently, the other body parts have seized control, are now working independently from the brain and will not accept any instruction. it's 3am in the morning, my eyes glaring at the ticking clock tells me. my brain acknowledges it and sends signals from the top of my head to the tip of my toe. hey guys, it's time to shut down for the night and recharge those batteries. no way, it's just 8pm in the evening. time to parrrty on. 8pm my foot. when has 8pm been so dead quiet that even the faint creaking of the overhead fan rumbles in the ear?

at 2pm, you told me that it was way past your bedtime, that wild horses couldn't keep you awake. hallo, it's 2pm in the afternoon. ask the time announcement phone service, ask the prime minister, heck, ask the king for all i care. it's 2pm malaysian time. even in london, it's.........normally i can answer that in the blink of an eye, but my sleep deprived brain can only provide an answer with the help of a calculator at this juncture..... 8pm in the evening. past what bedtime? which country did you just visit? timbuktu? normally i'll google the answer to that but my brain is too fuzzy to move my fingers. it's on auto-drive at the moment. my systems are all mixed up. at lunch, my stomach informs me that i'm not hungry. i ignore it and i eat, and i'm hungry again 2 hours later.

i feel a sense of detachment, floating over physical reality, as if a veil envelops the whole being and dulls the senses. jet lag gets more difficult as you get older. the brain adapts but apparently, the body doesn't. i used to think that if i stay awake as long as daylight beams and get my 8 hour rest when it's dark, i will have the jet lag thing beat. brain over body. right now, ms. body is screaming rebellion and refuses to entertain my theory. i've been craving for my bed since 8am this morning. i don't think i can make it. i'm halfway crawling to my bed as i speak.

on a saturday afternoon

what did you do on last saturday afternoon? strolled down air-conditioned hallways of shopping malls? sipped on a fine cup of tea, with a rich chocolate cake by the side? or slept late until your grumbling stomach woke you up?

well, i spent mine tumbling down the stairs of istana budaya. like jill, but there was no jack at the bottom of the hill to break my fall. not a hobby of mine, this tumbling down stairs business though i don't think anybody asked me beforehand if i liked it before buttery feet caused my downfall, literally.

people usually has frame by frame memory of incidents like these where they can tell you exactly what went wrong one frame at a time. me, my mind was a blur - as usual. i can't remember how i fell and why i fell. all i know is i fell, like a huge sack of potato, right where a huge group was gathered, waiting for intermission time to be over. embarrasment maximus. didn't help that my dress was short. nothing was exposed though. at least, i think nothing was.

a young man who was walking past with his girlfriend stopped and enquired if i was alright. a most unexpected display of gentlemanly act. in a whole room of apparently sophisticated, well dressed people, at the very least one person in the crowd had a heart. the rare breed of a gentleman, even if he did nothing more than just enquire.

fret is what it is all about

at 11, when there's no one infatuated with her, you fret. hey! my daughter's the nicest, prettiest, most kindest girl i know of that age, even if i do say so myself. what's wrong with the guys of her peers?! then, when there are people infatuated with her, you fret also. the definition of motherhood, the job scope of mothers, apparently, is to fret. fret when they do, fret when they don't. fret when they are not pretty enough, fret when they are too pretty. how maniac when compared to fathers' bah humbug attitudes. men have it good. i'll like to see their faces when their daughters finally bring boys home to meet their good ole' dads.

que sera sera

today, i learnt the lesson of letting things be. que sera sera.

when you want something so badly, when you feel that only that will do and nothing else, life can be quite intense, disappointing even. it is almost like you can feel the taste of it on the tip of your tongue. your thoughts are geared up towards that one possibility and you want your hands on it. it almost always will never be fulfilled.

i learnt to let go. the world is so big, the permutations endless. what you want now looks to be the best, but who is to know what is in the future. the moment i realise that, the moment i left it to fate, life got a little easier.

late one night

we were doing our best imitation of couch potatoes that night, laid out infront of the television, absorbed in the scene unfolding before our eyes, like we do every night. the kidnapper in the plot sat down in a chair opposite the victim, and handed over a can of coffee, something so random that even the victim looked surprised.

little princess asked, 'why did he feed him?'

little batman, without skipping a beat, quipped, 'to fatten him up. so that he can eat him'.

a little too much fairy tale i think, not that he reads them anymore. that is my son, and one of the many reasons i love him so. his sense of humour is delightful, and so random.

one hot summer night

i sit. i ponder, and i wonder at the me that is still very much a little girl at heart, despite getting very much on with age. little things very easily pleases me and many things bring a frown to my face, so transparent, so simple.

one hot summer night i received a text message, asking if i would give some recommendations of good eateries to a close friend's niece who was visiting the country, a young lady whom i have never met. someone whose name i didn't know, someone whose face i have never met. someone whose childhood photo has been lying in my album for the last 2 decades. call it fate. call it destiny.

we caught up the next day for dinner. she was a very agreeable person, easy to get along with, pleasant on the eyes, with a familiarity i cannot identify. perhaps this is what is known as fate. we swept the streets of ss2's hawker stalls, covering most, if not all, of the local cuisines. we met again a few days later, for a japanese lunch and a last minute bout of souvenier shoppings, followed by korean dinner before she is zoomed off to the airport. what was suppose to be just another customary list of good places to eat turned out to be lots of laughters and relaxing conversations . the dozen of years between us melted away like the ice that was broken on first sight. i took a photo of us, to record down what my memory sometimes fail to. 19 years ago when i first heard of her, she was 8. she didn't knew i existed. 19 years later, she's 28 and we meet for the first time, my son is 9. nineteen years later, she will be me, and my son will be her. it will be interesting to meet once more. we part ways with a hug, no promise of ever meeting again. there was no need to. we all live in the present, why taint it with false promises of the future.

the next day, i searched for her name on the facebook. i found her. my finger hovered over the mouse, but after a moment of hesitation, i closed the page. i didn't add her to my friend list. why?, the little ones asked. how do i explain? one thing that i have learnt during my long trek of life's path, people may not always mirror your feelings. she had never for one single moment asked the names of my children. should i not have taken offence at this simple, yet eloquent gesture? actually, i did not. one of my greatest fault perhaps, besides a million others, have always been more trusting and passionate than i should have. it is one thing to spend a few days laughing, eating and chatting but it is another to label that as friendship. i do, but does she? she never once asked about what i do for work, nor any other details about my family, my past, my present, nor my future whilst i plied questions by the truckful. i could be just another good summer vacation; fun whilst it lasted but lost in a sea of other memories. i used to think that sincerity breeds warmth and genuineness but i've had so many doors slammed in my faces over the years, i don't know what is correct anymore. i am contented to be just another good memory.

several days later, i received an invitation to befriend her in facebook. that brought a smile to my face. it has not been for nothing. sometimes, when life disillusions you as it often does, it's gratifying to have affirmation that there is some sincerity left in the world. when you open up and give, it is received. and that was how we became friends. a 39-year-old and a 27-year-old.

without truth, what else is there?

weary.

weary because human interactions are so complicated, so manipulative, so shallow.

weary because people insist on tainting their characters with lies.

it is so easy to distrust, to face each and every with skepticism in my eyes, shoulders squared cold and hard for the onslaught of more deceit. yet i chose the difficult path to walk, i chose to have faith, to believe in sincerity and the goodness in people, naive as that may seem, difficult as it may be. when i listen, i believe. when i hear, i trust. but when i least expect it, in the most innocent of circumstances, i am once again deluded. still, i insist on believing, even when this convoluted life doesn't permit so. i do not have any choice, it is the only way to live.

the phone rang at 8.45pm. it was the mother of little princess' classmate. did i know that my daughter was stuffed in an overloaded car along with 10 other people to their dinner venue just a few minutes ago? nooooooo, i didn't know that. did i know that they were just stopped by the police? the jaw dropped to the floor. noooooooo, i didn't know that. did i know that they were roaming the mall in the afternoon, instead of hanging out at the house as they should be? noooooo, i didn't know that either. she went on to moan and wail about how late it was, how irresponsible the chaperon was, how unsafe our children were. she wanted me to reprimand the guardian. she wanted me to call her and let her know that everything must wind up by 9.45. she wanted a lot of things, all of which she didn't want to dirty her own hands doing. instead, she wanted me to do the running for her. i listened. i acknowledged. i counselled. but i can't call someone up and berate her just because someone else wanted me to.

when little princess was back, i confirmed the facts with her. did she sit in a car with 10 other people? yes. were they stopped by the police? no. did they roam the mall in the afternoon? no. something so simple, something so innocent, children hanging out at each other's place. why did one felt the need to turn it into something ugly, i cannot grasp. bringing up a child is hard enough, tying apron strings, loosening apron strings, dealing with empty nests. other mothers should commiserate, not complicate. knowing in her heart that the truth will be easily confirmed, she insisted on lying to get her way. lies that are so shallow and unskillful, what is the purpose? what goes on in her mind, i don't think i will be able to understand.

my daughter is 11, by the way. it is going to be a very long hair-wrenching ride for me all the way to her adulthood.

any other name

was just idling around, catching a glimpse of the headlines on the stack of newspaper at the local petrol station as the man was guzzling black gold into his car. i was waiting for the cashier to close the bill when a man in uniform wandered past. good morning, he greeted in a cantonese dialect. the language was so familiar. he is dark-skinned, is he chinese? it is so hard to tell nowadays when the cantonese dialect is so prevalent. i peered at him. whatever. good morning, i returned enthusiastically.

he hung around, sorting the stack of newspapers. not going out on a weekend? huh? hello, get back to your sorting, noyb (none of your business). of course, that came out as putting petrol, aren't i?. that was already sarcastic mode in check. you never know who will whip out a machette behind their back nowadays and chop you to pieces for simply saying the wrong words. i was indirectly telling him to get off my case. i don't think he got it. do you stay around here? fair enough question still, i guess, asking if someone lives around the vicinity of the petrol station they are patronising. uh huh. eventhough i do not. ha! that's one for me, blockhead. small insignificant victory, but still that guy was beginning to get on my nerves.

so, what's your name? waitaminit, how is that related to filling petrol again? quick, brain! give me a comeback! i'm not about to give my name to this stalker! my brain was a blank. uh huh. how lame was that? when in doubt, always fake ignorance. see? i don't understand what you are trying to ask me. i was then rescued by the bell, or in this case, the cashier. bill done. sign and ready to leave. that man was still lingering around. i turned to leave. the man's car was no longer parked at pump no. 5. he drove up beside me. hey melissa! thanks a lot, hubby of mine. mr. weirdo now has my name. next time i go to that petrol station, i better go incognito with big sunglasses, cap and all.

by the way, in case you are wondering, that's not my real name. why do you want to know my name,? are you a stalker or something?!

an act of destruction

that little twerp punched me in the nose. so, ok, it wasn't a full blown punch like pomp, arrrrgggghhhh, falling to the floor, bleeding nose and stuff, but he still raised his hand, like the un-gentleman that he is, and punched me on the nose. all because of a little humour and a gibe, which we trade on ends everyday anyway. the last time someone punched me on the nose was when i was 11. if my parents knew then that i came home with bloody nose, i don't think they would have been that comfortable with sending me away for education. ignorance is indeed bliss. hmmm, maybe that is why i have such a stubby nose. will suing for compensation 28 years later be too late, you think?

anyway, back to the story. he is technically an adult, though not quite in the mental department perhaps. a young adult. perhaps that was his version of humour. still, someone has to teach him that it is wrong to raise his hands in violence. i blame his parents more, his grandparents even, for not educating him in what is right and what is wrong, for turning the other eye. if i was sure i will not be thrashed myself, i would have hunted for my nearest cane and whipped that young man, if only to tell him that it is not acceptable to punch your aunty. but violence begets violence, and that is not another thing i wanted to teach him. ahem *coward*. it was all i could do to hold my temper, and hands itching to cane that little twerp, in check.

what is perhaps more frustrating is the attitude of those around him. their ears only ever perk up when he does something right, and falls deaf for some strange reason when he misbehaves. scientists around the world would have given a hand and a leg to understand the selective listening aptitude of certain species in our world. for that matter, so would i, but that is more in relation to my strangely selective listening partner in life. i am digressing.

that is the problem of parents, and grandparents the world over. that is the problem with modern parenting. i don't know when, i don't know why and i most certainly don't know how parents came to feel that they owe so much to their children. when a plate of food is laid on the table, parents encourage their children to be the first to taste the spoils, to grab at the food and pick it over even before the elderly lay their eyes on it. didn't moral education taught us that we should respect the grandparents, the aged? actually, i was never taught so either. maybe that is where the crack started. how do you teach something that you have never been taught? but teach we still do, despite being a hypocrite. because it is the right thing to impart. we climb over ourselves to protect our children, to give them the best, to be there for them. we didn't spare a moment to teach them to respect us, to care for us in return, to be a responsible and giving adult, to honour the patriarch and matriarch of the family. when we are old and grey, when we are weak, who are we to blame when they prioritise their children over us? when they give the best to their offsprings and leave the bishop nose, the chicken neck for us, the aged, the grandparents? what can we say when they throw us out of the house, just so little junior can have a room for himself?

it is not altruistic of parent to place their children as first priority. it is not an act of love. it is an act of destruction.