title of the book

used to be part of life was tracking the progress and updates about people you know; like mrs so-and-so has just given birth to her 4th child, else, elysse, ellen and ethan, mr so-and-so has migrated with his wife to australia, miss so-and-so has just been headhunted by competitor company. so that there is safe topic that we can talk about and elaborate on when we meet up. and knowing which sensitive areas to avoid; like not mentioning the name of his 12th girlfriend infront of his 13th, or asking after her boyfriend when they have just split up last month. common interpersonal courtesies, i believe. however, something that i suck terribly at. blame it on the lack of hard drive space in my brain.

nowadays, it has evolved to include remembering that certain person's title. waitaminit! in a panic, and just split seconds before that person ends up right in my face, i will have to remember is he a tan sri, a datuk, or a mister. people do get offended when you don't address them with their official title. after all, they've paid so much to be where they are now. ahem, i shall say no more. that person ceases his existence as a person, as your relative, as your friend, as your family member even, once he receives that title. suddenly michael, or kevin, is no longer good enough. it's now datuk for you. of course there are those that will say, 'no, call me by my name". yes, they pay so much to have status quo. gasp! was there a hint of cynicism there? unless of course, we are talking about honorary ones, where they are conferred for , do i dare to use the adjective "genuine" (as opposed to.... ) merits to society as a whole, instead of the usual merits that are hard to quantify and even harder to name.

so, what do these great people of our nation get in return for their investment? as far as i've seen, a guaranteed table when making a reservation. datuks will earn them a table, tan sris a room, that's the way it goes. and perhaps, when seated in airplane first class (and only first class, doesn't work if you are a datuk in economy class), your title will probably earn you an extra smile, a more dedicated service and maybe, just maybe, an extra piece of hors d'oeuvres. when you are overseas, it just confuses people even more; they must be wondering why so many malaysians have the same christian names infront of their last names, a little like their bob and peter perhaps?

sometimes it is trying

is this how it is suppose to be? after 17 years you listen but you don't hear anymore. you see but deep down, you frankly don't care anymore. the responses are there, automated from years of conditioning and you go through the motions but you stop trying to understand. you stop trying to know. you know where the potholes and the land mines are and you tiptoe lightly around it, avoiding the explosives but not caring enough to dismantle it altogether. you think you are correct, and she thinks she is correct and both stop trying to understand the other's viewpoint. you interact, you dance the tango of life, one foot back, one foot forward and yes, you love but you stopped to bother. i don't remember. maybe it has always been like that. maybe this is how life has always been. maybe this is how it lasts.

you can do anything but you can't touch a frozen heart.

listen...and you will hear

the daughter needs some space to spread her wings and taste her new-found freedom, to live and laugh in the moment, to love and to be herself. some days she will need her mother, others she will try to take a step out by herself. the woman stands in the shadow, waiting with open arms to catch her in case she falls.

the son needs a little guidance coupled with a lot of love, pranking, learning, laughing as every other carefree boy. the woman listens, laughs and teaches, whilst trying to maintain a stable balance between a firm and a hard hand. she wants him to grow up to be a good person.

the husband needs space to be himself, to be the nonchalant and carefree person that he was. the woman learns when to leave him with the peace that he so craves, and to handle everything else so that he gets that peace. he closes his eyes, his ears, his world.

the grandmother sits all day, waiting for someone to talk to, someone to listen to her. she cooks and cooks, and when she isn't, she's thinking of what to cook, to give her close ones a mouthful of love. the woman sits with her, when time allows, and cooks with her, being with her even if nothing much is said.

the grandfather works all day, indulging in what he knows best. the only thing that the woman can do is listen when he talks, and share a glass or two when he drinks so that he will not have to drink alone.

the nieces and nephews sometimes need someone to talk to, someone to oooh and ahhhhh over the things that they did during the day. someone to tell them that they are special and wonderful. the woman opens her door to those special moments.

the little dog saunters in and lay on the floor, wanting to be scratched on the tummy and waiting. the woman picks his up and strokes him whilst he lie contented, closing his eyes, on her lap.

the people in the office wants this done. the people on the other end of the phone wants that done. the text messages in the handphone wants her attention. the voices that float up claims her name. everybody wants something. what about what the woman wants?

she wants someone to really listen, to care about what happens in her day, to wonder about how she feels, to take notice of her as a person. she's not looking for relationship. she just wants friendship. a girl, a boy. an extra terrestial being, what does it really matter.

she wants to matter. but she learns long ago that it only happens in fairy tales and movies.

separation

i separated it into mine and his. into the way that it has always been in his heart. he doesn't get it. he never will. i don't see the reason to explain anymore. you can say it a thousand times, a million times but he doesn't hear what you are trying to say anymore. he remains fixated on his own perspective. people don't change, they just adapt and move on with their lives.

he opened the door and looked at it with such amusement and curiousity. i opened the door and it broke my heart. i saw it as making a distinction and separation from we to i. mine and his. i have almost next to none because each time he bought, i've always thought that it was enough, that it was ours, that it was mine as well. maybe i am the one that had never understood.

i'll be looking out for when i don't get any tea to drink. i'll be holding on tightly to my bottle of nescafe blend 37, just in case.

complication

when we were young, we craved for the simplest of taste. for the softness of white bread, for the sweetness of a lollipop or a bottle of carbonated drink, for the crunchiness of fried chicken. our taste buds demanded for the purest, the most basic of flavour; sour, sweet, salty but of course, never bitter.

with age, subtle changes come into play, hand in hand with the more obvious ones. the food that beckons me now hold layers of complicated interplay of textures and taste. the softness of a piece of white bread seems to pale in comparison with the bite, the chewiness, the flavour of mixed grain bread. pumpernickel, focaccia, fougasse, walnut and so many more that i haven't tried. just like life, our taste buds are becoming more complicated.

such is a mother's life

motherhood is a lifetime of adapting and adjusting. when the little stork brought her, she was a small one, especially needy and clingy. i couldn't leave her for one minute to go to the bathroom. i had to hold her to sleep, or give up any notion of it myself. she has never been away from me for even one night, except for that 3 occasions where we didn't have any other choice. each time, we had to bear with the heartbreak of hearing her cry inconsolably throughout the night. i had to abandon my life, my identity, my lifestyle to be there for her.

as she grew, so did her sense of independence. i have no choice but to loosen the strings and let her spread her wings. that little thing that couldn't bear to be separated even for one nano second now wants to spend nights away, be her own person and keep secrets from me. i can only take it all in stride, knowing very well that this is life, that it is what every parent goes through and that letting her be her own person is the best thing that i can do for her. but that little thing, who looked at me with such wonderment in her eyes, who thought that i was the center of her world (and vice versa), now doesn't even want me as her valentine when she has no other.  that not-so-little thing is impatient to experience love and has no space in her heart for me.

while one part of you knows that it is alright, that this is how life is supposed to be, the other part of you find adapting to something that is constantly evolving so tiring. i am sure i was once like that too.
when she came, i was me, taking someone who needed me very much warmly into my arms. when she is older, i am still me, letting someone who needed to go leave. i didn't change, but she has. this is life.