the story of the eggs

how should the story begin? right in the midst of it would be best i think.

there i was, with more plastic bags in the supermarket trolley than i can handle, and my ride for the trip back home already at the door waiting. it was then that i saw a solitary carton of eggs crying out meekly for my attention, isolated from its other supermarket grocery mates that were already sitting snugly in the bags. clearly this one has not been paid for. perhaps it was hidden obscured from attention by other plastics in the trolley, but there i was with both hands full and late. do i go back to pay for it or do i just put it in the bag? i felt like a hundred eyes were on me, all staring and waiting to see what i would do. when i finally snuck a peek, the rest of the world was just going about their own things, nary an idea of the turmoil inside me.

do i or don't i, that is the question. after a moment of indecisiveness, i took the easier alternative and placed the carton inside the plastic bag, along with the other items that have been paid for and made my way up the escalator. the weight in my heart kept getting heavier and heavier as i went higher and higher. at the top of the escalator, i turned around and made my way down again. it took me forever to come up with the decision to keep or not to keep but it took me a split second when i knew i had to do what was right. i cannot imagine spending the rest of the day, the rest of the night and even the rest of my life regretting this second, unable to rewind and undo. i wanted to be able to erase this from my memory and forget that it ever happened, just like any other day in my daily life.

you may think that i am telling this story to boast about how pure and righteous i am. on the contrary, i am irked by many things; my indecisiveness, my hypocritical virtuousness and how i make my own life so difficult.

27 years ago, when i was still in university, my boyfriend and i decided to splurge on some hot wings from a fast food chain, which shall not be named in case they read this and decided to come after me 27 years later (who knows the statute of limitations on these kind of things. ok, i'm being paranoid). as a student, we were generally frugal and eating out is a luxury reserved for special days. however, we were working hard on our thesis and tired from the continuous work, day in and day out. being thrifty, we ordered for 1 box of wings to share. can you imagine the exhilaration and delight we felt when the man behind the counter gave us 2 boxes? you would have thought that we struck first prize for the national lottery that day. we snuck a peek at each other, clamped our mouth shut and ran out of the door as quickly as possible whilst trying to look inconspicuous at the same time. all the way home, we kept looking back to see if the man had realised his mistake and came running after us.

the hot wings have never tasted better. one box was not quite enough to share between us, but now, with one box each, we ate to our hearts' content. it was the best feeling in the world; a little delight plus a little guilt plus a lot of hot yummy chicken. we figured the famous fast food chain could afford to lose a little in this one exceptional incident. the exhilaration was much more than the guilt, i have to confess. to this day and age, not many other incidents have brought us as much elation and excitement.

now, presently, i am not sure i will be able to do it again. is it because i have grown older? is it because i am now a mother of two? is it because i can no longer preach one thing but do another? with age, comes not just wisdom but burden. no more fun naughty memories to create, only responsible calculated moves.

it was sure fun to be young.

you know

do you feel wronged because you cannot explain your actions, because your actions are misconstrued as being selfish? because you are not the type to sing your own praises, nor clarify your conducts or tirade about when things aren't fair? because you just silently go about doing the things that you feel should be done and love in the way you know is right. do you feel bad because it is your loved ones and they have never understood nor know you, the real you? and they never cared to. you know that you can't blame them, and you shouldn't blame them because they are getting older. and you know that deep down you were never the most important but that's how life works sometimes. and life goes on.

sanctuary for thoughts

the only time i have nowadays to form a proper string of thoughts is in the car. as a passenger, of course, when there is nothing to do, no distraction but the windmills of my mind . and so i begin the ingrained old habit of conversing in my head. Round like a circle in a spiral, like a wheel within a wheel, Never ending or beginning on an ever-spinning reel.

the moment i step in through the doors, when i am once again behind my desk and the fingers flying freely around the keyboard instead of the tiny spaces in a handphone, all thoughts dissipate into thin air, all rumination die prematurely in its womb before conception. a thousand things pull at me from all directions, requiring, no demanding my attention. i am a machine without feeling or contemplation, i am a vehicle of action.

there is something soothing about long rides, pacifying greens flashing before my eyes, and i look inwards into my soul instead of out at the view.  i remember wishing that car rides would last forever when i was much younger, riding in the back seat with the comforting sound of my parents chatting in the front. it felt like a protected sanctuary from the world, a pause from the hustle and bustle of life. 

nowadays my kids stuff their ears with their ear buds the moment they step into the car, closing the world around them with the music of their choice. or they doze off when their heads touch the seat. they don't hear what the adults are discussing, they are not interested to know. perhaps they are also hiding from the world for a little while. 

something that was

sometimes i do think of him. not yearn for him. sometimes his name plays on the tip of my tongue. i have not heard it out loud for more than three decades now. maybe it is the unfairness of it all that makes my mind travel on the long trip down memory lane; how can someone hurt me so bad, leave such sad memories and not look back, never look back, not even for a fleeting glance. we didn't have much time together, we probably met less than the fingers on both hands. but the pureness of the feeling, the sincerity (which i now realise was purely just mine), the strength of our conviction, the innocence. and then the lies, the wait, the anticipation and the disappointment. how could someone scars another so bad and continue nonchalantly with their lives? how unfair can this world be? he did not even give me a chance to say anything in my defence, he did not give me a chance to say goodbye. for that and for leaving a scar that will always be there, the devil in me wishes that he is living well and happily, as a fat bald man.

and you realise you are more fond of the memories of a person that was than of the person that is. you realise that none of those that you are holding close to your heart, memories of the past or people in your stories, exist in this world or in this dimension anymore, that all and everything has vaporised into nihility, and you are grasping onto nothing

hello......haven't seen you around for a very long time.

i am once again reminded of how much i love the art of writing, the expressing of emotion, the penned description of images so rich that one can conjure up the vivid images in one's mind.

not too long ago i contacted an old blogger friend who wrote so beautifully that it inspired but who has since deleted his account. i told him how i missed his writings, but i think he must have thought it was him that i missed for who would love writing with such passion. but i do, i really do.

beautiful writings stir dormant feelings that have been buried under the many layers of tedious repetitive everyday life. it brings flutter to the slumbering heart and awaken a zeal that was once tempered. it inspires, it dreams, it stimulates. writing records my stories, witnesses my steps and empowers my mind. without it, my thoughts have been short and flitted everywhere, like the beautiful butterfly darting here and there but never staying long enough in one place. without it, i have been lost and don't know what to think.

i want to start again, but it is not easy. to write, i need to have some time of my very own. some time to think, some time to reflect, some time to stop. i have missed that part of me for a very long time.

we meet again today. hello.......how have you been?

L.O.V.E.

it is a lofty proclamation, to say that i will be loved greatly, or not at all. no half loves, no faltering loves, no one's bench warmer, no one's substitute. when i was much younger, i chose to leave when i felt i was no longer someone's greatest love, or when i realised i never was. my mind was filled with fictional fairy tale loves. it was all or nothing.

many many years down the road, i can no longer say such arrogant words. i can no longer choose how i am loved, only how i love. i can give 110% of myself, and only shrug my shoulders, steel my heart and move on when i receive cold words and colder indifference. in the silence, i look back and i realise that i have only one who loves me so devotedly. throughout my entire span of 47 years, everyone i know, who knows me, only one single person takes such great effort to love me. and for that i am very very grateful. that one such person does exist in my life, that my happiness makes a difference for someone in this world. for otherwise my life would have been so cold, when i look back from my deathbed i would never know for what i have lived.

to say the word love is so easy. to believe that you do is even easier. being by someone's side every day, is that love? by doing what you would normally do anyway, is that love? i have since learnt that when say you love someone, ask yourself, what have you done for that person lately? are you sorry you couldn't do more? such is love, to give of yourself without asking for anything more than their happiness. i never had parents who thought the world of me, family who treasured me, people who thought the world of my mere existence. if i were to drop dead tomorrow, how many would shed a tear? how many would still shed a tear 10 years down the road? i don't want to know the answer for i fear that i will falter in my love. i don't want to know the answer for it should not be the reason i love. i love because i do.