Old, but still young at heart

I was at the innocent age of 6 or 7 - not too sure - and in the process of growing up, when I was told of something which amazed me. We were on our way to church on a Sunday morning, and beside me sat Nanny. She was her usual self, chirpy and well-prepared with nonsensical inquiries regarding anything and everything that was mentioned during the entire journey. Inquiries or questions which weren't linked to any expectation for any answers as they were only brought up to fill in the gaps where silence crept its way in. Sort of like a cue-card thought which was just a contrivance to throw us off track so that we'd repeat ourselves and include her in the conversation. Cheeky, much. 

Along the way, Dad made a sharp turning and was on the Sungei Besi road. Seemingly more awake and alert that morning, it was the first time I bothered to look out of the window. Straight ahead on my right, slightly below the glowing white clouds that illuminated the dark sky which was slowly being dominated by lighter shades of blue, there was a lonely hangar. Airplanes, different sizes and models of airplanes were stored in there and being the thorn among the beautiful red roses, a big olive green beated- up helicopter stood out. It reminded me of the aircrafts that were summoned to war during the attack on Pearl Harbor. I ooh-ed and aah-ed and taking notice of the gleam in my eyes, Nanny told me that in her early days, she used to fly it. Being to little tell the difference between her lying and honest face, I believed her. She had the most innocent eyes, the kind of eyes children have and nothing in me could have imagined her feeling me lies - even if it was an innocent, little while lie. 

A few years later- more like a few months ago-  we passed by the hanger again when I suddenly pondered upon that little memory of what she had told me that day and retrieved it from the distant part of my brain it had been pocketed into. This time however, I started to doubt it. It was to the point where I couldn't just let it go so, taking advantage of the remaining time I had with her seated beside me, I decided to bring it up. As I ask her about the olive-green helicopter, interrogating her, I felt as if my conscience was laughing at me because after a few seconds too late, I realized how stupid it sounded. But of course - being senile but not deaf - she heard it, registered it for a while and without giving me a straight answer, she began to laugh her evil wicked-witch laugh. I knew then that she was just messing around with me, but even so, I sulked during the entire ride back home. 

This, coming from the person who taught me to always tell the truth and that even if it is a little white lie, it is still a lie, I couldn't believe it. I was disappointed and papaya-faced for the rest of the day. The 7 year-old me would have cried but the 18-year-old me just sat in the corner and kept to myself. I wondered if she would've told me the truth instead of feeding me those lies... but I then realized that it wouldn't matter either way. In this life, there are these people whom you can live without, people whom you can stay mad at and not give a damn if you ever forgive them or not. But then, on the other hand, there are also these handful of people whom you can scwabble with, have tiff after tiff and disagreement after disagreement...but at the end of the day, you'd realize that if it wasn't even your fault and if they weren't willing to apologize, you would do so anyway because you cherish the relationship more than you do your pride and ego. Nanny is one of those people in the latter category. 

I'm beginning to cherish and appreciate my grandma a little more these days, even though I know I should've started a long time ago. She's now sitting in the corner on her usual right-side of the sofa, catching the rays of sunlight that stream through the window as she leafs through the Sunday Times. I glance over to her every now and then and I think of the times I put my pride ahead of my better judgement, which lead to never-ending disagreements. I think of the times I raised my voice while trying to put my point across to her. I think of the times I shouted back at her when she was just advising me to be careful. I think and replay those horrible events and am washed over by a wave of regret. 

She's sitting only a few feet away from me and I miss her, and that's never a good way to miss someone. We haven't fought for a few weeks now and I'm beginning to believe that my Wednesdays aren't cursed after all. Nevertheless, I hope she knows I love her. After Grandpa passed away, she is the only one I have left and no matter what, there would always be a part of me that would be willing to do anything to see and make her happy. 

I've got hope on my side

Too many events took place in the period of time I ushered in the new year. But apart from those events and happenings, there was a long string of emotions and feelings - new and raw - I needed to make sense of. Or to simply understand. I've been putting off that task for quite some time so I think it's only fair I give it some consideration now. And besides, even if at the beginning I didn't know how, I'm willing to continue trying.

The organ in my upper-left chest, the one that keeps me alive, beats at a frantic pace. No, I'm not quoting a line from a novel but I'm being literal here. And as cliche as it sounds, it's even more real to me than I'd expected it would be. There is a lump of bile that surged into my throat and both my head and chest are aching but despite it all, I have to finish what I started.

The thing is, I'm afraid. Terrified, even. I'm completely oblivious as to what this year holds for me but I'm vouching for it to continue surprising me in it's mysterious ways. I sense that it's going to be an even harder year than compared to the last because that's what everyone keeps telling me, almost warning-like. So with buckets full of hope, I'm counting on my good friends, strength and resilience, to cut through all that "I'm afraid" bullshit to escort me through the year.

I remember how psyched I was at the beginning of the year 2011; I wrote down a long list of resolutions and patiently anticipated for the year to unfold before me. And at the end of 2011, I realized how much they were a whole load of crap because after writing down all those resolutions, I didn't bother accomplishing it but instead let them remain as mere words. Useless and meaningless. So this year, I decided not to set any resolutions to spare my heart and time.

However, I have gathered a handful of things I'd like to improve on or work at, seeing as the burden of sticking to resolutions has been lifted of my shoulders.

• Be more patient and understanding towards Nanny. I've got to understand that age is catching up on her and with that, comes the thief of hearing, sight and patience. And I've got to watch the tone in my voice, the words I speak and the language I use because sometimes, over the littlest things, her feelings might get hurt. 
• Being more careful and wise in the way I spend my money. I've got the differentiate between what I want and what I need and not mix the both together. Note to self: Money and material things don't and can't bring us a lifetime of happiness. So, it doesn't matter if I have the latest clothes or am following the latest trends, or that I have most of the things other people don't, because in the end, they all don't really matter. And that's a fact. 
• Being honest. I've got to appreciate the people in my life whom try their level best to protect and keep me safe. Especially my Dad. I've got to learn to tell him the truth about where I am going, who I'm going with and whatnot. This includes other things and other people as well. Because sometimes, honesty is the best policy. 
• Work harder, no more slacking. Taking into account my poor performance in my Cambridge A-levels exam explains enough of how much effort I'd put in to get those results. The fact that I'm still doubtful and uncertain is proof enough. So, instead of following my lecturer's teaching pace, I've gotta be one step ahead. Or at least, I've gotta try. 
• Try new things. I've gotta stop being so damn safe all the time and do stuff that I might regret later, would not be proud of in the years to come and might never do again... and have peace in knowing that there would be lessons learnt. 

+

• Treat people the what I'd like to be treated in return (as someone pointed it out). Whoever you are, I apologize. I'm not trying to defend my behavior or anything but sometimes, when you try so hard to not be a certain kind of way, you turn out to be exactly that. So, I'm sorry for being inconsiderate, for being judgmental, for being a snob, for being a downright bitch. Whoever you are, this is for you. 

There might be more of this but that is all for now. I've gotta go study. Goodnight! 

Farewell 2011, you were pretty good to me

1 year, 12 months, 365 days, and 52 weeks – that’s as far as I can go – would be coming to an end in a few more days and as I do so every year, I’d like to take the time to sit in my usual spot, at the usual time of day and with my own usual self, to do this year some justice and dedicate to it a journal entry. This year has brought about a variety (and also a mixture) of the good, the bad, the memorable, the heartbreaking, the unforgettable, the moments that changed one’s life, tragedies and everything along those lines. But if I’m being truly honest, I’d quote a paragraph from The Notebook and say that, “This year has most resembled a blue-chip stock: fairly stable, more ups than downs, and gradually trending upward over time. A good buy, a lucky buy and not everyone can say this about his life.” In more ways than some, this year hasn’t even been the rip-roaring spectacular I’d hoped and fancied it would be but that’s okay, because whatever has happened in the course of this one year has been more than aplenty.

What a journey it has been and to do this year a little more justice before the year comes to a close, I decided to acknowledge and reminisce on the events and happenings or the little things that happened within this year and to appreciate every single thing while I can. I doubt I can remember everything but at the same time, I’m pretty sure that my memory didn’t let me down. So, here goes:

_____________

This year, I...

I got selected for National Service.

Fell in love.

Received my first love-letter.

Made an impact in someone’s life.

Guided and helped someone to quit smoking.

Was – and still am – in a relationship with someone for more than 10 months.

Failed my undang-undang (computer test) 3 times, and in the end, passed on the 4^th time.

Passed and received my driving license.

Did a cover, which was a hit, and was finally satisfied with it.

Lost touch with a handful of people who meant a lot to me. 

Moved out of my parent’s home and moved in with my grandma.

Have been doing more housework now than I did when I was living with my parents.

Accepting and taking on new responsibilities.

Have been Google-ing and trying to learn how to cook.

Baked my first and second batch of cupcakes.

Sneakily went up to the highest floor of the Hilton hotel to enjoy the amazing view with a special someone.

Witnessed 4 deaths – Uncle Charles (friend), Manisah (my maid), Uncle Artie and Aunt Esther (Granduncle and grandaunt).

Found out that Grandpa had an elder brother which was given away at birth.

Heard someone, apparently my long-lost relative, came knocking on my grandparent’s door, looking all bruised and dishevelled and asking for money. Long story short, he’s an asshole.

Wrote long-winded letters just for the sake of it.

Dedicated songs, photos, poems, and lyrics to someone I love.

Met and was introduced to my boyfriend’s parents and his aunt.

Tasted shisha for the first (and last) time.

Sat for the Cambridge A-levels Examination.

Got my own room, furniture, and wardrobe for the first time after 18 years.

Studied my ass off and worked as hard as a donkey.

Lost myself and lost touch with the things I loved doing for a period of time.

Lied to my parent, and got away with it.

Lied and got caught.

Broke way too many promises.

Broke the heart of the man I love, way too many times.

Visited an Orang Asli settlement at Ulu Langat.

Sang carols at an old-folks home and fellowshipped with them.

Watched more than 20 movies in the cinema, in good company.

Spent time in an abandoned, eerie, quiet place.

Babysat my cousin, no matter how annoying they were.

Received the green light from Dad and Aunt Sharon to drive their car – under supervision, of course.

Worked at the Swedish Embassy.

Was hired to be the event assistant.

Attended a prestigious event – The Sweden-Malaysia Gala Dinner.

Met and took a picture with Datuk Jimmy Choo, Datul Sheikh Muzaffar and Jojo Struys.

Songled and performed in front of a large audience.

Did stuff I wasn’t proud of.

Took part in an amazing race, called the Amazing Grace.

Tried to learn how to play the guitar, but gave up too easily.

Entertained people who used me and walked all over me.

Experienced a point in time where I didn’t even know who my best friends were anymore.

Saw a shooting star.

Got to make a wish on 11.11.2011.

Lost friends who didn’t make any effort to stay in my life.

Lost ‘things’ I vowed to keep as a little girl.

Had my first water park experience in Kuantan, Bukit Gambang Waterpark resort.

___________

I'm sure there are many more but since I only have my memory to depend on, I have no choice but to end it here.

For everything I've been through, experienced, done, witnessed... I'm grateful and very much appreciative. As a whole, 2011 was a good year. Although I didn't manage to strike off all of the resolutions which were set at the beginning of the year, I'm hoping that the next year would be more promising in those aspects. Heck, I might even get to strike them all of my resolutions list this time - who knows? But before we start doing any planning, let's just hope and pray that the year doesn't come to an end on 2012, cause' that would be such a pity.

Anyways, Happy New Year world!

Above the clouds

Just when I was about to find closure in the number of misfortunes that have taken place in the period of this year alone, fate made a U-turn and each and every one of my family members’ were in for a shock of their lives.

Yesterday on a Wednesday afternoon, under harsh sunlight, the life of my granduncle (my grandma’s elder brother; Uncle Artie) was robbed when just a little acceleration on the reverse gear lead to him being rammed by a trailer. He was in the driving seat, of course, with his wife by his side and his son and daughter-in-law at the backseat. The four of them set off to go to Putrajaya to settle some legal documents which would entitle them to benefits that were especially for his son and daughter-in-law, both of whom are hearing-impaired. The whole scenario of the four of them being in the same car together sounded a tad too fishy for me because first of all, they weren’t on good terms , Uncle Artie and his son and two, it has everything to do with Uncle Artie’s daughter-in-law. You see, the both of them despised each other and for what reason... only God knows. And besides, it all seems too much like the Bold and Beautiful soap drama that come to think of it, I’d rather not poke my nose in any further than it already is. However, if I may say so, despite the hatred and tension that was in the air when Uncle Artie and his daughter-in-law were under the same roof, Uncle Artie put it behind him and was able to be a father to his son when he needed help. Heck, the man should be given some credit for the good deed he did, even if that good deed was done a few hours before his life was taken away. To say the least, he left in peace. That much we are sure of.

Today, as I didn’t have anything on my agenda, I decided to tag along with Nanny, Grandaunt Dolly, Uncle Bush and Felix to the Putrajaya Hospital. I don’t know what my intensions were, tagging along, because instead of feeling the need to see if Aunt Esther, Jeffrey and his wife were okay, I was hesitant even about stepping foot into the ICU. I don’t like hospitals and neither have I given it much thought to disking them. It’s just that maybe it has been awhile since I ever step foot in one, the last time being about 4 years ago when my Grandpa was admitted in the General Hospital.

This time, I didn’t feel so overwhelmed with emotion nor was I anxious to see if everything was going to be just fine. I didn’t feel the same, although everything else was. There were people occupying every vacant seat in the waiting area, swarming like bees when someone got up for a minute to most probably take a leak; families waiting anxiously for more news about their loved ones; restless children whom were either running around or pulling at their parent’s shirts to attend to them. The sterilized odour every hospital had was the same and so was the disgustingly cold cafeteria food hospitals often had. The only thing that was different was the person lying down on the hospital bed with a tube in her nose and the relationship I had with her. She was Aunty Esther. She is not my grandmother nor is she apart of my intermediate family; she’s the second wife to my late Granduncle Artie – I secretly hope this justifies my undeveloped closeness toward her.

While everyone else rushed impatiently – rushed meaning, walked faster than the slow pace they’d usually walk at – I excused myself from the crowd of them and buried my face in a book at a dark corner of the waiting room. I didn’t want to go in; I wouldn’t know what to say anyway. So I hid away. Being elderly, they now have an additional tape-recorder characteristic that came along with their coming of age. They broke the record for the number of times they questioned each other about the whole incident, from ‘How did it all happen?’ to ‘What was the race of the driver who drove the trailer?’ It was endless I tell you. I was hoping that it would end by the time we got in the car to head back home but I should have known better.

Before we left to be on our way home, they insisted on making one last important stop – the mortuary. In an instant, I remembered the CSI crime lab where they had a scene in a mortuary but when I entered, it was not as gloomy, dim, or eerie as what we usually see on television. This morgue was brightly lit, however the only creepiness there was the absence of the staff. For a moment, we let our conscience be our guide as we followed the signage on the doors but as our conscience was slowly disappointing us, the staff appeared out of nowhere, helpfully acquiesced to our request to see the body of Granduncle Artie. Once again, like before, as they stood around the 4°C body, I stood away. Even as I stood away at an exceptional distance, I saw enough. There were blood stains blotching up the white cloth that wrapped him; his head was stitched up; and on the left side of his face, it looked like someone had punched him and all the blood vessels had exploded at the same time.

It was so awkward to see him in such a state – a bloody mess, defeated, still, cold, silent – simply because the last I remember seeing him was during a family gathering where he had barged him smiling like a man on a mission. And I hope to always remember him that way.

______________

9/12/11

I hopped into the Frontier when Dad came to pick me up after class and upon updating him about tomorrow’s itinerary – I told him I wasn’t attending the funeral – he’d told me that a few hours ago, in the morning, Granduncle Artie’s wife, Aunt Esther, too, had breathed her last breath.  So seeing as I would not be able to attend the funeral the following day, I decided to come along with them to the wake service.

To be placed side-by-side, Aunt Esther’s coffin arrived shortly later in the evening as the caretakers came, did the necessary, and left. While waiting in line to see the coffins, I was pretty calm and composed... until I set my eyes on the children whose parents were now in both of the coffins before me. Although, they can’t be called ‘children’ anymore – all three married with each a family of their own. But I guess it doesn’t really matter if they were or not, because at the end of the day, they’d have to deal with it... albeit at a snail’s pace.

We leafed through a variety of newspapers as well as scrolled through news’ online websites for articles about the incident and on the Ntv7 website, the headline was ‘Family of four cheats death’. They most probably jinxed it because they only cheated by about a few minutes. In the end, death won the battle and two lives were taken from us. To Nanny, this is all too tragic for her to comprehend and deal with but to Daddy, he saw it as a blessing in disguise. You see, everywhere that man went, she was always a few steps behind him, always never too far from his reach. Even if Aunt Esther had survived – her condition improved and she managed to escape from any post-accident trauma – she would not have been able to carry on surviving without Granduncle Artie.

They were the ultimate couple any marriage would opt for, even after eons of being married to each other. And if they can’t be with us physically, at least they’d still have the rest of their lives to be together up there above the clouds.

R.I.P Uncle Artie and Aunt Esther. The both of you would be missed dearly. Love.

For the article about the incident, click here:  Family of Four Cheats Death.

Above the clouds

Just when I was about to find closure in the number of misfortunes that have taken place in the period of this year alone, fate made a U-turn and each and every one of my family members’ were in for a shock of their lives.

Yesterday on a Wednesday afternoon, under harsh sunlight, the life of my granduncle (my grandma’s elder brother; Uncle Artie) was robbed when just a little acceleration on the reverse gear lead to him being rammed by a trailer. He was in the driving seat, of course, with his wife by his side and his son and daughter-in-law at the backseat. The four of them set off to go to Putrajaya to settle some legal documents which would entitle them to benefits that were especially for his son and daughter-in-law, both of whom are hearing-impaired. The whole scenario of the four of them being in the same car together sounded a tad too fishy for me because first of all, they weren’t on good terms , Uncle Artie and his son and two, it has everything to do with Uncle Artie’s daughter-in-law. You see, the both of them despised each other and for what reason... only God knows. And besides, it all seems too much like the Bold and Beautiful soap drama that come to think of it, I’d rather not poke my nose in any further than it already is. However, if I may say so, despite the hatred and tension that was in the air when Uncle Artie and his daughter-in-law were under the same roof, Uncle Artie put it behind him and was able to be a father to his son when he needed help. Heck, the man should be given some credit for the good deed he did, even if that good deed was done a few hours before his life was taken away. To say the least, he left in peace. That much we are sure of.

Today, as I didn’t have anything on my agenda, I decided to tag along with Nanny, Grandaunt Dolly, Uncle Bush and Felix to the Putrajaya Hospital. I don’t know what my intensions were, tagging along, because instead of feeling the need to see if Aunt Esther, Jeffrey and his wife were okay, I was hesitant even about stepping foot into the ICU. I don’t like hospitals and neither have I given it much thought to disking them. It’s just that maybe it has been awhile since I ever step foot in one, the last time being about 4 years ago when my Grandpa was admitted in the General Hospital.

This time, I didn’t feel so overwhelmed with emotion nor was I anxious to see if everything was going to be just fine. I didn’t feel the same, although everything else was. There were people occupying every vacant seat in the waiting area, swarming like bees when someone got up for a minute to most probably take a leak; families waiting anxiously for more news about their loved ones; restless children whom were either running around or pulling at their parent’s shirts to attend to them. The sterilized odour every hospital had was the same and so was the disgustingly cold cafeteria food hospitals often had. The only thing that was different was the person lying down on the hospital bed with a tube in her nose and the relationship I had with her. She was Aunty Esther. She is not my grandmother nor is she apart of my intermediate family; she’s the second wife to my late Granduncle Artie – I secretly hope this justifies my undeveloped closeness toward her.

While everyone else rushed impatiently – rushed meaning, walked faster than the slow pace they’d usually walk at – I excused myself from the crowd of them and buried my face in a book at a dark corner of the waiting room. I didn’t want to go in; I wouldn’t know what to say anyway. So I hid away. Being elderly, they now have an additional tape-recorder characteristic that came along with their coming of age. They broke the record for the number of times they questioned each other about the whole incident, from ‘How did it all happen?’ to ‘What was the race of the driver who drove the trailer?’ It was endless I tell you. I was hoping that it would end by the time we got in the car to head back home but I should have known better.

Before we left to be on our way home, they insisted on making one last important stop – the mortuary. In an instant, I remembered the CSI crime lab where they had a scene in a mortuary but when I entered, it was not as gloomy, dim, or eerie as what we usually see on television. This morgue was brightly lit, however the only creepiness there was the absence of the staff. For a moment, we let our conscience be our guide as we followed the signage on the doors but as our conscience was slowly disappointing us, the staff appeared out of nowhere, helpfully acquiesced to our request to see the body of Granduncle Artie. Once again, like before, as they stood around the 4°C body, I stood away. Even as I stood away at an exceptional distance, I saw enough. There were blood stains blotching up the white cloth that wrapped him; his head was stitched up; and on the left side of his face, it looked like someone had punched him and all the blood vessels had exploded at the same time.

It was so awkward to see him in such a state – a bloody mess, defeated, still, cold, silent – simply because the last I remember seeing him was during a family gathering where he had barged him smiling like a man on a mission. And I hope to always remember him that way.

______________

9/12/11

I hopped into the Frontier when Dad came to pick me up after class and upon updating him about tomorrow’s itinerary – I told him I wasn’t attending the funeral – he’d told me that a few hours ago, in the morning, Granduncle Artie’s wife, Aunt Esther, too, had breathed her last breath.  So seeing as I would not be able to attend the funeral the following day, I decided to come along with them to the wake service.

To be placed side-by-side, Aunt Esther’s coffin arrived shortly later in the evening as the caretakers came, did the necessary, and left. While waiting in line to see the coffins, I was pretty calm and composed... until I set my eyes on the children whose parents were now in both of the coffins before me. Although, they can’t be called ‘children’ anymore – all three married with each a family of their own. But I guess it doesn’t really matter if they were or not, because at the end of the day, they’d have to deal with it... albeit at a snail’s pace.

We leafed through a variety of newspapers as well as scrolled through news’ online websites for articles about the incident and on the Ntv7 website, the headline was ‘Family of four cheats death’. They most probably jinxed it because they only cheated by about a few minutes. In the end, death won the battle and two lives were taken from us. To Nanny, this is all too tragic for her to comprehend and deal with but to Daddy, he saw it as a blessing in disguise. You see, everywhere that man went, she was always a few steps behind him, always never too far from his reach. Even if Aunt Esther had survived – her condition improved and she managed to escape from any post-accident trauma – she would not have been able to carry on surviving without Granduncle Artie.

They were the ultimate couple any marriage would opt for, even after eons of being married to each other. And if they can’t be with us physically, at least they’d still have the rest of their lives to be together up there above the clouds.

R.I.P Uncle Artie and Aunt Esther. The both of you would be missed dearly. Love.

For the article about the incident, click here:  Family of Four Cheats Death.

Goodbye moon

I had it all planned out - I was going to write a journal entry when Christmas was 31 days away ( I found a photo which had "31 days to Christmas" written on it and thought it would be a good idea to use it in a journal entry) but as if the universe forbade my urgency to rant yet again, I had to settle for the rainy, lonely day of Friday, the 2nd of December 2011. 

I've been staying in more often than not lately, and I don't know why. I don't know why I'm this lazy, I don't know why I haven't been out, either hitting a mall or tagging along to go on food excursions. All I know is that I'd rather stay at home, curl up in bed to an episode of my favourite drama and just sleep in. Even if I'd be awaked by Frankie J's This I Promise You a few hours later. Since I mentioned 'favourite drama' a few words ago, I've been catching up on my 90210 episodes which I'd recently resumed a few days ago after borrowing it from Isabelle. 

I swear, the more I watch these dramas the more I understand why Dad has always deemed it to be a complete waste of time and capacity for other knowledge and wisdom. I finally get it; of course, it had to take years of his little voice in my head popping up on me when I'm just about to walk down the path to Drama Ville. But just because I get it doesn't mean I don't watch it anyways. So as you've already guessed it, I alone became a devoted 90210 audience. And today was the day I watched the last few episodes of the latest season - addicted, much? 

Anyway, I'm not here to rant about my devotion to 90210 and my diligence to make sure I watch every single episode so I apologize for rambling about so much nonsense. Although, my point exactly was supposed to be about what watching 90210 - or any other drama series, for that matter - has taught me. 

1) It taught me to appreciate the things I have. 

For those of you who know me, my life, my background... you'd know that I don't have it all. I wasn't raised in a swanky mansion in the richest part of town with a silver spoon in my mouth. I don't have maids for every single house chore or errand to run. My parents don't have any millionaire relatives which would entitle us to inherit their fortunes, if or when they died. There aren't any vacation villas or holiday getaways which my family owns. As for my shopping expeditions, well...let's just say I don't blow my money away like it grows on trees. I don't shop at designer labels or at high-end boutiques because note: no trust fund. My friends aren't my friends because of what I buy them or what I do for them. We don't eat out at fancy restaurants - where it's as if we even paid for the cutlery - whenever we feel like we're too lazy to cook. My parents didn't ship me away to the most expensive boarding school in the world and neither did they pay for every vacation I wanted to go on or party I wanted to throw, let alone give me the green light. I don't get everything thing I want, whenever I want it. To cut this string of "I Don'ts" short, I'd opt to say that what I have and was blessed with is not too little and not too much. 

And I think that Frederick Keonig couldn't have said it better: 

We tend to forget that happiness doesn't come as a result of getting something we don't have, but rather of recognizing and appreciating what we do have. - Frederick Keonig 

2) It taught me that even without all those things, there still was a life and I could still live.

In continuation of the previous and first point, when you don't get whatever you want, whenever you want, all you can do is just settle and deal. Did I mention that that is what I've been doing all these years? Yeah, I most certainly have. Otherwise, what other choice do I have if I refuse to make moping around like a sad, pathetic glum an option?

Life has been a doting teacher to me in many ways, teaching me lessons that have and would come in handy as I go through life's unpredictable journey. It has taught me love, above all else; compromise and tolerance; understanding and obedience; sacrifice and victory; and the most useful of all, my long-time friend: Appreciation. And from that, I became accustomed to the here and now, to what I have and being thankful for it instead of over-analyzing what I don't and being a brat about it.

I didn't need to be raised in a swanky mansion with maids to tend to my every need, just parents who were devoted and dotting enough to raise a child. I don't need to inherit fortunes from millionaire relatives but just enough to go about my daily routines. I don't need getaway homes or vacation villas, just a place to call home. Forget about designer labels and high-end boutiques, as long as they look nice and are affordable, I'd bag it. The people I love can't be bought by an expensive pair of diamond earrings or an all-paid trip to Cabo because no price can be placed on a relationship, be it friendship or the kind involving love. If they can, well, those relationships won't usually last long. I don't need friends who would only be there for me when my pay comes in or when I'm having a brand new ride, just those who'd be there for me through it all and who'd continue to be there for me if I lose everything. I don't need to eat out every night at fancy, overly-priced restaurants, I'd be content enough with good-tasting home-cooked food. I didn't to go to school at the most expensive boarding school, just a school that provided good education with devoted teachers. My parents didn't pay for every vacation I wanted to set off on or every party I wanted to throw and they didn't have to because well, I prefer it that way.

You see, although I don't have much, I have a lot. I have more than most people in other parts of the countries do and that's something to be thankful for. With all that I am and all that I have, I should be grateful, and happy. And I am.

So, for the last month of the year 2011, please just stop whining or complaining. Stop looking and over-analyzing what you don't have but instead be grateful for what you do have. Cherish your friends, mend broken bridges and bury hatches. Give love a try and take your chance on it.

Just shut your pie holes and be thankful for a change, will ya?

Till' next time, tata!


P.S - As cliche as this blog entry is, the event that took place and drama that happened along with it needed to be lifted off my chest.

Burried alive

I'm beginning to believe that I have lost all my writing ability as well as the whole load of passion, inspiration, enthusiasm and everything else that comes along with it. It's becoming not so much of a writer's block anymore, but a sad case of being defeated by my own self. My mind heading in every direction, not allowing me to think straight nor to stay focused. And the pile of doubt I've accumulated by not having the courage to hoist myself up from the pool of complacency, monotony and just being so darn safe is gradually increasing in amount.

To be honest, I'm not even sure I recognize that young little girl who wrote all these previous blog entries whom had wondering eyes and a knack for doing things her way - not the 'Lady Gaga' kinda way, but her own. Simply because I have forgotten what it's like to write on impulse, to write to my heart's desire, to write according to my whim and fancy, to write with the guidance of my heart... and so the clichés go. If I can recall vividly, I doubt I had to do a lot of hard thinking to come with something to write because on many occasions, they all came as naturally as they flowed through my fingertips. I don't know if it's a slight case of Alzheimer's but I'm even beginning to forget if whether my brain functions better when I'm under an enormous amount of pressure or when I'm in a tranquil surrounding with a calm mind - either way, nothing seems to be working.

Before, whenever something struck in the recesses of my mind, I'd never hesitate to write it down on a sticky note just in case I forget, and then when I'm unoccupied and free, I'd usually elaborate it and work on it unto the extent it turns into something I'd myself would read and re-read over and over again and still be impressed. However, this doesn't happen so often anymore.

Then there are those days when my day-to-day companion; my muse, goes missing . In all honesty, I'm not even sure if I've ever had a muse, the kind other people could so easily depend on. If I ever did, my muse would have probably been the many relationships I've had in the past which left me with a combination of scars and lessons learnt.

I just recently finished reading The Zahir by Paulo Coelho. Before I closed the book and arranged it back on the shelf, I flipped through to find a page which I had marked for future references. One of the things he said was this: "When a reader reads a book you've written, a film happens in the reader's mind. Characters are given names and plots are created. If that doesn't happen, it defeats the purpose of writing the book in the first place." Note: I'm paraphrasing here, but whatever he said was similar. Then, as I carried on reading, I then stumbled on another one: "a writer can only write about his own life". And it got me thinking about my incapability to write about politics, the government, anything business related or anything that requires months and months of research because - and I'll admit it - I'm plain useless when it comes to that.

But then there's a light of hope that gets me thinking that maybe it's about time I stop sugar-coating the stuff I write, be it about love or life or people who can't seem to stop getting on my nerves; stop catering to what people want to read but instead write stuff that is raw and true with the guidance of my heart. After all, it happens to be the only way one can believe in what they write. Otherwise, who will be convinced when you can't even convince yourself?

I might have forgotten a lot about the dreams and ambitions the little girl I once was, had. I may also have forgotten in what state of mind my brain functions properly. And somewhere along the lines, I might even have lost myself; not knowing where to go, whom to turn to - sometimes I even feel burried alive and I'm kicking and screaming and no one can hear me.

But that girl, she'll be back. I just know it.

I still stand here holding up the roof

I have been away for quite some time now, haven't I? It just sank in about a few minutes ago, how long it has been since I've had the time and will to invade the online world with my never-ending tweets, random snapshots and daily journal entries, let alone open up my laptop and run my fingers across the keyboard for goodness sake! I did what I had to do to keep my mind focused like a hawk on its prey. 

Just recently, a few weeks ago, I sat for my Cambridge A-levels Examination and yesterday was the day it ended. So on the weeks leading up to my exam, I made a decision to restrict myself - ban would actually be a better word for it - from any online activities, with the help of a deal I made with a 'guardian' or so I'd like to call him that. But of course, deal or no deal, there were bound to be days when flipping open my laptop and going online would be the most natural and habitual thing to do and so on those days, the deal I made was pretty much useless. Regardless of how hurt he was and how stupid I had been to take things so lightly, the deal was still valid even after I've gone against it a million times, as long as I was honest about it... until today, that is, because today that deal wouldn't matter anymore for it has expired. And besides, even if I now have the liberty and freedom to go online whenever I please, it would be impossible anyway.

... which leads me to the next thing I'm about to rant about. 

Apart from making a deal and banning myself from the cyber world, I have officially moved in with my grandma. I took over my aunt's room, which had been a dusty, abandoned space with cobwebs in every corner, visible enough to be spotted the instant one enters the room. Long hours have been spent cleaning the room itself, and additional hours spent decorating it, hammering nails into the wall and hanging up pictures... and just making myself at home. Nanny was also more than generous enough to include a brand new wooden, classic-looking 4-door wardrobe and a comfortable bed because, well, everything from the wardrobe, the bed to the table that had been there for years has been worn out or broken in some way or another. And finally, after all the hardwork and after 18 years of sharing a room with my sister, I can now enjoy my own company in my own private space because now... I have my own room. 

I decided to go home today, after two weeks at Nanny's and as I was making my way through the carpark, I was greeted by a solemn sight of a big blue tent which had off-white tables and chairs, the kind of scene which indicated that a funeral was going to take place soon. Whoever that is, he/she meant something to somebody and I only pray that the family would be able to cope, at least. 

As for me, well... the hecticness of my life can wait for now because today, I'm going cuddle up in bed with a good book and allow the hours of the day to pass by before me. 

The truth hurts, but the lies are worst

This time, I'm not going to pour my heart out and apologize like I did time and time before because I realized that no matter how many times I do, "sorry" doesn't mean anything when I can't even guarantee my constant presence here; I'm not going to make resolutions that involve my being an avid blogger once again because God only knows if it's just going to be one of those things I say but never ever fulfill. And to complete this "I'm not..." string, I'm not going to turn my absence into a huge issue when it doesn't have to be. So let's move on.

I know I'm stating the obvious but it has been a long time since I've felt the need to blog. In this period of  "a long time", not so much as a spark of inspiration has lit the light bulb of my mind; not so much as a heart-thumping urge to run my fingers across the keyboard to voice my thoughts has crossed my conscience; and not so much as that unnerving feeling to speak my mind and speak it now has been felt. It isn't like before when that feeling to blog would come naturally, when I'd know from start to end of what I wanted to say. Sure, blogging would cross my mind every now and then but then that thought would fade away just as easily. 

Sigh, and I've lost all the patience to sum up the reasons as to why it has come to this. I just don't know anymore. 

Apart from the aforementioned, something happened which made me realize the importance of Trust, Honesty and Promises. 

Just recently, not too long ago, I lied. It wasn't a big deal deal to me because as much as I would hate to admit it, I lie all the time. My parents were and still are the primary victims; when they expect the truth from me, all they get is one lie after another. Then there are those people whom have walked into my life, innocent as ever, expectant of the truth when they ask of my opinion, when it is my point of view they seek or when I happen to be the only one they can depend on for the truth... but likewise, lies is what I feed them. 

I was once told after getting caught red-handed for lying that, "with every lie you tell, the truth would always prevail in the end because after you tell a lie, there would always be a constant need to cover up one lie after another... which doesn't always turn out to be such a success." I'm paraphrasing here as I don't remember exactly what Dad told me, but the meaning is all the same. Sure this sank in immediately and when it did, I repented. At that time, I had to go through a phase where I had lost my Dad's trust, when people wouldn't even ask for my opinion because they thought I'd only tell them what they wanted to hear instead of what I really thought. But that phase or period of time didn't last for long before I told the next lie. 

I couldn't help myself. It had already become a habit, a habit I couldn't curb.

I lied like nobody's business, abused the trust that had been bestowed upon me and broken promises until there came a point when people would just have to take my word instead of saying, "You promise?" But this time, it was different. 

As insignificant as those lies were to me, it was significant enough for him to bother and to be hurt by them. This time, when I got caught lying, all I wanted to do was run away like I always did but instead there was that unsettling feeling that held me back, that made me realize that running away wouldn't solve anything. So I didn't. I stayed, told him the truth and nothing but the truth and explained my actions because he deserved to know - even though those lies were nothing to me. 

And he managed to make me see how wrong my actions were, when no one else, not even my parents could. He knocked some sense into my and made me realize that no matter how little a lie is, it is still a lie and the hurt it brings people ain't all that little. He made me realize that love alone isn't that strong of an anchor to hold a relationship down when lies are constantly being told - how can you say you love him/her when you keep lying? 

That night, my heart sank and it was suddenly clear to me that if I so much as had to lie to anyone, if it was so inevitable, he shouldn't have to be a victim of those lies. Not him alone, but all those I love. That night, I saw how much just a little white lie could shatter someone's whole being. And I told myself that no one should hurt that way because of a lie. 

This time, I didn't apologize because sometimes you can never be too sure if it's going to be the last time. Instead, I told him that. "We're not perfect, any of us. We make mistakes, we screw up." And this time, for the second time, he took my hand, kissed it, and we made a promise to always be honest - even if there would be a possibility to lie to the other every now and then. 

With that, he forgave me. 

P.S - Happy Eid Mubarak 11' folks! Maaf Zahir & Batin. 

You just learn to cope

After a one night's stay in the state my Grandma grew up in - Ipoh, Perak - I am now back in the comforts of my own home. And I can't deny how good it feels to be back, what with everything that had taken place recently.

Age, the way I see it, is just a number but only unto the extent when you hit the age of 18 because that's when the thought of becoming 'old' crosses your mind. The more one grows in age, the more their age multiplies, it suddenly becomes more significant. More treasurable. Especially when they hit the age of the big 60 - their days will then start to get numbered. And when this happens, anyone would do just about anything to make sure they have a memorable day of birth, because one can't possibly predict if whether it would be their last.

Yesterday, my family and I, along with a few relatives huddled together in the van and left for Ipoh. It was a very uncomfortable two hour journey, dare I say - imagine eight adults in a seven-seated 4x4. There was hardly enough room to so much as move an inch; my butt was sore and my legs were crammed. But regardless, we continued in our journey - thank goodness for those resting places where people can go and unwind after a long drive. And we went through all that we did to celebrate Aunt Emily's 96th birthday. Friggin' 96th birthday!

So much has changed from when I last saw her. When we saw her laying down in her room, she looked as frail as ever, nothing but skin and bones. Her recent slip has left her legs incapable and so she is now always either laying down on the bed or in a wheelchair. Her memory isn't doing her much justice either as she's now suffering from Alzheimer's. She couldn't remember her own sister's name or face, let alone who the hell we were to her. But one thing I took notice of was how happy she suddenly became after seeing all of us surrounded around her; she became more emotional. I don't know why but what I do know was that she was especially happy to have someone keeping her company, which was none other than my Dad.

You see, Aunt Emily has always been a feisty, fussy and stubborn thing and now when she is in such a state and people don't give a damn about what she wants or have time for her, all she longs for is some company to keep her mind off reality. And yesterday, that was exactly what Daddy did - keep her company. Paying very close attention, I could then see that a wave of memories came flooding in. She could surprisingly remember past happenings or events that took place relating to the topic of conversation she was having with all of us. Parts and parcels of who she was became visible once again.

To be honest, I wasn't such a good sport about the whole driving-down-to-Ipoh plan, especially when we had to cram up in the 4x4 just to get there. Even at her birthday dinner last night, all I wanted to do was go someplace nice to eat - somewhere that didn't have kitty cats lurking around at every corner. But instead Uncle Noel brought us to some openned-area where not only were there cats lurking around, but where the service was so damn slow. That itself, spoiled the rest of my night. I put on a sour face and was so cranky, even though I knew I shouldn't have.

What I really do feel bad about was the little time I got to spend with Aunt Emily. Heck, I didn't even go near her last night. All I said was 'Hi, Aunty Emily' when I first saw her and 'Bye, Aunty Emily' when it was time to go back to our hotel. That was it. Sigh, the aftermath of my actions is not doing me so much good as guilt is right now.

I wish I hadn't acted that way. Even if she can't recall my name, I hope she forgives me.

In contrast to a joyous birthday celebration, I was also struck by the shocking news that two people of whom have been apart of my life for an exceptional amount of time, were called to return to the Lord. On the same day - Thursday.

Dad and Mum picked me up at the station after college and as I hopped into the 4x4, Mum sprung on me the news that Aunt Manisah had passed away that afternoon. It seems that she was appointed to go for 12 chemotherapy sessions but because she was already too weak, she only underwent 5 sessions. It was just too unbearable, after everything she had been through. After months of being at war with stage 4 colon cancer, she finally lost her battle. It was time.

Then at night, after having returned home from dinner, Dad received a call from Uncle Mark with the shocking news that Uncle Charles collapsed during an evening jog and was rushed to the hospital by two passersby. As his family members learnt of what had happened, it was already too late. There was nothing more the doctor could do because his pulse was absent and his heart stopped beating. I'm not sure how it all went down but from what I heard, what I just explained is a close description. Uncle Charles was a strong warrior of God and the leader of our Home Fellowship, and all I can say is that his presence in our lives would surely be missed terribly.

Two strong, amazing people were taken from me on Thursday and although neither are related to me, I still feel a lost. Simply because at some point in time, they inspired me, they encouraged me and they led exemplary lives for others to lead. But what I'd like to know is how the hell can I or anyone for that matter, learn to accept their absence now? God, it won't be easy. That's for sure.

In the end, though, I guess time is all we need, to say the least, because in any circumstance - no matter how awful or unbearable - time heals all wounds. And it is in time when we would eventually learn how to just cope. 

Long, lonely nights

These past couple of days, I would lay in bed at night and just stare blankly at the ceiling. Uncertain of whether to keep my fingers busy by tweeting or just lay there in the comfortable stillness. My cellphone would be beside me on the bedside table, useless, until the clock strikes midnight - that is when he usually calls. Otherwise, I would give into the unsettling thoughts in my mind which have been impatiently seeking my attention. Last night, that was exactly what I did.

I laid awake, prised my eyes open and instead of tossing and turning and trying to sleep, I allowed my mind to wander because it has been awhile since I have had some alone time with my conscience. I allowed myself to be drowned in my thoughts, lost in curiosity and bewilderrment. And when I did, it was a battle with my mind and heart as I was forced to deal with the harsh realization that I may not be the same person I used to be a few months back. Let alone, a few years ago.

Back in the days when I would dream out loud, I told myself that I would do this and that. I set personal goals for myself just so that I could prove to myself that I was an achiever. And then came the promises I made to make sure I followed through with every goal/resolution I told myself I would do. I told myself that I would only apply for a job when I absolutely had to; that if I ever did, nothing would change at home. I had made up my mind: I was going to college (not to mention how excited I was) and further my studies in Mass Communication, in the field of Journalism. At the same time, I wanted to have a career in singing. I planned to take part in singing competitions, sing at open-mic nights, sign a recording deal and win my ticket to stardom. I had dreams too big for this town, you see.

Now, as I look back to the little dreamer I was and see the life I had once painted for myself and compare it to the path of life I am now walking on, all I see is a coward. A coward because I allowed things to take a turn for the worse right before my eyes, while I stood back and watch. It is the truth, sadly. Everything I did not want to happen, happened.

I will be starting college soon and a whole new chapter of my life will begin, but I am not as excited anymore. No matter how made up I thought my mind was before, reality intervened and now instead of furthering my studies in Mass Communication, I would be doing my Foundations in Law first and then it would be my Diploma in Mass Communication but I am not sure if Journalism is for me anymore. I did not take part in singing competitions but instead am now starting to do covers. My relationship with my Grandma has been on rocks recently. I used to come home from school so happy that I would finally get to see her, spend time with her and tell her about my day but now...we're back to being complete strangers. And I miss her, more than she will ever know.

Sickeningly so, I feel like I have lost apart of myself, apart of the person I used to be. And not only is this truth hurting myself but also the people around me. Oh God, I wish there was some way I could turn back the hands of time. This thing I have been struggling with Change is unbearable, leaving me more often than not, with a heavy heart.

I guess all I can do now is hope - for the strength to carry on, to cope because even when the familiarity of everything around you changes, you may not be able to conform to it and sometimes all a person needs to do and can do is just...hope.

Go, by all means.

If wanting you to not take that collegial offer and stay here with me makes me selfish, then by all means go. I am not going to stand in the way of a man and his dreams. No matter how much I love you, you've gotta do what you've gotta do.

In the deep

Instead of beating around the bush and justifying my recent absence in this monotonous space I still call my little nook, I shall just proceed and give you the low-down on what has been going on around the clock these past few days - or weeks, if perhaps it felt that way.

• The Swedish- Malaysia Innovation Days 2011 project I was assisting in has been drawn to a close after five successful days of innovation outreach. I was beyond thrilled that it turned out to be a successful event, and also thrilled that it is now finally over. I can finally lean back in my chair and take a breather. 
• And because I was assisting in the above project, I received the privilege of attending The Noble Gala Dinner upon invitation from the Ambassador himself - Meeting Jimmy Choo and Mr. Astronaut was the exciting part of my night. After that, the delicious gourmet food won me over. 
• Driving Ed class has not been too tedious to handle, except for the part where I am taught of things I need to go through trial and error to perfect. For instance, learning how to park. Three classes down, one more to go. Or on Dad's opinion, many more classes to go! 
• The days I spent at work only getting paid for my presence, while I kill time by going on Facebook and Twitting are long gone. 
• I've been promoted to be at the Reception as I might be replacing the current receptionist. So in the meantime, she's teaching me all that I need to know to get by. It's a lucky thing that I am a fast learner, or I am told.
• "Trying to make it work but man these times are hard. But we're gonna start by drinking old cheap bottles of wine, sit talking up all night, saying things we haven't for a while. We're smiling but we're close to tears even after all these years. We just now got the feeling that we're meeting... for the first time." In most parts, these lyrics summed up what him and I were going through.  
• I feel like I have lost apart of me I know I will never get back. 
•  I'm losing my writer's touch, after weeks of being so hung up on work, sleeping in early and spending most of my free time engaged in gallivants around the city... Ugh, I have no one else but myself to blame. 
•  The shopaholic in me has been dominating the shopping savvy root I chose to take earlier this year. I'm a spendthrift, though and through. After all the impulse purchasing I did recently, it is a lucky thing I have my mum to control my spendings and allowance and thank goodness also that I do not own a credit card. Then, I would be bringing my broke ass home! 
•  It was so easy to exercise when I had all the time in the world but now, it is a constant struggle I am up against. I need to get back up and re-start my healthy lifestyle. I MUST. 

The month of May is slowly drawing to a close and soon the year will welcome all the excitement June has to offer. I am not going to complain about the month of May being too hard to handle because as long as I have lived to realize, there never has been an easy month... Besides, even though May has not been easy on me, it has been a month of reflection- allowing me to dig deeper beyond the surface of what I chose to portray. And if there is one thing this month has taught me, it is to be stronger.

Just fucking live

Sincerely, your pet.

I never really log into my e-mail account and check my e-mails as often, even though I am reminded time and time again of its importance for me to do so. But today, I did just that and while marking off birthday reminders and forwarded messages to 'delete', I stumbled upon an e-mail I received from my aunt in the month of March (you can only imagine how floaded with e-mails my account was!) which made me....how do I put it? Think and reflect? Yes, that is it.

First I stumbled upon this:

Meet Brutus, a military K9 at McCord.

He's huge - part Boxer and part British Bull Mastiff and tops the scales at 200 lbs. His handler took the picture. Brutus is running toward me because he knows I have some Milk Bone treats, so he's slobbering away! I had to duck around a tree just before he got to me in case he couldn't stop, but he did. Brutus won the Congressional Medal of Honor last year from his tour in  Iraq . His handler and four other soldiers were taken hostage by insurgents. Brutus and his handler communicate by sign language and he gave Brutus the signal that meant 'go away but come back and find me'. The Iraqis paid no attention to Brutus. He came back later and quietly tore the throat out of one guard at one door and another guard at another door. He then jumped against one of the doors repeatedly (the guys were being held in an old warehouse) until it opened. He went in and untied his handler and they all escaped. He's the first K9 to receive this honor. If he knows you're OK, he's a big old lug and wants to sit in your lap.

Then before the e-mail ended, this:

A Pet's 10 Commandments. 

1. My life is likely to last 10-15 years. Any separation from you is likely to be painful.

2. Give me time to understand what you want of me

3. Place your trust in me. It is crucial for my well-being.

4. Don't be angry with me for long and don't lock me up as punishment. You have your work, your friends, your entertainment, but I have only you.

5. Talk to me. Even if I don't understand your words, I do understand your voice when speaking to me.

6. Be aware that however you treat me, I will never forget it.

7. Before you hit me, before you strike me, remember that I could hurt you, and yet, I choose not to bite you.

8. Before you scold me for being lazy or uncooperative, ask yourself if something might be bothering me. Perhaps I'm not getting the right food, I have been in the sun too long, or my heart might be getting old or weak.

9. Please take care of me when I grow old. You too, will grow old.

10 On the ultimate difficult journey, go with me please. Never say you can't bear to watch. Don't make me face this alone. Everything is easier for me if you are there, because I love you so.

___________

P.S - Sparing a few minutes to read this made me think and reflect on the way I treat animals, in general. I confess that I'm not exactly a huge animal lover - I'm too picky - but there's a certain level of respect and compassion in knowing that they are living, breathing creatures as well.

And ince we're on the subject, I should also confess to not being a huge fan of cats, felines... whatever. I dislike them too much out of fear more than it is out of any other reason. Heck, I'll mind my business if they mind theirs.

Apart from the aforementioned, this e-mail mostly reminded me of the love and compassion I had for my Ginger; the sweetest and most caring companion and everything an owner could ask for. This recently rediscovered photo brought back all those memories of when she was still present in my life. I miss her.

Crap, I'm at the brink of my emotions. So, fullstop.

I'm suffering from a withdrawal syndrome

Since I arrived home safely not too long ago, I should probably be sprawled on my bed, making up for the lost hours of sleep I could have enjoyed had I not traded them in to spend the entire bus ride home in his company - which, by the way, is not something I regret. But because my heart's heavy with emotions and knowing myself, I wouldn't be at ease until I have let it all out and only then, sleeping would be an option. So, I will proceed by stating that as hard as it was for me to say goodbye as tears welled up around my eyes each time I hugged someone, apart of me is glad to be back home. In any given situation, I realized that I'm always lead back to believe that time, no matter how we manage it, always runs out. But I still can't wrap my head around the fact that 71 days just passed me by in a blink of an eye. I plead guilty and admit But at first I counted down the days to when it would end; to when the countdown at the hall would reach 0 days but towards the end, I found myself wishing that the days multiplied.

Funny how one moment I was torn in knowing I had to leave home and everyone behind, crying hysterically while my eyes puffed up and my face a pale mask and the next... trying to fight back big, fat lumps of tears from streaming down my face because I had to leave the camp I've grown to accept as my second home. Pretty much everything about the reality I'm forced to go up against is hard to drink in- the circles of friendship that was built upon the solid grounds of teamwork and togetherness has to now survive the hurdle of distance, the mutual respect I gained from the trainers and the staff has to be placed in the hands of time, the picturesque scenery I was blessed to wake up to every morning has to be traded in for murky buildings and skyscrapers. While I chose to refer to my departure to National Service as a much needed retreat from the post-high school boredom that I know will await me, it also was a therapeutic getaway of self-discovery and to discover which path in life is just for me to lead. Or so I had hoped it would be.

But what happens to ring with more truth is that my time spent away at camp was, for the most part, a retreat that concealed and robbed me of my inner talents and abilities, caging not me but what I normally do on a daily basis. When the day came for the authorities to lay down the ground rules, we were told of what we could not do and the consequences that followed had they been broken, and singing in the shower was one of them. The singing session in the shower I would always look forward had to be, for the lack of a better word, supervised - I had to control the tone of my voice, keeping it at neutral. And the time I spent hidden underneath my blanket, with the torchlight on as I jot down the events of my day every night was suppose to imprint on me a flow of writing, but instead... I find myself scrambling for words that suit what I'm feeling and praying for my creative juices to flow through my fingertips. In other words, I came home feeling like a cave-woman; forgetting how it felt like to sing at the top of my lungs or pen down my thoughts the way I'd use to so effortlessly do. I still feel handicapped, in a way.

Apart from feeling handicapped, there's also the feeling that everything around me seems different. Let's begin with my parents, for instance. In almost every aspect - when it comes to my social life, especially - they have come around to be more lenient when compared to the way they were when I was in high-school. There's a new easiness in our conversations - no more neck-to-neck arguments about the downfall in my grades or the choking overprotectiveness when it comes to boys or even about my often tendency to be anywhere but at home. All I have to do now is just inform them of my plans, my transport and and the people whom I'll be out with and it's as simple as that. I don't have that hammering urgency in my mind to lie to them or to do something behind their backs - trust, is the word. I've lost their trust in me once before, and I'm in no condition to lose it again. Consider it a lesson learned. But I think the difference I see is due to the fact that everyone is having a lot on their plate to deal with. And to top the list is Kak Manisah's tragic recent discovery that she has stage 4 colon cancer.

Upon arriving home, I'm back to spending my weekdays at Nanny's house but instead of seeing the bubbly and hardworking maid I've known my whole life as I walk through the front door, I now see a weaker and shrunken version of her. You'd think I'd know what to do when it comes to situations like these - since I've had to attend weeks of character building classes while at NS - but the truth is, you can never be prepared for what's to come. It is hard for me to see her in such a pitiful state, but it's even harder to see her cry out of that stabbing pain in her gut and know that there's nothing I can do to ease her pain or soothe her plight. I'm helpless. I could probably compare this unfortunate circumstance to a game of domino; when one chip is slightly pushed down, the others will follow up in a linear sequence and one after another everything will be hit down. In this case, my parents and Grandma are the ones that get effected. So much until it's literally burning holes in their pockets as they take on the responsibility to pay for the sky-rocketing price of her upcoming surgery and treatment.

But now that I realized I've said too much, let's just leave the further insight for another post. Shall we? (Or just take it as it is)

____________

I apologize for digressing but this is what happens when you have too much swirling around in your mind and you can't possibly pick which matters most. But right here, right now, my mind is deterring me to a folder in my brain which holds memories of my experience at National Service (now we're back to the main point!). I really am suffering from PLKN Withdrawal Syndrome, aren't I? - Dad pointed it out to me, and he's right. I guess when you spend so much time doing something, you'll get used to it and it becomes a part of you in a certain way. And I might have said this before but that is exactly what being at PLKN has become; a part of me.

I may never get the opportunity to relive my PLKN experience, but the days, minutes and seconds spent there would always be etched in my memory. And hey, I'm also proud of myself for taking on the challenge of going up against what my friends and family members have warned me about - the unappetizing food, the grueling schedule, the heartless trainers etc etc. Instead of just nodding to whatever they tell me - about pros and cons of PLKN - I can now say that I've gone through it.

But truth be told, I couldn't have done it had I not been surrounded by amazing people who are of different races and beliefs and who come from different backgrounds. People whom I've grown so used to being around, almost like family. What I'm sure of is that we have all made friends that we'd keep for life. At least I know I have. So, from the bottom of my heart, I thank all of you - even to those whom I've never said a word to - for blessing me with fragments of precious mometns I'd keep for the rest of my life.

The start of year 2011

It's the start of yet another year and as tradition, my New Year resolutions have been listed - even though it's unlikely that I'll stick to it and follow through. Come to think of it, I sometimes have no idea why I continue to bother listing New Year resolutions when by the end of every year, they still remains as resolutions for the following year.

Last year, these were my New Year resolutions and even though they were realistic enough for me to accomplish, the feeling wasn't as satisfying as I'd thought it would be. So, most of which were stated would continue to be my resolutions for this year too.

You might think that I couldn't be bothered by now, but there's something within me that is keeping me hopeful that this year might be somewhat different. Hopeful that maybe this year, I'd accomplish more than I normally would - and feel satisfied that I managed to accomplish most of the things I listed. It's a little something called having Faith.

“When you have come to the edge Of all light that you know And are about to drop off into the darkness Of the unknown, Faith is knowing One of two things will happen: There will be something solid to stand on or You will be taught to fly”

 Patrick Overton quotes

Anyways, before this post ends up being about something other than what it was initially for, I should probably start listing.

As the dawn of a new year looms above my head, newer things to look forward to and accomplish have been listed. So here, for the year ahead, I'd like...

• to enjoy the period of time I'd be in National Service (give and take, 3 months)

"Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away"

• to finish reading all the books that have been piled up over the months of abstinence due to the major exam - trust me, my bookshelf packed. So much that books keep toppling off the shelf. 

A book is the only place in which you can examine a fragile thought without breaking it, or explore an explosive idea without fear it will go off in your face.  It is one of the few havens remaining where a man's mind can get both provocation and privacy.  ~Edward P. Morgan

•  to rekindle the relationship I once had with my piano, a long time ago. 

 The discovery of song and the creation of musical instruments both owed their origin to a human impulse which lies much deeper than conscious intention:  the need for rhythm in life… the need is a deep one, transcending thought, and disregarded at our peril. ~Richard Baker

• to continue living a healthy lifestyle - I've stuck to this resolution ever since I stated it as last year's resolution and it has become a way of life ever since. It doesn't happen overnight (nothing does) so take baby steps. 

Live in rooms full of light
Avoid heavy food
Be moderate in the drinking of wine
Take massage, baths, exercise, and gymnastics
Fight insomnia with gentle rocking or the sound of running water
Change surroundings and take long journeys
Strictly avoid frightening ideas
Indulge in cheerful conversation and amusements
Listen to music.
~A. Cornelius Celsus

• to stick to doing my devotions and continue reading the Bible - to pick up where I left off.

I tell you the truth, if you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, "Move from here to there" and it will move. - Matthew 17:20

For now, this is all I have. In other words, if I may, let's raise our glass and just enjoy the year ahead. For all the hurdles and obstacles that may stand in our way; for all the fights we may put up to survive; and for all the laughters and memorable moments to look forward in the year ahead.

So, drink up!

When Goodbye isn't in my dictionary

As the New Year of 2011 slowly dawns, people all over the world would most probably be making plans. Some would plan to head out to party till' the break of dawn; some would be jotting down goals and things to be achieved as New Year's Resolutions; and some would be prepping themselves to make this year yet another worth-while journey. But as for me... I'd be preparing for Goodbye.

If you've noticed, you'd realized that recent posts have been mostly about reminiscing on the past. It is because now that I'd be leaving in another 2 more days, past happenings have been coming back to me. Maybe it's cause' I'm in a gloomy state or maybe, apart of me hasn't dealt with the fact that I'd be leaving soon - too soon, in fact.

All I know is, if I had more time to deal with it, it still wouldn't be enough. So the National Service forms have been signed and my luggage is almost fully-packed.... and as for my heart, it's hanging in there.

In a few more hours, I'd be going to church to attend the New Year's service. So, I'd probably see most of you there. But in case I don't, goodbye for now - as much as I hate this word, it's the only word that's beaming in the back of my mind.

All my love, Krissy.

Between the dreaming and the coming true

I just recently finished reading The Death and Life of Charlie St. Cloud and while engulfing each word written on each page as I leafed from one page to another, I felt apart of the story - the kind of feeling I don't usually feel after soaking in a good book.

But what managed to capture me by the neck and held me down to the floor was the similarity I felt with the character, Charlie. The similarity brought me back to when I was dealing with the death of a loved one, the awkwardness of being in love and the choice of holding on and letting go; the same things Charlie was facing.

And I remember that I did not take being in that dilemma so well. I was between having emotional turmoils and plastering a smile on my face so that the outside world would see that I was holding up (even when that was a very poor act at pretending to be okay). I'd rather not dive into the details.

At the end of this book, Ben Sherwoord describes the phase of the in-between - between heaven and earth, but he refers to it as paradise or nirvana - and the life after Charlie had let go. That's when I found myself smiling; smiling because I knew what it felt like to walk in his shoes and smiling because I've moved past that phase.

The loved one I lost was my grandfather (whom was like a father to me), the awkwardness of being in love was shared with an old flame and the choice of holding on and letting go had to be done in both of the situations I just mentioned.

Along that path of uncertainty, I managed to make a choice and have been living with it. Simply because sometimes, when you close one door, another one opens up.And sometimes, letting go and moving on is good.

A few years have gone by but I'd like to keep this a constant, "I live in the space between reality and dreams; death and life; holding on and letting go; and the past and the present".

A word's just a word

...until you mean what you say.

Since I have ample amount of time on my hands and nothing substantial to do with it, the reality that I'd be leaving in a week's time is what I'm slowly coming to terms with - or rather, forcing myself to come to terms with.

When I was a child, the younger Kristen would anticipate and count down the days to a yearly camp - Children's Camp. I would feel like I suddenly had a pair of wings to fly around and taste freedom as I'd be away from my parents and home sweet home - in simple words, I got to be with my friends for a whole week. A week, that is what I'm used to. But now, I'd be away for three months - give and take, two months. And that's what scares me. I'd be leaving everything behind - my family and friends, Nanny, my comfy bed, my wardrobe....everything - and this is when it comes down to the hardest part; saying goodbye.

My fingers race across the keyboard as I type this and I can't help but notice that words are popping up in the back of my mind, queuing up for the chance to be typed and explained.

At the tip of my tongue, sits the word Goodbye. Since the day I walked out of school - after the Economics paper - I kissed goodbye to all the square-minded teachers (excluding a few) who were always against everything I did, whatever I wore and even what I brought to the table. I kissed goodbye to waking up as early as 6 a.m to prepare for school. To sum it all up, I kissed goodbye to high school and all the fragments of memory that came along with it.

That very same day, Change meant something too. It meant turning over a new leaf to the phase of my life after high school. When I'd opt to have eyes of a child, wide-open and washed in wonder, anticipating for what lies ahead.

Now, Love means appreciating the people around me, who have been here with me through it all - thick and thin, good and bad, for better or for worse. Love, now, also means putting my loved ones first and spending time in their company before it is too late.

A few days ago, the Past meant making peace with what has happened and taking them as life experiences instead of regretting having done them for the rest of my life.

And from now till forever, Friends would always mean a wonderful thing. When it's good to have someone around to share secrets with, to comfort you on your worst days and to just be there even when there's no need to say anything. 

Someone I know once wrote:

 It's funny how the same word can carry so many different meanings. How it can spell pain and despair - or joy and hope and magic. How it can induce dread or anticipation.

It's all in the context.

It really is all in the context.