The Rain Drops.

I’ve been putting off the really dreary task of writing the Here-are-my-New-Year’s-Resolutions post. It’s now the second day of the new year, and I haven’t even given my would-be resolutions much thought.

As a teen, and maybe even during my early 20s, this period has always been the most exciting time of the year. Christmas, then the New Year, and then the Chinese New Year… it meant lots of holidays, lots of friends, lots of parties, lots of happiness. However, as I grew older, and as each year segues into another as seamlessly as rain into a river, these festivities seem less celebratory.

I may have, consciously or unconsciously, caused some heartache to those who love me this past year, but that’s not to say that those whom I love have not been responsible for my own anguish or insecurities. I’ve learnt a lot in 2008 about trust, maintaining a relationship, and the strength of familial ties. This may sound like a cliché, but your family may be the only ones who will accept you for who you are. I’ve also discovered my own strengths and, mostly, weaknesses. Some of them, I’m not proud of, but I have to say I am learning to deal with things my own way.

I could list 10 items I’d like to do in 2009, but I know the only time I’ll refer to it again is in a year’s time. So if I could only have one wish for this new, trying time in my life, it would be for peace. Peace within me. That may be the only way I, or anyone, can find happiness without depending on, or at the expense of, another person.

Here it is, my obligatory New Year’s post for my blog in retrospective.

The New New Year

The New Year came early for me.

Starting in November, I’ve made so many changes in my life, big and small, that it’s almost as if I’ve finally grown up. I’ve been at my company for more than year now. I had told myself some months back that I have to keep myself in this company for at least 12 months, to gain experience, to make my resume more credible. Maybe I’ve finally found a job I can settle into. This is quite an achievement for someone who never really knew what she wanted to do. I found myself giving advice to an ex-classmate last week. She was in the top class in my secondary school (and the Principal’s daughter) and went on to the top Junior College during our time. Now she’s finally finishing her PhD and doesn’t know what to do with her life.

I’ve also actually started to save. I started a new savings account that automatically draws a pre-established amount from my current account so that I won’t have to suffer the physical pain of transferring an amount over. I’ve also begun to make calculated payments for my purchases so that I can accumulate $1 gold coins and save them in a tin box I’ve allocated to store them. You won’t understand how proud I am of myself for managing to do this without crumbling.

I have put on quite a bit of weight ever since I started working in this company, which is situated right smack in the middle of an almost food paradise. My parents take turns to remind me of that fact every day and I initially felt resentment at how tactless parents can be when it comes to their children’s body issues. After I quietly took in all the insults and erupted into a vicious hatred for my body, I stopped asking D the “Do you still love me now that I’m fat” question and signed up for a full course of body slimming treatments at FIL.

I’ve also bitten the bullet and got myself a new look. I haven’t changed my hair for the longest time, and after consulting my people in the “industry”, I went and snipped off my fringe. My hairstylist was so happy with my new look he couldn’t stop giving me suggestions on how I could style my hair. The reviews were mixed though. Some loved it; some simply said I looked “Different”. “Different” can mean many things.

I have two more things to do before my year is complete. I intend to give my room a makeover as well, though it’s really dragging because of the endless overtime I have to do at work. I still haven’t gotten myself enrolled in a Japanese language school as well, and this is the one big regret of the year. In the grand scheme of things, I guess some things just have to wait.

I need to go to Japan soon.

The Venom Spreads.

I've been travelling quite a fair bit this year, though for most parts, the motive for the trips were borne out of need and not out of want. This has been the year of China for me. Admittedly, China is not amongst my list of top five favourite holiday locations. But since February, I've been to Shanghai twice, Beijing once, and I've just returned from Macau and Hong Kong.

Shanghai was amazing for me for its past; the legendary Bund and the beautiful buildings on the historical side of the river gave me much to think about. Its present: the high-rise buildings, the perpetual construction, and the unfortunate impressions some of the Chinese gave me, did not make me love the country my forefathers came from.

Beijing, on the other hand, was exceptional. The wide open spaces. The snow outside the cabin window on the Z14. The somewhat friendlier attitude of the people. The Forbidden City. The Great Wall. Everyone should experience Beijing once.

I was in Macau for work, so I didn't see what most tourists and punters must have seen of Macau. I was herded everywhere by an agent in a mini-van, straight from my gorgeous hotel room, to my various work locations, to the lavish dinners that have already been paid for, then straight back to my hotel.

Hong kong on leisure with my colleagues was another matter altogether. I have never stepped into so many Louis Vuitton, Gucci, Prada, and Goyard boutiques so many times in my life. I stood in the quiet corners of each boutique watching my bosses and colleagues shuffle from shelf to shelf, and wonder why they couldn't pay me more so I can join in the fun. Still, I finally understood why Hong Kong is a shopping paradise. Too many brands, too little time. The last time I was in Hong Kong, I was all of 10 years old. I suspect I'll be going back there some time. But not so soon.

The travel bug bit me when I was 21 and allowed to finally travel on my own. I haven't stopped since. My first love will always be Japan, although my lust for travel, like my lust for most other things, is insatiable. As I clock the hours, earn my meal, fatten up my bank, and plan my next holiday, I say "Bring It". I'm never too poor or tired to travel.

More Than A Penny

You always ask, "What's on your mind?"
And I always reply, "Nothing."

We both know that's a lie. Like you said, there's never "nothing". Haven't you been guilty of such a lie? I can see your worries in your frown, your pain in your eyes, your self-doubt in your fidgeting fingers. But I'd usually leave you as you were, because I know. I know in that "nothing", there lies myriad questions you are dying to ask but cannot. I know in the silence after that "nothing", there lies the invisible biting of the lips. I know.

I pretended to be you today. I caught myself frowning, and because I was thinking of you, I imagined that I were you and you were asking me what I was thinking about. In my head, I thought for a while. I lingered on that word, that word that held a heavy burden even though its meaning defined emptiness. I thought of where I should start, because I wasn't just thinking about one thing; for some strange reason, when I am plugged in to music, my mind becomes empty and I am able to let thoughts flow like slivers in my brain.

I worried if I remembered to lock the door when I left my flat. I thought of the times I'd stand at that very door, reluctant as I watch you put on your shoes to leave. I thought of you. My mind suddenly went to her. I wondered when she'd appear between us again. She haunts me like a ghost. I don't want her around and God knows I've tried to exorcise her from my life. I contemplated killing her. Then I thought of your parents, which lead me to visualise our perfect, imaginary home. I missed you. I thought of the things you said recently, those that made my heart break. Then I remembered my grandma, lying weak in her bed with a mask perpetually over her face, leaving marks on that face I'd always look up upon whenever she carried me in her arms when I was a child. I wondered when she was going to die. I think my dad will be devastated. No, that I didn't think. That I know. I thought of my parents' greying hair. They're old, and yet at my age, I can't even support them. I worried about what will happen when they decide to retire. I realised that I am a failure. I pondered about death. I prayed that I could take my grandma's place, for very, very selfish reasons.

That was what was in my head. Whenever you asked what was on my mind, did it ever occur to you that I was this fucked up? That I wasn't simply thinking of one specific thing, that these thoughts swirled around in my head, dormant, waiting to explode? Whenever you asked me that question, were you prepared to actually listen if I had said what was on my mind? Would you tune off, or brush it off as silliness? Are my fears silly? Don't you have fears?

Was I on your mind as well whenever you were clenching your teeth in thought as I walked next to you? Was that a fleeting moment of hatred I saw in your eyes? It usually disappears as quickly as it appears. You'd then turn to me and offer your hand for me to hold. But just as our palms are warming to each other, you'd let go. It's as if you were seeking assurance from my hand. Contented, you let go. Reset.

I'd turn silent, contemplating my next move. I liked your hand in mine. I would worry about that little separation of our hands and what it meant at that moment. You'd then turn to me, forehead wrinkled, your hand reaching out for mine, and in a gentle, admonishing voice, ask, "What's on your mind?"

"Nothing," I'd reply.

Six Days at the Bottom of the Ocean

During the couple of days leading up to his departure, I rehearsed those lines every night in my head. I had convinced myself that those were the words I want him to have in his head the moment he turns and walks away from me. I always dealt with anger in my own terms; that’s the only way I manage it.

This evening, I sat calmly at the viewing gallery, taking in the smell of the still-new terminal, the shrill screams from the children running up and down, and remembering what sitting at the viewing gallery meant to me in my past life. A strange calm came over me. Strange because it came at the most unexpected of time. Strange because immediately after, I received his text message on my mobile.

I went down to meet him with lightness in my heart. Even as I walked with him to that little Bermuda Triangle right before where the officers stood, where all travellers disappear for any indefinite amount of time, where friends hugged and lovers kissed, I was sure what I would do.

I didn’t say what I had wanted to say. Those words were very clear in my head, at the tip of my tongue, but he kissed away my weakness. I watched resolutely as he was swallowed behind the jaws of the technology that separated us. As I turned around to make my way home, there were tears in my eyes, but they didn’t fall. I was glad I found peace—peace within myself.

These six days will pass like a breeze.

Unspoken.

Your bag has just been packed, but there's still fifteen minutes left before you can leave. So you chat with your colleagues who are all waiting for time to pass. Your eyes flit impatiently to the time bar at the top right hand corner of your screen. 18:48… 18:52… 18:55… every time your colleagues laugh at something you say, you check the time.

At 19:01, you stand up to leave and sing a cheery Bye to your colleagues. Wait, one of them says, give me five minutes, I'm going the same way. There goes my bus, you say jokingly, or maybe not so, if she gets the hint. She doesn't. After that, as you are about to reach the overhead bridge that separates you from where you are to the bus stop, you watch dejectedly as your bus hisses past you.

You climb into a cab, not wanting him to wait because getting on the next bus would mean another forty-five minutes gone. You grimace as you peep at the meter clicking happily away. But at least he won't have to wait long. When you arrive, you walk towards the cafe where you are supposed to meet him and you see him amongst the crowd, pen in hand, diary on the table, frown between his brows. You approach quietly and sit down. He kisses you hello, then continues writing. You know it is going to take a while. You quickly order your drink and your dinner because you are famished. Then, prepared this time, you calmly take out your book and start reading.

To live with a creative man and support him with your love, you learn to be dispassionate. Creativity, like passion, ebbs and flows. If he flows like a river downstream, you erode away like the soil around it to accommodate. Together, you meander down the mountain, aiming for the sea. Maybe one day the both of you will get there. You hope.

Finished with the writing, he turns on the laptop. You close your book because the words are giving you a headache. You reach for your mp3 player instead. Ebb and flow. After that, on your way home, he hands you one side of his earphones. You take it without question. You know he doesn't want to talk. He communicates with you through the tracks he chooses to play, the both of you having discovered a shared language of your own. That, and also through the love you make. He once told you long ago that making love to you was his way of connecting with you, and you remember all the make up sex. Every thrust a punishment, every stroke an apology. Unconsciously, your gaze rests on his lips. Noticing that, he smiles and kisses you tenderly. Your heart starts beating passionately again, so much so that it stings your eyes.

You reach your stop and he insists on getting off the train with you. You make him stay on his side of the gate as you make your way to the terminal to wait for your bus home. You watch him from your side of the world as he, standing fifty metres away behind the glass wall waiting, drifts into his own. You want to touch him, stroke his face, but he's too far away. He turns into something cold, impermeable, while you burn alone for him.

Passion. It ebbs and flows.

Tears for fears.

I cried and I cried last night.

I hate it when I cry because it reveals that I'm weak, that I'm fallible. It wrongly puts across the impression that I think my tears will evoke some sympathy from the other party. Maybe I've been spoilt that way by my previous relationships. I hate myself when I cry in front of him. With him, I can only be the smart, sexy, confident me, not the insecure, immature, and silly person that I really am.

Which was why it must have shocked him last night when I decided to stop controlling my sobs, and burst into tears. The loud, wailing kind. I behaved like a wilful child, but only because I'm tired of hiding my fears from him. In the wake of the full-on confrontation that we had in his bedroom last night, I decided that was the best time for him to really know me — take me or leave me. I said all I needed to say—and he probably did too—and now I feel like a huge boulder has been lifted off my back.

I know he really loves me. But a man will always be a man, and a woman will always be on guard. After all, it's my heart he's safekeeping. Anyone who has misplaced a treasured object many times before would be extra careful when they finally entrust it in another person's care. Especially when you realise this person might be the last one you're ever going to give your heart to.

She had meant the world to him even though things hadn't worked out between them. It had been years since they were together but, just as there was a sliver of a chance of a reconciliation, I came into the picture. As her appearance at every of his friends' meet-up sessions, and also at other, most inopportune times, gnawed at my guts, I started to think if, perhaps, I was the third party in this relationship.

Now that the small part of my mind has been cleansed of (most of) its dark inhabitants, I can spend more time doing what I should be doing: Getting used to this business of being absolutely in love.

Some of us think holding on makes us strong; but sometimes it is letting go.

Chasing Rainbows

"Hey! Look behind you!"

I was concentrating on looking intense while sitting by my desk at work on a pointless post-May Day friday when my colleague shrieked from her desk behind me. I spun around on my chair and saw, to my astonishment, a tiny little rainbow on the concrete floor at my feet. As the seconds passed, it moved across the floor and grew bigger and brighter. All of us looked toward the chandelier on the ceiling at the door that had cast this wonderful gift by my feet.

"Quick! Go lie on the floor and be blessed by the rainbow!" my boss shrieked, never one to be left out. While I didn't do that, I whipped out my phone quickly and snapped this photo for posterity.

And then, in lieu of all the bad dreams and dark hauntings I've been having recently, I made a tiny little wish…

Our Elements

I stood contently on the sandy pathway that separated the two of them.

On my left, He whispered softly into my ears, promising soft, warm arms of comfort. His deep blue eyes beckoned soothingly as He reached out to kiss my feet lightly. He was open and free, and He could take me anywhere I wanted to, even as far as the eye could reach. He was friends with the most resourceful; those who prospered above Him and below Him respected Him for His magnanimity and flexibility. He represented everything I wanted to be.

On my right, She cut a striking figure. Shy, unassuming and quiet, She spoke nothing of what She could offer me. But even from where She stood, I could smell Her alluring scent. Her luscious green raiment accentuated Her curves, yet revealed only a little of what I knew She was capable of. She was always shrouded by a mist of mystery; an aura floated around Her, enhancing her quiet elegance and strength. She represented everything I knew was inside me.

So I took a deep breath, smiled a goodbye at Oceanus, and turned towards Ourea.

"I've always been drawn to the sea," he says, noticing my fascination with the mountain in front of us. "And I've always felt at one with the mountains," I replied. And so he'll always be a child of Water, and I, of Earth.

Short-lived Clarity

A random man-bashing MSN conversation with a colleague today:

O: So, would you marry someone you can live with, or someone you can't live without?
Me: All women should do the former, and men, the latter.
O: Huh? Why?
Me: Then the women will not be forever wasting tears on the men who keep breaking their hearts, and the men will stop taking their women for granted.
Me: Then the world will be a much better place.
O: Hmm. So true.
Me: But I'd still choose the man I can't live without.
O: Oi. Masochist.
Me: You would too.
O: Hmm. So true.

A disorder, perhaps?

I loathed attending the Business Communications classes that were compulsory in my polytechnic days. Turning up for class in cheap, off-the-rack suits, with awkward briefcase-like bags wasn't exactly the way I'd like to start a school day. The only redeeming fact about looking so different from the other students was the looks of awe and disgust from the IT students and the Design students respectively. Those in my cohort always felt kinda... 'upperclass' in our own twisted way.

It was only after I started looking for my first job a decade ago that I finally started to appreciate what those classes did for me. My cover letters and resumes almost always guaranteed a call from prospective employers. I even began preparing my dad's presentations and drafting business letters for him.

However, everytime I draft a letter or an email, I get nervous, even up 'til now. In my line of work, I can send out up to 10 emails to those in the upper echelons in various organisations. I would hem and haw over the appropriate terms to use. Then I would re-read my draft five times before hesitating over the 'Send' button. After sending an email out, I would go back to my 'Sent' inbox to check that I hadn't misspelt anything. And finally, I would sit at my desk and worry for five minutes with butterflies in my stomach.

Am I OCD-ing or am I just a worrier?

A Love/Hate Relationship.

I haven't seen C since my birthday, but the miraculous thing about being friends for so long is that, even after three months worth of spasmodic MSN messages, our conversation flowed as if we were continuing an unfinished tete-a-tete as soon as we met at the crowded mall this afternoon. In this time and age where we meet new people and amass friendships on networking portals everyday, this is a kinship that I cherish very much despite my gleeful whoop everytime she picks up the lunch tab.

I need to remind myself how much this friendship means to me, because just three hours out with her today, I spent over a hundred dollars on skincare and shoes.

Two pairs of shoes, in fact. I've been looking for three-inch heels since forever. Even with a willing wallet, it took me so long to find a nice pair. But all I did was to tell her that I needed a pair of heels for work, and suddenly, I found two pairs that fitted my criteria. There's just this special something about C, this very honest and straightfoward quality of her demeanour that makes you absolutely have to listen to what she says. After all, she did say that she has gone through that stress-relieving, retail-therapy phase that everyone must go through in life, and is now sick of shopping because she already has everything. That means that when she says that something is worth buying, that something you buy immediately.

Example 1: Mango Boutique

"Should I get this bag? It's on discount and it fits my laptop."
"Can meh? Hmm. It looks... plain."
Bag goes back on shelf.

Example 2: Mango Boutique

"I love this dress! Sweet, hor? But it's $62."
"It's sweet but the material looks cheap. Not worth it."
Dress goes back on rack.

Example 3: Gripz Shoes

"Look! Isn't this cute? I like the height."
"Oh my god, it's Gripz and it's only $25.90?!"
Asks salesperson for size 38 immediately.


See what I mean?

Ōmiyage.

Two weeks ago, before my father went to Tokyo for his business trip, we had a big fight about my cat. As with most fights, the issue was a very small thing but the heated words made it a very dramatic affair. What I should have said was, "Dander on the cat's coat does aggravate asthma, but does not cause it, contrary to old wives' tales", but knowing my father's stubborn, "parent-wisely" tone of voice and my reluctance at admitting defeat and impatience, regretful words were uttered.

So I didn't hear from him for two weeks, and even when he came back on Friday night, I wasn't home. This morning, we avoided meeting each other's eyes as we went about our daily Sunday rituals. My mother, the perpetual peace-maker—partly because she's oblivious to tension in the air—called me out from my room to where she was looking through my father's luggage. With my father's very awkward attempt at trying to look nonchalant, he told my mother which packages she should hand to me.

I carried three packages, small-medium-large, to my room and slowly opened them. And as I did, a quiet row of tears rolled down my cheeks. In the small package, a collar pin in the form of a bejewelled cat; in the medium, a Japanese pouch with the face of a blissful cat and a tiny bell; in the large, a new noren for the walkway to my bedroom. These were my dad's reconciliatory gifts.

And sitting magnificently in the vegetable compartment (because there's no more space) of my industrial-sized refrigerator, three gorgeous golden brown bottles of my favourite Japanese brand of milk tea.

Daily work stress.

I leaned against his table wearily, chugging back my bottle of Ice Mountain like an old-timer with his hip flask of whiskey. "How?" I asked him, a frown etched lightly between my eyebrows. "I really can't work with nothing, you know?"

"I know..." he replied apologetically. "But I also know you're the best! You can do it! I know you can! You're the best!" Pumping both his fists into the air as a show of support, his face turned into a wide, brilliant grin for my benefit. It's funny how such a tall and lean man like him can be so theatrically agile.

I trudged back to my desk with a grunt. Setting my bottle of mineral water down onto the table on my left, I flexed my fingers, positioned them above the keyboard, and closed my eyes.

******

Half an hour later, my colleague sidled over, plopped onto an empty chair next to my desk and glided over. He peered over my shoulder and started to read aloud the first four lines of the document I was working on. Then he read them again. And again. And again. Then, he turned to me with a slight quiver of fear in his eyes. "Wah. You power, man. You're the best." He stood up, nodded, then turned and walked off.

To hear that coming from a guy who hardly minces his words, I had a warm, tingly feeling in me for the entire morning. Until I looked down and glimpsed the same skimpy profile of my next client's job bag, that is.

Take a look at me now.

I saw M today.

I was walking alone in a shopping mall near my workplace when I spotted him walking towards me. It was a face I had expected to see but what I didn't expect was that he felt more like a stranger than like someone I knew once upon a time.

He was holding his girlfriend's hand. When he finally turned and saw me, his expression gave him away. He stared for awhile, as if he was wondering if he should acknowledge me. But he noticed my friendly gait, and his lips twisted into an awkward smile. His body language took a turn; he looked like he was waiting for me to approach him.

I didn't.

As our shoulders brushed softly past each other, I saw he had an almost astonished look on his face, but it was subtle. His girlfriend was none the wiser. It was not that I had nothing to say to him—I just didn't see the need to. After all, in retrospect, he didn't mean anything at all.

I didn't look back. Because right now, I've got something he doesn't: the knowledge that I am better off. My smile turned into a wider one the second we inched away in opposite directions.

Then, I walked into a boutique, and did me some serious shopping.

Alas!

'Rules and Regulations' was one of the reasons why I left the Hospitality industry. It cramped my style. I never anticipated that I would be revisiting that hot, stifling corner again, and in a creative industry, no less.

I could love my job, but I hate feeling like a kid when I'm out of my mother's reach.

Sunday Morning.

Waking up with the heaviness of his arm resting over your waist. Emerging from the entanglement of limbs under the duvet. Feeling the warmth of his stomach tickling your lower back. Turning around to brush away the crustiness from his eyes. Kissing the smile that plays lazily on his lips. Exchanging each other's morning breath. Nudging him to get out of bed for breakfast. Failing miserably. Lying beside him tracing the outline of his jaw. Falling back to sleep in his arms.

That's how I'd like to wake up every Sunday morning.

My favourite shopping catalogue

I was flipping dreamily through the IKEA 2008 catalogue the other day, and I realized I was unconsciously making a mental checklist of the things I MUST have when I get a place of my own.

Mental Must-Have Checklist:

• Big Bed
• Big Desk
• Big Bookshelf
• Big Refrigerator
• Big Cat Condo

I guess that says alot about the kind of person I am, huh?

Happiness is mine, and not something anyone can give me.

I plugged the earphones of my Nano deep in, and turned the volume up to block out the distractions. Then I set out to work. It's been a while since I sat down at this table properly to do things other than chat and blog and surf. It took a while to get used to, but as my room started to dissolve as the music filled my mind, some kind of energy raced through my hands as they danced lightly on the keyboard.

I'm glad that I'm doing something worthy, but my motivations behind this sudden surge of concentration are haunting me for some reason. Everytime a ghost of the past flit past my eyes, I feel a tug at the back of my mind. A disturbance, a refraction of my thoughts.

Words are flowing out like endless rain into a paper cup. They slither while they pass they slip away across the universe. Pools of sorrow, waves of joy are drifting through my opened mind. Possessing and caressing me.

This past year marked a major change in my life. This change I have feared for a long while, and it was torture dealing with the inertia that sets in when it all became reality. But now, I embrace my new experiences because they bring lessons I would never have gone through had I remained stagnant. I am being educated, everyday, with each tear that I lose to the atmosphere.

Be happy for me, because I am learning to find my own happiness.

Drawing the curtains.

"There comes a certain point in your life when you start to withdraw from people, preferring to build high walls around you, crawl into a cave and live in your own world where you indulge in emotions, thoughts and dreams which only you can understand. You don’t have to pretend. You don’t have to act the role, if you don’t feel like it. You don’t have to make a socially-acceptable comment for the sake of it. You don’t have to second-guess yourself and wonder if the words that were spoken were true or a pack of lies. You don’t have to please.

You can be yourself and not someone else you have to pretend to be."

I stole this passage from D W's post of the same title. Though both of us are being entangled in webs each spun by our own eight-legged creatures otherwise known as Emotions, I think we are alone when it comes to dealing with it, no matter how little we reveal and how much we hide from our friends and family.

You pushed yourself into this rut, and only you can crawl your way out of it.