.
A few weeks ago, I gave up hoping that he would apologise. Sure he already said sorry, but it didn’t really count because I coaxed it out of him.
Two nights ago it was different. We were having one of our now rare late night phone calls, catching up on each other, when he genuinely apologised. I had least expected it when he finally admitted that he had hurt me. Knowing him as a proud man, it means a lot although the apology has come much later than I would have preferred. After all, sorry may well be his hardest word.
It had taken him two months but it is still not too late. It doesn’t mean that I’m taking him back. I just feel that perhaps he too can now let go of the past and look to what the future might bring him. Perhaps this admission means that he finally understands that it is not a viable option for me to remain with him.
Prior to that, he had said that he would never leave me, to which I agree..only because I have already left. Still, I like to think that he would continue to love me for a while yet, just as I do him. It doesn’t mean that we will get back together. I trust it means that we can still rely on each other when we need a friend. Perhaps there will be time when we could use each other for moral boost where needed.
It means that I would like to still meet him for dinner or a drink when he is in town, just to share updates in our mutually complicated lives, or to listen to our latest adventures.
At the very least I can trust him for some good hearty laughs.
.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Friday, April 24, 2009
Between A Rock And A Hard Place
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I learned some valuable lessons at the weekend when I got myself stuck between a rock and a hard place, literally, and several times too in different caves.
I learned that as I go through life, I would from time to time be stuck in unpleasant situations. When that happens, I would need to spend additional effort and energy to extricate myself from that mess. There are normally forks in the paths that I could choose from. Invariably, one is to step back to where I came from, and the other to move forward. Both options are wrought with their own challenges, risks and unknowns.
In a sense, even if I choose to make a U-turn, that path may turn out to be as difficult as if I were to move forward. The trail which I thought was familiar when I came through one hole to be where I was is never the same when coming from the opposite direction. The same handholds and footholds are not as safe anymore so I would have to find different ones now.
Now, why should I then go back and face as much risks when I will only end up in the same place. I imagine going forward into the unknown is a lot more interesting. The pain, aches and bruises that come with it is anyway part of the fun. So basically, when stuck between a rock and a hard place, just go forward, literally and figuratively.
I also learned another lesson in going forward. At one point, I was facing a 20ft rock face. The guy in front of me made it up after trying and slipping several time. It took me some time to work up the courage, so I let a few others pass through, after which I couldn’t delay any more without holding up the whole gang.
Without a firm foothold, I slipped a couple of times. Then the gentleman stranger behind me offered his hands for me to step on. He cupped his hands together and held them up above his head. I gingerly stepped on them (in my boots too) and made it half way up the rock face. It was probably painful for his arms and hands but he didn’t complain.
Just like real life, at some points I must accept help from strangers to push me through some difficulties. I must trust that the offer of help is genuine and that the stranger has what it takes to give me that assistance. I learn too that I must sometimes offer my help to others in need without being asked for, and without expecting anything in return.
I had now left the hands that was supporting me, and yet still unable to reach the top of the ledge where someone was eagerly waiting to pull me up. There I was midway up the wall and left to my own devices. Giving up would have meant a 10ft drop onto a bed of rock, so the only way to go was up. Difficult as it was, somehow I managed to pull myself up. It was a marvelous feeling to have conquered something that earlier had seemed insurmountable.
A couple more obstacles and there I was looking at a tiny crevice with sunlight streaming in. A few steps up with a little wiggle around the sharp edges and I was out in the cool shade of the jungle.
Interesting enough, the gentleman who had helped me up the menacing wall then had a hard time getting out through that final crack. He was stuck for more than an hour and he was getting weak after making many attempts to push himself up. Fortunately, what goes around comes around, in a good way. Pulling him out was not an option. Another kind soul went around the back…which took a good half hour…and offered his hands to be stepped on. While waiting, the rest of the gang was keeping him company and sharing with him water snacks and some jokes to keep the spirits up.
That was yet another lesson learned. Sometimes I am stuck and others help me. Other times, I get to pay it forward to someone else. Our good deeds are always returned, at times many times over.
.
I learned some valuable lessons at the weekend when I got myself stuck between a rock and a hard place, literally, and several times too in different caves.
I learned that as I go through life, I would from time to time be stuck in unpleasant situations. When that happens, I would need to spend additional effort and energy to extricate myself from that mess. There are normally forks in the paths that I could choose from. Invariably, one is to step back to where I came from, and the other to move forward. Both options are wrought with their own challenges, risks and unknowns.
In a sense, even if I choose to make a U-turn, that path may turn out to be as difficult as if I were to move forward. The trail which I thought was familiar when I came through one hole to be where I was is never the same when coming from the opposite direction. The same handholds and footholds are not as safe anymore so I would have to find different ones now.
Now, why should I then go back and face as much risks when I will only end up in the same place. I imagine going forward into the unknown is a lot more interesting. The pain, aches and bruises that come with it is anyway part of the fun. So basically, when stuck between a rock and a hard place, just go forward, literally and figuratively.
I also learned another lesson in going forward. At one point, I was facing a 20ft rock face. The guy in front of me made it up after trying and slipping several time. It took me some time to work up the courage, so I let a few others pass through, after which I couldn’t delay any more without holding up the whole gang.
Without a firm foothold, I slipped a couple of times. Then the gentleman stranger behind me offered his hands for me to step on. He cupped his hands together and held them up above his head. I gingerly stepped on them (in my boots too) and made it half way up the rock face. It was probably painful for his arms and hands but he didn’t complain.
Just like real life, at some points I must accept help from strangers to push me through some difficulties. I must trust that the offer of help is genuine and that the stranger has what it takes to give me that assistance. I learn too that I must sometimes offer my help to others in need without being asked for, and without expecting anything in return.
I had now left the hands that was supporting me, and yet still unable to reach the top of the ledge where someone was eagerly waiting to pull me up. There I was midway up the wall and left to my own devices. Giving up would have meant a 10ft drop onto a bed of rock, so the only way to go was up. Difficult as it was, somehow I managed to pull myself up. It was a marvelous feeling to have conquered something that earlier had seemed insurmountable.
A couple more obstacles and there I was looking at a tiny crevice with sunlight streaming in. A few steps up with a little wiggle around the sharp edges and I was out in the cool shade of the jungle.
Interesting enough, the gentleman who had helped me up the menacing wall then had a hard time getting out through that final crack. He was stuck for more than an hour and he was getting weak after making many attempts to push himself up. Fortunately, what goes around comes around, in a good way. Pulling him out was not an option. Another kind soul went around the back…which took a good half hour…and offered his hands to be stepped on. While waiting, the rest of the gang was keeping him company and sharing with him water snacks and some jokes to keep the spirits up.
That was yet another lesson learned. Sometimes I am stuck and others help me. Other times, I get to pay it forward to someone else. Our good deeds are always returned, at times many times over.
.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Counting My Blessings
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It is now more than a week since my last post. The fact that I don’t feel the need to write as much anymore is a good sign. Time does heal after all.
In the recent years and months, I have witnessed sufferings of others which not only dwarf my own, but in fact make me view my life as full of blessings. Some examples I am listing below.
A friend discovered that her husband of 15yrs had re-married behind her back. She discovered this when she was recovering from delivery of her third child. It has been years since and she has accepted the fate. Financially, he provides well for the family; she stayed with him but raising her children practically single-handedly with hardly any emotional support from the man she continues to love. I am blessed.
A young acquaintance, married for 5 years said she made love with husband at most once a month. She said he meditates a lot in lieu of sex. Yeah..right..soon enough she discovered the third person. She kicked him out, he begged for her to take him back when he lost his job, and she..bless her heart...took him back...now they are trying again for a baby. I am blessed..in that she chose to trust my counsel like a sister she doesnt have.
Another couple had just completed a year of married life. During the year, she gave birth to a son. But she wasn’t celebrating their anniversary because she has learned that her husband has continued his relationship with an old flame. I am blessed.
One tough lady was divorced by her husband at least 7 years ago. He took her daughter away and she has not had a chance to see her again. The child is now 10yrs old. The only thing she knows about her mother is that she is a bad bad woman because that's what her father tells her. I am blessed.
A father of seven raising his children alone after his wife died of childbirth. I am blessed.
A father of two was taken to the cleaners by his wife. She left suddenly with everything movable that they owned, except the two children including one still in diapers. He raised them both on his own. Just when it got easier with both of them going to school, she sued for custody. The children have been shuttling back and forth between the two parents, depending on the latest court order, with no end in sight. I am blessed.
A couple married for donkey years, with children old enough to have their own children. She gave up her job when they were married. The husband is now having a mid-life crisis. No job but with an affair. She is now dipping into her meager savings to continue her daily existence. I am blessed.
A friend from school, having a great career, gifted children, understanding husband...the perfect family. Or so she thought. The husband is having an affair and she doesn’t have an inkling. The wife is always the last to know. I am blessed.
I have my family, sans husband. I have my job which I still enjoy. I have my health. I am free to go anywhere and do anything anytime that pleases me. I am blessed.
.
It is now more than a week since my last post. The fact that I don’t feel the need to write as much anymore is a good sign. Time does heal after all.
In the recent years and months, I have witnessed sufferings of others which not only dwarf my own, but in fact make me view my life as full of blessings. Some examples I am listing below.
A friend discovered that her husband of 15yrs had re-married behind her back. She discovered this when she was recovering from delivery of her third child. It has been years since and she has accepted the fate. Financially, he provides well for the family; she stayed with him but raising her children practically single-handedly with hardly any emotional support from the man she continues to love. I am blessed.
A young acquaintance, married for 5 years said she made love with husband at most once a month. She said he meditates a lot in lieu of sex. Yeah..right..soon enough she discovered the third person. She kicked him out, he begged for her to take him back when he lost his job, and she..bless her heart...took him back...now they are trying again for a baby. I am blessed..in that she chose to trust my counsel like a sister she doesnt have.
Another couple had just completed a year of married life. During the year, she gave birth to a son. But she wasn’t celebrating their anniversary because she has learned that her husband has continued his relationship with an old flame. I am blessed.
One tough lady was divorced by her husband at least 7 years ago. He took her daughter away and she has not had a chance to see her again. The child is now 10yrs old. The only thing she knows about her mother is that she is a bad bad woman because that's what her father tells her. I am blessed.
A father of seven raising his children alone after his wife died of childbirth. I am blessed.
A father of two was taken to the cleaners by his wife. She left suddenly with everything movable that they owned, except the two children including one still in diapers. He raised them both on his own. Just when it got easier with both of them going to school, she sued for custody. The children have been shuttling back and forth between the two parents, depending on the latest court order, with no end in sight. I am blessed.
A couple married for donkey years, with children old enough to have their own children. She gave up her job when they were married. The husband is now having a mid-life crisis. No job but with an affair. She is now dipping into her meager savings to continue her daily existence. I am blessed.
A friend from school, having a great career, gifted children, understanding husband...the perfect family. Or so she thought. The husband is having an affair and she doesn’t have an inkling. The wife is always the last to know. I am blessed.
I have my family, sans husband. I have my job which I still enjoy. I have my health. I am free to go anywhere and do anything anytime that pleases me. I am blessed.
.
Monday, April 6, 2009
Let The Healing Begin
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In the last weeks I had indulged in phone conversations with him. My intention was to firstly learn as much truth from him as possible. I had hoped to understand his side of the story. I wanted to make some sense of what had happened, or not happened between us.
Even at the outset, I knew that I could well be setting myself up for more pain and heartbreak. True enough, I was a bigger mess every time our phone calls ended. After three weeks, I still couldn’t tell the truth from the lies.
So bent was I in seeking that closure, at one point I came dangerously close to succumbing to the temptation of flying out to meet him. I bought my return tickets. I ordered a taxi to take me to the airport. It was only half an hour before the taxi was due to arrive that I changed my mind.
Boy…was I glad I didn’t take the trip. I lost that few hundred ringgits but got to keep my resolve.
Last night I thought that our communication was getting us nowhere. I said to myself, why prolong the pain if no discerning result is coming out of it. It was just then that he told me, “We can never get everything we want; it’s all decided for us; we must not forget Qada’ and Qadar”.
It was not actually anything new what he said. In the recent weeks, I have read the same thing over and over again elsewhere. I have even said it to myself to make me feel better. I have had others reminded me of the same. But that was the first time in three weeks that he said something I believe in without an iota of a doubt.
I guess, all that time, I was looking for a place where we are both standing together with the same understanding of where we are exactly. And I finally found it in that statement. There are still many questions which shall remain unanswered. But I believe that having him said that to me was just what I needed for the closure I am looking for.
To be sure, my heart is still in tatters. There is still plenty of hurt left to be spent. Nonetheless, I know that the healing process can now truly begin.
Now it is time to keep a proper distance. Unlike before, staying completely disconnected from him doesn’t seem too far fetched anymore. I will use that time to pick up the pieces of my heart. I will slowly put them together and nurse it back to health.
One day, sooner or later, when my strength returns, I will stand back to admire the jigsaw puzzle of my heart. There would then be a third piece missing from that picture. Those missing pieces will make the puzzle special.
Stories shall be told in place of those unseen pieces. When I am able to tell the third story with a smile, I would know that my healing is then complete.
.
In the last weeks I had indulged in phone conversations with him. My intention was to firstly learn as much truth from him as possible. I had hoped to understand his side of the story. I wanted to make some sense of what had happened, or not happened between us.
Even at the outset, I knew that I could well be setting myself up for more pain and heartbreak. True enough, I was a bigger mess every time our phone calls ended. After three weeks, I still couldn’t tell the truth from the lies.
So bent was I in seeking that closure, at one point I came dangerously close to succumbing to the temptation of flying out to meet him. I bought my return tickets. I ordered a taxi to take me to the airport. It was only half an hour before the taxi was due to arrive that I changed my mind.
Boy…was I glad I didn’t take the trip. I lost that few hundred ringgits but got to keep my resolve.
Last night I thought that our communication was getting us nowhere. I said to myself, why prolong the pain if no discerning result is coming out of it. It was just then that he told me, “We can never get everything we want; it’s all decided for us; we must not forget Qada’ and Qadar”.
It was not actually anything new what he said. In the recent weeks, I have read the same thing over and over again elsewhere. I have even said it to myself to make me feel better. I have had others reminded me of the same. But that was the first time in three weeks that he said something I believe in without an iota of a doubt.
I guess, all that time, I was looking for a place where we are both standing together with the same understanding of where we are exactly. And I finally found it in that statement. There are still many questions which shall remain unanswered. But I believe that having him said that to me was just what I needed for the closure I am looking for.
To be sure, my heart is still in tatters. There is still plenty of hurt left to be spent. Nonetheless, I know that the healing process can now truly begin.
Now it is time to keep a proper distance. Unlike before, staying completely disconnected from him doesn’t seem too far fetched anymore. I will use that time to pick up the pieces of my heart. I will slowly put them together and nurse it back to health.
One day, sooner or later, when my strength returns, I will stand back to admire the jigsaw puzzle of my heart. There would then be a third piece missing from that picture. Those missing pieces will make the puzzle special.
Stories shall be told in place of those unseen pieces. When I am able to tell the third story with a smile, I would know that my healing is then complete.
.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Its Not Over Until The Fat Lady Sings
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My official mourning period is now over. Let’s see what I have accomplished in that time, and what I have failed to overcome.
That decision to leave him hasn’t stopped me from missing him. I know that it could result in me doing some stupid things like flying out to see him. I don’t trust I could be in full control of my faculties if that happens. So I plan one outing after another elsewhere in the next weeks. This avoids having idle weekends in my calendar which may give me that stupid idea. Better be crazy than stupid.
That craziness may result in me replacing my busted set of wheels. As the end of the two weeks loan approaches, I like the 200 car better and better. I think it suits me better that the sleek dream car I had always wanted.
I no longer constantly feel as if someone has just punched me in the stomach and knock the wind out of me. My heart doesn’t ache as much; at least not that unbearable squeeze which leaves me breathless. These still happen from time to time, but not with the same severity.
I’m humming and whistling again. I haven’t yet sung as hearty as I used to, but I know it will come back.
I haven’t seen him again since the break-up, not yet. I do not rule it out. We speak on the phone a couple of times. Sometimes emotional, other times sober and laughing. But it still hurts each time.
He just doesn’t seem to understand the grief caused to me. I must stop trying to make him understand. I must stop expecting that he would ever apologise.
Apologies or not, I have ruled out renewing romance with him. That’s what the sane mind tells me, but who is to know what Allah has written in my book.
I have lost weight. While I was shocked to find my waist shrunk two notches on my belt, this is nothing new. I got sick every couple of years and lose that weight anyway. Since I have been healthy for a while, this episode compensates in the gain/loss cycle.
I still believe that he loves me. I still love him. When there is so much war and hatred in the world, I think what we have is still beautiful, imperfect as it is.
I have no regrets. There will always be others who make impact in our lives; some make life difficult and unbearable, yet others who help keep our faith and see the beauty in mankind. I can’t stop people doing what they do because they have their motivation, just as much as I have my own. The only thing that makes sense is to take responsibility for how I respond to them.
I hope not to be afraid to love again. As they say, better to love and lost rather than not love at all. As long as the fat lady hasn’t sung, I shall continue to love.
.
My official mourning period is now over. Let’s see what I have accomplished in that time, and what I have failed to overcome.
That decision to leave him hasn’t stopped me from missing him. I know that it could result in me doing some stupid things like flying out to see him. I don’t trust I could be in full control of my faculties if that happens. So I plan one outing after another elsewhere in the next weeks. This avoids having idle weekends in my calendar which may give me that stupid idea. Better be crazy than stupid.
That craziness may result in me replacing my busted set of wheels. As the end of the two weeks loan approaches, I like the 200 car better and better. I think it suits me better that the sleek dream car I had always wanted.
I no longer constantly feel as if someone has just punched me in the stomach and knock the wind out of me. My heart doesn’t ache as much; at least not that unbearable squeeze which leaves me breathless. These still happen from time to time, but not with the same severity.
I’m humming and whistling again. I haven’t yet sung as hearty as I used to, but I know it will come back.
I haven’t seen him again since the break-up, not yet. I do not rule it out. We speak on the phone a couple of times. Sometimes emotional, other times sober and laughing. But it still hurts each time.
He just doesn’t seem to understand the grief caused to me. I must stop trying to make him understand. I must stop expecting that he would ever apologise.
Apologies or not, I have ruled out renewing romance with him. That’s what the sane mind tells me, but who is to know what Allah has written in my book.
I have lost weight. While I was shocked to find my waist shrunk two notches on my belt, this is nothing new. I got sick every couple of years and lose that weight anyway. Since I have been healthy for a while, this episode compensates in the gain/loss cycle.
I still believe that he loves me. I still love him. When there is so much war and hatred in the world, I think what we have is still beautiful, imperfect as it is.
I have no regrets. There will always be others who make impact in our lives; some make life difficult and unbearable, yet others who help keep our faith and see the beauty in mankind. I can’t stop people doing what they do because they have their motivation, just as much as I have my own. The only thing that makes sense is to take responsibility for how I respond to them.
I hope not to be afraid to love again. As they say, better to love and lost rather than not love at all. As long as the fat lady hasn’t sung, I shall continue to love.
.
Saturday, April 4, 2009
Who Wants to Live Forever
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There’s no chance for us
Its all decided for us
This world has only one sweet moment set aside for us
Those are lyrics from Queen’s Who Wants to Live Forever. My past loves like to use words like Forever, Always, Tetap. I have good excuse never to rely on those words; none of those men is with me today.
My first love uses “Tetap Sayang”. Even today. In the meantime, he had gone on and made a family for himself.
My second love says “Love Forever”. There were hundreds of letters bearing those words. Where is he now? Gone and raised a family for himself. I have shredded every single piece of the now meaningless letters.
When third love started to play with “I will Always love you”, alarm bells rang in my head. And I rang it loud and clear for him too. Told him from the outset I didn’t believe in it.
Those words should be banned from romantic vocabulary. When we can’t even tell what’s to happen in the next second, how can we pretend to know how we would feel at any time in the future?
The only thing that is certain is change. It is a better bet any time.
As Mercury sang…Who waits forever anyway…
.
There’s no chance for us
Its all decided for us
This world has only one sweet moment set aside for us
Those are lyrics from Queen’s Who Wants to Live Forever. My past loves like to use words like Forever, Always, Tetap. I have good excuse never to rely on those words; none of those men is with me today.
My first love uses “Tetap Sayang”. Even today. In the meantime, he had gone on and made a family for himself.
My second love says “Love Forever”. There were hundreds of letters bearing those words. Where is he now? Gone and raised a family for himself. I have shredded every single piece of the now meaningless letters.
When third love started to play with “I will Always love you”, alarm bells rang in my head. And I rang it loud and clear for him too. Told him from the outset I didn’t believe in it.
Those words should be banned from romantic vocabulary. When we can’t even tell what’s to happen in the next second, how can we pretend to know how we would feel at any time in the future?
The only thing that is certain is change. It is a better bet any time.
As Mercury sang…Who waits forever anyway…
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Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Life is a Sudoku
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I enjoy Sudoku puzzles. It is a game of numbers, solved by logic. They come in various degrees of difficulty. I like the way that when they are solved, I know without a doubt that the solutions are right.
I see each puzzle as divided into 3 phases. Phase 1 is the starting point; the easy part where information is easily seen and numbers fall easily into place. Then Phase 2 starts and it gets difficult. Available references are not so clear towards filling in the blanks. Phase 3 is when the difficult parts are solved and it is a matter of time that the puzzle is completed.
The process of solving Phase 2 may involve backtracking, trial and error. Working with a pencil, I could always erase and make new inputs. Sometimes I would move on to the next puzzle before returning to unstuck an earlier one with new insights. Then, there are also those which I would finally give up unsolved.
My life’s upheavals are like Sudoku. Some might say that I get more than my fair share of Sudokus. But I don’t think so. Fairness doesn’t mean equality. Allah tests us only as much as He knows we can take. Some of us can take on more than others, depending on where we stand at any one time. I believe that Allah gives me only my fair share.
I like to think that Phase 1 of my current Sudoku is over. I have run out of references to easily put the pieces together for the purpose of understanding what has happened. Right now I am struggling with the unfamiliar territory of Phase 2. It is time for trials and errors. I thought I treaded very carefully, but still, I have needed to backtrack on some steps already.
Unlike working with a pencil on a Sudoku grid, real life is working in ink. Mistakes are not erasable. I will have to live with the consequences. But as long as I make more right steps compared to wrong ones, and as long as my logics prevail, I know I will be ok in the end. When Edison finally invented the light bulb, he had learned thousands of ways how not to make one. Perhaps I would learn a thing or two about relationship which could help me in the future.
I look forward to reaching Phase 3. As in the past, I will know it when I look back and see that things have actually fallen into place. Naturally, some boxes may remain empty for a while yet. Perhaps this puzzle is not meant to be solved the conventional way. Only time will tell.
Meanwhile I could always start another puzzle.
.
I enjoy Sudoku puzzles. It is a game of numbers, solved by logic. They come in various degrees of difficulty. I like the way that when they are solved, I know without a doubt that the solutions are right.
I see each puzzle as divided into 3 phases. Phase 1 is the starting point; the easy part where information is easily seen and numbers fall easily into place. Then Phase 2 starts and it gets difficult. Available references are not so clear towards filling in the blanks. Phase 3 is when the difficult parts are solved and it is a matter of time that the puzzle is completed.
The process of solving Phase 2 may involve backtracking, trial and error. Working with a pencil, I could always erase and make new inputs. Sometimes I would move on to the next puzzle before returning to unstuck an earlier one with new insights. Then, there are also those which I would finally give up unsolved.
My life’s upheavals are like Sudoku. Some might say that I get more than my fair share of Sudokus. But I don’t think so. Fairness doesn’t mean equality. Allah tests us only as much as He knows we can take. Some of us can take on more than others, depending on where we stand at any one time. I believe that Allah gives me only my fair share.
I like to think that Phase 1 of my current Sudoku is over. I have run out of references to easily put the pieces together for the purpose of understanding what has happened. Right now I am struggling with the unfamiliar territory of Phase 2. It is time for trials and errors. I thought I treaded very carefully, but still, I have needed to backtrack on some steps already.
Unlike working with a pencil on a Sudoku grid, real life is working in ink. Mistakes are not erasable. I will have to live with the consequences. But as long as I make more right steps compared to wrong ones, and as long as my logics prevail, I know I will be ok in the end. When Edison finally invented the light bulb, he had learned thousands of ways how not to make one. Perhaps I would learn a thing or two about relationship which could help me in the future.
I look forward to reaching Phase 3. As in the past, I will know it when I look back and see that things have actually fallen into place. Naturally, some boxes may remain empty for a while yet. Perhaps this puzzle is not meant to be solved the conventional way. Only time will tell.
Meanwhile I could always start another puzzle.
.
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Letter to Kak
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Dear Kak,
Salaam from Malaysia.
I hope this mail finds you and family in good health.
I had wanted to write you earlier but I needed some time to organise my thoughts and come to terms with this recent development. Please forgive me if you find this an intusion.
While <..>may have informed you already, I would still like to write you personally albeit with a very heavy heart. Sadly, after close to 5 years together, it is now over between us.
Although for months, I already had the unsettling feeling that things were not quite the same anymore (call it intuition), I still pinned my hopes high that we would one day tie the knot. After all, it was only as recent as December that he’d introduce me to others closest to him as his future wife.
As you had remarked before, he is not always the easiest person to be with. With the experience of a failed marriage behind me, I shared with him my fears but he cleared my doubts each time. With that, I held fast to my commitment to be with him for the long haul. After all, it is our imperfections which make us human.
I had thought that I was able to accept him exactly as he was, but in the end, I find that there are still boundaries which I am unwilling to remove. Vice versa, as I see it, he too was unable to accept me fully for who I am today. He is stubborn as we both know it. But what he never believed was that I am just as stubborn, if not more. Perhaps this is where our likeness starts and ends.
It was one evening some weeks ago when I was left with no choice but to call it a day. I guess he is probably relieved he didn’t have to do it himself. I still agree with you that he has tons of love inside him and a very warm heart. I love him dearly. Maybe he dragged it as long as he did so as not to hurt me by leaving. But in the end the break up was simply inevitable.
To say that I’m not sad with this sudden turn of event would be a lie. I’d like to think that he did love me passionately, for it would be too painful to think otherwise. I trust that in time I will find acceptance that this is how it is meant to be. I must believe that Allah has other plans for me, and him.
While we must now go our separate ways, I will always see the jewel in him. I may have lost in love, and I sure miss him, but there are still much blessings in my life to be thankful for.
My wishes for him today is still the same as when we first met. I wish for him to be with his children for the pleasure of watching them both grow into adulthood. I wish for him to meet someone who would love and care for him selflessly. I wish for him to meet a woman whom he could love and care always, so he doesn’t have to go through anymore pain. I had wished for that woman to be me, but we both found that I am way too selfish for him.
Kak, thank you for listening.
Warmest regards,
<..>
p.s. He told me about Thea’s pregnancy. Pls send her my warm welcome to motherhood.
.
Dear Kak,
Salaam from Malaysia.
I hope this mail finds you and family in good health.
I had wanted to write you earlier but I needed some time to organise my thoughts and come to terms with this recent development. Please forgive me if you find this an intusion.
While <..>
Although for months, I already had the unsettling feeling that things were not quite the same anymore (call it intuition), I still pinned my hopes high that we would one day tie the knot. After all, it was only as recent as December that he’d introduce me to others closest to him as his future wife.
As you had remarked before, he is not always the easiest person to be with. With the experience of a failed marriage behind me, I shared with him my fears but he cleared my doubts each time. With that, I held fast to my commitment to be with him for the long haul. After all, it is our imperfections which make us human.
I had thought that I was able to accept him exactly as he was, but in the end, I find that there are still boundaries which I am unwilling to remove. Vice versa, as I see it, he too was unable to accept me fully for who I am today. He is stubborn as we both know it. But what he never believed was that I am just as stubborn, if not more. Perhaps this is where our likeness starts and ends.
It was one evening some weeks ago when I was left with no choice but to call it a day. I guess he is probably relieved he didn’t have to do it himself. I still agree with you that he has tons of love inside him and a very warm heart. I love him dearly. Maybe he dragged it as long as he did so as not to hurt me by leaving. But in the end the break up was simply inevitable.
To say that I’m not sad with this sudden turn of event would be a lie. I’d like to think that he did love me passionately, for it would be too painful to think otherwise. I trust that in time I will find acceptance that this is how it is meant to be. I must believe that Allah has other plans for me, and him.
While we must now go our separate ways, I will always see the jewel in him. I may have lost in love, and I sure miss him, but there are still much blessings in my life to be thankful for.
My wishes for him today is still the same as when we first met. I wish for him to be with his children for the pleasure of watching them both grow into adulthood. I wish for him to meet someone who would love and care for him selflessly. I wish for him to meet a woman whom he could love and care always, so he doesn’t have to go through anymore pain. I had wished for that woman to be me, but we both found that I am way too selfish for him.
Kak, thank you for listening.
Warmest regards,
<..>
p.s. He told me about Thea’s pregnancy. Pls send her my warm welcome to motherhood.
.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Glorious Colours
.
Some time after breaking up with second love, I started making new friends again when I felt emotionally stable. I was only looking for friendship with others who may share the same interests. I can’t explain though why these friends were made up of men only. In my quest, I befriended a few. Some are older, some younger. Others are much older and yet others much younger. A few of them remain friends to today.
I got especially close to one just slightly older. I felt that as a friend, I could make a difference, and that he could make a difference in my life. I knew at least that friendship with him will never be boring. Even his name, which conjures an image of serenity, is a contradiction to the storm that is him.
From our friendship, I learned that deep down, no matter who we are, we all just want to be loved and accepted by others. When he did accept me into his life, I was flattered that such a colourful person could find me at all interesting.
The rest, as they say, is now history. It is history in all its glorious colours. I had wanted to be there with him, to reach our dreams together. We could have been a great partnership; if only we trusted each other enough to believe that the things we are unwilling to give up today do not interfere with our long haul commitment. In that sense, we failed each other. For that, I cried for both of us.
I do not yet know how these hues would further mix in the future. But I trust that the cycle will continue as certain as the sun rises everyday. The bright sunlight will be cloudy sometimes. Those days will be dark and gray. There will always be rain, sometimes it pours and sometimes gentle. There will be opportunities to enjoy the beauty of rainbows while the earth is refreshed by the rain.
The darkness of the nights can be suffocating, but there will be nights when the moon shines bright. Some rare nights, there would even be smiley face looking down on me. While other nights, the moon will be totally eclipsed.
I didn’t plan to fall in love, but fell we did, and the monochrome turned multicolour. Right now, these colours are blinding me. But I would not want a monochrome life. Let the colours come. In time, when the sharp edges are smoother, the beauty of life in multicolour shall live in my heart.
.
Some time after breaking up with second love, I started making new friends again when I felt emotionally stable. I was only looking for friendship with others who may share the same interests. I can’t explain though why these friends were made up of men only. In my quest, I befriended a few. Some are older, some younger. Others are much older and yet others much younger. A few of them remain friends to today.
I got especially close to one just slightly older. I felt that as a friend, I could make a difference, and that he could make a difference in my life. I knew at least that friendship with him will never be boring. Even his name, which conjures an image of serenity, is a contradiction to the storm that is him.
From our friendship, I learned that deep down, no matter who we are, we all just want to be loved and accepted by others. When he did accept me into his life, I was flattered that such a colourful person could find me at all interesting.
The rest, as they say, is now history. It is history in all its glorious colours. I had wanted to be there with him, to reach our dreams together. We could have been a great partnership; if only we trusted each other enough to believe that the things we are unwilling to give up today do not interfere with our long haul commitment. In that sense, we failed each other. For that, I cried for both of us.
I do not yet know how these hues would further mix in the future. But I trust that the cycle will continue as certain as the sun rises everyday. The bright sunlight will be cloudy sometimes. Those days will be dark and gray. There will always be rain, sometimes it pours and sometimes gentle. There will be opportunities to enjoy the beauty of rainbows while the earth is refreshed by the rain.
The darkness of the nights can be suffocating, but there will be nights when the moon shines bright. Some rare nights, there would even be smiley face looking down on me. While other nights, the moon will be totally eclipsed.
I didn’t plan to fall in love, but fell we did, and the monochrome turned multicolour. Right now, these colours are blinding me. But I would not want a monochrome life. Let the colours come. In time, when the sharp edges are smoother, the beauty of life in multicolour shall live in my heart.
.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Moron
.
It was a fine day today. When I got home from work, it was warm and clear outside. But as I entered the bathroom, all of a sudden, I started to feel cold and I shivered violently. Never have I experienced such intense shivering.
I then caught my reflection in the bathroom mirror. It was then that I realised that it was not cold that I was experiencing. My eyes displayed pure anger.
It was already a few weeks after the concert when we finally spoke on the phone last night. I answered the call to find out if I could still hold a civilised conversation with him. As expected, he told me that he loved me, to which I said, “You are a stupid stupid man”. Somehow the words idiot and moron also slipped into the conversation. So much for being civilised.
It had made me real angry that he didn’t apologise. Does he not any idea how much hurt he has caused me? What does it take to get through to him. It was this anger that I saw in the mirror.
There is a saying that if you keep doing the same things in the same way, you cannot expect a different result. I keep falling for the same kind of men but expecting the result to turn out different. I must be the moron here!
I mean that in a funny kind of way. I am not putting myself down. I remain proud of who I am for I know that I had always kept to my commitment. I do not accept any guilt for sticking to my principles.
It must have been that comfort zone factor that drew me to the same type of men. No effort is needed to fall in love with them. I am all too familiar with what works and what doesn’t. And for things which are doubtful, I thought that I could learn from past experience and do things different and better. Easier said than done of course.
It is only on hindsight that I could see the men I fell in love with are having similar characters. While in love, I chose to be blinded to the similarities. I ignored the signs. I accepted the same faults again, making excuses for him, telling myself that he is not as bad as the last man.
Perhaps his feigning ignorance of my feelings is his own way of denying that he had messed up. Perhaps his seeming arrogance that last time I saw him was really to hide his embarrassment for being caught lying red-handed. Perhaps I am making these excuses for him yet again to come to terms with my own bitterness, not wanting to believe that he doesn’t need me anymore.
All said, I have no intention of restoring the relationship to what it was before. Doing so would definitely make me a moron.
.
It was a fine day today. When I got home from work, it was warm and clear outside. But as I entered the bathroom, all of a sudden, I started to feel cold and I shivered violently. Never have I experienced such intense shivering.
I then caught my reflection in the bathroom mirror. It was then that I realised that it was not cold that I was experiencing. My eyes displayed pure anger.
It was already a few weeks after the concert when we finally spoke on the phone last night. I answered the call to find out if I could still hold a civilised conversation with him. As expected, he told me that he loved me, to which I said, “You are a stupid stupid man”. Somehow the words idiot and moron also slipped into the conversation. So much for being civilised.
It had made me real angry that he didn’t apologise. Does he not any idea how much hurt he has caused me? What does it take to get through to him. It was this anger that I saw in the mirror.
There is a saying that if you keep doing the same things in the same way, you cannot expect a different result. I keep falling for the same kind of men but expecting the result to turn out different. I must be the moron here!
I mean that in a funny kind of way. I am not putting myself down. I remain proud of who I am for I know that I had always kept to my commitment. I do not accept any guilt for sticking to my principles.
It must have been that comfort zone factor that drew me to the same type of men. No effort is needed to fall in love with them. I am all too familiar with what works and what doesn’t. And for things which are doubtful, I thought that I could learn from past experience and do things different and better. Easier said than done of course.
It is only on hindsight that I could see the men I fell in love with are having similar characters. While in love, I chose to be blinded to the similarities. I ignored the signs. I accepted the same faults again, making excuses for him, telling myself that he is not as bad as the last man.
Perhaps his feigning ignorance of my feelings is his own way of denying that he had messed up. Perhaps his seeming arrogance that last time I saw him was really to hide his embarrassment for being caught lying red-handed. Perhaps I am making these excuses for him yet again to come to terms with my own bitterness, not wanting to believe that he doesn’t need me anymore.
All said, I have no intention of restoring the relationship to what it was before. Doing so would definitely make me a moron.
.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Makan Tak Kenyang, Tidur Tak Lena, Mandi Tak Basah
.
Anyone who has fallen in love should understand what that expression means. It happens to me each time. Strange though, how the excitement of falling in love and the despair of falling out of love can manifest in the same manner.
The fell out with second love was a long drawn process. Through those years, I was hardly eating. During the first months, my colleague in the next cubicle would drag me to lunch with her on most days, so I had at least some intake of food. That was until she took some time off work. With no one to force-feed me, I was left to my own devices. Makan Tak Kenyang - Eating was a means of energy intake; all foods tasted bland when my heart was bitter. As time wore on, my weight continued to plunge to nothing and my face gaunt. I became a walking skeleton.
Sleep came intermittently. When I was lucky, its 4 hours. Some nights, just 2 hours of broken sleep, interspersed with bad dreams. Tidur Tak Lena - These would go on for days until exhaustion set in and I would get a good night sleep. Then the pattern repeated itself.
Mandi Tak Basah – This part is more of a metaphor. I lived my days like a zombie; going through routines mindlessly, operating on autopilot. With that, I was never really where I was physically. Mandi was a necessary routine. The normally fresh feeling that comes with having water run down my skin simply didn’t happen, almost as if…Mandi Tak Basah.
While friends and family tried to convince me that there was light at the end of the tunnel, that pinhole of a glow remained obscure for a long time. I had no reasonable way to estimate the distance to the light and how long it would take to get there. It was even difficult to tell if it was a real light or only a glow-in-the-dark sticker. I groped in darkness with my brain working on overdrive trying to process the multitude of information, misinformation and the plethora of emotion that came with them.
This time around, I can easily see that light. I know that it will take at worst another couple of months to return to normal again, not 3 years like before. With just the two of us in the picture, much less is at stake. At the very least I’m sure that I wouldn’t lose more weight than I can afford.
While in this throes of despair, it might seem as if I have lost perspective of what’s important. To be sure, I do know that there is much too much to be grateful for. I still have plenty of love around me.
At the same time, my loss is real and I shall not deny it. No one can tell me how to feel or not to feel because my feelings are mine alone. This is what my current writings are about. With a few more days to the end of my official mourning, I am homing in on an end to this chapter.
There will be some loose ends for sure, but those would be the loose ends which I choose to carry. They would be the memories to cherish, the harvest from friendships cultivated, the lessons learned and the wealth of experience which I have mined from the relationship.
Bear with me for now; once the chapter is closed, I shall Kenyang Makan, Lena Tidur, and Basah Mandi…InsyaaAllah…and my writings then shall reflect that.
.
Anyone who has fallen in love should understand what that expression means. It happens to me each time. Strange though, how the excitement of falling in love and the despair of falling out of love can manifest in the same manner.
The fell out with second love was a long drawn process. Through those years, I was hardly eating. During the first months, my colleague in the next cubicle would drag me to lunch with her on most days, so I had at least some intake of food. That was until she took some time off work. With no one to force-feed me, I was left to my own devices. Makan Tak Kenyang - Eating was a means of energy intake; all foods tasted bland when my heart was bitter. As time wore on, my weight continued to plunge to nothing and my face gaunt. I became a walking skeleton.
Sleep came intermittently. When I was lucky, its 4 hours. Some nights, just 2 hours of broken sleep, interspersed with bad dreams. Tidur Tak Lena - These would go on for days until exhaustion set in and I would get a good night sleep. Then the pattern repeated itself.
Mandi Tak Basah – This part is more of a metaphor. I lived my days like a zombie; going through routines mindlessly, operating on autopilot. With that, I was never really where I was physically. Mandi was a necessary routine. The normally fresh feeling that comes with having water run down my skin simply didn’t happen, almost as if…Mandi Tak Basah.
While friends and family tried to convince me that there was light at the end of the tunnel, that pinhole of a glow remained obscure for a long time. I had no reasonable way to estimate the distance to the light and how long it would take to get there. It was even difficult to tell if it was a real light or only a glow-in-the-dark sticker. I groped in darkness with my brain working on overdrive trying to process the multitude of information, misinformation and the plethora of emotion that came with them.
This time around, I can easily see that light. I know that it will take at worst another couple of months to return to normal again, not 3 years like before. With just the two of us in the picture, much less is at stake. At the very least I’m sure that I wouldn’t lose more weight than I can afford.
While in this throes of despair, it might seem as if I have lost perspective of what’s important. To be sure, I do know that there is much too much to be grateful for. I still have plenty of love around me.
At the same time, my loss is real and I shall not deny it. No one can tell me how to feel or not to feel because my feelings are mine alone. This is what my current writings are about. With a few more days to the end of my official mourning, I am homing in on an end to this chapter.
There will be some loose ends for sure, but those would be the loose ends which I choose to carry. They would be the memories to cherish, the harvest from friendships cultivated, the lessons learned and the wealth of experience which I have mined from the relationship.
Bear with me for now; once the chapter is closed, I shall Kenyang Makan, Lena Tidur, and Basah Mandi…InsyaaAllah…and my writings then shall reflect that.
.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
200
.
An old friend from school got wind of my 185 escapade. He is now abroad for 2 weeks.
Fully understanding my current state of mind, he left me his car to use during the two weeks. He spent 10 minutes explaining to me the buttons, knobs and controls. Then we went for a quick spin around his housing estate.
I asked him two questions. 1) Would he get into any trouble if some woman sees me driving his car? Answer was, “No way”. 2) Would I get into any trouble if some woman sees me driving his car? Answer was, “No” again. Satisfied with the answers, I was ready to take possession of the car.
Before I drove the car away, he told me that the car is only on loan to me; that I should take good care of it; that I may not want to return it at the end of the two weeks; and that it has eight air-bags.
Now, what does a woman do with information like that? Question rephrased: What does a woman like me do with information like that?
What a challenge!! Off I went into stop-and-go traffic on the way home when I caught sight of the empty highway parallel to the street I was in.
I turned into the highway and quickly got myself comfortable. Too comfortable and too quickly. I only realised how fast I was going when I looked into the rearview mirror and saw the cars behind me disappearing as fast as they had appeared. It handled like a dream. It hugged the road so firmly that I thought I was only cruising at 120. The wheel in my hands was unrattled at all when I saw that the speedometer had climbed to 200!
That was absolutely liberating! I called the owner who then told me that he had never even taken it past 180. All I could say was, Oooops!!
.
An old friend from school got wind of my 185 escapade. He is now abroad for 2 weeks.
Fully understanding my current state of mind, he left me his car to use during the two weeks. He spent 10 minutes explaining to me the buttons, knobs and controls. Then we went for a quick spin around his housing estate.
I asked him two questions. 1) Would he get into any trouble if some woman sees me driving his car? Answer was, “No way”. 2) Would I get into any trouble if some woman sees me driving his car? Answer was, “No” again. Satisfied with the answers, I was ready to take possession of the car.
Before I drove the car away, he told me that the car is only on loan to me; that I should take good care of it; that I may not want to return it at the end of the two weeks; and that it has eight air-bags.
Now, what does a woman do with information like that? Question rephrased: What does a woman like me do with information like that?
What a challenge!! Off I went into stop-and-go traffic on the way home when I caught sight of the empty highway parallel to the street I was in.
I turned into the highway and quickly got myself comfortable. Too comfortable and too quickly. I only realised how fast I was going when I looked into the rearview mirror and saw the cars behind me disappearing as fast as they had appeared. It handled like a dream. It hugged the road so firmly that I thought I was only cruising at 120. The wheel in my hands was unrattled at all when I saw that the speedometer had climbed to 200!
That was absolutely liberating! I called the owner who then told me that he had never even taken it past 180. All I could say was, Oooops!!
.
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Night and Day
.
That's how different we are. Where he is highly emotional and excitable, I am stable and logical. Where he commits and ploughs into projects instantly with all his heart, I would be the one needing time and/or persuasion before joining in his enthusiasm. He lives in the moment. I look to the future. He is an extreme extrovert to my introvert. He leaves trails of loose ends, I close mine up.
On hindsight (which is always great for the understanding but cannot do a thing to change the past), what has happened in our relationship fits the pattern perfectly. He plunged into love with abandon. I was cautious. With his moment now gone, I’m left to pick-up the pieces. While he seems to have moved on to his next passion, I still linger in a daze.
Our relationship is proof that opposites attract. How else could anyone understand what brought us together? People closest to me asked point blank what I could possibly see in him.
We human are never satisfied with what we have. That’s our nature. We are greedy. We want things that we do not have. In him, I see traits that I do not possess. And I wanted those to become a part of me, to complement my life.
When we first met, he promised to show me the worst in him so that I will not have any unrealistic expectation on him. He took this to the extreme too. I thought then that he had a twisted idea of impressing a woman. Fortunately at that time, I saw past these first impressions.
I started getting glimpses of exemplary behaviour such as his trustworthiness and loyalty. I see the respect that others paid him, people from all strata of society, from the low-lifes to the higher echelons (as we tend to generalise members of our society), reflecting how he himself treats others with respect where they deserve.
He is always passionate in everything he does. He would give 100% of what he has, sometimes even eating into himself. He loves passionately too. He never holds back. Always very sure of himself, he would introduce me to family and friends alike as his future wife.
He appears to be living Mark Twain's “Sing like no one's listening, love like you've never been hurt, dance like nobody's watching, and live like its heaven on earth.”
And danced he did. I can't recall the name of the song, but I sure can remember the way he enjoyed our first dance. Never mind that my two left feet were practically glued to the floor. I should have known that my steps would never match his.
I suppose at eighteen I might have sang, loved, danced and lived like that. But it just doesn’t seem possible to do that today after the years of own real life experiences, as well as sharing the experiences of others. So in stark contrast to him, I tend to hold back. I reserve that last 20% to myself in case things do not work out.
After months of observing the 360 degrees view (often times I would be staring with disbelief at his actions), I trusted that I had seen everything. I accepted all of the unfamiliar, even shocking behaviour, which he had demonstrated. I accepted the package. At least I thought I did.
Alas, I didn't see the whole package.
.
That's how different we are. Where he is highly emotional and excitable, I am stable and logical. Where he commits and ploughs into projects instantly with all his heart, I would be the one needing time and/or persuasion before joining in his enthusiasm. He lives in the moment. I look to the future. He is an extreme extrovert to my introvert. He leaves trails of loose ends, I close mine up.
On hindsight (which is always great for the understanding but cannot do a thing to change the past), what has happened in our relationship fits the pattern perfectly. He plunged into love with abandon. I was cautious. With his moment now gone, I’m left to pick-up the pieces. While he seems to have moved on to his next passion, I still linger in a daze.
Our relationship is proof that opposites attract. How else could anyone understand what brought us together? People closest to me asked point blank what I could possibly see in him.
We human are never satisfied with what we have. That’s our nature. We are greedy. We want things that we do not have. In him, I see traits that I do not possess. And I wanted those to become a part of me, to complement my life.
When we first met, he promised to show me the worst in him so that I will not have any unrealistic expectation on him. He took this to the extreme too. I thought then that he had a twisted idea of impressing a woman. Fortunately at that time, I saw past these first impressions.
I started getting glimpses of exemplary behaviour such as his trustworthiness and loyalty. I see the respect that others paid him, people from all strata of society, from the low-lifes to the higher echelons (as we tend to generalise members of our society), reflecting how he himself treats others with respect where they deserve.
He is always passionate in everything he does. He would give 100% of what he has, sometimes even eating into himself. He loves passionately too. He never holds back. Always very sure of himself, he would introduce me to family and friends alike as his future wife.
He appears to be living Mark Twain's “Sing like no one's listening, love like you've never been hurt, dance like nobody's watching, and live like its heaven on earth.”
And danced he did. I can't recall the name of the song, but I sure can remember the way he enjoyed our first dance. Never mind that my two left feet were practically glued to the floor. I should have known that my steps would never match his.
I suppose at eighteen I might have sang, loved, danced and lived like that. But it just doesn’t seem possible to do that today after the years of own real life experiences, as well as sharing the experiences of others. So in stark contrast to him, I tend to hold back. I reserve that last 20% to myself in case things do not work out.
After months of observing the 360 degrees view (often times I would be staring with disbelief at his actions), I trusted that I had seen everything. I accepted all of the unfamiliar, even shocking behaviour, which he had demonstrated. I accepted the package. At least I thought I did.
Alas, I didn't see the whole package.
.
Friday, March 20, 2009
Stairway To Heaven
.
Browsing through my CD library, I found Stairway To Heaven and played it at full blast. I was at home babysitting a 4yr old. As she played next to me, she noticed that I was tapping my fingers on the table.
She brought out her air guitar and encouraged me to play with her. I didn't want to disappoint her, so I started rocking away with this child who appreciates Led Zeppelin and helped break my silence.
I'm pleased to report that I am starting to sing again. Where the likes of Mercury, Eagles, Adams, Nasir, Santana, Hattan, Clapton and a whole list of others had failed me, finally a 4yr old succeeded. Stairway will now go down into a long list of songs which are memorable for their special appearance at different times of my life.
Lady by Kenny Rogers.
Dedicated by a young boy from my teenage years. My first love.
I Will Survive by Gloria Gaynor.
This song was played in a large convention attended by thousands. I was crying unashamedly, fortunately among friends, while making a promise to myself that I will survive the hurt from second love which was going down the drain.
You Light Up My Life by Debby Boone.
Dedicated to me at the beginning of this last relationship. It was flattering to have him share with me his dreams of the future.
Nak Kawin Duit Tak Ada by Sweet September.
Sung into my voicemail by third love whom I had for a time refused to take his calls. Brings a smile to my face each time I hear it.
Wasted Time by The Eagles.
Played this every morning on the way to work while getting over second love. "Sometimes to keep it together, we got to leave it alone. So you can get on with your search, baby and I can get on with mine. And maybe someday we will find that it wasn't really wasted time." It still rings true today.
Negaraku.
Since I left school, gives me great pleasure to sing it with the right crowd.
Perfect Strangers.
My writing partner from years ago, to whom I had anonymously revealed plenty, so much so that I wish for us to remain perfect strangers.
So Far Away From Me by Dire Straits.
I'm tired of being in love and being all alone, When you're so far away from me
I'm tired of making out on the telephone, And you're so far away from me
Falling by Alicia Keys.
I was falling in and out of love with this crush.
Apokalips by M.Nasir.
Please read my earlier post "Hujan Pasti Berhenti".
You Needed Me by Anne Murray.
What innocence! First love just reminded me of this song which I dedicated to him. So many years now passed, nothing seemed to have changed; I'm still confused and he is still a friend.
If I Were A Boy by Beyonce.
O..boy..
Who Wants To Live Forever by Queen.
The words Always and Forever are overrated. See my upcoming post.
Romeo and Juliet by Dire Straits.
I am more the Romeo than Juliet in this one:
...Juliet, when we made love you used to cry.
You said, "I love you like the stars above, I'll love you 'til I die".
There's a place for us, you know the movie song.
When you gonna realize it was just that the time was wrong, Juliet....
.
Browsing through my CD library, I found Stairway To Heaven and played it at full blast. I was at home babysitting a 4yr old. As she played next to me, she noticed that I was tapping my fingers on the table.
She brought out her air guitar and encouraged me to play with her. I didn't want to disappoint her, so I started rocking away with this child who appreciates Led Zeppelin and helped break my silence.
I'm pleased to report that I am starting to sing again. Where the likes of Mercury, Eagles, Adams, Nasir, Santana, Hattan, Clapton and a whole list of others had failed me, finally a 4yr old succeeded. Stairway will now go down into a long list of songs which are memorable for their special appearance at different times of my life.
Lady by Kenny Rogers.
Dedicated by a young boy from my teenage years. My first love.
I Will Survive by Gloria Gaynor.
This song was played in a large convention attended by thousands. I was crying unashamedly, fortunately among friends, while making a promise to myself that I will survive the hurt from second love which was going down the drain.
You Light Up My Life by Debby Boone.
Dedicated to me at the beginning of this last relationship. It was flattering to have him share with me his dreams of the future.
Nak Kawin Duit Tak Ada by Sweet September.
Sung into my voicemail by third love whom I had for a time refused to take his calls. Brings a smile to my face each time I hear it.
Wasted Time by The Eagles.
Played this every morning on the way to work while getting over second love. "Sometimes to keep it together, we got to leave it alone. So you can get on with your search, baby and I can get on with mine. And maybe someday we will find that it wasn't really wasted time." It still rings true today.
Negaraku.
Since I left school, gives me great pleasure to sing it with the right crowd.
Perfect Strangers.
My writing partner from years ago, to whom I had anonymously revealed plenty, so much so that I wish for us to remain perfect strangers.
So Far Away From Me by Dire Straits.
I'm tired of being in love and being all alone, When you're so far away from me
I'm tired of making out on the telephone, And you're so far away from me
Falling by Alicia Keys.
I was falling in and out of love with this crush.
Apokalips by M.Nasir.
Please read my earlier post "Hujan Pasti Berhenti".
You Needed Me by Anne Murray.
What innocence! First love just reminded me of this song which I dedicated to him. So many years now passed, nothing seemed to have changed; I'm still confused and he is still a friend.
If I Were A Boy by Beyonce.
O..boy..
Who Wants To Live Forever by Queen.
The words Always and Forever are overrated. See my upcoming post.
Romeo and Juliet by Dire Straits.
I am more the Romeo than Juliet in this one:
...Juliet, when we made love you used to cry.
You said, "I love you like the stars above, I'll love you 'til I die".
There's a place for us, you know the movie song.
When you gonna realize it was just that the time was wrong, Juliet....
.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Sex Lies and Videotape
.
That's quite an attention-grabbing title if I ever see one. It is the title of a 1989 movie about the main sexual organ……the mind. It is also about trying to find happiness in a relationship with another person.
Why this title for tonight’s entry? Well, apart from the attention grabbed, there is something there in which I may find the turning point I need to move forward.
Videotape...I have nothing to say about that. There is none to speak of in the first place. At least not that I know of. Even if there is one, I wouldn’t want to see it and hope nobody else gets to see such a private business either.
Sex...in the absence of hard evidence (no pun intended), it is only right to assume there is none. Well, even if there is a videotape, one can recall the famous quote, "He looks something like me, sounds something like me, but I can’t be sure it’s me".
Anyway, sex may seem like a major contributing factor, but I only gave it fleeting thoughts every now and then, just as it deserves. I have learned earlier on that you can be assured of denial even when the man is caught with his pants down. (That lesson was shared with me by a 60+ year old man I had befriended years ago, who might have been caught with his pants down some time in his lifetime.)
Lies...now, there's something which bother me a great deal. That is what consumes me.
There are so many reasons to be angry about. I could list down all the hurtful stuff that took place. But I don’t want to do that because individually, they are petty issues. Only when I took a step back that the bigger picture started to emerge. In the end, what I find make me most angry are the lies.
It makes me wonder, at worst, if any part of our long relationship was true. Was his passion for me real? Did he really want to marry me? Could he have been laughing behind my back all the time for my gullibility? It is most humiliating if all those were lies. No one but him can distinguish the lies from the truth.
I would sometimes contemplate seeing him again to ask him all those questions, if only to learn enough so I can bury them permanently. I will have to do this on my own. This may seem like suicide to those who have been supportive thus far. But with others' presence, his ego will get in the way.
On the second thought, would I not be exposing myself to potentially more lies? Would I not in the end wonder yet again, which bits are truth, thereby taking me back to square one. I would then fail with my burial scheme.
In order to pacify myself, I pretend that the lies only started with the presence of the third person. At least I could pretend that he lied in order not to hurt me.
What an oxymoron that makes. When a person lies to us, the hurt is instantly applied whether or not the victim has learned the truth. Lies are concocted because the liar doesn’t trust that the victim can handle the truth. That’s where the hurt sits. We have taken the time to get to know each other, and yet, he still didn’t trust me where it matters most.
I had always made it clear that if he decides that it is over with us, or if he found me no longer suitable for him for whatever reason, he should just tell me and be done with it. I trusted that he would love me enough to do that. Difficult as it may be, we could at least move forward separately from there. Where is the fairness when I was made to hang on to the unknowingly doomed relationship? The playing field is level no more!
All the time when I intimated that I smelt something stinky, he simply denied them. Not just that, he would say that I do not trust him by equating him with other men who are despicable enough to indulge in such actions.
In the end, we believe only what we want to believe. This explains how he managed to drag it for so long; all the while continuing to profess his love for me and continued to introduce me as his future wife right through the end.
I found this in a newspaper column today:
“Trust is a gift given freely to many, but its thread is thin – once broken, it can take a very long time to mend. Saying sorry is the easy part; it is gaining back the trust of someone you have hurt that is painstakingly hard.”
.
That's quite an attention-grabbing title if I ever see one. It is the title of a 1989 movie about the main sexual organ……the mind. It is also about trying to find happiness in a relationship with another person.
Why this title for tonight’s entry? Well, apart from the attention grabbed, there is something there in which I may find the turning point I need to move forward.
Videotape...I have nothing to say about that. There is none to speak of in the first place. At least not that I know of. Even if there is one, I wouldn’t want to see it and hope nobody else gets to see such a private business either.
Sex...in the absence of hard evidence (no pun intended), it is only right to assume there is none. Well, even if there is a videotape, one can recall the famous quote, "He looks something like me, sounds something like me, but I can’t be sure it’s me".
Anyway, sex may seem like a major contributing factor, but I only gave it fleeting thoughts every now and then, just as it deserves. I have learned earlier on that you can be assured of denial even when the man is caught with his pants down. (That lesson was shared with me by a 60+ year old man I had befriended years ago, who might have been caught with his pants down some time in his lifetime.)
Lies...now, there's something which bother me a great deal. That is what consumes me.
There are so many reasons to be angry about. I could list down all the hurtful stuff that took place. But I don’t want to do that because individually, they are petty issues. Only when I took a step back that the bigger picture started to emerge. In the end, what I find make me most angry are the lies.
It makes me wonder, at worst, if any part of our long relationship was true. Was his passion for me real? Did he really want to marry me? Could he have been laughing behind my back all the time for my gullibility? It is most humiliating if all those were lies. No one but him can distinguish the lies from the truth.
I would sometimes contemplate seeing him again to ask him all those questions, if only to learn enough so I can bury them permanently. I will have to do this on my own. This may seem like suicide to those who have been supportive thus far. But with others' presence, his ego will get in the way.
On the second thought, would I not be exposing myself to potentially more lies? Would I not in the end wonder yet again, which bits are truth, thereby taking me back to square one. I would then fail with my burial scheme.
In order to pacify myself, I pretend that the lies only started with the presence of the third person. At least I could pretend that he lied in order not to hurt me.
What an oxymoron that makes. When a person lies to us, the hurt is instantly applied whether or not the victim has learned the truth. Lies are concocted because the liar doesn’t trust that the victim can handle the truth. That’s where the hurt sits. We have taken the time to get to know each other, and yet, he still didn’t trust me where it matters most.
I had always made it clear that if he decides that it is over with us, or if he found me no longer suitable for him for whatever reason, he should just tell me and be done with it. I trusted that he would love me enough to do that. Difficult as it may be, we could at least move forward separately from there. Where is the fairness when I was made to hang on to the unknowingly doomed relationship? The playing field is level no more!
All the time when I intimated that I smelt something stinky, he simply denied them. Not just that, he would say that I do not trust him by equating him with other men who are despicable enough to indulge in such actions.
In the end, we believe only what we want to believe. This explains how he managed to drag it for so long; all the while continuing to profess his love for me and continued to introduce me as his future wife right through the end.
I found this in a newspaper column today:
“Trust is a gift given freely to many, but its thread is thin – once broken, it can take a very long time to mend. Saying sorry is the easy part; it is gaining back the trust of someone you have hurt that is painstakingly hard.”
.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Anger Management
.
Weeks have passed now. I am still unable to let go. I'm still pining for him. Where is the promise that time is a great healer. I’m feeling worse by the day.
In my haste to get over him, I had decided that I was not going to hate him. Hate can be an all-consuming emotion and I wanted to avoid it; I didn’t want him to be the centre of my attention anymore.
So I avoided getting angry to avoid hating him. I only allowed myself to think of the positive stuff about him and what we had done together. I wanted to keep only the best memory of this fine man. I wanted to continue to love him for all that is good about him although we are no longer together. My plan was simply to accept that it is over and get on with my life. I wanted us to remain friends.
Over the years, I had become very good at suppressing my anger. I have been frequently described as a calm and coolheaded person. I have surprised many with my outward reaction, or some might say, non-reaction, to highly charged situations. I don't like being angry so I tend to walk away from confrontation which could potentially anger me. I would then come back after I have put my thoughts together.
In a previous relationship, it took 3 years of emotional and verbal abuse (including physical threats) before I finally packed up and left. As far as I can remember, throughout those trying times, I uttered only one unrepeatable word to him. It was 2 years into that fiasco before I smashed the first and only dish!
This time around, less was at stake. The decision was instant. To get over him, I thought I'd use the same formula, only to the extreme. I denied myself anger altogether. What I didn’t realise was that by avoiding being angry, the break-up appeared to be my fault. This, I now read, is a sure fire way of sinking into depression. I definitely cannot afford that!!
I need a new strategy. I need to get angry enough that it becomes a turning point. I need to have a reason to be sufficiently raged to want him to feel the hurt he inflicted me.
.
Weeks have passed now. I am still unable to let go. I'm still pining for him. Where is the promise that time is a great healer. I’m feeling worse by the day.
In my haste to get over him, I had decided that I was not going to hate him. Hate can be an all-consuming emotion and I wanted to avoid it; I didn’t want him to be the centre of my attention anymore.
So I avoided getting angry to avoid hating him. I only allowed myself to think of the positive stuff about him and what we had done together. I wanted to keep only the best memory of this fine man. I wanted to continue to love him for all that is good about him although we are no longer together. My plan was simply to accept that it is over and get on with my life. I wanted us to remain friends.
Over the years, I had become very good at suppressing my anger. I have been frequently described as a calm and coolheaded person. I have surprised many with my outward reaction, or some might say, non-reaction, to highly charged situations. I don't like being angry so I tend to walk away from confrontation which could potentially anger me. I would then come back after I have put my thoughts together.
In a previous relationship, it took 3 years of emotional and verbal abuse (including physical threats) before I finally packed up and left. As far as I can remember, throughout those trying times, I uttered only one unrepeatable word to him. It was 2 years into that fiasco before I smashed the first and only dish!
This time around, less was at stake. The decision was instant. To get over him, I thought I'd use the same formula, only to the extreme. I denied myself anger altogether. What I didn’t realise was that by avoiding being angry, the break-up appeared to be my fault. This, I now read, is a sure fire way of sinking into depression. I definitely cannot afford that!!
I need a new strategy. I need to get angry enough that it becomes a turning point. I need to have a reason to be sufficiently raged to want him to feel the hurt he inflicted me.
.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Speed Demon and the Flying Carpet
.
My car is three and a half years old now. All this while, I didn’t know that it could go only as fast as 185km/hr.
That’s a testament of the calm I was in during those years. I had even learned to drive within the speed limit sometimes. That’s not easy for a person who has a reputation of a Speed Demon.
It is not everyday though that I get to drive like that. I don’t like scaring the hell out of my passengers. And I really wanted to get rid of that reputation.
But last weekend was an exception. I was driving alone long distance. It was still dark in the early morning and the road was clear save for a few early birds. So I thought what good is the highway if I can’t fully enjoy it. Hey, I have to make up for the lost times when the highway turned into an extended parking lot.
With rock music blaring, my foot was heavy on the pedal. The speedometer climbed slowly but surely past 140, 160, 180 and darn!! 185 and no more!
How often does it happen that what we thought was enough for us turns out to be inadequate after all? We go through our days thinking this is the best that we can do, or the best we can afford given the limitations and circumstances.
I settle too easily into my comfort zone. I stop looking; or rather do not pause to question those limits and circumstances. Until one day that warm rug is pulled from under my feet. And I would struggle to keep my balance, arms flailing trying to grasp at anything I could lay my hands on.
Most times I got lucky. Friends or family would catch me and help me to solid ground again. I am still lucky this time round.
As the rug flew away in the wind, I tried to catch the fringes, but I sensed the ledge under my feet. Oooh…if I could just lean out a little more, maybe it wont leave without me, but I was afraid that if I lose my balance again, no one would be there to rescue me.
So I stepped back and watched the flying carpet disappeared into the deep blue sky. I realised then that my friends had brought me back to a field wide and green to the horizon.
In time, when my legs stop shaking, I will look into the horizon and take another step towards a life with limitless possibilities. I will find again the freedom to roam the earth, on foot or in new set of wheels that could go beyond 185.
.
My car is three and a half years old now. All this while, I didn’t know that it could go only as fast as 185km/hr.
That’s a testament of the calm I was in during those years. I had even learned to drive within the speed limit sometimes. That’s not easy for a person who has a reputation of a Speed Demon.
It is not everyday though that I get to drive like that. I don’t like scaring the hell out of my passengers. And I really wanted to get rid of that reputation.
But last weekend was an exception. I was driving alone long distance. It was still dark in the early morning and the road was clear save for a few early birds. So I thought what good is the highway if I can’t fully enjoy it. Hey, I have to make up for the lost times when the highway turned into an extended parking lot.
With rock music blaring, my foot was heavy on the pedal. The speedometer climbed slowly but surely past 140, 160, 180 and darn!! 185 and no more!
How often does it happen that what we thought was enough for us turns out to be inadequate after all? We go through our days thinking this is the best that we can do, or the best we can afford given the limitations and circumstances.
I settle too easily into my comfort zone. I stop looking; or rather do not pause to question those limits and circumstances. Until one day that warm rug is pulled from under my feet. And I would struggle to keep my balance, arms flailing trying to grasp at anything I could lay my hands on.
Most times I got lucky. Friends or family would catch me and help me to solid ground again. I am still lucky this time round.
As the rug flew away in the wind, I tried to catch the fringes, but I sensed the ledge under my feet. Oooh…if I could just lean out a little more, maybe it wont leave without me, but I was afraid that if I lose my balance again, no one would be there to rescue me.
So I stepped back and watched the flying carpet disappeared into the deep blue sky. I realised then that my friends had brought me back to a field wide and green to the horizon.
In time, when my legs stop shaking, I will look into the horizon and take another step towards a life with limitless possibilities. I will find again the freedom to roam the earth, on foot or in new set of wheels that could go beyond 185.
.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Hujan Pasti Berhenti
.
It was an unforgettable concert.
We both went, each with the intention of having a good time. I never got to ask him if he got what he came for. Though I was later told that he didn’t seem to enjoy himself. Then again, he might have much on his mind, having gotten more than what he bargained for.
It was a great concert. Unfortunately, what will remain unforgettable for me is not likely to be the great music. Instead, the unforgettable is the impossible loneliness I felt at that concert. It proves that it is possible to feel lonely although you are not alone.
Is it really that scary to be lonely? I guess it is not so much the fear of finding myself lonely. I do not anticipate loneliness. Sometimes I am alone, but not lonely. Other times I’m not alone but lonely. It happens when it happens. And when it does, it could hit me like a ton of bricks. When the ton of bricks drop on me in the middle of the night, there is no one out there who can help. So I’d lie awake hoping that the night will pass quickly and for the weight to disappear with daybreak.
Whats unforgettable are the last verses of the last song in that concert, which today remain the last song that escaped my mouth. (It is possible of course that my memory failed me; this may not have been the last song, but certainly is the one that’s been playing in my mind ever since). It went like this:
Satu, Dua, Tiga, Do Re Mi
Apa nak jadi, Alif Ba Ta, A B C
Apa nak jadi, akan terjadi
Hujan Pasti Berhenti
How apt. Mendung Akan Berarak. Hujan Pasti Berhenti. As usual, when it rains, we know from experience that it will stop sooner or later. But at its heaviest, it’s impossible to predict when it will stop. So we sit and hope that we are on a ground high enough that we will not be swept away by the floods while we wait for the rain to abate.
.
It was an unforgettable concert.
We both went, each with the intention of having a good time. I never got to ask him if he got what he came for. Though I was later told that he didn’t seem to enjoy himself. Then again, he might have much on his mind, having gotten more than what he bargained for.
It was a great concert. Unfortunately, what will remain unforgettable for me is not likely to be the great music. Instead, the unforgettable is the impossible loneliness I felt at that concert. It proves that it is possible to feel lonely although you are not alone.
Is it really that scary to be lonely? I guess it is not so much the fear of finding myself lonely. I do not anticipate loneliness. Sometimes I am alone, but not lonely. Other times I’m not alone but lonely. It happens when it happens. And when it does, it could hit me like a ton of bricks. When the ton of bricks drop on me in the middle of the night, there is no one out there who can help. So I’d lie awake hoping that the night will pass quickly and for the weight to disappear with daybreak.
Whats unforgettable are the last verses of the last song in that concert, which today remain the last song that escaped my mouth. (It is possible of course that my memory failed me; this may not have been the last song, but certainly is the one that’s been playing in my mind ever since). It went like this:
Satu, Dua, Tiga, Do Re Mi
Apa nak jadi, Alif Ba Ta, A B C
Apa nak jadi, akan terjadi
Hujan Pasti Berhenti
How apt. Mendung Akan Berarak. Hujan Pasti Berhenti. As usual, when it rains, we know from experience that it will stop sooner or later. But at its heaviest, it’s impossible to predict when it will stop. So we sit and hope that we are on a ground high enough that we will not be swept away by the floods while we wait for the rain to abate.
.
Friday, March 13, 2009
Phantom Limb
.
Wikipedia: “The individual may experience psychological trauma as well as emotional discomfort. A large proportion of amputees (50-80%) experience the phenomenon of phantom limbs;[12] they feel body parts that are no longer there. These limbs can itch, ache, burn, feel tense, dry or wet, locked in or trapped or they can feel as if they are moving. Some scientists believe it has to do with a kind of neural map that the brain has of the body, which sends information to the rest of the brain about limbs regardless of their existence. Phantom sensations and phantom pain may also occur after the removal of body parts other than the limbs, e.g. after amputation of the breast, extraction of a tooth (phantom tooth pain) or removal of an eye (phantom eye syndrome).”
Alhamdulillaah, I still have all my body parts, the four limbs, twenty digits, teeth, eyes, all serving their intended functions. I can’t possibly feel Phantom Limbs. I sure hope never to know it.
But I do imagine it.
He had tears in his eyes when he slipped the plain silver on the ring finger of my left hand some years ago. It was the last moment before his bus was due to leave. I was left standing there speechless when the bus left the station. I then sat in my car for a long time, sharing his emotion, drowned in my own tears. It took me some time before I was composed enough to drive home and face the rest of the world.
He didn’t get the ring size quite right. It didn’t sit too comfortably on my ring finger. I tried it on my middle finger and found it a better fit. After a while, it felt like a body part. At times, I did not even remember it was there. Other times, my thumb sought it out for the comfort and assurance of his love.
Looking back, that day might have been the last I saw him before many things started to change. I saw them as changes in the right direction. My guess is that he didn’t feel the same way, so he went the other direction. Despite everything, I’d like to believe that he remained passionately in love with me; if only because to think otherwise would be too painful to bear.
When the breakup became inevitable, I slipped the ring off my finger, opened his palm, placed the ring on it and closed it for him. I didn’t look up to see if there were tears again in his eyes before I walked away.
Now I miss my ring. I miss the comfort it brings when the tip of my thumb touches it.
With that empty space on my finger, there is also a space in my heart where once love had resided. Most times I just feel emptiness. Other times, I feel something tugging away in that space, reminding me of what it was like when he was still with me.
Is that a Phantom Limb phenomenon?
.
Wikipedia: “The individual may experience psychological trauma as well as emotional discomfort. A large proportion of amputees (50-80%) experience the phenomenon of phantom limbs;[12] they feel body parts that are no longer there. These limbs can itch, ache, burn, feel tense, dry or wet, locked in or trapped or they can feel as if they are moving. Some scientists believe it has to do with a kind of neural map that the brain has of the body, which sends information to the rest of the brain about limbs regardless of their existence. Phantom sensations and phantom pain may also occur after the removal of body parts other than the limbs, e.g. after amputation of the breast, extraction of a tooth (phantom tooth pain) or removal of an eye (phantom eye syndrome).”
Alhamdulillaah, I still have all my body parts, the four limbs, twenty digits, teeth, eyes, all serving their intended functions. I can’t possibly feel Phantom Limbs. I sure hope never to know it.
But I do imagine it.
He had tears in his eyes when he slipped the plain silver on the ring finger of my left hand some years ago. It was the last moment before his bus was due to leave. I was left standing there speechless when the bus left the station. I then sat in my car for a long time, sharing his emotion, drowned in my own tears. It took me some time before I was composed enough to drive home and face the rest of the world.
He didn’t get the ring size quite right. It didn’t sit too comfortably on my ring finger. I tried it on my middle finger and found it a better fit. After a while, it felt like a body part. At times, I did not even remember it was there. Other times, my thumb sought it out for the comfort and assurance of his love.
Looking back, that day might have been the last I saw him before many things started to change. I saw them as changes in the right direction. My guess is that he didn’t feel the same way, so he went the other direction. Despite everything, I’d like to believe that he remained passionately in love with me; if only because to think otherwise would be too painful to bear.
When the breakup became inevitable, I slipped the ring off my finger, opened his palm, placed the ring on it and closed it for him. I didn’t look up to see if there were tears again in his eyes before I walked away.
Now I miss my ring. I miss the comfort it brings when the tip of my thumb touches it.
With that empty space on my finger, there is also a space in my heart where once love had resided. Most times I just feel emptiness. Other times, I feel something tugging away in that space, reminding me of what it was like when he was still with me.
Is that a Phantom Limb phenomenon?
.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
I Can't Sing
.
Until last week, I was able to sing.
I don’t sing in public. I don’t even sing in the bathroom. Sometimes I sing to annoy people closest to me; they would be the first to vouch that I can’t sing.
But I would normally sing along to my favourite tunes when I’m driving alone. Sometimes its rock music, sometimes ballad and sometimes blues. No hip-hop, please. I’d drum my fingers on the wheel, tap my feet to the beat, whistle or hum the tune, and sing a verse or two, sometimes at the top of my lungs. After all, it’s not like anyone can hear me above the din of traffic on the road.
I was driving along last week, as usual with my favourite music in the air. And suddenly it struck me that I wasn’t singing. My lips were sealed shut. I wasn’t even humming, let alone whistling. My fingers remained still. My feet firmly planted on the floor. Even my toes wouldn’t wiggle. The silence, which I only then realised had been present for days, was deafening. It’s almost as if whatever music I had in me had been sucked out by recent events.
A whole gamut of emotions had run through me in the past weeks. At one time, the pain felt almost physical. My heart felt like it was being squeezed by an unseen hand inside my chest, making it hard to breathe. My hands shook and my feet numb. My stomach churned and threatened to disgorge what little food I managed to swallow. These went on for days.
The invisible hand left as suddenly as it came with the turn of events, leaving me with a hollow feeling. At that point I felt so empty that I couldn’t even cry for my loss. For a moment I thought that my heart had been ripped away by that hand.
A friend later said all the right things and made me cry. The medicine was bitter but the tears rescued me. My mourning began. I accepted that I must grieve for my loss before I can move forward.
Was it Mark Twain who said,
“Sing like no one's listening
Love like you've never been hurt
Dance like nobody's watching
And live like its heaven on earth”.
I promised myself to take no more than one month. In this one month, I will practice my self-prescribed therapy; I will talk, listen, read and write. I will learn to understand what has happened. I will learn to accept that there are things senseless and beyond comprehension. I will even allow myself to cry again.
I will learn that I have come out richer in experience from my relationship with this jewel of a man.
When the month is over, I will sing again. That’s a promise.
.
Until last week, I was able to sing.
I don’t sing in public. I don’t even sing in the bathroom. Sometimes I sing to annoy people closest to me; they would be the first to vouch that I can’t sing.
But I would normally sing along to my favourite tunes when I’m driving alone. Sometimes its rock music, sometimes ballad and sometimes blues. No hip-hop, please. I’d drum my fingers on the wheel, tap my feet to the beat, whistle or hum the tune, and sing a verse or two, sometimes at the top of my lungs. After all, it’s not like anyone can hear me above the din of traffic on the road.
I was driving along last week, as usual with my favourite music in the air. And suddenly it struck me that I wasn’t singing. My lips were sealed shut. I wasn’t even humming, let alone whistling. My fingers remained still. My feet firmly planted on the floor. Even my toes wouldn’t wiggle. The silence, which I only then realised had been present for days, was deafening. It’s almost as if whatever music I had in me had been sucked out by recent events.
A whole gamut of emotions had run through me in the past weeks. At one time, the pain felt almost physical. My heart felt like it was being squeezed by an unseen hand inside my chest, making it hard to breathe. My hands shook and my feet numb. My stomach churned and threatened to disgorge what little food I managed to swallow. These went on for days.
The invisible hand left as suddenly as it came with the turn of events, leaving me with a hollow feeling. At that point I felt so empty that I couldn’t even cry for my loss. For a moment I thought that my heart had been ripped away by that hand.
A friend later said all the right things and made me cry. The medicine was bitter but the tears rescued me. My mourning began. I accepted that I must grieve for my loss before I can move forward.
Was it Mark Twain who said,
“Sing like no one's listening
Love like you've never been hurt
Dance like nobody's watching
And live like its heaven on earth”.
I promised myself to take no more than one month. In this one month, I will practice my self-prescribed therapy; I will talk, listen, read and write. I will learn to understand what has happened. I will learn to accept that there are things senseless and beyond comprehension. I will even allow myself to cry again.
I will learn that I have come out richer in experience from my relationship with this jewel of a man.
When the month is over, I will sing again. That’s a promise.
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Monday, March 9, 2009
Begin At The End
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I write to organise my thoughts. I write to understand my feelings. I write to learn which feelings are important enough to keep. I write to learn which feelings are misplaced so I should try to discard them.
The first time I wrote was at the end of two lives. One was a stillborn. The other was the young first-time-mother who never knew that her baby was stillborn.
I attended the same school as the young woman but was never particularly close to her. I was this insecure young girl who thought that the sophisticated girl was way out of my league. Naturally we didn’t have any kind of communication after we left school.
I was at work when I learned of her tragic passing. I couldn’t understand how it was possible that a mother could still die of childbirth in a modern hospital. I bawled my eyes out and had to take the rest of the day off. I was very surprised at my own reaction. It’s not like I was going to miss her. She was never really a part of my life in the first place.
So I wrote to understand my feelings. I learned that my feelings came from what I could potentially lose. She would never know the joy of carrying a child in her arms. She would never know the intense feeling of her suckling baby. She would never know the selfless love a mother could feel for her child. She would never see her life coming to a full circle.
Then I learned which feelings are important enough to keep. These are the values I must place on the blessings which are all round me. I learned to value my life’s blessings; not focus on what I can’t have. I learned that when our time comes, it is not a second sooner or a second later than what Allah has intended.
I learned that all those first thoughts about what that mother had missed were totally misplaced. What bigger blessing could possibly be than going straight to heaven?
So I closed that first chapter of my writing. No one read that chapter.
At some other phases in my life, I had written again for the same reasons. Each time, it was at the end of a life’s chapter. That’s how I now begin at the end of another significant chapter, a chapter significant enough to compel me to write again. Perhaps this time, it will be read by others. Perhaps not. Whichever the case, it would already serve my purpose.
.
I write to organise my thoughts. I write to understand my feelings. I write to learn which feelings are important enough to keep. I write to learn which feelings are misplaced so I should try to discard them.
The first time I wrote was at the end of two lives. One was a stillborn. The other was the young first-time-mother who never knew that her baby was stillborn.
I attended the same school as the young woman but was never particularly close to her. I was this insecure young girl who thought that the sophisticated girl was way out of my league. Naturally we didn’t have any kind of communication after we left school.
I was at work when I learned of her tragic passing. I couldn’t understand how it was possible that a mother could still die of childbirth in a modern hospital. I bawled my eyes out and had to take the rest of the day off. I was very surprised at my own reaction. It’s not like I was going to miss her. She was never really a part of my life in the first place.
So I wrote to understand my feelings. I learned that my feelings came from what I could potentially lose. She would never know the joy of carrying a child in her arms. She would never know the intense feeling of her suckling baby. She would never know the selfless love a mother could feel for her child. She would never see her life coming to a full circle.
Then I learned which feelings are important enough to keep. These are the values I must place on the blessings which are all round me. I learned to value my life’s blessings; not focus on what I can’t have. I learned that when our time comes, it is not a second sooner or a second later than what Allah has intended.
I learned that all those first thoughts about what that mother had missed were totally misplaced. What bigger blessing could possibly be than going straight to heaven?
So I closed that first chapter of my writing. No one read that chapter.
At some other phases in my life, I had written again for the same reasons. Each time, it was at the end of a life’s chapter. That’s how I now begin at the end of another significant chapter, a chapter significant enough to compel me to write again. Perhaps this time, it will be read by others. Perhaps not. Whichever the case, it would already serve my purpose.
.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Hikayat Panji Semirang
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Hikayat Panji Semirang is a tale of a princess who went and did all that she needed to do to achieve her goals including the use of unconventional means. She didn’t let life’s setbacks hold her down. She overcame one challenge after another with patience and acceptance. These strengths allowed her to keep her emotion in check when dealing with others, resulting in her earning love and respect from most that came to know her.
The personalities presented in this ancient tale describe human nature and is therefore just as relevant today. Their positive and negative traits exist in living and breathing beings in the history of mankind. That’s my take on the book.
As soon as I was able to read, my hunger for the written words were insatiable. There weren’t much materials available to me in those days, at least not where I lived then. So I devoured every book, comic, newspaper, magazine I could lay my hands on (including newspaper wrappings from the sundry shop). I would read everything cover to cover, and I mean just that. I would read publisher’s details, foreword, content, the main body, even the index. Never mind that I couldn’t understand half of what I was reading.
I was still very young when I first encountered Hikayat Panji Semirang. It was my first novel. To be precise, it was only 90 percent of my first novel. The binding had come loose and the last section was missing. No matter, I read the book and left the ending to my imagination (limited as it was back then given that I was the epitome of Katak Bawah Tempurung).
It was a few more decades before I laid my hands on the complete copy of Hikayat Panji Semirang. While it was nice to finally read the conclusion, it was almost an anti-climax to have my wilder imagination curtailed by the writer.
I have now read the tale many times over. With my ever expanding experience, I learn something new each time. Some might call it a love story. But I see it as a tale of strength and determination of a beautiful person in the face of adversity.
Panji Semirang Asmarantaka may be only a character in a tale, but I have learned many lessons from this heroine to help me through some of the rough patches in my life. Hence the choice of the title for my writings.
While I have allowed myself to dream of a happy ending, I understand enough to know that life is about the journey, not the destination. My writings is about my journey, my very own tale.
.
Hikayat Panji Semirang is a tale of a princess who went and did all that she needed to do to achieve her goals including the use of unconventional means. She didn’t let life’s setbacks hold her down. She overcame one challenge after another with patience and acceptance. These strengths allowed her to keep her emotion in check when dealing with others, resulting in her earning love and respect from most that came to know her.
The personalities presented in this ancient tale describe human nature and is therefore just as relevant today. Their positive and negative traits exist in living and breathing beings in the history of mankind. That’s my take on the book.
As soon as I was able to read, my hunger for the written words were insatiable. There weren’t much materials available to me in those days, at least not where I lived then. So I devoured every book, comic, newspaper, magazine I could lay my hands on (including newspaper wrappings from the sundry shop). I would read everything cover to cover, and I mean just that. I would read publisher’s details, foreword, content, the main body, even the index. Never mind that I couldn’t understand half of what I was reading.
I was still very young when I first encountered Hikayat Panji Semirang. It was my first novel. To be precise, it was only 90 percent of my first novel. The binding had come loose and the last section was missing. No matter, I read the book and left the ending to my imagination (limited as it was back then given that I was the epitome of Katak Bawah Tempurung).
It was a few more decades before I laid my hands on the complete copy of Hikayat Panji Semirang. While it was nice to finally read the conclusion, it was almost an anti-climax to have my wilder imagination curtailed by the writer.
I have now read the tale many times over. With my ever expanding experience, I learn something new each time. Some might call it a love story. But I see it as a tale of strength and determination of a beautiful person in the face of adversity.
Panji Semirang Asmarantaka may be only a character in a tale, but I have learned many lessons from this heroine to help me through some of the rough patches in my life. Hence the choice of the title for my writings.
While I have allowed myself to dream of a happy ending, I understand enough to know that life is about the journey, not the destination. My writings is about my journey, my very own tale.
.
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