Weblog
02/09: Similarities.
"You are just like my mom! Keeps everything to yourself. How do you expect things to progress as a couple, when there is no communication?"I remembered. These words spitted out from my lips in exasperation. The similarities didn't end there. Both were good looking, independent women with strong personalities. Both loved kids to bits but are not good at maintaining sustained relationships with kids. Well, for my mom at least. For Her, I could only gauge it from her interaction with pets, her family's dog, and my cats. It is always easy for them to mother, and play with the cute little things for short periods of time. But not a sustained relationship.
"I'll have a chat with your mom. I've known her for years. She does care. She just has a problem expressing her love for the bunch of you kids." My aunt assured me.
We were having a couple of pints at the bar, when I expressed my worries about the recent turn of events in the family. I was worried about my brother's health. I was worried about the pressure and uncertainty my mom and sister-in-law were undergoing. I was worried I would have a hard time stepping into my sister's shoes to attempt to hold the family together. My sister had just relocated to Hong Kong for 2 years. It didn't help that my personal and work life was in shambles.
"Do come over more for dinner. And bring your girlfriend along." My mom said.
I could tell that she was trying to bridge the gap. It's been so many years. The distance between us could never be bridged overnight. Yet I could tell that my aunt's conversation with her was showing some results. Her conversation with me was showing some results too. I started going over to my mom's place for dinner more frequently. I could joke with my sister-in-law about some celebrity variety program on TV. And I talked to my mom about mundane stuff like the difference in prices for canned food at different supermarkets. I took an interest in her cooking and asked her about the ingredients and how she prepared dinner.
No. I did not confess to my mom that the relationship has ended. That the flat we were expecting was canceled. I remembered how lost she looked at the hospital lobby when my brother was admitted into ICU.I couldn't bear to break her heart.
"She's busy." I replied.
Funny how I used to compare Her with my mom in anger. Now, I am glad of the similarities. It helped me to see my mom in a different light. I have learned to see how strong a woman my mum is, to have gone through 2 failed marriages and the death of a spouse. I am sure this strong personality with help Her pull through the recent ordeal too.
I might not have been able to save the relationship that was close to my heart. But at least I could still work on the family relationship that I have neglected for the past thirty years.
08/07: Dinner
As a typical single person who has lived most of my life alone, dinners usually means fast takeaways, instant noodles or microwave packs. Most of the time, especially on weekdays, dinner means a few pints of beer washed down with a Guinness or a few glasses of whisky soda.In the recent years, in a futile attempt to lead a more 'normal' life, I decided that I will make it a point to have a good dinner every sunday. You can call it a celebration of the end of a good weekend, or an inoculation to dampen the incoming monday blues. Somehow as I get older, weekends seem shorter and I get more desperate to make use of it to spend more time with the loved one.
So what constitutes a good sunday dinner? On a good day, when I am in the mood to cook, a couple of stir-fried meats, vegetables(usually cabbage) and one form of chicken soup. This combination might not mean much to most folks who live with their parents, thus never had to worry about dinner. I remember the days, years ago, when I was so broke that I had to survive on a packet of instant noodles a day. And I am determined not to let those hungry days haunt me again.
The 2 key components in a self-cooked, 'good' meal, to me are rice and chicken soup. Rice. I love the warm scent of freshly cooked rice. Somehow it evokes the sense of family, love and belonging. Chicken soup. Be it one of the various herbal forms or even chicken curry(even though chicken curry is technically not a soup), somehow always perks me up when I am down.
During the times when I was not in the mood for cooking, I would take a slow stroll to the nearby 'zhu chao' stall to buy some chinese takeaways consisting of similar dishes, but usually with more seafood(I am still learning how to cook seafood properly). I would usually buy in a portion for two, with 2 packs of white rice, and come home happily to enjoy the meal with the loved one.
With the recent turn of events, I am still desperately attempting to have this good dinner every sunday. I am still cooking for 2 or 'dabao' for 2 from the 'zhu chao' stall. Of course I can't finish the meal alone. The remaining food goes into the fridge for the weekdays when I come home drunk and hungry.
Last sunday, it was pouring heavily in the evening. Somehow it got me very angry with the heavens for trying to wreck my plans for a good dinner. I was determined not to stay in and be satisfied with instant noodles. It was good dinner'day. And instant noodles has no place on the dinning table on GOOD DINNER day. I left the house with an umbrella, and came home half-drenched with the piping hot usuals from the 'zhu chao' stall. I stared at the heavens with a smirk on my face, telling them up there that there is no way they can prevent me from my good dinner, on good dinner day.
As I tucked into my good dinner, a part of me realised, that I am just a stubborn old man trying desperately to stick to a routine while the rest of my world is falling apart.
26/06: A rare night without turmoil.
Late night.Ethereal sound of strings caressing my soul.
Peace.
12/06: Broken
He startled awake to the shrill cry of the alarm clock. He looked around at his surroundings, trying to get his bearings. As the familiarity of the room sank in, he let go of his breath is a weak sigh. The images of him playing his lute, with the Dryad moving her lithe body to the rhythm of his music were still dancing vividly in his mind. He was hit by a sudden pang of loss as it dawned onto him that it was just a dream.. a beautiful dream.. a figment of his imagination.. a result of his mind trying to come to terms with what has happened recently. He brushed away the tendrils of the dream caressing his back of his head, as he got up to start the day in the real world.He looked into the mirror as he was brushing his teeth. A pair of listless eyes stared back at him, framed by dark eye circles that spoke of dried tears and heartache. He clenched his teeth unconsciously at he realised that the strange man with the sunken cheeks and a week-old stubble was his own face. He turned on the tap and splashed water on his face vigorously, trying in vain to rinse off the memories and pain.
When he stepped into the kitchen, the cats meowed at him, demanding breakfast.
"A sec." He answered as he took a can of Heineken from the fridge and took a long swig from it. The girl rubbed herself against his ankle, stared at the empty food tray, and turned her attention back at him, meowing impatiently. The boy sat there silently, looking at him expectantly.
"Ok. Ok." He replied. He took the plastic jug and poured the dried cat food into the tray. The girl jumped in excitement and swiped the jug from his hands. The jug slipped from his trembling hands in slow motion and landed on the floor with a soft thud, scattering the cat food over the floor. He stared at the strewn food, losing his grip on his resolve.
He sank slowly on to the floor, burying his face in his knees. His composure broke, as he hid his face in his hands and wept, his body wracked with waves upon waves of heavy, silent sobs.
22/03: The Invitation
It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living.I want to know what you ache for
and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.
It doesn’t interest me how old you are.
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool
for love
for your dream
for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon...
I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow
if you have been opened by life’s betrayals
or have become shrivelled and closed
from fear of further pain.
I want to know if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it
or fade it
or fix it.
I want to know if you can be with joy
mine or your own
if you can dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes
without cautioning us
to be careful
to be realistic
to remember the limitations of being human.
It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me
is true.
I want to know if you can
disappoint another
to be true to yourself.
If you can bear the accusation of betrayal
and not betray your own soul.
If you can be faithless
and therefore trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see Beauty
even when it is not pretty
every day.
And if you can source your own life
from its presence.
I want to know if you can live with failure
yours and mine
and still stand at the edge of the lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon,
“Yes.”
It doesn’t interest me
to know where you live or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up
after the night of grief and despair
weary and bruised to the bone
and do what needs to be done
to feed the children.
It doesn’t interest me who you know
or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand
in the centre of the fire
with me
and not shrink back.
It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom
you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you
from the inside
when all else falls away.
I want to know if you can be alone
with yourself
and if you truly like the company you keep
in the empty moments.
~Oriah
En savoir plus ...
