Catharsis

Just the other night I was telling my housemates that funnily enough, for all my apparent guy-craziness (well.. not just apparent. I do genuinely fancy guys. a lot), as a kid, I never really imagined or dreamed about being happily married to a guy. I've always had lists of criteria and quite definite opinions of what I wanted in a guy of course (when I was 10, I wanted a guy who would cook, clean—even the toilets and ceilings, know all about computers and all electrical appliances, do the housework except for laundry which I will do with the aid of a washing machine, of course work and take care of the kids. My cousin J was like: Why don't you get a maid instead? Since then, I've pared my list of household-chores-specific requirements significantly I must say), but to concretely imagine and daydream fervently about setting up house and having little mini-mes running around... no, not really. At least not on a regular basis.

My most vivid goal-dream which I deeply wished for and imagined fervently with almost fanatical detail was this: A penthouse in New York/LA. With my Siberian Husky (called "Chip" temporarily). I work in a high-flying corporate job. Mornings I would walk up almost late. I'd pull on items of clothes as I ran out the door into my car. While sitting in my car in the traffic jam, I'd straighten my clothes, slip into my sexy heels, and put on my make-up, and by the time I pulled into my office parking lot, I'd be immaculate. Nights, I'd come back from work late, exhausted, to a enthusiastically welcoming Chip. I'd close the door and start removing each item of clothing and leave a trail of clothes on the floor as I headed straight to my room, and fall into bed exhausted. Weekends would be the girls (this was the three Hua Zhong girls) and I coming over and having a movie marathon with pizzas all night long.

In this, my ultimate movie-fantasy glamourous adult life, there was no man. Not a trace. Definitely not the shadow of a husband and kids. But not even the idea of dating a man. To me, bizarrely enough, the fun was in working and hanging out with girl friends and just having a really good time.

The details of my fantasy adult life have not come true. I am in London, not LA/NY, I don't drive, my girlfriends are not here, and they are, for the most part, not single. Details of reality which do comform are: I am messy, I leave a pile of clothes on the floor, and I am exhausted after work.

And yet, in substance, I feel that most of what I most violently longed for has come true—not just this specific dream, but others as well. And truly, daily I feel blessed (not in a holy way), very fortunate, and thankful, that I am where I am. In fact, I am so constantly astounded, and so happy, and in awe, so stunned... that I feel ashamed for being so unambitious. For having such simple dream, for not being greedy enough, for not being bold enough in my vision. Surely any dream that I can achieve before I'm 23 can hardly be lofty enough. Should I not have been more ambitious... like wishing to be the CEO of some Fortune 500 company? Should my goals not be more grand, visionary, Olympian? Truly, I am feeling disatisfied because: 1) I have no new goals (and I need direction, something on which to focus my energy, strive towards), 2) and also I feel like I have let myself down for not being able to set new worthy goals.

I have said before, and I reiterate, that what you dream of, envisage, see in your mind's eye, will eventually come true. What worries me, insofar that from a social perspective, I feel I ought to be worried, is that I still don't envisage marrying, settling down, having a happy family. The truth is, in many ways, I don't particularly see a reason or need to get married really.

As a child, I was traumatised by my parents' marriage. In fact, I'm still carrying the emotional baggage of all the years of quarrelling, fights, talks of divorce, anger, and recrimination. Anger and recrimination that still continue, even till today, almost 18 years since I first overheard them talking about divorce and rushed into the room crying and asked: "What will happen to me?"

This is why I don't want to go back. Don't particularly see a need to get married. To me, marriage doesn't connote security, safety, love. It's more like a trap, prison. Something one does in haste and repents at leisure. A little cage of mirrors that reflect and multiply anger and blame into infinity. Once, I almost started believing in love, in forever happiness. Then the boy left me. And I became even more bitter and angry than ever. Because learning to believe was a Herculean task for me. It was against all I'd ever known. And just as I was taking baby steps in opening up and trusting, he leaves. Essentially because he thinks I'm not worth the time and effort to work through all the history and baggage.

I'm past that bitterness and anger. It's life. He did what was best for him. And the truth is, that's only to be expected. When you're in danger of drowning, you save yourself first. Because that's your destiny. You can only love others if you love yourself. And you need to be able to survive before you can take care of others. He doesn't owe me a living, and my issues are my own.

And I have been trying to work them out. I always knew, that I had a problem. I know myself well enough. So when I was 12 and the opportunity came for me to leave home, I leapt at it. It was my one chance of surviving, of maybe eventually becoming a whole person. I had to escape my family, my house. I knew I had to escape the negativity to create a safe space for me to develop. As I've grown older, I've began sharing these thoughts with my mom. Sometimes it comes out in anger, when I blame her and my dad. But I know it's not their fault. They've done their best. They can't help it if they don't get along. And I was the one, for selfish reasons, who had asked them to please stay together.

Sometimes I think maybe I shouldn't tell her. Maybe it's kinder not to let my mom know. I don't want her to feel guilt for maybe feeling she had let me down as a parent. At the same time, I want her to know who I am. I want her to know that I don't want to go home, not because I don't love her or my parents. But because I find it so very difficult to cope. And after all, maybe she would have wanted to know who I am, the real me... that's a wonderful gift for a parent, to share your child's life, or know the real him/her.

My Spanish colleague once exclaimed: No wonder you're so crazy, when he found out that I'd been away from home since I was 12. He thinks that I was too young to be without my parents' guidance. Maybe he has a point. On some matters, maybe it would have been better to have guidance and discipline. But overwhelmingly, I think it was a good thing I left home. I turned out to be a fairly good kid in the end. All of us did. With my rebellious nature, I would have clashed violently with my dad. As it was, the responsibility of taking care of me fell onto my shoulders. And in many ways, I think I was more careful than I would otherwise have been.

With time and distance, I think I am making progress. This year, I have no real specific concrete goal. But I do want to work on very small micro things... on myself, becoming a better person, having some personal space and development. I'm still afraid of imagining being married, because one should be careful what one wishes for in case it comes true. And I'm still deeply sceptical. But at least I'm not violently against it, like I was not too long ago.

Okay... this has become an epic entry that started from nowhere. I guess I just wanted to let it all out. Catharsis. To purge oneself of all negativity. To admit to, pass on, and share the burden. And maybe the healing can begin.

Walk the Line

Watched the movie Walk the Line and loved it. Normally I don't go for biopics and base-on-true-stories. But this was very stormy, touching, and beautiful. Was crying and crying. The acting was superb and love the singing and music. Loved Joaquin's deep deep spine-chillingly sexy voice. But I also especially adored Reese's voice and her feisty singing. Love it. I think I'll buy the soundtrack (either that or Johnny Cash albums. or maybe both). The one thing I'm disappointed about is tha "Time's a wastin" is not in the soundtrack, and I loved the way Reese sang it.

Have also bee listening to this Chinese love song "约定", for hours and hours on end for several days now at work. It is beautiful and keeps me awake.

Enlightenment

Three weeks is a lifetime. I come back all warm, loose-limbed and relaxed. New haircut (much shorter now, chin-length), new attitude.

Before I left for my holiday, I felt like I'd been in a funk. My life had been spiralling inwards, imploding, my world enclosed by the black-domed insides of a quail's egg.

I decided that this time it will be different. I am going to be different. Iam going to stop obsessing about work. I will still do my best at work. My mantra will be to check check check. Take my time, to do things properly, systematically, meticulously. To become a liar, to tell myself daily that I love my job, it's the greatest fun in the world. To focus at work. To become a schizophrenic, to tell myself after work that this is it, work's not that important. Leave it at the door. And walk out. Fuck it. I have a life. I want a life. I love my life. I take it in my own hands.

I'm going for French lessons. Saturday mornings. And I have just signed up for a basic tango workshop next Saturday with a friend.

Aye, three weeks is a lifetime. Time slowed down. No agendas, no deadlines. My only targets were shopping targets.

Met up with my much cherished old friends. Multiple eating sessions. Every meeting seems to involve a meal. Enjoying the food, laughing and talking over breakfast/lunch/dinner/drinks. Karaoke (my first time in a KTV lounge). Oh... and I met my ex-housemate's new girlfriend, a wonderful girly girly like I can never hope to be (I adore her). Taking walks, cycling, visting the Bird Park, driving all across town to eat (Subang Jaya Farmland porridge steamboat, anyone?). All the food: my Aunt's 'cow jung', Kayu Nasi Kandar, KL street hawker, Purvis Street coffee shop, Wisma Food Republic, Suntec Fish & Co, Taka Coffee Club, Subang Jaya steamboat. All the conversations: catching up, reminiscing, confiding, speculating.

Chinese New Year. Reunited with my younger cousin (JL) who I hadn't properly seen in ages. We had our first proper conversation. As kids we only used to play together. This was the first time I go to know him better. Also finally got to know his younger sis A. My three adorable nieces, the youngest of which I'm seeing as an individual for the first time—all of six years old, incredibly lively (rather act-cute, I must say), reportedly spoilt. But I adore her. Childish prattle of their 'boyfriends' (he's very skinny and quiet, whispers the eldest sis to me), liking the Standard Three neighbour (when my cousin is Standard Six), the supposed boyfriend/boy-in-the-next-seat "Jellyfish Wong". I laugh in recognition at my own childhood past with its attendant childish boy/girl affairs. Although I am rather surprised by my youngest six year old niece's crushes on several boys and her claim of 'HODAREN' as her boyfriend (isn't six a bit young?) Questions on all sorts of issues/situations. I am, as always, surprisingly good with children, despite my age gap. Endless rounds of Risk, Gin Rummy, bridge (I taught my cousins), gambling (Gin Rummy), and random games with the baby (six-year old niece) WL.

I thaw in the warm air. Am languorous. I am seeped in life, warmth and love. Life is beautiful. Truly, I think. Feel. Believe. There is so much more to life than what I normally realise. I realise I like this. This friends and family thing. This time and space for them. This time and space for me. I could get used to this. I don't want to go back.

And I come to realise that, I could easily give it all up—my job, the bullshit hours, the stress, the unreasonable expectations, yes the pay—for this time and space, this warm calmness. If it came down to one or the other, I would easily make the choice. I mean, this is my life. At the end of the day, this is more important, this feeling of enjoyment, of this warmly bubbling happiness. Come what may, I need to remember that. To hold on to that.

I need to remember that love, family and friendships are what counts. All else is superfluous.

Life in Hell #1

I'm thinking it might very well be worthwhile to start a little "Life in Hell" series. For those times when things just keep going tear-inducingly, side-splittingly wrong.

Like this home-coming. Found myself locked out of my own home, bulky and heavy luggage in tow, sans blackberry (which is also my mobile) which unhelpfully died an unceremonious death midway through my holiday. An instant of panic: Plan A to run to my neighbours' door and throw myself at their mercy if they were in (please be in!), Plan B: go to the office? and maybe call someone to plead for shelter?

Thankfully Plan A panned out.

The next day, still jet-lagged. Left work happily at seven to catch up with cousin and move my baggage back home. And just as I am about to unpack, a call from the office: We need to start a presentation for a meeting tomorrow morning. We have about 8 hours to prepare. Can you come back into the office?

I look at my watch: half ten. Sure, I say, I'll get a cab. I tell myself that at least I get to come home early and sleep in the next day.

And thus all night till eight in the morning when I leave, with the instructions to go into work after lunch. I get to bed at half eight.

Eleven. My mobile rings. We need to make more changes to the presentation. Can you come in? Sure, I say, I'll get a cab.

I'm freezing. The heater was not working. I try to fiddle with the boiler before I leave the house. KAPOW. The power fails. I am at my wit's end. I dread the thought of no heat, light, internet when I get back (Hopefully in the afternoon, surely!)

I hop into a new set of clothes and into the cab. And thus until half seven in the evening. I am aching all over in all sorts of ways. Can barely keep my back straight, self upright.

Jetlagged, homeless, all-nighter, no heat, more work, and the prospect of a cold, dark night. I could not take another setback.

But I flip the fuse box switch as per my housemate's instructions (which is the fuse box, I wondered).

And then there was light.