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Waiting for a harvest

Everyone’s darkest desire is to be half of a couple because it is human nature to be afraid of being alone. Words like ‘Single’ and ‘Alone’ have huge social repercussions tagged to them. You become the burden of your parents and the amount of worry your parents cast upon you is inversely proportional to your age. During the occasional friends’ gathering, you feel like the oddity because you did not repeat the word ‘husband’ more than thrice and coo the word ‘babies’ (with pride) infinitely throughout the duration of the meal. You are the topic of discussion when you perform obligatory visits e.g. festive gatherings with relatives you were never close to. When the big question about whether you are currently attached is finally broached by one of the many curious aunties, you feel all conversation round the table coming to an abrupt halt and you have never felt more popular as a person about to make a public speech since Martin Luther King. And when you answer in the affirmative that you are still single, stinging looks of pity and consoling words are doled out in generous measures so much so that even you who was originally unbothered by your singlehood starts to resent your lonely existence. You start to despise those who wear the cloak of concern but are really hiding under the shadow of insensitivity. And if you have any good sense left in you, you shy away from these meetings ever after by making up plausible excuses.

Being single, by choice or otherwise, seems to be socially criminal.

There is no right and no wrong in being single if you are comfortable with your status. The sun does not stop shining because you have no beloved, the world does not stop spinning due to a lack of dates, the rain does not stop falling because there is only one person under the umbrella … In short, Life goes on.

If you are the kind who needs Love to nourish your Life so that you may grow green and healthy, go forth and do not be afraid to fail. If you are like me, one who accepts Providence’s hands without feeling the need to bemoan, the choice is yours to be proactive or to pace yourself so that you can also smell the flowers in your quest.

When asked if I miss the feeling of having someone around, I honestly think it’s a silly question. Of course I do miss the good parts about being with someone – the warmth of another body, the girlish giggles that only one in Love can produce without feeling absurd, the furtive glances stolen when he is not looking and his big hand guiding yours as he walks you down the trodden path that you wish will never end. But if it is not possible right now, one has to learn how to live by herself too.

Some become reliant on friends to feel ‘wanted’ but there will always be a point in time where you won’t have a friend around who can keep company so it is a steep learning curve to being only you. You learn to go to the library to borrow books and read them in your bed. What you lack in companionship, you make it up in knowledge. You learn not to judge another who goes to the cinema by himself. You learn to occupy a whole table in a restaurant without feeling guilty (because remember, singles have their rights too!).

Even though I am now comfortable with doing some things on my own, I want to learn how to do things differently – to be a different person but the same me. I want to experience new things I would never try. I want to see things from a different angle. I want to wear my hair in a different way. I want to hold things with a different hand. I want to speak to others in a different manner. I want to watch programs I would never bother. I want to call friends whom I’ve not kept in contact. I want to read books I’ll never touch. I want to try food I never ate.

Right now, I want to be wholesome and know how it is like just to be fully me without being half of another because I know I will learn that when the time is ripe.

Random Updates

I know I didn’t update for some time. A few cool things happened recently.

I am finally done with this guy whom I wasn’t sure if I was actually dating (or not) for the last couple of months but we are officially dunzo. This means I can really open my heart out to the rest of the free men in the world and it’s a great feeling!

I was online chatting with this man and you know how one should be wary of this online business so I assumed a fake name. A few days after we started chatting on MSN, he suddenly asked if I had another name in the past and blurted out my real name! Turned out that I met him about 10 years ago … we even went for the movie ‘Fight Club‘ together and had dinner once near my house. Seriously, I can’t remember any of these! I did remember going for the movie but I have no recollection of who I went with but anyway, it is a strange feeling trying to re-acquaint myself with a person I supposedly knew a long time ago.

Now that the world seemed brighter this morning when I woke up, I suddenly wanted to change the way I did some things.
1. For one, I’ll like to say “Lovely to meet you” instead of “Nice to meet you” when being introduced to someone new.
2. I’ll like to add more vegetables to my yong tau foo soup for lunch.
3. I’ll like to try sleeping at 11 p.m. from now on, about 2 hours earlier from the time I usually sleep.
4. I’ll like to drink increase my daily amount of water intake. I haven’t been drinking enough for a long time.
5. I’ll like to try to be less awkward to strangers. I always had this problem with strangers till I get to know them better.
6. I’ll like to try smoking less of course.
7. Learn to let go.

Just these 7 things for now till I think of more.

To Stick Your Finger Where It Doesn’t Belong

I’ve had this revelation recently, watching my neighbour’s youngest daughter unwittingly stick her finger into a door knob and got stuck. It was an arduous process, really. Being young and afraid of pain, once her finger was stuck, she gave up trying, asking help from her siblings who then came running to my dad watching television in the living room.

As I stood watching the locksmith extricate the knob from the door, it was clear that the rest was up to the little girl. There is not going to be anything the doctor can do and sawing was out of the question since the little finger is in peril. Her anxious father poured oil over the finger and encouraged her to ease it out slowly but everytime she felt a little pain, she slumped back and gave up. Three grown men stood hovering over her – one decidedly nervous (her father), one concerned but amused (my father) and one sarcastic (the locksmith). If not for the fact that it would be improper to giggle, I would find the whole scene comical. Least when expected, the little finger suddenly came free of the door knob, reasonably well-oiled but none for the worst. I was thinking: Do not stick your finger where it doesn’t belong.

Almost immediately, I thought of Jack Horner whose thumb was in the pie and I thought of myself, wondering if I have, metaphorically, been cast in the same situation. Have I been sticking my finger into where I don’t belong?

The man is not yours and not for you. Do not insist on sticking your finger in where it doesn’t belong because it will hurt and it takes a lot of pain before you are smart enough to extricate yourself from further hurt. You make the people around you worried but yet the only person you can help yourself is you. Tempting as it is to create a little drama out of curiosity, the aftermath is usually not so pleasant. I’ll now leave the little girl be and hope that one day she has the same epiphany as me.

And Take A Good Look At Life

There are some matters of the Heart which recently spun out of my scope of control since one can never be the sole deciding factor of Relationship, a process involving two or more but the phoenix that rose above the ashes is that I started doubting the purpose of this merry traveller.

I have always wanted to document only happy thoughts in blogs and in writing because reading back on them in time to come would be so much more memorable and pleasant. I found it difficult to come to terms with ghosts of the past, afraid that they will still linger around to haunt me. Therefore, the act of cowardice I indulged in was to write them all down and never look back, knowing that they were immortalized in those pages of depressing thoughts with black ballpoint ink and sealed forever with an air of finality.

Emphasis is placed on History. Your history forms a part of the current you and is an influence on the future whatever direction you choose to take. Since all of us have had a history that is not necessarily a thing to be proud of, the common escapist way to deal with it is to forget it or deny it. I glorify not because my past was a fresh, clean slate but because the experience I gained from each unhappy ending propelled me towards a determination to do better the next time round and it had been invaluable for my growth to an adult. There were times I was angry with the world and I wanted to walk back the same, ignominious route that I was desperate to avoid. And it was not because I did not learn but because I am a rebel. I have this nihilistic ego that could not be undermined which in turn dignifies childish attempts at staking my life for the world to behold in its brazen bout of willfulness.

And for what?

‘Mellow’ is a word describing the mild and ripe, ever so gently nurturing but the effects it had on those who once frolicked shamelessly with Youth now basked in its gentle resplendence. Although I acknowledge that the path of the merry traveller may not always be merry, flowers would not bloom with every step you take, there may be clouds overshadowing the sun and the disappointment of having no rainbow after the rain but I am newly refreshed in my quest for zest.

Because I am worth it. I was special to him once before.

“Expired Blogger” – Is There Such A Term?

If you have read my about page (no, it’s not a shameless plug), you would have known that I started blogging since the later part of 2001. I could call myself a rather religious blogger initially, having painstakingly followed many people’s footsteps to document their lives the same way I did and I had a great deal of blog friends whom I’ve never met and why should it matter? Sometimes taking the privacy out of blogosphere kills the joy you had in reveling in the life of perfect strangers even those you love to hate. For example, you have disliked this female blogger and all she represents for the longest time and viola! The next thing you know, you actually met her at a party and she has proven to be nice unlike her undesirable online persona and it can be rather disappointing. In short, it leaves a narrow room for imagination.

Of course, there were times when Curiosity overwhelms Sensibility and you find yourself trotting into a cafe for a coffee session with a few of your faithful readers and you of theirs.

Merry Traveller: Where are you seated? I’m at Starbucks already.
Blogger A: Oh I am wearing a blue shirt with spectacles and Blogger B is wearing a white shirt and jeans.

And you thought the description would vaguely suffice only to turn and look around a cafe full of blue and white shirts and jeans before you caught sight of two enthusiastic, waving hands clothed by .. well … white and blue. As I made my way towards the people whose lives I’ve known so initimately but not themselves, I felt guilty admitting that I harboured an impulse to turn around and run. Of course, I could never be that rude and then what ensued were moments of initial awkwardness, shy smiles, what-the-fuck-am-I-doing looks and stumped speeches.

Merry Traveller: Hey! Uh, erm, finally we meet and you look like this …
Merry Traveller: Uh I mean not in the bad way definitely but I’ve never thought you’ll look like this …
Merry Traveller: And wow, blue, it’s a common favourite colour. No, I mean you guys look great in blue. I don’t like blue very much though.
Merry Traveller: No what I really mean is that you guys have great blogs, really enjoyed reading your entries and .. uhm the fantastic blue layouts. They are so … organized.

And words go free-flowing even though they may not sound quite the same way you meant to. Anything to mask the sense of anxiety you feel. It is easy to experience nervousness especially when you meet a respected blogger or your favourite blogger you’ve never missed a post. I do not know which is worse though, saying way too much that doesn’t make sense and spell ‘a-w-e’ or keeping totally quiet, clueless on how to proceed but luckily enough for me, I warm up after a while and everything will go right again.

Between June 2001 and now is a difference of 8 years. I cannot tell you how many people I’ve met (I’m not totally anti-social, just a little) but there are very few that I kept in touch with since the only linkage between me and most of the others was a link on the blog or an add to bloglines but other than that, we thrive in different professions, we have dissimilar clothing preference, he likes savory and I like sweet, he enjoys coffee and I live with tea, though we drank beer but he prefers Heineken and I like my Hoegaarden and despite six degrees of separation, we still have no mutual friends.

Simply, we are as different as Night and Day.

And so years passed and now that I am back blogging, not as zealous as before since there are much less things I had to say without feeling repetitive. As I visited some old blogs I used to follow, it is not hard to be surprised at some of the changes that had taken place while I went missing on myself. I see blog posts being replaced with tweets as newer technological utilities made it possible to convey our thoughts in a different manner, I see inserts of advertorials pitched snugly between blog posts full of photographs, I see upholders of Nuffnang thanking them for every single event they have attended (I had to google for Nuffnang, I had no idea at all), I see only fragments of their older selves as new considerations take priority over their current lives. Mr. Miyagi is now married with a kid, Little Miss Drinkalot no longer blogs about alcohol intake (not in the recent posts at least), La Idler is not longer enjoying any idle days …

At the end of the day, I am left wondering – How have I changed?

Did I just expire?

Rage, Rage Against The Dying of Night

I thought I got out of that whole late night clubbing notion, except when there are my favourite DJs playing in town, usually in Zouk for that matter. Did I mention Zouk is my favourite club? Well now you know.

On a typical Saturday night, I fancy myself cuddling up in the couch or bed, reading a book or listening to some music, spending a rejuvenating evening all to myself. I treasure my weekends now since it is the only time I really get to forget all about work and prepare for next week’s battle. Maybe I wouldn’t have minded a go at the film theatre since there is something I really want to watch. The idea of clubbing scares me – the throes of people who are determined to mow down any obstacle on their way to alcohol and the dance floor and that includes you, the drunken louts who unconsciously or consciously become insufferably rude or horny or both and of course the young ladies who lose all decorum after rounds of drinks and are incapable of taking care of themselves. But worst of all, worst of all, the ridiculously long queues at the bar, making a girl without alcohol, namely me, really upset.

Now on this atypical Saturday, I was feeling a sense of bereavement at staying home, facing the walls and the boredom that envelopes me threatened to suffocate me and so I hurriedly dressed, invited myself to someone’s house (just give me anywhere with people!) and followed on with clubbing. And if there is one thing that is even worse than what I consider is the worst of having to queue absurdly long for alcohol, it is the snaky queues right outside the club I thought I was about to go. Nothing can save you from these sensible people queuing up to get maniacal with a combination of music, crowd and a wholesome liquid diet.

There were three queues – VIP, Table Reservation & Guestlist and the Paying. Even the paying folks with money to spend have little hopes of getting in till much much later when the mood has gone sour. I am perfectly guilty at nepotism when I saw him and leeched onto him till I breezed my way through at least 80 people just fifteen minutes after arrival. I just wanted to go into the club!

I won’t follow on with what I did because I was doing the perfectly normal and hence provide no fodder for gossip. Yes, there was dancing involved but not too dirty. There was alcohol in jugs, there were moments I sneaked into the Smoking Zone for a long-needed puff and under the influence of the jolie petit fleur, she made me dance with total male strangers who are not hot. It’s not that I am superficial but I don’t think they are sincere enough to be friends. I met acquaintances, ex-classmates, coworker in the space of a dance floor and it’s like everyone has decided to come out to rejoice in the Dark Night.

The night was moving along splendidly – the relative darkness of the room, there were too many people that everyone became inconsequential, the alcohol-induced senses was lured to transform into something darker and more sinister, the pretense of they who were coquettish but unwilling to take the first step, they who are emboldened by the proximity of Desire well within touch and the smiles of Goddesses encouraged their baser instincts into immediate, rapid advances to attack and devour the sweetness of their beings, claiming a union of souls and gratification.

I was an instant party girl when the sweet drinks wetted my lips and flowed down my throat in a desperate measure to uninhibit me. I was flitting in and out of the dance floor. There were so much to watch, observe and snigger at. Everyone is human afterall and we are all having a go at what we are necessary for – to procreate. For me, I am not going to be hypocritical and declare that I am a patron saint amongst the sinned or say that the halo of light just inches above my very messy hair shines a path to illumination but I am always waiting around for the Right One because I am either old-fashioned or cynical. And that’s where everyone scored where I fail. I care too damn much about the morning after.

The Unforgiving World of Cab Drivers & etc.

This is a visual world.

I wonder how others, as an ice breaker, could possibly broach on rude subjects to be unknowingly (or knowingly) rude. If I could win awards for being the most popularly insulted female in cabs, I am possibly well on my way to nomination and greatness. The first time, I was in a cab and the uncle deemed fit as a conversation starter to mention how fat I am. Ok, perhaps it’s hardly even a “mention” since I considered it as a rhetorical question because I have no suitable responses for it. And I’ll let you judge for yourself.

Thoughtless Cab driver: You very fat hor?
Clueless Me: *speechless*

The thoughtless cab driver looked expectantly at me, presumably waiting for an acknowledgment. Now what should I say at that point in time really? Does the cab driver expect a ‘Thank You’ with eyes brimming full of grateful tears or a pair of bright eyes accompanied by friendly tones of ‘That’s right!’? Or should I be rude in return and tell him to mind his own business which is to drive safely and send me home since his only concern would be to make sure that I pay him for the ride. I think I just blurted out a ‘Why? Why do you ask me that?‘ in feeble retort. He only managed a ‘huh‘ and kept quiet till I arrived at my destination.

The second time, I shared a cab with someone and apparently after I alighted from the cab and the someone continued on his way, the balding cab driver made disparaging remarks about me. The person was embarrassed to repeat the content but I do not have to think in order to guess.

I’ll be lying if I say it does not matter and I do not hurt since fat people have more in their flesh to hurt than anyone else. Listen carefully:

I did not steal your kids’ food and leave them with none. I do not make you earn money and buy me bread. I do not wear your clothes and rip it apart with my width. I do not mow you down when you walked headlong into me. I do not crash an entire plane, make the Titanic sink and burst your car tyre. I do not kidnap anyone, keep them in the fridge and fry them in grease for breakfast. And no, I do not keep the bones and make them into soup for supper after.

And since I do none of the things above, why am I being sentenced to seeing the pity in your eyes and the smile leaving your lips when I draw near?

Keep out of my way or I just might be tempted to ask you how is it possible that you have so little hair left.

The Gym Bunny

Tuesday is now an unofficial gym day with some pals since they are avid gym-mers and I am like the tourist who lands for a day and drops by to do an one-time sightseeing. The good news is, I found out how therapeutic it is to exercise in a 10% occupied environment at 5 p.m. on a work day. I’ll work out just enough to head out when the crowd starts flooding in so I might be going more often. I know ‘might’ is a very non-committal term but .. I just might! For now, I’ll stick to once a week. I know a lot of people will gawk at the prospect of eating dinner after working out hard but I think different. I view the gym as a social playground where I get to meetup with some friends whom I don’t see on a regular basis. It is my one motivation to be able to sit down and enjoy dinner with friends after exercising some.

You see, the point is, I’ve gotten past the stage whereby I think I will actually lose weight if I go gym and once you get past that mental hurdle, the process becomes more enjoyable. You start thinking of exercising as a mean to improve your health. You no longer trigger the panic mode and visually assess the distance of that nearest traffic light when you encounter a gigantic overhead bridge you had to cross. You feel good about being able to climb that overhead bridge without fear and evade the telltale huffs and puffs and have your heart swelling like it would burst. Sure, it is a very small thing, small enough to be negligible but all big things start out small.

I did not run at a speed of 8.5 for an hour, neither did I ‘cycle’ through the terrains. I merely started with 25 crunches, climbed 5.46 km worth of steps, walked at a pace of 5.7 for half an hour next to my very fit friend (who did run at a constant speed of 8.5 for an hour), cycled leisurely while browsing through a copy of free Catalog magazine and did 15 minutes worth at those ‘running simulators’ (I have no idea what’s the name of those machines). It is really pretty mild in the eyes of the hardcore gymmers but I did not have to push myself hard to do them either. The next time I will do better.

How to motivate yourself to go back to the gym:
# Understand the importance of the fashion and comfort level of your sports gear
# Preferably have encouraging friends who are patient to your starting slow and not begrudge you for having dinner after
# Fast music that makes you want to dance, run, hop, basically, to move along.

I was more resistant to going to the gym initially because I think I had a pair of aging running shoes that did not quite fit me in the fashionable way. It did not reflect the way of how I want to look (like those healthy models in Shape magazine) to the world. I have a beautiful Stella McCartney water bottle in the palest pink contrasted against grey to make it more striking, I have a pair of Puma sweatpants and a Nike shoe bag to match but the shoes, oh the shoes! They were my grief. I kept meaning to buy a new pair but then I procrastinated … and waited .. and grew lazier. That was till when I discovered Royal Sporting House had a “Swop Your Old Shoes” event (and sorry, it was over on the 8th of March). You can bring in your old shoes and get 25% off the next pair, not to mention that the old shoes will go towards a charitable cause. You get to be fashionable and kind at the same time!

I brought the old shoes that pinched my feet there without a word and painstakingly hunted for a pair of pink and grey shoes that would reflect me, my philosophy of life and all things that matter. After a tedious hunt and many disappointments later, I am a now proud owner of a pair. To its credit, I now go to the gym so as to admire my shoes while cycling. I am in favour of big tee-shirts and comfortable sweatpants because wearing anything else makes me self-conscious of my less-than-perfect body. The satisfaction level that you have with what you wear to the gym plays a part in you actually going there.

Point 2 is totally self-explanatory. Avoid toxic friends at all cost. By toxic, I mean evil, calorie-obsessed friends because they make you acutely aware that whatever effort you’ve put in, you are not going to be able to match up. Even if you do match up, you will be unhappy.

I found myself moving faster than my willpower usually tells me to by virtue of fast and catchy tunes. I am totally with the amazing Lady GaGa in this aspect. I will move (and very fast too) when you play “Just Dance”, “Paparazzi” or “Poker Face”.

It goes without saying that the best proof of all this talk now is to see how long I can keep up with the regime but I have a gut feeling – I found the gym bunny in me.

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