I was born roughly around this hour, nineteen years ago. I'm still not sure if mommy's regretting having her then-nubile figure ruined for life, underside split open, and then coerced into signing a lifelong contract of responsibility and worry.
It has been a good year. Although if it is true that 18 is when you look better than you ever will in your life, then I think I am going to be a witch. But apart from that, I think this year, I am little bit more sure of myself. I have decided that I am super (and Steven says lovable, hahaha), and I'm going to stay that way (and more lovable). (:
I am no longer afraid of the future (because I'm lovable), and I tell those who ask now with confidence that I want to be a(n) (lovable) academic. So between now and those golden years (my aim is 50), I am interested in (in no order of merit) 1) understanding public policy 2) changing the world 3) keeping my mind sharp 4) living and making art. Of course, I still wish I could be a doctor, a brilliant mathematician, a rocket scientist, a truck driver, a star, steven spielberg etc. But I think growing up is about finding your centre. Unfortunately, a little bit of me will always be off-centre, but I'm learning that it isn't always a bad thing.
I have left Kate and Josh behind for a while now, because I am no longer afraid. Tough decisions are still tough, but I am looking forward to making them. I no longer live in the fear of losing people to the complexity of the future. I think the three musketeers taught me a little about this one. Curiously enough, there has been absolutely nothing I can rely on to say that I'll see Mingy and Steven again in the future, but I have never felt more at peace. In the sweetest of birthday gifts, Steven gave me a special book, inscribed with the invitation to think of him when I'm feeling lonely in "little Britain". I'm packing the book to London. It has already begun - we lost our Third Musketeer to Tekong yesterday. But I have a feeling we've got a small something going that's going to persist for life in occasional coincidences and guileless camaraderie (like shoe shopping). (And puppy-balloon surprises)
Shum, Eleen and KC renewed my faith in humanity and friendship all over again when they dragged my flu-ridden butt out to celebrate my 'early birthday'. We dont see each other except on birthdays anymore, but we still call each other best friends. I can't say it to their freckled faces, but they mean more to me than mushrooms (which means a bloody lot). Time stops when we meet and we're 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19 all at once. It broke my heart that they thought to do all this, even till this day, when we all live our own separate lives. Their love came in a pretty, dollish, miniature drawer set to pack to London. (I am going to feel very loved in London)
(P.S. I will also need a bolster, a huggable teddy bear, some bedroom slippers, a mug for milo and someone to tell me bedtime stories)
Something has changed, but I don't know what, or why. But something has changed such that I can now face Perm Secs, CEOs, hardened professors and tell them what I am going to say will sound idealistic, but I am unapologetic. It has changed such that I can look at the hands waving goodbye and remember that I know how they feel when holding me, instead of feel the growing distance. Something has changed.
My heart has not grown wiser, but it has grown more honest. The World has been an intensive classroom, and I am an enthusiastic student. I thank the many many who have loved lucky me - I feel it and I will always be grateful.
I wish sometimes that I had a hand to hold along this wonderful new path, to share beauty and fears, but for now, it must be enough to know that many lone hands are walking down this same path too.
Saturday 26 April 2008
Wednesday 23 April 2008
Monday 21 April 2008
A Happy Woman.
The curious thing about Waterloo Street was the way it glowed with all the colours of the rainbow even in the black of night. It was almost difficult to understand its pink and green fluorescence. Waterloo Street was sleeping; the neon signs of motels and shops leaned in soft afterglow against the sturdy backs of resting temples. Between day and day, between trains of commuters, between masses of devotees, this moment, when Waterloo Street slept, she claimed as her own.
Breaking the silence, her heels tapped rhythmically against the red road, although she told them to contain themselves. Perhaps she was the phosphorous heart of this glow-worm. Why, even her ears must be luminous now. Perhaps that was why the shiny lamps of the street were so bright – they reflected the tips of her ears.
The lotuses of the morning lingered, spirits of the hopeful who came and wished and wished at the chalked feet of the immobile idols. Their earnestness left but mortal traces - wilting leaves too unpretty for the altar and old sandals forgotten after prayer.
But she was not one of them tonight. She threw a wave to the standing gods, and laughed deep into the night.
Breaking the silence, her heels tapped rhythmically against the red road, although she told them to contain themselves. Perhaps she was the phosphorous heart of this glow-worm. Why, even her ears must be luminous now. Perhaps that was why the shiny lamps of the street were so bright – they reflected the tips of her ears.
The lotuses of the morning lingered, spirits of the hopeful who came and wished and wished at the chalked feet of the immobile idols. Their earnestness left but mortal traces - wilting leaves too unpretty for the altar and old sandals forgotten after prayer.
But she was not one of them tonight. She threw a wave to the standing gods, and laughed deep into the night.
Friday 18 April 2008
Charm is a little bit confused.
My passage to London (and anywhere in the world should I please) has been bought! I am hearing that the world should be my oyster now, and Life is welcoming me with open arms. Yet, shuffling between prisons, psychiatric remand wards, hospitals and other help clinics, I feel like everyday is a battle with Death.
Perhaps all these is supposed to help me learn to appreciate life more.
Grandfather's condition - critical.
Mom cried when I told her I got the scholarship.
Dad laughed, but the lines of sleepless nights didn't go away.
But at least now, I've fulfilled that promise I made to myself. I've earned my education, so I don't have to bear the pain of my parents' love which would have propelled them to send me overseas even without a scholarship, at their expense. Now it doesn't have to be the un-makeable choice between my brother's special needs education or mine. Now my parents can have their retirement scheme. Now my grandpa can have better medical care. The best.
Perhaps all these is supposed to help me learn to appreciate life more.
Grandfather's condition - critical.
Mom cried when I told her I got the scholarship.
Dad laughed, but the lines of sleepless nights didn't go away.
But at least now, I've fulfilled that promise I made to myself. I've earned my education, so I don't have to bear the pain of my parents' love which would have propelled them to send me overseas even without a scholarship, at their expense. Now it doesn't have to be the un-makeable choice between my brother's special needs education or mine. Now my parents can have their retirement scheme. Now my grandpa can have better medical care. The best.
Tuesday 15 April 2008
I am remembering a person I almost left behind.
The only thing that keeps him from being someone Left Behind is the leash of conscience that tugs his memory away from oblivion. But I don't have the guts to call him. I don't know if the line he once told me was always open to me is an offer that still stands.
He was - I use the past tense on him because my present doesnt dare claim him - a very curious man. A rather tiny one too, for I don't believe he was very much taller than me. The first and only time I met him, he was wearing weathered skin beaten brown by the suns of various continents and denim covered in sprays of emulsion paint. They were torn too, I think.
Scrutinising this memory, I realise that the only thing I truly remember are his eyes - large and beautiful, like a girl's, with a ring of black lash that seemed too dainty for the rest of him. But even then, I can't remember their real colour.
Oh, I remember his voice too. When I first heard it over the phone some time between 11 pm and 12 am, I remember thinking, "What a burly man he must be!" His voice was deep and like what Ms Kee would have called "like God's". God with a China-man's American twang.
"Oh, Charmaine." He laughed throatily, more to himself than to me. He had been waiting for my call, he said. He knew me before I knew him.
I believe he would be in his late thirties now. I could never decide if he was young or old. He tried to make me call him "Father", but mostly, we alternated between "Friend" and "Shi Fu".
For a number of weeks (I don't remember how many), we conversed exclusively over the phone. It was like Sophie's World and I was Sophie. Instead of letters, technology intervened and I got phonecalls. He was an artist, I was his new project. A live one, and one that would possibly succeed him.
My first lesson was so crisp I suspect he fried it into my brains. He never allowed me to call him Mr Lim. Only by his first name, and later, diminutive.
But what about Respect, I asked.
Respect isn't accorded by age. Besides, respect isn't about using pretentious addresses.
Nonetheless, it took me over a month to say the words exactly the way he wanted.
He told my art teachers he wanted to adopt me. He wanted to take me out of school and train me to become an artist. He wanted to take me to Venice.
But I stayed in school. I stayed in Singapore. I stayed Student-and-by-the-way-doing-Art. Not Artist. Not Apprentice.
He told me about his career, his ideas, his lovelife (he made me write poems on his behalf to court his lost love). He lent me books. He lent me movies.
I listened. I learnt. I lived.
I don't know what happened, but the phonecalls stopped. I got busy. I supposed he got busy too. Busier.
He dropped me a couple of messages a year later, now two years back. I can't say for sure if I replied them.
I hope he found a better Sophie.
I wish I could have been that better Sophie.
He was - I use the past tense on him because my present doesnt dare claim him - a very curious man. A rather tiny one too, for I don't believe he was very much taller than me. The first and only time I met him, he was wearing weathered skin beaten brown by the suns of various continents and denim covered in sprays of emulsion paint. They were torn too, I think.
Scrutinising this memory, I realise that the only thing I truly remember are his eyes - large and beautiful, like a girl's, with a ring of black lash that seemed too dainty for the rest of him. But even then, I can't remember their real colour.
Oh, I remember his voice too. When I first heard it over the phone some time between 11 pm and 12 am, I remember thinking, "What a burly man he must be!" His voice was deep and like what Ms Kee would have called "like God's". God with a China-man's American twang.
"Oh, Charmaine." He laughed throatily, more to himself than to me. He had been waiting for my call, he said. He knew me before I knew him.
I believe he would be in his late thirties now. I could never decide if he was young or old. He tried to make me call him "Father", but mostly, we alternated between "Friend" and "Shi Fu".
For a number of weeks (I don't remember how many), we conversed exclusively over the phone. It was like Sophie's World and I was Sophie. Instead of letters, technology intervened and I got phonecalls. He was an artist, I was his new project. A live one, and one that would possibly succeed him.
My first lesson was so crisp I suspect he fried it into my brains. He never allowed me to call him Mr Lim. Only by his first name, and later, diminutive.
But what about Respect, I asked.
Respect isn't accorded by age. Besides, respect isn't about using pretentious addresses.
Nonetheless, it took me over a month to say the words exactly the way he wanted.
He told my art teachers he wanted to adopt me. He wanted to take me out of school and train me to become an artist. He wanted to take me to Venice.
But I stayed in school. I stayed in Singapore. I stayed Student-and-by-the-way-doing-Art. Not Artist. Not Apprentice.
He told me about his career, his ideas, his lovelife (he made me write poems on his behalf to court his lost love). He lent me books. He lent me movies.
I listened. I learnt. I lived.
I don't know what happened, but the phonecalls stopped. I got busy. I supposed he got busy too. Busier.
He dropped me a couple of messages a year later, now two years back. I can't say for sure if I replied them.
I hope he found a better Sophie.
I wish I could have been that better Sophie.
The Grandfather
Is it crowded out there?
No Grandpa, just a couple of people milling.
That's not good. It's seven - almost dinner time. There should be a crowd.
Maybe later. People will come after work.
Is the staff busy?
There are always things to do, Grandpa. Always someone needing a spoon, or napkin, or help.
The families should be here soon. It's only right.
Yes, they should.
Is that roast duck I smell?
No, porridge. No roast duck here.
Porridge! Porridge is not good enough!
Roast duck is not good for health.
Not for me - for the banquet! The lady in white - is she coming over?
No, Grandpa. She's going into the pantry.
Why? Get her out. The bride should not have to bother with the kitchen personally.
Grandpa -
The boys dont listen these days! You must treat your customers like king! Call her over. I will apologise.
Grandpa -
Call her over.
But -
I said call her! Are you disobeying me?
Alright Grandpa. Here comes the nurse.
No Grandpa, just a couple of people milling.
That's not good. It's seven - almost dinner time. There should be a crowd.
Maybe later. People will come after work.
Is the staff busy?
There are always things to do, Grandpa. Always someone needing a spoon, or napkin, or help.
The families should be here soon. It's only right.
Yes, they should.
Is that roast duck I smell?
No, porridge. No roast duck here.
Porridge! Porridge is not good enough!
Roast duck is not good for health.
Not for me - for the banquet! The lady in white - is she coming over?
No, Grandpa. She's going into the pantry.
Why? Get her out. The bride should not have to bother with the kitchen personally.
Grandpa -
The boys dont listen these days! You must treat your customers like king! Call her over. I will apologise.
Grandpa -
Call her over.
But -
I said call her! Are you disobeying me?
Alright Grandpa. Here comes the nurse.
Sunday 13 April 2008
Friday 11 April 2008
Charm ponders about Life.
The first thing about the geriatric ward is the sharp stench of urine and other bodily wastes. It hits you and tries to knock you out, so hopefully, you don't stay long enough for the second thing: old, dying people.
But you have to.
And you learn that 8 am feels likes 6pm and Friday feels exactly like Tuesday did. And that it doesn't take much to do the things you once thought you'd never be able to do without flinching. And that you can love someone who doesn't even know your name. And that hope is a thing with feathers.
(Today is a good day, though. Two of the beds were 'turned over', and it was because the occupants were discharged (: )
But you have to.
And you learn that 8 am feels likes 6pm and Friday feels exactly like Tuesday did. And that it doesn't take much to do the things you once thought you'd never be able to do without flinching. And that you can love someone who doesn't even know your name. And that hope is a thing with feathers.
(Today is a good day, though. Two of the beds were 'turned over', and it was because the occupants were discharged (: )
Saturday 5 April 2008
Malaysian Marital Muddles.
1) Woman sues husband for loss of virginity. I do not understand her.
2) PAS supporting Dad refuses daughter's marriage to UMNO supporting boy.
2) PAS supporting Dad refuses daughter's marriage to UMNO supporting boy.
Friday 4 April 2008
My TV Exploded.
My TV just exploded.
Just as well, because I was trying to think of an opening line which would nicely summarize the week. So yeah, my TV just exploded. =\ As in, boom, black out, sparks, smoke and a strange smell.
Just as well, because I was trying to think of an opening line which would nicely summarize the week. So yeah, my TV just exploded. =\ As in, boom, black out, sparks, smoke and a strange smell.
Tuesday 1 April 2008
I believe in magic!
You wouldn't believe who I met on the train today, on the way to town - Eugene!
It's almost ridiculous. The trains run every 7 minutes on each line. This means approximately 200 trains a day. There are five lines. Each train has six carriages, each carriage has 4 doors. There are six million people in Singapore. And I had to meet one. Again and again.
I think God is trying to speak with me.
Anyway, he asked for my contact, but I took his instead. Now I don't know what to do with it. I am vaguely tempted to text him - "Now we must construct for ourselves what Fate has begun!" Fate has a way of drawing out the writer's hyperbole.
It's almost ridiculous. The trains run every 7 minutes on each line. This means approximately 200 trains a day. There are five lines. Each train has six carriages, each carriage has 4 doors. There are six million people in Singapore. And I had to meet one. Again and again.
I think God is trying to speak with me.
Anyway, he asked for my contact, but I took his instead. Now I don't know what to do with it. I am vaguely tempted to text him - "Now we must construct for ourselves what Fate has begun!" Fate has a way of drawing out the writer's hyperbole.
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