Stop the World

i got a call from my friend Serene this evening. i rarely get to speak to her, mainly because i hate talking on the phone. but tonight, i was reading at a book launch, i'd just done my bit, and the phone rang, and i picked up.

she burst into tears the minute she said Hello, and told me that the Singaporean woman who had been held hostage in Mumbai was her husband's colleague...and she was dead. her husband had just identified her body. 

i was at Klee in Portsdown Road, and it was a beautiful evening (did anyone else notice?). there were already stars in the sky, yet the sun hadn't completely set. everyone had been complaining about how hot it was, how humid and sticky. there was a pomelo tree, with some fruit, and everyone had taken turns to joke about how they were going to steal them. Portsdown Road has some really gorgeous flora and fauna.

and still, a woman whom we were assured was safe, is dead.

with my heart sinking a bit lower than in the morning, i messaged my husband Swee Chong to come home immediately. he is now in Hyderabad, and had arrived there an hour or 2 after Mumbai was attacked. he messaged that the next flight out was Sunday morning, he may as well stick to his schedule and return Monday morning. he had a direct flight, don't worry, he won't pass through Mumbai at all, he loved me.

my husband is there because the WHO arranged for him to give a lecture on cervical cancer, his sub-specialty. he's not American or British, he's not in Mumbai or Afghanistan or Iraq or Israel or even Bangkok. he's certainly not near any Somalian pirates. but he's not safe at home with me. what that poor woman's husband is thinking and feeling now...i pray for him, i can only do that.

my definition of home has suddenly changed, because the world is no longer what i had grown up believing it was. my children will not know the sense of freedom and quiet that i had, just as i don't know the upheaval in my parents' young lives. i suddenly feel unable to keep my promise to protect my girls from harm, to be there every time they're hurt, or even to just be there. it's difficult because i don't know what the world will do next.

i can only remind myself daily of what i must be, and do, to continue relationships i have with those around me, and to continue to remember them in prayer, and to tell each one, often, that i care for them. 

thank you for starting this blog. there may not be hundreds of entries every day, but reading each one, i remember that we all lead special individual lives, and we press on, not because we're women (though we do that quite well...), or "survivors", but because we're people who know that we can do so much more, and better, and to make a difference in others' lives.

and let's spare a quiet minute for that husband who's been left behind.

Because I wanna...

...thank the designer girls-- Jenn and Lindy-- for making me this graduation (not goodbye; so clever) card for me. Sweet, a little bit crazy at times, these two.

This is them, sweet:

Alvin took this pic for us btw. But after it's all done, Jenn came to me and said, "Eh, how come you never take with Alvin ah?" And I went, "Er...Yah hor. But never mind lah, Alvin's cool one. He won't mind! Hahaha..." That's Lindy on the left holding on to Mr Nagoya (?) and Jenn on the right holding on to the paper bag, the inspiration for the cover of the card (see the cutout?)! Very creative indeed... and it matches Lindy's pinafore too.

This is 'em a little...ku-ku (if you can make out what they've written, you'll see why):



Yep, I just bid adieu to 15 awesome months in MC today. As for the answer to the question "Where am I heading to next?", let's just say that I'm officially going out of style and getting into shape :)

Anyway, I refuse to call this a farewell you guys cos I know we'll all still meet somewhere somehow... there's also Alvin's and Shaan's weddings, there's FB and you know where to find me. Many thanks to all of you who've been good to me!

"We won't say our goodbye because it's better that way/ we won't break, we won't die, it's just a moment of change."

How Life Looks from the Vantage Point that is 41

I turned 41 yesterday.

It was fun - yeah I'm still nursing a crazy-painful tum from a bad bout of gastric flu last week, but Hubby and I still managed to down 2 bottles of Taittinger at the Town champagne brunch yesterday *hic*.  I came home and my sweet mom-in-law bought me a chocolate cake from Cedele and my kids sang Happy Birthday to Mummeee. Happy :)

So I'm 41. That's 1 year older than last year. So many things I said I was going to do when I turned 40... Didn't do many of them. Sad. 

Will this year be different? I want it to be. I NEED it to be. When you get on the other side of 40 you realise you don't quite have as much time left as you initially thought you had! I have plays to write, books to author, songs to compose, a legacy to leave... so many things, so little time. 

So I'm doing what I do every start of a new year - just doing it a month and a half earlier this time - I'm making a list and checking it twice. I gotta get it done - okay, the list needs to be more realistic, so I can improve my chances of not sitting here writing this SAME message next year, haha!

Still, I am happy with life - God has been really good to me. Last week I watched my two older kids perform. They have a joy in their step that reminds me - when I was 7 or 9, life seemed a piece of cake. I could choose to do this, or that. There was no skill I couldn't master, if I set my mind to it. My father always made me feel like I could do anything if I really tried - and that's the same belief I pray I give to my children. God has given them talents obvious and hidden - and they can write, paint, dance, draw, imagine, invent absolutely anything they desire. The only thing they really have to do is WANT it.

And that's what I'm telling myself now - there's nothing I cannot do this year that I am 41. All I really have to do, is want it. 

I leave you with a (badly filmed) clip of my daughter (that's her with the big pink hairband right in the middle) tap dancing to Boogie Wonderland. I know I'm biaised, but she is REALLY good! 

Hit the Road, Jack

i ran away to KL this past week, and in wanting to recount things, i realised that i no longer have a Vanilla deadline to fill with these thoughts.

oh well. oh blog.

actually, it's always the bus ride to and fro that fill me with the most extreme of feelings. it's incredible how staring out the window, at the vast amount of S P A C E these Melayusians have, the dense forests, the deep greens and brilliant emeralds, the brown cows too lazy to say How Now, the sudden brilliance of hot pink flowers at the top of a tree, with none to be spotted elsewhere...how these scenes give me alternate feelings of happiness, grief, despair and hope.

and if you have an iPod Nano with you (a gift that you unwillingly use because your husband really thought you wanted one, but heck, it's a good thing to have), shuffling songs between Gwen Stefani, The Scissors Sisters, Astrud Gilberto, John Lithgow and Franz Ferdinand, you find your emotions will soar and dip accordingly.

this afternoon, i mostly thought of the year i've had, how high my hopes were, and how quickly and hard they crumbled. how acting, the one thing i can truly say surges in my being, can destroy me. how my daughters are so much like me, and yet, i know they have secret selves that i will never know. how i just want to be a good woman, a good wife, good mother, good friend, and how horribly difficult it can sometimes be.

when Catatonia came on with Make Hay Not War, i wept, thinking of the late Krishen Jit directing me in Iron. he'd asked for a song i wanted to do improvisations with, and i chose this piece. i wept not because of the play and the "great art" i created (cos i didn't) - i wept because i always meant to give him a copy of the song, and i never did, and now he's dead.

when Keane sang The Frog Prince, i played it repeatedly for about 5 times, which i often do when i play it in the car. the poetry, the melody, the yearning and hope to be loved strangely makes my heart jump excitedly each time, and even though the singer was a coke-head when he sang it, it only proves that those of us with great personal problems can still provide some form of comfort and thought (or at the very least, entertainment) for others.

Gwen Stefani's If I Were A Rich Girl got me imagining dancing away with my nutty friends at some nutty club. or at home with my daughters. it's pretty much the same elation actually.

why it is that my life can be reduced to 4.5 hours (including immigration and 20-minute stop at Pagoh) of rubber trees and a crazy mix of music, i can't explain. why it is that sitting still on a reclining seat with the the volume on too loud leads to me wanting to relive some moments, and discard some, is an even greater mystery.

i don't really know why i feel like this, and why i'm blogging it. but i guess it's cos i know you lot will understand, and that makes it alright after all.

"what a difference a day made/24 little hours"

We Heal....

About a month ago, I had a blackout at home. Both circuit-breakers in my fuse box burnt and there was an awful smell in the whole house. And although I managed to get the power back on, I didn't dare switch all the appliances back on because... hey, the circuit-breakers were not working! It was a Saturday night, so until i could get an electrician to check things out the next day, better to be safe than sorry.

In the middle of that night, I stumbled to the kitchen in the dark to get some water. I had forgotten that earlier in the day, my boys had played one of their imagination games and had shifted the coffee table to block the kitchen entrance (I think it was supposed to be a fast-food counter!). Well, I walked right into it. And what's more, with the house in pitch darkness, I walked into that darn table another 2 more times that night, bruising the same spot on my leg 3 times.

Here's my bruise (left leg) to show for it. There's another smaller one - but just as colourful - on my right leg:




Well, life goes on. I didn't do anything about it cos I knew I couldn't rub it, and medication wasn't going to make a real difference. It was probably broken blood vessels inside that would heal in time. So I left it as it was, and went about my daily chores.

Yesterday, I took a day off ~ my first since I started with 938LIVE.

As I was journalling, with my legs crossed, I noticed to my delight and amusement that my beautiful bruise of blues and purples was *poof* ... completely gone. Not a trace.


Such is the miracle: WE HEAL.

Whether we are aware of it or not, time heals all wounds. And God allows that process ever so gradually. Then one day, we wake up and realise that the pain that used to be so intense is no longer there. The memory of it may linger for a while more, but hey, we are OK.

It's true not just for physical bruises. When we bruise emotionally, I think the same thing happens. At the point when the injury was inflicted, the pain is so intense, so excruciating that we think we will never get over it. But we have to keep living, to keep moving forward, because there are other people counting on us. Life has to go on.

And then one day, we wake up and realise that the intense pain is no longer there. The memory may still be there, but what doesn't kill us, has made us stronger. And hey, we are OK.