tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-176395292024-03-13T17:26:09.637+08:00As I Was PassingThe times they are a-changing...Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14359604151544863025noreply@blogger.comBlogger938125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17639529.post-10183162851457432912022-05-31T00:22:00.001+08:002022-05-31T00:22:54.027+08:00PainSo this is what a broken heart feels like.<div><br></div><div>I'd forgotten. </div>Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14359604151544863025noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17639529.post-52568224606332658832022-05-30T00:12:00.001+08:002022-05-30T00:12:45.129+08:00Solvitur ambulandoI walk for 2 hours as fast as I can, to make up the 12,000 steps for the day for the first time in so long but as I walk, I am conscious that it is not about the walking.<div><br></div><div>The pain in my heart from your cruel words which reduced me to nothing rises up. But after about an hour of one foot in front of the other, I suddenly realise that it is not your cruel words that are causing me so much pain. </div><div><br></div><div>For I have to admit, the hurt is pungent. </div><div><br></div><div>It is the fact of our discord. It is that your words have ended things between us so effectively that I am helpless before them. </div><div><br></div><div>It's not even a matter of pride. Looking past them would make me your slave to be trampled on, as the mood takes you. </div><div><br></div><div>I can't, I am not willing, to do that. I think you have serious emotional issues or maybe you just enjoy domination and cruelty. </div><div><br></div><div>Is it that darkness within you that I'm attracted to? Am I looking to be tied up and lashed?</div><div><br></div><div>It hurts.</div><div><br></div><div>You hurt. </div><div><br></div><div>I can't. </div><div><br></div><div>I'll just keep walking. </div><div><br></div><div>I'll walk my way through this until I come out on the other side. </div>Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14359604151544863025noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17639529.post-40572718053090808272022-01-20T22:11:00.006+08:002022-01-20T22:11:36.462+08:00Memories or Dreams<br />I dreamed of a house that had a river running behind it. <br />I loved the look of the river. <div>I wanted to play in it.</div><div><br /></div><div>They didn't let me. <br />I was so small. <br />And so precious. <br /><br /></div><div>And I loved them even if they would not let me </div><div>splash around in the tea-coloured water.<br />It was so easy to love people then.</div><div><div><br /></div><div>My world was safe.</div><div><br /></div><div>And the only person </div><div>I was afraid of</div><div>was imaginary.</div><div><br /></div></div>Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14359604151544863025noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17639529.post-83864504947599499752022-01-20T21:31:00.003+08:002022-01-20T21:31:29.950+08:00Sorting through the debris<p>One part of my life ends, the next has not begun. In the meantime, I unearth emails from a forgotten past:</p><p><span style="font-family: serif;">Dearestest Nitsy Poo,</span></p><p><span style="font-family: serif;">I love your emails - they give me a snippet of you - (and you do realise you're beginning to sound like Gloria, right? I love you too, papi, haha).</span></p><p><span style="font-family: serif;">Right now am stressed doing work I should have finished weeks ago. But didn't.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: serif;">As for pain, it is almost non-existent...although that part is tender and I don't quite chow down on it. Just had lunch with Sharon Tan and Leni from the US embassy, with Anna...they brought me one of those comment forms and a pencil and since I like writing letters, I asked each individual at the table for their comments and wrote it all down in a nicely worded letter. Anna read said letter and pointed out that dessert has two S's. I only put one. Which made it the Sahara and not sweet things.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: serif;">I saw Hamdan yesterday and he mentioned you...I said yes, I saw the pix and did you guys catch up over wine and he looked appropriately shocked (Hamdan? Wine?) and said no, at a conference. He wants to take Addy and me out for a movie on Monday, sort of like the old days because he's spending a lot more time in KL.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: serif;">I have two stories to write, one to clear, people to call, things to do, but it's darkish outside and what I really really want to do is curl up on some convenient sofa with a good, delicious book and snooze over it...</span></p><p><span style="font-family: serif;">Whatcha think?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: serif;">Jenn-Jenn</span></p>Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14359604151544863025noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17639529.post-38816977412002598492022-01-17T12:42:00.002+08:002022-01-17T12:42:36.837+08:00In one life<p> ...how many times can a heart break?</p><p>I guess I am both sad and weary of life. All this pain. My little creatures gather around me wrapped in their own pain at what has happened. I see it in their eyes. They see it in mine.</p><p>I am so tired.</p><p>So tired.</p><p>So I will do what I did before, and make lists and get through the day, doing what I need to do to tick off those lists.</p><p>Nothing makes sense and right now, I don't see a way forward.</p><p>So I will keep trudging in the dark, illuminating the few steps ahead with the faint light of my phone. Hoping I do not stumble, but it's OK, if I stumble, if I fall, I can always right myself or pick myself up and move on.</p><p>I am only 50.</p><p>My 40s were all about the walls closing in as my life became smaller and smaller.</p><p>What do I do now?</p>Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14359604151544863025noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17639529.post-1955078951388548632022-01-15T21:34:00.004+08:002022-01-17T15:58:05.673+08:00And now you're gone<p> Here's the thing. The moment you're gone, I'm supposed to let you go. I'm supposed to wish you well for your journey and bid you godspeed. </p><p>And then suddenly I feel a twinge in the centre of my chest and I miss you. I can't help it.</p><p>Your winsome little face which I loved to kiss. </p><p>And whenever I came home, you would rub against my leg and tell me off for ever thinking to leave you for a while, a bit, any time at all.</p><p>While you were there, I felt guilty every time I had to go out for a time, and nervous while I was out. Because you were there, waiting for me. </p><p>And you were so little.</p><p>You never grew.</p><p>You remained a baby</p><p>My baby.</p><p>And now you're gone.</p><p>I don't know how to deal with death. I never know how to deal with death. All the books I read, all the thoughts I think, all the hours spent with my legs folded, breathing in and out...all for nought. I can't get beyond this pain. I find it hard to breathe.</p><p>All I can do is miss you.</p><p>And miss you.</p><p>And miss you.</p><p>And reach out and long to take you in my arms but you're not there.</p><p>And you will never be there again.</p>Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14359604151544863025noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17639529.post-83244574451123510982022-01-13T15:27:00.002+08:002022-01-13T15:27:37.238+08:00As I was deleting email<p> I found an old email I had sent my colleagues to thank them for their support when my mother lay dying. I wanted to preserve it some place. Why not here?</p><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><div><div><div><div>My dear colleagues,<br /><br /></div>I want to thank you so much for the flowers and the pak kum you sent when my mother passed away. More than the things in itself, it was the thought behind the thing. I know you've been covering for me, and my absence was a huge inconvenience but you guys never bugged me while I was there so I could be with my mother, with a clear conscience.<br /><br /></div>In fact, I spent a lot of time on the last day with her, and was the last among my family to see her alive, talk to her, kiss her goodnight.<br /><br /></div>I cannot even begin to tell you what all this means to me. I am still processing the loss and still (fortunately) in a state of limbo which allows me to function semi normally...which is good because I intend to pick up where I left off and be a fully functioning member of the team.<br /><br />I know it's weird to write all this rather than tell you in person. But I was always better at writing what matters than saying it. When I talk, I tend to focus on unimportant inanities.<br /><br /></div>I feel like sending this off to y'all at 3 in the morning (when I'm sure, like all the mornings before this) I will still be awake so we don't all have to be embarrassed by this display of emotion (being good Malaysians we like to keep it inside and learn how to hide our feelings) but I shall send it to you now, when you're all busy trying to complete stories while I while away the time, surfing the net (sorry Anna, but no interviews to transcribe yet) and writing vague unsatisfactory emails to people who promised interviews sometime maybe at some future date not specified.<br /><br />It looks like rain. (<span class="il">Elaine</span>, you can do a little dance, here while Anna, we can continue nonetheless, squishing through puddles and SHOW her).<br /><br /><br /></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I would end with an appropriate poem...<br /><br />She was a phantom of delight when first she gleamed upon my sight a lovely apparition sent to be a moment's ornament..<br /><br /></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">or<br /><br /></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">She walks in beauty like the night of cloudless climes and starry skies and all that's best of dark and bright meet in her aspect and her eyes....<br /><br />or<br /><br /></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Out of the night that covers me black as the pit from pole to pole I thank whatever gods may be for my unconquerable soul<br /><br /></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">or<br /><br /></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">the quality of mercy is not strained it droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven upon the place beneath...<br /><br />or<br /><br /></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I've run out of quotations and Anna has just called to say let's go walkies now.<br /><br /></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Love,<br /></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Jennifer/Jenny/Jenn or all em fancy derivatives</div>Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14359604151544863025noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17639529.post-32014798786396997022021-10-13T02:17:00.003+08:002021-12-02T18:11:14.288+08:00Daily footsteps on water (or I ticked my bullet journal today)<p>I have a pile of <i>New Yorkers</i></p><p>haphazardly splayed on the table</p><p>that I have yet to clean</p><p>still in their plastic covers.</p><p><br /></p><p>Some are from last December</p><p>It's already this October</p><p>and they broadcast a failure</p><p>to keep up.</p><p>I read what I can</p><p>an article a day, maybe two</p><p>no small feat when they can run</p><p>to 30 closely-written pages.</p><p><br /></p><p>I have not renewed my subscription</p><p>It is too much, too much!</p><p>and I have other things to tick off</p><p>in my trusty bullet journal</p><p>which I cling to</p><p>in spite of everything</p><p>to let me know that </p><p>I have not allowed the days to pass</p><p>like footsteps on water.</p><p><br /></p><p>Did I read a chapter of the book-du-jour?</p><p><i>Hadot's Spiritual Exercises</i>,</p><p>or that biography of Van Gogh </p><p>written in the 1950s?</p><p><br /></p><p>Have I meditated? </p><p>Learnt a few French words and phrases</p><p>on Duolingo?</p><p><br /></p><p>Listened to Deacon Keith Fournier</p><p>recite the Bible readings for the day?</p><p>With his distinctive panache</p><p>on Catholic Online?</p><p><br /></p><p>Have I cleaned the kitty litter?</p><p><br /></p><p>Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.</p><p><br /></p><p>The one thing </p><p>I don't record</p><p>is the hours spent</p><p>in front of Netflix </p><p>as my mind atrophies</p><p>and I become drooling</p><p>and sub-verbal.</p><p>(and suddenly it's four in the morning</p><p>and I'm working tomorrow!)</p><p><br /></p><p>Pick myself up</p><p>Dust myself up</p><p>get back to that list.</p><p>start again.</p><p><br /></p><p>I refuse to be</p><p>just another</p><p>pandemic casualty.</p><p><br /></p><p>It's time for Calm </p><p>and Tamara Levitt's</p><p>short meditation of the day.</p><p>10 minutes.</p><p><br /></p><p>I can do 10 minutes</p><p>What's so hard about 10 minutes?</p><p>Maybe it will rein in</p><p>this slow disintegration</p><p>and reverse my attrition.</p><p><br /></p><p>Later for you.</p>Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14359604151544863025noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17639529.post-57582833474963399182021-10-04T01:07:00.002+08:002021-10-04T01:07:21.168+08:00Worthy of LoveEven as you lay <div>on the ground</div><div>soaked in vodka</div><div>or whisky</div><div>or wine</div><div>or brandy</div><div>or whatever</div><div>ethanol you had</div><div>just picked up</div><div>from the shop </div><div>opposite.</div><div><br /></div><div>Even as you lay </div><div>passed out</div><div>in the front of that </div><div>tiny hotel</div><div>tiny but decent</div><div>except for the drunk </div><div>at its doorstep</div><div><br /></div><div>Even then you </div><div>felt worthy of love</div><div>a person</div><div>and not a creature</div><div>to be pitied </div><div>or shunned.</div><div><br /></div><div>You cried out</div><div>upon waking</div><div>demanding a hearer</div><div>demanding affection</div><div>demanding all that </div><div>had been promised</div><div><br /></div><div>You never felt unworthy</div><div>even as you lay on the ground, twitching</div><div>wretched</div><div>but unashamed.</div><div><br /></div><div>And eventually</div><div>you found someone</div><div>who was sweet and forgiving</div><div>who married you</div><div>and lived with you</div><div>for a few years</div><div>and who eventually</div><div>sent you home</div><div>in an urn.</div><div><br /></div><div>But you remained married</div><div>until you died</div><div>which is what you intended</div><div>and all you ever wanted.</div><div><br /></div><div>And when I looked on you</div><div>with such disgust</div><div>and contempt</div><div>I didn't know </div><div>that you, even you,</div><div>in all your brokenness</div><div>lying in your own puddle </div><div>of urine and vomit</div><div>had something teach me.</div><div><br /></div><div>I, who have never felt worthy,</div><div>no matter what I did,</div><div>no matter how I tried,</div><div>no matter what I achieved,</div><div><br /></div><div>of love. </div><div><br /></div>Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14359604151544863025noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17639529.post-20826701784296439322021-10-02T15:40:00.005+08:002021-10-05T01:37:38.832+08:00Goodbye<p> I leave you behind</p><p>our path diverge</p><p>And when </p><p>the white noise</p><p>dies down</p><p><br /></p><p>I'm sure there will be sorrow.</p><p><br /></p><p>For now, there is only</p><p>an awareness, an understanding</p><p>that you are a part </p><p>of the past</p><p>that is being erased</p><p>as I sit here</p><p>as I type these words</p><p>as we speak</p><p>or rather</p><p><br /></p><p>as we don't speak.</p><p><br /></p><p>The thundering silence </p><p>between us</p><p>has crystallised </p><p>into marble.</p><p>Cold, pure, white</p><p>Unfeeling.</p><p>Unyielding.</p><p><br /></p><p>Goodbye now.</p><p><br /></p><p>Please forget me.</p><p><br /></p><p>I don't think we will meet again.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14359604151544863025noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17639529.post-48107852066091806482021-09-08T22:32:00.002+08:002021-09-08T22:35:18.340+08:00EstrangementOne day I woke up<div>and you were no longer</div><div>an enemy</div><div>just a stranger</div><div>I had no feeling for</div><div><br /></div><div>Irrelevant</div><div>in my life.</div><div><br /></div><div>I smiled</div><div>and shrugged</div><div>trying to rouse</div><div>feelings</div><div>at least anger</div><div>I could always do anger.</div><div><br /></div><div>But there's nothing there</div><div>not even a flicker</div><div>and now I know what it means</div><div>when they say</div><div>you are dead to me.</div><div><br /></div><div>Because, you truly are.</div><div><br /></div><div>Buried, encoffined, cremated, ashes,</div><div>Dust.</div><div><br /></div><div>And as as it is</div><div>a time of turmoil</div><div>and as I don't agree</div><div>with the people </div><div>around me...</div><div><br /></div><div>I will have to withdraw</div><div>build walls</div><div>between me</div><div>and the people</div><div>dear to me</div><div>become a hermit</div><div>more so than I </div><div>already am.</div><div><br /></div><div>But not with you</div><div>I won't have to</div><div>For you are nothing</div><div>but a dim memory</div><div>someone I used to know?</div><div><br /></div><div>Maybe</div><div>I don't remember.</div><div><br /></div><div>There's nothing deader</div><div>than a memory</div><div>of someone who used to be</div><div>dear.</div>Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14359604151544863025noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17639529.post-80363284012699394352021-06-22T12:40:00.003+08:002021-06-22T12:40:49.471+08:00Fruitcake<p> I am pre-soaking fruits and nuts to make another fruitcake. I know it's not quite Christmas, but crazy stuff is happening and all bets are off right now. So if I'm going to make fruitcake this year, I figure I had better make it now. That way, I can deliver it to my greatest fruitcake fans, well, with Grab's delivery service. </p><p>I think we all need some magic in our drab drab lives that is absent of wonder.</p><p>Right now, the news is so dark that most people shake their heads...it can't be happening, it can't be happening, this must be a nightmare, we should wake up, any day soon, any day now...well, it's been more than a year.</p><p>So you do what you do. And I'll just go out shopping to buy some pitted prunes so I can make my third batch.</p><p>Deliveries to start any time soon.</p>Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14359604151544863025noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17639529.post-67155039779377407232021-05-05T20:33:00.002+08:002021-05-05T20:44:44.682+08:00Not quite quite<p> After two hours in an unmoving jam to make a trip that should have taken 15 minutes, I feel like a mass of raw nerve endings. Tired, irritable, I swerved left and right in anger, sped up when idiots wanted to cut in, honked as loudly as I could for the idiot in front of the traffic light who remained unmoving when it was green because the people in the opposite direction were blocking his way (illegally) and he was too polite to cut in.</p><p>In the meantime, Jinny, who was in the back seat, whom I had just taken back from the vet against medical orders because the MCO is about the start tomorrow, who requires injections and a change of dressings on a belly wound that just won't heal, in the meantime Jinny started wailing. And I didn't know if she was hurt or she needed to pee, or if she was just scared. </p><p>I got scared and drove as fast as I could. Cussed out anyone who slowed me down. Cussed and cussed and cussed.</p><p>And got home feeling shaky and shivery and not quite quite.</p><p>Naturally Boom Boom didn't welcome my youngest with her soft sunflower cone (she has slunk into the cupboard and is asleep among my clothes).</p><p>And I get back to find that I have missed Dadda's medical appointment because I was stuck in traffic and there is no way in hell I am going out there again in this crazy rain-maddened Wednesday (I hate Wednesdays, I have hated it since I was a kid and Wednesdays were double Geography, my most hated subject of all). It is the fasting month which means that half the traffic should not have been on the road because they should have been somewhere breaking their fast but the MCO starts tomorrow and everyone needed to get in some last minute shopping, not knowing how bad it was going to be.</p><p>There are some 3,744 new infections today and 17 deaths (there were 23 yesterday). The apartment has put up a sign saying there has been a fourth Covid case in the apartment complex and my MySejahtera app tells me that there are 43 cases within 1km of me (I am in a red zone!).</p><p>(Boom Boom is outside my door crying piteously, imploring me to let her in; I won't. She is hostile to Jinny now and I need to protect Jinny).</p><p>Now I have that slight headache that comes from tension, my body is cold from being in the car in a storm with the air con on full blast (until I smartened up and turned up the temperature) and someone is splitting straws about a standfirst, changing one word, then another, until I want to scream!</p><p>I need to heat up some food from Rumahku that we had this afternoon. Dadda and I just had tea and goring pisang but because it took too long to get home, the goring pisang was soggy with old oil and after one tentative bite, Dadda didn't want any more. So I'm full of goring pisang and tired and what I really want to do right now is take a nap.</p><p>I want to calm down and for my nerves to stop jangling like a million crickets scratching out their noctural symphony. Creeak Craak Creeak Craak.</p><p>Poetry gets made on the fly.</p>Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14359604151544863025noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17639529.post-3728508113062219952021-04-15T23:51:00.001+08:002021-05-05T20:19:34.274+08:00Leave it smiling<p>There are times when you meet someone and you look into their tired eyes and notice their brittle, fragile throat and realise...they are dying. They don't know it yet, but maybe, on one level, they do. And so they have stopped clinging to life. </p><p>They open their hands gracefully and give it up. Because the last person who loves them is leaving.</p><p>And when nobody remains who loves, who really loves you, what else is there?</p><p>I never understood you before. I never understood this before, until my own mother died.</p><p>And after navigating the thorny briars of grief and standing still for a long time, I started moving out of it. But life had lost some of its savour that would never be regained.</p><p>We could work very hard and ensure that the facade was OK. The externals were taken care of.</p><p>But something, something essential was lost.</p><p>Maybe it had always been lost, maybe I lost it, we lost it, along the way and didn't notice because there were people there holding us up, so we didn't see.</p><p>And now I watch you, quietly receding.</p><p>If you've decided to go, I will support you.</p><p>But before that, let's celebrate, let's have some fun.<br /><br />If you're going to leave this life, leave it smiling.</p>Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14359604151544863025noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17639529.post-79104129290495220522021-02-11T12:20:00.002+08:002021-02-11T12:20:31.476+08:00Thank God for deadlines<p>I realise that I'm sort of a watery person. If I don't have a container to hold me, I spill out all over the place with no definite form or shape. Which is why I need deadlines. I need a structure. Work gives me that. It forces me to plan ahead, figure out what is going to fill the pages. </p><p>And now that my section has been turned into a weekly, this is even more important.</p><p>I am reading a biography of Leonardo da Vinci and I see that he was curious about everything but not very good at finishing what he started. He wanted to work on things for years, perfecting a bit here, a bit there.</p><p>But what he actually did finish were masterpieces.</p><p>I am by no means a genius. </p><p>And I hate how scattered my thoughts are and how I am all over the place and how I do not follow through on intentions.</p><p>So now, since I have only walked 664 steps and it is already 12.19, I will finish this here and go for a walk.</p><p>Later for you.</p>Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14359604151544863025noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17639529.post-82530520474339184242021-01-18T13:13:00.002+08:002021-01-18T13:13:19.975+08:00Passing thoughts on a sultry Monday afternoon<p>Another sleepless night and I am trying to break the cycle of sleeping during the languid afternoon. But then, what else is there?</p><p>Work, no doubt you will say. </p><p>Well I'm on top of that. I'm back in the swing of things. </p><p>Everything that needs to be cleared, has been given to be cleared. </p><p>Now just waiting for the final round of edits.</p><p>It's 13.12 and I have walked 5,589 steps so far today. </p><p>For now, I'll fight the urge to nap, have a healthy meal, walk some more, edit some more, transcribe some more...and then, who knows?</p>Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14359604151544863025noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17639529.post-50843770808468534682021-01-05T20:36:00.003+08:002021-01-18T13:09:56.420+08:00A setback<p>Yesterday was a busy day, for all that it was a holiday. I met with friends for a lunch which lingered and meandered for hours. Then I met with a contact for tea (he was giving me bits of a story). Then I met another friend for dinner and this too, since we had not met each other for two years, lingered and meandered. By the time I got home, I was way behind on the steps, only managing to come in at the midnight mark which just enough to continue my streak but nothing above.</p><p>Nothing loth, I continued to watch the episode of <i>100 days my prince </i>and walk, giving me about nearly 2,000 steps before I went to bed. But again, it was a tossing, turning night and in the morning, I simply refused to stir until noon. Luckily Rose came so she fed the cats. Then she dragged me out to buy cat food (wet food and biscuits), poopy sand, toothpaste and I added some facial cotton because I use these to clean Boom Boom's ringworm-affected area (although Rose did that today and gave her her meds, for which I was profoundly grateful, Boom Boom not being quite as docile when I'm trying to stuff pills down her throat or spray the affected area with a cleaning agent which I have to keep on for 10 minutes, before rubbing it off with aforementioned facial cotton) and using a cotton bud to dab on the medicated cream. </p><p>Anyway my weight crept up today. I walked up and surveyed the scale feeling tired and blue but realised that I can't let this faze me.</p><p>Which is why I am writing this post. </p><p>To remind myself to keep on keeping on.</p><p>Later for you.</p>Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14359604151544863025noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17639529.post-10942090692243353052021-01-04T00:22:00.004+08:002021-01-04T00:22:48.427+08:00Resolutions<p>Chubs and I are leaning against the sofa watching Mr Christmas decorate houses (and one fire station) for Christmas and there is ice cream going round but his wife looks at him sternly because the doctor has had a thing or two to say about his weight.</p><p>I ask him how heavy he is and he tells me. I am staggered. I stepped on the scale this morning and this is exactly my weight. Before this, I knew I was ballooning up like a proverbial Michelin Woman, but by not looking at the wefies my friends take of us (well, not closely anyway) I have been able to ignore the problem. But I have always been lighter than Chubs. </p><p>Now we're the same weight? Which means I am fatter because his bones are heavier. Arrrggghhh!</p><p>When I had the hysterectomy, everyone and their doctors told me one side effect would be weight gain. But I'd already gained so much weight, what was a few pounds more? Well, it wasn't a few. Since the op, it was more like 15 hefty kilos in two years. That's a whopping 33 pounds.</p><p>And so I have finally decided that this laziness is not going to cut it. I can't squeeze into my huge clothes, everything sticks at the belly and I just don't feel comfortable in my skin. I've not been comfortable for a long time, but as I said, I'm good at avoiding stuff, especially if there is something (like work) to take up all my energy and attention.</p><p>But a three-week break has given me time and space to look at things. Like my really messed up life. My cats who refuse to eat their wet food (is something wrong with the food?) and who now have fungal infections - I have to wrestle with Boom Boom every day to clean out the affected area and apply her cream and feed her, her antibiotics. Rose does it in a jiffy but it became too expensive getting Rose to come over every day for this.</p><p>Anyway, we're nearly done with the antibiotics. And her fur has started to grow in the affected area. Smeagol who had an even worse infection has had three jabs to kill the parasites.</p><p>There are certain things that I need to do. Sleep properly. Meditate. Read my New Yorkers which appear in my postbox way too often (I know, I took up a subscription but I haven't time to read all the stories). Well, until now. I forced myself to read the Dec 7 issue cover to cover and I've just finished.</p><p>Do the 10,000 (which I have grossly neglected for lounging on the sofa to watch <i>Crash Landing on You</i> yet again). I can still watch <i>Crash Landing</i> - it's just that I will have to watch it on my phone as I do the steps.</p><p>So I've set goals for myself this year. I know exactly how much weight I want to lose.</p><p>I know exactly how much money I want to save.</p><p>I haven't really made any other goals yet, And the week ahead is turning out to be super filled with activities (they all got bunched up to after Christmas).</p><p>My friends and I wanted to meet for lunch tomorrow. But now we find that most places have Covid cases. I just checked - where I live, there has been one case in a 1km radius from me in the past 14 days. I think the cases are rising so quickly that people have become inured to it. They just shrug, like, whatever and want to meet anyway.</p><p>The new normal?</p>Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14359604151544863025noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17639529.post-59625300266478568312020-12-21T14:29:00.001+08:002020-12-21T14:29:10.070+08:00Fruitcakes and Meet-Ups<p> The silly season is upon us and I am technically on leave from today, but I have yet to close the bumper issue (there are two stories outstanding) and so here I am, at the computer, typing away. Going through stories. When I should be out delivering fruitcake.</p><p>On a side note: Last year, many of the fruitcakes I had baked turned bad and mossy when I unwrapped them (or didn't unwrap them and just gave them out). So this year, I stuck the fruitcake in the freezer and so far, it's been great. I have 7 left of the 20 I baked. Kevin got the first one, Ron the second, BC the third, Yaso the fourth, I gave one out at the office (no there was not enough to go around), I gave one to SK because she enjoyed it so much, I brought one for the team during our Christmas party at the office this year, Shabana, Mikey boy, Dadda, Anita's mum, Rose and I brought one to an outing at a farm for a Sunday lunch because I didn't want to turn up empty handed. </p><p>Right now I am fielding WhatsApp messages from people wanting to catch up (pre-Christmas coffee), from designers who want to know what changes we need to make, etc, etc.</p><p>Just had a long conversation with someone who was let go during the MCO and went into depression. I didn't know. I didn't realise. I knew I should have kept in touch...well, I'm glad that the fruitcakes give me an excuse to.</p>Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14359604151544863025noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17639529.post-21655524025551476472020-11-23T00:38:00.004+08:002020-11-23T00:56:14.773+08:00Bric-a-brac<p> I'm covered in dust and sweat. At 10.30pm or thereabouts, I decided that I would get my 10,000 steps for the day, something I hadn't done in weeks, if not months. I let it go, like I let everything else go, driftwood that get swept up in the tide of my indifference, or rather my lack of application.</p><p>But today, a Sunday, the first day of my week of leave, I wrapped two presents, wrote out two cards, cleared three stories (and sent them), walked 10,000 steps (my calves are protesting now) and rebaked some fruitcake because when I unwrapped it after a month, I discovered it was soggy.</p><p>And I texted Ron to see where she was to give her her fruitcake and a Christmas card and her present, a book on cats. Fiction. My house is starting to pile up with presents (and fruitcake) and so I wrap them up and try to see who I can deliver them to. I want to get the fruitcake that is ready for consumption, off my hands. To do that, I need to write out some more cards. I have loads and loads of Christmas cards and this year, not many to send them to as the post office firmly shut its doors on my face, not allowing me to post anything overseas.</p><p>I finished listening to <i>Saving Missy</i> by Beth Morrey on Audible and have decided that it is one of my favourite books of the year. The person who read it was so very good that I revel in her plummy accent (switching to Irish, switching to northern - the verbal class distinction, by now should be antique, if you talked like her, sir, instead of the day you do, why you might be selling flowers too).</p><p>I discovered the book because I am on the mailing list of Mr B's Emporium of Reading Delights and this was on its "Best books of 2020" list. When I read the description, it was the one that most caught my eye. Of any on the list. And I was right. In an age of flippant books which have the depth of a souffle, this one was a rich, plummy fruitcake.</p><p>With a satisfying aftertaste.</p><p>And then I watched one episode of Social Distance (the one about the Zoom funeral) and one episode of Song Exploder (the one on Hamilton's "I Can Wait"). They are a break from my normal Korean/Chinese/Christmas fare because I read about them on Wired and The New Yorker. </p><p>I'm being forced to read more for inspiration and information. But a side effect are the books I learn about and the Netflix shows I watch.</p><p>Time for a shower and then, to bed.</p><p>Oh wait, I have two more fruitcakes to wrap.</p><p>I'll tell you tomorrow who I deliver them to.</p><p>Why did Massachio die so young?</p><p>If he had lived would he have been another Leonardo or Michelangelo?</p>Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14359604151544863025noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17639529.post-82968577104731115692020-11-21T22:45:00.001+08:002020-11-21T22:45:49.037+08:00Work to doThe truth is I prefer to hide as much as I can because I'm ashamed of me, I'm ashamed of how I look.<div><br></div><div>And this thing comes along and it forces me to stop being invisible. Truth is, I don't have the time to hide anymore. I'm still uncomfortable with attention, uncomfortable about being seen, but now I have no time to brood over it. </div><div><br></div><div>Even if I look more and more hideous, sorry can't wait for you, sorry, just coming through...don't look at me if you don't have to. </div><div><br></div><div>I have work to do. </div>Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14359604151544863025noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17639529.post-60855445519852333732020-10-03T02:18:00.003+08:002020-11-12T15:51:56.092+08:00Happy EndingsI know the title is a little risque because there is a world out there
associates happy endings with massages rather than faerie tales. But I grew up
on a diet of faerie tales. It was what sparked my interest in reading in the
first place. <div><br /></div><div>And so for me, happy endings, are always, the happily ever after
that was supposed to ensue after all the bad stuff had happened. What was the
point of it all, if not? </div><div><br /></div><div>But here's the thing. You need stamina for a happy
ending. You need to be able to see it through and come out on the other side.
You need to have grown to achieve or deserve your happy ending. You need to
follow through, move past the miseries, forgive the hurts, forgive yourself,
transcend the unhappy situation. </div><div><br /></div><div>I don't think I ever got a happy ending. I
never stayed with any situation long enough. When I was miserable, I needed to
leave. I didn't believe in happy endings anyway. Not for me. So I moved from
miserable ending to miserable ending. </div><div><br /></div><div>Many times I wanted to end it all. And
after my mother died, there was really nothing holding me back. Well, there was
Arnold. And after Arnold, there was Sylvie and Bruno. And after Sylvie and
Bruno, there was Ebony, then Sheba, and now, five different cats, all needing
me, the youngest being a spunky little kitten who was abandoned at a week old,
alone, possibly the runt of the litter, not expected to live. </div><div><br /></div><div>After two months
of steady feeding and tonics and immune boosters, she still has developmental
disorders and is terribly tiny for her age. </div><div><br /></div><div>Ebony fell off the balcony and died. </div><div><br /></div><div>Moonbeam died when she went for surgery. I loved them both. </div><div><br /></div><div>There were no happy
endings there, just enduring the misery of their passing too soon. People make
fun of my cats but they provide me a reason to live, to wake up, to go to work,
to earn some money. It's not a happy ending, but merely an enduring because my
life means something to some helpless creatures whom I don't expect anyone to
take in, if I am not here. </div><div><br /></div><div>That's got to count for something. I've had happy
beginnings. I need to find a way to transcend my life, to transcend my heart, to
transcend my soul and find my way to a happy ending for once. </div><div><br /></div><div>Just for once.</div>Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14359604151544863025noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17639529.post-6245654343623439102020-09-28T09:24:00.002+08:002020-09-28T09:24:12.101+08:00The Idiot<p>I dreamt of someone I have hated for so long that I forgot I used to have a crush on him. In my dream, he seemed to revert to who he became so impossibly horrible and I remembered how much I had admired him. Nothing ever happened. It was one of <i>those </i>crushes, where you admire from afar and do nothing about it.</p><p>We were in another place, a place I could not identify, maybe Johor, although there were hints of PJ in it. He had cats or rather furniture that had been mauled by cats, like me. He was quiet and gentle and I felt stirrings of the old attraction as if all that had happened in the intervening years had disappeared. It was strange. </p><p>I used to admire him so because he was unfazed by life and knew how to shortcut any process. I was overwhelmed by life and didn't know how to shortcut anything. I always took the long, ponderous way, and spent way too much energy on anything.</p><p>He had a light touch and I had the tread of an elephant. I never learned to tread lightly and take things as they come. </p><p>Everything spilled over with me -- too much emotion, too much reaction, too much anger.</p><p>No wonder people recoiled. We live in a light touch world and those who go about, stepping lightly are those everyone wants to be close to.</p><p>I am reading <i>The Idiot</i> by Elif Batuman and wondering at how she goes along with everything her crush says although I can't really figure out why she has a crush on him. And I thought about how I hated the all-nighters, how I hated going along with things - how my present desire and common sense were always at odds.</p><p>Oh the stupid things that I did and went along with. Oh the stupid things that I initiated.</p><p>When I watch the Chinese or Korean shows or even read this book, I am amazed by how self-contained the women are, how dignified, how they didn't feel the need to go along with everything.</p><p>The dream left me with a strange feeling inside, like something resolved. This was a grudge that I forgot I carried. It was lodged deep in my gut, only surfacing if this particular guy somehow surfaced in the new, in social media, in my environs. I took my hate for granted, it felt righteous, and I didn't even think that much about it.</p><p>But now, I guess, I can let it go.</p>Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14359604151544863025noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17639529.post-90528565282145903082020-09-20T03:32:00.003+08:002020-09-20T03:32:30.719+08:00Six impossible things before breakfast<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2ASnJFWm8_4krYcTth7oJedKUzgsJXabKcHZlcG62g5uksYSjZ-P7XZyZhpGHO-S1dEHBz7E0phgpGQ1ioC3d6sAuwbTfMzrxm5ls1CIR8B6-eqo9bhOpFZTXT07pW2o9yIq6/s2048/nakedsteve.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2ASnJFWm8_4krYcTth7oJedKUzgsJXabKcHZlcG62g5uksYSjZ-P7XZyZhpGHO-S1dEHBz7E0phgpGQ1ioC3d6sAuwbTfMzrxm5ls1CIR8B6-eqo9bhOpFZTXT07pW2o9yIq6/s320/nakedsteve.jpg" /></a></div><br />When things start disintegrating, at first, you expend all your energy trying to stop the disintegration, trying to keep it all pieced together. At this point you haven't learnt yet, the pointlessness of it all. And trying to keep everything together, well, that's something you have to do, a rite of passage, so to speak. <p></p><p>It is important, in hopeless situations, to not lose hope too early.</p><p>At some point (depending on how resilient you are), you let go and everything crumbles beautifully and truthfully you feel a little relief that what was supposed to happen, has happened. You let it all go.</p><p>And then you watch all the pieces fly every which way in slow motion. It's beautiful, kind of like when you are projectile vomiting after a night of too many drinks and the pieces fly out of your throat to everywhere, coating everything. And you lie exhausted in bed, too tired to mop it all up although it stinks something awful, but you think, in the morning, I'll do it in the morning.</p><p>And you like back and take a much-needed rest, because now that the worst has happened, you're no longer anxious, you no longer care, you'd just like a little sleep, for a little longer, pretty please.</p><p>What happens after the worst has happened?</p><p>What happens when there's nothing left to hold on to?</p><p>What happens when everyone has deserted you and you no longer have anyone who loves you, who will take your part?</p><p>What happens when people watch you tentatively from the sidelines, not willing to catch your eye, in case you engage with them and beg them for help?</p><p>What happens when your life is a train wreck, a 10-car pile-up on the highway, a bloody broken thing of gore and twisted limbs?</p><p>Why was I born? What's the point of it all? </p><p>I'm just too tired, OK?</p><p>No I don't want to get up. No I don't want to try again. I don't want to and you can't make me.</p><p>Just go ahead without me.</p>Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14359604151544863025noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17639529.post-43838286552894273942020-09-19T03:33:00.003+08:002020-09-19T03:33:33.961+08:00How long is a piece of string?<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoCihcVOx3ZT6iX4QcCQct7o3_7tm-uPOz_iJ3_LpTdgNv0M-N0gfS5D66vvqTJHMpnM0sjWz2FqNlsHD14Wj42FRtUvaSeooelZSTeMjqCKe5qNixLF0HG_TptJKqEkeDqnhe/s852/blood.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="852" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoCihcVOx3ZT6iX4QcCQct7o3_7tm-uPOz_iJ3_LpTdgNv0M-N0gfS5D66vvqTJHMpnM0sjWz2FqNlsHD14Wj42FRtUvaSeooelZSTeMjqCKe5qNixLF0HG_TptJKqEkeDqnhe/s320/blood.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p>In the daytime I feel fine and things cohere. A little tired but fine. It's at night that everything starts to unravel, everything starts to shred and I feel myself come undone. </p><p>I think that maybe, that maybe, I am two different people. One person occupies the day and another arrives to take over the night.</p><p>And she makes the switch when I am not looking, before I realise.</p><p>But when I look again, I realise that this familiar sadness is back and that it overwhelms and I stand before it, helpless, abandoned, alone.</p><p>I don't know what to do.</p><p>I don't know how to face these phantoms in my head, in my mind, in my body, in my apartment, who swirl, who swirl, who keep swirling so I can't pin them down, can't look one in the eye and say, I know you, you are you, you are you, you are you, this is here and now, this image is DEFINITE!</p><p>Who are you?</p><p>What do you want from me?</p><p>Haven't you taken enough?</p><p>I have nothing left to give you.</p><p>Please</p><p>Please</p><p>Please</p><p>Let me be.</p>Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14359604151544863025noreply@blogger.com0