Towards the end of my life, when I look back, I'd like to say that these things made my life a little easier.

Books, music and love.

Last night I had the sudden urge to go for a spin. With the window down and the wind rushing in my ears, I drove around the estate, not sure what I was looking for.

Back at home, with the TV off, the house felt strange and forlorn. I fell asleep with the TV on. The last time I did that, I was alone in a hotel room in New York.

Being married is a strange thing, no? When you're together, you just wish that you'd give each other a break. When you're really alone, nothing feels right without someone in the next room, even when he's just snoring.

I miss having you around.

I've always thought about it that way. Funny I've never voiced it out before.

I love reading not because I'm intellectual. I love it because I'm an escapist. When you have your nose buried in a book, you can actually pretend that nothing else matters in the world except getting to the end of the story. A bit like watching TV. Not too lofty, but that's the truth.

My childhood dream was not to be a teacher, pilot or air stewardess, but to own a bookshop. I wouldn't have to drag myself to and from the library. I would have my own personal collection displayed as 'Not for sale', and I would be the first reader of every book that I sell in the shop. I would stock those hard-to-find titles. Then I would be able to keep reality out of the door, and I would read to live.

Maybe I'm feeling a bit overwhelmed recently, so my childhood instincts are taking over. The dream has been coming back to me, figuratively speaking.

Nauseous. Stifled. I feel like I can't breathe. There is an familiar ache I shouldn't be having, a familiar feeling that's almost illegal. What am I to do with you?

I was lying in bed, half-awake, thinking about a scene in a re-run of an old drama I just watched. Wanting to write it down, but not wanting to get out of bed. So I keyed it all down into my mobile. Ahh.. the wonders of technology.

*****

What sights and smells give you a weak, touchy-achy feeling down to your toes?

For me, it's the light at dusk as the street lamps come on. The rev of a car engine in the quiet night. The subdued snoring of a loved one lying next to you. The smell of rain and the sound of rain drops on the roof. The smell of coffee from a Starbucks joint on a cold wintry day.

When I'm unhappy, I think about the sky, the rain, peace in the quiet night, and the smell of roasted coffee. It just makes the day a little bit easier to get through.

Anger. Passion. Misery. Desire.

I angered. I wrote.
I was passionate. I waxed lyrical.
I was in misery. I had prose in my head.
I desired. I was full of fiction.

Anger. Passion. Misery. Desire. Get thee back into my life!

4 months: After my last post.

2 months: After we moved in.

1 week: After my first political awakening.

2 weeks: Before I am legally married.

2 months: Before I become an auntie for the 5th time.

5 months: Before we get our own king-sized bed.


Time is all about perspective.

This is my little contribution to something that was started by MercerMachine. Thanks to mrbrown for his moving contribution and the link.

I'm the foetus who was conceived accidentally.

I'm the baby girl who was unwanted and nearly given away.

I'm the daughter who you brought to the coffee shop for breakfast before school every morning, who always asked for ice in her hot Milo because it was too hot.

I'm the daughter who misses those breakfasts.

I'm the daughter who was always the last one waiting at the school gate because you were late.

I'm the daughter who learnt how to walk home on her own at the age of eight.

I'm the younger sister who gave up her chicken wing for you.

I'm the younger sister who always killed the cockroaches for you.

I'm the youngest sister whom you brought to the cinema with you when you went on a date.

I'm the youngest sister who considers you more a mother than a sister.

I'm the cousin who grew up loving to read because you gave me your Enid Blyton paperbacks.

I'm the girl who loved to contribute articles to the school publication.

I'm the friend who walked home with you after visits to the community library.

I'm the friend who discussed careers, life and diamond rings with you while belting out ballads at K-Box.

I'm the girl who fell in love with you, but you didn't know.

I'm the girl who fell in love again, but you had no time for her.

I'm the girl who fell in love with your corny humour and earnest disposition.

I'm the girl you fell in love with, over music and ICQ.

I'm the girl to whom you proposed, with a stuffed rabbit and a diamond ring.

I'm the girl who's still restless.

I'm the girl who wants to see the world.

I'm the girl who wants to see the world with you, one country at a time.

Something that I should preserve before it gets lost in the vastness that is Cyberspace. This is me from a long time ago. Some things don't change much.


Weariness.

Weary that "catching up" means comparing to see who's doing better.

Weary that every time I need to talk, nobody's home.

Weary at having to watch what I say even in front of good friends.

Weary that I've been giving more than I've been receiving in most relationships.

Weary of the wilful experimentalism of youth, but..

Weary of the emotionless pragmatism that comes with maturity.

Weary. Just plain weary.

Strange Bedfellows

I wished for this
The privilege was mine to ask for
Now it is not mine to throw away
It is almost blasphemous
The way I wish for its non-existence
Courage was never part of complacency
Contentment and fulfillment never came hand-in-hand

I long to sail away into the open ocean
To fly to the roof of the world
Yet the baggage is much too tedious
Comfort and adventure are unlikely bedfellows

Routine tethers a wandering spirit.