From A Long, Long Time Ago

Putting some ancient entries back (aka facing my past, my fears, my own demons, whatever...)...Jan 08 seems like such a long time ago!

JANUARY 29, 2008

Not a shred of evidence exists in favor of the idea that life is serious - Brendan Gill

For the longest time, I’ve wanted to start a blog. But for an even longer time, I struggled to find a good reason to do so.

I know of many bad reasons that I would want to maintain a blog and the worst of them is to let it develop into some sort of a compilation of my random thoughts and a chronicle of the mundane matters of my life. Honestly, I don’t think I’m the sort that will bother walking down memory lane on any lazy afternoons because as it is now, I’ve got more interesting things to read than I have time to read them.

I revisited the idea of keeping a blog when I realized that I had come to a point where I desperately needed to identify for myself a passion that I can live for, to cherish each and every moment of my life and the people that I love, and DOCUMENT the lessons that life and love have to offer me and those who chance upon this blog.

You see, people always end up doing the very things that they tell themselves tirelessly never to do. We call this the Law of Attraction. To my utter disgust, if not horror, I realize that this is after all, going to be a blog that will develop into some kind of a compilation of my random thoughts and a chronicle of the everyday events in my life.

But to compensate those who have unwittingly been led to this very self-centred space of mine that I’ve decided to make public (I’ve always thought of myself as one of the most private person I know, but my darling sister has recently shed some light on me that those who love the color purple are people who live for attention, and I ADORE purple…so, go figure), I’ll limit my random thoughts to those concerning online trading, and matters of the heart (yes I know they are not related, but this is my blog and I write what I want to write!).

I dedicate this blog to these folks that I love with all my heart:
- my darling sister, the seabloke who forwarded the address blogspot.com to me without which I would never have started my first blog posting,
- Pilot, my little brother and ex partner-in-crime,
- D, my best friend and current partner-in-crime, and
- Ken, an amazingly gentle, selfless and non-judgmental friend with whom I share many interests and secrets


FEBRUARY 27, 2008

Vero Amore

Seabloke has a friend, G, whose husband has been a good friend of Seabloke’s for coming to 2 decades now (boy, Seabloke, you’re old!). G is one of the sweetest, most demure ladies I’ve met. She’s independent, jovial, makes a lovely company, and clearly among the rare few girls that I can understand – even the part where she chooses to hang on to a man totally unworthy of her love and devotion.

Her husband, De Kroke, to whom she’s been married for less than 2 years (yes, Seabloke?), is a total ass. Without going into details, he’s been 3 and possibly 4 or 5-timing G for the longest time and totally humiliated her by not even bothering to cover his tracks. To add insult to injury, he allows his lovers to confront G at her doorstep. Recently, De Kroke took off without warning to live with God knows who among TOW1 ,TOW2 and TOW3– well, Seabloke might just know since she’s been spying on him :-P - and has not returned in months, leaving G to have reunion dinner with Seabloke’s family and mine on Chinese New Year.

Yet G continues to put up with De Kroke’s shit to this day, I reckon, and believes that he will change his ways. We hate to break G’s heart, but Seabloke and I have known De Kroke long enough to know that THAT is what De Kroke is – the typical womanizer who knows not what love means, and like all the chauvinistic pigs out there, marries simply to secure the companionship he figures he’ll need when he’s too old and wasted to play.

The sad truth about us is that we never really change (incidentally, Seabloke has had something to share on the subject matter) , even if we resolutely want to, for ourselves or for the people we love. We take a shot at reformation - at the detriment of our own mental well-being and that of others – only to end up confused, if not mildly psychotic.

I’m against the notion of suffering for love and have no sympathy for romantics. Give me a choice to live with someone to whom I’m fatally attracted yet cannot hold on to, and someone who shares my values, respects me and would give up his life for me, I’ll take the latter in a heartbeat.

To be fair to De Kroke, he’s been steadfast to TOW1 and TOW2, albeit simultaneously (you really have to give it to the man – from where does he get all his energy??). And the reason is probably coz they are three of a kind. Especially TOW1 – now how do I even begin to describe her? She’s from another planet – possessive, malicious, wild and highly sexual and everything that G is not. For De Kroke to be so enthralled by her, she and De Kroke must clearly have something in common.

But as fate would have it, TOW1 is married too. To complicate matters, she’s brought 3 innocent lives into this world (Reminds me of Seabloke, Pilot - our 30-yr-old little brother - and myself. Now do I really want to start on my mother? ..... Hell, big “NO”!!) and with the way that things are, there can only be one outcome: Everyone gets hurt.

So my question is, how much are we willing to pay for what most have come to believe to be "true love” – the kind that is passionate, totally consuming, and possessive and stings like hell? I personally didn’t understand the Romeo and Juliet kind of love. The love I’ve always known is tender, kind, ever forgiving and giving, serene and doesn’t hurt.

I much prefer to not have to hurt. So as far as matters of the heart are concerned, I’ve always trod prudently. But when love becomes so rational and calculative, is it even truly love anymore?

I guess I might never find out. My life is good as it is – uneventful, calm and where everything makes sense – albeit a tad machine-like, all because my darling husband is a lovely man who’s perfect for me, whose values are consistent with mine, and whose temperaments complement mine. This is a man who cannot keep his eyes focused on mine for a nanosecond when we lock lips coz his mind is always somewhere else, mostly in pc land, cringes whenever my hair falls on his face when I kiss him goodnight, and who can’t hold any conversations with me that’re not immediately related to the practical matters of life, and yet I’ve lived with him for 15 years without feeling like there’s any other that can ever take his place.

Maybe G feels for De Kroke the way that no others can understand. But personally, I’m not programmed to continue to feel for people who are not committed to being with me. Living in pain is not an option for me unless it serves a higher purpose. Then only God will know the whys and wherefores and I’m living in faith that He will tell me someday. In the event that He doesn’t, I still would have learnt something... And I know I have.


MARCH 9, 2008

Rudolph

I feel for Rudolph. It has been 4 months since he was deserted by his owners who for some reason decided the place they were relocating to was too good for him. When I first found Rudolph, he was crying outside what used to be his home. The gate was locked. The surrounding felt so desolated and Rudolph looked so piteous I have not been able to get the scene out of my head since.

Rudolph now takes shelter under cars, has turned a little grayish from the soots from cars, and is in constant danger of being run over one day by an unwary driver. Now and then he returns to his old home and he wails every time he's there. Among the strays that D and I feed everyday, he's the most emotionally attached to us and will follow us when we went around feeding our feline friends. During times when he failed to catch up, we would find him waiting faithfully for us to return.

Rudolph is not the prettiest cat by conventional standards - he has a squarish head that's excessively big relative to his body size, his eyes are constantly red with discharge and his tail is mildly deformed. And for a cat, he walks really clumsy - kinda like a bull dog.... But he is so affectionate and soulful that anyone with a heart would have found it impossible to not be moved by his sorrow and suffering. I personally find it hard to not love him.

It disturbs me that the people who once loved him and have had him since he was born could one day just decide to shut the door on him (he was already banned from entering the house shortly before the family moved away). Rudolph had never been let out of the house prior to that and that makes the act of throwing him out all the more cruel. Did the family ever consider how he was going to live? Did it ever cross their mind that Rudolph could die from a broken heart?

I'm glad that Rudolph seemed to have adapted to his new natural environment and made some friends. During my recent visit, I couldn't help but noticed how big he had grown. He has been well-fed by and won the hearts of total strangers who come a long way from where they are living just to make sure he doesn't starve.

He's definitely much better off without the people who left him for dead. And it seems to me that Rudolph has finally come to realize that he can be happy without them.

Sadly, humans are often not as quick in recognizing that they've been abused and exploited and many continue to put up with bad treatment because they are too afraid to stand up for themselves. Sometimes I wonder if it's loneliness they fear the most. And I wonder if the only time they will consider walking away from a tormenting relationship and a parasitic partner is when they chance upon greener pastures. Such people can never find happiness in being alone. They expect to be cherished and love and if you fail them, they'll really hate you from the bottom of their heart, and they will make sure you know that they do.

I'm glad to have met such a person, and I'm most glad that he's not my husband.

MARCH 12, 2008

Soliton

D and I were catching this episode of Alias that featured a scene where Sydney’s evil ex-KGB mother was threatened with solitary confinement when she acted up while being incarcerated within a CIA stronghold. Here's a very succinct discussion I had with D regarding “solitary confinement” following that scene:

Me: I’ve been DYING to ask this: isn’t “alone time” a godsend if you’re in prison?? What’s so scary about solitary confinement???

D: You don't get to read. No books allowed...

Me: NOOOOO!!! That's horrible!!

I must have books. They keep me happy.

Thanks to my mother, I can be left alone for weeks – probably even months – on end, as long as I have air, water, food and books.

I must have barely turned 5 when mother began to inculcate in me a hunger for knowledge and an affinity for solitude by giving me piles of reading material of all genres – fictions, biographies, comics, fashion magazines, tabloid newspapers, teachings of Buddha and what have you – to keep me occupied whenever I got restless and needed attention from her.

Seabloke got the pacifier.


MARCH 16, 2008

Ken, I Like Trees...


MAY 8, 2008

Land, Sea & Air

Was helping Pilot to move some stuff from Seabloke's to his new place and couldn't help but felt really sad for him. When will my little brother find a place he can call his own? When will he meet someone decent he can share his joy and sorrow with?

And Seabloke has problems of her own...

For the first time since Dad was gone, I am glad he's not here to feel the pain that we are feeling.

2008 is a really bad year.

Feel

I've never felt this tired in my entire life. I'm physically and mentally tired. My soul is tired. I'm so tired having to move my fingers all over the keyboard to type out this post is a struggle. My dishes are not done; the laundry's in the machine and i have no idea what to do with them; the unpacked boxes remained unpacked; Al is begging for something and I haven't the energy to find out what it is; there are so many calls to make that I just can't be bothered anymore to make any of them. I should be updating my resume and sending them out but I have neither the motivation nor the inspiration to start work on it.

I'm officially the laziest and most useless person I see around me.

I've lived 35 years - 20 of which I lived exactly as I was taught to live by my dad, who was my role model, my idol, and the pillar of my strength and my life. It never occurred to me to question the rationale behind the way I was raised. I was brought up sheltered, overly protected, and isolated from the rest of the world. I was raised like a boy, and one that was expected to be without blemish. I hardly wore a dress, never really behaved like a typical girl, and never showed any signs of meekness. The only authority I submitted to was my dad's. It didn't bother him a bit that I was almost every teacher's nightmare. After all, I was bright, I was bold like a boy, and most importantly, I was not beyond his control.

I was a good kid by today's standard -

I smiled and greeted my parents every morning;

I smiled and greeted every adult that I met that was a friend or an acquaintance of my parents';

I never failed to express my gratitude for any services rendered to me;

I always asked politely for people to get out of my way;

I always apologized and smiled ever so sweetly to boys I beat up after bashing them up and after their parents complained to my dad about my bullying;

I never hit a girl (not really, I've slapped a pair of twins - which made them TWO girls - at one go);

I never whined;

up til I was 20 and married, I never reasoned with my dad over what he dictated that i should and should not do - suffice to say that how I felt about those ridiculously strict rules imposed on me was not of material concern to him - and on occasions that I so much as asked "why", I would get in every instance an angry "because I said so" response;

I did my workout, practiced on my electric organ, swam, ate, drank and slept at the time designated by my dad;

I kept no friends and therefore never really hogged the phone like the other normal teenage girls and guys did (the first person I spent longer than half an hour on the phone with was my baby sister's classmate, and the reason I bothered to talk to him in the first place was because he had loads of second hand books for sale and I loved books...anyways, we really clicked and hence chatted frequently, mostly about books and about his hunky brother who was incidentally a star athlete in my school...had I known that all my phone calls were actually tapped, I would never have talked about his cute brother that I was then insanely infatuated with!!);

I was chauffeured everywhere, and I do mean EVEYWHERE, by my dad so it was impossible for me to get into trouble anywhere else other than within my school compound;

my dad hardly had to see the principal more than once a month for her to complain to him about what a rogue I had been;

I never hit my maids;

I never tortured any living things - their deaths were swift (whilst I would supervise the blowing up of toads with fire starters, my baby brother, on the other hand, was covertly conducting vicious experiments like freezing grasshoppers to death, in jello...);

even in frustration over being confined, I always came out to greet and hug my dad after turning my room into a war zone (anger, or, to be precise, the free expression of anger, was something which was totally accepted in my family, as long as the expression bit was done in the privacy of our own rooms);

I never burdened my dad with meaningless grievances or annoyed him with the cliched "you don't/ won't understand" retort, because I was fully aware that I had not earned the right to be heard and understood;

I knew as a 4-year-old to not bother my parents with how bad I felt about anything - except about death - because having or showing emotions other than positive ones is a taboo;

as a 4-year-old (that was as far back as I could remember), I had mastered the art of giving a sunshine smile upon request, even when I was upset and feeling like beating the daylight out of the very person I had been asked to smile to (the only thing i couldn't smile to was the camera);

I never bullied anyone smaller (in size AND in age - I might be young but I had my principles)than me - why bother when my beating up of anyone male and bigger was fully condoned;

I knew what I wanted, asked in grammatically correct English (to say that bad English is frowned upon is a gross understatement) for whatever I wanted, then waited for my request to be processed, and whenever the outcome was a "no", I always had the option of throwing a fit behind the doors of my own room, and I would be spared the cane so long as by dinner time, I was all smiles again - negotiations and appeals were never part of the process, not that it mattered to me since they never existed in my dictionary and it was only a week ago that I realized it was not unreasonable, and definitely not a crime, for a 16-year-old to negotiate and reason with her parents;

and the list goes on...

But why does it even matter to me what kind of a kid I had been? I'm 35 turning 36 for crying out loud!

It matters because after having lived for 20 years in accordance to the rules (some adhered to and 90% broken, nevertheless, my thoughts and actions were all in some ways reactions to them, and they are what I have been using to analyze everything and everyone around me)dictated by my dad, I didn't know how to live after he died suddenly and tragically shortly before my 21st birthday. He had left me no instruction on how I should think and behave as an adult, so I continued to see the world and live my life based on the same set of rules set by him. The result of not having developed my own rules as I was growing up was a mishmash of moderate success in certain aspects of my adult life and colossal failures in the aspect that matters the most to any human being.

I realized, having come so far in life, that I can't feel what I'm supposed to feel, let alone express them. I can't feel me, and I can't feel others. I can analyze, and I excel at engineering and evoking desired responses from people (I read a lot, love psychology, sociology and anthropology and has a degree in human ecology - what I know about people I've really learned them from books, not from having experienced the full range of human emotions myself or by observing and understanding others) but I generally and genuinely can neither FEEL their feelings nor appreciate their right to feel the way they have chosen to feel. I just KNOW for a fact that THAT’s what someone’s feeling, and my inclination is to immediately – instead of acknowledging and giving it support – attempt to establish if there's anything constructive I should and can do about it.

I realize today that I've got to be the most self-centred person I know - I had expected everyone around me to see the world as I see it... And I would never have come to the realization had it not been for D's devastatingly heartbreaking "you're a 16-year-old trapped in a 35-year-old body" comment and the 5 hours I spent with my therapist.

When my therapist gave me 2 assignments - the first was to recall incidents from my childhood and describe my feelings about them; the second, to start identifying my feelings and EXPRESSING them when interacting with D - I didn't show up for two consecutive sessions because I couldn't do my homework. I thought about them everyday and dreaded the very thought of them by the third day. The only feeling I ever knew and understood and expressed without reservation was rage, only to be told that anger or rage is not even technically a feeling but merely a manifestation of a set of deep-rooted feelings. Kill me, please, someone, anyone.

But I did it. I went back to see AiMei with my completed assignment. And at the end of the session, I was told that I need to start giving myself and others the PERMISSION to FEEL.

I'm stumped again. I can't help but adore AiMei for her ability to keep giving me things I would actually bother pondering on, exactly what I need to distract myself from all the things that I shouldn't be thinking about in my current state anyway.

But I'm exhausted. I don't know if I have the stamina to reorganize my very messy life and I don't know if I can go on pretending that I can totally live with all the hurt I've caused others. For the longest time, I've convinced myself that as long as I'm willing to bear the consequences of my own actions, I am free to do whatever I decide to do. Never once had it occurred to me that my actions could cause people around me irreparable emotional damages. Because until recently, I've never felt - my heart was an uncharted territory - it was virtually impossible to break me because I always recovered from pain in matter of days. So I thought. And I expected the general population to be like me. I couldn't have been more serious whenever I said that "I have no choice but to get out of depression - I have a short attention span".

But now I can feel. I can feel a little of what I should be feeling, and a hell lot of what others have felt. Justice is being served at last. I'm being punished. The feelings of my victims are so overwhelming I feel like I'm lugging 200 tonnes of weight with me everywhere I go.

A small price to pay for self-knowledge, I suppose.