Wanton Mee Town

Having heard so much about his hometown, his dad's factory and the little kids at home, I finally got a chance to see it for myself over the Easter long weekend.

The town centre reminded of Singapore in the 60s. There were no shopping malls. Even brand name hyper-marts were nowhere to be found. Single-storied zinc roof houses were still common, while Ramly burgers continued to be sold over little makeshift counters beside the road.

Without the Internet, cable TV and other city luxuries, the pace felt leisurely. We stayed in to watch DVDs with the kids as it rained the entire afternoon. The peace was only occasionally broken by his little 2-year-old nephew.

Surprisingly, I felt quite comfortable.

What struck me, was just how different life was in this little wanton mee town, as compared to our big, shiny city filled with tourists, people and distractions. Amazing how that kampong boy and I became classmates, lab partners, JC sweethearts, exes, and finally a proper couple.

Birthday Cake

My wish is to be happy every day.

Thank you mom for the cake. Nothing beats knowing I have the love and support of my people.

Loved

Things have been incredibly tough the past week. Today was one of the bad days. I left work feeling drained and ready to throw in the towel.

Mom said she bought me a piece of cake last week for my birthday. She even included a candle, because I said I wanted a birthday cake this year.


But with all that had happened, I did not have the mood nor appetite for celebration. It's been 7 days and the guilt for neglecting the cake has really set in. When I finally reached for the cake box in the fridge, this is what I saw attached to it:

I bawled when I saw the message on the ang bao.

A Prayer

For strength, perseverance, faith, humor and grace amidst this all.

I think God has answered my prayer in some respects, as I have witnessed the bright sparks despite a general haze of greyness and blurry exhaustion. Work has not been terribly kind, but colleagues have been great.

The circumstances feel pretty lousy, but the people have been (mostly) giving the best support I could ever ask for. Even the man has pitched in his sensitive, understanding self (surprise surprise).

I find myself still able to laugh and feel little joys through the small things in life. Such as a wearing brand new checked shirt, imagining P dancing and singing with masks, hearing a colleague with the poshest Hugh Grant accent ever...

So thank you everyone.

Too Close For Comfort

The big issues are undeniably prime fodder for fights. Her dependence on me despite being capable herself. The unequal expectations towards me versus my brother. The assumption of my role and responsibilities to shoulder. My efforts brushed off often with nary a gesture of appreciation. Her unintentional emotional blackmail through personal recounts of being a bewildered, fumbling old woman.

Then there are the small things that build friction. When my wardrobe gets rearranged against my preference, for no apparent need or reason. When all I want to do after a long work day is to tune out, instead of participating in conversations of daily minutiae. When my clothes are folded, in a mess, and placed in the wrong pile.

I guess the operative phrase here would be, "too close for comfort".

Don't get me wrong. I do love her, faults and all. If anything happens to me, I know that she will be my unfailing rock. In that sense, her love may perhaps be the most unconditional and sacrificial I ever experience. In practice, I am honestly quite embarrassed to be pampered with not having to do my own laundry or feed myself.

But I also now realise that I have changed. While the idea of household chores used to daunt the younger me, I find myself wanting to take charge so I can do it my way. Is this a manifestation of my decisive yet subconscious step into adulthood, where taking ownership actually feels good? But am I being too naive to want freedom, when every Asian child is meant to be shackled to the family?

For all practical purposes, it is high time to move out just so my temper does not properly boil over. I hate having to lose my cool, then feel bad for acting like a spoiled, ungrateful child. Likewise, when I brush off her attempts of eliciting sympathy, my remnant feelings are that of annoyance, guilt and anger at being placed into this conflicted position.

Who said parenting was easy? And whoever knew being a child was this difficult?

The Stress of Holiday Season

If you watch enough American medical dramas, you'll know that the holiday season tends to result in a higher rate of accidents relating to domestic quarrels and drunk driving, among other festivity-induced illness (such as food poisoning).

I know I know, this may very well be my parasocial reality, but the fact of the matter is that holidays are indeed stressful events. First, imagine 5 people (including the boy) being made to spend an extended amount of time with each other in a confined space. Obviously, all hell breaks loose. Second, the mere expectation of celebration forces typically languid weekends into a timetable of action. NOT something everyone looks forward to.

Tonight was a classic example.

So my brother had his birthday on Friday. He wanted to go for dinner tonight and asked for some suggestions. The most appealing one involved driving up north for crabs and durians. But that meant my chicken-hearted father had to take over the steering wheel. And we had to leave house before late afternoon, since the traffic jams were bound to be bad, given that every other person probably felt compelled to flee the overcrowded city as well.

Guess what the lack of conviction, conclusion and action led to? Triple disaster. We had takeaway dinner from a nearby food court. At 10pm at night no less.

My point is, the pressure of doing something different, going out of our way to enjoy ourselves, can just be plain stressful. If you're old enough to have experienced a bit of life, you'll agree with me, having fun is hard work.

Which is why, honestly, I hate holidays. I just enjoy not having to work.

Carthasis Versus Tolerance

So the dam finally broke yesterday. I ended up saying everything that was hurtful but nonetheless heartfelt. I don't take back what I said, because I meant them.

Today, I was confronted for making her upset. What about me and how I felt? If I had been calculative, I would have been angry for the past 10 years, but I wasn't. Not until now that things have changed.

After my op, I learnt to be true to myself, whether happy, sad, angry or hurt. I realised that bottling up was unhealthy, and if it really bothered me, I should say or do something to make the issue or trouble go away. Because life can only be so short.

But then I've also come to reflect upon my painstakingly developed sense of tolerance over the past 10 years. Is that now an effort gone to waste?

I feel like I've returned to those primary and secondary school years.

Wind

The heavy downpour in the morning has stopped, but the sky remains cloudy. The cool and refreshing gusts of wind are reminiscent of December.

My heart feels empty with Bro's absence, but yet somewhat ready to embrace the silence at home. I'm still getting used to how quiet it now is though - the lack of snoring, bodies shifting and clothes rustling in sleep...

As the outside breeze filters into the house, awakening and lifting my spirit, I can only think to myself:

"Ah how good it feels to be alive."

Flying the Coop

So my brother has finally flew the coop, taking off to the EST timezone before me.

Despite all our arguments (and they were quite physical and fiery when we were younger), I miss my room mate. But I am also quite confident that with all the VOIP and communicative technology of the Internet, I'll get to continue badgering him and sending him virtual jabs in his lovely tummy.

My parents are a different matter altogether. Yesterday after he'd left, my mom cried as if she had lost her boyfriend. My dad could palpably feel the emptiness too. My poor folks. And as the only child left behind in the family, I'm not quite sure how I can make up for the space and silence left by another sibling.

As the baby of the family, it was tradition for my bro to garner the attention in the household. Suddenly, mom no longer has anyone to love, fuss over, talk to and accompany to her little dos. And I feel inadequate because I doubt I am able to give that kind of time, love and attention to ease the loss and ache in her heart.

It's just different, and not enough.