3 facts - 1 fiction

My grandpa ate eye-balls of the swine. 

I would open the door of the cooler, and find a bowl of eye-balls staring back at me. Eye-lashes still attached. I stared back at them, sometimes daring them to blink back.

He believed they would heal his worsening eye-sight. He would ask my mum to boil them with Chinese herbs in a pork bone broth. My brave mum had no choice but to face this weekly task of making this magic potion. 

My grandpa lived until he was 93 years old. His eye-sight was perfect. I know this because he could still see me, even though I believed I was invisible to everyone else in my family. 

 

1 fact - 3 fictions

On 14 November 2008, her family (mother Lily, brother Chad, and cat Mr. Buttons) and friends (all ten of them who truly matter, and also because Chad knows them by name) gathered around her brother's pad. She pretended to be surprised. They ate a lot, drank too much, wished her happy 30th birthday, sang her a song, danced to 90's music, nibbled on cheese and kissed her cheeks.

She didn't say one word. No one suspected. She didn't say good-bye.

When people started to leave, she said "Thank you for coming", "See you soon" and "I'll catch you later". When she left her mother and Chad, she hugged them both tightly and whispered into their hair "I love you both".

Exactly ten days ago, America welcomed her first African-American President.

Pink Smoke, Like Plastic Bags

I believe in the power of having good thoughts.

Imagine them coming out of your pores like pink smoke

and twirls around your body before dispersing into the universe.

I believe in good thoughts, I do.

Imagine them like plastic bags dancing on air

and they float and fly where the wind takes them.

I believe the good thoughts will return, somehow.

Imagine them catching unto something or someone

and bringing them hope, love and making wishes come true.

I believe in good thoughts, I do.

Loose Thread

So as usual, I had a story in my head. And because I didn't make the effort to capture it, it flew away. Liz Gilbert said in her TED gig that you have to take hold of the that loose end of an idea, tug and pull it towards you. It will fall away like a loose thread from a knitted sweater, and you have to be quick to keep tugging to gather the thread in to a ball of creative energy. Otherwise… the idea, the story will end up in a messy heap on the floor, and you will wail in despair when you realise it could've been gathered and turned into something possibly beautiful.

What's stopping me then?

Battle of Wills

I will not feel regret.

I will not feel down.

I will not feel disappointed.

I will not give up.

I will not doubt myself.

I will not be dormant.

I will not be invisible.

I will be heard because I have something to say.

I will move forward because I have somewhere to go.

I will believe in myself because I am good enough.

I will do more because I can.

I will be grateful because I am lucky.

I will be joyful because there is much to be loved.

I will continue to be hopeful because there will always be change.

There will be love, faith, laughter and many, many happy days.

Faking It

When I stared at my TBR (half collapsing) book self, there were tough choices to make. Which ones will I pick for this 'trip'? Which ones will give me comfort for the first couple of months at least? Which ones will help me take the pressure off? Which ones will take me to another world?

It was a naturally choice to start with Peter Carey's My Life As A Fake to begin my journey with. It is Peter Carey after all, you can't go wrong. The Frankenstein inspired storyline, set both in Kuala Lumpur (the city I'm leaving) and Melbourne (the city I shall be calling my new home) is apt for my transition, I thought.

It has thus far gave me a peace of mind through two chilly sleepness nights.

A new life beckons nevertheless. I need to get on with it.

Books, my loves, can only do so much.

A Picture Hides a Hundred Things

She seems to reek of happiness. The new house, the cute baby, the sports car, the great teaching job, the loving husband with his own successful IT consultancy business. They do paint a pretty picture. Everything looks so perfect, so grand. And there you are, wondering if she really had it all.

The scene behind the picture is not always what it seems.

His sudden burst of temper. His questioning of her competency. She doubts if she's a good mother. The growing distance between them that he doesn't acknowledge. And yet, he pushes the invisible gap wider and wider. She reaches out and he backs off. She back offs and he turns away. He is always right, and if she thinks he isn't then it is she who doesn't understand. She says sorry, too often. The baby cries, he snaps, yells, and on a few occasions raised his hand ready to slap. She begs of him to help her, to seek help, to help them both, to save themselves. He looks away.

Bruised ego, lost identities. But they do paint a pretty picture, they do.

Wondering

I'm dragging my feet. And I can't say I'm ready or not.

It's a big deal. Uprooting myself and wondering if I will make it there. Have I grown beyond the age of making trying new things, getting a new job, making new friends, working hard, and trying to find my way? I should be 'settled' already, shouldn't I? Then why am I still seeking? What am I looking for? Who am I?

Somewhere out there, there will be people who will give me this -_- look and think "What a loser!". Do I care? Should I care?

I suppose if there is no fear, there would be no purpose to lead this life. To keep trying to find that right path to take. To want to get it right for yourself. There will be heartbreaks, that's for sure. Disappointments. Self loath. But if you try and take risks, there will also be bright sparks, if you care to look.

And hope. There's always hope.

Moving On

Melbourne or Sydney?

Culture, Cool factors... Change.

Only One?

I think it is important that you can be alone.

Solidarity is not an easy thing to embrace. But I believe once you really get to know yourself and find that inner peace, you will want to have a moment to yourself to savour it. And tell everyone to go away.

I believe you can be alone without being lonely.

People crowd your thoughts sometimes, and not allowing you to take deep breaths. Sometimes you think you need to be around people to be feel real: to be acknowledged, to be wanted, to be touched. Maybe all you really need is a cup of tea.

I know that you can be alone and not feel sad.

Happiness is a state of mind. The more you have, the more you think you need. Less is more. Simplify your life. Maybe then you'll know what it feels to be on the other side. See things from another perspective. But know thyself.

Solidarity can be more than just you.

An Adult Relationship

I have an adult relationship

with a man who understands why we need to laugh

who knows why sometimes I need to cry

who accepts we both have flaws

and have feelings after all.

I have an adult relationship

with a man who listens when I need to talk

who tells me when he needs share

who speaks softly to me when I yell

and it calms me down enough to hear my own thoughts.

I have an adult relationship

with a man who knows a thing or two about respect

who shows gratitude to those whom least expect it

who readily lends a hand

even when you don't think you're ready to reach out.

I have an adult relationship

with a man who teaches me humility

who holds dear to simple things because he had it all

who understands the value of the intangibles

like friendship, trust, respect and love.

Dampness

She looked down at her feet, and felt the murkiness between her toes.
Droplets of rain tickled her neck.

The cool dampness felt calming against her warm skin.
She breathed in the stale smell of the streets, its greyness swept by a misty film.
As she lifted her chin to the skies, she spied a rainbow in between the concrete timbers, and reached over to hold his hand.

About A Boy

I had a friend…

my song without music,
my essay without words,

I had a friend…
my reflection in water,
my shadow in light.

I had a friend…
my opposite of love,
my antonym of foe.

I had a friend,
a boy who couldn’t stay,
a boy who ran away.

Faerie Away!

In the middle of July 2007, I was in Faerie...

laying on green, green grass of softness;
smelling twinkles of white and yellow flowers in the meadows;
spying at rainbow coloured birds dashing amongst tree branches;
having petals of cotton and leaves of satin rain down on me;
feeling rays of sunshine, mixed with shadows of the moon against my skin;
drinking sweet golden liquid from streams of champagne;
gazing up at blankets of glitter against deep purple skies;
inhaling breaths of citrusy fruits and honey with a tint of vanilla;
tasting droplets of lemony flavoured morning dew on blades of tall grass;
tickling young white-tailed deers and bunny rabbits that come to say hello; and...

wishing, ever so softly, that happiness will consume me forever more.

Giggles

Hot tea on a rainy day,
Books that take you places, make you think and trigger emotions,
Yellow and white daisies,
Good o'thunder storms,
Cotton candy clouds, in whatever colours,
Counting stars while floating in a big empty swimming pool,
Running (in the rain),
Sipping coffee on the balcony on Sunday mornings,
Dancing to rock music around the apartment,
Having a good cry watching movies,
Watching kids play in the park,
Uncontrollable laughter,
Hugs and kisses from nephew and nieces,
Smell of baby breaths,
Macaroni and cheese,

and Giggles are good too!

Fried Eggs at Midnight

I was in bed. Curtains drawn. The fan made a soft nuzzling sound, circulating the warm air in my room. I had aired my pillows the day before, after suspecting my wheezing and sneezing over the weekend were due to dust mites inhabiting my cotton filled cushions. My eyes were still red and watery, itching from the suspected allergies. I disposed of my disposable contact lenses just hours before. Watched the tiny transparent blue tinted plates wash down the drain as I brushed my teeth.

My room is kept dim with only a table lamp to my left. I like it this way. But I worry that I might someday go blind from reading in shadows. My eyes are stinging from fatigue, but I know I won't be falling asleep when the light is out. So I continued with the story, anticipating the taming of Richard Parker in the setting of the grand Pacific Ocean.

I took deep breaths as I read. One of two nostrils was completely senseless. Blocked. The inner walls flared up. No air particles getting through. Then, I thought I smelled a familiar scent with the other working nostril. Something savoury, with a sweet undertone. Whiffs of deliciousness. I looked at my watch. Midnight. One working nostril can play tricks on you at this hour. I took deeper, longer breaths just to be sure. Yes. I think I'm not imagining it. I laid my book down and sat up. Sniff. Sniff. Sniiiiff. Fried eggs. Something more. Sniff. Sniff. Onion omelette! With a pinch of sugar to help caramelised the onions. I leaned back into my pillows. Back into the Pacific Ocean with a young Tamil boy and a majestic Bengal tiger. Satisfied that I might fall asleep later dreaming of sweet onions and sunny-runny eggs. Not questioning the source of such delicious comforting scent.

I was sure I didn't imagine it.