Anyone who knows me well, knows how much I love food, and how much I can actually inhale in a seating.
So much such that, if I leave food for you, it means that I pretty much see you as part of family, or you’re merely an acquaintance who might be shocked at the amount I eat.
It has been over a year(?), since I last had McSpicy. It’s probably my favorite item on the menu together with spicy nuggets. So I happily convinced my parents to eat junk with me.
In usual fashion, I over order. I want the table to be filled with food. To me, food equals to love, and for me to put food on the table, it means I’m putting my love on the table.
I’m either exercising, overdosing on caffeine and biscuits while reading, or on the couch re-watching films.
It is sobering to realize what being an adult does to you and your understanding. Re-watching old films seems so…foreign. I wonder if my memory betrays me. Sometimes, I do wonder if our experiences shaped us, or merely ripped off the rose-tinted glasses off our nose bridge.
Either way doesn’t sound quite ideal.
Reading became a route to escape from reality, so I read often, and read through books rather quickly (mainly because rom-coms are really easy to read, and digest, and very predictable). Reading Obama’s Promised Land, as a buffer before I return to reality, chock full of undone work, never-ending emails (please mark XX date in your calendar), and never ending problem solving (can you find a way to help with this).
That aside, I have been clearing books at the speed of a book a day (ABAD). The next journey I am about to embark on is Kazuo Ishiguro’s Klara and the Sun. Not a rom-com for sure, so I guess I will take my time with it.
I threw out my kindle this holidays, and is more than grateful this gift of reading from a dear friend. A perfect reader for me at the moment, and up to this day, I’ve only charged it twice.
Saviour for a person who has officially ran out of space to hoard new books. It connects to the local library via Overdrive, and the library catalogue is pretty updated, and there’s plenty to read.
I used to think that clouds are like cotton candies in the skies, and had the ridiculous thought that if I ever took the plane, I can just open the windows and taste the clouds.
It was when I grew up when I realised (after a certain documentary) that it is the perfect recipe for an air disaster. Imagine this little tyrant trying to break the window pane of an aircraft under the pretext of tasting the clouds.
The only thing that made clouds different from cotton candy, in my young mind, was that cloud gets angry then gives us rain! Cotton candy is always happy and disappear if there’s water. I quote my younger sassier self, “Pretty, sweet but also useless kinda cloud.”
I like clouds. They are like our imagination, it can be anything you wish for it to be.
They are like human, charged with emotions. Sometimes, sweet and naive. Sometimes, dark and murderous. Sometimes cheeky, other times nonchalant.
Sometimes, they even disappear without a trace, leaving the blue sky oddly lonely.
I find myself lying on the floor often, looking at the skies, staring at the clouds, willing it to speak to me. Silence, engulfed me, then spat me out, whole.
The wind howling, the skies grey, the clouds dark.
I often think of how others will feel or get impacted by my actions.
Will I trouble them if I miss a day of work? If yes, I will drag my body to work even if it hurts me.
“You know, health is everything.” H quietly stirred her cup of drink as she watched me drown my cup of coffee, rather enviously.
I felt bad, as though a reflex to her envious gaze. Drinking the drink that we often indulged our carefree afternoons with, while we were young and less burdened with responsibilities.
Now much older, her health became a deterrent to our favourite cup.
She sensed my silence and cracked a joke, “come on, maybe if I’m good, I’ll get to drink it with you once again.”
Though deep in our hearts, we both know that it’s rather impossible, it would be good to maintain status quo.
The silence said it all.
“Don’t be like me, take good care of yourself…” she said, sensing my anxiety amongst the crowd. “Your anxiety seems to be getting worse.”
I couldn’t manage a response, overwhelmed by the crowd, yet trapped in the mall because of the rain that’s not letting up.
“I’m trying.”
“For who?”
That sentence struck me, hard.
“Try for yourself, heck how others feel. If they need to cover you and feel unhappy about it, they need to quit their job. It’s not your fault, really.”
“But it sucks to hear it…”
“They’re selfish. That’s it, why do you need to be considerate to others on the expense of your own well-being?” H rolled her eyes, frustrated by my lack of response.
“Not like they appreciate it anyway, they prolly take it for granted. You’re a nobody to them, but you’re a someone to your family and friends. People who guilt trip you when you’re feeling unwell, clearly isn’t your friend anyway.”
Perhaps.
Her voice fades as I’m lost in my own thoughts.
Perhaps, I’m investing my time in the nobodies, instead of the somebodies.
Perhaps this is all, nothing but a mistake.
“Come on la, don’t sulk please. I’m not angry with you.”
I shook my head, “I’m not. Thanks for always being so concerned, and for thinking of me despite of the things that you’ve been going through.”
“You know, being ill, lets you gain perspectives. It’s like a pair of glasses when you’ve been short sighted all your life. You gain clarity what matters more, and who are the people who truly cares. You, my friend, has been my rock, and I want to be yours too.”
H reduced me to a public embarrassment as I cried in the middle of the shopping mall.
That day, a cute birdy flew into the balcony of our home. At first it circled around happily, chirping happily. It started shrieking when it realized that it doesn’t know the way out. Its friend heard the cry and was circling outside of our balcony, largely concerned, but doesn’t know how to help the trapped bird.
I hastily took some photos before approaching the bird, worried that the alarmed bird might smash against the window and hurt itself. After several minutes of gesturing towards the window, and whispering “over here! over here!” It finally decided to heed the advice and flew out of the window.
It was finally free, and it flew off, partner in tow.
I waved bye bye, and hope that it will learn from this nasty experience and not get trapped again.
I googled, it was a sunbird.
xxx
Went to have dinner, and auntie at the restaurant was alarmed that I was there alone.
“小妹妹，做么你一个人吃饭？“
“这样没有人会抢我的食物。“
Auntie chuckled and took my order.
“我不要虾、还有octopus”
“aiyo, 不可以挑食。“
“aiya过敏嘛，不是挑食，可以吃我也想吃！”
“噢，原来这样啊！“
Auntie quickly went to kitchen and yelled out my order. When she came back with this huge bowl of mentaiko chirashi, she wiggled her eyebrows at me.
“我想，你会喜欢的。“
I didn’t quite understand her words, until I started eating, and discovered that the bowl was made up of 70 percent fresh cut sashimi and maybe 30 percent rice. That day, I couldn’t finish the entire bowl, and this was the first for me.
Thank you auntie, for feeding me well.
xxx
Out exploring, and the skies are pretty. Clouds looked really fluffy, just like the freshly spun cotton candy.
蓝天白云 – perfect recipe for a scorching afternoon.
I was really thirsty and had to duck into a random shop to get myself a chilled bottle of mineral water. Ever since the mineral bottles have gone for the more green look, the bottle caps have became thinner, and I forever struggle with opening them.
After trying for a good 5 minutes, I admit defeat and went back into the shop to ask for help from the cashier auntie.
“aiyo girl ah, 年纪轻轻就没有力！“
She wet her palm with the damp washcloth on the table and twisted the cap open.
“谢谢你，不然我就渴死了。“
She reminded me of my mom, both of them are of similar age as well.
“Girl ah, 你很夸张勒！“
“救命恩人勒！“
Both of us had a good laugh while the other customers watched with amusement.
Thank you auntie, for helping me with a seemingly small task.
Ask and you shall receive.
xxx
While I was standing underneath the sign, I felt that it is a sign that I should slow down and enjoy the moment.
The warm breeze, the hustling crowd, the stream of cars.
“What are you looking at?”
“Nothing, the sky is really blue today.”
“Yeah, now that you mention it, it is really blue.”
“Don’t you think that this is an interesting place?” I uttered a random sentence back to the stranger.
“Why so?”
“The mix of grey of the urban at the further back, and the burst of colors along the shop houses. The old and the new playing together to give life to this place.”
“Hmmm, you are right!” He lifts up his camera and started clicking away.
“Thank you for seeing joy in the ordinary.” He smiles and walks away.
Thank you for the conversation too, random man on the street.
xxx
This Wednesday saw the birth of unrest, and my anxiety bubbled.
I don’t know what to make of the news, and I grapple with reality each morning I open my eyes.
I did what I do best, I block out my feelings and continue my day.
As I sit and type this, the complex feelings just found its way out of the barricade.
I was shopping around the store, when I heard a familiar tune. I mouthed every single word of the lyrics accurately, down to the adlibs.
I wasn’t interested in what the store has to offer, entirely distracted by the playlist that the employee had put up. Song after song, I “sang” along, and time and time again, I stunned myself by knowing the lyrics, without even knowing the title of the song. (I may have walked a good 20 rounds around the small store and scrutinized every single piece of article of clothing before leaving.)
We often say that time erodes memories, and fade experiences.
But time and time again, it is proven wrong.
As soon as the familiarity hits, no matter how much time we have between us, it all rushes back.
I remember fondly the Sunday mornings where brother and I would sit infront of the telly to watch MTV’s Top 20 countdown, singing along to every single song, rapping to every single profanity of Eminem’s drops. We cheer when the songs we like are in the top 3, felt sad when the familiar tunes dropped out of the top 20.
Gone are the Sundays where we spent time together. Grown up and married, I hardly see the brother at home anymore, much less the luxury of sitting down together to watch a programme.
A tinge of regret rushes back when I thought of the times that I thought that time is infinite, and we would all never grow up.
Hiam 