I Want To Fall In Love With You, Again And Again

(A special dedication to all who believe in Love, especially for Cassie, Alicia, Ching, Ling, Jess, Wei, Yen and Baby Ally... And lets hope this marks my come-back to Blogging!)

A girlfriend wrote this on her blog:

"I miss you.. The man I fell in love with. Why do people change even when things around them remain a constant? Is there always an end to the "honeymoon" period of a relationship.. or do we just develop into a stage where we take each other for granted... naturally.. like how I will run to the toilet for a shit after a cup of hot coffee?

Why can't I love the same man all over again everyday, as if each day is its last? I can.. but can he ?"

Things may seem constant, the same; the damn alarm always goes off at the very same second everyday, just when you are sinking into the most delicious dream... The traffic sucks, as always, with the usual number of F1 driver wannabes on the road; the same load of senseless blabber they call "work" at the office; the sun rises and sets, the moon gets from fat to sexy slim and simply disappears before peeking out again into the same cycle, the rain, the snow, the wind... Everything appears to be constant, but in fact, they never are. Things which should change, like the world economy, is not giving. People and feelings, which we wish would freeze in time, drifts through our fingers, sometimes faster than sand in the hourglass.

We are just another fragment of this rhythm. How could we escape the same fate?

We meet, we fall in love, our heart beats like butterfly wings when we think of the other. We go through an entire day sipping water and still appear to be glowing; we have difficulty catching our breathes, much less have sushi for lunch. We want to hold hands, hold them tight, and never ever let go. We want to capture that first kiss, and keep it in an air tight time capsule. We replay over and over the first time we hear "I think I'm falling for you...", "I love you...", "You are the woman I want to marry...".

Is the honeymoon period really only a period? A period could mean "a point in time", "a chapter" or even "the end". Instead of seeing the relationship in terms of honeymoon and post-honeymoon period, maybe it is more like steps on the stairs where we start from the bottom and heads up. Up is always good isn't it? Better still if the stairs is endless? If honeymoon is really a period and happens in the beginning of the relationship, then we are required to graduate from that in order to move on to the next stage. And if the current stage sucks, maybe because it takes longer to learn some things, and we need to go through it repeatedly in order to get it right, before we can move on to yet a higher stage.

Also, who's to dictate how long honeymoon lasts, or if there can only be one honeymoon? If life is a graph which dips down and accelerates skywards over time, relationships could be same. The saying "if you don't experience unhappiness, how then would you appreciate the happy times?" is more true than we want to admit. But if we see happy times as periods not for looking back, but to be created and lived in, again and again, doesn't that make it easier to get past the gloomier days?

Each step up the stairs help us see ourselves, and each other, in a different light. But maybe, as long as we are taking the same step together, and heading up the same stairs, we will never get lost, or lose each other. But if we are on parallel stairs, different steps, or heading a different direction, can we find a common ground, a puffy cloud perhaps, to identify which stars we've been following?

Love is never easy. We struggle for love, to keep love, to be loved. Everything about us changes everyday, from our looks to how we feel. Nothing ever stays the same. But lets try to believe that it is possible to find love, to hold on to love, and, yes, to fall in love with the same man, again and again.

Finally, to quote my own FB status of the day: (Girl) ... know what you want, and never compromise your right for happiness... never apologise for being who you are, and don't let anyone tell you who and how you should be... Just be YOU! And be loved for being YOU!

Writer Wannabe

I'm beginning to wonder if my writing juices can be triggered by certain substances. Oh, I don't mean drugs! Erm, not the illegal ones, anyway.

My fever went up to almost 102 yesterday, and the (right) meds came not one moment too late. I spent the afternoon between sweats and chills, lying on my back, my stomach, my side and on the floor. And at the very end of the (very lonely) battle, I have all these words running around in my head - and they actually made sense! Without bothering with a laptop, I took out my pen and journal and started writing. And this was what I wrote:

If I were ever to go for a job interview to be a writer, this is probably how I'm going to sound.

I discourage cliches. But I don't think I've met all of them to know which one to avoid. Hence it is inevitable to hook up with one cliche or another occasionally, especially when they do succesfully get the message across, most of the time.

I love to write. Now, that must be cliche number one! Anyone can write. Have you noticed the amount of unknown, writers wannabe on the shelves, just waiting to be discovered? Many usually end up at your local "Read-More-For-Less".

Yet, here I am, trying to write. And hoping to be the different one. Hope - well, sometimes that's what you need. That, plus some instinct, lots of perseverance - oh, and a good spell checker!

The English language is - humongous. Not in the sense of the amount of words, but in its flexibility which will never cease to amaze. An Irish, a Japanese and an English writer can all be using the same language, yet it would turn out so differently. English can be a language in itself, and at the same time a translator of many worlds.

I used to wonder why only young writers below the age of 25, and "more experienced" ones over 40 get published. But it does make sense. When you are young, you take the world in like a sponge to water (cliche number two). It is like an explosion of flavors, right there in front of you. Some fall straight into it, while others observe from the edge. After all that, if you can re-emerge and translate what you have seen in such a short period of time into words which makes sense and that people want to read, then, I guess we got us a writer! And when you are 40, the colors of the world aren't so blinding anymore. You have experienced the rush, and now, you can slowly take them apart, explore each pulsing point and tell the story of each and every flavor.

So what happens to the other writers stuck in between? They wait, I guess. But while they wait, they are collecting all the possibilities and experimenting in their own little world. Their day will come. It's just a matter of time.

The Day Of Loves And UnLoves

There's is something about the coolness of the morning air, which can never be duplicated, not even with the quietest, state of the art air conditioner. If only it could last just a little longer, if only the sun wouldn't come up too quickly. But then again, what was it that they say? Something about not noticing and not appreciating the beauty, if it is there all the time. They could be right, and wrong, at the same time.

It's a Thursday morning, and I'm watching Restaurant Makeover on AFC. Verdict: Special! Even if I'm not really paying too much attention at what they are cooking up. It's a Thursday morning, and I'm on an MC, 2nd day in a row. Verdict: 50-50 - the being sick part sucks.

What sucked even more was waking up to find myself curling up in a ball under the quilt, shivering with my fists clenched up till the hurt. Took me half an hour just to move out of bed to pull on a jacket and yoga pants, and another half hour to get downstairs for some water. Verdict: Sucks big time! Oh, one more thing - ever heard of Wing Hing brand Paracetamol? I haven't. And developed an allergic reaction to it. What the f**K?! It's only Paracetamol, doc, you can't afford a proper brand? Ever heard of Panadol??

But I'm not here to whine this morning. Not entirely. Because there are things to love about my day, and my life too. Just like the beautiful, cool morning air - even if it could be fleeting.

I'm currently reading Jodi Picoult's "My Sister's Keeper". I've not read her before, thou I've seen her more than often on the shelves, a little too often actually, which sort of caused the hesitation. Anyway, I can't say I'm totally in love with her just yet, because I'm not a big fan of reading about medical and law, but she does deserve her share of credits. I'm almost near the end of the book now, thanks to the fever keeping me up till almost 4 in the morning. There's this phrase which shook me a little - you know how it is, when you come across some words which you can totally relate to, something that touches you.

"You don't love someone because they are perfect,"... "You love them in spite of the fact that they are not."

I think that about sums up what love is all about. Yet, so many out there (including myself, at times) are constantly thinking about "the perfect one". Who and What is "Perfect"? We are not, so why are we expecting our partners to be? And when you think about the other side of the story, to be loved even when you are not perfect - not That, is Perfect. Verdict: Love it!

Lastly (or maybe not), it was Aunty J's birthday yesterday. We've been gearing up for the big day this whole week - if you check out my FB, you'd see us having started the celebration since Monday. The plan for last night was to get dressed up, head off to Gardens @ MV, and step into any restaurant that strike our fancy. I had cold sweat pouring over me while I sat on a Mammut stool, shampooing my hair. I had sweat mixed in with my foundation when I tried to do my make up. But at least I was still only 5 minutes late to pick up the birthday girl and our bodyguard of the night.

At Gardens, we settled of Alexis - and ordered bubblies! Chink-chink! Yummmm! However, very soon, we were not the only chic ones there anymore. It is MV Fashion Week, darling, and by 9pm, we were surrounded by Datins who look like they are in their mid 30s - ordering champgne just like ours, models sipping martinis and watermelon juice and looking like they are 30, but are probably only 19. Then there are the Upper-East-siders of KL, air kissing everyone in sight - but they skipped our table, trying to hide the confusion, because we were smacked right in the middle of their party! Haha - too bad! Verdict: 80% Fun! (the 20% goes to the fact that I was too sick to stay for the 2nd bottle)

Lastly - really now, 'cos I'm sneezing like mad and need to rest. I'm watching The Ellen Degeneres Show, and I wish I could be like her: wake up in the morning, get to work, and make people happy. How nice is that?

Ok... Sick babe, signing off.

Don't Push

I didn't realise I'm a pushover, not in so many words, but - hm, I guess I might just have to face the facts.

I was talking to B on the phone and he was giving me one of his lectures. I deserved it - totally, so I didn't even try to argue back. I won't go into details, but the bottom line was that I've allowed people to walk over me. We were talking about work, but the theory could have been applied to many other things - family, relationships, friends, people.

Sigh ~ they have a name for people like me, don't they? Please don't say it. That is one thought I do not need to hear out loud.

Being nice is one thing. Being taken advantage of being niceness, well, that's not nice anymore, is it? How come I've never learned how to protect or defend myself in that way?

I'm not saying that I won't stand up for myself when necessary; I am just not so obvious is that way. I always attempt to be peaceful, to be reasonable and understanding, to see from the other person's point of view... But when that becomes the norm, its like a part of me already, and I forget that I need to look out for myself too - because most people won't.

But I have never been the type to start an argument, or get defensive at the drop of hat. And I won't start now. There has to be a "middle way", a balance? Not to pick a fight, yet not get trampled all over and go crying to B or whoever else who bothers to care at the point of time. What's the use of fighting when the fight is over?

Don't push me - that's all I would say, for now - 'cos when push comes to shove, I might just walk away and not turn back, and it will be too late. That's my way of protecting myself. Might not be the best way, but if I'm squeezed dry of niceness, what else do you think you'd find?

Write Me A Picture

I was at Bangsar this evening, sipping Caprioska and taking in the entire vibe of the day, when I found myself wishing I had my camera with me. And then I stopped myself. Almost everyone is snapping away every minute of the day, recording everything from the shoes they wear to the food the eat to the shops they went, and of course, the ever popular party pics - they are everywhere!

Anyone could do a picture documentary of their day, their life, all thanks to camera phones, wifi, FB and the works. But it is not photography. And I reminded myself not to fall into the trap. Don't get me wrong. I mean, it is amazing to be able to capture the moment and post in on FB, tag all our friends and everyone gets to share and be updated on what you've been up to. Nothing this sophisticated or convenient was possible, even 5 years ago. However, despite the saying that a picture is worth a thousand words, sometimes, words are still the more powerful tool when it comes to documenting a moment, or making sense of a situation. In fact, captured at the wrong time, just a second too early or too late, a picture could very well end up sending the wrong message!

Not being able to capture the scene with a camera also helps train the mind to remember more, to take in further details and store it for later use, because there is nothing else to rely on. And so, I found myself mentally recording the way the birdcage-shaped lighting hang artfully from the white branches across the ceiling, the light jazz playing in the background layered with the tinkering of cutleries, glasses and dishes, the buzz behind the cake counter, and the ridiculously young and casually chic crowd who were enjoying late afternoon tea while inhaling their Malboros and Dunhills.

Now, how's that for a picture?