A flash

That's how time went by here.

In a few hours I will be boarding a plane back to Melbourne. And I'm ambivalent...em-bee-va-lent. That's how I hear the word in my head.

I love being home-home. It's safe, old and warm. I never want to sleep when I'm back here. It's as if time is too precious to be WASTED on sleep. There are a million things to do with a million people. Like go for breakfast in Taman Desa with your girlfriends (Jean and Addie) and have a nasi lemak tambah sotong for RM 3.50. It's comfortable.

Elsewhere, life is a bit more uncertain. It's tougher, newer and colder. I don't know what to expect and I find myself having to think on my toes. And it's easier to mess-up but you learn that you can deal with the mess. And every experience teaches you something. Like shifting houses- packing, unpacking and adjusting. It's exciting.

I once had to answer this question on Jared's umm friend questionnaire.

"Comfort or excitement?"

Both at different times. That was my answer.


I guess it's time for some excitement, hey?

Love is in the air.

I am in the middle of preparations for my bro's wedding. It's happening this Saturday. Ahhh, weddings. The thought of them makes me dizzy with bliss.

Anyway, I found this in some file. It was a journal entry I had to write for my 'Families and Individuals in Society' class in college.

I re-read it and thought it was cute.

We were discussing what love and infatuation were. Here's what I came up with:

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In my personal opinion, infatuation and love are two very different things although in many cases, they are often mixed up. When it comes to mate selection, especially at this age of adolescence, I don't think I know what or maybe who I really want. My ideal Mr Man-of-my-dreams keeps altering the same way I want chocolate flavoured ice-cream one day and vanilla the next.

Having said that, yes I have been infatuated. I've had crushes that melted my stubborn heart and made me swoon at the thoughts of our hopefully fairytale future together. During this period, I cannot control the quickening of heart rate, the sweaty palms and the tell-tale smile that plasters itself all over my silly face. Just a glimpse of him, a thought, an sms, a friendly 'Hi'...and I'm well, high (pun unintended).

This I will call infatuation.

However, love is commitment. Love has staying power. It is enduring and pretty astonishing so that it bears both the tough and the mundane times. It is not just feeling good anymore but being good instead. It is saying I'll take the chocolate ice-cream today even though I prefer vanilla because I believe in the relationship. It's not so much what I can get out of the relationship as it is, what I can put in. It's when I may not have to like the person right now, but I do love him, and I will like him again...just later. It's when I can separate what he has done, from who he is and accept him for that.

This is a peek of what I think love is.

How will I know which is which? Why, that's the kazilion dollar question. In my opinion, love is action. Why? Because actions are activated by motives and because we can't know the true intent of another's heart (not unless I'm God which I'm not) I guess the next best thing to watch out for is action. Action not just in the first minutes of a relationship but over a period of time. For sure, stress will test this, lust will test this, misunderstandings will test this, people will test this, the world will test this, little things will test this and at the end of all these tests, if both are still faithful, then maybe, just maybe, that's love.

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I am looking forward to this Saturday...and beyond that.

Alice in wonderland.

So I had to come up with such a topic. Great. Finally got myself to churn something out.

Here goes:

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Hello, my name is Alice.

I can’t quite say whether or not it’s a pleasure to meet you. I can’t quite say anything at all. These are my thoughts and as far as I know, thoughts don’t make any audible sounds. Then again, I just met you and I assume that like the many others, you would prefer if I just shut up.

Every time I meet someone new, I have this urge to ask them what their story is. I wonder if it’s the same for you. Would you want to know my story?

To tell you the truth, I don’t even know how it began. It doesn’t seem to have a proper structure. No there isn’t a ‘once upon a time’ beginning, a build up that leads to the climax, or the dynamics a story should have.

It just is. As long as I can remember I have been living here. In the streets, in the dark in the stinking filth of the city.

Every day I wake up to the same smells, the same streets, the same life. Only the people change. Today it’s you, tomorrow it will be someone else.

You would think that doing the same thing for so long would allow me to adapt. For sure I have adapted. For sure I’ve grown numb adapting. Physically, there’s nothing anymore that really hurts me. But being numb is like death itself has come over you. And even though being numb really means you don’t feel anything, you still manage to feel empty.

Maybe you feel the same way. Maybe you’re here because you want to fill that emptiness and you think that a night with me will do the trick. Maybe you think that just because you have another body to be close to, to get into, to feel one with that you will feel fuller.

Trust me, honey, it never works. I see the men walk in here empty, and somehow they still manage to walk out with emptier souls and emptier pockets. I look at the way you hold me, almost grabbing me, almost suffocating me. You don’t understand do you? That all this isn’t real. As much as you are here, as much as I am here, that this is smoke. You won’t find what you are really looking for. You will leave without a second look. You will pay me and you will leave.

Then, I will clean up. I will have a shower, tidy the room, change the sheets. I do it without thinking anymore. It is my job. It’s how I live, no, survive, no not even that…it’s how I exist and keep existing. I don’t know life beyond this. I wish I did.

Oh look, my next client has swaggered in. I should attend to him.

Hello, my name is Alice. But as far as I know, this isn’t wonderland.

Fire

I've got 3 assignments due in the next week. I'm usually a frazzled nutcase.

But now the only thing I can think of is how much I want to do great things. My dreams overwhelm me and sometimes I feel too small to contain them. Sometimes, I think that the ingredients the Potter used in this clay is not enough. Who am I to question?

But I still want to DO something. Teach, write, speak, love, live, die...for the cause.

In the words of Britt Nicole, I want to set the world on fire.

Till it's burning bright for You.

Dear Jared

Well if it makes you feel any better. I'm quite sick. I've caught the cold, or really, it has caught me and if you were where I am right now, you would find me bundled up in 3 jumper like tops, trekkies, socks and with a mug of honey-lemon on my desk.

Like you, I'm not one who likes to admit to being sick. Until I cannot anymore. This is a major flaw my parents have always bugged me about. I definitely wasn't the toughest child in the sandpit. I was strong, but I wasn't the strongest.

I have always valued your honesty. And I have always valued your opinions. Except, sometimes I still dont know when you're serious or just a gummy bunny trying to be funny. Maybe I'll discover that slowly. It bugs me that you're holding something back but that's okay. There's always the next letter hey?

...

I find that I tend to be extremely honest in my letters. Something about writing them down to someone forces me to bare all which can be kind of scary.

I don't really know if I feel closest to God when I need him most or when life is dandy.

I guess for me, at least the time that I'm going through now, makes me realize that I need God all the time. It's not a when I'm weak thing... it's like I'm ALWAYS weak.

It's like I cannot get enough. I'm always wanting more... more of God in my life because that is a good thing.

Maybe in terms of your story on magic, I'm always desperate. I'm always wanting, needing magic. I'm just that sort of person.

That said, sometimes I hardly see the magic in my day. Somedays it takes me forever to think of something to be thankful for. Somedays, I think that I'm making the magic up or whatever.

But I keep wishing.

And hoping.

And praying.


Yours,

Kris

Pressure

Pressure

I am chucked into the water. It’s 27 degrees. Temperate. Mild. Bearable. Until it rises.

I notice the difference. I feel it-the heat creeping around me, lurking. It teases me and I cannot do anything about it. If only I had hands.

It taps me here and then there. It’s 70 degrees now. I start to worry. But my worry only adds to my affliction.

The temperature continues to escalate and the water is no longer still. A tiny bubble floats upwards. And then another. And then too many to count. I feel the heat in me now.

It is 100 degrees. And I persevere. It is no longer temperate or mild. And I’m not sure if I can bear it. I will soon find out.

One, two, three, ten minutes go by. I am still here. I emerge the winner. I haven’t cracked under the pressure. Instead, I am tougher still. I am harder, stronger on the inside.

Yet it puzzles me. That after all that pressure that I have taken, the heat I have endured, I am left to cool. Then I am taken out of the pot, cracked open and finally, they have me for breakfast.

Life’s a cruel joke.

--

A short one this time. Oh and I'm supposed to come up with the next topic yes? Okay well, I'm just being really random but here it is:

Alice in Wonderland

Knock yourselves out.

The Accident (finally)

The Accident

I overhear them talking in the kitchen. They are whispering. Quick, sharp utterances dart across the room as it often happens when adults talk about someone. It takes me a while but I soon figure out who this person is. They call him ‘an accident’.

I strain to listen, my body leaning as closely as possible but not too far out so that I remain hidden behind the door. I hear them describe the event in a manner that emphasizes their disgust for it. The love-sick teenage couple, the sinful act in the school’s cubicle, the missed period, the many missed periods and the bump that held the baby-the accident.

By now my body is aching, but my mind is racing. I compare this information to what I already know about him. He was the guy who won first place in his school’s spelling bee competition at 7, was elected ‘employee of the month’ when working at McDonald’s at 15, dated the most beautiful girl in university, went on to marry her, was voted ‘most likely to live past 100’ at his graduation, taught in several third world countries with his wife, screamed louder than his wife when his first child was born, was asked to leave the room for the second one, discovered a way to eat noodles with one chopstick (taught his kids this skill), is able to sing the alphabet backwards (is still teaching this his kids this skill), bakes the best chocolate chip muffins ever, tells the funniest stories and always always remembers our birthdays. This boy, who is now a man, has accomplished and is still accomplishing so much.

By now, I am sure as sure that their information pales in comparison to mine. Knowing about his history doesn’t change anything. I only feel sorry for the people who would label him, and because of that, fail to see what a great person he is.

I relax from my stiffened position and creep softly to the living room. There he is all 6 feet 2 inches of him reclining on the couch. If I can add another talent to his list of many, it would be his ability to sleep in any position, at any time. I see his bowl of half-eaten noodles on the table, and yes, just one side of the chopsticks in it. I remember when he first taught me how to do that and how patient he was when I didn’t get it.

Taking the bowl away, I lean close to him and give him a kiss on his cheek. He opens his eyes and smiles. “Thank you, Sweetheart,” he says before closing them again. “Anytime,” I reply. I am about to walk out when I pause at the door and look at him. His chest rises and falls as air enters and escapes through his half-open mouth. Other people may still see him as an accident, especially if they’ve heard his story, but for me, all I see, is a very sleepy Dad.