Simple pleasures

It's day 14 back in Canadialand. Yes, I'm still counting the days to remind myself of lessons learned.

I draw pleasure from simple mundane things these days, like Popeyes fried chicken for example.

In my two-and-half months' stint as a jhr intern in Ghana, I only ate meat once. (Well, I might have unknowingly ingested bits of meat on several occasions, but I only knowingly ate meat on one occasion and it was halal.) Consequently, I not only craved meat in general but I also longed for the greasy, MSG-laden crispiness of Popeyes fried chicken. So when Abah suggested we break our fast at the only Popeyes outlet in Brantford, my head automatically bobbed up and down in agreement.

Now, fast-food-chain fried chicken is hardly our typical Ramadan feast. But then again, I’ve been lucky enough to see happiness in people who have a lot less than I do (to say that they have nothing at all would be a gross exaggeration, if not a sign of ignorance). I’ve seen people carry heavier loads, walk farther distances and endure hotter suns in a day than I have had to endure in my entire life. I find it a little bit harder to complain about things now. Too bad I had to go on a $5000-internship half-way across the globe to learn this but I suppose every lesson has a price.

As I write this, I can’t help but see how inconsequential this seems. But then I remember feeling absolutely contented on the drive home from Popeyes; the most important people in my life are alive and well, I’m doing what I love most in life, my belly is full and I have a home to go back to. My happiness is the sum of little inconsequential parts and I’m thankful that I have the capacity to recognize them. I hope I stay this way.

The sun made a beautiful display of receding elegently behind the funeral home across from Popeyes as we were leaving. The day couldn't have had a better ending.

How do you break up with a friend?

Or, even more challenging, how do you break up with a friend and still be on good terms with him or her?

First of all, is that even possible?

In a romantic relationship, both parties mutually enter with a commitment, either explicit or otherwise. A friendship, on the other hand, supposedly comes about organically through casual encounters and shared interests. There is no official point of entry into a friendship; it therefore stands to reason that there can be no easy point of exit either.

What if, after several casual encounters, one party in a friendship finds that the mutual interest that the parties share were merely superficial; they were not substantial enough to sustain the friendship over the long run.

Brief, temporary friendships naturally dissipate over time when both parties feel that they no longer have much in common. However, when one party still feels that the friendship can and should go on, things get complicated.

Hence, my current dilemma.

I have a friend who is determined to keep the fire burning, so to speak. I, on the other hand, would rather staple my tongue to the floor than go out to the movies with her one more time.

The reason I feel this way is due to her personal attributes but I will not discuss them here. Let's just say that our personalities are not compatible. How do I explain that to her?

Even in the best possible scenario imaginable, she will take it as a personal rejection. Worst, she will be plagued by the fact that some of her attributes are unfavourable. Not just to me but to other people as well. That is a tragedy I am not willing to inflict upon her. There is no kind way to explain that we are simply not compatible and that those attributes I find unfavourable might in fact be attractive to other people. Simply put, I should just say, "It's not you, it's me."

However, given the way that statement has been used in the history of breakups, I know it will only bring more harm than good.

So the conundrum lingers. In the meantime, I have a trip to the cinema to weasel out of.

Papercuts

I've come to realize that the number of paper cuts one receives is proportionate to one's age.

The older one gets, the more responsibilities one shoulders, the more paperwork one produces to manage those responsibilities, the more paper cuts one receives in sorting out those paperwork.

Oh, joy.

Nothing works better as a wake-up call to adulthood than a financial crisis; or the absence of parental-financial support.

Welcome, Ain Zahara

The past week's hectic schedule, the result of Mama's absence, has been tantamount to this. After hours in labor, Kak Nani finally delivered our little first flower safe and healthy.

Welcome home, little Zahara.

I look forward to meeting you in person.




Love, from afar,



Kala Lin.

Old habits die hard.
Bad habits die harder.
Bad instincts die hardest.

Now all of you be-have

My self-righteous alter-ego has made another escape and thus threatened to jeopardize another one of my already-fragile friendships. My fun-mister self was out chatting with a friend about his latest excursion into the Malaysian wilderness. Offhandedly he mentioned some hanky-panky he'd gotten into. It was a harmless escapade and my fun-mister-self fully understood the reason for this revelation. My dear friend had simply wanted to share a personal anecdote and perhaps take a little pride in his fecklessness. Without realizing it, my inner-school teacher came out and was fast typing at the keyboard, literally wagging a finger, shaking my head and going "Tsk, tsk, shame on you!" I couldn't believe it. She'd jumped out of nowhere and I was helpless tugging at her sleeves begging her to stop. She finally ceased her chastisement when my friend announced that he had some urgent business to attend to. I know full well that it was code for 'That's it, I've had enough of you!". By then I knew it was too late to smooth things over and make amends. The school teacher was gone and in her place was little Miss Nice trying to think up an apology. If only I could hold myself together better - ALL of my selves.

Oh very young one

She trudged up the driveway with her little purple sled and contemplated the two-feet-thick snow. I watched in amusement as she tentatively stepped onto the snow and sank all the way to her waist. Some of the boys were already sliding down the hillside. Their ecstatic whooping propelled her to take another step further and she sank deeper into the snow.

"Rabiah, do you need a hand?" I asked, not exactly sure how I'd be able to help if she'd said yes.

She half turned her head and the pink hood covered her face. She had to turned her whole body around in order to address me. "No, it's ok," she replied. She looked down at her feet. "Yeah, it's ok," she repeated, I thought, more to herself than to me. Her head shook an assertive 'no', her eyebrows knitted in worry but her rosebud lips mouthed the words so emphatically I momentarily forgot she was only four years old.

"Are you sure?" I repeated. She came back with a firmer nod but with a hint of the same worried expression. I looked over at my brother. He laughed and gave a helpless shrug of his shoulders. Alright, let the girl be her own guinea pig.

I decided to hold my camera at the ready and followed at a safe distance. Inevitably I did have to pluck her out of the snow and carry her purple sled, which she soon forgot in her struggle and her haste to catch up with the boys.

Watching her advance towards the slopes, my face was frozen in a smile. What a perfect picture - the girl in her pink get-up, the purple sled, the clean white snow and the crisp air. Her cuteness, her innocence and her infinite confidence to venture fearlessly into the (relative) unknown unassisted filled me with something near-celestial. Was it happiness? Pure, pristine pleasure? Exhilaration? A state of transcendence? I couldn't be sure but if the scene replayed itself a million times over, I was certain I'd never tire of it.

I couldn't put a finger on what aspect of this picture that was putting me in a state of a natural high. The pleasure was so tangible I could almost taste it on my tongue. I did, however, discover a child's God-given shield against the malice of the world - their cuteness. At that moment I couldn't imagine anyone in their right mind who would harm a child. Such conviction amidst the fear. Such confidence despite the anxiety. And the prettiest face to go with all that.

Question to self

Is active blogging a sign of a social life in dire straits?

Rejection is...

...a hard pill to swallow.

Farther Apart, Closer at Heart

My family, immediate and extended, are going through a growth spurt. There was a pacific lull while all my cousins, including myself, were busy with school, varsity and then onto the shores of the Malaysian workforce. Then all of a sudden, within a few months of each other, they started getting married, one after another. Then, of course, the married ones began to actively procreate, my sister included, myself excluded. The pattern of reproductivity was so strong and contiguous that it almost seemed like an epidemic. When one of my cousins, the first one hitched, gave birth to a baby boy I could almost see the entire clan physically leap into a new phase - a phase where motherhood is a norm and organizing another wedding is simply a matter of repeating the previous one with minor adjustments here and there. We keep in touch through emailed baby pictures and the usual 'Oohs' and 'Aahs' over cute baby feet and adorable baby tooth-less gums. It was while we were drooling over baby-drool that I realized I have had very little to do with this new addition of the family other than to gaze at his photos. In other words, we're strangers to one another. This realization stood in contrast to the fact that my cousins and I practically grew up together. Suddenly there are these tiny little indivuduals appearing in this little circle that I've grown accustomed to. Now my sister's about to have one of her own. Since we're thousands of miles away, any relationship I would have with the baby will be through pictures. Here is a person who came from the same gene pool as I did and we're going to be total strangers. Now that is something I find to be quite strange.

too-owh-owh-eyt

So what has the waited-all-year-for 08 brought us thus far?

life on the hobo line

Here's another mundane detail about my life which is inevitably going to be the bane of my piece of mind today since this is MY life I'm talking about and I happen to be THE star at center of the center of it.

I have been living in temporary mode since 1999.

I came upon that conclusion after glancing around my room trying to decide on what to pack for the upcoming trip.

Everything I saw aged an average of two years. Even my clothes, which normally consist of very old but very much favored items, are now almost completely new. My collection of parios (gifts from friends) are gone. They've been neatly packed away in boxes with my little pieces of trinkets and memorabilias and stored away in some storage facility. My bedside table is empty of my favourite books (also now boxed and stored) which I used to have just to look at.

Since 1999 I have been living with easily disposable, easily replaceable items, constantly ready to make another move.

We left our family home in 1999 and moved to the big city. There was constantly the possibility of moving again. I went to varsity in 2001 and lived temporarily in the college dorms, the design studio and later at a rented apartment. I failed to get into the degree program in 2004 and so I was temporarily at home while applying for vasities overseas. QUT accepted me in 2005 and I inhabited Brisbane temporarily for two years. Now I'm back for my practicum and I'm temporarily staying with my sister. There's a possibility of me moving in with my parents but that's still uncertain. I'm due to move back to Brisbane for a year, after which my next nesting place is as predictable as the weather.

Perhaps I should simply give up trying to grow roots.

Life 101

'Never lie.'

'Why?'

'Because once you lie, they'll tag you as a liar. And they won't hesitate to paint everything you say with that same brush. Never, ever lie.'

'I see.'

Escapism

It used to be that whenever I felt depressed or pressured, I'd be visited by a mental image of myself puffing on a ciggarette, cheeks hollowed as I inhaled the nicotine-saturated fumes, eyes haloed by dark circles and fingers tar-stained yellow. Lately it's a different image. I'm running along a quiet street, the air is chilled and a lone car passes by. The trees that line the street are tall and swaying leafless, almost ready for winter. Sometimes I'd be crying, other times my eyes are shut against whatever it was that's depressing me.

'Lin, those drawings need to be ready by noon.'

Run.

The computer threatens to shut down for the tenth time.

Run.

Dead-logged on the highway during rush hour.

Run.

'Everybody needs to be with somebody, you know...'

Run run run run run run....

Thy Pie Hole

Even more powerful than the ability to express oneself eloquently is the ability to keep mum when needed.

-painfully discovered through painful experience under excrutiatingly painful circumstances.

Shakespeare said...

Shakespeare said...

'...nothing is so common as the desire to be extraordinary.'

...hence the French guy who keeps scouring the world's skyscrapers.
...hence Erikah Badu and her oddly named offsprings.
...hence Gehry's Bilbao project.
...hence the stuffed crab and dead cactus on my desk.
...hence moir.

LRT

Random Ramblings #16

People getting into trains (in the motherland) never have the common sense to step aside and let other people get off before entering the carriage. I often have to squeeze my way through the barrage of sweaty bodies after a long day's work in order to get out. It doesn't help that the train door stays open for only a short period. They don't have the decency to queue in good discipline either. Either that or they're just plain dumb.

This Grief Is Private

Random rambling #13

This grief is private....do not enter.

Approaching midnite with the lights out and I still can't bring myself any closer to facing the facts/truth/ugly truth or whatever. How often do you do this - keep expecting something to be when it's plain and simple that that something will never be as you want it. And yet you keep hoping that it might for the simple reason that the facts/truth/ugly truth would hurt too much. In fact, it would hurt so much that the pain of carrying on this silly charade while getting disappointed each time seems puny. How often do you wish there was a fast-forward button that would help you skip any painful episode that will undoubtedly surface? How often do you wish that life could be just like in the movies where one can cut from crying in one scene to another where one is already walking in a park with an optimistic smile steadily making one's way towards recovery? How often do you wish that you could communicate every pathetic detail of your dilemma without having to utter a single word? How often do wish that you could just BLANK it all out? I do. All the time.

I'm home

home coming me / resuming homelife / my life is governed by the past

It took only two days at home to make me feel as if I hadn't been gone for the past two years.
It took Hakim's remarks on my obsession with the laundry to make me realize the above.
It took the drive home from the airport plus my dad's pep talk on getting a job a.s.a.p. to make me want to jump on the next plane headed for Brisbane (or anywhere else for that matter!).
It took exactly one week before I earned my first deadly serious glare from my dad. It took me half an hour to realize that he was giving me one. I take this as a positive sign that I'd been gone too long.

I'm still failing at going through one whole day without upsetting my mom (either intentionally or unintentionally. especially intentionally).
(while i was typing this, my dad came over to show me something which he'd just came over to show me about ten minutes ago. that was scary.)
I'm still failing at redirecting my continously-chewing-jaws to healthier dietary options besides left-over-kuih-raya and bananas. (neither one of which seem to be running out, mysteriously enough).
I am still failing in reducing the pile of junk I'd left behind two years ago. I usually manage to empty a box or two after hours of rumaging but I'm really just shuffling and redistributing them into different boxes. (I've considered dumping all the boxes since I've been able to survive the past two years without needing any of them but anyone who's ever owned anything in their lives would know that sentimentality makes that action virtually impossible so I might as well forget it).

I have, however, made it home safely, thanx be to God so, that makes everything look rosy from my end of the tunnel. life is sweet indeed.