Interesting Perspective :)

Jon Stewart on Lebanon Coverage

Must Say Good-bye (iL Mare)

(Read this before viewing the MTV on the right...)

Release me, I know the only way
To reach me, that is the way that it should be
So free me from all your memories
I know we must say goodbye
We must say goodbye

If you belong in this world
Then I know we’ll take the step to every road
Now alone, I realize you’re far ahead
Without knowing you were there still in my heart
I know we must say goodbye
We must say goodbye

Can’t we belong in this world
Then I’m sure you’d take me to your every road
Just one thin, not realizing you were there
Without knowing you were there still in your heart
I know we must say goodbye
We must say goodbye

I know we must say goodbye
Must we say goodbye

Bad news...

My grandma (my mom’s mom that is) just passed away this afternoon from multiple organ failure and heart collapse. Still in the stage of shock/ disbelief actually, even though I’m not close to her at all. I visit her at most three times a year (once in CNY, another during her annual birthday dinner and every once in a blue moon in the hospital). I feel sad… not sad for myself but for her. ‘Coz she died in pain with all those tubes around her, on a hospital bed with most of the grandkids not around to accompany her through her last breath (including me).

She was admitted to the hospital on previous Sunday actually and Uncle Richard informed us only on Thursday night – when he felt that her condition was critical and just needed her to see all of us at least one last time. I don’t blame him actually. Rather, I find it very hard to stomach on how much pain and financial burden he had to take into his own hands all these while. It was only yesterday (Sunday) that I finally managed to go see her. And it was only then that we knew (only Uncle Richard and my other two aunties knew of it) that gramz had liver cancer before. And that her heart condition had deteriorated greatly over the past few months.

The last time I saw her was during CNY in Feb. She was still looking plump with her bountiful curly hair and usual make-up. But when I saw her on Sunday, I was stumped. That wasn’t the same gramz I knew all this while. Though they told me that her liver, heart and kidney weren’t functioning properly just before I entered the ward, it still didn’t prepare me for what I saw. She was all bones and skinner than me. Her right hand was swollen from multiple injections. Her left arm was covered with bruises and lumps because of the ongoing blood tests and etc over the past few days. Her once bountiful hair was gone. All that was left was scattered lumps of what looked like burnt weed patches. Her face was so withdrawn, haggard and gaunt that I couldn’t believe that she’s gramz. She hadn’t eaten any food or drank a sip of water for three full days. The doctors didn’t allow it coz her organs aren’t functioning properly enough to support the necessary digestive process and she still needed to undergo other tests as well.

Tubes were all round and inside of her. She had one to help her breathe, another to check her heart, another for her kidney and another for her liver. She constantly coughed to get her phlegm out, but to no avail. Her eyes looked so distant that I couldn’t figure out if she was depressed, resigned or… I guess I’ll never know.

My brother messaged me around 12 noon today to say that she’s in critical condition and could not last much longer. By the time I settled my stuff and about to rush to the hospital (about half hour), I received another message – she’s gone. For a while, I felt lost as I sat at my desk and try to come to terms with the news. In my heart, I knew she couldn’t last through these few days… but it still hit me quite hard to learn that it’s true.

I had messaged my boss slightly earlier to say that I was leaving for the hospital. When he saw me around after his lunch break, he asked if I was ok. I couldn’t help it. I just started weeping. After a while, via MSN, he said to me that if there’s anything, he can always spare some time to talk with me. Then I told him that it was ok, just that my gramz just passed away. The next thing he did was to chase me home. It took another 3 hours or so to clear my stuff (though he insisted that I just leave it and pass them on to others) before I head home, ate my lunch (around 5 plus), changed my clothes and head down to the wake.

My distant cousins were there. None of them cried then. I guessed everyone’s holding back. We cracked stupid jokes, talked about cats and mobile phones. For your information, I was hardly close to them either. The most that I spoke to them was like 10 sentences each per year??? I don’t even know their names and I always mixed up how to address my uncles and aunties. None of us spoke about what happened. We just concentrated on other stuff.

My mom’s still holding back I think. She didn’t shed a tear. Sometimes I wished I could be like my mom. I’ve only seen her cry twice in my lifetime. Whereas I cry easily (even if it was meant to be sarcastic joke or when I’m just plain annoyed with something or someone). I don’t know how it’ll be during the procession on Friday morning to the crematorium… I hadn’t looked into the coffin yet… I don’t think I can bear it. But I hope that I won’t turn into a tear generating machine on Friday. I’m already weeping as I’m typing this, so let’s see what’s gonna happen.

I felt even worse when I studied my parents at the wake… that instant, they seemed to have aged so much without me noticing. My mom’s hair’s turning white/grey and my father had lost quite a bit of hair. It just brought me back to reality somehow. Someday we’re all gonna die, whether you like it or not. I just hope that mine would be a peaceful affair with my loved ones around, and not on a cold hospital bed with tubes around me.

ikan bilis frustrated!

Si bei xian!!! If you happen to have my MSN add, you’ll see that I’ve termed myself as ikan b!lis. And guess what? The full sentence structure speaks for itself: ikan b!lis FRUSTRATED...surrounded by irritating people - take me to another island.

Honestly speaking, I’ve been asking myself this one too many times. Am I ikan billis or a pink-back dolphin? Both are sea creatures and both contribute to the larger part of the ecosystem. But hey! Don’t you think that it’s the pink-back dolphins that get a hell lot more publicity and recognition than ikan bilis? Let me clear this. Did you ever see pink-back dolphins been fried in the pan or steamed in the pot? No. On the contrary, ikan bilis is one of the key contributors to giving you calcium and etc… coz you eat it. You see them in dishes almost anywhere and anytime. Preserved. Steamed. Roasted. You name it.

With all these hurdles and tortures in place, shouldn’t ikan bilis deserve the same honor or place as the dolphin? Same theory. Think of yourself as someone who worked really hard. You get praised. You get shit. You get praised again. This is called “a way to humor your ego”. The credit doesn’t goes to you. You look smart when all else around you doesn’t know what the heck goes on. You look stupid in the next instant after people get what they want from you and claim your credit.

It’s damn right frustrating.

For instance, I’d some arguments with regards to work the other day. And yesterday, that same person came around asking if anyone in the team knows of a campaign. She purposely asked everyone but me, And when someone in my team suggested that she should check with me instead, she exclaimed very loudly “BUT SHE DOESN’T KNOW ANYTHING!!!”

She’s damn right that I know nothing of the campaign cause none of us were working on it. Those who were are all away. BUT, that particular statement and the way she’d said it is damn right demeaning and very much uncalled for. But being the busy person that I was, I just simply replied, “well, only xxx and xxx knows about this campaign” and continued with my work. If that’s going to happen another time, I’m gonna take it up with her.

So as you can see. Ikan bilis conribute to your well-being in many ways. Yet, they get tortured like nobody’s business. They’ll praise it (think: “isn’t this dish nice”) and then they’ll flush you out of their system (think: “Dear.. I think you better pick that ugly ikan bit out of your teeth”). Get what I mean?

Then again… Perhaps I should think of it like a sanitary napkin. You search high and low for it when you need it. You heave a sigh of relief when you find it. Discard it when you’re done with it. Makes sense ya?

Splendid Food & Amuro Namie

I'm mad to actually arrange 2 eating sessions in the same day. I'd buffet at Raffles Hotel (courtesy of Cheryl :P) and 3 hours later, I'm back around Bugis area for Chef Chan's Restaurant. Not that I really meant to plan it that way. It's just that Cheryl's leaving her job soon and it was pretty much like the very last time she could get us some discounts. While dinner-wise, it's my mom's birthday. So there's no escape.

So you can imagine how full I am from eating two courses (buffet from 11.30am - 3pm, and dinner from 7-8.30pm). In any which case, I guess it's a good sign for people around me. At least I'm eating more than usual.

I shall harp more on my buffet trip at Raffles hotel. I mean come on, how many of us actually do frequent that place? First of all, it's like really expensive and it's no place for a semi-ah-lian like me. So it was really fun to be there especially with the PSP girl gang. Though it can be quite intimidating/ awkward at first as the service was really good (so is the food). So it was actually quite 'scary' in a way to know that the attendents are watching your every move and moving in to give you a fork, spoon or etc when you need it but didn't ask for it. :)

Okay. Now I'll jump over to my recent craze over Amuro Namie. She's so pretty and stylo-milo ya know~ Few mothers can actually look as good as her. So she's kinda my role model when I go into motherhood. :) But unfortunately, this means that I've to start changing my wardrobe soon to get some practice on it. Hmmm... how?

Tormented Mind?

It’s weird. I’m starting to get this phobia on the things around me. For instance when I’m in a double-decker bus, I began to wonder if it would fall flat on its side as it makes a turn around the corner. I wonder if my house (HDB flat) could hold the weight of my family’s belongings. Mind you, my dad’s got a lot of wire coils, spare generator and other spare parts. And that’s a just my dad’s belonging. There’s still my brother’s heavy photography equipment, my mom’s cabinet full of cook books (which she never uses).

I wonder about a lot of other things. I wonder if the wire pulling up the lift would just snap while I’m still in it, and send me plummeting to the ground. I wonder if I’ll ever live past 40years (in good health, of course). I wonder if I’ll get senile as I grow older. I wonder if I’ll ever get hit by something on my way out to somewhere to meet someone. That’s scary. Innocent people can even get struck by lightning while they’re walking towards the MRT station. Then what’s my probability of striking the jackpot, in the wrong way?

I’m petrified by my own shadows many times before on the starry, starry nights after watching a horror film, reading a creepy tale or remembering past haunting stories being told to me. I’m traumatized by the thought that sometime near or in years ahead, something from my past would come back to haunt me.

There’s a lot of what ifs in this world. And especially more so in my confined mental world. What’s the next step? Where’s that next turn that can lead me to the exit and into a utopia that I can claim as mine?

Perhaps I’ve yet to find a balanced state of mind. Perhaps I’ve yet to find someone that’s strong enough to handle my thoughts. Perhaps. Perhaps. Perhaps.

But then again, what’s the probability of you finding one?

My Dad...

I don't know what got into me. Suddenly just remembered something about my dad. When I was just a little girl (say around lower primary or pre-primary), I used to bug him to tell me bedtime stories (since my mom doesn't know a word of English). Not that I really want to listen to those stories (I could read the book myself), but somehow I just figured that that was something in which most parents do - tell their kids bedtime stories. Well, at least that was what I'd gathered from TV shows.

I threw tantrums. I cried. I did everything I could as a little kid, trying to get things my way. But he didn't tell me a single bedtime story until one night (just after my operations), I refused to sleep and tail him to every corner of the house, wherever he goes, did he finally relent.

I remembered clearly that he was stammering and at times, murmuring as he read along those lines. After reading a short paragraph of the fairy tale, he stopped and refused to continue any further. I tried pestering him for more but to no avail. Somewhat contented, I fell asleep.

More than a decade down the road (just recently in fact) did I only realise this - it wasn't that he didn't want to read to me, but it was because he couldn't. He held a secondary cert and have limited knowledge about English. He wanted very much to do it, but he held back... To be honest, I was suddenly very touched when it finally dawned on me.

Recently, my neighbor's baby girl (anout 8-month old) has been coming over to my place to play everyday. I saw how my parents (especially my dad) played with her and enjoying themselves when the baby smiles/laughs. It made me wonder what it was like when I was a baby that age. Were they doing the same thing them? Did they enjoy my company too? I guess they were. And I guess like almost any otehr parents, I'm somewhat still a baby girl in their hearts.

Oh man... this is tear-jerking (at least for me).