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).

Sick sick sick

Oh Dear!!! It's been ages since I was this sick. Had terrible case of food poisoning. Started feeling nauseous since 8pm plus. The trauma (i.e.: vomitting, diahorrea & fever) started since 10pm plus and lasted till 7am odd. It forced me to wake up every alternate hours to visit the toilet and the basin. Damn. It's disgusting.

Well, I thought I would be strong enough to last through the morning where I could visit the clinic, but i was so wrong. 5am plus was my ultimate and I thought I could just faint from the lack of sleep, exhaustion and the empty stomach. Had to wake my brother up from his sleep to send me to Mount Alvernia. Ended up with one bag of medicine (as in there were more than 6 types of medicine which I had to take).

I don't know how I managed to control it, but the moment I stepped out of the lift, I just threw up into the platic bag I brought with me. It was around 7am when it happened. Guessed I kinda scared those kids on their way down to school.

Took the medicine and I ended up throwing up again in less than 5mins. Damn.. couldn't sleep well in the morning too. 'Cause I was waiting for my colleagues to vall (for my work handover) and the neighbor's baby was in my house, playing and squelling). So I ended up sleeping around 12 noon instead after a night of trauma. And oh! I couldn't even take a single sip of water or the whole action starts again.

Enough of this throwing up stuff. Am still feeling weak (haven't been able to take a normal meal yet) and slight diahorrea still on the way. Nevertheless, am pretty uneasy about what's going on at work. Something seems to be missing or out of place for this time. Guess I mite just make a trip to the office tml.

Damn. It feels so sick to be this sick.

Shorts I

Many nights, I lay in my bed, tossing and turning, clumbering in my dreams, trying to find answers to other people's matters and matters of my own. When did this first begin? How did this begin? Why did this begin? One of the many questions with no answers.

Each morning, I wake up to find myself repeating the same old procedures; dragging myself out of bed, brushing my teeth,get on the public transport and squeezing in amongst the many people, igniting the sardine can symptom. Is this the existance of the Matrix?

I fear no. Many nights as I looked upon the sky, or stumble upon situations with a sense of deja vue, I began to wonder... what if there's another me? Another me who has been there, done that? Another me, somewhere in the twightlight zone, waiting to be saved. To be saved? From what? From who? From where?

I.