:: I'm all that ::

I’m at home, tapping on this lappy of mine with a very upsetting broadband connection. Obviously I’m not working today as I’m on medical leave. I got diarrhoea yesterday morning after Fajr. But I held on to my fast until the call of azan at 7.16 p.m. What I didn’t keep in mind was that, diarrhoea causes dehydration, insufficient fluids in the body and my ‘mistake’ was I kept on fasting. That caused me fatigue, low in energy, cold hands and feet, plus I felt like vomiting but nothing came out,I felt like I was having a massive wind in my tummy. It ended up me having fever. The doctor did ask why I went on with my puasa when I was losing so much mineral. And my answer was, I don’t know. Truthfully, I have been fasting since I can remember. I like fasting I suppose and fasting to me is like eating Ice Kacang. Starting with Rejab followed by Syaaban, I been fasting and this practice normally ends in Syawal. I too fast on occasional dates. I even fast when my lunchmate says that she’s gonna fast the next day. Its running in my vein I reckon. As I told Sir Pok Deng, its a hard habit to break. I think I’m paying the price for neglecting my health here.

So here I am, on my bed, contentedly watching YouTube. And I have tears on my eyes watching Connie Talbot a 6 year old toddler amazingly singing ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow’. She is toothlessly super cute. With mind-blowing talent. I gotta finish this. I’ll be back when I have something brilliant to talk about. I cant think of any at the mo.

:: It doesnt Interest Me ::

Aighty, this is not my piece of work I gotta be honest. I been keeping this for many years for some unknown reason. Okay lah, I been keeping this ciz its utterly beautiful, ya happy now?

The writer of this magnum opus was Oriah Mountain Dreamer (go ahead, google her out, you know you want to :P). This prose-poem was presented by my first year classmate Sharon back in Kent when we had our community outreach programme. Sharon told me that she heard this in a sermon from the very famous church in Canterbury.

Upon hearing this poem I was awe-struck. Ms. Dreamer wrote this back in 1994 after she went to a party, and after all the ritual questions were asked while mingling around, she came up with this masterpiece. Regardless where I got it from, what INTEREST me the most is the content of it. It is called 'The Invitation'. Enjoy your reading chickadees:


It doesn't interest me what you do for a living
I want to know what you ache for
and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.
It doesn't interest me how old you are
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool
for love
for your dream
for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon…
I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow
if you have been opened by life's betrayals
or have become shriveled and closed
from fear of further pain.
I want to know if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it
or fade it
or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy
mine or your own
if you can dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your
fingers and toes
without cautioning us to
be careful
be realistic
to remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me is true.
I want to know if you can disappoint another
to be true to yourself.
If you can bear the accusation of betrayal
and not betray your own soul.
If you can be faithless
and therefore trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see Beauty
even when it is not pretty
every day.

And if you can source your own life
from its presence.
I want to know if you can live with failure
yours and mine
and still stand on the edge of the lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon, "Yes."

It doesn't interest me
to know where you live or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up
after a night of grief and despair
weary and bruised to the bone
and do what needs to be done
to feed the children.

I doesn't interest me who you know
or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand
in the center of the fire
with me
and not shrink back.

It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom
you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you
from the inside
when all else falls away.
I want to know if you can be alone
with yourself
and if you truly like the company you keep
in the empty moments.

:: Completely Incomplete ::

It has been two weeks since my last post. I’ve been going back and forth between posting something or just fading into oblivion not-with-a-bang-but-with-a-whimper style. I’m not ready to quit this just yet. Conversely, I think it is safe to say that I’m only going to be posting sporadically from here on out.

Here is the honest-to-goodness truth. I alternate between contentment with my life, my career, my place and my independence and overwhelming sadness because I want more, because I’m lonely, because I’m worried that this is all there is. If I didn’t know better (and if I didn’t recognize that my problems are far from the serious trials of the mentally ill), I’d think I was bipolar. In all honesty, mine is just run-of-the-mill disappointment in myself and with my priorities. Life is tiring and I tend to walk around dragging self-loathing sadness and bitterness along with me. Pathetic innit?

This feeling is hardly unique. I had a “what if this is the best I ever do?” conversation with a good friend and former colleague I envy for her put-togetherness recently and she has the same basic fears over different things. And just when I think being lonely and depressed is all I’ll be able to muster, something amazing happens and I look up and realize that, hell, if this is as good as it gets – eating soup and sweets and drinking Apple Asam Boi and watching DVDs with Alyssa on a cold, cold night – then I’m damn lucky indeed.

During all of this going back and forth between contentment and disappointment, two big things happened: My best friend got married to a wonderful man last June and my other best friend’s husband was asking about me. (Ain’t gonna elaborate about this today).

A few nights before the wedding, I sat with her on my patio and she told me flat out – in a loving way – that I worked too much, that I don’t let people in and that I busy myself with so many other things that I’ll never slow down long enough to get into a relationship. If being in a relationship is what I want, she told me, something has gotta change about my lifestyle and priorities. I told her later that I wanted to get my life together and become someone who would be a suitable mate, and she then corrected me – I am a suitable mate already, I’m just not putting myself out there, she said. I know she was just being sweet. And that unconditional sweetness from someone who knows more of my flaws than anyone is why I love her and why she’s one of my best friends.

My point? I don’t blog often as I want to was because I don’t want to have an excuse or reason wallow in all of this anymore. I could see where I was headed and the intersection of 30 going on 31 and a busy holiday season should be a place where I seek joy and not where I gather each little anecdote into a larger story about how, yes, Malaysia, I’m still single.

And maybe I’m wallowing a little bit now, but that’s just for effect and explanation. The other night, instead of wallowing, I went shopping with few friends at two shopping malls and had maggi goreng for supper with a friend at 2 a.m. Instead stewing in my aloneness on Monday, I had an enjoyable intelligent discussion with him. I am proud of many of the things I’ve written here today, I’m sure to poke my head around to gush for another update.

Plenty of pretty things happen to us each day, why dont we grab hold of one for now?

:: August Rush ::

Driving today, I found myself wondering as the umpteenth jackass in the umpteenth pickups (who gush into smaller cars like no body's business) whether pickups aren't the most useless vehicle on the road. I'm sorry for those who's driving a pickup but don't you think that it's ridiculous for anyone else to own one?

A car is a device to transport people and things from point A to point B. I'm not going to argue that various types of cars can't have some aesthetic qualities, nor that we all need to drive boxy vehicles with multiple seats so as to accommodate the largest number of passengers per car. No, what I'm thinking is that the purpose of the pickup is to haul shit. That's it. The shit that requires a pickup to haul it is limited to, as I mentioned, very specialized purposes. Normal people don't need them. I am soooo disturbed by pickups today and every single day who purposely tail-gating and provoke me while I'm driving. They are like poking your ass like there's no tomorrow like they own the road and like they are the ones who's in rush and others don't. What pissed me off the most was that they don't carry anything at all. My message is that: Don't be such a farking road bully la… u think u big arhh? U think people scared izzit?? Grrrrr.........

:: Words I couldn't Say ::

Received a call from Trav at around 6.55 pm, a guy that I used to date 3 years back. He sounded crucially wanting to meet me. Told him I can only see him after 8.30 as I am fasting today and I need time to break fast.

I went to the nearest Petronas station where he had waited me there for about few minutes. Upon seeing my car, I saw him walked out of his car and I parked next to him, he got into my car and vaguely smiled at me. He looked so gloomy.

'So, what do you wanna see me about?' I asked skipping the ritual how-do-you-do.

’Did u cry when I decided to break up with you?’ Was his first sentence that put me to shock.

’Why did u ask?’ Me being myself, I would always answer question with question while my saliva rushing down my throat.

’I caught Lynden in bed with another guy’ He said, chokingly deep. I could barely hear him.

Moment of silent.

Wow!

He dumped me over Lynden and she happened to be one of my good friends. I wasn't in the country for 3 weeks when they started to get chummy. Not that I am angry, I WAS upset. I WAS. But not anymore, I got over him and yeah that was just it. When I returned from my 'sabbatical', Trav just called me up and told me blatantly that he’s no longer into me and that he and Lynden were right for each other and they sorta like reading the same page kinda... yada yada yada…

I hardly commented on anything just now, I just let Trav do the talking. Truthfully, I couldn’t even find a word to begin with. He kept on talking about Karma, that what goes around comes around, and that he had hurt me and now it’s his turn.

'You mustav felt the same as I do now' Trav looked at me. With that hopeless look.

'Look Trav. Its not about you and me, its about you and Lynden. I’m out of the picture now.' The longest sentence I’ve ever spoken.

For about half an hour after my last line, I just sit there and watched Trav… cried….. I was so sure that there must be a lot of reasons why he cried.

He took my left hand and gently gripped my fingers. I could sense the message he was trying to convey over eventhough he didnt utter a single word. He regretted things.