Monday, December 19, 2005
Friday, December 16, 2005
Sleepless before dawn
It is almost 5am and I am unable to sleep. There is music in my head and my mind won't be quiet. All the soft words I need to hear, the yearning melodic strains I want to hear, the gentle touches I need to feel in the lonely hours of the morning - all undulating inside my head. It is quiet and I'm alone at this ungodly hour. There's no one to talk to now, and the silence feels empty against the fullness of my thoughts. I'm not sure about the purpose of me blogging all this at this point. I guess it's the thought that maybe someone somewhere will know what I'm feeling now, so I don't feel so alone.
I realised one of the most heartbreaking feelings in the world is to be next to someone you love and still feel utterly lonely, when holding their hand won't take away the yawning gulf that lies between the two of you. You may reach out, but while your hand may touch their skin, all you feel are the bricks of the fortress they've built around them to keep you out. You may speak to them, but it may feel like calling into a broad canyon and all the response you get is the fading echoes of your own voice.
Emotional independence is something I realised I can never let go of, even if I want to, even if I'm in a relationship. For the moment I start to loosen my grip, the hurt is sure to follow very closely. It is tiring, depending only on yourself in all your times of need. But I find it's even more tiring to depend on someone else. Still, sometimes, when I find it hard to keep tears away, when my will has been weathered down, when my own arms can't keep me warm enough, I find myself wishing so much that I could lie helpless in comforting arms, curled up in the security of someone who will be strong enough for me to be vulnerable with, just for that moment. That someone will see my need and draw me to him, simply because he knows I need it. It's like being able to unclench a muscle that's been tensed for far too long and the unspeakable relief and comfort that it brings.
But vulnerability and dependence, no matter how fleeting, are luxuries few can afford.
It's hard knowing there will always be only myself to rely on.
I realised one of the most heartbreaking feelings in the world is to be next to someone you love and still feel utterly lonely, when holding their hand won't take away the yawning gulf that lies between the two of you. You may reach out, but while your hand may touch their skin, all you feel are the bricks of the fortress they've built around them to keep you out. You may speak to them, but it may feel like calling into a broad canyon and all the response you get is the fading echoes of your own voice.
Emotional independence is something I realised I can never let go of, even if I want to, even if I'm in a relationship. For the moment I start to loosen my grip, the hurt is sure to follow very closely. It is tiring, depending only on yourself in all your times of need. But I find it's even more tiring to depend on someone else. Still, sometimes, when I find it hard to keep tears away, when my will has been weathered down, when my own arms can't keep me warm enough, I find myself wishing so much that I could lie helpless in comforting arms, curled up in the security of someone who will be strong enough for me to be vulnerable with, just for that moment. That someone will see my need and draw me to him, simply because he knows I need it. It's like being able to unclench a muscle that's been tensed for far too long and the unspeakable relief and comfort that it brings.
But vulnerability and dependence, no matter how fleeting, are luxuries few can afford.
It's hard knowing there will always be only myself to rely on.
Thursday, December 15, 2005
Photos!
We always knew Sean was a little devil in disguise! This was taken on Halloween evening as we were having dinner after trick-or-treating (notice the little tail sticking up behind). Yes, that's the cauldron in which he collected candy. No pictures of myself, though - the photographer/videographer is, as a rule, almost always left out of pictures. Sigh. Anyway, me in a fringed mini-dress and electric blue feather boa ain't exactly a sight for cameras, even for Halloween.Finally done uploading some of the photos from my trip here:
http://community.webshots.com/user/andromeda_carina
Couldn't fit everything as Webshots has a 240-photo limit, so these are the ones I like better. Enjoy!
Monday, December 12, 2005
Missing
My sister just flew off today, bound for home in Santa Cruz, after two and a half weeks here in Singapore. Before that, I'd spent three and a half weeks with her in Santa Cruz. So total time spent together was six weeks. You'd think that'd be enough to make one happy, innit? Not quite. It now feels all weird and quiet without her and little Sean around. Everything feels a little dead now in the house, and I can't help feeling like there's suddenly not very much to look forward to.
The 3.5 weeks in SC was a rare chance, and it'll be a long while more before another (those who know me and my situation well would understand). I guess it's hard to be almost permanantly thousands of miles away from the person I'm closest to in my life.
I tried not to cry at the airport as they were leaving, and held it in all day after that. I waited through the evening and night, and finally cried in the shower where no one would see me. It felt almost like I was 12 years old again and my sister was just about to leave Singapore to study in Iowa. It almost felt like I was back at the airport 14 years ago, holding on to that tiny stuffed lamb that she'd given me as a going-away present, holding back the tears and then spending the next few weeks bawling my eyes out. If I'd known then that she'd never be back to stay, I bet I'd have been a whole lot more upset.
When I got back from the airport earlier and stepped into the house, it was too quiet. The mess of toys Sean left behind was almost done being cleared away, the sofa bed had been folded away and the shuffled furniture shifted back into their original places. It was strange stepping out of my room later and not see my sis sitting at the dining table reading a magazine or with a kooky grin on her face and a corny wisecrack, and not hear the clatter of toys and Sean's garbled chatter.
My sis had also said it'd be weird for her going home and not having me there. Sigh. The Pacific Ocean is too large for us. July will take too long to come when I'll be visiting again.
I've got to go look for that little lamb, which I suspect, with a sense of dread, has been misplaced over the years.
The 3.5 weeks in SC was a rare chance, and it'll be a long while more before another (those who know me and my situation well would understand). I guess it's hard to be almost permanantly thousands of miles away from the person I'm closest to in my life.
I tried not to cry at the airport as they were leaving, and held it in all day after that. I waited through the evening and night, and finally cried in the shower where no one would see me. It felt almost like I was 12 years old again and my sister was just about to leave Singapore to study in Iowa. It almost felt like I was back at the airport 14 years ago, holding on to that tiny stuffed lamb that she'd given me as a going-away present, holding back the tears and then spending the next few weeks bawling my eyes out. If I'd known then that she'd never be back to stay, I bet I'd have been a whole lot more upset.
When I got back from the airport earlier and stepped into the house, it was too quiet. The mess of toys Sean left behind was almost done being cleared away, the sofa bed had been folded away and the shuffled furniture shifted back into their original places. It was strange stepping out of my room later and not see my sis sitting at the dining table reading a magazine or with a kooky grin on her face and a corny wisecrack, and not hear the clatter of toys and Sean's garbled chatter.
My sis had also said it'd be weird for her going home and not having me there. Sigh. The Pacific Ocean is too large for us. July will take too long to come when I'll be visiting again.
I've got to go look for that little lamb, which I suspect, with a sense of dread, has been misplaced over the years.
Sunday, December 04, 2005
Who did I meet today? Loads of people - I watched Rent today at Kallang Theatre. Rather muffled sound system, I must say. Anyway, let's pick one person. A young woman with short hair and a peach-coloured blouse sat in front of me. Who is she? Maybe she's a Lynn.
The Trip Home
The house lights came on and Lynn stood up, feeling her legs stretch satisfyingly after the long performance she'd just sat through. She patted her short, cropped hair, carefully making sure that no errant strands stood out. Her fingers encountered her left ear and she gently grasped the little hairs on her sideburn between her middle and ring finger and, making a delicate little arc around the curve of her ear, tucked the hair behind it. She brought her fingers back and tucked the same little hairs behind her ear, following the same little arc. And she repeated. Arc, tuck. Arc, tuck. Arc...
"Your sideburns are gonna look the same no matter what you do with them, dearie." Her friend's teasing made her pause for a moment; and then she finished her fifth and final tuck before reluctantly putting her hand down.
The walk up the aisle towards the auditorium exit was relatively easy as there were no steps. She had a single phrase from the musical stuck in her head, and it repeated itself over and over in her head like a broken record. Seasons of loooooooove. Seasons of loooooooove.
Upon reaching the foyer, she stopped in her tracks to examine the floor. Good - it wasn't tiled.
She headed for the stairs, and then paused again at the top, causing a few annoyed people behind her to step aside to go around her. Lynn looked at the long, continuous flight of stairs, wondering how on earth she should know which foot to take the first step with. Uncomfortably, she realised she would just have to take a chance. Alright, left foot first. As she approached the bottom of the stairs, she was mildly dismayed to see that she had made the wrong choice. Firmly holding on to the handrail, she gingerly skipped the last step, hence succeeding in ending the flight of stairs on her right foot. Relieved, she bade her friend goodbye and set out to find the bus stop.
Small cracks and occasional fissures on the pavement kept her looking downward most of the way to the bus stop, fixedly scanning the white concrete for imperfections. She carefully stepped over every line and crack, always with her right foot, never making any contact with the lines, tiptoeing where necessary. It was a long walk and a bright, hot day, and she started to feel tense and tired of squinting at the pavement. She was relieved when she finally reached the bus stop.
Once under the comforting shade of the bus stop, she checked her watch - it was exactly thiry-eight minutes past five in the evening - then looked up to watch for the bus. Under her breath, she counted, "One, one thousand. Two, one thousand. Three, one thousand..." When she reached sixty, she checked her watch again. It was exactly thirty-nine minutes past five. With a small smile of satisfaction, she started counting again without pausing. "One, one thousand. Two, one thousand..." Before she was through with her sixth set, the bus arrived. She checked her watch - it sixteen seconds shy of forty-four minutes past five in the evening.
The bus door opened and she saw there were three steps leading up, so she took the first step up with her right foot - right, left, right. Just right. Walking down the bus aisle, she was annoyed to find her Usual Seat by the fourth window on the right side taken. Annoyed, she sat down in the seat next to it, taking care not to touch the arm of the passenger sitting next to her. As the bus rumbled along, she felt increasingly insecure sitting by the aisle. She gave a sidelong glare at the offending person who had taken her Usual Seat. She started tucking her little sideburn hairs behind her left ear repeatedly in sets of five, growing more nervous with each passing minute.
Seasons of loooooooove. Seasons of loooooooove. She had liked the tune when she first heard it, but now it was like a housefly buzzing around your face that you couldn't get rid of. Seasons of loooooooove. Arc, tuck. Seasons of loooooooove. Arc, tuck...
When her stop came, she gratefully dashed off the bus, embarking on another five minutes of flight-footed avoid-the-pavement-lines fun.
When she finally arrived at her front door, she took off her left shoe, then her right, and then placed them on the shoe rack, shifting them about until she was sure they were perfectly parallel to each other.
She fished out her key and put it into the keyhole. She held her breath, and then quickly turned the key counterclockwise, shoved the door open, hurried inside and slammed it shut.
She released her breath and twisted the latch. That was one. Remember, we only need one. She regarded the latch for a moment, her hand hovering over it. Unable to resist, she unlatched the door, and latched it again. Two. Unlatch, latch. Three. Unlatch, latch. Four. Unlatch, latch. Five. Done.
She turned around to find her father watching her over his newspaper from his couch in the living room. He shook his head and muttered something about her being a silly girl before looking down at his paper to continue reading. Relief washed over Lynn. She was finally home.
The Trip Home
The house lights came on and Lynn stood up, feeling her legs stretch satisfyingly after the long performance she'd just sat through. She patted her short, cropped hair, carefully making sure that no errant strands stood out. Her fingers encountered her left ear and she gently grasped the little hairs on her sideburn between her middle and ring finger and, making a delicate little arc around the curve of her ear, tucked the hair behind it. She brought her fingers back and tucked the same little hairs behind her ear, following the same little arc. And she repeated. Arc, tuck. Arc, tuck. Arc...
"Your sideburns are gonna look the same no matter what you do with them, dearie." Her friend's teasing made her pause for a moment; and then she finished her fifth and final tuck before reluctantly putting her hand down.
The walk up the aisle towards the auditorium exit was relatively easy as there were no steps. She had a single phrase from the musical stuck in her head, and it repeated itself over and over in her head like a broken record. Seasons of loooooooove. Seasons of loooooooove.
Upon reaching the foyer, she stopped in her tracks to examine the floor. Good - it wasn't tiled.
She headed for the stairs, and then paused again at the top, causing a few annoyed people behind her to step aside to go around her. Lynn looked at the long, continuous flight of stairs, wondering how on earth she should know which foot to take the first step with. Uncomfortably, she realised she would just have to take a chance. Alright, left foot first. As she approached the bottom of the stairs, she was mildly dismayed to see that she had made the wrong choice. Firmly holding on to the handrail, she gingerly skipped the last step, hence succeeding in ending the flight of stairs on her right foot. Relieved, she bade her friend goodbye and set out to find the bus stop.
Small cracks and occasional fissures on the pavement kept her looking downward most of the way to the bus stop, fixedly scanning the white concrete for imperfections. She carefully stepped over every line and crack, always with her right foot, never making any contact with the lines, tiptoeing where necessary. It was a long walk and a bright, hot day, and she started to feel tense and tired of squinting at the pavement. She was relieved when she finally reached the bus stop.
Once under the comforting shade of the bus stop, she checked her watch - it was exactly thiry-eight minutes past five in the evening - then looked up to watch for the bus. Under her breath, she counted, "One, one thousand. Two, one thousand. Three, one thousand..." When she reached sixty, she checked her watch again. It was exactly thirty-nine minutes past five. With a small smile of satisfaction, she started counting again without pausing. "One, one thousand. Two, one thousand..." Before she was through with her sixth set, the bus arrived. She checked her watch - it sixteen seconds shy of forty-four minutes past five in the evening.
The bus door opened and she saw there were three steps leading up, so she took the first step up with her right foot - right, left, right. Just right. Walking down the bus aisle, she was annoyed to find her Usual Seat by the fourth window on the right side taken. Annoyed, she sat down in the seat next to it, taking care not to touch the arm of the passenger sitting next to her. As the bus rumbled along, she felt increasingly insecure sitting by the aisle. She gave a sidelong glare at the offending person who had taken her Usual Seat. She started tucking her little sideburn hairs behind her left ear repeatedly in sets of five, growing more nervous with each passing minute.
Seasons of loooooooove. Seasons of loooooooove. She had liked the tune when she first heard it, but now it was like a housefly buzzing around your face that you couldn't get rid of. Seasons of loooooooove. Arc, tuck. Seasons of loooooooove. Arc, tuck...
When her stop came, she gratefully dashed off the bus, embarking on another five minutes of flight-footed avoid-the-pavement-lines fun.
When she finally arrived at her front door, she took off her left shoe, then her right, and then placed them on the shoe rack, shifting them about until she was sure they were perfectly parallel to each other.
She fished out her key and put it into the keyhole. She held her breath, and then quickly turned the key counterclockwise, shoved the door open, hurried inside and slammed it shut.
She released her breath and twisted the latch. That was one. Remember, we only need one. She regarded the latch for a moment, her hand hovering over it. Unable to resist, she unlatched the door, and latched it again. Two. Unlatch, latch. Three. Unlatch, latch. Four. Unlatch, latch. Five. Done.
She turned around to find her father watching her over his newspaper from his couch in the living room. He shook his head and muttered something about her being a silly girl before looking down at his paper to continue reading. Relief washed over Lynn. She was finally home.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)