My week with Caitlyn

Chubby, cheery little (ok, not so little) Caitlyn is folds of fun. A little girl through and through, even her little baby noises sound girly. She got a sunny treat at the SICC pool the other day - her first bikini!Meanwhile, my sis obviously hadn't considered the logistics of an oversized beach ball when she bought it. Like, how much blowing one has to do to inflate it fully.
Sigh...the Yee Yee (i.e. me) had to finish the job. Was positively hyperventilated by the time I was done. I was wearing my favourite bikini, but of course you wouldn't be able to see that here.
Sis's 35th birthday! Which, in our grand family tradition, was celebrated with lots of eating. Think I caught a perfect moment with the two of them blowing out the candles while the baby watches her bro in wonderment.
The fam.
The lighting was perfect for capturing her bright smile while in her car seat.
All smiles morphed into high-decibel unhappiness while she was getting baptised at the cathedral on Wednesday.
The architecture of the church isn't one of its strong points, but the large, old pipe organ is.
What I do love about the cathedral are the 14 beautiful art pieces for the Stations of the Cross.
The hot afternoon sun finally lulled Caitlyn into a grumpy snooze, effectively transferring her baptismal oil onto her Yee Yee's chest. And yes, she's as heavy as she looks.
Good thing she doesn't have a twin or she'd be one kind of a bed hog. Kev, if the red soft toy looks familiar, that's probably because it looks like a junior relative of my big pink pig.

The Nearness of You

It's not the pale moon that excites me
That thrills and delights me, oh no
It's just the nearness of you

It isn't your sweet conversation
That brings this sensation, oh no
It's just the nearness of you

When you're in my arms and I feel you so close to me
All my wildest dreams came true

I need no soft lights to enchant me
If you'll only grant me the right
To hold you ever so tight
And to feel in the night the nearness of you

FYI

Just to let you know, you were not a rebound. Not at all.

You're special (in spite of my previous preconceived notions). Completely unexpectedly, you've become so much more than what first started out. Thought you might want to know.

Picture of him

I bled a lot more today. I feel silly. But I feel free. Free to feel again.

The other night we were speaking of remembering. I said that in moments when we look at someone, experience the person with the specific intention of remembering the person and the moment, it doesn't always stay. Also, we sometimes take photographs to try to remember the moment. But photographs always come out two-dimensional, artificial representations that look nothing like the person and the moment.

As I was saying these things, I was looking at him - his face slightly pulled up one side from lying sideways on the pillow, his eyes softly looking at me as I was talking, backlit by warm light, the way his lips looked, the neatly trimmed shadow of his goatee. And I realised I was saving this sight for remembering, taking this picture in my mind.

And that's what I'm remembering now, what I've been remembering the past few days, and especially all of today. Him looking at me from the pillow in warm light. My real picture of him. I hope it will last.

Departure

How is one supposed to feel when someone is walking away, and you know you can't follow them where they're going to? When you know they'll reach a point where they can no longer turn back to wave, when they will have to walk away without turning back?

Don't get me wrong. I'm not melancholy. OK, maybe a little, but just a little. As I expected, this feels more like a warm tug than a twisting stab.

He'd held me goodbye last among the sending-off party - F hinted perhaps that was significant. I hadn't meant to cry at all.

It started to hurt at goodbye, more than I thought it would. I bled on my way home, but just a little. Like neatly done surgical stitching, it will leave a thin, fine semblence of a scar before fading into the memory of my skin.

I don't know what tomorrow will feel like.

Strange. It doesn't really feel like he's entirely gone. One day he'll be, but it doesn't feel like now, even though he's already physically far away and going further every moment.

But in several ways, I'm glad it has turned out this way. I feel a little more whole, now that things have happened the way they have. Another what-if under my belt, but sometimes it's the what-ifs that keep us alive. I hope this has worked out for him in a good way too.

I hope this doesn't hurt you in the way you said you didn't want to at the start. You thanked me. I hope you meant it.

Many go through life never knowing what it is to connect with other people at certain levels, the levels that touch you in deep, new ways. It can come completely unexpectedly, like here and now. It makes your life a little richer for having experienced it.

I did what you asked. I saved that smile for after you were gone.

Evolved, exhaled

A very short while ago, I gave up holding my breath tightly and just exhaled. That's what this has felt like. A relieved release of air. Visually, like opening a hand that once too tightly held shreds of paper, opening it in the wind, letting the crumpled little pieces fly off into the four winds.

Most of the way, initially, all I could think about was protecting myself, fiercely guarding my soft bits and panicking at every oopsie of vulnerability. Scared to open up, afraid to expose the raw, soft tissue of my heart.

(Vaguely disturbingly,) it was a quote shared recently that helped me quit fighting and just let go in a long, slow exhalation.

"The truth [is] that there is only one terminal dignity - love. And the story of a love is not important - what is important is that one is capable of love. It is perhaps the only glimpse we are permitted of eternity." ~H Hayes~

While this quote doesn't apply entirely to whatever this is, it gave me a nudge to finally give in and realise it's ok to feel. Feel right now, right here. Suddenly, it doesn't matter how fleeting it is or how dangerous it once seemed. It doesn't matter that there might be pain on parting. I realise what I want is to be able to feel - that I still have life and the ability to feel (and potentially to love) in me. And it has brought such relief, just to let go.

Perhaps it is precisely because of its fleeting nature that makes this bittersweet affair alright to enjoy giving in to, that lends it a sweet aftertaste, minus the pangs that might have come had it had a chance to grow into something too much deeper.

Like I said to you, my dear, not deep enough to hurt, but just enough to touch.

I'd previously asked of and said certain things to him in that spirit of self-preservation. I have since, very recently, taken some back. And given some more.

I will feel these mild but warm tuggings. I will let them make me smile. I will let them tug at me gently. I will allow myself to miss.

And then, I shall slowly let go. But by then, it would already be a part of me, a part of my past that has become me, and it will never go away.

And, best of all, it is something I will be able to smile about from start to tapered end.

And yes, my dear, I will remember.

Finally, someone I can stay fond of even after they have left my sight.

Addition to Sunday's post: Posing with Ryan with the gleaming cake at Bakerzin.

Satellite blues

Track: "Satellite" by BT.

I just went and did a stupid thing. For the first time since 17 February, I listened to "Satellite". It was on my playlist and I gamely decided not to skip the track this time. The moment the track started up, I was instantly annoyed with myself, because a familiar pain washed over me again.

This confounded song was once Kelvin's favourite and I overplayed it the first year we were together and he was in Sydney, feeling that little bit closer to him each time I did. It's a very lovely track, but I stopped listening to it the moment we broke up. I should have kept it that way. I remember once telling him that it's a stupid song if you ever stopped to listen to the words, but its overall effect is hypnotising and evocative, and that is enough to merit an emotional response.

Fucking reminder of my days in love, when I thought it was ok to love with my entire being and entire soul. The days when I felt complete.

Why did I have to go and listen to this fucking song and remember at once what it was like to be utterly in love?

This & that from weekend past

They're here!! My sis and the fam are here at last, and the household is now perpetually buzzing with activity and noise. I'm really, really happy to see them and to finally spend time with my sis. All my time will be sapped, of course - almost all my free time after work and rehearsals/show runs will be spent with them, but it's more than worth it.

Sean's being a pain as usual, but such an adorable one!
Celebrated mum's 60th birthday tonight with a feast at Triple 3 - we really like eating there. Given that the three-piece band sang Happy Birthday at three other tables before coming round to ours, she obviously wasn't the only one celebrating. But the band gamely played different variations of that nauseating old tune and threw in dedications. Here's her singing along to her favourite Chinese song by Theresa Teng (no prizes for guessing which one).

The Ong+Ginsburg family plus our closest family friends. Baby Caitlyn was asleep and blissfully absent from this shot.Sis and I were getting a sugar high from too much desserts and choc fondue.
Someone gave Sean this little gift. See if you can figure out what I like about them. I sure will look out for Megazords with, uhm, tools like that.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Kev had his farewell party on Friday. In spite of the huge expected turnout plus friends-bringing-friends, the crowd wasn't as frighteningly large as I thought it'd be. First, had dinner with a couple of others at Bakerzin. Someone ordered this extremely delicious-looking cake with a gleaming coat of fudge. Couldn't resist a pic.
Kev seems to really like this pic for some reason. I was embarassed to note that I looked like I'd been rolling around in bed drunk, with that weird smile and the messy hair. KS just looks sleepy in this one.

Why does my nose look so big when the camera is close to my face but Kev's doesn't? Enjoyed teasing him about how sleazy he looks in the first two shots.I still think CK (left) looks very, very familiar, but can't place him. Was nice to meet Melody again, had enjoyed meeting and talking to her at the last gathering. She's such a sweetie.

Met Fer again, Kev's closest friend. Went to Zouk with them and Fer's Brit lady friend Sarah after the party. Realised I hadn't been to Zouk on a non-Sirens night in a long, long time. The music was surprisingly not bad at all.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In other news, I finally completely deleted the "Kelvin" folder in my email. I saved them all and tucked them away in a folder, together with all the photos and 'us' stuff. I then put the folder away in a quiet corner of my computer out of sight.

And that's how it is with every ex. I don't throw them away, but bit by bit I tuck them away until they're completely out of sight. Then I'll take out the 'us' stuff one day and look at them, and realise they don't affect me anymore, not in the way they once did. They would have become part of my collective past, one in a list of steps I took to arrive at who I am at that point in time. I'd finger the scars they left behind and find the scars visible and ugly but numb and painless.

I'm still waiting for these current scars to heal. But I'm closer now.

This experiment starting to hurt me a little in an unexpected way. My extremely thin supply of trust has run out too. Should I nip it in the bud right now? Or should I just continue gathering my nuts for the winter? So little time left.

All that glitters...

...is Kevjn's face. Teehee...Went to the Fashion Fund party at Play on Wednesday, was confounded by the "3G" theme: gold, glitter, glamour. I just decided that my gold corset and accessories would suffice. Kev decided his outfit wasn't gold or glittery enough so I got to put makeup on a guy once again (hurray!) and swiped on some helpings of gold glitter on his face.

I guess he must have been pleased with the glitter to be smiling this broadly. I've never seen so many of his teeth at once.

He brought his Spanish friend Irene whose gorgeous eyes were her major glamour factor, in my opinion.
It's annoying when pictures are taken on various cameras in the same event and you have to go round collating from whoever seemed to be wielding one. Still waiting for more pics from this event. Regret not taking photos of the drag queens.

Update: Got this photo later from KS.

Need. Want. Need.

I can't wait to get out of here. I can't wait to get the fuck out of here.

I need to leave behind this half of the year and start the next fresh. Need to get far away. For once I want to run, leave everything behind to fix itself. Want things to be ok when I get back. Want myself to be ok.

Tired. Tired of fixing. Tired of self-control. Tired of self-reliance. Tired of fighting. Tired of floating on currents. Tired of dragging time limits. Tired of waiting.

Tired of everything.

I need something to hope for.

Shiver me Timbre

I've decided I'm in love with the lamb kebabs at Timbre. Those, and acoustic sets on cool nights. Finally another gathering of the R&H gang on Wednesday. Pity we couldn't get everyone there, but at least we ate lots and did what we do second best - enjoy music together (we know what we do best, don't we?)
Enjoy your German frolic, Michelle! We expect presents, ja?

About last night

At a last-minute invitation, last night turned out to be a nice night of jamming, the first in quite some time (R&H people, this is your cue to organise something; Esther, lend us your fingers!). Was weird to be the only female voice around, but was still nice to be able to belt tunes without shame with a bunch of people who were not afraid to sound silly.

Was asked something for the first time last night, and was quite unprepared as to what to think or answer at first. Though I'd been half expecting it for a while now, almost since the whole affair began actually, it was still an entirely unfamiliar query. It reaffirmed my personal adage that no amount of mental ponderance can prepare you for when some things creep up in life, especially the awkward/unfamiliar things.

Last night I cried again next to him, involuntarily and much to my consternation. While it felt momentarily nice to feel comforted, I didn't want to be held. The temptation to turn around and just weep in his arms was so tempting, just to feel cared for again, even if it's not the right person to do it. But no. Vulnerability is a luxury I can't afford. I've already spared more than I should have. Allowing oneself to be vulnerable is like being in love - oh so addictive but so raw and naked and prone, feels good but for a moment before the regret sets in.

(I hate PMS.)

I was asked about these bouts of loneliness I've been having and whether this thing going on might be aggravating it. At first, it did seem to make sense, but then again I'd been feeling that way all along anyway since March, especially after long stretches of meeting with friends almost every day. It's probably best described as withdrawal.

The love I had is long dead, the longing gone even before that. Like I said, the man is easy to be rid of. The life isn't. What I'm still mourning for is the life that's gone. That moment in time where I was truly happy. A fool's paradise. (Why did it feel so real to me?)

And I still live in fear. To compensate, I pile on the defence battlements brick by cold brick.

As I told more than one person, stopping oneself from feeling anything for anyone takes discipline and willpower. Hard, but do-able, and gets better with experience.

Twice before I'd fallen in love during periods like this when I was in the state of mind where I told myself I wouldn't want to open up to anyone for some time more. As it turned out, both times I decided not to pass up the chance for something special. Each man took his turn to convince me it was worth the risk. Both tore my heart to pieces. But at least I took the risk. I didn't let my own mindset stand in my way, but paid a deep price for it each time. That'll teach me.

Gawd, I need chocolate. It may not be better than sex, but it's healthier.

A dream within a dream

"Is all that we see or seem
but a dream within a dream?"
~Edgar Allan Poe~

Do you sometimes get the feeling that the world around you is surreal, that moving through it is like wading through the warm viscousity of a dream?

Events of just a few months past seem like a lifetime ago. Too much, and too little, has happened since.

I've just been a bag of oxymorons since February, haven't I?

I keep waiting to wake up. I want to wake up to something better. My old life, perhaps? The one where I was blissfully fooled into believing I was happy. Even my blog entries of less than a year ago spoke of fulfilment and happiness. Why wouldn't they? I was doing all the things I was passionate about, found incomparable friends, and believed I was in an amazing relationship that felt as wonderful as the day it started, and that it would last a lifetime more. I was no moron - even back then, I knew happiness was fleeting and that something was bound to come rock the boat, but I thought that these things that made me happy were there to stay in one form or another.

I want to wake up back there, if just for a day, just to know what being happy is like again. So much better than this limbo I'm drifting about in. I'm trying so hard to stabilise myself, but it's tiring on my own. Four years of having someone there becomes more than a habit - it's an entire state of being. Adjusting to being on my own is so much harder, even if it frees up my emotional resources which were previously used trying to be strong for two people. It was tiring being with him, but this is more exhausting, like standing on one leg.

I fear it, but I want to be loved again, freely and honestly. I want to wake up. Wake up, Daffy.

Or maybe I've just been too sleep-deprived for too long.

PMS strikes again: I'm feeling lonely tonight.

Not the whole of tonight, though - caught TSI (yes, again - was curious about the changes that were made to the second run) with Kev who got comp tickets from Wee Hong. After that was supper with some of the w!ld ones + Kev + Wee Hong, who turns out to be quite a shy guy. Very brief adjourn to someone's birthday drinks (sorry to ditch you guys, but I knew that once I started hanging out with you, I'd never be home at a sane hour; update y'all at the next supper), thought I'd be home with work after that...but, perhaps inevitably, something else cropped up.

In spite of a day that's turned out really nice in its entirety including a sun-soaked afternoon, I found myself once again lonely while inches away from a living, breathing person. Not for a lack of presence, as 'not there' isn't something that one associates with Kev, but just a lack of a significant connection with a Someone.

I don't want that connection, and I don't need it. But doesn't mean I don't crave it every now and then, and especially during friggin PMS.

Sigh, I'm depressed.

I need chocolate - Godiva pralines, to be exact.

Strings

The only sound in the room is the blunt whirring of the violin case being unzipped. Kneeling in front of it, she flips open the case and momentarily regards the instrument. Nestled in its bed of white foam and satin sheets, the dark wood shines dully.

Reaching out, she lays her hand on the violin's body and finds it mildly cool to the touch. Softly and slowly, she runs her fingers over the black smoothness of its tailpiece. Her fingertips find the tense, cold beginnings of the strings, passing over the bridge, then the soft tensile feel of the slim metal strings as they stretch over the length of the violin's long, graceful neck. Then, wrapping her fingers gently around its neck, she lifts the instrument out.

Straightening up, she tucks the violin under the left side of her chin and holds it up as if she is about to play it. She lets its sweet, musky scent lightly caress her. The fingers of her left hand rest lightly on the four strings. Motor memory, almost forgotten, suddenly compels her fingers to spread out a little further across the strings. First position.

She closes her eyes.

And can almost hear his voice again. Feel his fingers shifting her own unschooled fingers over the strings. She'd hardly been able to notice how he was positioning her fingers. All she'd known was the warmth of his slim fingers, their calloused tips on her skin.

Then the sudden heat of his presence behind her now, his left arm stretching out alongside hers, his hand on her wrist, adjusting the height at which she held the violin. She'd tried hard not to tremble at the touch of his hand and the electric awareness of his proximity behind her.

And then his voice next to her ear. "First position."

She had been seventeen. She hadn't known how to react when she first felt his lips on her ear. She hadn't moved when his hand slid over the length of her arm and his arm wrapped itself around her. She hadn't known what to say when his lips moved from her ear to the side of her neck, or when he pulled her closer against his body.

It was only when he took the violin out of her hand and turned her around to face him that she'd started to say something. But he'd stopped her protest with a finger on her lips, and, laying the violin aside, he took her face gently in both hands and gave her her first kiss.

She opens her eyes, but the memory doesn't go away.

She remembers his hands cupping her face and the moist scent of his breath filling her senses. Then that lingering, electrifying moment when he'd paused, their faces almost touching, the sight of his lips terrifying yet exciting her. He'd paused for a second, just a second, but it felt like an eternity of desperate waiting; the battle waging inside her head - pondering the impossibility of the situation and the heart-pounding inevitability of it - all within a second.

And then he'd kissed her.

She lowers the violin and puts it on her lap. The ten years past feels like an eternity ago. She looks at the violin, remembering its music, remembering the boy. Remembering the bittersweet pain.

Shaking her head, she pushes the painful memories away, for now. She holds the violin close to her and closes her eyes again, remembering the kiss, remembering the blinding white heat of first love.

Slowly, she lays the instrument back in its bed of satin and closes its case.

[Random thought: As I was writing the last line, I suddenly had a vision of the violin case as a coffin.]

Random snapshots

Today was a freakin' hot day, spent most of it getting ickier and ickier, but was a nice afternoon nonetheless. Out with Kevjn (in daylight, at last), looked up while chilling (so to speak) under Spinelli's glass canopy, thought this was a nice view. Reminded me of the picture I took of the Wheelock spire.

And speaking of Wheelock Place, I couldn't resist getting a picture of this prolifically floral specimen of a car I spotted in the parking lot. Talk about bringing the jungle with you.
Spotted a couple of months ago was this other cute car. Though it looks nothing like Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, it sure reminded me of it. Where are the wings?

Aum Sweet Aum is gone! It must have finally been sold after sitting there on display next to the Kerbau Rd studio for at least a year. (The photo below was stolen from Kel.) Seeing it always tickled me. Liked the design, would've bought it if I were remotely interested in meditation.

Half clear

Finally got started in clearing out my room tonight, probably out of embarassment that someone else is finally seeing the dump it's become. I'd also like to think of it as symbolically another step away from all the shit that's happened earlier this year.

And on that note, I finally got down to opening the bag of stuff Kel returned to me and looking at what was inside. I realised some were his stuff after all, and some were clothes that I've given him that he probably didn't like (sneaky thing, telling me they were mine). But pulling them out of the bag, I accidentily got a whiff of how they smelt, and they reminded me of how he smelt in freshly-washed clothes. I once found that completely endearing. Yech.

But I'm happy to get my beloved book back. The Neverending Story is my one most treasured book since I was a kid. It got misplaced along the way until Terry gave me a wonderful huge surprise one birthday by ordering it for me. I'm still mourning the loss of the first edition (!!) I had as a kid, but it's still wonderful to get another edition of it, coloured lettering and all - it's like losing a friend but getting to adopt their kid. I'd lent it to Kel for months and months. He never finished reading it. How apt.

Yay!! I have my book back! But now I have to find room for it on my already bursting-at-the-seams bookshelf for it. Books are such a compulsion for me.

Now to clear out the rest of this junk heap of a room...

What the fish?

Spotted this at Macs during yet another supper in the 24-hour fast food black hole. Don't ask me why we tend to end up there after trawling other places.

Look at the "Love Ocean Deep" thing. Doesn't that look like condom packaging? And next to someone's secret fish fantasy too... Reminds me of an episode of The Simpsons where one mobster asks Fat Tony, "Thought you said Troy McClure was dead?" "No, I just said he was sleeping with the fishies." Eww.

Oh, and just one nice snippet of random info. Finally, after months of training with Thomas did he tell me I did a good belt yesterday. I was doing "I'm Here" from The Color Purple, which I thought was rather challenging, but it was one of the few songs I did for him for which he didn't correct a single thing. Pretty encouraging, considering that lack of power was one of my weak points. Then again, I'd spent the first 50 minutes of the lesson learning to belt in my head voice (it's all in the teeth, girls). Thomas rocks. Hmm, maybe I should consider doing this song for auditions that require mid-range belting. Then again, who'd want to sit through all 4 1/2 minutes of it? Maybe not.

(Random thought: "Belting" always makes me think of S&M.)

Pussy in the bush

What a bloody hot and tiring day yesterday was! But I was rewarded during the misleadingly LONG walk from LaSalle to voice class. Spotted this little kitty perched by a traffic junction, serenely grooming him/herself.

The fearless kitty didn't flinch even he/she spotted me standing there watching. Too bad my camera was running out of batteries or I would've tried to take some better photos of him/her. Managed to capture this little wink! I wonder what such a small kitten was doing away from its mum.

(What did you think this post was going to be about anyway, you dirty-minded thing?)

Needless

Just spent what was probably the best two nights of this year, probably deserving the "best" title for having come back-to-back. Am currently exhausted from severe lack of sleep, but still riding on the feel-good factor of (almost) carefree fun.

Amidst tango-music, sensory rapture and puns about wood, lesser-known truths and the re-education of Royal Wee, I realised something else.

All this was experienced and thoroughly enjoyed without needing anyone.

Don't get me wrong. I need my friends and I love them, and since they make me laugh so much, they're good for my heart in more ways than one (did you know laughing stimulates your cardiovascular system?).

What I mean is there was no feeling of needing a Someone to have times like those. That there is no need for any Someone, period.

Finally, I feel the cold, hard walls of my defences coming up once again, secure and strong. Not impenetrable (whose are anyway?), but strong and cold nonetheless. Having control over my heart again is empowering, if lonely. But one has to stay lonely to be strong enough.

I let people in, especially my closer friends, but only to an extent. I can't expose too much of myself, because the exposure of too much vulnerability is a precarious thing. I lose a bit of myself each time I open up too much, especially to someone who won't hold me when I do. And there's no one to hold me now anyway. I don't want them to, and yet I want them to, all at the same time. That's the duel that one must constantly have between their hearts and their minds, and this is the delicious duality of human nature. But it stays delicious only when it's in a Hollywood movie when the heart wins in the end.

I've always followed my heart, and it puzzles me when people call me too practical when it comes to people and relationships. There's no doubt about me following my passions work-wise, and I've been envied for it (well, for possessing the passion, not for the material gains). But strangely, even some of my friends fail to see my passion when it comes to the ones I love. Each time I take a risk, it's a triumph of passion over sensibility. My recently-dead relationship should be testimony enough for that, for all the uncertainty and difficulties that were ploughed through with sheer strength of passion and commitment, through the foolish belief that such risks are worth taking. Why do I believe it each time? Why the triumph of hope over experience each time? I'm always passionate about the ones I love. But perhaps it's not worth it. Protecting myself is becoming more important with each disappointment.

But there's that duel - the cold walls and battlements, securing a warm, beating heart within, fragile and dreadfully vulnerable on its own, dying to burst out of the walls but allowing the walls to do their job, knowing it's a dangerous world out there.