It is everyone's desire to be desired above all others by one.
It is most people's fear to be taken for granted (if they stop to think about it).
It is some people's want to be pursued.
It is a few's need to be the strong one...which sometimes backfires on them.
It takes someone with major baggage (read: experience) to ponder upon all of the above at the same time.
Being with someone often feels like being on one of those old seesaws (not those wussy spring types nowadays). A constant up and down, along with a struggle to balance. What does one do when stuck on the heavy end? Or when one waits for lift-off and nothing happens?
The precarious nature of intimate connections with one other is magnified by awareness and focus. The resulting threat of loss is all the more terrifying, not to mention depressing. It's somewhat stressful having to think about all this again after a long break, especially if you wonder if you're the only one thinking about it.
I guess we all just want to feel treasured. Or possibly even loved.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Old keys
I clutch in my hand two small keys, quite unable to let go of them.
In the midst of packing for the coming trip to my sister's, I looked at my big bunch of house keys and decided, with a mind to minimise weight carried, to finally remove the two keys to my old house and put them away since I never use them. I've ended up taking them off the key ring and just holding on to them - two small, cold, metal objects in my hand with an indelible hold on me.
It's been five years since I've moved from my lifelong Seletar home to this current place in River Valley, and it's never occurred to me to stop carrying around the old house keys. They still feel relevant to me, like I still need them.
How does one who values memories so deeply let go of 80% of her life? I spent most of my life in that house on Begonia Terrace and roaming the slopes of the surrounding Seletar Hills. Many of my childhood friends still live in that area. It's been witness to all my firsts. First bicycle ride, first piano lesson, first best friend, first crush, first ember of mature thought, first love, first hurt, first job.
This current residence in River Valley feels almost like a transitional abode, like I'm just resting here while 28 Begonia Terrace waits for me to go home. But I know we're not moving back there. I remember my first night officially moved out from it - I cried and felt like I was not home.
I stopped driving past the old place some time ago. Seeing it silent and alone hurts me. I miss my garden with the fruit trees and ixora shrubs. I miss the grandfather clock that has stopped working for almost two decades now. I miss the brown stairs - the first flight has an even number of steps, the second has an odd number. I miss how the different doors upstairs sound when you open them, close them or nudge them ajar. I miss watching sunsets and fighter plane fly-bys from my bedroom window. I miss having the moonlight fall on my face at the right times of the month. I even miss the hideous green and banana-yellow kitchen where my sis and I had that spectacular water fight.
But life moves and changes. Abodes come and go. Begonia Terrace will always be my real home, but for now, I make do with this cold shoe box that is my current residence and bedroom.
I know I'm going to put these two old keys away anyway. But not yet. I'll hold them a little while longer.
In the midst of packing for the coming trip to my sister's, I looked at my big bunch of house keys and decided, with a mind to minimise weight carried, to finally remove the two keys to my old house and put them away since I never use them. I've ended up taking them off the key ring and just holding on to them - two small, cold, metal objects in my hand with an indelible hold on me.
It's been five years since I've moved from my lifelong Seletar home to this current place in River Valley, and it's never occurred to me to stop carrying around the old house keys. They still feel relevant to me, like I still need them.
How does one who values memories so deeply let go of 80% of her life? I spent most of my life in that house on Begonia Terrace and roaming the slopes of the surrounding Seletar Hills. Many of my childhood friends still live in that area. It's been witness to all my firsts. First bicycle ride, first piano lesson, first best friend, first crush, first ember of mature thought, first love, first hurt, first job.
This current residence in River Valley feels almost like a transitional abode, like I'm just resting here while 28 Begonia Terrace waits for me to go home. But I know we're not moving back there. I remember my first night officially moved out from it - I cried and felt like I was not home.
I stopped driving past the old place some time ago. Seeing it silent and alone hurts me. I miss my garden with the fruit trees and ixora shrubs. I miss the grandfather clock that has stopped working for almost two decades now. I miss the brown stairs - the first flight has an even number of steps, the second has an odd number. I miss how the different doors upstairs sound when you open them, close them or nudge them ajar. I miss watching sunsets and fighter plane fly-bys from my bedroom window. I miss having the moonlight fall on my face at the right times of the month. I even miss the hideous green and banana-yellow kitchen where my sis and I had that spectacular water fight.
But life moves and changes. Abodes come and go. Begonia Terrace will always be my real home, but for now, I make do with this cold shoe box that is my current residence and bedroom.
I know I'm going to put these two old keys away anyway. But not yet. I'll hold them a little while longer.
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