Non-permanance

Events of recent weeks have brought the idea of permanance, or lack thereof, to mind (and heart).

Just over 3 years ago, I was intensely mourning the loss of a permanance I assumed I had, permanance that I'd spent a lifetime preparing for, confident I wouldn't settle for less than what I deserved. Turns out, I deserved far more than that.

Upon reflection, I realise I had known deep down that I would be settling if I'd gone with that permanant state as it was. Questions of what-if and what-else-out-there had been softly flitting through my head, and I silenced them. I believed what it had was precious enough to supercede any possible doubts I had. And as that turned out, it wasn't I who had the doubts, in the end.

Towards the end of that episode 3 years ago, the one who will remained unnamed said, someone told him that if you don't get married within the first two or three years of the relationship, it gets really hard.

What if he'd popped the question early, before the spot appeared and festered in his heart? What if I'd said yes, as I was likely to have?

The more I think about it, the luckier I feel right now.

It was the loss of this permanence that solidified my awareness of what I truly wanted.

But back to events relating non-permanence of recent weeks.

Trust was broken for someone rather close to me, and a beefy person out there is on probation while they see if there is some glue out there that could possibly mend something so thoroughly shattered.

And then there's another entity infinitely closer that has a definite but undefined conclusion. But sometimes, non-permanance is not a bad thing at all.

Acknowledging that non-permanent nature brought the gladness that comes with meeting someone at a crossroad, glad to have arrived at the same point at the right time. Knowing there's so much to love and enjoy within a finite time brings a richness in each others' company, and a strong desire to embrace each moment.

Sometimes, non-permanence teaches you things, and makes you cherish the present so much more. It can bring you closure. It can undo a knot inside you. It can release you.

Some say it leaves emptiness behind after it's done breaking you. I say it's empty only if you tip all the contents out and don't learn a thing. It breaks you only if you let it.

Here's to every moment, my dear.

Dry, mute tears

The kind of tears you shed for a friend when it's theirs and not your heart that's broken, though you wish you could take their pain and spread some on yourself so they don't hurt so badly.

Just spent some time with good friends, one of whom has been abominably hurt. The noise we made was pregnant and silent, and once again we found ourselves with the iceberg syndrome, where what you saw (or, rather, heard) was only the tip of everything else that was there but had no decibel rating. A perpetual group hug even as we sat separately in different spots in the room.

[The trouble with being an introvert is trying to gauge the balance between being an active friend (versus a passive one) and avoiding being intrusive. I wish I'd know what I could do to ease their pain. But that's self-conscious babble. This is not about me.]

How to be a friend when shit happens.

Sometimes you can be there as a shock absorber and topical analgesic.

Sometimes you can be there for them when they need a sounding board.

Sometimes you can be there for advice (when asked).

Sometimes there's nothing to say, and no need - you can be there as silent but sure support, a reminder of how much they're still loved by you, even if it's not the kind of love they have just lost.

Lots of other kinds of love is still better than love betrayed.

We love you, dear.


P.S. We ate your cake, MoFo. And it was GOOOOOOOD.

Ancient Egypt at the museum

Went to see the Quest for Immortality - The World of Ancient Egypt exhibition at the National Museum a couple of weeks ago. Fascinating, of course, as with all things ancient Egyptian. I wish it'd been a more comprehensive exhibition, but they travelled all this way to humid, humid Singapore, I'm just glad to have seen it.

Among the busts displayed (that is, statues, not boobs, you dirty minded things), this was my favourite for its shadows and un-empty spaces where bits of it had come off.


I really like the effect of incomplete images and likeness, the suggestion of so much more than you're able to perceive. A partial likeness is so much greater than the sum of its hidden parts.


A little coffin for a little beetle. OK, the beetle was not that little. Apparently, some species of scarabs grow to 17cm in length, but I'm not sure what size Egyptian scarabs typically were (but I'm sure they were big).

A crocodile mummy! A really small crocodile mummy.

And of course, jewellery caught my eye from afar.


Check out the neat detailing on the necklace charms.

The attempt to blend in didn't work like we planned. We should've brought our own white towels and knee-high boots.

What caught my eye about this one is the expression on the figurine's face.




The beyond-prolific symbolism is pretty mind-blowing. Found myself fascinated by the recurring theme of raising the dead one's feet and head above the earth, like the platform painted into the inside of the coffin beneath the feet.

We didn't need to be told these were servant figurines.


Where your vitals go after you die. Not your brain, though.

Scarab charm on the mummy's wrappings.

Pages from one Book of the Dead. No harm ever came from reading a book, right?

Charms and more charms. Love the one at the bottom - it's made to resemble two fingers.

One of the fun activities at the start of the exhibition: either shade and decipher hieroglyphs (which we had no time for and didn't want to fight with the horde of students hogging the display), or fold your very own pyramids. The product of mine and Raymond's origami fingers.

The exhibition is on till 18 April.