The disappointment

12 July 2012

And just as she suspected, it was all over...

Her heart sank as she found herself staring at the handwritten scribbling of a notice that read EETC Photo Shoot on the glass door.  And although she had prepped herself for the worst, she couldn't help but feel let down.  Who am I kidding?  I'd be lying if I say it is not important.  After all, it was the only affirmation to ascertain her work, especially after she was told she was "too low key".

8 March 2012

And she received the news that she was one of the two nominees for the award.  But intuition told her that there was more to it than the two weeks delay between the confirmation email and the excited phone call she'd received from her reporting officer one evening.

12 March 2012

And she found out, much to her dismal, that the director had plans to trade her nomination form for a shopping voucher.  A shopping voucher!  As much as she loved shopping, she found it hard to shake off her sentiment that the director had, wittingly or unwittingly, made a mockery of her work.

12 July 2012

And as she fought off her disappointment, the new song she was humming provided much comfort...

"My hope is built on nothing less

than Jesus' blood and righteousness

I dare not trust the sweetest frame

But wholly trust in Jesus' name.

Christ alone, Cornerstone

Weak made strong, in the Saviour's love

Through the storm

He is Lord, Lord of all.

When darkness seems to hid His face

I rest on His unchanging grace

In every high and stormy gale

My anchor holds within the veil.

Christ alone, Cornerstone

Weak made strong, in the Saviour's love

Through the storm

He is Lord, Lord of all.

Then He shall come with trumpet sounds

Oh, may I then in Him be found

Dressed in His righteousness alone

faultless, stand before the throne.

Christ alone, Cornerstone

Weak made strong, in the Saviour's love

Through the storm

He is Lord, Lord of all."

One of those sleepless nights...

She buried her troubled face into her pillow as she recalled what happened that evening.

And she couldn't help but wonder if her greatest worry were increasing proven right, that she is less than second fiddle.  Many a times, she has dismissed the thought as a frivolous speculation as one that stems from her too-intuitive nature, which quite unfortunately, is also seldom incorrect.

"Don't be silly!  You're thinking too much."  She was often told.  "If you continue this conversation, I'm going to get angry..."

Charles M Schulz once said, "Never lie in bed at night asking yourself questions you cannot answer."  As she tossed in bed wondering about the what ifs, she pondered over the resentful look that would occasionally stare at her in the face.

And perhaps Dr Seuss was right.  "Sometimes the questions are complicated [but] the answers are simple."

Prelude to Vacation II

And she couldn't believe her eyes when she thought she saw "You should not have taken leave..." mouthed to her.

Perturbed, she could not understand why a vacation would be frowned upon when the week was officially The Vacation Week.  Double standard? she wondered.  It was then that she realised that she was the only one who bore the brunt of the animosity for the same hostility was not dished out to the guy who was also going away the following week.

This isn't fair, she thought.  Almost immediately, as she remembered what she was told the previous week, she relented.  As indignant as she had felt, she made a mental note to herself that she would do a good job of her share of the project, and not have tongues wagging at her, mouthing "I just knew it..."

No, I'll have none of those, she decided.

Prelude.to.Vacation

And she couldn't contain her excitement as she clicked the submit button.  Afterall, she has been looking forward to a real vacation for the longest time.  Rubbing her hands in glee, she was almost smelling the buttery flavour of that egg tart, sinking her teeth into the crispy goose skin, and savouring the sweetness of that famed mango dessert...

Tap, tap, tap, tap...

As she drummed her fingers softly on the desktop, she conjured up a thousand and one reasons why her application might be rejected.  Muttering softly, she made a mental note to herself to be liberal with her vocabulary bank of profanity if she were home-grounded in two weeks' time.

Tap, tap, tap, tap...

And she gave thanks to the Lord when she realised her fears were extraneous.

Destinations

"Not everybody knows where their Point B is from Point A..."

Terminator has left the chatroom.

She found herself staring blankly at the computer screen until it finally dawned on her what he was trying to tell her all week.  For a fortnight, she had been haunted by pangs of disorientation.  Now, she stood where two roads diverge, wondering where each path would take her.  There was little doubt what she was expected to fulfill, yet she loathed the burdensome expectation.

Blueberry Pie has entered the chatroom.

She saw a familiar name in the chatroom.

"Hey, free to chat?"

"Shoot."

"Well, nothing...erm, the usual.  What else can there be?"

"LOL!"

...

"So?"

"Nothing....hey, what you would do if you were me?"

"Not this again?  We've been through this, like a gazillion times!"

"Not that many, just twenty thousand times.  So, should I go or not?"

"Yea..."

"You think I should?"

"Okay, no then..."

"I shouldn't?"

"What's the problem?  Haven't it already been decided?"

"But I can still change my mind, can't I?"

"Why don't you toss a coin?  Since you can't decide.  Duh..."

"NO WAY!  I can't let a coin decide which path to take.  This is my future we're talking about."

...

I have been there

The songs playing on her ipod did not complement the soundless images on the flat screen, nor did the lines from the novel she was reading. The contradiction of her story was the oscillating fan turned on high and the warm blackcurrant drink on the coffee table.

"In Venice in the Middle Ages, there was once a profession for a man called a codega - a fellow you hired to walk in front of you at night with a lit lantern, showing you the way, scaring off thieves and demons, bringing you confidence and protection through the dark streets..."

Ahhh...a codega. It's unrelated but yet not totally irrelevant as she recalled the phone call that came halfway across the earth one late night last week. "I miss home...when are you coming...I'll see you in a few months...it's getting cold now..." She couldn't remember now what she had told him or what he said to her, except that she knew he knew she knew.

There was a tacit bond. The same way she yearns the freedom beyond the fences of the cage yet hungers for the comfort its boundaries provide, he hears the world beckon, but not without the echoes of home.

"Uh-huh...yes...yes...I'll see you soon...don't forget your scarf..." she understood. I have been there, she smiled to herself.

I will never let you fall

It was officially winter. As she sipped the hot chocolate while looking out of the window, she couldn't help but wonder about the surreality of the dream a few nights ago. The hand. She could still feel the grasp of the hand even as she woke up suddenly, a grasp so strong and sturdy it spoke, "I will never let you fall". It was then that she realised she hadn't woken up crying for the first time in a very long time...

The big empty room

She was surrounded with friends, yet she reckoned she has never felt lonelier. Her smile, unknown to the others, was the concealer she puts on to cover the gray. And her unusual clatter a decoy to drown out the silence.

When she was finally alone, she felt really small in the big empty room. With the receiver in hand, she punched in the numbers she has memorised by heart, waited patiently for the call to connect which rang until it went dead. Her mind went into a swirl of blankness as she contemplated the redial button. After what seemed like an eternity, she finally decided against it, for it was once too many.

She looked around the big empty room, and finally fixated her glance on the familiar photograph...

If only...

The thing was, she wasn't sure what it was either. It was an unfamiliar feeling, this restlessless. And then, the phone call came.

It wasn't something she was expecting. In fact, it wasn't anything she would ever expect. And momentarily, she didn't know how to react. Cry? Scream? Shout? It was as if she was devoid of any emotion. But she also knew that any reaction would be futile for she could not turn back the clock.

And then it dawned on her. Perhaps this is telepathy? she thought. She'd always believed she had a special connection with gran, albeit it simply a figment of her imagination. I just know that something isn't right. So this is why. she thought.

Deeply saddened by news of her beloved grandmother who suffered from a sudden stroke, leaving her partially paralysed with severe speech impairment, pangs of guilt engulfed her as she regretted not visiting gran before leaving. I should have, and I wanted to. But I didn't and it's too late now. She desperately needed to talk to somebody, but did not know who or how. Burying her sadness, she knew that there was nothing else she could do, except to pray.

Bedtime

As she snuggled in bed under the warm duvet, she wondered how long it was going to take for her to fall asleep that night. It had been hard trying to fall asleep recently. But it was strange for she had no reason to lose sleep over. Perhaps it's the lack of stress that's causing me to be more alert than usual, she thought as she stared blankly at the ceiling in the dim room. Images from the telly illuminated the whitewashed walls in the tiny apartment, soft murmurs from the set audible in the silent night.

Tired of tossing and turning, she lie on her back, counting the ticks of the clock with every passing second. Occassionally, she drifted off before being stirred awake by the booming engine of a motorbike or the frantic siren of an ambulance four storeys below. Maybe I should stop drinking coffee after dinner, she thought. Plumping up the pillows for the tenth time that night, she started humming her favourite song in a bid to lull herself to a slumber. The humming seemed to work as the room soon got quiet...

One more month

And as she sank her teeth into the grilled chicken, she didn't feel hungry anymore. She was eating alone again, a familiar sight for the last four months. The aroma of the dinner soon filled the room, but she couldn't take another bite. Looking out of the window, she found herself gazing at the darkening sky. The orange hue of the sun was beautiful. Alas, it was setting. And soon, it would be dark, and cold, again. "One more month", she whispered, "one more month..."

Goodbye Love

"There is a time for departure even when there's no certain place to go."

Epilogue

It felt like a hand around her throat as it finally dawned on her that he could, would never love her the way she wanted - he never had and he never will. It was time. And as she walked away, tears welled up in her eyes. Whispering a goodbye audible only to herself, she wiped away her final tears.

Blessing

"You have been my friend. That in itself is a tremendous thing. I wove my webs for you because I liked you. After all, what's a life, anyway? We're born, we live a little while, we die. A spider's life can't help being something of a mess, with all this trapping and eating flies. By helping you, perhaps I was trying to lift up my life a trifle. Heaven knows anyone's life can stand a little of that."
Charlotte, Charlotte's Web

~ E.B. White

10pm

Snuggled in her warm bed that rainy night, she recounted the day in her mind. The movie, the walk in the park, the ice-cream at the cafe. The sneezing, the unfinished conversation at the sushi bar, the sudden comment at the traffic lights. And as if she has never ever realised it before, she suddenly felt really blessed for him in her life as she remembered a verse from the bible - I always thank God for you because of his grace given to you in Christ Jesus¹.

8pm

And even at quarter past eight, she did not have the slightest desire to head home despite the fact that his eyes had become teary, the sneezing more frequent and his house was a good 45 minutes away from the cafe. It was strange too, for the chatty duo did not talk much that night. Perhaps they were preoccupied with things on their minds, things which only they knew. But time was running out.

5pm

"Shall we take a walk in the park?" she asked and despite his getting-more-frequent sneezing, he subscribed to her incompassionate request.

1pm

She spotted him almost immediately outside the crowded cineplex and a sudden surge of unexplainable melancholy gripped her. He has only been gone for a while and she wondered how it was going to be possible without him for the next year.

Footnotes:

¹ 1 Corinthians 1:4

Broken

And in his absence, she made herself read five chapters from the novel every night. Strangely, the book did manage to distract her a little from the solitude she'd found herself in for the last month. But that night had been too quiet, so quiet she could hear the street cat five storeys down from her apartment.

Outside her window, the cloudy sky loomed an eminent storm in the warm summer night. Seemingly, it was as if the rain gods knew, and in the way only nature could, to show empathy. Staring at her glass of water by the bedside table, she suddenly thought of the mugs that were broken in the last five months - there was the skinny hand-painted aboriginal art from Perth from four years ago, and the huge orange Tigger from Disneyland, and her favourite Kiss-motif from Melbourne from eons ago. How bizarre, she thought.

She went back to her book, half crossing her fingers that the pages would be her lullaby that night. Her book told the story of the protagonist, Anna, who has survived the accident and who so badly wanted to talk to her dead husband sought the help of a medium at a rundown warehouse in the heart of NYC where the free spiritual meetings were being held, and in turn, met some nice people, broken as they were but whom, she suspects, would help Anna to move on.

No such luck, she thought as she put down her book after the routine five chapters, still wide awake. Looking out of the window, the cloudy sky continued hanging. Nah, I don't think it'll rain today, she told herself. She thought of the story she'd just read and wondered how broken people, fictitious or real, cope with the brokenness in their lives. Her eyes wandered across the dimly lit bedroom and set gaze at the cross hung across the small room. Maybe...only Jesus is the answer, she thought.

She knew, for she was broken too.

Displaced

Why, why, why, why, why, why, why, why, why? she wondered. She couldn't understand why this was happening. She thought it was her destiny until the cold hard truth crashed in - she was going to be alone, and homeless.

Evidently, the thought of being a nomad was ineffable. A homebody through and through, she'd always needed the security of four walls to feel safe, especially in the strange city which she has to accustom herself to in the shortest possible time.

Self-actualisation? she sneered, a tad too cynically, perhaps overwhelmed by the cloud of uncertainty looming above her head. What bullshit. Deep down inside, the irrepressible fear was mounting and consuming her by the second.

Girl, Interrupted

Comfort Zone, Contested

Losing her sense of security was the last thing she'd wanted on this planet, but it seemed to be the very equilibrium she's failing terribly to grasp.

The letter that arrived on Monday led her peaceful world into a vortex where nothing seemed to make sense anymore. And it was paradoxical too, for she'd been waiting for the same letter for the longest time till it became too trying to even wonder about it.

And fear gripped her suddenly, and unexpectedly. With the what ifs swirling in her head, disorienting every logic and justification she'd worked out to convince herself she'd needed and wanted this, it was then that she realised maybe she wasn't sure after all.

Path Seekers, Limited

It was perhaps by some divine guidance that she found herself in an unfamiliar neighbourhood where she hopped on a bus that brought her to yet another unfamiliar neighbourhood and as she watched the countless people get on and off the bus along the long journey, it brought some strange form of solace to her topsy-turviness. And possibly, an answer too.

Today, Tomorrow

And she thought, if time really flies then it will soon be over, and though things may never be the same, but surely the future is made of the same stuff as the present. After all, Victor Hugo once said," There is nothing like a dream to create a future."

Stay-home Thursdays

Waking up to the familiar clacks of her sister's heels before leaving for the office, she lazed in bed and wondered why the thunder when the sky wasn't that grey. Is the thunder god in a bad mood too or is the air just dry? Quickly, she dismissed the latter because it was unthinkable for the air in humid Singapore to be dry.

Breakfast was an unappealing hot dog bun with her usual coffee. The moment she finished the last bit of her coffee, inertia set in. The news was on the telly and she was appalled to learn about the latest starvation problem in North Korea and the ludicrousness of the newly proposed Sino-Singapore eco-city in Tianjin, not to mention also being utterly disgusted by the child abuse scandals (and the US$2 billion settlement payouts) plaguing American Catholic churches. It was then she had a sudden bout of energy surge the first time that morning to do something constructive.

She thought of the most brilliant idea - to change all the sheets in the house. So, she dug deep into the wardrobe and took out her favourite cotton-sateen sheets from Hong Kong. It was a heavy affair, literally, and she wondered if mattresses do gain mass over the years (because of the perspiration). Blasting U2, a CD she'd borrowed from her best friend which she had no intention of returning, on the player, she swayed to the music through the tedious task and suddenly caught her dad's bemused face. No, I'm not on drugs, she mouthed. Appeased, he left her alone.

Totally wiped out after the third bed, she was secretly thankful that her mum beat her to changing the sheets in the master bedroom that morning. That, and sending her to college; she might just as well be the friendly chambermaid at The Four Seasons for all she knows now.

She hadn't realised she'd taken a really long time as it was soon lunch time. Devouring the oily fried noodles in just 10 minutes, she made a mental note to tell her dad she doesn't exactly fancy fried noodles as much as her sister, after which was indefinite telly time.

Feeling wasted, she then reached out for the Chinese tabloid. Within the next minute, she gave up trying to read the multitude of Chinese words and wondered if she'd been missing out on interesting news (read: gossip) for she'd witnessed her parents spending hours on these papers everyday.

With 2 more hours before dinner, she found herself sitting in front of her overcrowded wardrobe and wondered how one could possess so much clothes and yet lament there's nothing to wear. Unfazed, she decided to organise her wardrobe for the millionth time this month.

And as she lay in bed before the last meal of the day, she wondered if the guy on the fourth floor had moved out, for the familiar cigarette smoke had been absent all day.

Ahhhh...stay-home Thursdays are warpedly delightful, she concluded.

让你自由

仿佛昨日的幻灯片，我们的故事似乎也停了。这些日子，你的安静让我觉得不安。而等待似乎也成了习惯。。。

是幻觉吗？但也不知从何时起，你便像那手里的流沙，慢慢的从我生命里溜走。他们都说：如果爱，就要让你自由。这个道理我懂，也想放开手，只是好舍不得。他们也说：只要有美好的回忆就够了。其实，这个道理我也懂，可是就是深怕记忆中的你会渐渐变得模糊，而那沉重的思念也会随着季节而改变。那风儿似乎明白我的心情，轻轻地在我耳边说：孩子，放下吧！没有东西是时间带不走的。

想让你自由，换言之，也让我自由。但却也拼命地想握住，不想松开手。

Translate to English

Elementary, my dear Watson.

And so she had a phone call from halfway around the world last night. She should be pleased, but not really.

Apparently, Mr Caller can't help but rattled on about how the 2 students he'd tutored for the national exams had attained distinctions in both Math papers, yadda yadda yadda, and the ang-pow money that she has gotten this Lunar New Year was (quote and unquote) "SO little" and how work was (quote and unquote) sian while emphasising worry over her bread and butter yet again, blah blah blah...

Ahhhh...an ego trip, she thought.

Nevertheless, she obliged; the thought (of even dialling up) was sweet. Stopping short at snubbing Mr Caller, she smiled to herself as she suddenly realised what actually was going on. After all, she too has been on this road before....

*****

"Little do men perceive what solitude is, and how far it extendeth.
For a crowd is not company, and faces are but a gallery of pictures,
and talk but a tinkling cymbal, where there is no love."
- Francis Bacon

"I'm lost," he said.

And so to cut a long story short, she was pissed off at herself for being such a cow, but she reassured herself that he only whined because he wanted to be babied. Honestly, she thought to herself, is it that hard to let go? After all, it'd been quite a while since the runaway bride episode and the vicissitudes of the past 621 days should have mellowed the pain, but no.

Not wanting to drive him into total wretchedness, she made a mental note not to antagonise him further. It proved to be a futile thought as she couldn't let her incomprehensibility be left unheard.

"Why are you whimpering at your 'being lost' after engaging in a conversation which you shouldn't even have in the first place? The stray cat you used to feed together? What were you thinking?" she questioned, appalled at his sheer stupidity. She knew he wasn't ready for that.

"I...I don't know. Stupid, I guess?"

"For Pete's sake, can you at least do something considerably more intelligent than this?" She was literally a time bomb waiting to explode. Her fury was, of course, not uncalled for. He was her best friend and all she wanted was for him to at least protect himself from further wreckage. After all, she had battled the tears in her eyes when his heart was shattered two years ago. She didn't think he'd deserved something so severe in his life.

As if notwithstanding the torment he was already facing, she had to make things worse, "And it's time you do something about it because people aren't going to sympathize with you eventually."

The silence was deafening but after what seemed to be an eternity, he finally made an attempt to respond. "The problem...only you."

And so it seemed the strain of trying to be the most understanding person had finally taken its toll as she carelessly tried to get him to come to his senses about reality. "But it's okay," he added.

Au contraire to feeling triumphant lashing out her two cents' worth about the whole damn issue, she felt she should have bitten her tongue instead because it wasn't even worth a dime. Deflated, she ended her day staring at the ceiling, sleepless.