Home

September 1, 2017

I was surprised and dismayed,
when I realised that coming to an empty house bothers me.
It never used to matter, in Australia, France, or Singapore.
I accepted that the places I lived in were meant to be silent.

But
Six months of you and your animation, interaction and life between the two of us
Changed my understanding of home
Home is lively and home is seeing your smiling face turned towards me

So I’m finding it difficult to go back to where I was before
Comfortable with stepping into a still apartment, filled with objects that will not move.

Most nights I’ve walked the house in darkness, perhaps stopping by the kitchen for a drink before heading to the bedroom
There’s no point in turning on the lights when there’s nobody to see.

_

Are you free for a call?
[ringing]
Hello, my pillar of support’
‘Hello, the roof over my head, and foundation of my heart’.

Advertisements

Yesterday

August 29, 2017

Yesterday, i swept the floors, mopped them, washed the bathroom, did the laundry, cleared the laundry, sent the sheets and duvets to be cleaned. When i rattled off the list, you commented I’m more productive when you’re gone.  Perhaps, but not quite; it’s true i hadn’t done them much just before you left, but that was because I wanted to be near you.

Today you flew in the back seat of an F16, it’s 1547hrs on your side. What are you doing now? I sound like a lovesick teenager and this is your fault. How did you get so close; under the skin of my beating heart.

Without you, I’m

August 26, 2017

It’s been a very long day, and i have had little sleep in preparation for it. You didn’t take your toothbrush with you.

There’s not much to say. The house is quiet.

What would I do, if you went away for good? I wrote somewhere in maybe 2012 that before you, i was a hibernating ent, covered over with moss and getting more tree-like by the day. I suppose I’d go back to that state, if you ever left.

You, my noisy, cheerful lark, forver singing little made-up ditties and often breaking into spontaneous dance, always letting me come into your arms for yet another hug, yet another cuddle. How is it that someone as inclined to pessimism as I, could have someone like you to call home.

I miss you, and it’s only been 15 hours since you left, and I’ve been completely busy till 90 minutes ago. The bed, and things I’ve grown used to, watch silently since you’re not here.

I thought I had more to say, and probably i do, but I seem to have lost my words tonight. Hopefully I’ll hear your voice later.

I’ve grown used to

August 16, 2017

Holding onto you,
Waiting for sleep to come.
My fingers caressing your elbow,
your foot nestled over mine.

I’ve grown used to
Pre-bedtime snuggles and chatter,
You telling me tidings of the day,
The highlights and the badly behaved,
Anything that’s caught your attention lately, really.

I’ve grown used to
Mentally calculating if tonight is my turn for the bolster,
Or yours.
If i get the bolster you tend to end up hugging my pillow anyway.

I’ve grown used to
You telling me which side you’re sleeping on tonight,
If it’s my turn for monster protection sentry duty.
You put up with me if i suddenly flip upside down and hug your ankles instead,
if i cling onto you like a barnacle after lights out for “two Rachel minutes” (jfoo, 2017).
And if i get an insomatic night and shake you awake out of deep sleep because I’m bored tossing and turning,
you pat my head and mumble half a coherent comfort sentence before sentence, and you, slide back into sleep.

Grown used to the nightly prayers
The goodnight-I-love-you-kiss-me exchange
Searching for you half-conscious in the middle of the night
You reaching for me to do the same.
And other, private, pleasures.

Penelope glitches

July 27, 2017

I walked today; stepped out from Chinatown to the street, past Pickering hotel where a Vezel (connect one,) did a lane change so extreme it could have been a pencil squiggle. Stopped by a bus stand to learn more about round ligament cramps, hurried up to traffic lights which seemed always on the verge of turning red, perhaps my pace too meandering.

Peered into sidewalks and dreamed of possibilities, looked wondering up to skyscrapers in the distance, imagining friends working high up any of them, stern steel and grey. Thought if I ever lost myself from grief, I could wander these roads, labyrinth like my mind.

Saw my reflection too late on a storefront window, turned the neck at my silhouette. Walked uphill past a bak ku teh restaurant far, far too popular, in my opinion. Tried to feel if I was hungry, and what for.

Looked across and right at heritage buildings, rainbow coloured window panels, over the Singapore river, remembering an evening and afternoon too many years ago where two boys took turns to make a fuss of me. One was more unscrupulous than the other, and had hands like an octopus. I think my father would have beaten him up, if he’d known. Other boys, too. Now I’m a married woman, with a husband who doesn’t see the point of expensive restaurants but believes in plenty of affection. Here’s a kiss for you, Mr J.

My legs brought me past more old memories, a Funan centre all torn down and rebuilding promises, Fort Canning where strolls and wedding photos had been taken, a grand fire station I’d always admired. Churches and temples, one with a graveyard I’d stood some years back, regretful and aching. I’d turned around with an internal start; i think i made a donation afterward.

More buildings, more history, standing nervously aside for a gang of pigeons. Realising i should check Google maps, entering raffles city for takeaway dinner.

I’m at bugis now, with five minutes to spare before the Mongolia trip sharing. I hope i got the venue right. Another place, another time, another million memories.

Scattered thoughts

July 15, 2017

Some months ago, when i was still living on my own, I bought a plant with black leaves. Said plant has since been putting forth leaf after leaf, and to my complete surprise, a baby version with just one precious leaf is peeking over the pot. I will have to think of transferring it soon. I have a plan.

J has been posted, and we/i have been learning so much about human nature. Each place he goes to, I learn more and i am surprised time and again. I like that he tells me stuff.

The office has three orchids, two mint plants and two different basils. The tall light leafed one is becoming worse for the wear; apparently it’s overwatered. Drunk, i tell you. They get watered in the mornings. On Fridays i water them a second time before i go, and leave with a vague sense of worry.

S asked me today how work has been. It obliged me to reflect (a good thing). All things considered, it’s alright, mais il est ennuyeux parfois. I’m not complaining, though.

So much can go wrong in utero, that the ___ don’t count your chickens before they hatch rings truest. What’s the word I’m looking for? Adge- adage, ah. I was reading about umbilical cords today, while A was telling me how the doctor said her risk for a down syndrome baby is now three times higher because of lighter spots in her ultrasound.

Babies are cuter when they’re some months old, and i haven’t made up my mind about the rest of their lives. C and i agree that having a lifetime responsibility for something which needs help with even pee and poop is a baffling thought- why would anyone willingly endure the exhaustion of rearing? Must be proof of God’s irresistible will, I joked.

Mon mari est out for a farewell, but he should be coming home soon. I don’t know how we’ll hold up to the coming and repeated testing, but he’s the one i want my whole life through.

And I will, just not in the way I’d intended- that’ll be a later post.

I moved into Chinatown today,  and the office has big windows and views i was getting acquainted with when suddenly, I  realised the hill in the distance looked familiar, like I’d climbed it before.

And I have.

Screenshot_20170614-104413

20170614_104334

I had to scroll through numerous other posts to get this one, revisiting the ruins of a decaying story I had neither been old enough or willing to leave. I feel heavy reading the writings of those months. I had been so sad.

Also, three different guys in one post – I disbelieve myself.

But. for all the triumphs and tears I’d thrown myself into eight years ago, flinging myself into abysses and mud,  nonsense, plus and minus a hundred other stories along the way-

In the end I married the best of them all.