Would you...?

Tuesday, 8 December 2009 @ 6.36pm

Would you call yourselves a loving couple if you call each other names like ‘stupid asshole’, ‘dumb shit’ and ‘fucker’?

Would you call yourselves a happy couple if the only time you smiled and laughed at your partner is when someone else is making fun of your partner?

Would you call yourselves a happy couple if the only time you’re nice to each other is when you want something from the other?

Would you call yourselves a happy couple if you scowl at each other all the time but automatically turn on the fake smiles when there are strangers around – especially if they were mat salleh?

Would you call yourselves a happy couple if you, as the man, do not protect your woman as you should, instead belittling her with harsh words?

And would you call yourselves a happy couple if you, as the woman, do not respect your man and treat a piece of dirt better than you do him?

Didn’t think so.

Farce

Tuesday, 24 November 2009 @ 11.18am

We’re struggling.

I didn’t realise it (or maybe I did but just didn’t want to believe it) until I typed the words out. I’ve always portrayed this strong person. And always believed that there was always a solution, always a way out. I always thought that I could handle anything and everything. Heart made of steel.]

Until recently.

Recent events has forced me to stop denying what I was feeling – lost, hopeless, desperation. People always say I’m strong and confident and nothing can hurt me or bring me down.

It’s all a lie. A farce. A mask. I hate feeling vulnerable. I hate feeling weak. So I went on the defensive. I worked longer. I kept myself busy.

But this morning, I couldn’t keep up the farce any longer. It’s getting nearer. And I had to admit it. We’re struggling.

Please help me.

I Heart Get Crafty

Monday, 23 November 2009 @ 6.08pm

Imagine screaming children, lots of hugs and laughter, with the occasional tears. That’s what you usually get when you’re at Get Crafty. I remember my very first time walking into Get Crafty. It was on a weekend and I was with my sister and her kids on our way to lunch at Cozy House. I was in the midst of an ugly break up and wanted to fill up my time to get away from reality.

The sign said they were looking for part-time art teachers. I saw bright colours, smiling faces and heard the sounds of hairdryers in the background as I hastily filled in the form. I told the CSR attending to me – who would later become my friend known as Ken Li – that I would drop by one of these days to hand over my resume. Which I really did, a week later.

It was a Thursday when Soo called and asked me to come in for an interview on a Saturday. I didn’t know what to expect. I’d only just started working at Trix (my first ‘real’ job) and was still in the transition of uni-goer to career woman. Or at least, that was how I felt at the time.

I didn’t know how to dress. So I thought casual chic. I wore a white top with black three-quarter pants. Which I was told by Soo and Roza jokingly that if I were going to work there, don’t even think of wearing anything white and anything nice. I got the job after a 20-minute interview. And was asked to come to work the following day, which was Sunday. As I was walking out, Jet told me to wear blue as that was the colour of the week.

My first day of work, I was told to go to the Ground floor with Soo. There was a booth set up for Easter. I was quickly briefed on what I had to do. I met Audrey and Angie later in the afternoon. Didn’t really think much of them then. My mind was trying hard not t focus on methods of trying to let him to let me go.

When Soo asked me to go for my lunch break, I gladly went up to the noisy calm of the The Chicken Rice Shop. I was getting a migraine from the children. Some were loud. Some had to be coaxed. Some asked a lot of questions. And some just sat and did nothing. One asked me to draw a crocodile on their Easter Bunny bag. I convinced her that stars and polka dots looked better. Angie was impressed by my lack of needing to question Soo or anyone else before making this decision.

It got better over the weeks. The break up was done with and I finally started getting to know the other teachers a little better. Although I usually took my lunch break with Soo, I started to feel some sort of a bond with Zaza, Iqa, Jet, Melinda and Ken Li.

Then over the years, and over the three times that I quit and came back, things began to progress. I got better with handling children – good ones, naughty ones, disabled ones, and even satanic ones. I also got noticed by my boss as somewhat of a leader, which lately has evolved to my new position among the other teachers – momma.

I learned to work smart. When I became CSR, my responsibilities included handling parents, which surprisingly (even to myself), turned out to be something that was incredibly easy for me to do. It just felt natural. So natural that I was soon called “the top salesman” at the centre by Audrey. It was also around this time that the other teachers started confiding in me their worries and problems. As did the parents.

I started getting ideas for the centre. I was always thinking of ways to improve. And I always tried to find a way for things to work systematically, faster, easier and more conveniently for teachers. I changed what I felt was needed and I voiced my concerns where I thought only Audrey could get my message across. This led me to the title another title by Audrey – Business Development.

It’s been three years since I first walked into the centre to fill in the application form. I was a much younger (physically and mentally) person, who was conflicted and in pain. There are children who I’ve seen grow – physically and mentally too. Now, there are many, many parents who actually think I own or run the centre. They see me in control and they seem to like the fact that there is that sort of ‘mother figure’ around when they drop their children off.

I am also a part of the Get Crafty family, where we are all sisters, but most see me as their ‘momma’. We’ve created a special bond where we do not establish ourselves as colleagues. But we work together and we stick together as a team. And it’s for this reason that I have left and come back many times. And it’s for this reason that I heart Get Crafty.

The Rest of Our Lives

Friday, 20 November 2009 @ 6.06pm


Dear Sayang,

From the day I met you, you had always made me feel special. You always made me believe that I was the only woman you saw in the room. You always made me believe that I am your one and only.

You have made tremendous sacrifices on your part to make sure that I'm happy. You will do whatever you can to make me smile. And for that I appreciate it. And for that, I love you.

I used to spend hours at the restaurant or cafe that you were working at, just so I could spend whatever time I have with you. Even if you were too busy running around, managing staff or customers, you always made a point to come and sit with me, even if just for a while. My favourite memory of one of my visits was when I was seated alone reading the paper waiting for my dinner. You came and sat across from me, newspaper in hand. It was a spontaneous dinner. Although a quiet one, you ate with me :)

We seem to always be speaking a lannguage of our own. I didn't have to elaborate what I had to say, and you didn't have to express yourself for me to know exactly what you meant. It seemed as though we fit.

We were different where we were able to compliment each other. And we were similar where it was ok to be. You knew when things were difficult, and all I had to do was look for you to know that things were going to be ok. And I never have to look around or be worried because I always knew tha you were there for me, watching me, whenever I needed you. I knew I would never be lost in a crowd as long as you were there with me.

You have always been behind me, in anything that I needed your support in. When I wanted to quit my job, you encouraged me every step of the way. You understood when things were getting rough in the new job and never pushed me when I came home late or when I rarely saw you.

When I wanted to leave the new job and go back to Trix, you asked me whether that was what I really wanted. You knew I was at a breaking point and you knew that I needed help. You came with me when I had to be in the office at the wee hours of the morning. You sat and waited while I was with the designers. And you never once complained or told me to hurry up.

You knew how ambitious I am. You knew that I always needed a challenge. And you asked me to remember why I left in the first place. But you never stood in my way. You just gave me the slight push that I needed, but you never told me what to do.


Lately, you changed your career because you said you wanted to build us a brighter and better future. You told me that I deserved the whole world and more. You told me that things will get better and we'll be happier. But then you were the first to admit that we were going through a rough patch. That we weren't spending as much time as we used to and that things were a bit rough.

It was in the middle of the night when we were in the midst of a fight. I accused you of ignoring me. And you accused me of not supporting you. Somewhere in the heat of the moment, you said, "What's your rush yang? We have the rest of our lives to be together."

And that's when it hit me. You're right. We do have the rest of our lives together. We're building a future together. So what the hell was I going on about? I'm sorry I wasn't supportive. And I'm sorry to have added to that stress. Just know that I'll always be behind you. Because you are my man. And because I always will.

Yours truly,
Yang

Silent Tears

Friday, 13 November 2009 @ 10.03am

I miss you. I know I’m not allowed to say it or feel this way. You’ve warned me about the hours. You’ve warned me that this is for our future. But I can’t help it.

I know that things will change (and hopefully not in the next twenty years). I know that you’re doing this to build a better life for us. I know that things will get much better.

But I’m lonely. I wait for you till I can’t keep my eyes open anymore. And I wake you up just to get ready for work. I only communicate with you when I need the car.

I don’t tell you because you’ve told me this is for the better. I don’t share anything with you because I don’t want to add to the stress. I don’t tell you because I see you have other things in your mind.

I hear you talking in your sleep. It must not be easy to have so many things on your mind. So I’ll keep it quiet. And keep my silent tears inside. Because I know that one day things will change. I know that one day things will be better.

Against all my better judgement...

Wednesday, 4 November 2009@6.20pm

Against all my better judgment, I thought no, it's ok. There'll be someone to get me. !(#&*$&#)(&%(&#%)*#&%)(#&%*)($&*&$)%*&$!!!!!

Against all my better judgment, I thought no, it's ok. There'll always be another day.
!)$*#&$&(*#$)(*$^)*&#$@&*^)@(#*@(*$&@)($*#@(*!!!!

Against all my better judgment, I thought no, it's ok. There'll always be more to come.
!)*@#($*^#$&^)*$&#*(&#$(*#)(@#(@$(&#%)#(*$*_@#(!!!!!

Fuck fuck. Fucking fuck. There I said it. !(#*@)(#&#$*&#)%*&#$_(*#$)(*#$(&#%*(#&$(#*$()#!!!!!

He was only 10

Thrusday, 13 August 2009 @ 5.18pm

He was always vague about the actual month or year of his mother’s death. I was just told she had cancer, it was too late when they found it and there was nothing more that they could do about it. Whenever I asked how old he was, he always said he was still in primary. I’d always assumed he was around his early teens.

The other day, I suggested we go visit his mother’s grave. I thought it was better to go before puasa, Raya, and definitely before we got engaged. To me, it was a sort of sign of respect before we went to that next level. His sister wanted to follow.

When we arrived, he was already looking a little anxious. Losing his mother was the defining moment in his life. It set his character. It hardened him and it made him stronger. He was the eldest and was immediately expected to ensure his siblings are taken care of. He made that his last promise to his mother.

We arrived first. He led me the way. The grave had white stone around it, with white pebbles placed neatly on top of it. It was placed under a tree. Eddie started brushing away the leaves and the dirt. I took a moment to stand and tried to digest the fact that this grave belonged to Eddie’s mother. The person who had nurtured and raised him, even to her very last days. The person whom Eddie adored and still misses to this day.

The lump in my throat was forming. I brushed it away and started picking off dirt from between the pebbles. Eddie then sat next to the grave. His mouth was already moving in hush tones of Al-Fatihah. He motioned for me to sit next to him and I did.

His sister arrived with her husband in tow. She was already holding back the tears. She immediately squatted by the grave and prayed, tears rolling down her cheeks while her hands were busy picking off the tiny bits I’d missed. Eddie got up and salam her husband, then kissed his sister’s head. She’s a year younger than he, and was always being told that she was the splitting image of her late mother.

I saw through his sunglasses that Eddie was holding back his tears too. He moved one grave away. Also white stone, also under the tree. His mother’s mother. His grandmother. She passed a year after his mother did. Again, he busied himself cleaning her grave. I followed suit. I glanced over and saw that Ijah’s tears were continuous, as were her prayers and her hands.

Eddie and I prayed for his grandmother. As we got up, Ijah moved over to us. Eddie and I went back to his mother’s grave to pour water over it. It was then that I finally saw the headstone. I didn’t understand most of it because it was written in Jawi. The only thing I understood was the date. 5.6.1991. He lost her when he was ten years old. I looked up at him. He was scrubbing the headstone and mumbling that he wants to come back more often – maybe plant something.

My heart broke. He had just turned ten years old when his mother passed away. Which means he was eight and a half when they found her cancer. He tells me stories about her all the time. Sometimes he guesses how tall he is if he were to stand next to her now. He tells me she liked to make handicraft. And keep the house clean. His fondest memory was of his last Raya with her. He had had a fever and was home alone with her while everyone else had gone to visit relative’s homes.

He said he was lying with a blanket wrapped around him. His mother came up to him and asked if he wanted her to cook bihun sup for him since he didn’t have an appetite for Raya food. He did. He told me even in her ill health, she made him bihun sup. And that was the last dish she ever cooked for him.