Another reminder of increasing age

The new year. Another period to plunge into a regular existential crisis. Erhem. I mean, to review the past one year, to learn from one's mistakes and castigate oneself into the next century. *cough*

I mean, in hopes of improving oneself.

Resolutions? I don't make any. Stopped doing that in primary school. Why? Because i always come up with something that involves changing my personality.

Let me elucidate.

Procrastination has always been my forte. As a young student, i would aspire to be conscientious, to complete my homework and assignments ahead of schedule, and to study for tests and exams in advance. I swear in my 17 years as a student, that has never occurred. All that i managed to achieve was excellent short term memory (from countless last minute cramming sessions), questionable long term memory and a sizable amount of guilt and disappointment come the following new year.

I was 9 when the concept of  the new year resolution was first explained to me on new year's eve as my family camped in front of the tv watching the countdown fireworks. I gave up on it after 3 unsuccessful attempts.

So when i see someone my age twit something like "New year. Same goal. Renewed hope." I can't help but think that this person's IQ has plunged into the depths of the earth's core.

If one has had an entire year to realise a goal and was still unable to attain it, what are the chances that it's going to happen in the following year? 

Resolutions? I don't have any. Call me an unmotivated, directionless coward with no drive for self improvement. It's time for my free fall anyway.

Soul squasher

Our thoughts and conversation meander at night before bed.

On one sleepy evening as we lay in bed slowly giving in to the comfort of a warm blanket and full stomachs, the topic of not wanting to work came up followed closely by the notion of eloping into the wilderness and subsistence living, succeeded by the thought of living in trees and a sudden abrupt realisation:

I have not for the last 2.5 years thought about my dream of living in a treehouse.

I had always been enchanted by tree houses ever since i was a kid influenced by readings of The Faraway Tree by Enid Blyton, then by stories of elves building whole communities among trees most notably in the worlds of Raymond E. Feist and J. R. Tolkien.

So imagine my excitement when i actually visited a real one when i was in Vanuatu with Liyong all those years ago. I have now forgotten the name of the tree.

My astonishment lay in having forgotten all about it. Even watching the amazing computer generated graphics of home tree in Avatar twice did nothing to trigger this memory. Upon further recollection, it all began when i commenced my job hunting in final year.

Despite the sudden realisation and remembrance of my dream of living in a tree house, the greatest despair lies in the fact that i am no longer able to generate the same amount of passion and excitement at the thought of it. The brain immediately rejects the possibility of such an occurrence.

Medicine has become the destroyer of my dreams, the squasher of my soul, the leacher of my life, to have taken this away from me.

And yet, i cling desperately to my profession, being the coward that i am, unable to unchain myself from this chronic cycle of work.

Perhaps next year... or the next year... or the next year...

I am being moulded into an adult.

Sentimental

When we moved to Melbourne 7 years ago, i literally halved the amount of my belongings because General #3 was moving to Hong Kong and we were going to rent out our home in Singapore.

As you can imagine, most of the mementos from my childhood all the way to my high school years were gone. Slowly over the years each time i went back to Singapore, i'd get rid of more stuff. All that is left now is one box in Singapore and another box in Hong Kong. I have learnt to harden my heart and give things away.

I threw away a pink plastic toy briefcase with chipped corners that i kept ever since i was 2. According to General #3 it was the only toy i ever requested for. If i could do that, i don't think i would be classified as sentimental.

I'm not even attending my own Graduation Party.

But recently, i realised that i am still in possession of 2 pieces of clothing that came into existence before i did. One of which is a red jacket that was originally General #3+'s in his younger days (i can't for the life of me imagine how he could've fit into that) which he then gave to General #3 who then gave it to me.

So how's that for incongruence?

The day she stopped crying

She sits surrounded by her own and yet abjectly separate. The faces she knows so well, under the heated whispers, evolve into masks of vilification. Beneath the civility, lies only the barbs of maliciousness, held momentarily in check by the hopes of converting her into one of them.

She is surrounded by those she love and hate. The deeper the love, the greater the hatred. She's trapped, trapped by these feelings as wave and endless wave of undulating words wrapped in gentility assault her.

All these because she feels, she sees, she knows and she seeks to remedy. She takes off the lens that sharpens her vision and saw with greater clarity for what they were. Bundles of conceitedness, selfishness, self righteousness and hidden agendas concealed by superior knowledge and words. Those pleasing ugly words.

She sits surrounded by strangers, anger and despair raging within. The rivulet of tears stream from her eyes and dry upon her cheeks. She invests all her efforts into quieting the internal torrent and in doing so, seals herself off bit by bit, steeling her heart little by little, against those she once called family. And then, her tears were no more.

Grief to Rest

To my dear friend of the past,
each time i thought of you,
memories of our love gone to dust
are dredged from the unknown depths
of sweet serene oblivion, thrust
rudely into my consciousness.
I mourn the intensity lost,
the warmth and caring turned to frost,
our lives once deeply intertwined,
our hearts made of the same design
torn slowly asunder by space,
by cruel time and the rat race.
I cried rivulets of bright tears
at the imperceptible death
of our friendship built over years,
and buried those sweet memories
which have become wistful remains
that cause me only endless pain.
So this is goodbye my dear friend,
for i can't bear to lose you again.

Growing Up and Apart

Before i came to Australia, i have never slept in a separate bedroom from my sister for more than a month cumulatively in my whole life. This continued up till I turned 18.

I remember when we were in primary school, we would lie next to each other, one of us on the mattress on the ground and the other on the lower bunk of our double decker bed. Every night before we went to bed we would chat about the things that happened in school and then i would try to drift off to sleep while she intermittently asked me if i was still awake. She was always afraid of monsters under the bed.

It wasn't until years later that i found out how terrified she was all those nights when she'd tried to keep me awake. She thanked me for not freaking out all those years ago or she would have gone hysterical with fear.

Then as we entered secondary school we moved into my parent's immense master bedroom because mum was lonely when dad was overseas, which was pretty much all the time. We'd whisper to each other before we went to sleep but mum could always hear us even if we were signing to each other with our hands. Unbelievable. Of course we got shushed.

After we came to Australia, we were crammed together in a small room in our student hostel and it created alot of friction between us. Things started to go further downhill after i got together with MOAO, because i didn't have as much time for her. She got jealous and slightly resentful of him. I felt that she was judging me and i pulled myself away from her even more because of my guilt and my insecurities. It was a tough year for my sister.

Eventually, she and MOAO got along pretty well with each other. But by then, she had moved out to be closer to her school. Now, i don't even get to see her once a month. We still talk about everything under the sun when she comes to visit and we still chat online.

I miss her. And all i feel is remorse and regret for i haven't been the sister she has needed and deserved for the last 4 years. I want to make it up to her, but i don't know how because now we're both preoccupied with our own paths to our separate careers. The only way my affection for her manifests is by the generous (but nothing super fancy...) birthday presents i buy for her each year.

We don't have the leisure to lie next to each other every night talking about everything and nothing anymore. We don't go to the same school or hang out with the same friends. She can no longer memorise my essays to reproduce in her exams and i no longer have to explain to her how a barometer works in the hopes that she would pass her physics paper.

Is this how General #1, 2, 3, 4 came to grow apart as well? To have warring opinions and miscommunications? To have absolutely different child-rearing practices and other ideas on how to deal with the problems of the one with the genial smile and silver white hair?

I don't want my sister and I to end up like them. Hopefully we won't.

Newspapers

I remember that when i was 10, each night General #3+ would sit in his leather-backed arm chair in the living room, perusing the day's newspaper. The lights were out except for the spotlight which he uses specifically for reading newspapers.

I remember i would approach quietly, careful not to interrupt him and sieve thru the pile of newspapers on the ground for the only section relevant to a 10 year old - comics. I would sit on the sofa next to him or on the ground by his feet, reading in the shadows cast by the dim light.

I remember that General #3+ never talked to me during those sessions. When i was done reading the comics, i would read the other articles that i wasn't interested in, hoping that he would glance at me discretely. I would look at him once in awhile and hope to find acknowledgement on his face. After i've thoroughly bored myself to death i would finally get up and leave.

That was me trying to imitate him. Trying to acquire a similar pastime, trying to get his attention, his affection and his recognition of my efforts at trying to be like a grown up.

Would it have cost much, or been too troublesome or time consuming to turn to me and say, "I see you like reading newspapers too. It's a good habit, keep it up."?