A lovely week

Term break at last.

I forfeited my previous term break and taught throughout (that was in March) because I wanted to save up some holidays for more crucial times of the year. Most of my students didn't go anywhere that week because it was only one week of holidays, and so their parents agreed to bring them for classes. Looking back, while it was certainly a fruitful week, I don't think it was kind - at least to myself, the teacher. By April, especially towards the recital and beyond, I was burning out fast. I was growing very resentful towards the kids who habitually do not practise (and parents who think that it's the teacher's responsibility to keep them on track regardless of their commitment). Hyperventilating out of great annoyance has been a common phenomena of late. Good grief! It is a wonder that my hairs haven't turned white yet.

And then May arrived.

I am so thankful that the term break has begun, for my sanity's sake. It began with a lot of meet-ups with good friends from near and afar; it will conclude with a family vacation. Needless to say, time will fly past because we're having fun and soon, the term break will be over. But I hope to make every moment count and so, I am even blogging - which I haven't done in a while.

Anyway, a side-note...

The other day, an ex-student of mine texted; said that she was moving house and she had two boxes of piano repertoire for lower grades up to ATCL; wouldn't be needing those books ever again, so would I please have them?

Those of you who read my previous post know that I might be resigning from my job at the music school end of this year; this happened right after I informed my bosses. (By God's grace, they were open about it despite our short-handed situation.) My ex-student's offer seemed to point me to the fact that I will always be a music teacher somehow, and ultimately, God's musician. So, don't feel like the world will leave you behind even if you have to step out of the teaching scene again, for a while... "For My thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways My ways...for as the Heavens are higher than the Earth, so are My ways higher than your ways and My thoughts than your thoughts..." (Isa. 55:8, 9). I was struck by the irony of my situation; here I was worrying about the practical aspects of my resignation: will I be OK as a stay-at-home-mom again? Where will the money come from? How will my portfolio look? Will I be able to work from home? Will my employers be furious? Etc. But God, who has all the answers, only acknowledged so very kindly the fear deep down inside my subconscious - the fear that I would be a nobody... forgotten, left behind, and looked down upon.

Indeed, to obey God is better than well-meaning and even pious-looking acts that ultimately serve self.

Sophie's Diaries : A month to her 3rd birthday

The past few months approaching her 3rd birthday have been magical.

S (finally) began sleeping through the night without waking up for milk, she toilet-trained, she began eating proper portions of (solid) food in school instead of just nibbles and loads of milk, feeding her out of the home is no longer barking up the wrong tree, she rinses her mouth (after brushing teeth) at the sink instead of all over herself, she counts objects in order, she dresses herself, etc. 

Wouldn't it be wrong to say that she is more human now? But it sure feels that way to me - and I thank God. It was very nerve-wrecking for me before this - keeping an alien alive. 

Well, I am loving and enjoying her loads. I just want to enjoy her as my only child as long as I can. It's rather like marriage, I suppose. You're aware that you and your other half might want a baby in the future; however, you don't want to rush into that parenthood thingamajig without having enjoyed some years together as a couple first. I know time ticks on and neither the hubs nor I are that young, but really, I know I'll really miss having all that time with her if I ever had another. If you ask me, she's enough. She is exceedingly and abundantly more than I could have asked for or imagined. 

But I speak for myself. She keeps asking us for a baby sibling nowadays, more than ever. She'd pat my tummy once in a while, and ask if the baby was in there already... or why is it getting bigger (sheesh)... She woke up one morning, and said brightly: "Mummy, I dreamed last night... I went back into your tummy... and then, I came out. Mummy, do you want another baby in your tummy?"

Of course, I was wide awake after she popped the question. And a little troubled now. Haha.

We interviewed her this evening on the prospect:

Me: Do you really want a baby brother or sister?

Sophie: I want... baby brother AND sister. 

Me: Sophie, if I have a baby, I won't have so much time for you. Who is going to play with you?

S: I will play by myself.

Me: If the baby cries, what are you going to do?

S: I will sayang the baby.

Me: Who will help me to look after the baby?
S: Sophie!

Me: If the baby comes to you and says, "Jie-jie, bao bao (carry)," what will you do?"

S: I will bao bao the baby very softly (she meant "gently"). Then, if we sit together like this (she gestured in glee toward the bench we were sitting on - hubs, Sophie and myself), baby will sit here... next to me. 

Me: But I won't be able to bao bao you anymore...

S: You can bao bao baby.... You don't need to bao bao me anymore. Daddy will bao bao me.

Did I ever mention that she is a very determined little girl?

Groan. Don't grow up too fast, baby girl. 

I recently read a very good book.

It has inspired me to remove myself from the cult of achievement and "earlier/faster is better" so prevalent in my part of the world, and strain towards a home life full of child-led play, imagination, making teachable moments and growing learners. The flash cards will still have to flash, because Sophie's school uses them, but I have never resorted to use them at home and I won't start. 

Here's toward the last month of her 3rd year. 

Snapshot

It's snapshots like this that remind me... that my present difficulties will become things of the past and I might regret someday that I was too preoccupied with them (and moving past the season) to treasure the sweet lasts: my last pump of breastmilk, the last toothless grins, the last creases in her baby thighs, her last mee-mee, our last weekend on our own at Eden, the last meal I cooked for us, the last I saw of my engagement ring (don't ask), the last time I stepped foot into the seminary, etc. Lasts are as precious as Firsts. Firsts happen because some things lasted to their end... so that there could be new beginnings.

A little steam

Thought I'd let out a little steam here about something close to the heart...

A friend of mine did something which I frowned upon some time ago. I had warned her that it would be dangerous and that I would be very angry if she did it - mostly because I care for her. Nevertheless, she did it anyway (secretly at first), and on the next day, confessed her actions to me. I don't think she thought that I would be as angry as I said, but I was. I told her very calmly that I was furious a la Grace (think: sphinx face with a detached smile) but I was unable to hide my thoughts that she had been very foolish. (The words leaked out of me like a suppressed fart yet pressing its way out of one's body viciously.) She was extremely hurt at my reaction - called to apologize (which I accepted) but later accused me of not being understanding of her situation and stuff. She also kept calling my husband (to whom I permitted her to be close in a big sisterly way) during a family outing that night to rant. She hung up multiple times. She also implied that I was "pushing her to the wall" i.e. forcing her into a position where there is only one choice to make - suicide. My husband thankfully replied that there was no need to mull over the incident: it's over. Needless to say, he was as disturbed as I was over the whole thing (especially because it was between the two of us, and he didn't really feel a need to be involved).

And so, here we are. Perhaps, I should have been quiet. Perhaps I should have laughed it off: "Oh, you did what? Ah, nice try..." Perhaps I should have been less judgmental, more understanding, more sympathetic, wiser, kinder and etc. I am sure that she had expected me to read her mind. Feel sorry for her and so, offer some encouragement. Well then, I feel horrible for having disappointed her.

But I am your friend. Not your Priest. Or Pope for that matter.

If you can be yourself with me, why can't I be myself with you?

Why do I need to hide the fact that I don't agree with what you are doing? That I feel angry that you did it? You always confess whatever you like. Then let me confess whatever I like too. Whenever.

What would you do if you were me? And I were you?

G A B R I E L

There are times when I feel like I suck as a pianist. And because of that, I must suck as a piano teacher. Last week was one of those times. 

It's hard to describe why I felt that way. There were many contributing factors on which I find unnecessary to elaborate here, but perhaps, the year end school concert provided the context for my meltdown. I was stressed because some of my students were rather nervous about performing (which made me nervous too, haha), which couldn't be helped, I suppose. But there was a part of me that connected their increasingly cold feet to my inadequacies as a teacher (of course in the retrospect, I feel silly) and musician. Is it because I have failed to prepare them well? Or is it because my expectations are impossibly high and have crippled them? Have I been too hard on them? Or too lenient? Some other unfounded fears crept in too. What if, the adjudicator decides that my students lack something because I haven't taught them well enough? Perhaps, I haven't emphasized a particular technique, a performance skill, or something else that even I am unaware about. Perhaps, I am mediocre. Pianist. Teacher. Everything. 

I was miserable. Disillusioned. Discouraged.

The concert day arrived. The students of mine who were participating did their very best and I was thankful even though some made minor mistakes (no) thanks to nerves. No big deal. I was (and still am) very proud of them!

The certificate (of participation) presentation ceremony was followed by awards for the top three performers of the day. It felt like a hug from God when the name of one of my students, Gabriel, was called. 

After all, Gabriel means "God is my Strength". What a timely, prophetic reminder:

The God who has been my strength will always be my strength - and so, I can do all things, the things He has prepared for me to do. He makes me adequate even where I'm not. His grace is sufficient for me; His power is perfected in my weakness (2 Corinthians 12:9). This was the message for me that day. 

To God be the glory. 

Days of exhaustion

Sometimes I wonder how is it possible for one to minister or give without getting emotionally involved. It seems that I can never walk away from any poor soul having been deeply cut myself in some way or another. And perhaps, this serves to magnify the ugliness of sin and the love of God who yet forgives. My only comfort is that the darkness in my own heart meets light through such penetrating wounds. Time heals. May I know my Redeemer, Jesus Christ, in my servanthood sufferings.

It's a friend this time.

A friend on the verge of giving up on life. A terminal illness has grown too painful to bear.

How can I tell her to hold on when she is in so much pain that I barely know? No, as heartbreaking it is for me, it is not about me. And so, I asked her to let go.

O God, be merciful and come to her rescue. Catch her when she falls.

Anger

I never expected to be here.

I never asked to be the kind of saint you think I am. I never thought that your journey (or what remains of it) I would join only to have to grieve over what might become of you in the months to come. Of course, you invited me to walk with you and that's amazing. I am honoured. Why did you trust me? I can barely trust myself.

At this very moment, every part of my soul is hurting. I am angry. It's not about the decisions you make or the lifestyle you choose, vexing as it may be. Neither have you let me down as a friend. Ever.

But I am angry because I am selfish. I hate grieving. I don't want to think of living in a world where you are missing (even for a while). I know that death would mean the end of your pain. But it would also be the beginning of mine.

I am angry because you have no idea what I am going through - the daily battle that I am confronted with and have to fight. I gave you the permission to confide in me, but in doing so, I've made myself vulnerable. In other words, I wait each day for you to hurt me deeply - unwittingly. You have that much access to my heart. But I can't fall apart while you are watching me. That wouldn't do.

I am angry because you matter to me even while we've only known each other for a short period of time. I needed someone. So did you. And we bonded. If you slept the sleep, how would I forget you? How would I be able to revisit the places where you were so alive?

But I will have to accept it. I am trying to, at least. So please understand if I come across naggy or numb. I recognise that I can't change things the way they are. I can't halt the progression of your illness; I can't make you go for the treatment it requires (because that might kill you); and I can't work a miracle if God in His wisdom intends it to stay that way. But I've wanted to. If I appear to be trying to change things (or you), please forgive me. If I seem angry and detached, be assured that it's not your fault. If it comes across as indifference, it's me masquerading my broken heart. While you may have accepted that you are dying, I haven't quite yet. I need time. I'm tired of hoping but I can't stop hoping just like that. Perhaps, the question is: what should I actually hope for?

I will miss you.

Not in some corny, year-end autograph book kind of way. But I will miss seeing you almost every day, your presence in my life (in often life-saving ways), and every bit of your eccentricity I've grown used to.

Muse: IM

Knackered beyond words. And down with a flu.

Sophie has also been flu-ish the past week. Which added to my stress. (But it was nothing compared to the food poisoning she had during our trip to Genting Highlands, thankfully!)

In light of my recent life challenges, I am so grateful for technology and the convenience of instant messaging (IM) applications. Think WhatsApp and FB Messenger. I wasn't into IM previously, but I have come to appreciate it more since I began owning a smartphone! Being able to reach out to a kindred spirit who is just a real-time text away (assuming there is Internet connection) is such a relief when you are at your wits end. Furthermore, as a person who dips quite easily into depression, I must say that IM keeps me from swimming too far into the deep end - because it enables me to get help without feeling like I need to see anybody in person, something I truly hate when I am down. (Fine, maybe I am already fairly anti-social without the depression.) And when I say "get help", I'd hardly admit that I am depressed. Perhaps I'd whine a little, but otherwise, it's a pretty normal text conversation - with a close friend. Nevertheless, it makes me feel much better afterwards. So, to you and you and you, thank you.

And why did I bring up the subject of IM anyway?

I wasn't feeling too happy or well today - but I somehow pulled out my phone and texted a friend to check on her (because she's been going through a hard time and the last text conversation we had ended up with her saying (typing), "Sigh." (She did ask me to check on her from time to time.) So, we chatted (briefly) again and couldn't help laughing at her messy situation because it is as hilarious as it is ridiculous and distressing. (Thankfully, things are much better for her now.) Later, we discussed a Bible verse that spoke to her and suddenly, it spoke to me too - I was comforted in my struggles. It then struck me that the IM is a relevant and contemporary means of rejoicing in the Lord "always" (Phil. 4:4, 1 Thess. 5:16-18) - provided we use it the right way. The thing about rejoicing is... it is an action rather than a state of being. One has to choose to do it habitually and purposefully so that joy becomes a very natural lifestyle, wherever one is and whatever the life circumstance. How well IM fits into the picture - for people like me! Of course, I make the effort to meet up with people every now and then - and I truly enjoy doing so on good days - but when I feel like I can't and yet need to get out of my head, IM is such a brilliant tool to get me to "pray without ceasing and give thanks in everything". It helps me to do a Philippians 4:8 when I am in danger of shutting out the whole world and drowning myself in sorrow.

Having said that, I promise to try my best not to be a nuisance to any particular friend. I myself know how harassingly annoying obsessive texters can be. Haha.

9th of September

There are 4 days to go before the 9th of September. But I thought I'd dedicate today's post to a beloved mother who didn't live long enough to see me beyond my high-school days.

Mama.

A child remembers the tiniest but fondest details....


Your faded, mummified yellow cardigan. Mummified in the sense that it smelled so much of you.

Your rose-tinted glasses (literally). It might please you to know that oversized eyeglasses frames are now back in vogue.

The creases in your palms. I don't think you thought of using hand-creams, because you'd keep washing it off anyway... and you wanted to save all that money to buy us books and toys.

The scent of your presence. Especially when you switch on our bedroom lights upon a surprise spot-check to see if we had defied your orders to sleep right after lights-out (instead of yakking away). I remember rehearsing (with Zoey) the emergency procedures that we would need to follow, had you entered our room suddenly. Basically, we were to stop whatever we were doing or saying... and turn into statues. With closed eyes. Of course, a certain person often couldn't help giggling in her sleep!

Your neat, slanted handwriting.

Bedtime. Your heart-to-heart talks with your children - they lasted for at least an hour.

Hearing your voice on the other end of a telephone call from school - even though you were a little vexed about having to bring me the book that I had forgotten to put into my school bag the night before.

The deepest dimples in the world. Sadly, they appeared less and less towards the end of your life on Earth. Your infectious laughter too.

You driving at 60km/h on a straight, quiet road - much to my annoyance. I don't think you would approve of my driving speed too. In fact, you would be horrified. I guess we're even now.

That one night - when I was a little girl and I couldn't stop crying in the middle of the night. I remember you taking me back to bed after all that drama was over; wiping me all over with a comforting, damp cloth; and dusting my back with talcum powder that smelled so good.

Dearest mama,

I celebrate the day you were born because even on that day 61 years ago, God already had all your days written in His book before anyone of them came to be - including the days you would spend loving us. Thank you for being my mama.

Loving you still,
me

Something that made me uncomfortable today

A friend gave Sophie some money for ice-creams today. Very kind of her.

As usual, I cued, "What must you say?" The correct answer is, of course, thank you. S usually says thank you. However, S refused to thank the giver this time. After a few prompts, I said softly while tugging gently onto the 10 dollar note in Sophie's hand, "Shall we return the money then?"

To this, my shocked friend said, "Don't force. You should never threaten a child."

That made me blush. However, I simply replied, "It is to teach her manners."


The incident made me rather uncomfortable. And guilty. And embarrassed because I embarrassed the giver (more than my child, I think). I didn't get to explain the rationale behind my actions/words because it was not a very appropriate moment to give a speech. Thought I'd do it here instead.

First and foremost, I am not the perfect mother. I apologise if what I did was tactless, rigid, rude, and tiger mom-ish. Thank you for feeling sorry for Sophie.

Secondly, I actually meant what I said. If it was a threat, it was not an empty threat. Yet, I would like to think of it as an enforcement of a logical consequence which I have explained in advance to Sophie in case she deliberately neglects her basic manners - rather than a threat. S understands what is expected of her. I may not spank my child (yes, I don't!) and I can be pretty lenient with many things, especially considering that S is still a toddler. I tend to fight the much bigger battles instead of sweating the small stuff. However, I am big on consequences - both natural and enforced, logical ones. I don't think I was manipulating or forcing S to say thank you. Neither should we see it that way. Rather, I was empowering her to choose good etiquette - in a way that she would best understand at her age. Say thank you; because it makes the giver happy, it makes your mummy happy, and you get to keep the money. Win-win-win. Having said that, I probably won't be doing this when she's older.

Thirdly, I am not really forcing manners down her throat. We model manners at home all the time, including thank yous and other forms of appreciation. There is no excuse for not thanking the giver when you know how to do it. Furthermore, a gift costs the giver something. Instead of treating S to ice-creams, my friend could have used the RM10 to buy herself lunch the next day. If S isn't going to appreciate the monetary gift the proper way, I would rather that my friend uses the money to buy herself lunch. Sorry if that sounds harsh. Perhaps, returning the gift would be kinda rude after all. I might want to modify the consequence. But what could it be?

Fourthly, it is ultimately not merely a matter of manners. Rather, it is a matter of respecting parental authority. As a mother, I am all for a very sensitive approach to parenting that empathizes with the feelings of the child, acknowledges the importance of his/her presence, is mindful of the developmental stage of the child, and affirms constantly. I demonstrate patience, kindness, and gentleness to the best of my abilities. With this, I also expect S to respect those boundaries that we do set for her. I am strict with these because it is necessary for her to comprehend the significance of obeying her parents especially at this stage. I don't think S was really ungrateful when she refused to say thank you. Rather, she was being toddler-rebellious and testing her boundaries. And so, I had to do something about it. Sure, my methods could still be improved, but saying thank you when your mom cues you to do so (or else...) is the rule.


Well then, Sophie got to keep the money and eat ice-cream.

So why am I still feeling bad about this?

Somehow...

...those who are important to me always have to go far away. Then again, I'm comforted that God's horizons are always lit with hope.

There is always good in a goodbye.

We will say hello again, won't we?

Some Milne quotes that tugged on my heartstrings...

...and made me cry:

“Piglet sidled up to Pooh from behind. 
"Pooh!" he whispered.
"Yes, Piglet?"
"Nothing," said Piglet, taking Pooh's paw. "I just wanted to be sure of you.” 
― A.A. Milne, The House at Pooh Corner

“I think we dream so we don’t have to be apart for so long. If we’re in each other’s dreams, we can be together all the time.” 
― A.A. Milne, Winnie-the-Pooh

“Promise me you'll never forget me because if I thought you would, I'd never leave.” 
― A.A. Milne

“That's right. You'll like Owl. He flew past a day or two ago and noticed me. He didn't actually say anything, mind you, but he knew it was me. Very friendly of him. Encouraging."

Pooh and Piglet shuffled about a little and said, "Well, good-bye, Eeyore" as lingeringly as they could, but they had a long way to go, and wanted to be getting on.

"Good-bye," said Eeyore. "Mind you don't get blown away, little Piglet. You'd be missed. People would say `Where's little Piglet been blown to?' -- really wanting to know. Well, good-bye. And thank you for happening to pass me.” 
― A.A. Milne, The House at Pooh Corner

“How does one become butterfly?' Pooh asked pensively.
'You must want to fly so much that you are willing to give up being a caterpillar,' Piglet replied.
'You mean to die?' asked Pooh.
'Yes and no,' he answered. 'What looks like you will die, but what's really you will live on.” 
― A.A. Milne

“How lucky am I to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.” 
― A.A. Milne, The Complete Tales of Winnie-the-Pooh

A day of mess ups

Sophie came down with the 2nd flu bout in a month - running nose, cough, fevers, and all. Check.

She threw up on my trousers just before I left for work this morning because she was crying and coughing at the same time. Crying because I had to put her down. Check.

Because I spent some of my morning teaching, I didn't go to the gym. Whenever I don't exercise, I feel sleepier than usual throughout the day. I am actually falling asleep in a cafe while typing this. And I was supposed to be working. Check.

You know how one thing leads to another. Sleepy and disorientated, I ordered the wrong coffee in the afternoon. I knew that something was amiss when I told the barista "Caffe latte" instead of my usual iced Americano. (I used to order caffe latte when I was breastfeeding - and that was more than a year ago!) I forgot to request for soy in my latte so it came with full cream milk. I don't drink full cream milk because I am still a little lactose intolerant. And now I'll have a big cup to down. Check.

Something in my right hand hurts and I have no idea what. Check.

Check. Check. Check.

But I thank God... for peace... because He has not left me uncared for. I see His hand in the help that I receive at home with Sophie. I see it in the encouragement of my mentors. I see it in the kindness of my colleagues. I see it in the love of a friend who cared to ask about my hand this morning. I see it in my daughter's yearning for connection with me and her perseverance to make mummy laugh at her antics. These... and so much more.

Shield bug

In the midst of much emotional turmoil yesterday, God sent a huge bug crawling across my doorstep.

I don't usually bump into exotic bugs. (Thankfully.) And I don't normally take pictures of the bugs that I encounter. I'd rather run away before they fly or hop onto my head - and nibble my ear. (Maybe they don't. It is just my phobia.) There is such terror connected to a bug spreading its wings, poised for a flight. Or fight. I am chicken. But something... a miraculous something compelled me to bend down and take a closer look this time. Maybe the bright orange colour. Maybe the unique patterns on its pentagon shield shap.

Zooming in. Its legs were creepy. Its feelers trembled and I felt a little sick. But there was something about it... Upside down, it was a kind, smiling face.

Corny as this might sound, I will take it as a smiley from God. Perhaps, the bug was a sort of messenger - like Elijah's raven. Balaam's donkey. Noah's dove that flew back with an olive branch in the mouth. If the bug could speak, perhaps it would have squeaked: "Surprise! Smile!"

Despite myself, I smiled.

And whipped out my phone camera. Haha. A typical city girl, I am.

Anyway, I was reminded... that however I've failed (myself, people, or God), however others have failed me... God never fails. Because He is love. Love never fails (1 Cor 13:8). Love doesn't leave one's beloved lonely for long. He must comfort, shield, and strengthen. He must show kindness even in His rebuke. He must promise restoration even in His afflictions.

I was reminded that God never fails to bring the best out of every disaster and tragedy. He never fails to bring us to savour His glory... because that is what we need. A glimpse, a taste, a touch of hope. His glory is hope. It declares that there is a glorious God far greater than our problems. Or the problems of the world rolled into one. Nothing surprises Him. Nothing surpasses Him. Nothing limits Him. If He can raise Jesus from the grave, what more us, from the deaths we daily die in a sin-scourged world?

I am really not a perfect person. I fail in every way possible. My thoughts, actions, words. In my roles - as a wife, a mother, a daughter, a friend. These days, I beat myself up so badly that the wounds are so fresh and raw. And I jump whenever salt touches them. Perhaps then, the shield bug also serves to remind me that God yet smiles... More than the smiley on the shiny shap of a bug, He makes His face shine upon me even while my face is shadowed and my head is bowed in shame. Like the Psalmist said, "But You, O LORD, are a Shield about me, my glory, and the Lifter of my head" (Ps 3:3). There is favour in Christ.

God, You ward off the fiery darts of the Enemy, the storms of trials from every direction, and my self-condemnation.

From the end of the Earth, I call to you when my heart is faint. Lead me to the rock that is higher than I (Ps 61:2).

New seasons...

...call for fresh perspectives, the courage to change where necessary, the openness to new relationships (and many new beginnings), the readiness to say yes to God whatever that might mean.

And sometimes, grief. This time, for me, grief.

It is always devastating when a loved one, a cherished dream, or a fondly familiar reality can't go where you go. You move forward knowing that he/she/it will never catch-up with you... no matter how much you try to slow down so that you can make that parting gaze, touch, word, moment last forever. Then once it's over, you will have to work through the stages of denial and anger, bargaining and depression (as per Kubler-Ross). And keep cycling through them till you break into acceptance. And even when you accept that the good thing (and everything that stood for it) had to come to an end, you still long for it. It appears in your dreams and you wake up disappointed, the triggers of its happy memories make you cry, and you feel like nothing can quite fill up the hole it left.

Goodbye. This is a hard word. Will we ever meet again? Perhaps, never.

Jesus, help me to hold on to You. You are my only hope.

Making Sweet the Bitter

Haven't been blogging consistently for a while now. Apparently (as a friend notified me), Bing has decided to forget my blog.

Had a couple of rough days the previous week.

To cut the long story short, it was a taste of rejection for me among other things, and it was by my own daughter when she is always so nice to her grandma. Her environment wasn't helping and it seems like she has favourited her grandma and daddy over me too! It hurt and I felt like a failure. The fact that Sophie is now calling grandma and me the same precious "Mama" (which is what you call your mother in Mandarin - and that was what she called me originally, until she confused the Cantonese paternal grandmother "Mama" for my "Mama") rubbed coarse salt into my wounds. Two "mamas" respond whenever she utters that word now. Filled with a lot of resentment for those who claimed that my baby girl would never be confused as well as anguish whenever her "Mama"s are not directed to me, not to mention my hormones were raging thanks to that time of the month, I could have attempted suicide. Did contemplate it in the deepest gulf of my gloom. I was that affected by the whole episode. But thanks to the prayers and empathy of some dear people, I've bounced back a bit. Still feeling more down than up, but still, much better.

Um, if you are mother struggling with the same ordeal, you have my deepest sympathy. May the peace of the Emmanuel comfort you and grant you the joy that makes you strong. No, you are not making a mountain out of a molehill. "Mama" - one of the first few words a baby's physiology of speech will allow her to utter and attach meaning to - is more than a name or title. You who carried your baby in your womb for 10 months or so; you can't explain it but I think I get why you own "mama" so jealously. It is natural to want. Nevertheless, I think the season will pass by. Hang in there, lady.

(Previously, I blogged about the "Mama" ordeal here.)

Anyway, I was thankful that the weekend afforded some time away on our own - husband, daughter and myself. We went back to our own home sweet home, ate out, ordered in pizza, hubby and I watched a movie while S was asleep once... and we explored the Teluk Bahang pier.

Well then, happy thanksgiving, people.

I thank God for the sweet things in life that make the bitter go down.

The courage to live

Resumé

BY DOROTHY PARKER

Razors pain you;

Rivers are damp;

Acids stain you;

And drugs cause cramp.

Guns aren’t lawful;

Nooses give;

Gas smells awful;

You might as well live.

People say that it takes courage to commit suicide. I think that it takes even more courage to live on despite one's pain. It is much easier to die so that the unbearable pain comes to an end. Not that dying is the most pleasant thing, but compared to the prospect of enduring the pain for life, it might be the lesser of two evils.

I pray that if I ever come near to the point of giving up, may God grant me the fierce, selfless courage - and strength - to stop myself. No, I don't think that I'd actually end up in hell if I intentionally murdered myself out of severe depression. And I have my reasons. However, I don't want my loved ones crying at my funeral for the wrong reasons. And I don't want to leave them behind... wounded. No. If I can't be brave for myself, then let me be brave for those whom I love.

Work-life balance

I confess that I am very bad at this.

Whenever I work at something, I can't really stop till I've got everything down pat. This means forgetting to eat or drink water, burning the midnight oil, night-owling (something I do rather well), neglecting people, neglecting nature calls, going on blogging hiatuses, what have you. It comes with having a long runway when it comes to kick-starting my work. I often take a long time to put my thoughts together. To decide what to do, to decide how to do it, and to decide to start doing it. I procrastinate. And then when I've finally gotten the ball rolling, I am reluctant to lose the momentum. Plus work always gets more and more intriguing as you go along. You know what I mean?

It used to work out quite fine. (Even my husband got used to my ways.) But not anymore ever since I became a mother.

I am now a workaholic haunted by a guilty conscience I never seemed to have. A guilty conscience that nags at me constantly. And I can't seem to make peace with it.

I feel bad from the very second I find myself awake in the mornings. Why did you sleep so late last night that you didn't wake up any earlier? You could have spent a little more time with S. 

I feel bad whenever I play with Sophie and find myself depleted of energy as I chase her around the house. You really should have slept more hours. Not young anymore. Can't function on 4 hours of sleep, you know. You could have taken her for a longer walk. 

I feel bad each time I leave the house in the afternoons (after telling Sophie that I will see her after her nap). I feel bad for anticipating my time-alone so eagerly. For looking forward to juice my brain. I feel bad when I feel bad that I'd have to stop working so that I can return home. I dislike cliffhangers of this kind.

I feel bad when I drive home in the evenings - simply because I feel like a terrible mom for having spent so many hours away from home.

You name it.

I don't know... maybe I need to be set free. I fear judgment a bit too much. Particularly, the judgment of my daughter. I am afraid that she might tell me one day that I am a disappointing mother. And I shouldn't be because... I never judged my mom growing up. I just loved her for her face, her hands, her smell, her voice, her kisses, her cuddles, her time with us. And I understood somehow, that she was doing the best she could in the name of love. Even if it meant the annoying and perplexing rotan overkill - in my opinion. Lah.

But perhaps, it is also time I stuck to the healthier, more balanced lifestyle.

After a blogging hiatus...

October is here already???

Well, I can't complain. After all, it was I who counted down the days to the end of September because I was broke, even from the beginning of the month.

It is no wonder that infant formula milk powder theft is a common thing, apparently. With the crippling costs of living and persistently low wages for especially the lower income families, what do you expect parents to do when their babies need to eat - and breast milk is out of the question? We already struggle every month. I can't even begin to imagine what it is like to be hardcore poor. It infuriates me to remember the oppressors who are secretly savouring the spoils from their robbing the poor while concealing their greed under a pious, righteous, loving, and just masquerade. Yet, they say, "Have more children!" Unbelievable!

Evildoers.

Anyway, I digress.

I thank God that I'm done with my sermon for this Sunday's preaching at TOG - and that working on it has been so magical and therapeutic.

Smile

Had a couple of rough and tough days this week - physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually, intellectually, socially, and etc.

Shed tears, blood, and sweat.

But this, in every sense of the words...

"You make me smile like the sun
Fall out of bed, sing like a bird
Dizzy in my head, spin like a record
Crazy on a Sunday night
You make me dance like a fool
Forget how to breathe
Shine like gold, buzz like a bee
Just the thought of you can drive me wild
Ohh, you make me smile."

Haha.

Loving you, sweetheart.