Strange Affinity

It has been almost 2 weeks since our return from the break. And yet, I cannot shake this strange affinity of the city that I spent only 2 nights in.

And yesterday it dawned on me ~ why it is called the City of Romance.

Perhaps because as a city herself, she had seen one sorrow too many - from the French Revolution to the World Wars. Or maybe it is because so many great names - in literature and arts - had grown and blossomed in her embrace.

Her synonym as the City of Romance, to me is mis-guided by one and almost all. For it is not the love that you have for another, but rather the love for life and living.

So while I feel like I have wasted somewhat precious moments of our trip, in a way, it was a learning curve. And it took a whole city to teach me that.

Life is too short to want to do everything and anything. And while to have everything in life structured and planned out to a T is also bad: at the end of the day, it's all about balance in the present.

Someday we'll be back there. And this time, we'll sit in the park and talk like we always do.

Then we can really say "We had Paris at our feet!"

Paris: It Almost Didn't Happen

If I had been more pig-headed, a week ago, instead of boarding the Eurostar for Paris, I would have been boarding the plane home. Yes, Paris almost didn't happen. And it's quite amazing that we had to travel thousands of miles away to have our 1st big fight.

It takes a lot of physical closeness and time to really get to know somebody. That is what I realised on this trip. 4 years may be coming on and by, but in truth, it was only in the last 2 weeks that we have really come to know each other.

Was it for the better? Or did it bring things to turn for the worse? I have yet to figure that one out. After all, without the trepidations of Barcelona, this trip was really about the good, the bad and the down-right ugly. Well, mostly the Barbsie ugly - yes, I was as loaded as Barbsie could only be.

My mum says I am fortunate: that he is the sort who would bite his tongue and let me fuss and fume cos that way there would be no fuel to my fire. And I am thinking here - eventually all that biting is gonna take a toil. And then what?

As dreams of walking through the streets of Paris plagues my sleep (still!), I am grappling with a number of things. And I am glad of this harsh reality of coming back to the real world and work. It is giving me a time-out to clear my head, ponder on things (said and done!) and I suppose, if it doesn't kill us, it'll only make us stronger (I hope!).

But at the end of it all, I am glad Paris almost didn't happen. And also glad that it did. Now if only I can see the wisdom in all that.

Change Over

"Was she the last of your grandparents?" asked the Ambassador as we had a chat over lunch the other day.

Perhaps it has never really struck home before this but with that line, it all came to light - this roller coaster of emotions that I have been on since Ah Ma passed. The feeling of guilty aside, there was this big gaping hole that seem to stare me down in the face each time I think about it. And it never did make any sense, right up till then.

A colleague of mine had remarked in her email to me: The loss of a grandparent always put us on uncertain grounds. And again, I never really understood what she meant.

In our world today, we rarely keep in our conscious minds that we are of a particular generation. It is always, levels in the family - but correct me if I'm wrong - we're all clumped into one big happy family tree. And like all trees in our sight these days, it is just a tree - the branches, the twigs, the leaves: it is all part of a tree.

Yet, if I look at my tree right now, really closely - a whole bottom level has been trimmed off. And while the top has sprouted new branches - they are young, not yet firm nor strong; very likely to break or splinter with a huge wind.

It is a time of change-over. It is a time of stepping up. As I told the undertaker the other day: Ah Ma's eldest grandchild is 48 years old. And as I told my Uncle as well: It's time to stop seeing us, his kids, his nephews and nieces, as if we are all 5 still, running around in our PJs as we chomp on our breakfast.

I do not feel ready. To be the middle section of the tree, supposedly the strong bits left while the level below us slowly lose their strength and the one above us builds theirs. It is a heavy weight that rests on these shoulders (and my cousins) as it is now up to us to hold this tree up, until our young'uns come into their own.

I suppose until readiness comes to me, I just have to do it like how I was taught: two feet forward, firmly planted on the ground and give it my best shot.