Lady Month of Balls

March shall go down in history as the month I spent the most time with my girlfriends. In all forms - from someone who knew me from long ago, to someone I share books with and to someone who is also a client.

You can seek the advice of others, surround yourself with trusted advisors.

I suppose in the face of it all - the aftermath of February - I was seeking ways to justify my thoughts, as well as to keep the new ones at bay. But tonight, I can no longer keep that new dust bunny at bay. It has been gnawing away at my insides that it has unsettled me so much. I can no longer be untrue.

But in the end, the decision is always yours and yours alone.

Like it was recounted to me - Was it all in my head? Did it happen? - I sure would like to think it was only ALL in my head. But no, it was said outloud and it un-nerves me. For you see, all my life, I have always left the ball in someone else's court. And for once, someone is telling me "It's your call".

And when it's time to act and you're all alone with your back against the wall,
I suppose it is MY call - what I wish to do with MY life. Yet, it is not so much the words but the manner in which is was said. And because I do not want the responsibility of having to decide. And because I do not want the responsibility of setting myself up for a fall - I brush it aside and be all uppity-bitchy.  

the only voice that matters is the one in your head.

But all said and done. And all the false bravado aside - I have to ask "What was it all for?" when I could be happier with the thought that while it may not be conventional, it is what it is. And didn't we already knew that from long ago? Hadn't I already make that decision? And so far, hasn't it proven me right?

The one telling you what you already knew.

Perhaps then I should be asking my lady friends a different opinion. Not one of why men will always be boys. But rather, what it takes to stick it through.

The one that's almost always right.

Where is Barbsie?

It is a very bad place that I am in right now. And I know that for a fact simply because I have had to walk back to the car 3 times over the course of the day, forgetting to take my phone with me.

Right now, I cannot help but recall a question an old friend once asked over Facebook ~ What is on Barb's mind. Cos it feels like there is a thousand and one things that is running through it - much like a thought-montage, each one blurring into the other, only to come back again like in a loop.

Another friend tells me I should stop reading and watching depressing materials. Yet, I cannot help but feel - the books I have read and the movies I have watched - in someone else's hands, the outcome would be different, less morbid.

Perhaps it is a series of realisations, without a pause in between. I am overwhelmed. By my own self. Go figure!

Now, I know what they say ~ Acknowledgement is the key to recovery. But hell, how does one recover when the various things one is acknowledging are all contradicting?

For example: Barbsie is stuck in 48 hours in Paris. Not so much the sights, the sounds and definitely not the weather. But the shared conversations just after the lights go off for the night; the mumblings just before sleep takes over. Yet, at the same time, Barbsie knows that close proximity is not something she is ready for right now. That sharing living quarters, scheduling plans in between plans is going to be too much for her pea-sized brain and her egg-shell consciousness.

Or how Barbsie feels that life is too short to let her head rule her life. That there are many things that she over-thinks when it should be one of those things in life that she should just Nike-it. Yet, Barbsie knows that jumping the gun is not always the best solution. That it only leads to a lot of "Oh good grief! I did not just do / say that!"

So yes, Barbsie is lost. In her own head. To the point that she feels she has lost her words.

Perhaps, it is time for less thinking on one's own and time for more talking. About the things that really matter.

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.

96 Hours Without Ah Ma

The deed is done.

We sent Ah Ma off the way she would have wanted it to be done - with our shoulders squared, heads held high and words of praise to God on our lips.

I have yet to grief. Sure, there has been the brief spurts here and there. Tried as I may to keep it together, when memories locked away from my childhood and my adulthood come flooding back, the memory of "Ah-Bab-Bab" in Ah Ma's voice come ringing in my ear, grief could not be kept at arms' length.

I will continue to miss her, just as 13 years later, I still miss Ah Kong (grandpa). I used to think that Ben was insane to speak to his mother (God bless her soul) in the presence tense. But over the last few days, so did I of my grandparents. And I am pretty sure, when I am old and grey, I would still do the same. They were the only grandparents I had ever known. I did not have the good fortune of knowing my maternal grandparents.

96 hours later, I am holding it together till I get on the plane and get home tomorrow night.

I think if I hold on tight to the fact that both my grandparents would be damn proud of who I am today, I'll be alright.

Fourth Day without Ah Ma: Half Strength

Ah Mas body will be cremated this afternoon.

I have been digging very deep in for the strength to carry through the last 3 days and 4 nights. It wavers, it breaks me, it brings me to my knees. But each time it happens, I go and sit by her body and I find solace.

Ah Ma would always tell me: Have patience, be strong. I can still hear it in my head that clear strong advice of hers. Even in the face of the worst adversity of my life, her forgiving nature never faded.

But I am drained - emotionally and mentally... And today, as my cousin already warned me last night: I have to be strong to carry the rest of the through.

I have to cast aside all my regrets - the number of New Years and Christmas that I shied away from her and the family as I hung my head in shame and disgrace: all wasted years. For never once did Ah Ma judged me nor barred me from entering the family home.

As I prepare to send her body off, I can only hope that wherever she is, looking down upon me, she would give me the grace to make good on her lifelong advice ~ for like a desperate person, even a half-strength shot of coffee would do plenty good.