30/10/11.
something embarassing and childish happened today.
after unpacking from our trip back from Kuantan, mum came to my room with a pile of clothes from my aunt. lately, my aunt had cultivated a passion for buying branded clothings, shoes and bags. Being the generous aunt that she is, she would sometimes pull out dresses that she has only worn once or never worn before and pass to mum and i.
mum started unfolding the dresses, and told me to try them on. i reluctantly did...knowing they were LVs, Moschinos, Lanvins, Burberries...meant that they would be unkind to non-Victoria Beckam bodies... true enough...they did no justice to my fleshy self. mum twitched her nose, furrowed her brows, and started her Alex Perry nag on how i have to lose at least 10 kilos to wear nice clothes etc. I am not one who does not accept criticism, but it was the way she said it, and me, naked, looking down at those beautiful dresses, that made me feel like an eight-year-old all over again. Being a chubby kid most of my life, i remember the same humiliation and self-loathing i felt, trying on multiple clothes and yet failing to find something that would look good on me. The same horrifying feeling of embarrassment as mum tugged and pulled at the clothes that never seems to go past my tummy, flooded in.
it is under that flashing moment of shame, that i, between chokes and uncontrollable tears, started to say 'i know, i know, just give me some time ok? i am trying!' then mum said something back, and i said something forth, but all i could remember was me crying, and sobbing like a silly little girl.
later as we sat down for a solemn dinner, dad, who was in the shower throughout the debacle that took place earlier, asked me in a shy, light hearted manner, like a person would when asking about one's monthly salary...'Cryst...if you don't mind me asking, what is your weight now ah?'
i choked at my small, tasteless mouthful of curry, and before i knew it, my body was shaking uncontrollably in tears. again. dad was shocked. 'why, you scolded her ah?' he turned to mum. 'no la, you stupid ah you, she's eating her dinner why you ask this question?' mum retorted. if it weren't for what had happened earlier, this scene would have actually been funny.
i was trying my best to stop crying, yet i couldn't. dad, put on his most soothing voice and said, 'we're not criticizing you. we just want you to be fit and healthy...' and maintaining his soothing, counselor's voice, reminded me to exercise like how i used to, no matter how busy work and study is overseas.
what i wanted to tell mum and especially dad is, i didn't mean to cry so childishly. i didn't mean to be so guarded and sensitive about it. and i know they meant every good intention and their good intentions were out of love. i was crying because it brought out the failure in me, and it me so long to finally realised that i am not fit anymore, and i only had myself to blame for letting it spin out of control, for so long. taking destructive measures that lead to nowhere.
so, thank you mum and dad. and even though it may play out to be that i am the childish, overly sensitive daughter you have, i am actually fully aware of the situation and will take heed of your advice.
are you ready to get back to work, missy?
31 October 2011
28 October 2011
big jet plane
i wish someone would take me on a ride on a big jet plane.
27 October 2011
dear friend
dear friend,
you thanked me for a good one-to-one, heart-to-heart lunch cum afternoon tea. i replied that we are friends, not business partners, you don't have to thank me ( for having lunch with you). actually, deep down i wanted to thank you too. in fact i have much more to thank you for. the ride home from college, the (dangerous, risky, naughty) ride to and from the (then) boyfriend's place. the food you left at my door when i was sick. the high tolerance for my bad temper. and now, most importantly, thank you for considering me a good friend enough to share what you have shared with me yesterday.
i can honestly say, i was not a bit surprise. or should i say, any tinge of surprise was quickly overshadowed by the joy that i felt from you and for you. i've seen so many people around me, no matter what age or nationality, or social standing, spending their whole lives searching for 'love'. when you break it all down, love is nothing but a feeling, a sense of attachment , a sense of belonging and responsibility. i like to call it a partnership, rather than a relationship, because a partnership encompasses a relationship and much more.
judging by the way our peers (including myself) struggling to find a good partner, i'm more than happy that you've at least found someone that you can confidently say that ,despite the challenges that you may face because of this relationship, it's still worth fighting for. and i believe, once others see that joy in you, they will understand.
i will forever remember this: me, slumped in the passenger seat of your car, riding home from uni, hurt and angry at his betrayal, tears rolling silently down my cheeks. and you just sat there quietly, driving home as usual. i'm sure somewhere down the road, you will have moments like these. but just remember, that we'll be there by your side, we'll take over the steering wheel and drive you safely home.
xoxo,
crystal
you thanked me for a good one-to-one, heart-to-heart lunch cum afternoon tea. i replied that we are friends, not business partners, you don't have to thank me ( for having lunch with you). actually, deep down i wanted to thank you too. in fact i have much more to thank you for. the ride home from college, the (dangerous, risky, naughty) ride to and from the (then) boyfriend's place. the food you left at my door when i was sick. the high tolerance for my bad temper. and now, most importantly, thank you for considering me a good friend enough to share what you have shared with me yesterday.
i can honestly say, i was not a bit surprise. or should i say, any tinge of surprise was quickly overshadowed by the joy that i felt from you and for you. i've seen so many people around me, no matter what age or nationality, or social standing, spending their whole lives searching for 'love'. when you break it all down, love is nothing but a feeling, a sense of attachment , a sense of belonging and responsibility. i like to call it a partnership, rather than a relationship, because a partnership encompasses a relationship and much more.
judging by the way our peers (including myself) struggling to find a good partner, i'm more than happy that you've at least found someone that you can confidently say that ,despite the challenges that you may face because of this relationship, it's still worth fighting for. and i believe, once others see that joy in you, they will understand.
i will forever remember this: me, slumped in the passenger seat of your car, riding home from uni, hurt and angry at his betrayal, tears rolling silently down my cheeks. and you just sat there quietly, driving home as usual. i'm sure somewhere down the road, you will have moments like these. but just remember, that we'll be there by your side, we'll take over the steering wheel and drive you safely home.
xoxo,
crystal
26 October 2011
home
I'm back home in Kuala Lumpur for a month! Can't really say which i'm more excited/elated over, the fact that (a) i am home (though home is somewhat redefined now, to me, at least); or (b) that i don't have to work for a month (though i still check my work mails every day). Either way, i am happy. Nostalgically happy.
I'm sure you recall this scene from the TV3 afternoon Malay soap, where the son, Hiqal, a JPA scholar, returns to his kampung after spending years studying in the United Kingdom. Have you ever notice the look on Hiqal's face as the camera pans towards his profile, zooming into a close up - the look of relief, nostalgia, and yet, slight bewilderment? There he is, donned in a Crocodile suit pants,a pressed Paco Romano lined shirt (Top Man did not exist back then), polished Bally shoes - a gift from his British foster parents; two Rimowa suitcases by his side, hastily bought by Bapak at Sogo just days before Hiqal left for the UK. Bapak had saved every penny earned from his carpentry just to buy this Made in Japan suitcase. Having never used a suitcase in his life, Bapak had to rely on the recommendation of Tauke Lee. Hiqal forgets not to put on his songkok, to prove that he is still Allah-fearing, lest the disappointment of his Mak and Bapak. He loosens his Oxford paisley tie and wipes the beads of sweat off his forehead using the plaid blue handkerchief Mak had caringly folded and packed into his suitcase. Hiqal closes his eyes and takes in a deep breath, and lets it out again slowly. He is happy to be home, yet anxious about the changes in and around him.
I'm feeling a bit like Hiqal. Though mine probably lasted for about 2 hours...then i'm kicking off my shoes, taking off my jeans and jackets, and mum is nagging behind me, and the Malaysian heat is starting to give me a splitting migraine, and the air smells like a war between Char Kuey Teow, Nasi Lemak and Roti...
I'm sure you recall this scene from the TV3 afternoon Malay soap, where the son, Hiqal, a JPA scholar, returns to his kampung after spending years studying in the United Kingdom. Have you ever notice the look on Hiqal's face as the camera pans towards his profile, zooming into a close up - the look of relief, nostalgia, and yet, slight bewilderment? There he is, donned in a Crocodile suit pants,a pressed Paco Romano lined shirt (Top Man did not exist back then), polished Bally shoes - a gift from his British foster parents; two Rimowa suitcases by his side, hastily bought by Bapak at Sogo just days before Hiqal left for the UK. Bapak had saved every penny earned from his carpentry just to buy this Made in Japan suitcase. Having never used a suitcase in his life, Bapak had to rely on the recommendation of Tauke Lee. Hiqal forgets not to put on his songkok, to prove that he is still Allah-fearing, lest the disappointment of his Mak and Bapak. He loosens his Oxford paisley tie and wipes the beads of sweat off his forehead using the plaid blue handkerchief Mak had caringly folded and packed into his suitcase. Hiqal closes his eyes and takes in a deep breath, and lets it out again slowly. He is happy to be home, yet anxious about the changes in and around him.
I'm feeling a bit like Hiqal. Though mine probably lasted for about 2 hours...then i'm kicking off my shoes, taking off my jeans and jackets, and mum is nagging behind me, and the Malaysian heat is starting to give me a splitting migraine, and the air smells like a war between Char Kuey Teow, Nasi Lemak and Roti...
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