Running To Stand Still

No, I’m nowhere near the heroine-addicted woman this U2 song is based on. But I find myself thinking of this song as I rush through the week, through the meetings, activities and errands. Barely had time to blog before this and barely had time to check on those blogs I visit occasionally.

What a week it has been. Mad, absolutely Crazy. Yes, I was practically and literally Running To Stand Still.

Thank God for the slight breather today. Can’t wait for the weekend!

I’ve been thinking of de-activating Reflections.

I’m thinking of setting up another blog where only selected restricted guests [by invitation] can visit. Coded instructions will be given to those privileged guests to access the new blog [it may be something like figuring out answers for treasure hunt questions or rejumbling anagrams not unlike the ones in The Da Vinci Code].

Earth Day

Earth Day was on 22 April 2007. Let’s do our part in helping to save the planet.

Tragedy

It shouldn’t come as a shock anymore, especially since the US has pretty liberal rules regarding possession of guns and weapons and over the years, there had been many instances of such tragedy. But it still did shock. I’m referring to the very recent massacre at Virginia Tech where 33 lives were lost. What a tragedy indeed. All those promising adults who would never see the world again. All those innocent lives now gone forever, taking whatever intellectual knowledge and untested ideas with them. The heartbreak the parents of those students must have gone through, yes, including the gunman’s parents too, I’m sure, wondering what went wrong that their son turned out to be like that. The trauma suffered by other students and even the university lecturers, witnesses to the bloodbath.

I was reminded of the time I visited the War Remnants Museum in Ho Chi Minh. All those young adults killed, young children orphaned, in short, the suffering endured by the Vietnamese against the brutal American forces. It was a sobering experience as I gazed at the photographs of the injured, hunted and killed [not necessarily in that order], those suffering from the effects of the chemicals [Agent Orange], and even tortured prisoners.

It just drives home the fact that violence and war is unnecessary, senseless, ugly and downright brutal.

Just like the participants of The Amazing Race: All-Stars said when they visited Auschwitz: ‘Just being there on those tracks your imagination just rolls. People being unloaded like cattle. That's the last time a lot of them saw each other,’ and ‘What came to mind was all the books that never got written. All the ideas that were never tried. Generations were murdered. You can't forget that. God forbid it should ever happen again.’

Unfortunately of course, we can’t always shelter ourselves and protect loved ones from the big, bad world. Somewhere, somehow, there may just be that crazy person around the corner dissatisfied with his life and decided you should go too with him. Or the driver who had one drink too many and crashed into innocent pedestrians. [And of course, there are also things beyond our control like air crash, sinking ships and natural disasters.]

I believe what one needs is just enough parental love and care to take him through adolescence and adulthood, support from family and friends [and maybe sometimes also community and society acceptance for some] to get through the obstacles of life, and of course, belief in God. Apparently, the VT gunman was a loner who was disillusioned about his religion, among other things, and ranted against rich kids.

Sometimes even seemingly simple acts such as befriending someone, lending a helping hand, and reaching out to those in need and even sparing a smile can help save such troubled persons from their problems.

As always, I shall leave my affairs to God. Violence will not stop – after all, it began as early as thousands of years ago when Qabil killed Habil [both the sons of Prophet Adam (pbuh)] – but it can be lessened if we will only stop and think how we can do our part in contributing towards a safer and more peaceful world.

Welcome To Splitville

So let’s see who else are or at least used to be here:

- Reese Witherspoon and Ryan Phillippe
- Paris Hilton and Paris Latsis
- Britney and Fed-ex [not to be confused with FedEx The Tennis King]
- Whitney Houston and bad boy Bobby Brown
- Heather Locklear and Richie Sambora

... and the latest casualty, the royal couple Prince Williams and Kate Middleton.



Potential newcomers to Splitville: TomKat [Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes].

Welcome to Splitville [even if it’s only for a short while, especially for residents like Paris Hilton] where broken hearts go and check into Heartbreak Hotel.

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I’m just bored. The whole week is like full of meetings. I don’t read or follow what’s the latest with Hollywood celebrities for ages now, heck, not sure if I ever did. There’s no point to this posting, like I said, I’m just bored. Oh yea, did I ever tell you, my boss is back. Since Monday a fortnight ago. I’m still in denial.

I have to organise a forum. Yes, again.

I’m sooo in denial.

Bloody hell, I might as well work in event management.

Now can you see why I’m bored (and in denial)?

Lingerie Shopping Weekend

As the Friday the thirteenth lunch plan did not materialise, I went over to Isetan instead where I bought some lovely Brazilian and shorts knickers and a cute little camisole [which my friend said reminded her of Barbie dolls] for no reason other than to usher in the weekend. [Actually, there shouldn’t be any excuse for lingerie shopping really].

The weekend was yet another hot and humid one [though it rained Saturday afternoon]. So hot that I bought some boxer shorts for home wear. Oh, and also my very first babydoll too. It’s such a sexy, sweet little thing that I couldn’t resist it.

Yea, it was a lingerie shopping weekend for me. Oh and on the domestic front, I got into the mood of spring cleaning and was busy laundering my clothes, quilt cover and curtains, besides cleaning the fridge, airing the mattress protector and the usual weekend domestic chores of sweeping, mopping and ironing. And I finally managed to finish reading my Ludlum too.

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Belated birthday wishes to J and Mark who celebrated their birthdays during the weekend.

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Lewis Hamilton was runners-up at Bahrain Grand Prix. Not bad for a rookie! Alonso only managed a fifth place, whatever happened to him?

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I’m fasting today as I’m unsure if I promised God I’d fast if I got back my passport. Actually I don’t normally like to promise to fast ‘cause it’s not easy to do sometimes. There was once I got so weak and exhausted on a Ramadan afternoon [and that was Ramadan after a few days of fasting]. And I find it more challenging to complete my promised fasting.

I’m doing alright - so far. Of course, it’s only lunchtime. And someone would have to bring some yellow glutinous rice and beef rendang to the office too [so I packed some to bring home to break my fast with]. Less than six hours to go now... sorry if this posting has not been very intellectually stimulating, do understand that I am fasting and all I wanna do now is go for my siesta.

Reunion

Well, it was actually my alma mater Chancellor's Drinks Reception and Buffet at the Renaissance Hotel on Wednesday evening. I was actually thinking of not going but S and Lin managed to persuade me to change my mind. Sometimes I can really be unsociable. Heh.

In fact, I almost didn’t go, no thanks to the scare of possibly losing my passport [and potentially compromising my citizenship?! OK, me being the drama queen]. I had decided to take half-day on Wednesday for my The Hunt For Red Octo-, I mean, Passport mission should I not manage to locate it in my backpack [see previous posting].

The crowd was OK, the turn-up – especially of our batch - not too bad. Had a chance to catch up with friends who we have not met since ... can’t recall when actually! Thank God for such events held, organised and sponsored by the University. Had it been left to us, we’d probably meet in 10 years’ time. Well, we did talk about meeting up last year but things didn’t quite materialise. Well, that’s what happens when most are married with kids. Most would insist on dragging their spouses and children along. Really, I don’t see the point when most of the time, they’ll be too distracted with their families and having to attend to the kids. So in the end, S, Lin and I met up for a girls’ day out at KLCC. And had great fun.

Anyway, back to the reunion, I mean, reception. We went up to the ballroom and as we neared the ballroom, I turned to my mates and said, ‘It sure sounds suspiciously quiet around here. Are we the only ones to turn up?’ There were only waiters around the tables doing their last-minute check. Turned out there was a drinks reception at the ground floor which we had somehow missed due to the layout of the hotel and absence of notice boards/signs.

We mingled around, delighted to see some familiar places, and did a quick catching-up with each other. Most of us pretty much still look the same except that most of the guys were already paunchy and it took us a short while to recognise one guy [he has chubbier cheeks now!] and as for the three of us girls, well, almost everyone claimed that we hardly changed and still looked like we were students! After a while, we then went into an adjoining room for some speeches by the Chancellor, the British Commissioner and finally the VC who took us through some slides on the progress and changes at the university.

Then it was finally time for the buffet dinner. The food was sumptuous, the spread fantastic, and the company great. Thankfully there was a majority of our guy friends at our table and the other girl who joined the three of us girls was alright too. Hence there were no smug married people [it’s usually married women, not men, who are guilty of being SM] at our table. Before long, we were talking and chatting and giggling loudly [I was laughing out loud alright] – we were definitely more relaxed while sitting down for our meal than standing up during the drinks reception.

Talking about SM, I simply just loathe them. They can just go on and on talking about their supposedly perfect marriage, perfect well-mannered kids, perfect career, perfect house at the perfect address, perfect in-laws and on and on and on. And whip out pictures of their offspring and shove them under your nose for about a quarter of an hour, seemingly oblivious and obviously insensitive that the topic of conversation may not be appreciated by all. Most SM are females; my married male friends don’t talk about their kids or marriage. I have my own family too but I don’t talk about my parents or my siblings or their children. And I don’t talk about my trips at the table or at reunions because I am aware some people may not appreciate it, some may feel left out, some may have loved the chance to travel but lack the opportunity to do it. Sod it, not everyone cares to know about your family, your hobbies or your trips. Anyway, I digress.

We only left after 10. ‘Til the next reunion then.

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My mates and I were supposed to meet today, Friday the thirteenth, for lunch but we had to cancel it. Yes, again. It was a good thing we met yesterday and had an unexpected, unplanned lunch together so at least it was a consolation. Looks like the next possible date where everyone would be able to make it will be end of next month.

It sure isn’t easy to organise a reunion!

Maximum Ditsiness

I was hunting for my Shanghai trip boarding passes last night and only found the outbound flight pass. Wondered where I could have chucked the return boarding pass and thought, hmmm, maybe it’s in my passport cover pocket. So I opened the top bedside drawer and searched for my passport.

Only it wasn’t there.

Got into a state of panic and looked again in the drawer, pulling it out as far as I could. There were my four old expired passports, my diaries, some pens, some bookmarks but no recent unexpired passport. Looked all over again in utter disbelief, in the bottom drawer, under the drawers, even the gap beside the bed.

Still no passport.

Looked into my dressing-table drawers and the other bedside drawers. Searched the dresser top. Went to the storeroom where my bags are and looked into each compartment of the bags I brought to the States.

Still no passport.

Prayed frantically to God and tried to remember where else I could have placed the passport. OK, I had sent my backpack for repair because its zip puller was falling apart three weekends ago but surely I had emptied all the pockets! Or had I?

Decided to go to sleep regardless reasoning there was no point staying awake worrying. But still, I couldn’t help thinking of the procedures (or rather, hassle) I have to go through if I have to replace my passport – lodge a police report, having to explain how I managed to lose my passport, go to the Immigration office to apply for a new passport [and all that queuing!], fork out money to pay for the new passport and photos, and oh probably having to take half-day leave too to apply for the new passport and another half-day leave to collect it. This absent-mindedness sure is costly.

This morning I decided I would place a call to the store where I sent my backpack for repair and ask if I left my passport in there and if not, I would apply for half-day leave and return to my bachelorette and ransack the place to look for it.

The store only commences business from 10 am. It was a long wait alright. In the meantime, I called Lin to tell her [She bombarded me with, ‘Shouldn’t that be the first thing you keep after returning from a trip?’, ‘You just came back recently so it shouldn’t be difficult to remember where you put it’, ‘Did you leave it at HQ?’], and then asked another mate to pray for me. Aye, I was that desperate.

At 1020 hours, I called the store [well, just in case it doesn’t open on the dot]. The person who picked up the phone was polite and courteous. He told me that my backpack is ready for collection [actually I already knew that since last week but decided to wait ‘til this weekend to pick it up]. I asked nicely if he could check and see if I had left something [Lin advised me not to mention passport specifically] in it, telling him I’d hold.

It took only minutes but it felt like forever. My palms were almost moist as I held the phone. He finally returned to the phone and asked [and I think in a somewhat incredulous voice]: ‘Is it your passport that you left in the bag?’ I almost shouted with relief and said, ‘Yes!’ and continued as if seeking confirmation, ‘It is in there then?’ He said, ‘Yes.’ ‘OK, I’ll come and collect it maybe later this evening or this weekend. Thank you!’ and quickly hung up.

Oh phew, what a relief! Thank you, God.

I managed to persuade my mate to come along with me to collect my bag during lunch and everyone in the store seemed to know me. I even asked, ‘How did you know my name?’ before realising and groaning inwardly that they must have all looked at my passport. I bet the whole store had been laughing at me. I must be the first and the one and only customer ever to have sent something for repair and leaving a vital document in the item.

Lin told me I was very lucky to have recovered my passport. Yeah, I’m a lucky ditsy lassie, I am. You haven’t heard of the time when I misplaced my tube ticket, my Paris Metro ticket [and got fined for it], absent-mindedly walked away with a huge postcard with Kevin Costner on it in Paris without paying [OK, I know, I know, he’s a has-been but this happened way back when] and couldn’t return it as we lost our way and couldn’t find the stall again but I later lost the postcard so it really wasn’t theft, almost left my camera on a London double-decker bus...

I really must stay focussed from now on. Because as I have discovered, my absent-mindedness could turn out to be costly. And I think I’ll wait until June before my next visit to Gucci KLCC.

In The Picture

Golconda Fort, Hyderabad, India - August 2006

Temple raider, Siem Reap, Cambodia - November 2006

Monks at a temple

Angkor Wat

In a Bangkok tuk tuk - December 2006

Vimanmen Teak Mansion, Bangkok

Terraced rice-fields of Bali - January 2007

Mount Tangkuban Perahu near Bandung - February 2007

Taipei Grand Hotel - March 2007

Queen’s Head at Yehliu Scenic Geopark, Taiwan

Capitol Hill from afar, Washington D.C.

Not Casablanca city in Morocco but Casa Blanca nevertheless, i.e. The White House

Relaxing on an unusually mild spring afternoon

Freezing DC weather on the morning of departure

The F1/Easter Weekend

It was a hot, scorching weekend alright.

Headed back to HQ on Saturday but not before stopping in the city to get Mummy’s birthday gift. Had been contemplating a haircut for the past week – yes, despite barely two months after the Bandung haircut – so stopped by at my usual hairdresser but alas she wasn’t in. the noon sun was merciless and in a way that made me even more determined to chop off my hair. So I went over to another hairdresser [which charges more]. Thankfully there were only two customers and one was finishing. I was just thankful for the air-cond relief of the room.

A lady came to attend to me almost instantly. Told her that I wanted a layered haircut [been toying with the idea for some time now]. She agreed it was a good decision. Yet as she was snipping off my hair, I couldn’t help thinking, ‘Oh, what am I doing?’ Well, you can’t really undo a haircut of course! My eyes kept roving at the mirror to look at the wall clock and down at the white sheet cloaked around me to see the fallen hair. I think she was nearing the end when she asked me whether the length was all right and thinking of the heat, I told her to cut my hair even shorter, the shortest she could. So snip, snip, snip, she went.

An hour later [it normally takes only a quarter of an hour for my usual non-layered haircut], I emerged out into the blinding sunlight with a hair so short, I could be a G.I. recruit. It’ll be a long wait before I can get my next usual straight cut snip, should I tire of layered hair. The heat was searing, just like the heatwave that usually precedes a heavy rain. Alas, despite the rumbles of thunder and dark clouds, it didn’t rain a single drop at all.

Don’t feel like mentioning this but stupid Arsenal got hammered by West Ham on Saturday. Idiots!

On Sunday Morning, I persuaded Mummy to go for a Thai massage. We requested for a private room and female masseuses. Turned out the Thai employees actually stay very near HQ. The massage was unlike anything I’ve gone through before [even the massage I went for in Bangkok was mild in comparison]: it was painful and our masseuses were using their hands, forearms, elbows, knees and even feet to massage us...! My face was contorted in pain throughout and I felt my muscles, sinew, veins, tissues, tendon all screaming in agony and pain. In fact, I’m pretty sure she even managed to break down my baby fat at my flabby thighs. I bet my masseuse was trying hard not to laugh at my pained expression.

I was feeling pain all over and still grimacing and hungry and famished at the end of it. Still, it was money well-spent. Abah then came and we had lunch at Tarbush.

On the F1 front, McLaren toppled Ferrari at Sepang thanks to Alonso and Hamilton. Kimi, you shouldn’t have left McLaren!

It was a scorching F1/Easter weekend alright. And now, it’s a brand new week *ugh*. Looking forward to The Amazing Race: All-Stars tonight. I don’t know why I have this feeling that Malaysia will be one of the next few pitstops. Well, we’ll see.

Confessions Of A Shopaholic: Part II

I have to confess: I have not managed (and probably will never be able) to control my desires. I have occasionally (ahem) given in to my weaknesses and desires. And I have lusted. Oh, have I lusted, desired and craved indeed for the following...

...Shoes

Yes, I love them. Almost every time I make a trip to Isetan, I’d check out the shoes department. Wedges. Platforms. Pumps. Mules. Open-toes. Slingbacks. Sandals. Yet to develop fondness for ballerina and kitten heel shoes though.

...Bags

Oh yes. Bags. What would a girl do without one? It’s to stuff your wallet, hand phone, house keys, facial tissues, note book... Kelly bag, barrel bag, tote, pouch, clutch, handbag, hobo, even messenger bag and backpack, I love my bags.

...Chocolates

Ahhh yes, that sinful food. Rich dark chocolate, bittersweet, milk chocolate, white chocolate, plain or with nuts and raisins. My staple food during my MBA days and my good friend on the sofa, when I’m nursing PMS, when I feel like biting something. Heck, my good friend any time of the day. Too much of chocolate though will make my throat feel funny and soon after, I’d get a sore throat. Well, chocolates are ‘heaty’ food after all.

...Lingerie

Ooh, aah, I do so love, love, love lingerie. There’s just something about pretty, lacy, frilly, flirty, flimsy, skimpy and sexy undergarments. They are mysterious and sensual, alluring and seductive. I love checking out knickers – I love lacy shorts now and hope to own a Brazilian soon - and bras and night slips/night dresses. I’d like to own a babydoll and maybe a teddy too one day [and mind you, I’m not referring to a doll or a fragrance, or a teddy bear! I already have teddy bears!] to wear in my boudoir. And who cares if no one can see them. I feel good wearing them. And when one feels good, one is confident. One thing though, except for slips, I hate undergarments in skin colour.

...Clothes

But of course! I don’t really consider myself as a fashionista but there was once when someone asked me to advise another mate how to dress. I was not comfortable with that because hey, I wouldn’t like to be advised on how to dress either. I used to dress in my own style but now that I’m covered, I have to be more careful with my selection of clothes which I think of as my signature style.

...Lippies

I do so love lippies. They come in so many different gorgeous shades [I’m amazed how the producers manage to come up with so many shades, let alone so many names for them!]. I have quite a few in my collection now, I have two different cases for them: one to store my lippie for what I call my autumn/winter wear and another for my spring/summer wear. For someone who barely had a tube of lippie when she graduated from her degree, Adek has certainly come a long way in lippie ownership. You’ll be glad to know that I’ve stopped buying them for some time now... though I still like to check them out in catalogues.

...Toiletries

Oh, I soooo love those shower and bath gels, body lotion, body scrubs, body talc and even hand cream...! They all come in different scents - some floral, some fruity – and different packaging to lure me. So irresistible. I used to be able to spend hours simply sniffing and checking out The Body Shop, Yves Rocher, Crabtree & Evelyn, L'Occitane - and even Marks & Sparks - and pharmacies [Boots, Superdrug and even the local Guardian], and even catalogues.

Yes, blame all them magazines and catalogues for my weaknesses.

Girl Talk

Now, the conversations that my girlfriends and I share about are not just limited to girl stuff such as clothes, household products, latest sale, family issues, weight problems etc but also Deep issues such as the following:

#1: Earlier last month, Lex called me and in the midst of our conversation, she suddenly told me about her neighbour who just passed away during the weekend. Of how sudden everything happened. Then she started telling me of her own late father’s death. Of her late father’s arrangement for the family when he found out he had the dreaded cancer. Because there are no boys in the family [besides Lex’s mother, her siblings are all girls], her father was concerned and worried if anyone from his side of family disputed for the house after he had left [and they do have the right too]. So he talked to his mother [Lex’s grandmother] and his siblings about it. In a way, I think she was hinting at me as she knows that I have four half-brothers who, despite not taking care of my dad ever, would have priority in claiming whatever inheritance there is. Lex was lucky as her dad had some months to prepare and make whatever arrangement necessary to ensure that his family would get the house without dispute [it certainly would be more complicated had he died a sudden, unexpected death]. I thanked Lex for the hint.

So I went home that weekend and actually had a discussion with Mummy. As unpleasant and morbid as it is to talk about the death of your loved one [and yes, of yourself], it is necessary to devote some thought to this, especially life after the departure. About what will happen if Abah suddenly goes. And what happens if I suddenly go. I have assigned my parents and sister as my EPF beneficiaries but I haven’t done that for my ASB or bank accounts. And I have debts too [oh yes, I mean, oh no] with the Government for my A-Level tuition fees [before I got awarded scholarship from TheOrganisation]. I have been slowly paying my outstanding loan over the years. But if I die suddenly, someone would have to settle that outstanding loan. Debt is debt is debt unfortunately. Just like fasting. That’s why I always rush to finish my fast in Syawal itself. I don’t want anyone to have to start making up for my fast for me.

Anywayyyy despite that talk, I still haven’t filled in the will form. Must do that one fine day or else there may be problems for my beneficiaries to access my meagre assets.

#2: I talk to C and F about my worry about the future. Of how I don’t want to be living a destitute poor pensioner life later [err, and we don't even have pension anymore. Must rely on whatever pittance monthly deductions made to EPF] and that the last thing I want is to be a burden to anyone [especially since I don’t have any insurance]. Of being torn between saving now for the future and splurging now - for I may die suddenly and golly, the last thing I want is to die and not having enjoyed the fruits of my labour. But yes, I must save; with no insurance and no pension, life will be hard later. And especially if I’m prone to illness in my old age as most old people are. And I must even set aside for my burial costs and my burial plot and tombstone. I don’t want people to say that I’m still a burden even after my departure from this world.

Didn’t I tell you I think too much sometimes? It is unpleasant and gory even to think about death and I’d rather push it to the back of my mind. Ignore it altogether. Unfortunately, it doesn’t get resolved that way. So I have to confront it. Still, I haven’t purchased any insurance or takaful cover despite C’s insistence. Heh.

#3: I also always talk to C about my frustrations. Of how the grass seems greener on the other side. And of how some people seem to have it all: good career; loads of ca$h; club memberships; luxurious car; condo in the right address; multiple credit cards [all the C criteria]. She would remind me tirelessly that that is just worldly wealth. Material possessions that God can take away in a blink. And that it may be just a test from God, to see if one will be drawn closer to Him or be driven away from Him. The concept of istidraj applies here too [e.g. sometimes you see non-believers who appear to receive blessings even though you think they don’t deserve it. Well, as another explains it, firstly, that might be the only reward that they get for their good deeds cause in the after life they won’t get anything. And also it is ‘punishment’ as then they don’t think they ever need God because their life is fine and dandy!]

C and F are the two persons I always talk to about religion, religious and family matters.

#4: Just last week, another close mate was telling me of the school trip her son’s kindergarten was organising for last Saturday. Of how apprehensive she was about letting her son go. ‘He’s still too small,’ she reasoned. And I replied surely there are other children who are younger than her son. And that surely the son was looking forward to the trip with his friends. ‘Sooner or later you’ll have to let him out into the big, bad world.’ As I listened to myself saying those words of advice, I felt myself choking and and had to swallow before I continued, ‘Because that is how I see my parents treat me. They still treat me like the 12-year old girl that I was when I left home for boarding school.’ And while I sometimes bask in this attention and care, sometimes also I feel stifled and sometimes even a tad resentful. Because I have to live my life on my own one day and I have to learn for myself what life really is all about. They can’t protect me forever.

I hope my friend got what I was trying to say. It is possible to love you child too much but you have to learn to let go. And of course it’s all easy for me to say because I don’t yet have a child of my own yet! Maybe when and if I do, I’ll be the overprotective parent trying to shield my child from the cruelty of the world. Just like how my parents are to me.

I guess I’ll always be the baby of the family in my parents’ eyes.

#5: Earlier in the year, another mate confided in me of her concern for a lump that seemed to develop near her breast. I was touched that she chose to confide in me [I don’t think blogging about it means I’m breaking her confidence!]. But what could I say to relieve her troubled mind and allay her fears? I wasn’t prepared, not sure if I will ever be prepared if someone told me something like this. So I offered her the only thing I know and could think of: words of encouragement, prayers to recite, confidence in God and advices for her to be patient. And queried over and over again when she was going for a check-up until she finally went.

Thankfully, it was just a scare and nothing cancerous.

So yes, we girls do talk about intellectually stimulating, deep stuff, major issues [not politics yet!], major concerns, and things that really matter. Besides the usual girl talk of course.

My Relationship With The One

I know it isn’t but sometimes I feel like it’s a one-sided relationship. I always talk to Him, when I am feeling happy and overjoyed or when I am down and depressed. He just listens to me while I pour out my heart. He listens to my insecurities, angst, problems, worries, concerns, doubts, issues, frustrations, fears and anxieties and also to my happiness, joy, excitement, contentment.

He is always there for me. I talk to and think of Him all the time. I’ll be honest and admit that I even talk to Him in the most inappropriate places - while I’m in the shower, in the bathroom etc. Sometimes I ask Him why my prayers don’t come true or are not granted yet. He doesn’t answer me back in so many words but in gestures of love.

I’ll be honest also and admit that there are times when I question His love for me. I ask Him if He hates me, if He is deliberately punishing me, or if I’m paying penance for something. Unfortunately, despite all He’s done for me, I sometimes disobey Him.

He lets me make mistakes and yet still loves me unconditionally. And I think He allows me to make mistakes so that I can learn from them and be wiser. Because if I don’t make mistakes, I may never learn. Of course, there are times when I wonder why He lets me make those mistakes, why He can’t just let me have a painless lesson. Yet He is patient with me even when I am impatient with Him.

And just when I think my life sucks, He gives me so much in other ways. And I am humbled and I am thankful for I am still blessed in other ways. That while my life may suck in certain departments, it may actually be better than some other people’s lives. That I should just be thankful for little blessings. I have love from family and friends, a roof over my head, a job to slog over, money to afford transportation, food on my table, friendships from my circles of friends, good education [at least I think so] and the opportunities at getting it, good health, the ability to wake up and breathe in the morning air [as opposed to being bedridden and lying there hopeless and helpless] and so much, much more. And of course, I have Him.

I turn to Him for help, comfort and solace. I never tire of asking for His help. I confide in Him. In a way, when I write in my diary, I am also writing to Him, telling Him how my day went, what I did, etc. And He just listens to me.

And that is my relationship with God.

April Love

I don’t remember exactly how it started but I remember we first went out on a movie date. It was one of those Charlie Angels flick. It didn’t matter, the movie I mean. It was the company and the time spent together that mattered.

Then we started going out more and more often. I’d ask him to accompany me to places, get something, furniture hunting, try a new restaurant, catch the latest movie... and I enjoyed doing all that with him.

I found out more and more about him as a mate. How accommodating he was, how simple a person he is. How when he speaks his soft voice melts my heart. I was amazed at how comfortable I was walking around with him in KLCC, in PJ, in BB, even in Ampang... [when there was a risk we’d meet someone who knows my parents].

It was when my British mates came to visit KL that opened up my eyes and made me realise what a caring person he was. I had an upset tummy [I have a sensitive tummy]. He was accompanying my mates then. I called him on his mobile and he rushed over to pick me and brought me to a clinic. It was Saturday late afternoon and my clinic was already closed. No worries, he assured me, and took me to another. I didn’t have much cash but he said, not to worry, he did. Then he bought me dinner and sent me home. And if I recall it, he sent a text that night to ask how I was feeling. That night I cried in bed. I cried because I was happy. That finally there was someone who cared for me the way he did. I was crying because I knew I deserve it. I deserve to be cared [and loved] like that. Well, everyone does.

And then one day, I wondered. I wondered secretly when he would ask me to be his.

He was finally persuaded to ask me the privilege of being his girl in April.

I was truly happy. I thanked God and told Him I want to stay this happy for a very, very, very long time...

Life with him was unbelievably simple. I told my girlfriends about him [not my officemates especially after that episode with Jerk]. I wasn’t shy talking to him in my little baby voice, wearing my spoilt, pampered princess face with him, being my brat self, pulling out tricks at him by hiding around corners etc, and I love him for reciprocating in return and tolerating me. He once suggested something like maybe I should behave like the adult I am and I replied something like, ‘Honey, we don’t stop playing because we grow old but that we grow old because we stop playing.’

Yes, I called him Honey. My very own Honey Hunny.

I still spent the same amount of time with my girlfriends the way I did even before I met him. I love him for not calling me to check up on me. I love him for not questioning where I was going and who I was with. The more freedom he gave me the more things I wanted to share with him, the more I wanted to tell him what I did the night or day before, the more I wanted to spoil him. The more he doesn’t call up on me the more I call him during my outings to tell him that I wish he was with me and that I was missing him already.

I never knew simplicity could feel that good. We didn’t hold hands when we walked because I didn’t and still don’t think it’s appropriate – yes, despite me being the modern City born-and-bred girl - and he respected that [I don’t think I’d like it if my daughter, if I ever have the privilege of having one later in life, goes around holding hands with some boy and I don’t think my parents would like seeing me do the same].

Oh, the things we did. The places we went. The movies we watched. The restaurants we tried out. The stuff we talked about and shared. The shopping trips he accompanied me to. The little surprises we had for each other - soft toys for him, flowers for me, to name just two. The plans we made. The peak-hour phonecalls I made from England and Japan when I was there and the text messages I sent from Makkah because I missed him and the calls we made to each other when he was on sabbatical.

But I had my issues. I’m moody. I carried my emotional baggage with me into the relationship. I got insecure. I wrestled with the demons at night. I wondered if his parents thought I could ever be the right girl for their son. And I wondered if my parents would consent to the relationship.

I was also a coward. I didn’t dare take the risk of finding out what his parents actually thought of me or what my parents thought of him. I just wanted to continue for as long as I could without rocking the boat.

In my insecure state, I started to push him away. He would always come back and pacify me, comfort me, assure me, told me everything would be alright. He wanted to take care of me. I so badly wanted to hear that. But I was too confused with myself, with my feelings.

I loved him. But I never told him that. I was an insecure girl, constantly needing to seek assurances and imposing conditions and clauses. Because I was a prisoner of my own insecurities and doubts and I focussed mainly on the negative aspects – on why it may not work instead of on the positive aspects on why it would and could work. I failed to put a lid on my doubts, even with his constant assurances and reassurances. I didn’t work that hard and play my part as he did into making it work, so absorbed was I in all my insecurities. Like I said, I was carrying excess emotional baggage leftover from my previous failed relationships into ours. It wasn’t fair at all to him but I never realised that.

I should have been braver in expressing my feelings and make love to him, instead of holding myself back because I was afraid to commit myself.

And yet he remained strong and steadfast. And somehow, the surer he was, the less sure I was, the more doubts I had. How could he be so sure when I couldn’t? And yet he remained patient with me, giving me assurances, putting up with my emotional upheaval and irrational clauses and conditions. But I was too blind to see and appreciate all that.

And one day I pushed him away too hard and too far. Because I didn’t really expect him to actually fall for it. I thought he’d give me time and then come back and pacify me, assure me, put my doubts at ease once and for all... because I thought he knew the pressure I was under at work and the turmoil I was in with regard to my future career direction.

I thank God that I still have his friendship. I thank God that our paths crossed and that I have the pleasure of knowing and loving him. And I thank God that finally, I learnt my mistakes are what actually contributed to the failure of our relationship, although it was through a painful process that I learnt them. Yes, mainly my stupid mistake and now I’m paying the price of that costly mistake.

He will always be my April Love.

And I shall stop this indulgent reminiscence trip down memory lane now.