Thursday, June 18, 2009

Three years on

Amidst all things sweet and beautiful, it takes Mother to remind me that today marks three years since the day he left us.

3 days before the day he was admitted to the hospital, I had noted in an entry that Dad's been coming back home looking more and more tired every night. But never was I moved to ask him how he was feeling or if he'd like a cup of coffee. And likewise, never was he moved to ask how i was feeling or how was I coping with army.

I have always wondered why he wasnt the talker. I have always wondered why he doesnt seem to care. And if he did, I wondered why he doesnt seem to show or say it. Or at least to me. Three years on, I realised that the question i asked would be the same questions others would ask about me.

Perhaps me being the eldest, he was letting me grow freely. I'd like to think that the fact that he didnt talk much to me was because he'd want me to think on my own two feets. And perhaps seeing me grow into the person i am was enough satisfaction for him. And on my part, seeing him working hard all those years was enough to tell me that he cared.

There came a time when, according to Mother, he realised that he could have done more talking with me. But since he cant turn back time with me, he changed his approach with the other 3. I have wondered why he didnt change his approach with me but three years on, I realised that I too would have done the same. I would've hoped for my eldest child to realize that though i may not converse with him much, it doesnt necessarily mean that I do not care.

I guess both him and I are very much alike. We're both stubborn and prefers to let our actions speak louder than words. Him letting me grow freely had made me into a thinker. Always thinking about things. Always analysing the consequences of every little things I do.

Three years on, there're so many things that are happening that I just cant think and decide for myself. There are times when I wish he was around to offer me an advice or two. I'd like to know if the decisions i made are the right ones or the wrong ones. I'd like to see the joy on his face knowing that the twins are doing tremendously well in their studies and that his daughter has graduated from poly.

I'd like to know his thoughts about the one that left a pretty sweet impression.

Three years on, how I wish he was still around.

Tuesday, June 16, 2009


AND a poet said, Speak to us of Beauty. And he answered: Where shall you seek beauty, and how shall you find her unless she herself be your way and your guide? And how shall you speak of her except she be the weaver of your speech?

The aggrieved and the injured say, ‘Beauty is kind and gentle. Like a young mother half-shy of her own glory she walks among us.’ And the passionate say, ‘Nay, beauty is a thing of might and dread. Like the tempest she shakes the earth beneath us and the sky above us.’

The tired and the weary say, ‘Beauty is of soft whisperings. She speaks in our spirit. ‘Her voice yields to our silences like a faint light that quivers in fear of the shadow.’ But the restless say, ‘We have heard her shouting among the mountains, And with her cries came the sound of hoofs, and the beating of wings and the roaring of lions.’

At night the watchmen of the city say, ‘Beauty shall rise with the dawn from the east.’ And at noontide the toilers and the wayfarers say, ‘We have seen her leaning over the earth from the windows of the sunset.’

In winter say the snow-bound, ‘She shall come with the spring leaping upon the hills.’
And in the summer heat the reapers say, ‘We have seen her dancing with the autumn leaves, and we saw a drift of snow in her hair.’

All these things have you said of beauty, Yet in truth you spoke not of her but of needs unsatisfied, And beauty is not a need but an ecstasy. It is not a mouth thirsting nor an empty hand stretched forth, But rather a heart inflamed and a soul enchanted.

It is not the image you would see nor the song you would hear, But rather an image you see though you close your eyes and a song you hear though you shut your ears.

It is not the sap within the furrowed bark, nor a wing attached to a claw, But rather a garden for ever in bloom and a flock of angels forever in flight.

People of Orphalese, beauty is life when life unveils her holy face. But you are life and you are the veil. Beauty is eternity gazing at itself in a mirror. But you are eternity and you are the mirror.

...............The Prophet by Khalil Gibran

Monday, June 15, 2009

The Girl

Some do leave you with a pretty sweet impression. Many did. Many could still do.

But should one ever decide if the impression left is the sweetest? Or should one simply wait for the next sweet impression.... and then the one after that... and ...

Sunday, June 14, 2009


Took an online test on at the request on an inquisitive young punk. And it turns out Im an ISTJ - Introverted Sensing Thinking Judging (Introverted Sensing with Extraverted Thinking).

While it is nice to see how you're classified by psychologists, it is scary to know that your character has been defined.

One of the profile of an ISTJ is an off-beat sense of humor and I must admit that I do have a pretty weird way of putting things across to others -- I come across as funny when im being serious and serious when im being funny. I have since come to a conclusion/realization that i simply prefer to let others think about my actions or the things i say irregardless of how i say it, evaluate and decide for themselves what exactly that Im putting across.

Despite my attempts to NOT lace my actions and words with hidden meanings, I almost always fail to be direct. As such, my actions can come across as insensitive or hurtful but nevertheless, the underlying message remains the same.

Maybe this explains the part about ISTJs showing their affection through their actions rather than words - a trait I mustve picked up from my late dad. Judge someone through the things he does rather than the things he say, especially when you're dealing with an introvert. They tend to do the exact opposite of the things they say.

But being intraverted and having an off-beat sense of humor isnt really all that bad a thing. Personally, it allows me to have few but close friends -- the ones who seem to have the ability to see right through my multiple facades. The ones whom I can then speak to in a more direct and open manner knowing that they're already able to read you like a book.

And I still am very much surprised as to how someone whom i barely knew managed to know so much about me.

Monday, June 8, 2009

Fight or flight or break

When facing adversity, one can choose to either stay and fight or take flight and avoid the problem altogether.
But what if one cant choose?

What if one breaks down before he can even decide between "fight" and "flight"?

After a stumble, one can simply dust off one's bruised hands and knees. But what seemed to me like a little stumble could very well be a huge fall to others. And if someone broke into a million pieces after that fall, is there ever a way to piece all the the broken pieces back together? And if there is way, will that broken piece ever be the same?

While it is very clear that a broken vase cannot be fixed on its own, it is not as straight forward as to who or how the broken vase should be fixed. If it's not done the right way, the vase will just come falling again upon the slightest of touches.