I know I have been uncannily silent for the past many many days already… and might be for a couple more days. I changed my number to 81994627 changed already, sure as hell not gonna post it here… Email me! So if you have smsed me and I did not reply, nope, I haven’t died/ slashed my wrists/checked into the loony bin yet.

Heh.

Divorcee. There. I’ve said it.

Were you shocked?

If not, good. You will be comfy with my blog, potty mouth and all.

If you were gasping in shock and grappling with the social disparity, then you know where to go. Yes, disney.com is the right place, darlink.

Anyway.

He had finally agreed to sign the papers, for reasons that are too painful for me to list here. But the people who should know, do. And I thank God for the support and love that they have shown.

It is only during such dark times that you know who really cares.

If not for family and friends, I would be headed for the abyess that I was hurled down last year, when I had unwisely chose to keep everything, every emotion to myself.

Thank you thank you thank you.

A shocker: my mother in law cried when I visited and told her. Funny I would never have guessed that she had that depth of feelings for me. What’s really touching was that she told me that although I was so young (20) when I married him, and that she was worried that I would be too untamed for marriage and motherhood, she could see that I have really changed, and had embraced my wifely and motherly duties. And she thought I was a good mother and a good daughter in law. Damn I really broke down then.

See, she didn’t like me when I married into the family and broke with Chinese tradition and custom by not giving me any jewellery at all. But over the years, she treated me better by cooking the foods she knew I liked, and doting on my children (not as much as she doted on my nephews though, but I’m cool).

My father in law too had a bad impression of me because the husband had dumped his girlfriend like a hot potato for me, and the said girlfriend was their darling god daughter. Oooh, makes for juicy feuding drama, you think? You’re dead right.

But still, over the years, he grew to love me like a daughter and would never hesitate to take my side whenever the husband and I warred.

So suffice it to say that he is fuming mad (not at me though) that we are calling it quits. But he’s been telling me that I have to go back frequently with the kids. Which goes without saying, naturally. The children will never cease to be their grandchildren, regardless of the cease of the marriage bonds..

I am feeling a little whimsical, a little sad, a little angry and a little pensive now. Ten years of marriage, ten years of youth, ten years of lost time.

WARNING: this is a major TOOT TOOT post!!

I just finished one of those Parent Teacher thing with Geanyne’s teacher, and if I don’t blog about it immediately, I will die of an unknown malady called Pent Up Pride.

My baby is the most talented child prodigy around. She is going to be the female Michaelangelo.

OK, the teacher did not exactly say that. I uhm sort of uhm dramatised a little.

But still!

She finger painted this amazing fish and did an unbelievable water painting of……….. ME!! In multi coloured glory, albeit no legs. Maybe she thinks Mummy is as beautiful as a mermaid, so no legs. OK now, stop barfing already.

Seriously now, she is really good at arts and creativity; and her teachers all adore her to pieces. She is spontaneous and helpful, often helping out the other children who are slower; she never creates problems for her teachers, and she has shown remarkable leadership for a two year old child. AND, she is very independent, wearing her own clothes after showering, eating very neatly, etc. AND she is very sweet and kind hearted, always comforting the newbies and coaxing them to play. AND always behaves herself well and amost never throws tantrums . And so much more but I will stop now as I have already seriously gone beyond the line of the Obnoxiously Proud Haba Haba Mother zone.

Did I mention that I am sooooo PROUD of my baby and I love her to BITS?!!

OK now.

Letter from K BHAVANI

Press Secretary to the Minister for Information, Communications and the Arts

Your mr brown column, “S’poreans are fed, up with progress!” (June 30) poured sarcasm on many issues, including the recent General Household Survey, price increases in electricity tariffs and taxi fares, our IT plans, the Progress Package and means testing for special school fees.
The results of the General Household Survey were only available after the General Election. But similar data from the Household Expenditure Survey had been published last year before the election.
There was no reason to suppress the information. It confirmed what we had told Singaporeans all along, that globalisation would stretch out incomes.
mr brown must also know that price increases in electricity tariffs and taxi fares are the inevitable result of higher oil prices.
These were precisely the reasons for the Progress Package — to help lower income Singaporeans cope with higher costs of living.
Our IT plans are critical to Singapore’s competitive position and will improve the job chances of individual Singaporeans. It is wrong of mr brown to make light of them.
As for means testing for special school fees, we understand mr brown’s disappointment as the father of an autistic child. However, with means testing, we can devote more resources to families who need more help.
mr brown’s views on all these issues distort the truth. They are polemics dressed up as analysis, blaming the Government for all that he is unhappy with. He offers no alternatives or solutions. His piece is calculated to encourage cynicism and despondency, which can only make things worse, not better, for those he professes to sympathise with.
mr brown is entitled to his views. But opinions which are widely circulated in a regular column in a serious newspaper should meet higher standards. Instead of a diatribe mr brown should offer constructive criticism and alternatives. And he should come out from behind his pseudonym to defend his views openly.
It is not the role of journalists or newspapers in Singapore to champion issues, or campaign for or against the Government. If a columnist presents himself as a non-political observer, while exploiting his access to the mass media to undermine the Government’s standing with the electorate, then he is no longer a constructive critic, but a partisan player in politics.

***

If you have been following my blog from day 1, it would be an intelligent guess on your part if you guessed that the above piece of propoganda pissed me off to no end.

Especially the parts that I have bold out. As an adequately educated person, I am putting it in black and white here that I have not once felt the ludicrous cynicism and despondency as proclaimed by K Bhavani, after reading mr brown’s musings. I however have felt and I am sure will continue to feel, the said cynism and despondency after reading press releases by our Ministries of whatever, the above being a stellar example.

“He offers no alternatives or solutions”

Yummy mummy Diana and her very scrumptious daughter Ayesha

Battle of the titans: The queen of boobs Trisha Ratna and yours truly

Oh man, it was really a riot at Victory yesterday. We met up at 2.30pm, stuffed our faces and almost set the house on fire, what with our catching up and laughter. Things got much raunchier and rowdier after the grand arrival of Trish. I must say that I am always amused by her narration of family affairs and her little adventures. So, I laughed a lot, got molested a little and on the whole, had a whole lot of fun. I am generally a rather anti-social person, but I do enjoy get togethers every now and then. Contradictory, I know, but then again, I am a rather confused and confusing person.

My aunt just passed away. It was a long bout of suffering and struggling with lung cancer and she lost the final battle. She never woke from her coma in the end.

Her sons are only twelve and three year old. She does not smoke, has never smoked in her whole life. Her husband, my mother’s brother, however, is a heavy smoker.

I am in turn, sad and angry.

Sad because the children are still so young, especially the younger boy. Sad because we were never close, would never have the chance to talk again. Sad because it reminded me of my grandmother’s death all over again. The funeral, the joss sticks, the sense of eternal loss.

The anger is mainly because she was the casualty of second hand smoke.

The anger touched me in a strange way, like I was the victim. Well, I could very well be the victim, seeing how he smokes in the house, despite repeated reminders and subsequent quarrels. It could have been me, the body lying so peacefully now in the coffin. It could be my children, eight and two years old, bereaved of their mother. I got angrier as the thoughts brewed in my mind. What were her thoughts in her last days? Her children? The impending end of her life? What if it were me? What could I do? What would I do?

It then struck me how life could be so fragile. It could be tough at turns, dealing out bad cards, banker takes all, but it could also be fragile, ending the entire game all together.

It is no wonder that career is hardly a priority in life. I mean, would you have thoughts like, “I wish I had spent more time in the office” whilst in the throes of death? I should hardly think so. I would think first of my children, then my parents whom I would be worried if they could take care of themselves in old age. I am just thankful that I got out of the rat race early in life, and not while my children’s childhoods have passed me by and I am only left with a mid-life crisis for companionship.

To me, time is not the healer as hyped out to be. Time is a thief, stealing youth and memories. It’s been a year since my grandmother has passed on, and it seems like yesterday. Sometimes I would still tear up at night. Sometimes, I think of the times we spent together and it still hurts inside, like my heart is being wrenched, the blood being slowly squeezed out. No, time has not healed my wounds. And it is no comfort to think that my youth is slowly but surely being depleted as time goes by. No matter. I am just glad that I am playing the odds well now, playing against time. I am not going to waste any more time, procrastinating my dreams and goals. I am starting the business I want to start now, just as I am determined to spend time with my children now.

Life was not so rosy for me last years, especially after my grandmother’s death in May. It took about a few months for me to break down completely and by October, I was holed up at home, didn’t want to see any of my friends, and given a prescription of Prozac which I did not take as Geanyne was still breastfeeding. Again, the children were my saving grace and of course, with every crisis in my life, God always comes through for me. He puts jobs my way that I didn’t plan for, and friends who would help in any way that they can. Having been through that dark period in my life, I am just thankful that I got through it, and I pray fervently that I never have to go through it again. Yes, it was that bad. I think I can sum it up most aptly by quoting one of my favourite passages from Murakami’s Sputnik Sweetheart:

“So that’s how we live our lives. No matter how deep and fatal the loss, no matter how important the thing that’s stolen from us – that’s snatched right out of our hands – even if we are left completely changed people with only the outer layer of skin from before, we continue to play out our lives this way, in silence. We draw ever nearer to our allotted span of time, bidding it farewell as it trails off behind. Repeating, often adroitly, the endless deed of the everyday. Leaving behind a feeling of immeasurable emptiness.”

Can anyone understand the sense of emptiness as well as Murakami, or even begin to articulate it as such, with such tenderness? It’s like, he reached in the very depths of my heart and touched my pain there.

*****

I should learn to avoid certain books and shows during my PMS period. See, I don’t buy the theory or the excuse of being a total bitch during PMS, eg, “I am PMSing now, so I can’t help being bitchy/ can be a bitch/ say totally awful bitchy things.”

Save it girlfriend. Take it from me, you can help being a bitch. I should know. I can be an absolute darling when I put my mind to it.

Anyway. My point is, you may be able to bite your tongue but how do you stem the tears? Yes, that is my dilemma. I get all teary when PMSing.

It’s no laughing matter. I totally embarrassed myself last week when I was reading in Coffee Bean while waiting for my kids to finish their Sunday classes. The guilty book in question is “Tuesdays with Morrie”

I tried and tried, but to no avail. My eyes defied me to the point that they refused to contain the overwhelming tears which then spill over onto my mien. That’s not the embarrassing part. This guy came over to me and asked me if everything was ok. He even patted my hand!!!!!

Oh, the shame.

Come to think of it, it is only slightly better during the non PMS period. It’s like, I would read Anita Shreve’s Light on Snow and totally be Nikki. I could feel the pain Nikki is feeling, and the sadness, when the baby’s finger was amputated. I was Adeline in Falling Leaves, Clare in the Time Traveller’s Wife and Jake in A Time to Kill. I was angry with Amir and sad for Hassan in Kite Runner.

Yes, I am a hopelessly sad basketcase when it comes to reading. It makes me ridiculously happy and sad at turns.

And now that I am no longer chained to a job full time, that means…………… you guessed it. More books!!

Just finished Kite Runner, Tuesdays with Morrie, The Buddha Tree, The Time Traveller’s Wife and Middlesex. And that’s only last week.

Coming up in my reading list, Catch 22, American Gods, Eight Million Gods and Demons, Desert Flower, Samir and Samira, Daughters of Arabia and Crime and Punishment.

Heaven.

Pink called me a book coward when we had tea yesterday at Marriot. We gathered quite a few stares, the two of us, me checking out the babes and he ogling cute guys. We must have been quite a sight.

“What?! I live for books!” I exclaimed indignantly.

“Yeah, I know. What I mean is, you don’t have the guts to try out the unknowns. The undiscovered.” he sniffed.

After thinking about it for a while, I admitted that reluctantly. But I had to protest a little by changing his original connotation to “Book Connoisseur”.

Coward, indeed, my ass.

He retaliated by giving one of his derisive snorts.

Well, life’s too short for bad books, and too exciting for boring books. I used to be a book adventurer, in the sense that I would explore along the library aisles, no objectives in mind, except to pick out random books accordingly to my whims. It could be a scintillating title, or an attractive book spine. Or the colour scheme of the book. Oh, the thrill of living dangerously. But those were school years when I had all the time in the world to read, read and read, and the library was my favourite haunt. Good times.

But along the way, work came along. The kids. A million other concerns. Which
meant that lesser time was allotted to reading. Which meant such time was more precious due to its scarcity. Which meant that I would be damned pissed if I wasted such time on crappy books.

And I was pissed last week when I grudgingly finished the “Restraint of Beasts” by Magnus Mills. It was a real crappy book, in my opinion. But Pink obviously disagrees, as he had recommended it highly.

“I would have thought that you would like it. You were always attracted to “real” books.”

“Yeah, the characters were real losers” I sniped. We agree about everything and anything on earth, with the exception of our book tastes. I love Murakami and his surrealism, but Pink calls him a meandering wimp. He loves chick lit, Nora Roberts, Wendy Holden and the like but I am bored to tears with romance novels. I think the only chick lit we both liked was “The Devil Wears Prada”.

But we both agreed that the “Kite Runner” was a great read. We mused over what would have been our fates if we had existed amidst the Taliban. Pink deduced with that cold logic of his that he would most probably be stoned to death for deviant sexual behaviour, and that I might be repeatedly beaten up for having big boobs. Hell, they might be even sliced off for being so visually offending. I looked down at the said offending body parts covered chastely in my Dorothy Perkins black baby tee. Damn, I am glad that I am born in Singapore, and not in some God forsaken country where my kids might be killed anytime by bombs, landmines or shooting, and the very same body parts that are deemed visually appealing here would be condemned as the Devil’s tools.

Pink acceded sagely and we had a sobering moment. Then we proceeded to have a bitch argument if Sohrab would become gay.

*****

Depending on how you look at it, I could be “unemployed” or “homemaker”, seeing how my financial status could never propel me to “tai tai” status. I love the freedom of waking up each day, pottering around my house, doing a spot of plant tending or cooking, or just the usual cleaning routine, with Black Eyed Peas on full bass. I just picked up on my cross stitching again so it seems that the tissue box cover with the teapots design might just get finished before we move house.

I just finished write-ups for one of the retail chains so that’s off my mind. I don’t know if every writer feels that way, but I would always get nervous whenever I get an assignment, which is characterized by my breaking out in cold sweat, the tight fluttery feeling in my stomach, and just a general sense of anxiety. I only get relief when I complete the assignment and the client deems such completion good. Thankfully, the feedback was positive, and if his praise was anything to go by, I will get more work from them. I just hope that they are prompt in payment, and not like some of the horrifying stories I have heard so far. One worst scenario was that the client took almost nine months to pay her fee, and that was after a continuous nightmare of re-editing and substantial changes to content.

God help me from stupid or horrifying clients, Amen.

Anyway, in addition to the writing assignments, I have also started a small home-based business in accessories and apparel. The good thing about the apparel part is that I would not have to keep stock at home, as said stock would be held in my partner’s warehouse. I am really so excited about the whole thing as it means one thing: I am finally fulfilling my dream of being my own boss. I think of starting the whole baby from the very beginning, building up the brand and I just feel deep inside that it’s the right direction to go. I mean, I just love fashion and shopping, and the very thought of the buying, the branding and the communications is just exhilarating.

The main platform for the marketing will be via internet. And knowing the extreme idiocy I have displayed in any matters pertaining to IT, I know I am in for a good ride.

So. It’s all good. For now.