In the midst of my moth-eaten childhood memory, a fragment re-emerged rather distinctively recently. I recall that familiar sense of fear each time this sliver of fuzzy memory came into focus.
It is a memory of a photo.
The subject was my 1-year-old brother. He was sitting on a golden furry blanket, with a cake next to him. On it was a single candle burning brightly to celebrate his first birthday. Behind him was a huge picture of a blue lake with surrounding greenery. The view was spectacular.
But the 3-year-old me couldn't rejoice in the celebration. Each time I peeped at the photo, I couldn't help but be furious with my parents.
Why on earth would my parents allow my young brother to sit on the edge of a lake??? What would happen if he were to fall into the water? Nobody would be there to catch him! And he couldn't swim! Besides, nobody would be around to save him!
What were my parents thinking?! Why did they put him in such danger?! How could they do that to him?
Many terrible thoughts ran through my juvenile mind.
My then naive thinking couldn't process the fact that the picture was taken in a studio and that the photo-shooting was long over.
I remember I couldn't bear those paranoid thoughts even at that young age. I was worrying myself sick. So I put the photo away and never laid eyes on it again.
Distracted by play, kindergarten, school, and other grander scheme of things, I forgot all about the photo.
Until recently. When the image re-surfaced in my consciousness again.
I have to but smile at my own silliness over this fond interlude.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Monday, July 20, 2009
The quest for Toni
JO's very compassionate comment arrived very timely.
Before the hair has time to recover from the trauma of the recent breakup, we met the new rebound. However, instead of heeding the signs of warning, we chose to ignore the invisible fingers of admonition carassing the hair.
A series of unfortunate events therefore unfolds the moment I sat on the electric chair:
1. The head was being manhandled. The insensitive rebound could easily tell me or tip the head to the directions she wanted it to be so as to cut the hair properly and I would take the cue from there. Because I am not a wooden block and the head is not a football which she can manhandle anyoldhow!
2. Done with leafing through the magazines, I looked up in the mirror and saw with great horror that she cut away my baby hair*. Yes, you read that right. She cut away my baby hair!
Which bloody self-respecting hairdresser would commit such a crime these days? Doesn't she know how fugly it will be when the baby hair re-grows? And not to mention, I now have a thin strip of white patch along the right side of the hairline!
I am seriously comtemplating to tan my hairline now. I am not joking!
I want to strangle her!
3. When she was finished with her edgy cutting, she proceeded to style my hair. And let me tell you this, I have never met a professional hairdresser as clueless as she is. She had no bloodly idea how to style the hair. She was experimenting this way and that way. And in the end, I was like WTF?! I can style the hair way better than her!
Did she turn up at the wrong workplace that day? Perhaps she belongs to the school academy and everyone made a mistake that day?!
For that kind of money, the ex(-stylist) is definitely a godsend in comparison! But he chose to leave us in the lurch. Hmpf...
The hunt for the right rebound continues...
Sigh...
*Eh.. Can someone tell me what is the correct term for baby hair?
Before the hair has time to recover from the trauma of the recent breakup, we met the new rebound. However, instead of heeding the signs of warning, we chose to ignore the invisible fingers of admonition carassing the hair.
A series of unfortunate events therefore unfolds the moment I sat on the electric chair:
1. The head was being manhandled. The insensitive rebound could easily tell me or tip the head to the directions she wanted it to be so as to cut the hair properly and I would take the cue from there. Because I am not a wooden block and the head is not a football which she can manhandle anyoldhow!
2. Done with leafing through the magazines, I looked up in the mirror and saw with great horror that she cut away my baby hair*. Yes, you read that right. She cut away my baby hair!
Which bloody self-respecting hairdresser would commit such a crime these days? Doesn't she know how fugly it will be when the baby hair re-grows? And not to mention, I now have a thin strip of white patch along the right side of the hairline!
I am seriously comtemplating to tan my hairline now. I am not joking!
I want to strangle her!
3. When she was finished with her edgy cutting, she proceeded to style my hair. And let me tell you this, I have never met a professional hairdresser as clueless as she is. She had no bloodly idea how to style the hair. She was experimenting this way and that way. And in the end, I was like WTF?! I can style the hair way better than her!
Did she turn up at the wrong workplace that day? Perhaps she belongs to the school academy and everyone made a mistake that day?!
For that kind of money, the ex(-stylist) is definitely a godsend in comparison! But he chose to leave us in the lurch. Hmpf...
The hunt for the right rebound continues...
Sigh...
*Eh.. Can someone tell me what is the correct term for baby hair?
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
A breakup
A catastrophe descended on me today.
I was trying to arrange an appointment with my hairstylist when I was told he has relocated! To another branch in Austria!
WHAT AM I GOING TO DO NOW??!!
Who is going to take care of the hair now that he is gone?! I can't possibly go to Austria each time the hair needs a trim!
After the initial shock receded, anger took over the hair. That selfish bastard left without breaking up with the hair properly. No word, no goodbye, no nothing. A sms would do too (okay, he doesn't have my mobile number). Still he could have left a message at the reception just in case the hair needs him again. With ample notice, I can at least prep the hair for a new rebound before Mr Right appears.
But no, he has to leave the hair to it's own devices.
The hair is now in despair.
HELP!
I was trying to arrange an appointment with my hairstylist when I was told he has relocated! To another branch in Austria!
WHAT AM I GOING TO DO NOW??!!
Who is going to take care of the hair now that he is gone?! I can't possibly go to Austria each time the hair needs a trim!
After the initial shock receded, anger took over the hair. That selfish bastard left without breaking up with the hair properly. No word, no goodbye, no nothing. A sms would do too (okay, he doesn't have my mobile number). Still he could have left a message at the reception just in case the hair needs him again. With ample notice, I can at least prep the hair for a new rebound before Mr Right appears.
But no, he has to leave the hair to it's own devices.
The hair is now in despair.
HELP!
Trials and Tribulations
The Dear facebooked me and shamelessly remarked that I wrote only 2 posts in one month. That I should, in her words, cho kang, cho kang!
I retorted immediately that this is quality-writing and that I don't do mass-market. *trying to be very niche here*
On second thought, I must confess it was just an excuse which I plucked out of the air conveniently. I guess I've been slacking lately indeed...
I am pleased as punch with her note however. It's a boost to my confidence that there are people out there who are reading my blog.
Other than the NW from Singapore. Lol.
My absence over here is probably because I feel I am stuck in the rut of late. Especially in the work department. With one year on, the work challenges which I used to face and enjoy are no longer in existence. The job fulfilment seems to be dwindling day by day. That feeling sucks.
On the social front, it hasn't been terribly exciting either. By that, I do not mean paryting or get drunk at some watering holes. Okay, not that I get drunk easily. I don't get drunk because I hardly drink!
But I suppose I just miss having the friends around me. With them, conversations flow easily without a need to think what you have to say next. We can chatter about everything and nothing, giggle over silly nothings and not being embarrassed about it. If we run out of topics to talk about, we will still be at ease in each other's company. Only years of friendship can achieve such intimacy and familiarity.
With the work taking up most of my time now and feeling exhausted at the end of each workday, it can be such a chore to go tend and nuture a new friendship. Therefore, my social life during the week is pretty much zilch.
What's more the man himself is facing some uncertainties at work. The company he works for will announce their cutbacks very soon. With bated breath, we await judgement day.
The term sleeping like a log is alien to me. Sleep is a series of unfortunate ruffled dreams composed of fleeting and forgettable images. I feel anxiety and agitation in my bones. My skin is dull and lacks lustre. I look terrible.
In my attempts to sooth my nerves, I resort to my favourite pasttime: drama watching. Japanese drama to be exact, with none other than Takuya Kimura. But instead of calming me down with the eye candy, I got even more emotional. Depending on the composition and situation in each episode, I could be laughing, feeling angry, agitated or sobbing (like in the final episode where he took his own life).
The man was of course shocked by my great display of emotions but he chose to say nothing and smiled indulgently at me instead.
But I know exactly what's lacking in me right now. My only antidote is that age-old yet very effective remedy:
A Vacation!
So much for the above excuses.
All because of The Dear.
I retorted immediately that this is quality-writing and that I don't do mass-market. *trying to be very niche here*
On second thought, I must confess it was just an excuse which I plucked out of the air conveniently. I guess I've been slacking lately indeed...
I am pleased as punch with her note however. It's a boost to my confidence that there are people out there who are reading my blog.
Other than the NW from Singapore. Lol.
My absence over here is probably because I feel I am stuck in the rut of late. Especially in the work department. With one year on, the work challenges which I used to face and enjoy are no longer in existence. The job fulfilment seems to be dwindling day by day. That feeling sucks.
On the social front, it hasn't been terribly exciting either. By that, I do not mean paryting or get drunk at some watering holes. Okay, not that I get drunk easily. I don't get drunk because I hardly drink!
But I suppose I just miss having the friends around me. With them, conversations flow easily without a need to think what you have to say next. We can chatter about everything and nothing, giggle over silly nothings and not being embarrassed about it. If we run out of topics to talk about, we will still be at ease in each other's company. Only years of friendship can achieve such intimacy and familiarity.
With the work taking up most of my time now and feeling exhausted at the end of each workday, it can be such a chore to go tend and nuture a new friendship. Therefore, my social life during the week is pretty much zilch.
What's more the man himself is facing some uncertainties at work. The company he works for will announce their cutbacks very soon. With bated breath, we await judgement day.
The term sleeping like a log is alien to me. Sleep is a series of unfortunate ruffled dreams composed of fleeting and forgettable images. I feel anxiety and agitation in my bones. My skin is dull and lacks lustre. I look terrible.
In my attempts to sooth my nerves, I resort to my favourite pasttime: drama watching. Japanese drama to be exact, with none other than Takuya Kimura. But instead of calming me down with the eye candy, I got even more emotional. Depending on the composition and situation in each episode, I could be laughing, feeling angry, agitated or sobbing (like in the final episode where he took his own life).
The man was of course shocked by my great display of emotions but he chose to say nothing and smiled indulgently at me instead.
But I know exactly what's lacking in me right now. My only antidote is that age-old yet very effective remedy:
A Vacation!
So much for the above excuses.
All because of The Dear.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
It sizzles!
It is 30 degrees outside. You are simmering at the workplace. 8 hours everyday.
With no air-conditioning and no fan to sooth that ardent summer heat, you find your face is perpetually clad in a flimsy layer of oil. You are sticky with undried perspiration and your t-shirt plasters to your body. Your armpits are damp and so is your underwear.
When you sit, your legs are wide apart because you can't bear the touch of your own skin. Your underknees are giving off heat.
Your breathing becomes a little irregular and you cannot focus on your work.
The above ensemble causes your ill humour to rear its ugly head. You knit your brows, snap at your colleagues and look daggers at them over the slightest thing.
The drive back home is no better. The long warm and humid day has taken its toll on you. Motorcyclists, cyclists and idiots threaten to push the boundaries of your temper. In the car, the air-conditioning at full blast seems like help which arrives a wee too late.
At home, you recoil from the greeting of hugs and touches from the man because you are both sticky and both your body temperature is emitting too much heat. To spite you, he gleefully rubs his arm on your bare skin and walks away, laughing.
ARRRGGGGHHH!!!!!
The lion city girl loathes summer without air-conditioner.
With no air-conditioning and no fan to sooth that ardent summer heat, you find your face is perpetually clad in a flimsy layer of oil. You are sticky with undried perspiration and your t-shirt plasters to your body. Your armpits are damp and so is your underwear.
When you sit, your legs are wide apart because you can't bear the touch of your own skin. Your underknees are giving off heat.
Your breathing becomes a little irregular and you cannot focus on your work.
The above ensemble causes your ill humour to rear its ugly head. You knit your brows, snap at your colleagues and look daggers at them over the slightest thing.
The drive back home is no better. The long warm and humid day has taken its toll on you. Motorcyclists, cyclists and idiots threaten to push the boundaries of your temper. In the car, the air-conditioning at full blast seems like help which arrives a wee too late.
At home, you recoil from the greeting of hugs and touches from the man because you are both sticky and both your body temperature is emitting too much heat. To spite you, he gleefully rubs his arm on your bare skin and walks away, laughing.
ARRRGGGGHHH!!!!!
The lion city girl loathes summer without air-conditioner.
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