We were infinite too

Twenty-four hours from Singapore to Siem Reap and I had already been on five modes of transport: the car, airplane, tuk tuk, bicycle and of course, my plain ol’ feet.

There’s just something about journeys that’s completely meditative. There was that one-hour cycling out in Battambang’s countryside each way. I got into a lovely conversation pedaling next to a new friend while our skin burnt under the scorching Cambodian sun and then there was the way back where the sun was going down and it was magical and even though I was dying from exhaustion, I couldn’t be happier.

Then last night, after an amazing circus show (when was the last time we went to a circus?), we hopped right into the car again, setting off for Siem Reap. Like most long journeys, we chatted and shared for a bit at the start and were laughing nervously about driving in complete darkness.

Soon, we settled into a comfortable, companionable silence.

I stared out into the abyss and noticed the landscape ahead was 10% land, 90% sky – one that was sparkling bright with stars. I recognised the north star, saw the Orion belt while  my ears were plugged firmly to the sounds of Sigur Ros’ “Samskeyti”.

As we drove further into the veil of darkness, it felt like the entire milky way descended on us. And I swear, in that moment just like Charlie, we were infinite too.

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The Beginning of Endings

I love moments of epiphany. Where the sudden realisation makes you feel like the world has stopped spinning for that little while as you let the newfound thought settles well within yourself.

It’s been a long time since I’ve read a book from cover to end and it took me a while to fall in love with Jeffrey Eudenides’ (The Virgin Suicides and Middlesex) newest novel, The Marriage Plot – so long that it was only the last page of the book that made me decide I loved it. It was sublime.

And it was also then I realised why I’ve always loved open-ended endings in films and fiction. Whenever I was asked the reason behind my preference for such conclusions, I could never come up with an explanation. I merely thought it was my hard-fought attempt to be different but after I put The Marriage Plot down, I realised – it’s because I like new beginnings. That even though a novel might have ended, it doesn’t necessarily mean the story needed to end along with it.

That it could continue quite infinitely as long as the mind can conjure the possibilities.

And that’s exactly why I love open-ended conclusions.

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There are no accidents

There are no accidents, Yi Lian.

If it’s appeared on your life radar, this is why: to teach you that dreams come true; to reveal that you have the power to fix what’s broken and heal what hurts; to catapult you beyond seeing with just your physical senses; and to lift the veils that have kept you from seeing that you’re already the person you dreamed you’d become.

And believe me, that was one heck of a dream.

There are no accidents, Yi Lian.

Tallyho,
The Universe

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Brave New World

It’s been said that new landscapes bring forth new thoughts. It does. So much so that I think the process paralyses me. The intriguing new landscape would instigate me to just stare at it and when you get captivated into a moment so beautiful, all thoughts leave your mind at that very moment and all you can manage is to marvel.

This may not be my first experience with Shanghai. But somehow it feels new. I sit here wondering while staring at the Pearl Tower and started the self-questioning.

While waiting at the airport’s arrival hall, instead of getting flustered by the typically inconsiderate behaviour of most locals, my eyes and mind went into frenzy – admiring the slew of fashion treats around me. So the behaviours may not have changed when I last came here but the sartorial choices sure have. Proportionate silhouettes, attention to interesting details and understated designer pieces – I must admit I was a little bowled over as I looked on.

Then the car took us past The Bund. Instead of focusing on the ever-gloomy weather of the city, I mused how breathtakingly beautiful the heritage buildings along the water are. An imaginary scene of flappers with shapely bobs and fine-looking dandies mingling in the early 20th century flashed across my mind and it made me smiled.

So the people and landscape have remained since my last presence two years ago so what changed? Then I realised the inner landscape of my mind and heart have. And I guess that may not be such a bad thing after all.

Hello Shanghai. Nice meeting you. Again.

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A Dangerous Monologue

It must have started with my intrigue with psychology and the arts. And of course, Viggo Mortensen and Michael Fassbender. I’d been waiting for “A Dangerous Method” to be released for ages and when it did, I couldn’t help but was quite disappointed with the story. It was more about Carl Jung’s love life (though I was rather captivated by his open marriage) and less about the history of psychology.

Dissatisfied with the storyline, I went on to Wikipedia Sigmund Freud and then with his grandson Lucian Freud’s recent death, I’d been reading a bit about the latter in several publications. The more I read, the more intrigued I got. Beside the comparison on both Freud’s roles (a patient sit on a couch to be psychoanalysed by Sigmund while a sitter poses on a couch to be painted by Lucian, which is very similar to being psychoanalysed too, no?), I was also drawn by Lucian’s (and Jung’s, while we are at it…) inability to commit.

I think it was in the latest UK edition of Vogue where in an article on the younger Freud, an ex-lover said something along the lines of: “It wasn’t so much that Lucian was unable to commit to a woman, it was more that he wanted to have a baby with every woman he met.”

I sat alone, enthralled by that comment. And I stared into space for a bit. A little dazed. A little bewildered.

And I wondered, “so who the hell equated love to commitment?”

Didn’t some very wise people said freedom is the heart of love?

What’s wrong with Lucian’s behaviour? Because society said so? Isn’t the ability to love more more beautiful than the simplistic ability to commit? How can we have the audacity to promise forever when we can’t even promise what tomorrow will bring?

Why is it that when I insist breakups and divorces are quite necessary sometimes, I was named a cynic? Why must we insist all the ‘good’ things last forever? It’s kinda greedy, no? It’ll be awesome if the love stays forever but when it doesn’t, you call that 10-year relationship/marriage a waste of your time and claim yourself a fool when only the last quarter of the time together was challenging. How about the happy times in the beginning? Was that all forgotten?

Now, who’s the cynic?

My point being… Why do we get so fixated on getting the future ‘right’ when all we can be sure of is the here and now?

So we can’t promise we’ll live together happily ever after. But we can promise we’ll live together happily right here and right now. Sometimes, that’s all we can promise but we know that’s the best we’ve got.

Does that make us love each other any less?

Absolutely not.

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Happy Birthday little ol’ me

Is it the coming-of-age feeling that gets us so pensive as we turn another year older? Or is it the combination of that and the proximity of the arrival of a new year?

I left the office today at an untypical hour where the sun still shone. That perpetual guilt of “I could have done more” plagued me but I had to go. I wanted to spend the evening before my birthday with my family and I was adamant I didn’t usher in my birthday at my work desk.

Thanks to good ol’ Stars, my mood lifted a little as I plugged in and walked and I realised it’s been a while since I had this persistent sense of… unhappiness – if that’s the right way to describe it. You know, the feeling that you want more out of your life yet you know you may not entirely deserve it because you ain’t giving more anyway.

It’s probably a combination of factors. First, a relentless flu bug that threw me off track physically and professionally. From there, it was a downward spiral of feeling demoralised and in a state of isolation and self-disappointment. This whole journey is almost… expected. I’d been in a great place for months now and when I recognised its presence, I chuckled a little to myself. Life is all but a cycle, no?

Then when you ain’t feeling so invincible anymore, suddenly different sets of truth seem to make themselves more apparent. And that sense of “I could have done more” persists… I could have been a better friend, daughter, sister and aunt. I’m not caring enough. I don’t communicate enough. I’m not selfless enough. I don’t spend enough time with them. Hell, I’m not even a good enough yogi, what with just a weekly practice…

And as I witness some friendships and relationships die a slow death, I cry a little to myself as I debate between being a victim and a student. I tell myself nothing lasts forever and I can only be grateful they once were but it’s a hard pill to swallow…

I don’t mind all these pensiveness, really. And no, I don’t quite mind turning another year older either. I was telling KT last night that it’s hard to hate ageing when you love the lessons you’d learnt that could only come with age.

We all complain a little as the number scales up bit by bit, but will we really exchange what we have right now for where we were five years ago or even two years ago? I’d loved my life then but I love new lessons too much to wanna stay forever 25.

So, here I go… A happy little birthday to myself. :)

PS: Sorry if you’re expecting the usual uplifting post. I’m sure I’ll be back in no time. ;)

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What are you grateful for?

I was sipping my glass of moscato with a group of old and new friends tonight when I caught myself off-guard for a moment. There I was, laughing and fooling around with a bunch of people I didn’t even know this time last year (other than one old friend. But as Sue always say, “an oldie but a goldie.”) and I found myself smiling to myself as Keane was playing at the background.

I’ve been saying this for months but sometimes I still want to pinch myself. I’m happy. I’m so truly happy right here and now that everything seems so perfect at the moment. (well, other than the impending deadlines that are scaring the hell outta me…) I’ve came a long way this year. I really have.

I may not have gotten married or pop yet another baby like some of my peers. And despite not having these generic milestones the past year, there are still so many things I’m grateful for. So many. Even the seemingly bad moments.

Right now, I’m grateful for:

  1. My job. A younger me took my previous jobs for granted but now, after a year of freelance writing (not that I didn’t love that year of freedom, haha), I know I must always be grateful that I have a job. And one that I absolutely love? I must be crazy not to be thankful. I marvel how everything had happened in the past year to allow me to land this great gig. Truly – every thing does happen for a reason.
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  2. My boss and colleagues. Is it too fast for me to declare this? Things may change in the future but right now, thank you Life for putting me in a work environment where I just adore my boss and colleagues. Each of them and their idiosyncrasies amuse me to no end everyday and despite our multinational and multicultural backgrounds, we are all the same. I love exchanging knowing looks with a few kindred spirits among my colleagues and I love how they make me laugh my ass off just by being themselves. And the ex-colleagues that were never quite mine to start with – AS and MJ. Fast friendships do happen in real life!
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  3. Fashion, art, photography and architecture. In my own little mind, I categorise this group as “beauty”. Beauty is everywhere around us – all day, every day. In good fashion, good art, good photography and of course, good architecture. I’m grateful that they’re such awesome sources of creativity and how they inspire me endlessly with their beauty. I love how my exposure to them makes me learn so much about history, sociology and psychology.
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  4. New friends. The girl and boy friends I’d met through the course of yoga both locally and while I was travelling, thank you for being the epitomes that one is never too old to make new good friends. Regardless of our nationalities and backgrounds and whether you’re skyping or emailing from Toronto, Tokyo, Sydney, San Francisco, Beijing or Amsterdam, you are amazing examples that we’re, again, all the same.
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  5. BADSPY. Our friendship is like an elastic band and I’m grateful that despite the fact that sometimes it stretches thin, it’ll always rebound to original form. Maybe cos I was the runaway child who left for two years and came back again, I feel the evolution of our friendship more. Nevertheless, I absolutely love us for who we are. I was rereading the Christmas cards we exchanged this year and as cheesy as it sounds, they warm my heart. :)
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  6. My travels. Thank you for opening my eyes and mind and allowing them to rethink our so-called set of ethnics and morals. Who said we would always stay the same and never evolve? And of course, letting me realised I’m more independent than I let on and that I’m amazingly open to every possible experience Life may have to offer.
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  7. My mistakes. Whether grave or trivial – you’ve opened a floodgate of lessons that I would have never learned if I’d never committed you. Thank you for the wealth of knowledge and teaching me that learning gracefully from mistakes are just like passing our school examinations with flying colours. Yes, even the ones that I’d made at the sake of losing some people from my life for good. It’s OK because they were meant to happen.
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  8. My family. A father who relentlessly fetches me anywhere I wanna go and makes sure I have my dinners that there’s no such thing as “out of the way” when it comes to his daughter. A mother whom is generous and loving to a fault, and also ridiculously innocent yet endearing. A sister who’s ethereally unfazed by anything. She’s my role model at living a simple but loving life.  She embodies the saying “keep calm and carry on”. And the small little people she’s given birth to who love and adore me unconditionally and the best teachers for teaching one how to appreciate the little things in life. Candy is no longer just candy. They’re EVERYTHING.
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  9. Music and movies – the perfect escapes and yet one that often allows me to connect to another. Sometimes they transport me to other worlds and sometimes they bring forth a whole slew of epiphanies. My creative little soul needs that outlet that ignites all my senses.
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  10. My best friend who, somehow, seems to have mastered the perfect mix of goofiness and grace. Thank you for creating this friendship with me that’s so strong and effortless that it befuddles me to think of a situation that can possibly rock it.
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    and most of all,
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  11. My Self for being relentlessly optimistic and hopelessly romantic. For continually surprising me at how strong I can be without going all girl power and feminist and I can walk my talk. For being able to always seek the lessons in every dire situation instead of blaming the world. And most importantly, for never taking myself and Life too seriously.

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

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