forever

From the moment we first met, no matter how much I tried to deny it, dissect our friendship, or train myself not to expect anything romantic, the butterflies had other plans. They fluttered in my tummy, gentle yet persistent. Half of me was amused by how you affected me, while the other half was frustrated. It was complicated, confronting, and simply baffling. 

For the first time, I didn't feel like I had the upper hand. It's a paradox only someone special can create. You make me nervous, tongue-tied, and prone to random, stupid acts of insecurity, yet you inspire me to go above and beyond. We're at a crossroads, on the brink of a new stage in our relationship. I find myself in uncharted waters, afraid that I might drown. As someone who values proactivity and clarity, this ambiguity feels unsettling to me. I've expressed to you several times, more as a hopeful statement than a question: "We want the same things in the future, right? I just need to know when." You told me that you've been thinking about it for a long time but haven't made up your mind because you're not ready, we are not ready. Your answer made me sad because, deep down, I know you're right.

who nose

Job hunting in a tough market is a real mood killer; it can seriously mess with your self-esteem as you navigate the interview gauntlet. I waited anxiously for a callback from DA, and it felt like the longest week of my life, as if I were running a marathon in high heels.

My anxiety levels skyrocketed, leading to a rapid decline in appetite. I've been eating less but snacking more, developing an embarrassing craving for pork rolls - something I used to despise. My taste buds have gone rogue, and I've devoured countless Ferrero Rochers and Mamee noodles. At one point, I pondered how wrong it would be to die from sheer gluttony. After all, it is one of the seven deadly sins for a reason.

In my incoherent state, I devised a plan to sit at home, gorge on all the glorious food my heart desired, and slowly succumb to indulgence. Picture me sprawled on the most luxurious couch imaginable, living the ultimate couch potato fantasy. But fearing ridicule, I eventually dragged myself out of my pyjamas and abandoned this pathetic dream. Just then, reality called - literally. My phone rang with news of a second interview appointment with DA.

I met with the GM, a laid-back guy with a dry sense of humour and hat hair. Instead of a stuffy boardroom interview, he took me to a nearby café for a casual chat. Interviews are one of my strong suits, so I wasn't nervous. We had a comfortable conversation as I sipped my peach iced tea, while my potential boss assessed my ability to impress within an hour. Between discussions on Database Marketing and Opportunity Optimisation, he asked if I was Eurasian. I made him laugh by crediting his misperception to my dark eyeliner and inheriting my mother’s high-bridged nose.

God is truly gracious to me, blessing me with employment in such dire economic conditions. Who knows when the recession will end, other than God? It's comforting to know that His plan is perfect, even when we don't understand it yet...

two point five

It's rare for Asian men to have much facial hair; they usually sport a patch of awkward strands - a pathetic excuse for a moustache. I'm not a fan of the mo; it just makes them look sleazy, so I avoid my male friends during Movember because I never know whether to slap them or laugh at them. Ruggedness is attractive, but it has to be a manly, five-o'clock-shadow kind of rugged, not a lazy-to-shave-even-though-I-don't-have-much-hair kind of rugged. 

RD is clean-cut and nicely shaven on all of our dates, but I like catching him unshaven when I come over unannounced. R definitely stands for rugged. I also like his chiselled jawline and the tickling of his five-o'clock shadow on my cheek as he jokingly pulls my face against his while I try to push it away because he's telling me he hasn't showered. I also like how he sniffs the top of my head when we're waiting at traffic lights. Stupidly, my heart flutters a little when I recall these moments.

case of the ex

After my tutoring session last night, my student's grandmother shared a delightful anecdote about her past. We were discussing names, and she told me that when she was pregnant with her only child, her late husband was adamant about naming the baby *Alex, regardless of the baby's gender. His reason was that it was the name of his high school sweetheart. Being young and easygoing, she agreed and named their daughter *Alex. Looking back, she found it a bit peculiar. She chuckled and shook her head in disbelief as she recounted the story. After 40 years, all you can do is laugh about it. I couldn't help but joke, "Well, at least whenever you're annoyed with your daughter, you have an extra reason to frown at her name."

Her story made me reconsider my thoughts on exes. Strangely, I have a knack for getting along famously with my boyfriends' ex-girlfriends. I suppose the ex and I share a key trait: our impeccable taste in men (or at least one man). In fact, one of my close friends is my high school boyfriend's ex. I met her after we started dating. I ditched the boy but kept the friendship with his former flame. Our bond only grew stronger as my relationship with him waned, given that we both ended up aiming darts at the same photograph.

I've connected with most of the exes, shared some profound and meaningful conversations with a few, but there's always that slight awkwardness that a half-smile or soft cough couldn't quite cover. It's not enough to make us act like total strangers, but just enough to serve as a subtle reminder of our shared history.

home beautification

This afternoon, I was watering my mum's two guava trees and noticed that they were still alive and much happier in this cool weather. I could see the birds dancing around them, so I devised a plan to keep the birds off. I assigned Chino, my dog, to be our official security guard. He loves to chase birds away from our yard, likely because he's territorial.

The birds usually fly and land on the tree as refuge from him. I once caught Chino trying to climb the guava tree. I don't think he understands that dogs cannot climb trees. But with his presence, the birds are too scared to peck at the fruits. Being the angel that my mother was, she insisted on leaving food out for the birds. After some intricate and complicated physics work, I was able to calculate how high to place the bird feeder so that it would be impossible for Chino to jump from the ground to the feeder without a serious concussion. Thankfully, my dog is a mathematical creature, as he hasn't broken any limbs. My plan is working like a charm because the guava trees seem healthier and the birds are whistling outside my window as I type.

While in our backyard, I saw three elaborate spider webs on our fence. The patterns were gorgeous and probably took those little spiders hours to create. So, I went inside, grabbed my Raid can, and sprayed all three. I hate spiders. The webs were not ruined (can't say the same for the spiders), and in fact, the glistening whiteness of the toxic spray left them looking very distinguished in the afternoon sun. I think the spiders were secretly pleased with the free touch of home beautification I supplied, though they were apparently too busy choking to death on the poison to truly express their gratitude.

red wine

Last Friday, RD took me to a posh wine bar post-dinner, where we engaged in playful banter over a glass of red wine. He chose a light one for me, knowing my alcohol tolerance is comically low. My cheeks warmed, and I felt giddy, laughing more than usual.

As we stepped outside, rain began to pour. We sprinted half a block before I started gasping for air, my chest aching. Under one umbrella, I leaned against him, my heart racing and eyelids drooping, feeling like I was having a mini-heart attack. I needed to sit down, just to catch my breath, and told him I simply wanted to sleep.

He panicked, calling my name repeatedly, giving me water and hugging me tightly. In my dreamy state, I mused that dying in his arms wouldn’t be the worst way to go.  After a few minutes, the spinning stopped and I sobered up.

Moral of the story: do not drink and run.

my two cents

Lately, I’ve become more conscious of my money, especially with some recent lifestyle transitions. My full-time student status has significantly curbed my spending tendencies. Money's presence often goes unnoticed until my wallet becomes lighter; that's when its absence feels heavier than a bag of coins.

My parents are generous people, so money has never been an issue at home. I was raised with the mentality of "money comes, money goes." It’s similar to the concept of good and bad karma (something I don’t buy into). In my naivety, I believed that if you gave to someone, someone else would give back to you. It was a natural money cycle that God invented to keep us balanced. It didn’t mean that I expected my generosity to be reciprocated, but that false assurance funded my social charities. I understood the value of money at a young age and knew how to manage my finances. I could easily treat a friend to a meal just out of courtesy or give an acquaintance some cash if they were short (have you noticed how some people never have cash on them and are always looking for an ATM?). I was happy to cover parking and petrol fees even though I drove everyone there. I didn’t hesitate to lend people money and trusted that they would remember to return it as soon as possible.

Resentment built up over the years. In high school, a classmate (we weren’t friends) asked me for a pacer lead because she ran out. Since I was well-stocked with stationery, I became her silent supplier. I gave her two leads, one for the road. She probably took that as an invitation to unlimited lead sponsorship because, for the rest of that year, she didn’t bother buying her own and relied on me for pacer leads. I figured that she was from a poor family because why would any loving parent deprive their child of pacer leads? 

I also had a series of books that I lent out to friends, creating my own little library. My zealous spirit encouraged others to share my passion. My bookworm alter ego wanted to recruit readers to join my three-member book club (the other two members are still my best friends to this day). Those so-called friends did not take care of my precious books, and more often than not, the books came back used and abused, stained and shredded. It was beyond me how that could happen since I covered them with clear contact and also a plastic jacket for extra protection. It broke my heart every time one of my babies came back damaged. It still hurts when I think of it now. 

I loved giving presents. I was excited to buy close friends gifts on their birthdays and Christmas, even though it wasn't mutual. It didn't bother me because it made me feel good to give, but it hurt me when I caught them re-gifting. (Who are all these horrible people, and why was/am I still friends with them?! Ha.)  

Because I was kind to my friends, I was compensated with loving boyfriends who made it their business to spoil me rotten. (Please refer to the money cycle theory.)  

Recently, my laidback attitude shifted into bitter gear. Now, I am careful with my money, reserving my generosity for the less fortunate and those who deserve it. I also avoid lending out small notes because they seem to vanish into thin air. A dozen of the $5 notes can add up to a nice skirt. I dislike owing people money or anything for that matter. I don’t understand how some people can just sit on this burden and delay loan repayments. Out of all of my friends, I know who is flexible with money and who isn’t, and it’s just a personality flaw that I have to accept.  

Though, I get along better with friends who have better things to do than count every cent. You can tell that you’re close to someone when there is no need to split the bill. “I’ll take it this time, you can cover the next tab.” No big deal. Trust. Honesty. For those who are more comfortable paying individually, I’m not going to fight it. Sorry folks, I’m not a walking ATM and I have a mortgage to pay.

status king

Facebook is an excellent tool for networking and staying in touch with people. I use it to tag photos and organise events. My favourite feature is the status update, and it annoys me when people misuse it. Reflecting on my life, I have to say that being crowned the Facebook Status Queen was my greatest achievement. They even sent me a t-shirt with my winning status update.

unconventional

I wish that I was conventional and had common interests with everyone else. If I were normal, I'd be excited over things like travel, sports, artsy stuff, Harry Potter, reality TV, and the zoo. Instead, I have unusual tastes in everything. Take my embarrassing taste in music, for example. I like songs that I can sing along to; it's just a coincidence that these songs are from artists like Hilary Duff and The Veronicas. Why can't I be cool and be a die-hard fan of Coldplay or some other deep band?

I'm also very uncultured. I feel nothing in museums and art galleries when tricked into visiting them. I am bored to tears, my eyes water up and blind me to the apparently beautiful works of some famous dead person. When I was younger, I pretended to like art so that people would think I was interesting. I also faked a fascination with fantasy novels so that I could share in my friends' excitement whenever the next million-paged book was about to be released. The truth was, I liked my Babysitters' Club books. I read the first three pages of the Harry Potter books in hopes of understanding why my friends acted like adolescent girls at a boy band concert, but to no avail.

After falling asleep during the first Lord of the Rings movie, I had to face reality. I was not a fan of fantasy movies or books. When crawling through a fantasy book, I grasped no knowledge whatsoever about any of the events that had taken place within the magical world of these epics. I got tired of consulting my dictionary after every page, so I stopped. I felt that maybe I had wasted time pretending, trying to inject myself with artificial joy about something that I didn't care about. Eventually, I told people that I wasn't into fantasy chronicles and they accepted me for who I was, once they were done judging me. I was glad to announce to the world, "Harry Potter is boring." I wonder if this is the same relieved and happy sensation that people experience when they quit going to the gym.

no glove, no love

It was windy yesterday. Every time I feel that familiar gentle cold breeze wash over my face, I reminisce about my senior school days. We waved farewell to an all-girls environment and moved to a new school to merge with the boys next door.

The hideous aqua plaid uniforms that resembled tablecloths were packed away to make room for the freshly ironed, somewhat sleeker grey checkered skirts and blue blouses. Blue socks, big meadows, jammed lockers, Hot Raymond in 3 Unit Maths, and pizza pockets all come to mind whenever I recall the first day of 11th grade. We were juvenile, full of life, and ready to begin a new chapter in our academic journey.

A classmate managed to hack into my combination lock and stole my locker; the little punk and I took turns moving each other's things to and from our lockers when the other wasn’t in sight. That was some high-class flirting technique right there. We were labelled as a married couple because of the daily quarrels, so needless to say, we became the best of friends. He carried my bag and books for me, we exchanged letters during class, I copied his homework, fell asleep on his shoulder during Physics, and he even lent me his blazer since I always forgot mine. We shared his gloves, one each because he didn't love me enough to give me both. Talk about selfish. I guess frostbite wasn't his favourite thing in the world.

you belong with me

Dreaming 'bout the day when you'll wake up and find
That what you're looking for has been here the whole time
If you could see that I'm the one who understands you
Been here all along so why can't you see?
You belong with me...

Taylor Swift - You belong with me.

This song amuses me. It reminds me of when I had a male best friend.

Friend: I met this girl...

Me: *Drops the mobile phone* Cool, what's her name?

Friend: It's ____.

Me: I know her.

Friend: You know everyone!

Me: I don't know her that well, but we have mutual friends. Need me to stalk her for you?

Friend: Haha no thanks, we're just getting to know each other. We've gone out with a few others and had a few short conversations.

Me: Great, so why not ask her out on a date?

Friend: I'm not sure if I like her.

Me: You probably don't. haha Only kidding... Why not?

Friend: There's just no chemistry.

Me: That means you definitely don't like her.

Friend: I think I need to get to know her better, I need to have some alone time with with her so I can see why there is no chemistry. She's intelligent and friendly. I just don't understand why I have no chemistry with her.

Me: Because you already have chemistry with somebody else.

Friend: Hahaha you're funny.

eternal sunshine of the spotless mind

Our relationship has its ups and downs. I'm not one to air my dirty laundry in public, as my new philosophy is to document only happy moments, not sob stories.

One of the greatest abilities of the human mind is its power to forget. We've both forgiven much but forgotten most. Sometimes it's good to remember, but only to recall the lessons learned. When the fight gets too heated, emotions are heightened, sanity scatters, and our harsh words can potentially break us up, but they can definitely break something else too.

What if there were a way to erase it all? When we're in the middle of an ugly brawl, aside from my swollen eyes, it's my heart that suffers the most. Yet still, my heart keeps beating. Because even when broken, it still works.

"I have found the paradox that if I love until it hurts, then there is no hurt, but only more love." - Mother Teresa.

like a version

We watched “I Love You, Man” over the weekend, and this quote from the movie struck a wistful chord with me: "You've dated a lot of women; what makes you think that she's The One you want to marry?” 

I've had my fair share of boyfriends, each different from the next, but they all had one or all three superficial commonalities: tall, in the IT industry, and named David. Coincidences, I promise. When Dave and I first met, I nicknamed him D3 to avoid confusing my friends, who were losing track of the Davids in my life. Dave jokes that his biggest fear is the arrival of D4, as I trade him in for an upgrade. But honestly, D3 isn’t just another version. Apart from sharing a name, occupation, and height with my previous boyfriends, the similarities end there. For starters, Dave is my first  Christian boyfriend, a detail that makes a world of difference in the dating game, where nobody gets to score. 

Generally, couples are best friends by default. Ours is a special case because I was given the best friend role before the girlfriend title. He once said to me, “Sweetie, you’re nobody’s default best friend.” After almost 2.5 years, I'm still as giddy as I was on our first date. I tell him everything, from my Christian struggles, uni stress, and neuroses, to mosquito bites, shopping purchases, and lame sushi jokes. He is my best friend, my confidant, navigation system, foot warmer, a closet comedian with bizarre metaphors, and the greatest boyfriend in the world. 

I appreciate all the grand gestures and especially the little things he does. He naturally, subtly walks on the side of the traffic. He always saves the best part of every dish for me, carefully shells my crab claws, and discreetly places them in my bowl. Chivalry is not only alive and kicking but also incredibly hot. But most of all, he makes me feel safe and protected. Even right now, with a thousand walls between us, I still feel like he is beside me. All the time.

happy chap

3 years ago, I was nostalgic and stuck in the past.

Today, I look forward to the future.

It's amazing how life can take a complete turn in an amount of 3 years. So much and not much has changed. I got to spend my birthday eve and the first couple of hours with someone I love. Who would have thought that the new friend who showed up early on my 24th birthday to wish me a happy birthday and give me a gift would now be my loving boyfriend??

It only gets better with age!

gold sprinkles

There once was a social butterfly, but now she has found her nectar.

Big parties, busy ambience, crowded bars. What used to be exciting is now exhausting. Nowadays, I find pleasure in being with one particular person and still having a blast. I love the quality time we have together. After an exquisite date in the city, we curl up at home and talk about everything.

These cozy moments often go unnoticed, but they're the foundation of any strong relationship. Being able to enjoy each other in every way gives me assurance that we can do this for the next 60 years of our lives. After two years as a couple, the spark is still there, but the nervousness and anxiety have been replaced with silent familiarity and a security blanket that tucks us in every night. These moments leave an afterglow sprinkled with gold, proving how blessed I am to have met that one in a million with whom I connect. I sometimes forget this when things go wrong because we're human and make mistakes.

Nevertheless, this rare connection that we have makes all the heartaches and tears worthwhile. No one is perfect, and in between learning our differences and life's interruptions, that connection is sometimes lost in translation, even with the most patient boyfriend. I get annoyed at times, my mood swings hitting any bystander, who is usually him, faithfully standing by my side. I erupt at the slightest sign of trouble, often without sufficient ground. Thankfully, these little golden moments remind me to look at the big picture.

the apple of my eye

The other day, as I decided to get an early night at 11:57 pm, I did the usual and grabbed my laptop as I hopped into bed. This is something that I'm not ashamed to admit because I hear it's quite common for normal people to do. Some of you might even have your personal computer, in portable form, resting on your lap in bed while reading this. It actually puts the true definition back into "Personal Computer."

I've decided on getting the Apple MacBook Pro. Imagine, five decades ago when the first computers were being built (CSIRAC Mark 1 - it was almost the size of a room), they would have never predicted that one day you'd escort one to bed with you like a spouse.

So the love affair began. I've had five computers in my lifetime, and they seem to increase in speed and functionality while decreasing in size and weight. Maximum performance in a minimum size. Younger, lighter, faster, easier to access. Just like how some men prefer their women these days. I loved each and every one of my computers, more so than the last. I remember my first computer. We had some great memories together. We listened to awesome MP3s, read intriguing blogs, and I poured my innermost emotions and doubts into it. It knew my deepest secrets and logged everything I've ever said into encrypted documents. Aside from its constant demand for my attention and its inconsiderate breakdowns of blue screen madness, it was my best friend.

We've come a long way. Is it politically correct to love my PC? Perhaps I sound a little obsessed with a machine, but don't worry about me. I know that it's healthier to find someone to put all this energy into, someone who is appreciative and can reciprocate my affections. Love is a perpetual energy with living things. I've got no fetish for my gadget.

No matter how sexy it looks.

home, sweet home

I’m grateful for RD; he’s been my rock and the perfect distraction. He puts a smile on my face and takes me to happier places, both in my heart and in the world around us. Yesterday, we jumped into the car and headed to an impromptu destination. RD let me be the navigator, and I picked Stanwell Park for its famous scenic routes.

We sat at Bald Point, soaking in the breathtaking view, with the wind in our hair as we thanked God for all His beautiful creations. The sun shone bright and warm, so we wandered around the park, squinting at the brightness, checking out the hang gliding launch pad, and adding it to our must-do list. Between discussions about wives expecting husbands to be handy and the unmatched usefulness of IT Programmers, we checked the map for our next adventure. 

RD remembered reading rave reviews about the Sea Cliff Bridge, so we set off down the Grand Pacific Drive. The Grand Pacific Drive is a worthy, yet laidback rival to its Victorian inspiration, the Great Ocean Road. Beginning at the Royal National Park in Sydney's south, this road carves through craggy cliffs past rainforests, beaches and coastal villages, climaxing at the Sea Cliff Bridge, to Wollongong and beyond. It may lack natural wonders like the Twelve Apostles, but the Grand Pacific Drive is naturally wonderful. 

Keeping with the theme of exploring Sydney, my best friends and I hit the city nightlife. We took far too many photos at Ramen Kan, browsed the night markets, and tried on items we had no intention of buying. We strolled around Darling Harbour, being tourists in our own city. I cherish God’s gift of relationships; being with RD and my best friends feels like home. 

A Melbourne trip with RD and two of our mutual friends might be on the agenda this Easter break. We’re planning to do some café and bar hopping, fine dining, and cruising along the Great Ocean Road to Phillip Island for the Penguin Parade.

One by one, my loved ones are bitten by the travel bug and eager to see the world. As they move overseas, I hope they don’t forget how amazing our home, Sydney, truly is.

grieving

Pets are more than just animals kept in the home; they are beloved members of the family and cherished friends. Unfortunately, the joy of owning a pet is often accompanied by the heartbreak of losing one. Whether due to old age, illness, or an accident, the pet you love will inevitably pass away.

When a person you love dies, it's natural to feel sorrow, express grief, and expect friends and family to provide understanding and comfort. Sadly, this understanding is not always extended when the one who died was a pet. Those who have never owned a pet might not comprehend that animals offer companionship, acceptance, emotional support, and unconditional love. They might consider grieving inappropriate for someone who has lost "just a pet." But nothing could be further from the truth.

I spent two entire days crying over my baby, Sox. My mum still cries almost every morning and some nights. He was part of the family, so when our beloved Sox died, we were overwhelmed by the intensity of our sorrow. For a whole week, I couldn't stop thinking about him. I teared up when I came home and he wasn't there to greet me. I became emotional when I saw the full bowl of dog food because he wasn't around to finish it off. I miss waking up to his dancing eyes and his eagerness to be near me. I miss him tugging on my blanket to wake me up because he wanted to get onto my bed. I miss curling up with him to watch a DVD. I miss playing peekaboo with him. I miss kissing and hugging him. I miss everything about him.

I think the one who misses Sox the most is his brother, Chino, who is recovering from leg surgery. They spent every day together for six years. He made whiney noises that I assumed were equivalent to crying and ran around the house looking for his best friend. He sat by the door, watching and waiting. We told him that Sox had gone to sleep. On the third day, he finally understood, or perhaps he finally accepted the truth and stopped searching for Sox. He then began to grieve.

The whole family is still grieving. It's healthy that we're not holding it in because understanding how to grieve and finding ways to cope with our loss can bring us closer to the day when memories bring smiles instead of tears.

good night and sweet dreams

I still remember the first time I met you. I knew immediately that I’d take you home with me. Your clown face always brought a smile to mine. Your chilled-out attitude and naivety made you easy to love. The way you waddled your fat bottom and swayed your hips made everyone laugh. You were the cutest creature I’d ever known. Your clinginess made me feel needed, and your heavy steps brought life to the house. 

I’ll never forget how you cheered me up through break ups and our cosy naps together; you were the warmest and most cuddly teddy bear I’ve ever had. You were one of the brightest sparks in my life. I regret not being there to see you take your last breath, to hold you in my arms, and to look into your eyes before you closed them forever. I regret being selfish and not prioritising your safety and comfort over my busy social life. I regret neglecting you when you needed me most and feeling you were an inconvenience when you wanted my attention. I regret not letting you on my bed yesterday morning when you stood by the edge, and I rolled over to avoid you. I regret not giving you the love and care you deserved. I regret not checking to see if you were okay or kissing you goodbye this morning when I left the house, like I usually do. 

I am so sorry, Sox. I hope you died painlessly, that you were just dizzy and wanted to rest, and then you fell into a deep sleep. I know how much you loved sleeping, so I hope you’re happy where you are now. It breaks my heart to know that I’ll never see your happy face again.

May you rest in peace, my baby boy.

all in good time

It feels like yesterday when we sat in the car in our pyjamas, chatting into the wee hours of the night and still buzzing from that deep and meaningful conversation the next day. I still remember the numerous non-dates we went on, where you convinced me that fine dining with a friend was considered normal practice.

I was frustrated at times, wondering why God dangled the chemistry cord between us, yet deprived us of the courage and wisdom to pursue more. When we look back now, you admit to chasing me, and I obviously didn't run very fast.

Neither of us is perfect, and we've shared good times and bad. Our relationship has endured trials and arguments that could have broken us, but instead made us stronger.

I may not always agree with God's timing or all of His decisions, but ultimately, He really does take care of us and wants the best for us. I dearly hope that God isn't teasing me, because if this isn't the best, then I can't imagine what is.

Happy 2-year anniversary, Handsome!

banter

Me: After you get married, what car would you drive? *thinks of a family car like a 4WD*

Boyfriend: A porsche

Me: Who are you planning on marrying, sweetie?