just minishorts.

Eric and I are almost, just almost a year old. Twenty-odd more days and we will be welcoming the new year as well as ushering in a new year together as a couple in a relationship.

That isn't to say that everything is peachy and nice. On the contrary, we're going through some rather turbulent days…

A few months ago, the bf reprimanded me for revealing too much of our conversations (the funny ones) on the net, and that of course, led to my decision to take a break from minishorts for a while. I suppose it's inevitable for me to get down to the basics over here, after all, I found minishorts before I met Eric, and there isn't really the chicken or the egg first scenario here. Yet recently, with a return to the scene in an almost bare-naked way, I've found it impossible to disentangle myself from spilling the beans, so to speak. Although, I promised myself that I'll be more cautious.

But we're sorting things out, not to worry. Maybe, like you said, with the increased frequency and accompanied sharing, there is bound to be conflict, and a realization of just how different we are. But my problems don't nearly come from the two of us, rather, after a night of not speaking to my mother, I realized the issue also comes from living with a single parent who is displaying all signs of an empty nest syndrome.

Oh you know what it is like to be in a serious relationship, the most significant difference is of course the fact that you don't go home to your mum for dinners all that often anymore. Except, the situation didn't quite agitate to such a grave state until just recently. I've been having meals at the bf's at least three times weekly, and him the same with me. Yet, three weeks ago, Mum went on an overseas holiday with friends, and almost every day I found myself tucking in at Eric's. It was great, and experience in finding out what it would be like spending almost all my time with him, and my colleagues even commented that it was as if I was already in a marriage. Things were fine, when it was just the two of us.

Mum returned home with gifts and all, and then it slowly hit. The shock effects of how she's had to deal with the possibility of losing a daughter. It started with the question, 'So how often did you dine over there?'

And then the Monday night meal, when she called me several times, to confirm that Eric and I were dining at home that night. We returned home to a five-course dinner–something that usually only happens on special occasions like Chinese New Year and Christmas. And then after that, her concerns with me returning to the Church again, the funny questions and interrogations. Things that I never expect she would ever do. Mum's been fluctuating between heaping praises upon the boyfriend, and labelling him with all sorts of strange tags. Occasionally it gets ridiculous, and I have to suppress myself from giggling, because I remember, like me, her concerns and worries are real to her, and I have to respect and love her for them.

With Eric and I sharing my car, she's got even more suspicious. I understand you, Ma, I understand your concerns, that he's not the one for me, that I'm not going to live a good life with him. Then again, I haven't quite decided what to do with this relationship yet, I can't be thinking about settling down all the time when I haven't even built up my career in a way that I'm able to collect a substantial amount of savings every month. I can only try, and I can only be hopeful, but if things will work out, they will.

So I told Mum, last night, in a heated argument, 'I can't be the daughter you want me to be, and you can't expect me to live a life that you hope I will live. I have to take responsibility for my own decisions, and I will appreciate it very much if you don't try to put your finger into my problems. I sound ungrateful, but I need the space to make my own decisions.'

It hurt me like hell to say that, and in an emotional frenzy, I called Eric and said some very hurtful things, something that I should never have done. But a dinner with his family, put things into perspective for me, I phoned the bf who sounded depressed and unhappy and apologized profusely. Later, I called up Auntie Celine, who reminded me that His grace will guide me and give me peace, and I spent a quiet night drifting into sleep and hoping for the best. Much later, he sent me a message and told me to calm down and have a good night's sleep, and I prayed that things will be right again.

Then I remembered the book you brought on your trip, and I smiled myself to a dreamless state.

It would be all right again, wouldn't it?