life, love, *motherhood, and then more
Archive for October, 2006
Oh you know you what want something, actually.
Oct 31st
I was having a conversation with a friend, someone who believes in another God. Now usually I steer far, far away from God in my conversations with friends (unless they're from church, because you know lah how church-goers like to incorporate church-speak into their vocabulary, but a bit on that on another day)…
So… where was I?
Yeah, like I was saying, I don't usually like to discuss God and what I believe with friends because the topic is a little too sensitive to be spoken about over expensive Flat Whites, but I couldn't weave my way out of this one. She wanted answers to her questions, so I tried my best to be as non-committal as possible. Then there came the painful one about faith, blind faith, and why I believed in it…
'You know,' she began. 'I still don't get it. how do you expect to go to Heaven just by believing in Your God? And you drink, you guys smoke, are promiscuous.. you guys do all the wrong things. You disregard the laws set by Moses in the Book… Don't you get it? You need to follow rules to make things come true.'
'The rules will follow the moment faith kicks in. Faith is dead without good works lah, that's what we believe, but then again, without faith then there cannot be good works either. So you can't have one without the other… anyway… why are we talking about this? Something lighter cannot izzit?'
'But I want to know.'
'Okay. This thing called faith, faith is usually a little bit blind, just like why you choose to follow the rules in your religion. I follow the rules too, but then again, my faith just isn't that strong yet. But I must disagree with that line about expecting to go to Heaven by following rules-lah. The point is not because I want to go to Heaven. That's a side point. I dunno how to explain this lah. This topic too tough can talk something else ah?'
She was stunned for a bit, I think. And then, the clincher made it, 'I still don't get it. If the point is not to go to Heaven, then what's the point of believing in God?'
Because I’m a drama queen…
Oct 30th
…just like you.
I had to go and rewrite my entire biodata, because I'm grown up now, and I want to leave the angsty minishorts behind. I can't deny the past, I can't say I cringe at it either, but I'm glad I made all the mistakes I had to make to stand where I am right now. I'm not sure I'm a better person now or not, but I'm certain I'm older… definitely not more mature though, although I'm always trying.
With this I just wanted to declare again, that everything here is about me. ABOUT ME. I like to talk about me. I can't always talk about myself all the time, and this is just about the only place where I get to get low, get personal, talk about my personal fears.
I think for some time already, I've been holding back, probably with all that fear of people discovering just who I am.
Now? I think it's quite okay. No matter how much I explain, I'm not going to be able to explain the whole deal. No matter how many back-logged posts you've read, you're not ever going to know the real me. No matter how much I keep posting, there's no way I'm ever going to find the place and time to reveal everything there is to reveal, but I can assure you of this. You're helping me discover a lot about myself EVERY SINGLE DAY.
I'm talking to the blog damn it.
^_^
I'm going to go play with my camera again. Plus, I've got a pleasant surprise for readers coming up in a few days. Free gifts anyone?
A diminishing third.
Oct 30th
I've been reduced into a non-existent, third person, talked about 'her' in both my mother's and boyfriend's lexicon. I'm not sure if it's a good thing or a bad thing… well, I suppose you'd could say there's two sides to this. The good news is, the relationship that I wanted to nurture between Eric and my mother is blooming far, far beyond my wildest imaginations. That's a good thing of course.
The bad news is, as a result, I see myself becoming the sacrificial lamb in this blossoming friendship that my mom and Eric now share. AT MY EXPENSE.
'Aunty, the other day your daughter and I went…'
'Eric, your girlfriend loves that perfume you bought her…'
'Aunty you know your daughter sprays it on like there's no tomorrow…'
'Eric, that's because you bought such a huge bottle for her and I believe she thinks she HAS to finish it…'
'I don't! I don't do that!' Imagine me, arms flailing miserably in an attempt to catch their attention. I'm seated at the same table throughout, but apparently, I'm invisible. INVISIBLE!
'Well can you believe what your daughter did to the monkey I gave her? She cut off the stitching!'
'I think that thing you gave to your girlfriend is quite scary.'
'Your daughter lah, she went and cut off the stitchings and now the hood slips in and out…'
'Oi. Look here look here!'
They ignore me. I swear they do. I swear I could disappear to Timbuktoo and they'd still be going, 'your daughter, your girlfriend.'
An ouch for tomorrow.
Oct 29th
I'm going back to work tomorrow.
Sniff.
***
I realized something quite a while ago, that real, real writers, never had the cheek or guts to admit that they could write well. Most professional writers have some kind of inbuilt radar to withstand flack and shit from brickbat throwers, and they survive them anyway. More importantly, these respectable people knew that criticism was never met to hurt them, criticisim usually served only to help one improve, and true writers always welcomed the critics.
True writers get worried when all they get in return from readers are heaps of praises and meaningless worship. Cos they know they can't improve otherwise.
On a side note, I thought it funny how self-professed writers think so highly of themselves. I wish I could write well honestly, I know I've had people telling me 'Hey I love your writing, your style,' but many a time I've scrutinized what I've written and while I'm able to recognize stylistic twists in the way my other peers have chosen to express their feelings in words, I've yet to come to terms with what my readers have credited me for.
I think I'm slightly lucky though, and I'm learning. But I've many many more years to go, and then I also realize, with these twists in my career paths, and the new decisions I've been forced to make, I might never be able to qualify as a true artist in this field I so love.
But I'm trying. Not nearly there yet, still years to go, but still, trying.
I'm rambling a lot, but I guess what I'm saying here is this, when I was an editor, I dreaded working with authors who think too highly of themselves. Because the moment you think you're a genius, you're not giving yourself anymore space to improve. I've met many people along the way since working, since blogging, since university, people in the field, and I've got to say this, I've never met a true blue writer who writes awesomely and thinks the world of himself/herself. I think humility is not an easy trait to have, but I've got to give it to real writers. I think they've got that humble touch, and it comes naturally to them, and all they do in life is strive and strive to write better than they think they already can. That's why, when they write, we can connect so easily to their writing, because you can feel the emotional attempts and strengths in their compositions, and we find honesty seeping through their lines. They write clearly, crisply and are extraordinarily unpretentious. Naturals.
Hi hi!
Oct 28th
Seeing that I was feeling down, the boyfriend decided to give me a monkey to cheer me up when times are bad. 'Cos you're a monkey too!'
I'm too old for soft toys really but I can't help loving them.
Oi and the camera was a gift from Eric too!
