The Dream That Was.

Walking up the entrance of the old house, memories of plans and dreams unfulfilled comes gushing through like a floodwater. Pictures of yesteryears pulled at my heartstrings, left me wondering if once upon a time, a long time ago, we were indeed happy and in love. I find myself nearing the end of the road. I can't go on anymore. Not another step. I've come to realize that I have been living in my idealistic mind. I believed myself to see things the way it should be rather than what it really was. And now, I grieve.

How did I come to this? Why couldn't I see things as what they were? Is it wrong to dream and strive to achieve the best I can attain in life and love? After all, my needs are simple. Love. A sense of security. To have someone to take care of me for a change. I am not one who would ask for a diamond ring for my finger, a silk carpet for the living room, a fancy car or expensive holidays. Is it so difficult to give me the things that I need? They don't cost a thing. But your currency of love expressions is the price tags on material things.

You've had your breaks. You've had your chance. You've been given your lot. And you made it clear that only you decide what to do with what is yours. And you did. Now look at the nothingness that's left in your life.

Whatever I have done and given goes unappreciated and ignored. Its never enough. Now, I have nothing left. I gave my everything. You may account your losses in terms of monetary possessions. I gave you my life.

Now I am ready to take it back. I reclaim my life as my own. I don't need anything from you anymore. Once upon a time, you were the perfect one for me. Somehow, along the way, a few years ago, you died. You are no longer you. You are a stranger to me. Someone I no longer recognize.

I may have about a quarter of my life span left. Let me live it the way I want it to be. I'm done doing things your way. I'm broken. I am broken. Let me have what's left of my life to put myself back together again. Who knows who I will become. Because I know, right now, I am no longer the me you knew. Have mercy on me. Let me go.

My Most Precious Ones.

Its 12:15 am and I'm still awake. I'm away from my babies and I miss them terribly. Its been a while since I last left them for more than an overnight's work trip. I should be resting. I should be focusing on healing my injured shoulder. I truly appreciate the warm hospitality of my hosts, for they treat me as one of their own. But as I close my eyes to allow sleep to overcome my consciousness, my heart aches for my children.

They have always been the most precious and significant souls in my life. Their births made me into a much better human being to begin with. Dear God! My stay away from them is just for three nights. How am I to find the courage to let them go when the time calls for me to set them free? I may be brave. But I am the first to admit that I am NOT the strong one.

To say that I am proud of them is really an understatement. My heart swells with loving pride even when they do the smallest things. They have a wonderful sense of humor, albeit a quirky one; they are intelligent and matured beyond their years, their empathy would shame many adults. Mind you, I'm not saying they are perfect human beings. There's no such a thing. But they are perfect for me.

Being away from them for just one night has made me realize something about myself. All these years, I was a woman carrying out the expectations, responsibilities and duties of a mother. But tonight I finally feel what being a mother truly is. Without my children, I find myself feeling incomplete.

I'm not sure exactly what I have done over the many years of bringing them up but now I know that I must have done something right. Because when I am crying at the end of a trying and tiring day, my daughters will be the ones who will be stroking my back, wiping the tears of my cheeks, gently coaxing me to rest and sleep, while softly ensuring me that I will feel a lot better in the morning. When I am overwhelmed with self-doubt, they point out my strengths and achievements. When I'm unsure of what to wear for an evening out, they will render their services as image consultants and wardrobe managers. They give me the will to push and improve myself so that their future will be brighter than yesterday.

I'll be the first to admit that although I do miss them as babies, I do not miss the sleepless nights, the nappy rashes, the potty training, the first day at school anxieties, the measles and mumps and whatever else that comes with child rearing. However, I know for sure that I will miss them when they go out into the world and need less and less of their mama.

But meanwhile, while they still want a hug from me, I will not be the one to end the hug first. I'll be the best mama I can be for as long as they need me. And when the time comes for them to venture out into the world, I will hope to have enough confidence to believe and trust that I have taught them well enough.

Precious Gift
by Sherri Lawrence

When times seem too hard to bear & I feel like giving up
I vision your beautiful face, the twinkle of your eyes and things of such
The bond we created from my womb to the day you were born
Is a mother and daughter bind that can never be torn
With the strength and guidance of God and the blessings he pours down from above
I want to be the best mom I can be to you and embrace you with all my love
You are as precious as a flower and as gorgeous as a rose
You have been specially made to the very tip of your nose
You are as sweet as honey; such an innocent young child
You are brighter than any star in the sky every time you smile
I want you to be proud of who you are and strive to be the best
Put forth your efforts to achieve your goals and let God do the rest
I will always be your mother first, but I'm also your friend
Your are the most precious gift, that I've ever been given

With All My Love,

Mommy

Jazelia and Jelissa, I love you both very much. Don't worry about making me proud of you. I already am.

I Know You Won't. Anyhow...

Listen to the song here in my heart
A melody I start but can't complete

Listen to the sound from deep within
It's only beginning to find release

Ohh the time has come for my dreams to be heard
They will not be pushed aside and turned
Into your own, all 'cause you won't listen

[Chorus]
Listen
I am alone at a crossroads
I'm not at home in my own home
And I've tried and tried
To say what's on my mind
You should have known
Now I'm done believing you
You don't know what I'm feeling
I'm more than what
You've made of me
I followed the voice, you gave to me
But now I've gotta find my own
You should have listened

There was someone here inside
Someone I thought had died
So long ago
Oh I'm screaming out
And my dreams will be heard
They will not be pushed Aside or turned
Into your own
All 'cause you won't listen

I don't know where I belong
But I'll be moving on
If you don't, if you won't

Listen to the song here in my heart
A melody I start, but I will complete

Now I am done believing you
You don't know not what I am feeling
I'm more than what you've made of me
I followed the voice you think you gave to me

But now I got to find my own
My own...

Virtual Reality - The Great Escape!

Its almost 4 am and I'm still awake. The house is quiet, except for the whisperings of the television with no audience. What is keeping me up at this ungodly hour? Obsessive worrying over everything and nothing at the same time. Anxiety over things that are beyond my control. The uncertainty of the near future. The stress of not sleeping during the hours when other mortals are walking through the realms of dreams and restful slumber.

This has been a problem that has plagued me since my early 20s. Must've been my lounge singing days, when its a norm to come home from work in the wee hours of the morning, only falling asleep as the sun comes up and waking up just before noon. Surely, after 15 years of hiatus from my singing career, you would think that I would be cured of such a disorder. Apparently, no amount of child rearing years with the many sleep deprived nights could reform me from a night walker into a daylight lover.

When the internet became easily accessible to almost everyone that can afford a modem, I began using the virtual world as a way to pass my sleepless hours. It helped to ease the anxieties of not feeling sleepy when normalcy expects me to be snoring happily next to my also snoring hubby. Of late, I feel there has been a shift of sort. A tilt of balance. I seem to prefer losing myself to the virtual world rather than live my life in reality. What am I running away from now?

Its not difficult to NOT be sucked into this virtual reality world. After all, with just a push of a button, I can delete or undo any mistakes, typos or errors. Unlike real life. Even if I were to be able to forget my mistakes and bad choices, there will always be voices around me, reminding me constantly of all the wrongs I have done. Pretty soon, my future is predicted based on my past mistakes. As the saying goes, "You do many good things, and no one remembers it. But you make one mistake, and everyone remembers it for the rest of their lives." Sheesh!!

In virtual reality, I can also alter the way I choose to appear in my profiles. I can paste my face on photos of stars. I can adopt their looks and yet retain my lil old face. Bliss! Well, as they say, " When there's no hope, denial is all you have." My denial may be thick. But my need to escape my reality is a lot thicker than that.

Its pretty obvious that I am unhappy. I also realize that talking incessantly about my misery will not make me feel any better. Is this entry my way of trying to explain myself? No. I find it hard to believe anyone would be interested to know the whys, whats and hows that's contributing toward my unhappiness. Consider this entry as a channel for venting out my frustrations. Its also another resource for my psychological well-being. Its my little corner of personal space. To be or not to be me. That is my choice. And I have the privilege to change my mind whenever I feel like it.

I consider myself a very sociable person. I like to hang out with my pals and meet new people and make new friends. That's how I am in reality. However, that is not the case recently. I find myself feeling more and more anti-social of sort. Maybe because I don't feel like sharing my misery with others. Maybe I don't want people to see the unhappiness in my eyes. My unhappiness is about me. I have to bid my time to regain my sense of power, belonging, fun and freedom to be true to myself.

Facebook has been my 'home' since 2 years ago. Its a place for me to reconnect with old friends, keep in touch with family and relatives near and far, make new friends, networking for my business and career promotions and have a virtual life. In Fairyland, I can plant flowers and trees and not have them die on me. I can keep a puppy and a kitten and feed them daily without having to smell and clean their poop. I can run a restaurant rather professionally and not have to worry about labor strike. I can send 'luxury' birthday gifts without spending a single cent. I can fish for sympathy when I needed it. I can share my joy and triumphs with friends and receive motivations and cheers from people whom I have never met because they live on the other side of the world. I can block people who annoy me and disappear from those who I never want to meet again.

So, forgive me if I spend more time online and on Facebook than I do in real life. Life is too painful for me now. With a daily dose of ear bashing and emotional abuse, even the strongest warrior will throw herself into a bottomless abyss. This is how I cope. I may be brave. But I am not strong. Forgive me for my weakness. This doesn't happen often. It usually comes in waves. Most of the time, I am fine. But when the tidal wave hits, the only thing I can hang on to is virtual reality. And for this, I pray fervently that my modem never breaks down or gets hit by lightning.

It only takes one moment of weakness to destroy you for life. So...

The Sparkle That Was Raya...

The year was 1975. I was 10 years old while my two younger brothers were aged 8 and 1. We were living in Jalan Maarof, Bangsar Park. It was a the eve of Eidil Fitri. The house was a buzz with activities: frantic last minute spring cleaning, putting up the new curtains for the living room, ketupat making and rendang cooking in the kitchen. Mom would be making last minute fittings for the dress she had sewn for me to wear on Raya morning. Dad would be in the back yard, supervising my brothers playing with sparklers. I would join them whenever I could, between helping my mom with all that needed to get done before the crack of dawn.

The sparklers. They bring to mind many memories of my childhood years. They were magical in my eyes. Inspiring awe in me. My brother, Eri and I would spell out our name with the sparklers. Dad would also have those that would shoot little balls of colored flame with parachutes attached to them. He would shoot them skyward and we would watch them come down with our mouths open in amazement. Nahar would shriek with excitement at the wonder of it all. Although far from being storybook perfect, it had its moments that always conjures up happiness and smiles on my face. Nostalgia...

My eyesight is blurring now. Tears of sadness and melancholy. Missing those tiny bits of happy moments. I was 10 then. Now, I'm 44. Raya for 2009 is a few days away but the atmosphere at home is far from what it was back in 1975. No new curtains to hang. No ketupat or rendang to cook. Maybe some last minute frantic spring cleaning. But it has definitely lost its sparkle.

I miss my childhood when things were simpler then. I may have not had autonomy that I have now, but at least I had an illusion of happiness. Oh my poor heart. I can literally feel it breaking. I grieve for the lost joy of Raya. It has never been the same since. It never will be 1975 ever again. I grieve. I grieve.

Little Orphan Spiky

About a week ago, just as my daughters and I were about to enter our front door with both arms laden with grocery shopping bags, we heard a frantic mewing of a kitten. Quickly, we scanned the surrounding area, only to land our eyes on a little white furry ball, teetering around aimlessly. Lissa immediately went to retrieve the abandoned kitten and took it in. After giving it a good bath and feeding it warm milk, we found that it had cat flu and we took it to the vet on the very next day. When the vet told us that the kitten is a male, we changed its name from Vanilla to Spike. Seven days later, this name has evolved to Spiky.

The last time our house had a feline member of the family, it was also a white tomcat named Salty. He was borne in our house by his mother Bubbles; and he lived with us to his final breath in May 2006. It broke my heart when Salty died. He tried very hard to hang on to us, although his body was already ravaged by illness. I spoke my last words to Salty, telling him how much we love him and that its okay for him to let go. That he will always be in our hearts. Those were my last words to him. And then he died, as if he had gotten the permission he needed to leave us for heaven.

I cried for months. I grieved for years, not wanting to replace Salty with another cat. After a few years had passed, my daughter, Lissa, began begging me for a pet to love and care for. A kitten. And although I said no, I know she quietly prayed for it. Her prayer was answered when Spiky mewed his way into our front door and into our hearts.

Spiky is such a playful and loving kitten. He spends his days and nights eating, drinking milk out of a bottle, playing and romping around, exploring all the dusty nooks and crannies in the house, and sleeping in the crook of our arms, snuggling for warmth and a sense of belonging.



I love to watch Spiky sleep. Sometimes, I'd catch him in deep sleep, jerking his head now and then, probably having a little cat dream. But recently, I noticed he seem to burrow his face into the soft blanket swathing him, making suckling noises with his mouth, with his little forearms out and paws kneading, like as if he's dreaming of snuggling and suckling at its mother's teats. It brought tears to my eyes. I wept like a baby, grieving for his loss. He's missing his mommy. I can feel my heart break for him. Poor little baby.

From that moment on, I decided that I am not going to hold back my love for him. Spiky is not Salty's replacement. But I truly believe Spiky is Salty's way of making us open our hearts to loving again. Spiky gave me the courage to let go of my fears. I have nothing to lose by loving Spiky. I have Spiky's adoring love.

Spiky entered our lives on a Thursday, in the month of Ramadhan. I believe Spiky is Allah's blessing on us.



Not forgetting all the other feline family members of ours, I'd like to take a moment to mention some of their names below:
Scamper
Snowy
Blacky
Ashley
Ginger I
Duchess
Bubbles
Ginger II
Scamper II
Spicy
Sugar
Salty
Coffee
Naboo
Mogwai

We are eternally grateful for the many years of happiness and love they have given to our family. We know they are all in Eden.

I Was A Dancer, Too...

According to stories about my childhood in my father's memoir, I was dancing before I could walk properly. I guess this explains why I've enjoyed dancing from the earliest of my memories. While I was in school, teachers would find me missing from my desk because I would be on the school stage, dancing and jiving to Michael Jackson songs. When I was 16, I was already well trained in traditional Malay dancing that my experience and knowledge was sought after to teach adults to learn Asyik and Zapin.


As I made my way through college, I would participate in every showcase available to fully take advantage of any opportunity to experience the joy of dancing. While studying in Swansea, I took up Modern Jazz dancing to further learn ways to express my emotions through body movements. All these knowledge and training I had gleaned helped make me into a better performer, as I would rigorously learn all the choreography for the songs that I would sing, wanting to synchronize my movements with my back up dancers. Needless to say, Janet Jackson and Paula Abdul were my idols back then.

It makes me swell with pride to see my daughters have taken on the same interest in dancing and music. They are blessed with both talent and grace of movements that reminds me of my youth. My only regret is that my aging body is no longer as agile or nimble as before. I no longer look good in leotards and tights either... Hahahaa..


Regardless, I am glad I had the opportunity to express myself in more than just one medium. Although my body is not able to bend and spin the way it used to, I still remember vividly how beautiful the feeling was to move to the music and let it take over my body. I would lose myself to the music and movement and ceased to exist. What a feeling!

I was a dancer. I used to dance all night. Dance disciplined my body. I miss it. Very much.