Every time I start the blog, a rush of things come to my head and I hardly know where to start. It's as if someone opened the door and dumped a load of unsorted papers on my desk and I have to sort them out before filing them in an orderly manner. So I'm going to go for a chronological filing system today.
Woke up this morning at about 8.30am and thought hurrah I think I'm getting over the crazy jet lag symptoms. The next thing I noticed was the sky, which was a yellowish grey which meant that today was going to be a rainy day and sure enough it hasn't stopped raining, and I mean properly pouring for the past hour or so. Doesn't look like it's going to let up either. The funny thing about grey days in London and grey days in Singapore is that they have a different hue. Grey in London is bluish whereas grey in Singapore often has a yellowish tinge to it. I am not sure why but maybe the soot in London is of a different variety. Or perhaps the trees are reflecting colours into the air in some peculiar scientific manner and so it turns everything somewhat yellowish. Like a daylight bulb versus a warm white bulb.
Anyway. The peace is broken by the sound of my father walking around preparing to leave the house to do God knows what he does and one had better not ask these things, as experience taught me. The peace is also broken by my grandma who has a scratchy throat this morning, probably after eating too much sweet sauce and she does the very China Chinese thing of spitting, albeit in the bathroom but when it goes on for the next hour, while I'm having breakfast and all, it does get on my nerves. One of the things about living with extended family is tolerance I guess. We had moral education lessons in primary school and I remember that was one of the virtues that was taught. My grandmother used to have a firy temper as well and gosh it was like all hell broke loose when she started but thankfully, she has mellowed with age and also become more forgetful so she doesn't ever really get agitated as she forgets it quite promptly, whatever it was that was displeasing.
After breakfast I start off my morning of tasks (which include clearing out my wardrobe and ironing). Swimming was out of the question - that was the next thought that came to mind after noticing the grey skies this morning. Oh well. I'll have to try again next week. So I should be productive and finish clearing out my wardrobe and finish the ironing as it's already Friday and tomorrow I shall be busy being a tour guide for James Arnold on his weekend break. Plus this afternoon I shall be visiting my aunt and might even get some part-time work which would be quite interesting if I can actually do the work but it would also mean one of two things. One, I would have limited free time though I guess it's good to earn some dosh. Two, I would risk having to listen to her tell me that I must always remember to look after my mother because she has suffered, if that's the only thing I do. This always brings a lump to my throat as I know that I will look after my mother come what may, she is very often the sole reason why I pray to God to keep me alive because if anything happened to me she'd be the most affected and she's already been through so much oh God please have mercy on her. However, I also know that she wants me to be happy, that's the ultimate desire of a mother after all - for their children to be happy - and yes I'm trying to find happiness in doing something that I'd like to do, that I have interest in doing i.e. being a designer or working within the industry, amongst things I enjoy. However I know she hopes that my sister and I will find someone to look after us (i.e. boyfriends, husbands) so she won't have to worry about us too much. I remember her telling Jon to look after me when he was in Singapore - I guess that's one of the reasons that I felt the need to protect her from the knowledge that he'd basically dumped me a few weeks after she went back to Singapore after her visit to London. She knows we are strong yet at the same time she wants us to have someone to look after us, not just each other. She wants us to have back-up I guess. I wonder if it's a cultural thing or if all mothers want their daughters to get married ultimately. I'm not really sure. I think it's probably more prevalent in Asian cultures as there is a saying that men are to marry and women are to be married. It doesn't have such a ring to it when translated though.
There was an article about self pity and feeling sorry for oneself. It highlights how the very language that we use when we think about self-pity shows how we abhor it. "A single person is missing for you, and the whole world is empty," Philippe Aries wrote to the point of the aversion in Western Attitudes Towards Death. "But one no longer has the right to say so aloud." We remind ourselves repeatedly that our own loss is nothing compared to the loss experienced by the deceased (or I guess, other people who are suffering in the world). But the article suggests that in fact, "the grieving have urgent reasons, even an urgent need, to feel sorry for themselves. [Partners and spouses] walk out of our lives but they leave behind webs of intact associations" in which those who remain continue to live in and live with. "Only the survivors of a deth are truly left alone. The connections that made up their life - both the deep connections and the apparently (until they are broken) insignificant connections - have all vanished."
It reminded me of how I'd said that it was like Jon had died when he left. The difference with a metaphorical death is that the love that existed does not become enshrined in a mythical forever more where it is untouchable and unchanged. Instead you see your loved one no longer look at you, no longer love you and the memories you hold so dear become ragged with time, nothing more than the superannuated grime that mars your countenance. Yet however ugly and thorny they have become, they were once beautiful and you know that. To others you might be clutching the carcass of the past, but to you who carries the hole in your heart, the dusty memories sustain you when nothing else could.
Their lives are played out in full colour
Mine in the splendour of black and white
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