Jackets and long sleeved= Perspiration?

Clad in a grey, cotten jacket over a white tank top and shorts, I trudged slowly home under the hot sun. It was about 3pm and so even though the sun was not at its hottest, it was still rather hot. I have been working the past two days, Tuesday and Wednesday, from 11am to 3am. When I waked up, I had to rush for work and when I am back home, I had to rush for sleep, so I didnt have any time at all to do some thinking or daydreaming. Today was a good time, with just a peppermint milktea in my left hand and doing nothing but walking slowly home. I realise that I wasn’t perspiring under the hot sun. I also realise that I didn’t felt hot in my jacket with the sun scorching right above me. Yes, I was walking slowly but it was a comfortable pace and I was puzzled why I wasn’t perspiring nor feeling hot. It wasn’t because I was sick or ill. I asked myself, why is it that there were times where Im clad in a simple tank top and shorts, walking the same comfortable pace and yet I was perspiring like crazy? I stared at the peppermint milktea in my hand. Was the green plus milky brown drink and a few pearls the reason? It couldn’t have been since it only served to quench my thirst and my craving for bubbletea and maybe cool me down a little.

That’s is how I came to a conclusion why we should always associate perspiring to long sleeved clothings or jackets when we can perspire much more in a tank top or T-shirt. Why is it that we should always associate crying with sadness or grief when we can cry as much in tears of joy? I just feel that sometimes when we  calm ourselves down, keep our minds free, our hearts light, we tend to think more and wonder more. Even though I may appear to be speaking something that makes absolute no sense to you, today’s thoughts on jackets, perspiration and tank tops really got me thinking and by slowly exploring different possible reasons, I became really happy because I found MY answer for MY own question:] That is also 1of the reasons why I love to daydream, imagine, think because they are all reflections, that I feel are essential as bits of lesson in my life.

STORY

There is nothing new recently that I can share so here’s a story I’ve written:

She smirked and burped. Ah, the taste of her ex-boyfriend was still lingering in her mouth. Her mother was the one who introduced her to her ex-boyfriend, Mr. B. The duo first met at Jurong Point shopping mall and they fell in love at first sight. Mr. B and her dated for 5days before she finally finished him off. Mr. B was a quiet man but that didn’t bother her. She could spend hours everyday just looking at him while he held her stare. Mr. B had beautiful eyes that were hazel brown in colour and she wished he would look at her forever. And like any other men, Mr. B knew how to whisper sweet nothings, that could make her fly. 5days were long enough for her to know Mr. B and her love for him became incredibly powerful, so powerful she had to finish him off. As she feel Mr. B melting in her heart down to her stomach, she regretted her harsh decision. But again, she reassured herself, “It’s impossible to look forward to a ever-lasting love with Mr. B and there can’t be a ‘happily ever after’ for them. She can always look out for another Mr. B… …”

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Interested to know how Mr. B looks like?

Introducing Mr. B… …

Yes. Mr. B is sadly a cookie. Hoho. He whispers sweet nothings because his mouth is truly sweet but he really utters nothing at all. I love this yummy cookie a lot so I came up with a ridiculous story. ) It’s really really delicious, you should try it!!

THE POWER OF LOVE

taken from: http://www.21st-century-citizen.com/2007/09/07/friday-fun-love-each-other/ A simple step you can take: Love each other

It’s been long since I last cried. I was watching the channel 8 charity show, in hope to raise funds for the people in Sichuan, China. Tears danced in my eyes almost throughout the show. My tears first fell when the host, Quan Yifeng, told us of a true story of how a mother who was in a very strange position when the rescuers first found her. She was in a kneeling position whereby her baby was securely safe in a blanket in her arms. A message was typed in her handphone which read: “Dear Baby, if you managed to survive, please remember that I love you.”. The baby survived in the death of his mother. I guess that is the power of love. I am very touched by this story. I choose to believe that the baby live on because the power of love is unbelievably strong, so strong even the angels can’t take the little baby along with them.

Baby baby,

Your mother gave you love.

The angels gave you chance.

Baby, though you know me not,

promise me you’ll love this chance and live life with hope.

May her love, your chance, our hope stay with you.

Loves,

Sheryl, someone who will pray for you.

DEDICATION

This was a poem I wrote in my diary on 3rd May 2007.

Yellow and golden are vibrant colours.

The colour of happiness. The colour of hope.

The truth defers.

Crowds and gathering of people.

Friends and relatives.

Some of them may be the first time meeting, some of them may be someone familiar.

A handshake? No, it isn’t appropiate.

This scene should be a joyous one. Or at least, a hearty one.

The truth defers again.

Bright lights, shining in the darkness of a quiet night.

A supposed ray of spark, a supposed tinge of hope.

But, no, not tonight.

Somehow, the symbols of colours, people, lights are very wrong tonight, very wrong.

This was written when my mum’s friend passed away suddenly. She was just forty years old. Last friday, my best friend’s Dad, passed away of cancer. I thought of this emotional piece of poem I wrote last year and here I dedicate this to him. He fought bravely with the deadly cancer for a year already. Throughout the year, it a struggle and a battle for him. I doubt he had the strength to smile truly from his heart. I hope he’s in heaven now, watching over my friend and his wife, behind the fluffy clouds and blessing them in life. May God bless him too.

CLOUDS

What’s white and fluffy?

The answer is clouds.

I sat in the bus today, glancing out of the windows, thinking of a topic for my weekly blog.

I stared at the green and tall trees zooming past me.

The red, white, black, silver, colourful cars driving past me, too.

Then I got bored and I looked at the terraces and bungalows whizzing past me.

I yawned and when I opened those tiny eyes of mine, I caught sight of the most amazing thing I failed to notice all my life.

Clouds.

The sky was baby blue with patches of clouds scattered in the sky.

Suddenly, the world seemed to be separated into halves.

The clouds didnt make me bored nor make me yawn.

The clouds just kept me staring, glaring and watching.

I like to think a lot wherever I go and wherever I am.

However, I just realise today that clouds stopped me from thinking, it got me imagining.

Do you know it is after you see patches and patches of clouds that you finally see a whole group of clouds clustered together, which paints a picture? And when you see them, you feel a weird sense of fulfillment and joy.

I saw a prince with a crown on his head riding on a horse. That’s all I managed to paint during a 1hour bus ride.

Clouds made me feel like a little child again.

When I was young, my dream was not to be an actress or a doctor.

My dream was to lie on the clouds and just sit there.

But as I grow older, I got to know that clouds are just water vapour.

I realise how silly I was and knew that my dream will always remain a dream.

Clouds are amazing creatures. They are water vapour. Something that can be seen . Fluffy and white. Yet, we cant touch nor feel them.

Clouds are like images. Clouds are like shadows. Clouds are like ghosts. Clouds are like tears. Clouds are like smoke. Clouds can be anything, something I’ll call ‘Playing with the invisibles’… …

Holding hands

Holding hands forever on flickr photo-sharing

http://www.flickr.com/photos/staffh/520487063/

Three people walking, hand in hand.

They were different. In age, height and ‘role’.

A mother. An elder sister. A younger sister.

It reminds me of ‘Doe Re Mi’ because of their height.

From afar, I find myself staring at their hands that were connected in a line.

I cant make out their conversations but I knew they must be a happy family.

‘Doe Re Mi’ tune switches in my head and become ‘Doe a deer, a female deer…’

A very merry, childhood song.

Then I came to a small conclusion of my own.

Holding someone’s hands in yours is a bliss.

Parents holding their children’s hands.

Couples holding their loved ones’ hands.

What we see on the outside is just one hand over the other, but what we cant see is the sense of blissfulness and what we dont feel is their sense of joy.

Death

Death is the end to a life.

I see death as an eraser. When death calls upon you, beautiful faces, gentle gestures, unforgettable memories are all erased instantly.

Some people ain’t afraid to die. I am.

I see the 5Ws and 1H in death. You will never know when your time is up. You will never know what does death feel like. You will never know who are involved. You will never know why you are chosen to die that very day. You will never know how you are going to die.

Every day and every night, I used to think why people have to die when they are given a life to live.

I used to ponder over why our loved ones have to leave us someday, for if they love us, why won’t they stay.

And I used to wonder why people die in different ways.

Some responses I got from friends and parents?

“We have to die because if we don’t, the world cannot accommodate so much people… …”

“We will die when we are old. When we are old, we are almost useless… …”

“We have to die because we have to… …”

None of the above appears to be an answer for me.

I see them as guesses and excuses not answers.

I cannot and I refuse to imagine nor believe that one day when I open my eyes, my loved ones will be gone.

I see death as my loved ones vanishing, disappearing because I can nor I will see them again. Not in their flesh but only pictures, photographs and memories.

No one escapes from death. They only happen in storybooks. Lord Voldermolt in HarryPotter. In reality, there’s no such things.

I have no answers to my questions but I do have solutions. To treat my loved ones as glasses, handle them with care. That is because every one of us are fragile, our lives are. No one can predict nor foresee death.

If I can choose the button ‘how’, like many people, I would wish for a painless, peaceful death.

And if I can choose the button ‘what’, I would love to bring a blissful smile with me to the end of the tunnel.

The many faces and sides…

There are two faces to a coin.

Heads and tails.

There are two sides to a book.

The cover page and the back page.

 

There are two parts to a song. 

The verse and the chorus.

However, last friday I realise there’s more to a song.

The block directly opposite my block held a funeral at the void deck last week.

For the Chinese, Im sure you are all familiar to buddhist or taoist form of funeral.

On the last day of funeral, there will be a group of band playing songs before we send the deceased off to cremation.

Im used to hearing melancholic songs like ‘auld lang sang’ and the chinese childhood song, ’shi shang zhi you ma ma hao’.

However, last friday, the funeral played songs from the recent Royston Tan’s movie, 881.

Among the many songs that was played, ‘One half, love remains’ was one of them.

My grandmother and I was having our lunch in the living room. For a moment, I thought we both stopped eating and listened closely to the lyrics of the song.

We did not know the deceased nor see her before but for that one moment, we had unconsciously placed ourselves in her shoes and feel for her.

I bet many housewives were humming to the tune or singing to the song in their kitchens.

That was how I got to realise two faces to a song.

In the movie’881′, the papaya sisters were singing this song as a performance at the seventh month festival concert initially. The mood was joyous as they finally got to stand on the stage and perform. As audiences, we would be enjoying the movie at this point of time. Satisfaction and happy smiley will fall into place.

Towards the end, when one of the sisters fell sick and on the verge of dying, the two sisters sang this song again. This time round, the atmosphere was grief and bitter. As audiences, we would be feeling sympathetic towards the sisters. Tears and sad smiley will come into place.

That is why I discovered the power of music and its wonders. ‘One half’ is just an example Im using to explain my point. ‘One half’ is such a famous and successful song that sometimes when Im sharing a bar of chocolates or a plate of fried rice with my friends, they will chant”Yi ren yi ban, gan qing bu san” in Hokkein jokingly. Yet, it could be played during a funeral to suit the loneliness and bitter atmosphere.

 

Songs have two sides and parts to them. The song, ‘Truly, deeply, madly’ by Savage Gardens is one of my personal favourites. However, it is a song depicting love. The lyrics in ‘One half’ is very suitable even when it is played on a funeral but does that mean that I can’t play ‘Truly, deeply, madly’ on a funeral?

My answer is yes, I can play that. 

My reason for that is I can play that on a funeral of my loved ones, expressing my love for them.

There’s many parts and faces to many things. It’s how you see it. And that’s the way I see things…