tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-306751012024-03-19T02:24:28.049-07:00The Path To BodhichittaYou start where you are, the practice will meet you there.starlighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08825489876263084333noreply@blogger.comBlogger182125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30675101.post-19078776973999714602010-01-23T06:01:00.000-08:002010-01-23T18:07:56.438-08:00<strong>Completion</strong><br /><br />You complete me. <br /><br />I have no doubts that the scriptwriter of Jerry MacGuire has had a finger in many failed relationships all over the world. What is it about us humans that crave completion from outside ourselves? Why do we burden another person with the expectation of filling the void within us that we somehow cannot fill on our own? And why, when relationship after relationship fractures under this impossible duty, do we still not think of turning the mirror towards ourselves? <br /><br />When I first got together with The Thinker, I was a snarling unhappy knot because he refused to fit the shape that I had carved out for him. He refused to follow the script I had written and neatly side-stepped that gaping black hole within me instead of jumping in to fill it. It took many months before I suddenly realised what I was doing. And it shocked me to see that I had placed the source of my happiness in his hands when the poor man didn't want it. Who would? So I started focusing on creating my own source of joy and though he remains a huge part of it, he is not IT. I'll tell you this much - it's not easy and I still slip up but during the times when it works, it's damn good! For both of us. <br /><br />Editrixed, who is also in a new relationship, said in a recent email that she likes being with him and all, but <em>"I realized that I'm as happy now as I was just before I met him. It's a bit of a strange realization -- maybe the media likes to play up having a relationship as transforming one's life, but it's still mine as before, except that I have this other person who's a big part of it now. A person who I like spending lots of time with and who makes me happy, but if it all went pete tong tomorrow, I'd still be ok."</em> <br /><br />With friends like that, who needs Dr. Phil?<br /><br />Elizabeth Gilbert, in her new book 'Committed', tells the fable of a time when humans had two heads and four legs and four arms. This was the perfect melding of two people literally joined at the hip. Each of us had a perfect partner sewn into our skin and was blissfully happy. We were whole. But this wholeness made us arrogant and Zeus punished us for this by cutting us in half, thereby inflicting on us the sense of not being quite whole. <br /><br /><em>'For the rest of the time, humans would be born sensing that there was some missing part - a lost half, which we love almost more than we love ourselves - and that this missing part was out there someplace, spinning through the universe in the form of another person. We would also be born believing that if only we searched relentlessly enough, we might someday find that vanished half, that other soul. Through union with the other, we would recomplete our original form, never to experience loneliness again. <br /><br />This is the singular fantasy of human intimacy: that one plus one will somehow, someday, equal <strong>one</strong>.'</em><br /><br />But fantasies don't belong in the real world and so you keep searching for that one perfect relationship. And more often than not, we wind up hurt and bitter because no one seems to be able to complete us in exactly the way we want. <br /><br />This is, in part, the essence of yoga. To find that connection and wholeness inside ourselves so we never have to place our happiness in someone else's hands. Or at the mercy of an asana, pranayama or mantra. These are paths to lift the veil of illusions so you can see your thoughts and patterns more clearly. So you can identify the <em>samskaras</em> that has laid down its foundation early in your life and continues to be played again and again, keeping you in that very cycle you are trying to escape. This is the clarity that a committed yoga practice brings. <br /><br />But even yoga doesn't complete you. It just teaches you how to tap into your own completeness and realise that you were whole all along.starlighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08825489876263084333noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30675101.post-8705031878324279402010-01-20T07:12:00.000-08:002010-01-20T08:30:17.477-08:00<strong>A New Space</strong> <br /><br />Last Sunday the humidity in the apartment finally got to The Thinker. He unpeeled himself from the couch and said, "Ok, help me move this out." <br /><br />'This' was a slightly worn round wooden table in the kitchen that multitasked as my culinary work station, dining table and writing desk. It was sturdy and large enough to accommodate a spread of books and ingredients, and the fact that it is wooden made me love it more. The only problem was that the kitchen is one of the warmest rooms in the apartment. Eating and working was usually an unpleasantly sweaty affair. I had tried to drag the table into the living room but couldn't figure out how to dismantle it so that it would fit through the kitchen door. These are the occasions when someone like The Thinker comes in handy.<br /><br />Within twenty minutes he had the table dismantled in the kitchen and reassembled in the living room. We carried it to the balcony, arranged the chairs around it and sat down to wipe our brows. And that's when we realised what an amazing space we had just created. <br /><br />I live on the top floor of my apartment block which means I enjoy the freshest air and the best view. Stretching over the horizon right ahead of us was the city skyline. The Thinker and I had spent many evenings sitting on stiff chairs, drinks in hand as we watched day turn into night. Now we were able to do more than that. <br /><br />Since this spot of redecorating I have eaten breakfast, lunch and dinner outside. I have worked, read, daydreamed and chatted online outside. And today, I looked up from an article I was writing and realised how much happiness this little space is bringing me. This is as close as I have gotten to living outdoors and I am cherishing every minute of it. It even struck me today that this space could very well inspire a meditation practice. Maybe. <br /><br />Being outdoors is magical. It creates spaciousness and a sense of calm. It's quiet up here which invites reflection and contemplation. And once I've reached my quota of thinking for the day, I watch the rest of the world move along in front of me. Then I settle into my cushion of bliss and thank The Thinker for his flash of inspiration. <br /><br />And before I go to bed each night, I touch my table gently and dip my head in gratitude for the simple priviledge of being gifted with this space.starlighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08825489876263084333noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30675101.post-35715457043277059072010-01-14T06:36:00.000-08:002010-01-15T05:50:51.121-08:00<strong>Signposts</strong> <br /><br /><em>"Throw away everything else and put only one God in front of you. Then one day you can throw away that God and put just a light in its place. And then one day you can throw away that light and walk on your own."</em> Rasainthiran Menayah, Lecturer at the Saiva Siddhanta Mandram<br /><br />Signposts come when you least expect them in the strangest of forms.starlighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08825489876263084333noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30675101.post-77936241989491656172009-12-29T07:06:00.000-08:002009-12-29T07:16:08.660-08:00<strong>Time</strong> <br /><br />"But it's only been a year," he said. <br /><br />How do I make him understand that sometimes it's not about the hours, minutes and seconds? Not about days, weeks and months? <br /><br />It's about the depth of one person's fingerprints on the blueprint of another's life. <br /><br />Even if he only touched it for a year.starlighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08825489876263084333noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30675101.post-55142814650502683912009-12-28T18:47:00.000-08:002009-12-28T18:57:01.886-08:00<strong>Space & Starts</strong><br /><br />It's funny how you never know how much space someone has taken up until they get up and walk away.<br /><br />It's also funny how you think you've crossed the Finish line only to realise that you're right back at the Start.starlighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08825489876263084333noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30675101.post-52446311918975596282009-12-22T10:00:00.000-08:002009-12-22T10:02:26.180-08:00<strong>December 22nd</strong><br /><br />Day 100 of my sobriety plan. <br />I have crossed the Finish line.starlighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08825489876263084333noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30675101.post-1818995080350635342009-12-05T19:47:00.000-08:002009-12-07T06:09:37.115-08:00<strong>Christmas Tree</strong> <br /><br /><em>Oh Christmas tree<br />Oh Christmas tree<br />How beautiful and bright<br />The sight of you at Christmas time<br />Brings hope and gladness far and wide...</em><br /><br />I put my Christmas tree up on Friday. My first tree since I moved into my new pad last November. When the decorations were up and the living room in darkness, I hit the switch. The Thinker clapped his hands softly as the little icicle lights winked and blinked. I gazed at my little tree in rapture. <br /><br />The tree was lopsided, the glitter from the ornaments was all over the floor and our hands, the star had crumbled to bits while we were trying to assemble it and the ensemble looked a little haphazard. <br /><br />But it's all mine and I love it!starlighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08825489876263084333noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30675101.post-18382478871917706562009-11-25T05:02:00.000-08:002009-11-25T05:16:52.470-08:00<strong>One Year</strong> <br /><br />One year ago today, one of my favourite people moved on to another life. <br /><br />One year ago today, I realised that the hole she left only fit her shape and therefore, would never be filled. <br /><br />One year ago today, I wished I had just one more day. Said one more word. Felt one more loving smack.<br /><br />One year after, I stood where she is no longer and silently thanked her for watching over me. <br /><br />One year after, I talk to her almost everyday. <br /><br />One year after, I miss her just as much as I did one year ago.starlighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08825489876263084333noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30675101.post-61705321215330046892009-11-21T06:24:00.000-08:002009-11-21T06:26:24.688-08:00<strong>Taking Risks</strong> <br /><br />During my recent trip to Krabi, I convinced Mentor to give up our seats in the van and take a walk on the beach back to our hotel. She hesitated. <br /><br />“Its full moon and we have a flashlight,” I pointed out. She agreed. <br /><br />The resort manager who had brought us to the restaurant was a little harder to convince. Is it safe, was all I wanted to know, since I had promised The Thinker that I would take good care of myself. She reluctantly said yes, and so we walked back. <br /><br />When I related this anecdote to The Thinker, he said in good-natured exasperation, “Why must you always insist on doing something when someone tells you not to do it?” <br /><br />It isn’t about being rebellious or stubborn (though my mother would BEG to differ). Nor is it about being arrogant, indifferent or foolhardy. It’s about learning to be fearless. <br /><br />All my life I’ve had the people who love me tell me not to do this or that. That’s what those who love you are supposed to do. They don’t mean to hold you back, just protect you in the best way they can. But ultimately, the object of your fear is looking straight at you. Not at them. And you have to decide whether you want and need to conquer it. <br /><br />I think many people misunderstand the concept of risk-taking. They think it’s about throwing caution to the wind and plunging headfirst into the unknown. That works but not all the time. Real risk-taking - to me at least – is giving some thought to the situation at hand and then deciding to go forth without knowing the exact outcome but accepting that it could go either way. This prepares you for whatever awaits at the end of the road. It is also shows respect towards yourself, those who love you and the situation itself. <br /><br />Editrixed sent me this bit by her favourite columnist Cary Tennis two months ago. It has given me the courage to take some scary risks this year. <br /><br /><em>Doing the things you are not prepared to do prepares you to do them. That is how you learn. You don't walk in knowing how. You walk in ready to have an experience and be changed by it.<br /><br />You may not feel ready to do something that is necessary. You do not control the timetable. This is evident when people die, are born, get married, move away, are fired, hired, change their minds: You are not ready for what the changes in the world around you require you to do. Nonetheless, you deal.<br /><br />Everything may indeed happen for a reason, but we do not have to know what that reason is before acting. If you wait to know the reason, you may never act. You act. Then things become clear. That's more often how it works. Rather than rational certainty, often what you need to act on is a trust in probability, and a trust in inevitability, and your own desire. Trust your own desire. It will often lead you the right way.</em>starlighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08825489876263084333noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30675101.post-75437889855877231292009-11-07T19:37:00.000-08:002009-11-07T19:44:07.619-08:00<strong>According to Obama</strong> <br /><br />"Focusing your life solely on making a buck shows a poverty of ambition. It asks too little of yourself. And it will leave you unfulfilled." <br /><br />"Faith doesn't mean that you don't have doubts." <br /><br />"Making your mark on the world is hard. If it were easy, everybody would do it. But it's not. It takes patience, it takes commitment, and it comes with plenty of failure along the way. The real test is not whether you avoid this failure, because you won't. It's whether you let it harden or shame you into inaction, or whether you learn from it; whether you choose to persevere."starlighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08825489876263084333noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30675101.post-80138194794473721322009-11-06T19:16:00.000-08:002009-11-08T08:16:42.493-08:00<strong>A Letter To Amanpour</strong> <br /><br />When I was 11, I marched into the kitchen where my mother was washing vegetables for dinner and declared, "I want to be a journalist because I want to be a voice for those without one." <br /><br />My mother rewarded this grand annoucement with, "You just concentrate on studying first." <br /><br />12 years later, I was a news writer and presenter for a satellite radio station. The art deco in the small newsroom consisted of four TV sets mounted on the walls and tuned to CNN, BBC, Bloomberg and ESPN. One day in the midst of scrambling to meet the hourly deadlines, I shot a hurried glance at the CNN channel and stopped in mid-type. For the next few minutes, I watched a dark-haired woman in her trademark boxy jacket deliver her field report. In that instant, I knew that I had found my role model in Christiane Amanpour. <br /><br />The radio news station was the closest that I have ever gotten to writing 'serious news'. And it wasn't enough. I wanted to write for major news magazines but knew that I didn't have the right portfolio with which to approach them just yet. Then two weeks ago, the opportunity to contribute to an Asian news magazine appeared. I was both thrilled and terrified! If all worked out, it would be my first proper foray into the world of serious news reporting and I wasn't sure where to turn for guidance in this unfamiliar world. Then a crazy thought popped up; why not ask Amanpour herself? The very idea of it took my breath away, but it made sense. What's the point of having a role model if you can't seek her wisdom? <br /><br />So last night I wrote an email to her. I explained my situation and asked her three questions (1) What do you read on a daily basis? (2) How do you prepare yourself for interviews and news stories, especially if the subject is unfamiliar and you're on a tight deadline? (3) What do you wish you knew then that you know now? <br /><br />Within minutes I received an auto-reponse thanking me for my correspondence and assuring me that my email would be read but regretting that they would be unable to provide a personal response. <br /><br />Worst case scenario, I don't hear from her. <br />Best case scenario, I do. <br />Point of the scenario, I asked.starlighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08825489876263084333noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30675101.post-65526443133338017682009-11-06T06:03:00.000-08:002009-11-06T06:52:05.993-08:00<strong>The Ocean's Gift</strong><br /><br />Editrixed and I resumed our nightly online chats when I returned from Krabi last night. She demanded to hear <em>everything</em> so she could live vicariously through me, though I didn't understand why since she already leads an amazing life. But I never need much encouragement to talk so I talk I did. At the end of my stories, she asked me if I had any revelations while on holiday. I didn't answer her then because although I had entertained many thoughts while watching the ocean, I couldn't think of any that could be classified as a revelation. <br /><br />It was only during a shower this evening - because all great ideas emerge from the shower head - that it hit me. I become a stronger person each time I live by the ocean. <br /><br />I have a surer footing, a clearer mind and a restful spirit. I am glued together better. I feel grounded. More certain of myself. Less inclined to be shaken by the nonsense of the world. I am gentler too. Softer. Kinder. The ocean makes me a better person somehow. <br /><br />This discovery took me by surprise. But it shouldn't, really. Looking back, I can see all those little moments during which the shift happened. <br /><br />In Cherating, it was lying on an empty stretch of beach beside The Thinker. It was looking at the stars at night. It was walking hand-in-hand in the ocean as a storm approached. It was eating chocolate in silence on the verandah of our little beach hut and looking out to sea. <br /><br />In Krabi, it was kayaking alone at dawn on a sparkling sheet of crinkled glass. It was standing at the water's edge in the dead of night with the wind in my hair and salt on my skin. It was enjoying a breakfast of French toast and excellent coffee while watching the waves roll in. <br /><br />The ocean reminds me of how small I am in the greater scheme of things. It demands that I offer a prayer of thanks and gratitude for the opportunity to witness its magnificence. And then it nudges me to declare my hopes and dreams, and allow the wind to snatch them out of my mouth and fling them to the horizon. It renews my trust and faith and fills me with just that little bit of inner strength. <br /><br />I have always loved the ocean. And now I love it even more because I finally understand what it does to and for me.starlighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08825489876263084333noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30675101.post-16718168814804211312009-11-06T05:42:00.000-08:002009-11-08T08:21:07.414-08:00<strong>Happiness Is...</strong><br /><br />* Living by the ocean<br />* Reading in bed on a weekday evening with a cup of coffee and a storm brewing <br />* Hanging out with The Thinker <br />* Four-hour chats with Editrixed<br />* Coffee with Mentor and Floozy<br />* Spending time with Odie, Mumps & Melson aka the family<br />* Christmas!<br />* A brilliant piece of journalism <br />* Roast chicken with gravy, mash and vegetables <br />* French toast <br />* Super soft yoga pants that also makes me look skinny ;)<br />* A clean apartment <br />* Brothers & Sisters<br />* An unusual writing assignment <br />* Being immersed in a creative project and oblivious to the rest of the world <br />* No writer's block <br />* A stunning lineup on Classic Rockstarlighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08825489876263084333noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30675101.post-44318062344761699002009-11-01T09:39:00.000-08:002009-11-01T10:34:22.345-08:00<strong>Krabi Calling</strong> <br /><br />I board a plane tomorrow. My first this year. And for the next four days Mentor and I will sip too much orange juice, toast our bodies on hot white sand, read until we're cross-eyed, indulge in girly chatter and melt under delicious Thai massages.<br /><br />Part of me is looking forward to the escapism, part of me is a little nervous about travelling with someone new. Mentor and I go way back but the longest time we've ever spent together was two hours over our weekend brunches. Unlike me, she takes regular solo trips and revels in her solitude. Solo travel doesn't appeal to me and I'm a talker. It's a perfect match. *grin*<br /><br />But that aside, I'm eager to get back to my beloved ocean. Eager to stand at the water's edge and cast my gaze out to fine line that divides sea and sky. To feel the sprinkle of salt on my lips and in my hair. <br /><br />The Thinker gifted me with a trip to the ocean two weeks ago and delighted me by choosing a darling wooden chalet on the ocean front just "so you can live your dream of having a beach house". Leaving that simple little 'house' at the end of the trip tugged at my heartstrings. I wanted more. <br /><br />So I'm glad to be going 'home' again.starlighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08825489876263084333noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30675101.post-63589486730467587512009-10-31T07:54:00.000-07:002009-10-31T09:03:04.757-07:00<strong>Trick or Treat?</strong> <br /><br />That's not my Halloween catchcry. It's my shoutout to the universe. <br /><br />TRICK OR TREAT? <br /><br />It seems that things are very slowly turning around. There is finally a flicker at the end of the tunnel. An offer to head a portion of a lifestyle magazine, two unexpected writing assignments, a vacancy at the radio station that I've been eyeing and today, a possible opportunity to write for an online news magazine. These are bits and pieces of the half-formed dreams that I have been playing with in my mind. And I don't know what to make of them now that they are taking shape in reality. <br /><br />The Thinker says my guardian angel is taking very good care of my career department. I like the sound of that and deep down I believe it, but yet I'm cautious. Are these the signs I have been asking for? Or will the carpet be pulled from under my feet again? <br /><br />Forgive me if I sound cynical. I have my reasons. But if these signs are to be believed, then very exciting times are unfolding ahead. <br /><br />Tonight ghosts and ghouls roam the city. In just a few hours, November will be munching toast at the breakfast table. Blink a little and the malls will be overflowing with breathtakingly decorated trees, life-sized reindeers and overpriced baubles. Another step closer to the year's grand finale. Another step closer to wiping the slate clean and starting all over again, or continuing to walk on the same path but perhaps with a different rhythm. <br /><br />At the end of August, Editrixed sent me a link to a post by Cary Tennis, who writes an advice column on Salon.com That particular post was on the subject of embracing change. The last paragraph burrowed itself into my memory. <br /><br /><em>"It's September. The leaves are turning. The days are shortening. Summer is coming to an end. Let it come to an end. Let the leaves fall.<br /><br />Answer the door."</em>starlighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08825489876263084333noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30675101.post-91530694636614375812009-10-20T07:52:00.000-07:002009-10-20T08:17:29.677-07:00<strong>Tonight</strong> <br /><br />Tonight my beloved city glitters behind a curtain of raindrops, bold and breathtaking. <br /><br />Tonight the blue black sky is punctuated with soft white clouds. <br /><br />Tonight the breeze is a little cooler, a little gentler, a little lighter. <br /><br />Tonight my usual cloak of weariness has slipped off my shoulders. <br /><br />Tonight I think of the people in my life and whisper a prayer of gratitude.<br /><br />Tonight I think of Nan and miss her a little more. <br /><br />Tonight I hear a quiet voice telling me that it's going to be ok. <br /><br />Tonight all dreams are within reach.<br /><br />Tonight my soul gallops like a wild, spirited horse.<br /><br />Tonight I sit out in the chilly night wrapped in a silken cocoon of happy solitude.<br /><br />Tonight there is no other place I would rather be.starlighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08825489876263084333noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30675101.post-70999216808043738462009-10-18T06:08:00.000-07:002009-10-18T06:41:27.098-07:00<strong>Being Yourself</strong> <br /><br />Picked up the November issue of O magazine yesterday. There was a mini questionnaire that was posed to four writers - Uwem Akpan, Anne Lamott, Mary Karr and Junot Diaz - all of whom contributed to the 'How to Become the Person You Were Meant to Be' section. <br /><br />Since I have an unnatural fondness for questions, I have my own set of answers. <br /><br /><em>I look most like myself...</em><br />in jeans/pants, a simple top and accessories. <br /><br /><em>I act most like myself...</em><br />when I'm with my family. <br /><br /><em>I feel most like myself...</em><br />with a coffee and a book. <br /><br /><em>I feel least like myself...</em><br />when I have drunk too much and at big parties.starlighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08825489876263084333noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30675101.post-72898482383344389432009-10-10T21:01:00.000-07:002009-10-11T08:47:00.808-07:00<strong>I Miss...</strong> <br /><br />1. Days filled with sweet sharp joy from dawn to dusk <br />2. Long nightly chats with Editrixed who is on a two-week traipse through Argentina <br />3. The Thinker who has reconfigured his shape in my life<br />4. The Munchkin's buoyancy <br />5. Mixed berries pavlova at Alexis<br />7. Being addicted to a TV series<br />8. The ocean<br />9. A chilled glass of Chardonnay<br />10. Laughing until my tummy hurts <br />11. Ridiculously long coffee sessions with the Magazine Girls <br />12. Soaking in a tub with a copy of TIME<br />13. My own cooking <br />12. Stargazingstarlighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08825489876263084333noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30675101.post-58825809235423026252009-10-07T07:33:00.000-07:002009-10-07T08:05:20.211-07:00<strong>October 8th</strong> <br /><br />1. Day 25. First milestone in my sobriety plan. <br />2. Day 365. A year since it was you.starlighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08825489876263084333noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30675101.post-75797848978014590042009-10-01T08:57:00.000-07:002009-10-01T08:59:52.831-07:00<strong>Pocket</strong> <br /><br />There is a little pocket in my heart just for you.<br /><br />When you dip your hand into it, you'll find whatever you need at that particular moment. <br /><br />And if you ever feel like climbing inside, that's also fine. <br /><br />Because I will always carry you around with me.starlighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08825489876263084333noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30675101.post-91521463873955537552009-10-01T05:47:00.000-07:002009-10-01T08:57:07.509-07:00<strong>A New Friend</strong><br /><br />I returned home exhausted from another long day at work and from battling intense emotions. A swim was the answer, I decided. So I waited until the sun slipped behind the horizon and the pool lights flickered on. <br /><br />The pool was empty, the wnd sweeping across its surface. I started swimming. Each slice through the water coazed my mind and muscles to relax. After ten laps, I paused to catch my breath and spotted a father and his son approaching. The father joined his friends at a cafe by the pool and his son rode his little tricycle around the pool. <br /><br />I continued my laps. After a while, I noticed that each time I lifted my head out of the water, there was a odd whirring sound to my left. Reaching the end of the pool, I looked to for the source of the noise. Nothing. But the little boy was at the same end of the pool as me. I swam back and again, the whirring sound. And once again, the little boy was at the end. A thought struck me. Could it be? <br /><br />I launched into the water again but this time, I looked to my left. And true enough, the little boy was pedalling alongside. Not ahead or trailing behind, but perfectly alongside. When I reached the end, he turned his bike around and waited in anticipation. <br /><br />I smiled at him and he furiously pedalled away. Then he stopped and turned around to watch me. I took a three-minute break. He slung his hand over his tricycle's backrest and waited.<br /><br />When I plunged back into the water again. he immediately resumed position. We moved in a comfortable tandem for the next ten minutes. I laughed as I swam, swallowng a mouthful of water in the process. <br /><br />When I fnished my swim, I climbed out and waved goodbye. He stared at me unblinkingly and cycled away.starlighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08825489876263084333noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30675101.post-36247849985021170002009-09-17T05:22:00.000-07:002009-09-17T05:31:16.869-07:00<strong>I Started A Joke</strong><br /><br />I always thought it would be cancer, you know. Or even brain tumour. Not that I invite any of it, you understand, but I just thought that if anything were to uproot me, it would be something of that nature. And I knew instinctively/arrogantly/ignorantly - call it whatever you want - that I would be absolutely fine. <br /><br />I would throw a tantrum that the gods would hear from their cushy thrones in the heavens, but then I would get up, examine my bruised knees and just get on with it. I would sing Que Sera Sera or Obladi Oblada. And I would be fine. <br /><br />But this? <br /><br />I bet they're all rolling off their thrones in laughter up there.starlighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08825489876263084333noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30675101.post-57550578332025162652009-09-05T21:43:00.000-07:002009-09-05T22:04:27.812-07:00<strong>My Turn</strong><br /><br />Last week, an old friend asked me when I was going to start writing my own stuff. When was I going to put all those great ideas onto paper? When was I going to display my passion to the world? <br /><br />I didn't have an answer. <br /><br />Come to think of it, I had never really written anything 'just for the heck of it'. Except for this blog perhaps, and even then I still think I take this way too seriously. I've always written for my editors. All my writing had to have a purpose and fun didn't count as a purpose. I think I'm one of the few writers who has a collection of half-hearted, half-empty journals. I could never <em>just write</em>. But I'm much better now. My little orange journal has more than 20 scribbled, cohesive pages. <br /><br />I suppose I'm afraid really. Afraid that the ideas won't sound as good on paper as they do in my head. And the best writers I know are those who don't write for a living. They are people who write from the heart without the head editing each sentence. <br /><br />So maybe I should allow myself to write badly. Then that monster will be slayed once and for all. The same way I practiced the headstand. I laboured at it for weeks, approaching it halfway then backing down, unable to swing my body up in case I fell. I finally got tired of this peek-a-boo routine and made a bed of cushions around my mat. Then I told my body that I <em>wanted</em> it to fall. After I got over the terror of crashing down, I had no problems going up again. <br /><br />I fell. I survived. I got up. Now let's do it again. And again. And again.starlighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08825489876263084333noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30675101.post-66658587115225334012009-09-03T06:59:00.000-07:002009-09-04T23:26:59.371-07:00<strong>Wisdom From A Parking Ticket Machine</strong> <br /><br />I've been looking over my shoulder for the past week, my thinking cap jammed firmly on my head. Then I look forward and wonder where I am going. Whether I would have a chance to do things differently or were the grooves of my habits carved too deeply to reshape. <br /><br />I was still chewing on this as I paid for my parking ticket at The Gardens. As I machine swallowed the ringgit bills, I glanced idly at the screen. Then I looked closer. Right at the bottom were the words 'Change Is Possible'. <br /><br />I have paid for my parking ticket at The Gardens more than ten times. I have probably seen that line more than ten times. But today I read it differently for the first time.starlighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08825489876263084333noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30675101.post-15549289145971666142009-09-02T07:34:00.000-07:002009-09-03T07:23:13.635-07:00<strong>Through The Years</strong> <br /><br />"When did you know you were growing up?" I asked Mentor. <br /><br />Her spoonful of Sticky Mango Rice stopped halfway to her mouth, as she thought for a while. "When I was in the UK," she answered, finally popping the spoon into her mouth.<br /><br />"I was seventeen and that was the first time I saw a woman smoking and Muslims drinking in public. I was so amazed that I wrote home immediately!" She chortled at the memory. <br /><br />"What did your mother say?" I leaned forward, my own dessert forgotten. <br /><br />"My mother was so worried that I would attempt to satiate my curiousity by jumping on the bandwagon that she called me immediately after receiving my letter! She very calmly asked me how I felt seeing these unsusual sights. When she was satisfied that I merely found them fascinating and not seductive, she told me that what these people did wasn't wrong but it wasn't right for a Muslim woman. Being able to hold on to my traditional values in a modern society, do my own laundry, pay my own bills and feed myself made me grow up." <br /><br />I thought about my sojourn to Australia ten years ago. I was a budding young writer on a journalism scholarship. Thanks to my work experience, I was only required to spend nine months there to obtain my degree. Just enough time to flirt with Australia, teeter at the brink of what could have been true love and bade a tearful farewell. I have dreamt of returning but never quite bought that ticket. <br /><br />Unlike Mentor, however, crossing an ocean didn't help me grow up. Sure, I did my own laundry, paid my own bills and fed myself but I was too scared to leave my little shell to truly explore the world's offerings. I believed that if I didn't subscribe wholeheartedly to my parents' world view, I would be lost in the wilderness forever. And so I put on my self-righteous cloak and effectively robbed myself of the invaluable growing up years. <br /><br />Today I look back at Australia and the years that followed it, and my heart breaks. I've spent half my adult life judging others for not being like me and the other half, judging myself for not being like others. Neither was paradise. And I have discovered that I am a late bloomer in the EQ department. <br /><br />My past has suddenly decided to pay me a visit and I've found myself wading through a sea of memories. The big waves are merciless and sometimes I thrash underwater wondering if I'll make it to the surface this time. And then I do but the sting of saltwater is sharp and doesn't wash off easily. <br /><br />Maybe it's going to be another hard week. Or month. Or year.starlighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08825489876263084333noreply@blogger.com0