Packing 1: The wardrobe and my spring color clothes

the art of packing

thinking of the number of days till the moment I can officially go home, puts a smile on my face, not a tiny forced pretentious one, the huge shining (SHINEe, lol) wholehearted one. There is just something I hate - though it's part of my life, a pretty big part:packing

What do I need to sustain my remaining days? Just enough for exams, and school related meetings, I will no longer read that many books... though sometime, just looking at "Chances of sunshine" makes my gloomy day spark and reading Rummy's birthday gift brings calmness to my restless soul. Packing in the middle of my exams seems to prove me this statement is a fact: I am totally out of my mind

It's easy to empty my wardrobe, table and shelves but sometimes, it rips my heart apart to "empty" my memories, throwing away things that once were dear but now I am absolutely aware of their uselessness.

1. Wardrobe

Emptying my wardrobe has always been a challenge. I have not gone out much this year, but being me, I keep things that I may only wear once a year or even none. Redundant things goes first, there fly my colorful clothes. True enough, I had been in black and white even before my grandmother's departure. Till my grandmother 49th days, I still want to keep the tradition, though I am just her grand child, not daughter. I understand it means much to her. Tradition.

Tracing past memories, I remember how much she loved me in spring color: sky blue and baby pink or my shocking green. I didn't usually dress to what my grandmother preferred. It's not about generation gap, but more or less it is due to the nature of my internship. Being a teacher in a high school since 17, it takes more than just a firm mind, an attractive method to gain respect and class attention. I looked 29 when I was barely 18, said my students. Grandmother always asked me why - which I only smiled at her. I wanted to show her more of me this 8 month holiday. I really wanted to, at least bring a date home to make her less worried.

But I guess I was too much too late, to be in sky blue and baby pink, and shocking green for her to smile proudly

I think of her much recently, though I did not tell my mother about it. Simply looking at my blue silk dress makes me tearing up inside. I remember that cheerful smile on her face when I went out in this dress. "So who are you going with?" she asked. "No one, I just wanted to grab a new book" "In such a dress?"

She never knew how I dress up for the past 4 years. Short holidays have been purely work related and lazy days sleeping "on the behalf" of sleepless months. She never saw me in summer dress and proper heels but grey winter coat and black flat shoes. When I start to be a "girl" in its fullest meaning, I have been away from home

"I'd love to see you, in this such dress, you know, for ... a date..."

It took me a while to response: "Sure ma, one day, you will"

I packed my blue dress into one of the box and send it home. The same blue dress Minh saw me in when he caught me studying in Starbuck, the same blue dress he fell for almost immediately. I refuse my chances of sunshine, giving away an opportunity to fulfill my grandmother's wish

20 going 21, I wonder when can ever feel that happiness again, to be in the same blue silk dress in summer heat, to be coated with golden drops from the sky... and to see my grandmother's smile again...


"black black heart... I wish you offer more, I wish you make it easier, on me. Satisfied? I am on fire..."

Old song.
Before I realize it, I am standing in front of an almost-empty wardrobe. 4 years of metamorphosis from a kid to a young lady... Fashion has been my secret language... the desire to be read, to be understood in vain.

It NEVER means NOTHING for a girl to put on a scarf around her shoulders or a light pink dress. It NEVER means NOTHING... just that you could not crack the code and get into their complicated mind, to really see, the real us...

1 task is half done... still so much more to go... In that box of happiness, so many stories are left untold....Maybe in another day, I will let you know. Maybe not... I am still in the middle of sorting out my life.

sign

sign

The 1st time I listened to this song, I cried despite the cheerful tune. I had absolutely no idea what the song was about, no idea why, and how I came to this state. Ga In's voice... sweet desperation to: be saved, to be heard to be looked for. "mayday"

I guess, now I know why those tears rolled down my cheeks.

Nightmares of past experiences have never left me ever since the last time I sent out the sign, the last time, I whispered a particular person's name in despair, the one and only person I though could read my erratic thought, he left me of 17 years old bleeding till I lost all my sense - in a comma. The beauty of what cannot kill you, is the fact that it makes you so much stronger, callous, till the point you wonder, if this, cannot finish me off, then WHAT will, and WHAT can?

My interpretor, since when did we lose ourselves in translation? Since when could you not be bothered to read my sign?

I thank mom for bringing me back to life, for those times she listened to me crying, those times she drew the perfect line, refusing hear any more nonsense of a weakling, those time she pretended not knowing those salty drops of water were my tears, just to be by my side when I needed her the most. Because I am able to breath today, to walk pass the particular person without stirs, I refuse to send the SOS S.I.G.N to anyone. Isn't it too pitiful, to depend your matter of life and death on the hand of someone else? 50-50, if you yourself are not willing to save you, what make you think someone else will?

These days, for the countless times, I hear a voice in my head, unconsciously sending those "dot dot dot" SOS sign. However, no matter how devastated, no words of complains or misery have been uttered, not to anyone. It's deafening silence. I trapped myself in this glass box, filled top full the torturing liquid - I drown myself inside my Pride.

PRIDE, like those people who is addicted to self mutilation, I make a deliberate choice. I could have killed myself without knowing it. Pride, the very meaning of the word in the dictionary, which definitely should have had Yunho's picture as a famous example: "A strong sense of self-respect, a refusal to be humiliated as well as joy in the accomplishments of oneself or a person, group, or object that one identifies with". It is not about whether I can get 150 recent years of US History in my head or not. It is a must that I have to nail it, because I chose it.

temptation, giving in, giving up... temptation to tap the little "SOS" through the broken phone, give a little hint, the pleading eyes...

S.I.G.N

I just can't do it. I just can't take pity... WHAT FOR? This is my choice, even if it is completely STUPID from the start to chose this scholar-unfriendly combination, to walk away from my chances of sunshine, I start it, therefore I have to end it.

I guess it worths the fight, going against the winds to test my strength. In my fading memory, I remember the vividly the desire of a young girl, 13? 14?... 19, 20? who gave up love, the opportunity to be pampered, cared for, for this rocky path; the particular girl, who cried herself to sleep, singing the only lullaby:
"let me feel, I don't care if I break down
let me fall, even if I hit the ground
and if I, cry a little, die a little
at least I know I lived
just a little"

2.50 am
I am 20, I have 150 years of US History in my hands. My A level comes next week, starting with History, Math, and GP. I understand my situation perfectly well, that I am drowning, but NO, I am not sending SOS sign.


"dot dot dot dot" - in the dark, the broken phone buttons are pressed in dignity, a simple message home:
"mom, I am fine"

gonna be ok

a foreign number
a huge smile on my face
...whisper to the wind
it's gonna be ok

............................

1. on the run
Salty water from the sky soaked my thin jacket. I have been in black ever since. Black, black, blank out. The bursting sound of the alliteration "b" makes me ponder upon certain incidents. I walked in the rain, no rush, no worries, no fuss...

Are you insane?

No, I am not, but I want to be

like we used to be running in the rain, the 4 of us, Christin, Fanie, Cindy and I, running in the rain, splashing heaven's precious tears, completely ignorant of what future might behold.

Now are are not the same, pale and colorless, buried alive underneath the piles and piles of notes. Isn't it tragic? That we desire not the warm sunshine but the rain of the yester-year? the forgone laughters and the innocent games?

I walked against the winds. When the gale is at its peak, I am getting ready for the race now. Get set... The moment the storm embraces my frame, we shall begin. Blood and sweats, tears of victory or failure, all these moments of despair and happiness

were coming back to me. They no longer hurts, or bring me down... Like the sweet reminder of the bitterness I have tasted, they greet me wholeheartedly

4 years... sickening competition, sickening social complains and unreasonable demand, who remember that child with the huge eyes gazing upon Orchard Road, admiring the very place later on she could not wait to get out? I will miss Singapore, I am grateful for this place... but these speeches are redundant now.

till the end of the race

................................................

2. Insa 884
I guess in my small bubble of happiness, my daily dose of serious and nonsensical talk with Cassies, my dearest friends have helped me spread my "insa". I am leaving for a month. Fandom has been great, when Harang is drunk, Tiff is firm enough to make sure doggie does not hum the wrong victim. When Fara and I need to study for exam, Nezz will encourage us to flung all the stupid tests... Just recalling all the moment we share, all the smiles and laughters warms my heart. You have been there for me when my heart breaks a tiny bit. You have seduced me to look at Yunho in a perverted manner which never fails to make me laugh. You have been always there, in both sunny days and gloomy nights. It is so hard to say goodbye. Already at this moment, I have felt the loss, thinking of missing out so much laughters and tears, tight grips across the world

I am so sorry I am leaving at this critical moments when every news is another heartbreak, every truth can be a lie. I regret, I will not be there anymore, in my bubble of fandom...

Tintin, my dearest Xeanne asked me what I thought of Yunho's silence. I said I did not know, but I knew in my heart, I had the answer. Like a deluded girl in love, I gave him the benefit of doubts, that, till he speaks up, explains, I will not doubt him. THis is all I can give, this tiny support. isn't it so easy? To lose faith to whine whine and whine about how hurtful you feel... Well, how dare I say I am hurt and sad, I was not the one who was pain 1% of the amount of money I made, I was not the one who was trapped in a merciless company for 13 years, I was also not the one who had to go to hospital for overwork. How dare I make noises as if I KNEW what is going on.

For the fact that I am not in this mess
For the fact that I believe: even though you can't see the bottom of the ocean, it does not mean you should underestimate the strong currents within.
For the fact that I am sure if I am hurt 1, he must me in pain 100x

For the most crucial fact that I really really love him
I am not doubting any one in DBSK. Final stance, till I hear their voice speaking up, I shall not let the media plays with my emotion


Just a note for Iva: One thing I want to make it clear, I don't believe Iva is human. I am sure this particularly talented Czech movie maker must be made out of sugar and honey. Sweet and kind, naive and ... emotional, Iva was one of my first acquaintances and proudly I announce today, she is truly a friend in my heart. I am not gonna be there every time to make sure u are not sobbing over JJ-one-sided-love, I am not gonna share link, and amazing fics for a while. But hey, if I watch a DBSK clip, I will think of Iva. If I listen to Insa, I will think of Iva. So smile, OK? Laugh my share of happiness also ^^ I really gonna miss u

And I receive your day1 letter also, sweetest thing ever, all the way from Czech. You made this rainy day in Singapore shine.

..............................................................

3. Rummy

I found Rummy blog, "beautiful thing" in a "rainy night", home for the soul of the wanderers like us. On my road to find myself, I find my soul mate. I loath this life here, but I am thankful, for I met you. So even though I have been hurt, I have cried, I have wished I had never gotten tricked into this scholarship, it all pays off, cuz I have met Ruam

...............................................................

4 Gonna be OK
... for all said and done, I am gonna be OK ^^
... DBSK is gonna be OK
... Cassies are gonna be OK
... Rummy is gonna be more than just OK

things will get better, cuz if it has not finished raining YET, if I am still soaked and trapped in my school, well, it's not the end yet

waiting for rainbow ^^

finito

2 days... 3 days

How many hours did I not sleep?


maybe it has gone to the 49th hour as I turned disorientated
I left my cover letter - which was the reason why I went to the Lucky Plaza post office in my room, took the correct bus yet ended up mixing Lucky Plaza and Far East Plaza. I got down from the wrong bus stop, looking like one absolutely mentally unsound person. I mastered the art of talking to a friend while sleeping, he pulled me on his shoulder, wishing his crush does not take 700A at this particular sensitive time - or else I will just fell off my seat - I was till talking, all in half sentence. Something about Ms. Siew Geok and letter and before I finished what I said, I have already added another half sentence.

Collapsed on my bed, after clicking the "submit" button

24 hours, I woke up once to tell Fanie: I am hungry, then slept again, forgetting I was starving.

Ate a proper meal for he 1st time after 5 days at 3pm today

Darryl called, just to laughed at me: "You should be glad I am gay, sleeping on my shoulder like that!". - Dearest, you are not gay, you just don't like me in that particular way, and maybe that's why I love being around you so much, you and your sarcastic remarks.

I have done, what I could within my power
Now I left it to your blessing, I regret, still depending on you though you have already gone away. I really want to make you proud

if

9.30 p.m.
Another message:
"If I lose the world because of you, I wouldn't lose you for the sake of the world" - Byron. I am not giving up on us
............................

Such spirit should be saved to salvage another soul, not mine.
Exhausted, I really can't hold on to more when my hands are both full

I am not asking for sympathy - oh please - as IF - not asking for anything, even respect of my decision

Something I have learned from my grandmother, from my DBSK, when no one opens the door for them, they just keep working hard, do what they know is right. I will do the same now.
............................

I wish my mother could have the strength to carry on.
Seeing her, like this, in pain, lost, at the verge of insanity, it hurts me so much I want to burst. I miss grandma too. Just that I can't be the emotional one, when I am depended on.
Just like grandma is her world, she is mine... Today I woke up, and the sky was pouring down, what angers you? What pains you to shed so much tears? What drives you mad and frustrated? - like a child, I hid myself in my blanket... pretending I did not see the tantrum of the sky. My hands are full, I can't hold on to more.
............................

Not going to talk to my mother tonight.
Not going to talk myself into a insanity anymore.
If I go on like this, If I give in to my emotion, If I stop just for a couple of minutes and try to deal with the mess I am sitting on - I am positive, I will end up breaking down, JUST LIKE BEFORE
............................

Listening to Insa, now. . .
and at least feel glad, I can still hold on to their music
and breath out softly
and have a bit of faith - that this is just not the end yet
and breath in slowly
if
if
if
...
if

sitting on a mess

Sitting on a mess

I am sitting on a mess
not out of bed sheet or pillows
or dirty laundry of yesterday - or a week before
Not something tangible
thus I can't get out of my seat
and tidy it up

I am sitting on a mess
of words, phrases, sentences... unwanted
or maybe wanted
break into syllables, then put together,
How can I put it across, to you
my beloved grandmother, mother?
how can mere words ease the pain?

I am sitting on a mess
of emotions: frustration, anger, desperation
or even contentment
I know not the precise phrase
to capture this feeling. SO
I keep quiet
inexplicable deafening silence...


I am still sitting on my mess
finding the correct word
to tell you
something so simple
such as

I miss you

...........................

I feel like swearing

but then I won't. It is just frustration, the unrest mind, the guilt struck soul...
I have to be able to "write" again, I have one week, no, actually one day, till the sun rises.

I have been trying to write something for my grandmother. Bitterly I laugh at my final decision. I have this pathetic list of people I want to write to. She was on it since last Mar, I kept thinking "next weekend" Like a cat chasing after her own tail, I was lost in my mountain of work, of pills, dreams and nightmares. Half written letter, I burned up the ashes of my irresponsible youth yesterday, in the endless chant of prayer for her soul. I wish you peace. Nothing else. I wish you peace. forgive me, I was far too reckless and confident.

Fate and her ugly game, right when I thought she was being nice to me, showering me with love of parents and best friend, the spark of end season romance and success in study... she prove me WRONG. A nasty goddess would feel ashamed if she is too nice to someone, I guess. But of all things, of all people, she chose grandmother - I never thought my light house would distinguish her source of guidance so soon...

I started a week back - it does not make any sense till now. Why the hell is it an elegy, while my grandmother only loves to read casual letter from us? I remember her last letter to me, shaky handwriting, she was apologizing for not being able to write any longer for her hands were shaking too much. She was apologizing for her "ugly handwriting". I could not have seen a more beautiful letter - even in her old age, she penned down her love for me. Handwritten, so much efforts and so much care - how dare I took it for granted

I was in a mess, emotionally. Type, retype, write, rewrite, scribble, toss and turn. Isn't it too sad when it is too late to tell her some simple things: like how much she means to me, how nonsensical my hurtful words were... that I don't ever hate her, in fact I admire her so much? Children do not have the maturity to write an elegy, an adult told me that. I remember my anger, of being called children, of being perceived less than what I can do... I kept silent. I talked to her now and then, now that she can hear me everywhere I go, I talk to hermore often that the lazy phone call miles and miles away from Hanoi. I remember her excitement and cheerfulness just hearing my sleepish voice over the phone, my imperfect Vietnamese, my abnormal accent...

24 hours, and I have to get it done. I told her so, and I will keep my promise.

I am sitting on a mess... picking up fragments of tossed, unwanted lines I left on the floor.
She never thought I was a beautiful mess - just a mess she loved - an imperfect mess - that she loves with her life

...........................................................................................

I need to hear my mom's voice, like a guess game, I weigh how much she misses my grandmother today... estimating the depth of her sorrow... I need to hear her voice so I can sleep. I am scared too, hearing her exhaustion, another cry? another self-blame monologue? What now? I love her so much it hurts that I am so fking far away, that I am like a ghost, come and go, leaving her broken just like that...

After our daily talk, I am left alone with new familiar emotions... what now? what is best for us? I don't know

629
that is the number of times I played Kiss Shita Mama, Goodbye in my ipod, since my grandmother passed away

502 for Thunder
and 49os for the rest of my Dong Bang lullaby

nowadays, if not for the healing voice of DBSK, I would go on 4-5 days sleepless - for every time I close my eyes, my half written, scribbled letter wakes me up, like the cruel laughter of Fate: Why wasting time on sleeping, when u have so much work to do?


............................................................................................

still sitting on a mess
sorting out my own life

light house

One short sleep passed, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; death thou shalt die.

......................................
Grandma,
I am sorry, I am sorry I could not grow old soon enough, to let you see the woman I become
I am so sorry I am home soon enough, to get scolded by you even for the last time
I am so sorry I have not made you proud, nor have I done anything to lessen your worries about me.
I am sorry I could not fast forward the time to show you my boyfriend, to stand in front of you in my wedding dress, to let you know I am in good hands...

I am sorry I am home too late...

I mean it, I am sorry.

...................................

Softly I chant a prayer for her... monotonous, disrupted and broken in foreign tongue. I always think when I am home, she would always be there, without fails, always be there to wait for me... Too naive, am I? to think I am the only one who need her... to think her life revolves around waiting for me tirelessly in the corner of Hanoi... to forget she has walked this lonely journey more than 40 years, waiting for the reunion with my grandfather

I should have been happy for her departure... My grandmother did not suffer. Maybe, this is the way I chose to see it... To see her sleep and slip into the other world with a smile, hands in hands with my grandfather... Maybe death is not that scary, for there are lovers await us on the other side... I should, but I could not.

I am selfish, I am still a pain in her neck all the time. I love her to bits but I could not bring myself to ever agree with her on any term... I am selfish and childish I still need her in my life. I am selfish and childish I just want her for my own... She promised to match-make me, she said I am the MOST difficult grand daughter she ever has, thus she must work hard to get me a proper husband... But now she is gone, what am I supposed to do? Does she know I still depend on her so much??? even holding on to her silly promise?

.......................................

itouch keeps on playing a song: Kiss Shita Mama, Sayonara...
Now I understand... even if it is just a lie, even if it is spilled coffee over my new bed sheet, even she made another mistake, scolding me for no rhyme and reason... I still want it all... I claim it all, her hot temper, her forgetfulness, her strange ideas... if she could still see me tomorrow, when I return, if she could still ask me again: how are you doing?

Things I took for granted, now I want them so much... I want them back, those last four years of her life, I have always been away from her, those hurtful words I mark... those lies that I could not stand her

It is not that I could not stand her, it is just that I cannot stand not having her in my life

....................................

Safe journey, Grandma
We will meet someday, at the end of my restless road... one fine spring day

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