Whatever feelings I have, hatred has no place in me. I don’t hate. Especially you. Because you, just like hatred, have no place in my heart. You’re not worth it. Not a thing. For something cheap – cheaper than a shower cap – you are not even worth my hatred.
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My feelings are my choice. You can’t make me feel what I choose to feel. You are not the reason for my feeling the way I am feeling. You are too small and insignificant. You are a joke you make and you are a joke you play upon yourself.
The picture above is of a note I found in my organizer, from 2008’s daily schedule. This was one of Kitreena’s weekly presentation projects at the Australian International School. That weekend, for action, I was to help her come up with a chart. One side is to be pasted with pictures of our ‘Needs’ (shelter, clothes, food) and the other with ‘Wants’ (Barbie dolls, vacation in Disneyland, and Tumblebug games on iPod!)
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Well, though I would like to classify myself as an organized person, and has to proudly march around and be seen with a reasonable-looking leather organizer, I can be quite disorganized. (Leather, in Enida’s definition can range between Firenze calf and PRC man-made, okay? No fuss, so hush!)
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So the other day when I had a two-hour session with Dr. Love, I paraded in with this 2003-organizer anticipating two hours of sketching my feet or the doctor’s 4-inch high heels. Well, I didn’t get to sketch anything except this:
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Yeah, a three-legged table or stool, and a pencil? If I were the psychologist analyzing myself and coming up with a diagnosis through this sketch…
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I would tell Enida that her pencil is too short to use now. Go get a new one. A mechanical one, preferably. It is more practical. And hey Enida, your table doesn’t even look like a table. How can the top be 3-D but the legs are 2-D? They are not made of cardboards are they, them legs? Go get yourself a real table, a stool, a box, or… a life. Or something!
Anak urang Sabu Andaleh,
singgah karumah si Sutan Mudo;
Bia abih bialah tandeh,
hati den kanai kabaa juo.
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Urang Padang mandi ka gurun,
mandi basiram bungo lado;
Hari patang matoari turun,
dagang baurai aia mato.
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Nan bak pasan mandeh denai ko… “Usah takuik jo ombak gadang. Riak nan tanang lai kan mambaok karam. Bia lah luko dek sembilu, cegak di ubek nan jo piladang. Kato malereng bisonyo tajam.”
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Lah biaso tatusuak duri, lah lamo bagadang ati, kok kunun lah jauh badagang diri. Samantang pun baitu, lah pai mandeh basuo nan Kuaso, denai ko kanang jo pasan mandeh. Cukuik sadonyo mangubek sansai badan, buek palapeh ati. Bia ruruik manangguangkan, paubek sakik mambuang sadu. Sampai basuo lai, mandeh. Lah biaso manahan tangih.
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*Adat urang maminjam jo manyabuik tando batimo kasiah, sungguah pun sakada pantun. Mangko pantun nan duo rangkap datangnyo dari ma lai jikok indak dari lagu lamo.
Me Monchies were not overly excited today to have a repeat lunch of the Filini con Tuna leftover I made for supper the other day. But they know who the boss is in this Kremlin Nomer Divyet. Any objection shown to Queen Mother of this Kingdom of Totalitarianism would cause them severe hunger in exile! Long live Queen Mother Enidabeth!
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After saying grace, I let them eat with their sour face on. In this Kingdom of Totalitarianism, no food ever goes to waste. I choose what me Monchies eat, and when they eat. They choose how much they need. End of story, no questions asked. So as you could probably imagine, it was very quiet around the dining table today. And peace was mine to enjoy. For once, there I was savoring every little bit of peacefulness, listening to my own thoughts. Until there was a buzzing sound of a fly flying by.
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(Almost) to my shock, the fly sent Edrick screaming like the world was coming to its armageddon! Goodness gracious me! For flybying’s sake, it’s just a FLY, boy! As you could now picture it, it was my peacefulness that came to its armageddon, of course.
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You see, this summer Edrick has developed entomophobia (fear of insects) that is now driving me, not just the bugs, up the wall! It is driving Kitreena nuts too as Edrick is so scared of anything that buzzes, creeps and flies… he does not want to be left alone. And every little noise that sounds like a buzz or a shake would shake my son and send him running to me or his sister like a 7-on-Richter scale earthquake would!
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I got the feeling that finishing lunch today was going to be as hard as sailing a boat on tarmacadam. So I put this CD on for the whole Pokrovsky neighborhood to hear, and was honestly hoping to shoo all the summer flies away! Though it did shake the whole house a bit, Edrick managed to clean up his Filini con Tuna lunch deafened distracted.
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The Latin music was so good, I must admit, that it didn’t just shake my house and me Monchies. It shook my bum too!
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Me Monchies and I spent some good half an hour after lunch mambo-ing and lambada-ing away shaking the Filini Con Tuna calories off in my kitchen and had so much fun doing it, we must’ve debugged the whole Pokrovsky neighborhood!
Love has been a game played upon me and around me. If you think I am not aware of it, you obviously have taken me for a fool. Just like all the fools you’ve taken… for a price, for a ride or for free. You have said love to me and everybody else as though you knew what it meant.
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Your game is over. And so is the party. It is time to put on the red shoes and dance the blues. But I am waltzing it far away from you… where love is the music, not the lyrics. It’s over and I’m out.
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Ketagih
Apa silapku
hingga kau menyalahkan.
Apa hakmu
hingga kau membatilkan.
Kesetiaan ini
bagimu hanya duri.
Kesihatan yang kau ubat dengan sakit
adalah kewarasan yang gila.
Pilihlah yang halal
selamat jalan atau selamat tinggal.
Yes I do realize it. That you know so much about me and yet you don’t. So I came up with this series of little things about me, and I start with my morning dislikes. Well, I know it sounds negative. But the thing about me is, I don’t have many things that I don’t like. In other words, I like so many things that I will need 29 lifetimes before I would run out of things to write about what I like. I like you reading this, that’s for sure.
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So okay… the thing that I dislike most in the morning, I must lazily admit, is to make the bed. I know it’s not much. And I know it doesn’t take long. (Save it, will you? I have heard it all before.) But just like everything else that you like or dislike. You can go around it giving thousands of excuses and reasons. At the end of the day (or in my case, morning), no matter how much I groan, growl and grumble doing it because I can’t stand an unmade bed, I just don’t like making the bed!
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Looking at the painting I call ‘My Sensuousness’
between my legs from my bed.
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Postlude:
If you had read me carefully, you would not have come to the assumption that Enida’s bed was always unmade. Even if your reading skill was average, you would have seen that I actually said, “I can’t stand an unmade bed…” and that I groan, growl and grumble everytime I make my bed. But I still do it. Ishhhh! Mana kau letak kau punya mata?Jatu dalam pirigi mata air kah?
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Postscript:
I love you. (Huh? Love? You? Ishhhh! It’s just a book title.)
Did I tell you that our journey back to Moscow this time was one of the smoothest journeys we’ve had? If I haven’t, I am telling you now then. We had a 260-minute transit in Singapore in the wee hours of June 17th. At SilverKris Lounge, we were taking our own sweet sleepy time eating some late supper when Edrick got his second wind and started singing the “This Old Man” song.
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Edrick: “…with a knickknack paddywhack give a dog a bone, this old man came rolling home.”
Mommy: Good singing Edrick! *she says this without fail when her Monchies sing*
Edrick: Mommy, why did the old man come rolling to his home?
Mommy: Because his house is down the hill.
Edrick: But why didn’t he walk?
Mommy: Because he’s old.
Edrick: Oh yeah, rolling down the hill is faster than walking.
Mommy: That’s right.
Edrick: Is his dog old too?
Mommy: I’m not sure Monch.
Edrick: If it’s old, the old man shouldn’t give it a bone. Too hard for its teeth.
Do you sing your kids cradlesongs, or lullabies as they’re more commonly known? Well, I do. Not as often as I yell, “Bedddd time! Tidorrrrrrr!”, turn the lights off, force me Monchies to turn themselves off, close their bedroom door and run to close mine for my sanity. But I do sing them cradlesongs. Here’s the playlist of the usual:
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Rock-A-Bye-Baby
My Bonnie Lies Over The Ocean
Suriram
Greensleeves
Hujan Panas
Mama Hao
Sayang Di Sayang
Eagle’s Whistle
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Edrick would usually be ‘gone’ by the middle of the first song. Boy! Is he ever a good sleeper! Kitreena, on the other hand would still be awake on the second repeat of the whole playlist! There are nights when she questions why the cradle is put on the tree-top, why a sweet girl like Suriram can’t be kissed, what exactly did Greensleeves do that broke Sir Lancelot’s heart, and her question-list can be longer than my lullaby playlist if I don’t pretend to fall asleep singing!
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But hey, I shouldn’t be complaining. These monchies are the only remaining audience I have after years of my La Femme de Jogette era, and a decade of hiatus. Haiiiyaaa lagi mao bising meh? Go sing ‘Mama Hao’ loh!
As every flower fades and as all youth
Departs, so life at every stage,
So every virtue, so our grasp of truth,
Blooms in its day and may not last forever.
Since life may summon us at every age
Be ready, heart, for parting, new endeavor,
Be ready bravely and without remorse
To find new light that old ties cannot give.
In all beginnings dwells a magic force
For guarding us and helping us to live.
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Serenely let us move to distant places
And let no sentiments of home detain us.
The Cosmic Spirit seeks not to restrain us
But lifts us stage by stage to wider spaces.
If we accept a home of our own making,
Familiar habit makes for indolence.
We must prepare for parting and leave-taking
Or else remain the slaves of permanence.
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Even the hour of our death may send
Us speeding on to fresh and newer spaces,
And life may summon us to newer races.
So be it, heart: bid farewell without end.
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by Hermann Hesse
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Thanks to my darling Angel for walking with me to this poem.
Stages
Questa è Enida 