sunshine through the fog - remembering_you

Smelt Fish

noreply@blogspirit.com () — Thu, 14 May 2009 23:38:00 +0800

It's been almost 3 years. 3 years in which quite a lot has happened. And yet, it seems, at times, like nothing's much changed.

After 3 years, I realise one of the things I miss most is the food you used to cook for us. Many of which I've tried to reproduce but almost as many times failed. And I realise, some of the things you cooked I've no idea what they're called and even if I want to try my hands at them, I've problem getting the ingredients, having to fumble around with, "you know, that small long silverish thinggy...".

One of those is smelt fish. I never knew what they were called. I only knew I loved it when you bought and fried them for us. I only knew how delicious they smelt and tasted. Until not too recently I saw them in the market and the fish auntie told me they were called - "sua jim" or "san zhim" or some variation of that I fail to imprint. Then I saw them in NTUC with the english label - smelt fish. And I knew that that that I loved is fried smelt fish.

Since then I've bought them twice from the market and once from NTUC. I've failed thrice (yes - do the maths). But I'm proud to say I'm getting there - the last time I tried (and failed) I believe I've gotten the look and texture right, only the amount of salt's off (i.e. way too much). I'm sure the next time I'll get it right.

And I will get it right. Because getting it right means I get to taste the taste of you still...

对不起妈咪

noreply@blogspirit.com () — Tue, 02 Sep 2008 20:33:40 +0800

我不想这样。但我无法再忍耐. 原谅我。

今天 11月 7日

noreply@blogspirit.com () — Wed, 07 Nov 2007 20:50:00 +0800

妳不再在我身边了不知道还可不可以对妳说。。。

生日快乐。。。

妳永远在我心中最深处

无时无刻

我多希望妳看见

我的幸福

Happy Mother's Day

noreply@blogspirit.com () — Sun, 13 May 2007 23:28:09 +0800

I love you and miss you...

This thought kept popping up...

noreply@blogspirit.com () — Thu, 08 Mar 2007 19:00:00 +0800

... in my mind...

I think I must be now in one of the happiest stage of my life thus far. Ignoring the minor, not-so-consequential discontent and wish-can-be-betters. Yes, I've never been happier.

But this happiness is tinged. By the fact that I'm not able to share it with the one person who would be happiest for me. For she is gone.

The irony? The happier I am, the sadder I get that she's not here to share my joy.

I know I should stop harping on this topic and move on. Whoever's reading my blog might probably be sick and tired of me saying the same old thing again and again and again.

But I miss her so. And no, the pain hasn't gone away. Even after months. It just goes in hiding and rears its desolate head deep at night. And I don't think it'd ever. Perhaps it'd stay in wait for longer periods of time. Perhaps it'd be less harsh. But no, it'd never go away.

Because she'd never be back.

现在的我

noreply@blogspirit.com () — Tue, 06 Feb 2007 23:00:00 +0800

现在的我　应该还算快乐吧

除了那无奈的遗憾

还多了一份知　一份觉悟

眼前的幸福　不是理所当然的

随时叮咛自己做准备

准备　不幸的降临

不要　不要再被捉个措手不及

但　那　有可能吗？

别天真了。。。

Happy Birthday, Mommy

noreply@blogspirit.com () — Tue, 07 Nov 2006 13:50:00 +0800

Sorry I can't be there to visit you. I'll be there for your Chinese birthday. I promise.

Guangzhou in 3 days...

Home to my darling in a week...

100 Days

noreply@blogspirit.com () — Tue, 31 Oct 2006 07:35:00 +0800

I was a difficult baby. What they call a "lotus baby". In that when I was in my mommy's womb I was seated upright, not head-down like most other babies. The doctor tried to "turn" me the right way round. Three times. But each time, I turned back up. In the end my mom had to go for a caesarean. They're not so medically advanced 29 years ago. So my mom has this long scar horizontally in the lower center of her tummy. A scar she has shown me several times while telling me this story. With a smile on her face. Always.

When I was in kindergarten, I peed in my pants. For what reason I don't know. The teacher stuck me in the toilet. That was where my mom found me when she came to pick me up. She flew into a mighty rage. Gave the teacher a good scolding. Took me home and switched kindergarten for me the very next day. I never went back to the same kindergarten. She saw to it that I didn't need to. Her daughter was humiliated and that cannot happen again.

I came home one day during Primary Six telling my mom I wanna learn the piano. Because I saw my classmate performing on stage and I thought it looked so cool. The very next day, she brought me to Yamaha and bought me a four-thousand dollar piano. A luxury I had no idea how she managed to afford. But she did. Without hesitation. Because I wanted to. And she's so proud of me.

I grew up eating chicken rice with drumstick. I never learnt to eat breast meat. Because she made sure I didn't have to. But she was always eating the breast meat. She said she liked it better. But I always wondered. If she thought breast meat was nicer why was she always paying more to buy drumstick for me and my brother?

I have urticaria. It's a skin condition that means I've rashes at inopportune times of the day. It started when I was 12. And it hasn't stopped yet. Perhaps it never will. I'm more or less resigned to my fate and learned to live with it. More than 10 years ago. But not my mom. She never gave up. She was always bringing me to doctors - chinese, western, once she even wanted me to go Malaysia to consult some bomoh. She tried every herbal recipe she heard would help me. Non-herbal ones too. I've tried a wide range of chinese herbs, some bitter, some stinky, some plain disgusting. I've had 酒饼 (some stuff used to make rice wine I think) rubbed all over me. I've eaten sea horses. There was once she went around scouting for fresh duck eggs that comes with a green coating on the shell - not easy to find daily. That fried with some veg is supposed to cure me. I had that for nearly 2 weeks until I couldn't stand eating any more eggs.

I suffer from perpetual headaches. Sometime I have it so bad I wake up in the middle of the night crying. Somehow my mom always managed wake up at almost the same time. She'd sit with me. Massage my temples. Talk to me to take my mind off the pain. Until the panadol or whatever medication set in and I fall asleep. I always wondered how she knew.

When I told her I was getting married, she was so elated she clapped her hands. As we were not planning to ROM/go through the ceremony until at least a year later, she said there's no hurry informing people yet. But during the wake, it turned out everyone knew. She told the hairdressing auntie. She talked about how she wanted to grow out her hair so she can curl it in time for the wedding dinner. She looked at dresses. She told friends and neighbours at the coffee shop. At the market. At the karaoke sessions. Everyone. She was so happy. So looking forward to it. So busy planning for it, in her own way.

My dad said every time they went out, she'd always stop by jewelry shops to look at pearl earrings. For me. I've been wanting pearl studs, you know. For a while. But I never mentioned it to her. Somehow, she knew. But she never did get to buy them for me.

The fateful night I received the call from my dad in the cab, she actually told my dad not to call me. Not to let me worry. She's always like that. Wanting to let me know the good and not the bad. Even to the last minute.

It's been a hundred days since you left us. Not a day has passed since I'm not missing you.

Remember

noreply@blogspirit.com () — Fri, 11 Aug 2006 22:40:00 +0800

I go to work. I meet up with friends. I laugh. I joke. I look normal.

I tell people I'm ok. So long as I don't have to talk about it. And most of the time I mean it.

But I see you everywhere. I see you sitting with the aunties at the hawker centre chatting. I see you feeding the cats you so love on the streets. I see you admiring potted plants and contemplating buying just that one more pot back because it's gonna look so pretty when it blooms. I see your face on the woman hunched over fruits. I see you on the woman having dinner with her daughter. I envy her so. Because she still has the chance to. And I don't.

I see you walking along the streets. I see you amidst the fireworks in the sky. I think how you'd have enjoyed it if only you can see it. I see you sitting opposite me telling me what this auntie did and that auntie said. I hear you tell me the same cat story for the tenth time. I can predict the exact words and expression you use. I don't stop you because I know how much you love telling that to me.

They say I must stop thinking about it. They say I mustn't think too much. They say I must be strong.

But I worry. I worry if I stop thinking about you one day I'd not remember what you look like. I fear that one day I won't be able to imagine you in front of me. Because that's all I have left of you. Memories. If one day I forget what else will I have.

The pain. It makes me cry. Every day. Not heaving. Not brawling. Just tears streaming down my cheeks. But I don't want it to go away. Because it reminds me of you. And I don't want that to stop. If the pain stops then what? That day will come. The logical part of me tells me. But I don't want it to.

In my heart...

noreply@blogspirit.com () — Sun, 30 Jul 2006 09:00:00 +0800

a hole that can never be filled

a wound that will never heal

a scar that will never be

a pain that doesn't stop throbbing

a whole no more

I miss you so much. Do you know that?

I love you so much. Do you know that?

I hate myself. I hate that it's too late. I hate that there's nothing I can do. I hate that I've done stuff that upset you. I hate that I can no longer do stuff to make you happy..

I hate whoever whatever took you away from me.

I do not understand and I never will. There can be NO good reason ever for taking you away.

Not everything happens for a reason afterall. I'll never believe that again. Never ever.

Everytime I think, everytime I remember, a sharp pain pierce through my entire being. A part of me has died forever. With you.