Wanderlust

Travel. I've never been a hardcore traveller and my curiousity for the world and its wonders began rather late in my life. I think somewhere in my late 20s did I realise reading about places just didn't cut it anymore. I had to be there.

The last 12 months have been challenging. I won't say 'bad' because the glass still looks half full to me. Maybe everything DOES happen for a reason and if it doesn't, repeating that in my head makes everyday bearable, so sue me. In my search for a baby, I might have lost sight of the big picture. Perhaps there were still things to be done, to be experienced, to be shared. Perhaps it was still time to enjoy being just 'me'. In the midst of miscarriages, search for self and anxiety attacks, I picked up a case of wanderlust. Pack your bags, honey. We're taking a trip. Or two. Make it three.

This year, I've already made my way to Singapore, Melbourne and Sydney - all before June. This might be a tad bit ambitious but I'm hoping to make three more trips before the year is out. They don't have to be far and all too exotic - as long as I change the mundane scenery of my purple (yes, purple) office walls. 

Singapore, Feb/March 2012

                                 

Southbank, Melbourne, March 2012

                                                                                  

 

Bondi Beach, Sydney, May 2012

I've been hooked on travel magazines, with Lonely Planet Asia being my favourite at the moment. So much so, I've begun my bi-monthly subscription. With each flip, I'm transported to a new place - a place that screams, VISIT ME! Thanks to my stacks of magazines and ample free time, my list is as follows:

1. Greece - the Greek islands have overtaken Ireland as my number one place to visit in this lifetime. Mykonos, Santorini, Athens, Rhodes and then some. By God, this trip will happen before I hit 40. In fact, I'm seriously considering making this my one big trip for 2013. Time to fill those pockets.

2. Ireland - like I said, recently bumped to second. Sorry, Dublin. But it's also a country I've dreamed of visiting since my brother spent 7 years there as a medical student. I never had the chance to visit while he was there. 

3. Beijing - why not? I've been to Xi'an, Shenzhen, Guangzhou, Haikou and Sanya to date. Would love to add Beijing (and Shanghai) to that list. It's not my favourite country to visit, but you can't deny it's a place steeped in culture and can be quite beautiful. Just mind the spitting and rudeness. Plus, my sister in law and her husband are currently living and working there. No better reason than to visit family!

4. Bali - The H and I have been talking about this for ages. It's really time to make this happen. Maybe in time for the Ubud Writers Festival this October...

5. Siem Reap - Accessible. Affordable. Awesome. I missed out on a chance to visit Siem Reap with my girlfriends a few years back, am still kicking myself for that. 

6. Dusseldorf - Germany! I never would've considered Germany but now that one of my best friends has moved there indefinitely, this is a good time as any to make my way there.

7. London - I have very little - if any - memory of my childhood in the UK. My family lived there for 4 years but I was only a year old so I have no recollection of my time there. And again, we have relatives to visit so that's always nice.

8. Morroco -  There's something very romantic and mysterious about Marrakesh. Again, I blame Lonely Planet.

9. Turkey - A bit of Europe. A bit of Asia. It's a win-win situation.

And the list continues to grow. Not sure where I'm headed to next but I can guarantee that I've got at least one good trip up my sleeve around August. And babies? Well, let's just say my travel magazines are doubling as an effective birth control method for now. 

Signs and wonders

I believe in signs. Signs are the universe's way of giving us a nudge, a push or motivation to make decisions in life. The universe can't spell it out - that would be too easy. Where's the fun in knowing all the time, right?

Two of my potential projects fell through, my long-term contract with a client just ended and another decided not to use my services. I know setbacks are a normal part of any career and things don't always fall into place. But when they all seem to happen at the same time, it makes you wonder - is this a sign? It's suddenly very quiet and while I relish the unexpected free time, I am craving to be intellectually stimulated. To be creatively challenged. To experience the rush of achievement and satisfaction. On the flip side, I am extremely grateful that the peace and quiet in my life at this very moment is allowing me to write as I please. Not for work, but for my soul. Writing keeps me going when everything else seems to have stalled. It is the constant motion in my life. It's the only room in my life where I can scream, shout, exclaim and express as I please. Even if the only reader is me.

So why am I granted this stillness in my life right now? Why am I presented with setbacks? Why is it when I turn on the news or log into Facebook, all I read about is political unrest in my country or a kidnapping happening just 10 minutes from where I live? There are so many push factors. Is this the future I want for myself and my family? Is this the country where my legacy will thrive? Many incidents and realities are pointing to the negative. God-willing, I have another 50 years to go in this lifetime and I believe there is still for me to make something out of it. I don't want to be 'happy enough'. I want to wake up every morning and be glad that I made smart decisions in life. Maybe this is the time to plan for a fresh start and find the awakening stirring inside of me.

Signs and wonders. I believe the universe speaks to us everyday. How many of us are really listening?

 

Self.

Human beings are narcissistic creatures. And before you get all high and mighty saying, "Speak for yourself," I ask you to look in the mirror (ironically) and honestly tell yourself it's not all about the Me Party. 

Because it is.

And my thought for today is that it's not always a bad thing to put yourself first. It's like on the airplane, when the oxygen masks come down and they always tell you to put it on yourself before helping the person next to you. Because what good are you when you're oxygen-deprived and dead 35,000 feet up in the air, right? 

But back to the 'Me' issue. Recently, I've been thinking a lot about what defines us. What labels do we feel comfortable in and who imposes these labels on us? Society? Your parents? Yourself? When I got married, I naively believed that I would not change. That I would still be the exact same person I circa singledom. But now, almost two years into wedded bliss, I am struggling with who I am, who I've become and who I was. And I cannot even imagine who I will be!

Don't get me wrong - I entered marriage with the full knowledge of what I was getting myself into and I accept the challenges and responsibilities of being legally wed. But as I settle into a new pair of 'shoes' labelled 'wife' and 'potential mother', sometimes I find that they give me blisters.

This is for the simple fact that sometimes my selfish, narcissistic and self-involved side rears its ugly head. I would be lying if I said there weren't days where I simply want to be left alone, left to my own devices - which translates to gallivanting with friends with questionable amounts of alcohol, nicotine and raucous laughter, oblivious to time and space. Or simply pack up and grab the next career opportunity in a foreign land. But as fleeting as the desire comes, it leaves and I am thrust back into the throes of my daily life. Which - for the record - isn't always a bad thing. Stability does have perks, you know.

My point is, I find myself reflecting on who I was, my youthful aspirations, my gung-ho fearlessness and comparing it to a more subdued me today. Granted, I'm older and yes, thank God I don't still spend five nights a week getting drunk at a bar and beating myself up over a deadbeat boyfriend. But I DO miss my 'spark'. My independence, to an extent.

I know I risk sounding callous about my marriage and even ungrateful for my blessings. But I promise you that is not the sentiment I intend to portray. I love my husband and I count my blessings everyday. Yet, I cannot shake off the feeling that some days I feel like I am a shadow of who I was and who I thought I would be.

Average everyday sane psycho.

I started listening to Liz Phair after the H introduced her to my playlist back when we were working in the same office, circa 2003. 'Extraordinary' is by far my favourite Liz Phair song and I've recently been playing it on loop. I don't know what it is I love about the song. I think it's mostly because I relate to being an 'average everyday sane psycho'.

She's the bees knees, i tell ya.

"But I tagged you in Facebook..."

I get it. Social media is the best thing since doughnuts. But for a long time coming, I have a bone to pick with Facebook. And if you really think about it, it's not even Facebook's fault. It's the faces behind Facebook. It's the human element. The people. The 'friends'.

Not all friends, mind you. Just 90 percent of them. I signed up back in 2007, not realising my naivete would be my own peril. Photo tagging, all that banter back and forth over a status message, throwing digital livestock at people and even slapping them with trout. Ah, the good ol' days.

Fast forward to 2012 and how I long for the days before I had any association with the F word. These days I log in, scroll the 'Home' page and sigh. Do we not have enough drama in our REAL day to day lives than to stir up monkey shit in cyberspace? People complaining and venting and bitching and whining and, of course, no names are ever mentioned. It's always SOMEbody or SOME people. Which then causes 178 people on your friends list to go, "Shit, is it me? Did I piss her off lately? Must be me. Bitch."  And what's with the updates every 5 minutes?

1:00pm - "The paint on my wall is drying."

1:05pm - "The paint on my wall is STILL drying."
1:10pm - "The paint on my wall is drying super slow."

1:15pm - "I'm watching paint dry. FML."

I could go on and on about Facebook but I also know I'm starting to look like a happy little hypocrite because I, of course, have my own FB account. I will not argue that FB has done me some good - I've kept in touch with people from my college and uni days, made valuable contacts and know whether my exes are have either put on immense weight or married far uglier people than me. However, as of late, it has become more of a bane than a boon. Suddenly, people EXPECT you to log onto Facebook at every waking moment. Important messages, invites and announcements are all posted solely on Facebook and this has become the accepted norm.

Back the fucking social media wagon up one second.

First of all, in what planet do you think EVERYONE has a Facebook account? It's like, "Oh you don't have any kidneys and you're missing a toe, that's ok but OMG YOU DON'T HAVE A FACEBOOK ACCOUNT?!?!" Seriously. And even if I do have an account, what makes you think that would be my top choice of keeping updated with the on-goings of the world? Before FB, there were carrier pigeons, smoke signals and -my favourite- the phone. Holy shit, would you look at that - the phone STILL exists! I cannot tell you how many times I have had to tell people to call or even text me fortheloveofgod for anything that needs my immediate attention. "But I tagged you in Facebook..." comes the lame reply.

Sigh.

Facebook, you and I have had some good times. And although I know we won't be parting ways anytime soon, I just want you to know,  the fire's gone. We'll always have Twitter.

Excuses, excuses.

Today this landed on my lap. And it resonated so deeply because I began to think of the countless times I made (or make) excuses. Especially when it mattered most. So I began to focus: What is important to me? What do I need to stop making excuses for? 

1. Writing
I keep calling myself a 'writer'. And half the time I complain about what I have to write about (Another brochure.Another website. Another "With its rolling hills and sprawling green fields, Camp Shootmenow is a nature lovers' paradise and ideal for skinny dipping"). So yes, I have to write to make ends meet, and while I don't feel challenged creatively, I am still grateful for being able to say "I write for a living." Not the kind of living Paulo Coelho or JK Rowling might enjoy but still, enough to buy a loaf of bread. Ok, two loaves. And peanut butter (mmm peanut butter. Ok focus). My point is, I keep talking about getting published. Like, SERIOUSLY published, not published for an article that appeared in a publication that is probably being used to line someone's kitty litter box right now. And yet, every freakin' day I find a way to sabotage my 'writing to get published' projects. Excuses include:  I have deadlines to meet for a difficult client. I have period cramps. I have to organise my spice rack. I'm sooooo tired from yesterday's emceeing gig, I need my rest today. I have a headache. I have no inspiration. I just got my manicure done.

So gloriously lame.

But yes, I have a shitload of excuses. So does it mean my writing is not important to me? Blasphemy thy name is Melissa! Of course not. Writing is my air. It's the only half-decent thing I can do and make a living out of. Goddamn it woman, then put everything else on hold and do what matters most. Write. That. Damn. Book.

2. Losing weight Keeping fit.

Initially, I started off with the grand idea of losing a few dress sizes. When I realised my boobs weren't going anywhere or that my waist wasn't suddenly going 'Barbie' itself overnight, I knew I had to live with the fact that I will never be skinny, lithe, lanky, swan-like, androgynous (ok, not that I find this body-type appealing anyway) etc. I will be the 5-foot apple-shaped Asian girl with a nice bust, not much ass and high waist forever. HOWEVER, I can be a very toned and fit 5-foot apple-shaped Asian girl with a nice bust, not much ass and high waist, no? I wanted to be strong, not skinny.  Again, I have a problem sticking to this resolution. With enough years of Gym On and Gym Off to make Mr, Miyagi proud, I'm still struggling with finding that discipline to work out consistently. And why? Because I make excuses. I run for three weeks and then decide my ankle is bugging me so I stop. I sign up for the gym and then after my miscarriage, I decide my body really 'needs the rest' (alright, maybe for the first couple of weeks but again, I let this stretch into months). Excuses. And I wonder why I can't seem to squeeze back into my favourite pair of jeans? Someone bitch-slap me with a smelly sock right now.

Writing and getting back into shape: THESE are important to me right now. No excuse is going to convince me otherwise.

My Funny Valentine

Valentine's day rolled in and out with a casualty on my part, so that's a good sign.

The flowers, the cards, the declaration of love, the hand-holding, the hearts EVERYwhere. In my 30+ years, I have always found it difficult to get excited about Valentine's Day. And this from someone who cried incessantly over The Notebook.

Please don't get me wrong, I'm not anti-Valentine's day nor do I think love is overrated. I just cannot apply myself to the grandeur and commercialism of Valentine's day. In college, I hardly celebrated it with my significant other because I was either home for the holidays every February (I studied in KL, I live in KK) or it was just too heavy on the wallet for college students who were surviving on their monthly allowance. Plus, I had much rather spend that money on a good pair of shoes.

In my working years, it was never a huge occassion - either due to circumstance (work, travel, single) or budgetary constraints (ehem. The economy was bad). Still, it never mattered to me. And THAT baffles me. I'm a romantic at heart, I love a good romantic comedy even if it involves J.Lo and am a complete sucker for happy endings. So why doesn't Valentine's day make me want to declare my love while running naked in the streets? First of all, that might even be illegal. But the more I think about it, I think it's because I refuse to be TOLD that love in all its forms and glory must manifest itself in overpriced meals, flowers, chocolate and grand gestures in just one day a year.

Ironically, the romantic in me believes I should have the luxury of love and all that jazz 365 days a year. Why do I need to wait for that one particular day? And why put all that pressure on the guy too? I cannot imagine how many men have been rushed to the hospital for sudden increased blood pressure or injuries due to grievous bodily harm on Valentine's Day for not bringing their partners to the right restaurant, buying the right amount of flowers or - the kicker - proposing with a blinger. Before I get hate mail by women saying, "Hey we're not all that bad you know", let me say that I'm not finger-pointing or suddenly playing for the other team. I'm just saying thanks to the commercialized hoopla of Valentine's Day, expectations can be inevitably raised so try to cut your partner some slack. That restaurant, those flowers and the proposal are equally important any other time of the year. If he fulfills the criteria of a 'perfect' Valentine's Day, then by all means enjoy it, bask in it and soak in every rose petal moment. But remember, it's how your relationship pans out for the other 364 days that matter. 

But if he forgets my birthday, there will be hell to pay.