Santorini

On my desktop. To remind me everyday that I am one step closer to Santorini.

The yin to my yang.

If you know me well enough, you would know that I am that person who could never resist a palm-reading session, a Tarot card reading or even a chance to have a photo of my aura taken (this one, i'm still skeptical about). What is it about fortune-telling that draws me? Perhaps I am deluded by the thought that if somehow I know my future, I am in control of it. 

Which of course leads me to the idea of fate and kismet. 

As I grow older, I know that as romantic the idea of 'fate' is, the power of my destiny somewhat lies in my hands. I CAN control what I do in my life. I am the indeed the master of ship - but I also know we have no say on what 'vessel' we are given. We can only steer it so much and the rest...Well the rest I leave to the universe.

In the past few months, I've been dabbling in the science of Chinese metaphysics. Or to put it plainly, Bazi, Feng Shui, Ming Xiang and the works (Google it, there's just too much information to share here). And while religious fundamentalists are quick to remind me, "Oh my, but as Catholics, the Church forbids is!", I cannot deny that plenty of what I am learning is making more sense than Sunday school.

Oh don't get your panties in a twist, I didn't say I was straying from my faith and rejecting Jesus. But while I've always tried to be a good Catholic, I have to admit that sometimes I am at a limbo with what my religion teaches me. The truth is, with any religion, no faithful follower questions God. More apt, questions what God has decreed. But what we may often forget is that RELIGION is man-made. And if religion is so good, why does it judge, persecute and tear people apart more than it brings people together? 

I have my own conclusion. For years, I have been distinguishing between RELIGION and FAITH. While they are often intertwined, to me, they are often two very different things. I believe that my faith as a Christian gives me the strength and the hope to face each day, with a Supreme power that we cannot put a face or name to. To me, if the church burns to the ground and every Bible torn to shreds, it doesn't weaken my faith. If i cannot recite the rosary or know the Ten Commandments by heart - does that make me a lesser Christian? I say this because I know so many people who are deemed 'good Christian families' - but in truth, they lead such un-Christian lives. I do not want to live in such hypocrisy. I go to church when I feel like the time is right - my soul dictates my connection with God, not the busy, gossiping lips of my ungodly relatives or neighbours. My relationship with God is between me and Him. The Church is where we meet - but it does not tell me how to connect with Him. 

I digress. I find my spirituality in a turmoil - and that is probably the reason why everything on the outside sometimes feels like an odd fit. My anxiety problems, the way I can't keep my food down most of the time, my panic attacks... Perhaps I've lost my center. With my new interest in Chinese metaphysics and reading more about other religions and faiths, I'm allowing my mind to open up and accept other possibilities. I find that this new revelation grounds me in a way I cannot explain.While I value my Catholic upbringing, I know there's more to fulfilling my spirituality than attending mass every Sunday or memorising every parable.

I intend to open my mind and keep searching.

Missing: Voice. If found, please return to owner.

I've lost my voice. Literally. The last two days, I've been dogged down by a base of laryngitis and pharyngitis (don't ask me the difference. The doctor said I have both and to me that reads I'm doubly screwed). It feels as though someone lodged a ping pong ball down my throat and it's coated with some sort of putty and wax. Not nice at all. So I've been told to:

1. Stay off oily foods - which is fine because I can still enjoy my porky meatballs soup so life is worth living.
2. Drink plenty of water - 'plenty' meaning I have to run to the toilet every 20 minutes like I'm 9 months pregnant.

and the clincher:

3. Rest my vocal chords - which means try not to talk, sing or sing-talk (you know, like in musicals).

And it's only when the power of speech is taken from you do you realise how much you REALLY really want it. It's like my Papaya Theory (a very old blog entry - basically, you don't really eat Papaya but if the doctor suddenly tells you you're never ever to eat the forbidden fruit again, all you can think about is  - you guessed it - Papaya). 

Back to my predicament. So I didn't go into the office today (PS: I'm also highly contagious so that's really sexy) and spent the afternoon at home, surfing the net, reading travel blogs, planning fake-cations and trying my darndest not to speak. Everytime I strike a conversation beyond 20 seconds with the H, he shushes me and reminds me I need to rest my vocal chords. 

Deep down, even though he loves me dearly, I know the H has been waiting for the day he has a valid reason to tell me in the most 'loving' way: Shut. Up.

I hate it when he's right.

So I'm shutting up. And it's amazing how much more you are forced to listen when you stop talking. It's taking all the restraint in the world (especially if you know me) but it's also refreshing. I finally have a reason NOT to answer any phone calls too.  But it also got me thinking about people who are voiceless - and not in the literal sense. People who have no right to opinions or expression. Those who live with laws, beliefs and regulations shoved down their throat. Life is based on what someone else tells you - and that's that. And here I am complaining about not being able to comment on how the air-conditioning isn't cold enough in my living room. 

Boo to me.

However, it also makes me think: Sometimes the problem is that even when people are given a voice, it falls upon deaf ears.

The Gap Trap

“Life has a gap in it. It just does. You don’t try to fill it like a lunatic.”
- Sarah Silverman as Jeri in 'Take This Waltz'

The words resonated so deeply that I rushed to my beaten up laptop to pound my thoughts away before they escaped me. I had just spent a Saturday afternoon watching 'Take This Waltz' (spoilers ahead), a 2011 Canadian film about a married woman, Margot, and her internal struggle to stay or stray - so brilliantly portrayed by Michelle Williams, no less. Throughout the film, I found myself both drawn and turned off by Margot and her situation. I empathized, sympathized and loathed her all at once. Sometimes what seems so black and white in our daily lives is actually far more gray then we imagine.

In the film, we constantly see Margot see-sawing from virtuous, loving wife to a woman on the verge of adultery - but never quite going there. It doesn't help of course that both her husband,Lou (played by Seth Rogen) and the 'other guy' who happens to be their neighbour, Daniel, are both endearing in their own ways. I so wanted Daniel to be a complete jerk and play the stereotypical wife-stealing Rico Suave character, with no hesitations or regard for the unassuming husband - alas, he showed such restraint and the perfect amount of charm and wit that you just could not help but feel HIS side of the struggle too. It's very seldom in any narrative does the audience empathize with more than one character, with the lines of protagonist and antagonist so brilliantly blurred. Kudos to Sarah Polley for creating such organic characters.

Some of the most tense moments for me were thoe where Margot and Daniel were alone together in a seemingly innocent setting with not-so-innocent intentions but never really going there. Like the scene in the bar where they go for an afternoon cocktail and he non-chalantly begins to tell her in detail his sexual fantasy should he ever have her way with her. Or the night where they wordlessly decide to meet at a public pool and enjoy a midnight swim. Although 'enjoy' is too light a word. While there are a few gratuitous nude scenes in the movie, the most erotic is Margot and Daniel swimming alongside each other, as if in an aquatic trance, but without any physical contact. They reminded me of dolphins mating! The sexual tension is astounding and the magic is only interrupted when, ironically, Daniel grabs her ankle. Margot 'wakes up' from their 'flirting frenzy'  and decides this was all a mistake and goes home.

In the core of it all, Margot constantly reminds herself - and us, the audience - that she is married and goes to great lengths to work her relationship with Lou. But the forbidden stirrings of her heart is also hard to ignore. She figures she can compromise: She makes a date to share a kiss with Daniel, 30 years from now, at a lighthouse. She tells him. "After 35 years of being loyal to my husband, I think I deserve one kiss from you." A statement, which again, leaves me shifting uncomfortably in my seat and yet the romantic allure of it all is hard to deny.

At the end, Daniel decides to move away, knowing he cannot be in the middle of this uncertainty. Lou, who we thought was none the wiser, puts the pieces together and Margot decides to leave her marriage of five years.Fast forward, we see Margot with Daniel and we watch as the relationship go from sizzle to fizzle. But it's at one point towards the end of the story, where Margot is confronted by her alcoholic (ex) sister in law who tells her, "Don't act like I'm the embarrassment. We're the same but you're fucked up....Life has a gap in it. It just does. You don’t try to fill it like a lunatic.”

I found this so profound because it rang true. We all have gaps in our lives. A void that sometimes we can't even identify. Loneliness, boredom, guilt, loss. They come in many forms. Nobody has all their shit sorted. Nobody. Not even the happiest couples in the world with the 2.5 kids and Volvo parked in their double-spaced garage. Or the unmarried CEO who wears Prada, who spends weekends in Tokyo and Paris and never has to look twice at a price tag.

I know what my gap is but I seldom allow myself to give it a moment's thought.Because it's so easy to go there and lose yourself. And when you do, that's when you try to fill it like a lunatic. So instead, I choose to distract myself - with work, with writing, with working out, with buying more shoes, with scrubbing my tiles clean.The story of Margot is a good reminder that sometimes there are no right or wrong choices - just good or regretful ones.

Run.

Run.

The pounding of each step on the hard, grey surface. 

The ragged breath as the heart pumps faster and faster. 

The music blaring, silencing the chatter, filling the void. 

The sweat burning your eyes. You blink.

You run.

What are you running from?

Run from your bills. Run from your job. Run from the expectations of being a better version of you.

Run from your responsibilities. Run from the fear of failure. 

What are you running from, you ask?

Nothing.

What you fail to see is what I'm running towards. 

The possibilities. The promises. The positive.

I don't run because I need to catch up. 

I run to stay ahead.

First of many, last of none.

They say what you do on the first day of the new year is an indication of the year to come. I panicked for a split second because I didn't have anything memorable planned today. I wasn't spring cleaning (I did that two days ago, but of course). I wasn't pounding away on my laptop writing something profound or inspiring. I hardly lifted a finger, never mind breaking sweat. I had a completely laid-back new year's day. I wasn't even nursing a hangover and that is something relatively new.

And so the first day of 2013 has flown by peacefully, quietly, non-chalantly and without drama. Sure, I could view it as another boring day, completely unproductive and uninspiring. But I prefer to view it as a day perfectly spent: the H and I rolled out of bed as we pleased, had leftovers for breakfast and settled on the sofa to watch Aliens (two down, three to go). That is an awesome movie, i might add, even better than the first one -honestly speaking. 

I digress. 

So we rolled around the sofa, put on some more dvds and exchanged movie trivia from IMDB (we married each other for a reason as you can see). Without a worry or care in the world. Today, we hardly spoke about work, meetings, upcoming gigs and projects or even which bills need to be settled. We just reveled in each other's company and the comfort of our humble home, reminding each other that despite our setbacks and come what may - we have each other. And we have much to be thankful for.

If today is an indication of what 2013 will bring, then I couldn't be more blessed. A year of peace, quiet, non-chalance and no drama could be just what I need.

Happy new year - May your year be what you make it.

And then there were three.

An extended medical leave. That's the official label for my sudden hiatus from work. Everything happened in a flash. It was Monday morning, I was all set for a full day ahead. So much so that I decided to give my office desk a good overhaul. Too much, too messy. I had finished organizing all the publications according to the months and years when something didn't feel right. 

And then everything was a blur from then. The bleeding. The panic. The tearful ride home. The wait in the doctor's office. The bed rest. The second visit. The worst fear. The news. The end. 

Everything else in between is just white noise. The minute the doctor pursed his lips and the silence that cloaked the room...I just knew. And I was so calm, I creeped myself out. This doctor had seen me here, in the same condition twice before, both times bawling my eyes out. But not this time. I nodded. Waved it off with a "oh it's alright. I knew something was wrong. Well, thanks for everything." He was kind. He gave us options and talked about tests, while I sat there nodding, smiling perhaps but hardly listening. I took five steps to the waiting room before the facade came tumbling down in the form of big, fat, salty tears. The H was swift and after dealing with the nurse, we left so we could grieve in private.

The H had to leave for a family trip the next day and I knew it pained him to leave me at a time like this. But I wanted him to leave with a peace of mind and insisted that I was okay. "Not my first rodeo," I could even joke. In the past few days since he's been gone, I knew that I had a choice: Wallow in my grief and rot in bed, hating God and the world OR have a cry, take a long shower and continue with the daily grind of life. While I am in no physical condition to return to the office, I took the initiative to have work sent to me. On days when I can will myself to walk around the house, I do. And I play with my dogs, do the dishes, sort the laundry and continue with my writing. I cook dinner, watch a DVD and read a good book and before you know it, it's bed time.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

Today is probably the hardest day. I opted for a natural miscarriage over a D&C procedure, which means I would not know when exactly my body would expel the baby. I thought I had finally come to terms with it but it didn't really hit me till I rolled out of bed this morning, bleeding and doubled over with cramps. And I woke up alone. I allowed myself five minutes of sobbing and wishing the H was here before I told myself to snap out of it. I prepared breakfast, cleared out the dog poo in my front yard (it's a bitch but it has to be done), popped painkillers, took a shower and submitted to the sofa for the rest of the afternoon, keeping note of the bleeding in case it gets worse.

I was miscarrying for the third time but I would not let it break me. Everyday someone loses a pregnancy. Perhaps even for the 5th, 6th or 10th time. And they keep going. Why couldn't I? Yes, we want children. But I realise I can't let that define me. To an extent, this is beyond my control. What I have definite control over is how I want to continue with my life, day to day.

I read that God isn't cruel and He has his reasons. We must experience loss so we have compassion, so we don't become monsters of self-regard. So we become less prideful and become better people. Perhaps this is my lesson in humility. Maybe even karma in some twisted way.

While I mourn another loss in my search for a baby, I draw strength from my three butterflies. While God has taken them away from me, in return He has given me the strength in tenfolds to become a more resilient human being. After all, it  never gets easier. I just get better.