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.

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.

Surrender.

The weather.

Your genetic predisposition to not growing past 5 feet 2 inches.

Your employer's genetic predisposition to being an asshole.

Animal sounds (cats meow, dogs bark. That's that).

The existence of pageant toddlers and past-their-prime mothers.

The colour of the sky.

Gravity.

There are some things in life that will always be beyond your control. There will be moments where you have to surrender: To change. To fate. To a higher power. 

Over the years, I've learned that the challenge in life is not to find the strength in accepting what life has handed you but more so to surrender and find the faith that there's a reason to keep going, no matter what the outcome.

Today, I find myself in a state of surrender once again. I trust You.

Busy.

So many people treat the word 'busy' like a dirty four-letter word. Au contraire. First of all, busy may mean that you've got a full plate, a long list of to-do-see-go-make and obligations and engagements. People say, "I'm busy" with a sigh, a moan and a droop of their shoulders, longing for some quiet time of doing absolutely nothing.

I understand where these people are coming from. I can sometimes be one of them. While I agree it's awesome to be able to sit back, balance a tub of popcorn on my belly and channel surf, there are only so many hours in my life I want to spend doing that. Since I quit my full-time desk job some three years ago, I've been able to put a new perspective in my life. While I relish being the captain of my ship and commandeering my own schedule, there are days when I miss being stereotypically busy. The whole 'phone ringing off the hook' while meeting deadlines, attending restaurant openings and packing for a trip to the islands (indeed, I am lucky to be able to put this as part of my job description back then, I'll admit that). Enter the world of freelancing. Since I discovered the realm of working in my pajamas at odd hours and taking Mondays off, I must say I can't see myself going back to a 9-5 desk job. 

Ah, win some lose some. 

So while I've found some joy in my chosen career path, I was missing the buzz of being busy. Maybe taking it easy isn't always easy. Having anxiety attacks was not helping and I began to slowly lose my sense of self. Of who I was. Of what I was capable of. Of the accomplishments that were within my reach yet seemed so far. Believe it or not, having too much free time was taking a toll on my sanity. Maybe I was one of those mutants who thrived under pressure, who constantly needed a push. So I decided I needed to turn my life around. I would not be a victim of circumstance and this pity party needed to end.

Maybe my soul was screaming so loud that the Universe had no choice but to listen. I've signed on to do three book projects, am back at the Editor's desk for a magazine I used to work on (on contract basis, so my working schedule is flexible) and am translating films for an upcoming film festival. I've gone back to the gym and in an attempt to try something new, signed up for kickboxing classes. I come home exhausted but grateful every night. Being this busy means I have no time to listen to the Eeyore in my head, whispering endless 'if onlys' and 'poor me'. Busy means I am slowly replacing my anxieties and worries with focus and drive to finish what's before me. Busy means I am blessed.

In the chaos, I find my calm.

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.

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.

Therefore I change.