No, this is not about the scam, nor is it about the story of the man who yelled “open sesame” to open a cave full of gold coins.
Rather, it’s about my Emi Kat. The not-so-little thing has learnt to open the doors in my house. These days, it’s not unusual to wake up to a house full of open cupboards because the furry fat cat has somehow wriggled her way through.
I managed to catch her in action one morning and dang if she isn’t adorable, flipping her hind legs up in the air here and there. It’s one of those things where you don’t know whether to be horrified at her audacity or laugh at her cleverness.
So the next incarnation of the iPad will be launched next week and already husband and I are fighting over it. Theoretically, there is no fight because a) I win, and b) the product isn’t even out yet, and c) there is a possibility that we will not buy it. But just for the record, here’s how the conversation usually goes.
He: iPad 2 is coming out!
Me: Yeah, I know. It’s going to be lighter, right?
He: Yeah. Who’s going to use it, you or me?
He: (aggrieved) But why?!
Me: Because it’s going to be lighter! Surely you wouldn’t want me to lug around the heavier iPad when you are holding on to the lighter one?
(Aside: He’s actually been very nice to me, submitting our current iPad to my overall dominion. I bring it to work, I read during the commute, I use it when I am cooking, I surf the net in bed before I go to sleep…and he uses it during those other times when I am not.)
Jokes aside, I have a feeling that a second iPad will be joining our very large and very happy Apple family. Call it my sixth sense. Ever since we were gifted with the Paddy (very original, I know), it’s really changed the way I use the computer.
Back in the pre-Paddy days, I would automatically gravitate to my computer immediately after dinner. I subscribe to quite a healthy list of blogs and my evenings are spent reading these. These days, my poor Ingrid (yes, I name my gadgets!) has been sadly neglected. I now only use it if I want to edit my photos or blog. Most times, I’ll surf on the iPad or read one of my many e-books.
One of the reasons could also be the change in my reading habits. I’ve stopped following the blogs on my RSS feed religiously and have gone back to books. I don’t know which came first, it’s like the chicken and egg debate: did I buy the iPad and renew my love for books (thanks to the e-books husband got for me) or did my tastes change and I naturally gravitate towards the iPad?
Whatever the reason, the iPad hardly leaves my hands these days. A lighter iPad would be handy because, come on, holding it up to read on the train can definitely build some serious arm muscles. We’ve been tossing back and forth on the idea of selling our laptops and realigning our techie stuff (SO BUSINESS!) so we’ll see.
One day after paying a visit to our friendly neighbourhood supermarket…
Me: When we have kids, I’m gonna use cloth diapers.
Him: Sure. (pauses) As long as you are doing the washing.
Me: Sure. (pauses) As long as you clean the poop. Haha!
Him: No, I refuse.
Me: Well, I’ll have to feed the kid so you can do the changing of the diapers.
Him: What’s so difficult about feeding? You’re just sitting there.
Me: How dare you! Try having an infant attached to your nipples for hours.
Him: Doesn’t sound too bad.
Me: You try using clothes pegs. Anyway, since you are already cleaning the kitties’ poop and pee, might as well clean the baby’s. I feed the cats, I feed the baby.
Me: We already have an arrangement. I settle the input, you take care of the output. Let’s not upset this delicate arrangement.
Okay, this is a bit of a rant so skip it if you don’t want to read the words of a ranty woman. Also, this site is slowly becoming the infertile blog. NOT! I have a life, meh. Most of the time. When I am not stalking forums.
I believe in God – I just don’t share the same beliefs as organized religions.
For someone like me who is battling a medical challenge, the going can get really tough. Every time the needle pierces the skin, every time the cramps set in, every time I get poked and prodded. These little things add up.
Sometimes I wonder if I’d feel happier or more relieved if I belonged to a religious group. You know, the whole ‘someone to share your load’ thinking. Prayers can work miracles and maybe, just maybe, they can work on us too?
But then, it’s not as if I don’t believe in God, a presence great than we can ever imagine. I look up into the sky and ask for some help and guidance too. It’s just that I believe there is one God for everyone, that the God that you look up to is the same as his, and his, and hers, even if you profess to be of a different religion. The difference lies in how we interpret Him.
Because ultimately, don’t all religions preach the same set of values? We need to be kind, to do no evil, to be tolerant, to have compassion, to love etc.
Maybe I should call myself a humanitarian instead.
I picked up a book one day at Books Kinokuniya. It was on sale and I hadn’t bought a book in a while. But the title drew my attention at a time when I needed a little positivity and hope in my life: it was the Friday before my surgery.
I had never read his breakthrough book Tuesdays With Morrie but I did read his other work Five People You Meet in Heaven. I enjoyed it tremendously but not enough for me to want to buy his other books.
This non-fiction book, however, did fulfill its promise and I did end up with a little more faith than before. The story tells the tales of two clergymen with different faiths and how they inspire Albom to, well, have more faith. Inevitably, there is death, and fear, and loss. But at the same time, there’s also hope, and belief, and love and kindness.
What moved me were some of the thoughts shared by the rabbi as he and Albom connected over the promise of an eulogy. He too believed in the fact that there is One God, that the many religions that exist in the world is due to the many debates and discussions and interpretations that men have. That the differences are meant to create a harmony, even though we are all singing the same tune. (Read the excerpt here)
The road goes on and on and there is no end in sight. And there are times when I fall off the wagon and get really mad or sad. And while I can certainly pick myself up and trudge on (husband does a pretty good job of that too), I do feel a quiet sense of relief when I gaze up into the blue sky and think, tell me, what should I do now?
Maybe it’s psychological, maybe it’s delusional, but sometimes I do think that I get heard.
Reading the book somehow reminded me of this classic song by Joan Osborne.
Being alone and being lonely are two entirely different things.
I love being alone and I don’t feel lonely being by myself. I suppose that’s my introverted self at work here – I find it necessary to recharge myself by having some me time. As much as I love my family, it’s just so much more comfortable being by myself sometimes.
It doesn’t matter what I do. I can be home painting my nails or doing the laundry, or I could be sitting in a cafe, curled up with a book. The music could be blasting and I could be singing loudly along or dancing to the music. It’s just me and myself: uncomplicated, non-taxing, honest, comfortable, tranquil. Nobody expects anything of me, I don’t need to fill the air with the sound of my voice.
I breathe. I sing. I read. I close my eyes. I live.
Loneliness is another monster altogether. The heavy feeling that weighs your heart down. The silence that trickles by slowly and painfully.
Of course, one of the greatest things about friendships and marriage is that loneliness doesn’t set in for too long. All you really need is a hug or a warm word and the greyness seems to brighten up considerably. And sometimes, when the hand holding tightly on to yours is from someone unexpected, the pleasure is doubly warm.
And that’s when you realise you can’t be alone for too long.
Me: If I suffer from Parkinson’s disease when I grow old, will you look after me?
Him: Yeah. I’ll carry you. Up the slope. Up the mountain. Up wherever you wanna go.
Me: Cool. But if you suffer from Parkinson’s, I’m not going to be able to carry you anywhere.
Me: I’ll just leave you to rot at home.
Him: Okay. As long as I have internet connection.
I’m not really intellectual enough to have a profound love for the college but I do have a tremendous amount of adoration for the shoe.
Yes, oxfords. Traditionally worn by men and now re-fashioned into gorgeous pieces for the modern women too. I always love how menswear evolves into womenswear: shirts become shirt-dresses and oxfords grow heels. If there is one area where the balance of equality is tipped firmly in the female camp, it’s fashion.
I’m not sure why or how but somehow in the past two years, I seem to have grown a little collection of oxfords in my shoe cabinet. On my birthday two weeks ago, I bought myself another pair from Pedder Red – this time, it’s a two-toned pair of brogues. The moment I laid eyes on the silver/black shiny combination, I was like, WHEE! BUY!
The other pair of flat oxfords are the bright pink ones that I got from Schu during a sale. They are supremely loud and obnoxious, and I never fail to get comments from my co-workers when I wear them to the office. I call them my happy shoes! When I have a shit day and I am wearing them, the colour cheers me up. They are superbly comfortable too, perfect for the day after wearing crazy heels. Score!
And because I just cleaned out and rearranged my shoe cabinet:
I can stare at my shoes the entire day. How cute do they look in the cabinet?
I’ve got two more pairs coming my way so I’m seriously thinking of investing in a shoe wheel. This cabinet is Not. Big. Enough. For. My. Shoes.