Dee’s Space

I’ve always kept late nights. All through life, it seemed the world was divided into those who kept late nights and those who had to sleep early (by this I mean before midnight).

In school, I studied best through the early hours, the whiff of the thin night air, the ticking of the clock, sometimes that strange marble ball that dribbles from the ceilings above…me and my late night radio; Silkie at my feet… cup after cups of Teh. That’s how I went year after year from errant absent student to those A grades overnight. Literally. Ok, B grades sometimes.

Even when I was writing my thesis, I would read in the day and leave my thoughts that sauntered through the day’s active reading and inactive musings to culminate in those late night writings. I’d finish up just when the first light of the skies breaks to piercing traffic sounds. That’s when I’d take the chance to put my newly acquired driving skills to the test and drive Diana, who was a mere kid, to school. Much trust she had in me, come to think of it!

So I’ve never been the kind to go to bed early. I think those in this side of the camp would say that we’re just built to thrive in the late night hours. I used to theorise that if one were born in the midnight hours, it meant those were your “golden hours”. You’d otherwise be sleeping in the womb rather than fighting your way out.

I feel that the night offers much repose. Many of us only find peace and time to ourselves when our “responsibilities” go to bed. In my case, Lucien…

Separately, going to bed later stretches the waking hours. It lets me do more, think more, maybe gives me a sense of achieving more. It’s a kind of unthinking, unconscious reluctance to let the day go, just yet. It’s over when you close your eyes to sleep; a new day begins when you open them.

So I am glad that lately, I’ve been going to bed early.

In fact, I had luxuriated in much loved Time to do all the wonderful things I love doing that one weekend night, I had relinquished the weekend to an early retirement at 10pm.

I was no longer holding on to “more”.

Restful. Purposeful. These 2 that never seemed to go together, do now.

I took a long drive from Jurong (where I stay) to Pasir Ris (where church is) one Sunday morning with the baby in the car seat behind duly entertained by the high-pitched and eternally mirthful Remy; the ipod streams a wave of U2, trembling stars, Coldplay and a part of my youth reverberated within me. Feeble but real. I look into the distance of the winding PIE and think, boy I am nostalgic.

Sometime last week, I ran away from the child and hid myself at the hairstylist behind frivolous vanity and a stack of glamourous magazines with spanky covers and expensive couture. Read an article, a heart-warming account by a young author whose sister’s a supermodel from age 14 and how the journeys of a million runways bring on the spotlight that blinds eyes to the cosy idyll of home based sisterhood. Boy, I am nostalgic.

I watched Shrek with the son and because we had little time to feed him, prepare his mik for his next meal and wash all bottles in preparation for next meal and feed ourselves (in that order); we ate at the humble Glory counter, an old fixture at the Lido theatre. The authenticity of the mee siam blew me away. I was only expecting for it to be warm. It came hot and sizzling spicy with the perfect tang. I had to have the curry puff and topped it all off with fish balls, the kind that comes 3 in a skewer; with the special chilli sauce. I was reminded of how this was the standard canteen fare at public pools parents used to take Diana and I to. I even had the smell of chlorine for a second, right there at the Lido theatre. Boy, I am nostalgic.

So what is it with this old but sweet familiarity coming back in warm waves?

I conclude that I miss. I miss who I am when I am in under the nostalgic waves of all these things. Less of things past, more of feelings deeply engraved, of hot sunlight rippling across the glistening pool when parents were young and we were kids; when going to the pool meant I’d be good for an entire week and when we shared the canteen fare and I wondered why swimming always made me so ravenous. And the smell of chlorine in my puffy wrinkled fingers all day long.

I remember me driving with the windows down, speeding occasionally, often with a cigarette between my fingers; letting the wind flick the ashes out onto the dusty world. I remember that carelessness; a quality I used to mistake as the carefree ability to take life as it comes.

Missing, remembering, reflecting and being at peace. Today. A real possession in the changing seasons of life. And death. And all things in between.

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Thank you for making me a doll! You. Made. Me. A. Doll!!!

Eternally one of those things I could never do, because I have fingers that cannot create.  

I love HmmBao. I love that you made it, and each stitch is you painstakingly putting together pieces of nothing into something special.  And HmmBao has that perennial look of Pensive Consideration.  A bit cross.  Definitely strange and very familiar but they kind you just cannot place…Looks like a dog / rabbit/hybrid/out of this world.  

It’s exactly the kind of present I want. 

1. $ cannot buy

2. Only I have the only and only.

3. I have Naming Rights.

4. You made it! And even if you attempted another, it wouldn’t be HmmBao.

I like I like I like! I have so many wonderful surprises this year. I’ve really been blessed.  This year especially. It makes me want to reach out and make Dad feel this way too. I cant bear knowing I have all these and it’s all staying here with me.  

I know we love some people more than we do others. In fact, with some, it’s really so hard to love them.  I hope I will find it in me soon to just let it go; to know that it’s best to let the past stay where it is and let today really count.

Thanks for making me feel this way, a way I hadn’t in these months.

Jujube has just had a 2-hour operation where her tiny heart stopped beating. Twice. (more…)

I arrived at St. James feeling a little light-headed. And I hadn’t even touched a drop of alcohol yet.

I was truly in the gayest of spirits though. Nothing was going to get me down. (more…)

One pool, one camera, 2 of us. That’s all it takes to make me feel on top of the world, even if underwater.

There are just some things that only Diana is capable of: – (more…)

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!