An Affinity With Eights: 821 / 809A / Unit 8

So today I moved out of one of the very few places that I've managed to call home here in Melbourne. 

4 hours. 

That's all it took to pack up and get out. I was angry at first, dashing for everything that I could claim as mine, reluctant to leave it behind despite having more than one rice cooker back at our new place. I simply could not let them have it. I didn't want to lose. For every pot, every utensil that I decided to keep and rip out from the cabinets they have lived in for the last year, it felt like I was collecting small bits of my dignity and pride, as if this were to tell them, look at how empty you are now that I am gone. You needed me. 

It's been an exhausting day for everyone, especially mum, Josh and myself. Before heading to bed tonight, I gently scooted over to Josh's side and thanked him for helping me pack and move. He nudged my stomach lightly and grunted. That was his way of saying you're welcome. 

When mum and I were laying in the dark, I thanked her for powering through the afternoon on barely any rest from our flight back to Melbourne, and she nagged on about things to get from the supermarket tomorrow and how I should be acting around my new housemate, girl ah, next time be a bit cleaner, he's a nice boy, you must learn how to accommodate and understand...That was her way of saying you're welcome.

Truth be told, I've been working and packing the whole day without even thinking. Finally at 3:08 am, I am finally having some time to collect all my emotions and letting reality settle in that these white walls I am staring at are no longer the ones at uropa. My view isn't the skyline of the city and the balcony can no longer see beautiful sunrises and sunsets. 

I miss every bit of that place. Not only because of its physicalities, but also because of the absurd amount of memories created in there. I can't even begin listing them. I am afraid I might start crying and my heart will feel heavier than it already is. I know it's terrible placing sentimental value in something so vast, so fleeting and so concrete. 809A will never budge, but I will move one day, thus depositing so many memories in there will eventually come back and haunt me if I were to ever step in that unit again. 

This new place is ... familiar, but it doesn't feel like home. It's still unsettling. I still feel uneasy and unable to fall asleep on this weird bed that is now mine, and this view that isn't the city skyline. Perhaps this is what first nights feel like. I've forgotten. 

The only reason why I'm up writing this is because my heart is heavy and unsettled and there's that weird sick feeling in my stomach. Maybe it was having dinner at 12:30 am that's causing all this discomfort. It's that feeling as though this space isn't mine to occupy and I'm just borrowing a few square metres of this area to hold in all my shit I've accumulated the past 4 years here. To also hold all the contents of myself in this space, denoted by square metres, and the rental of this space to be paid on the 25th of every month. 

Perhaps it's the overwhelming feeling when recalling today's moving situation: 4 of my girlfriends and my new housemate frantically moving boxes and just things up and down from my apartment to the car and from the car to my new apartment. Some of them lugging empty luggages over to my apartment just to help fit more of my shit and all walking over to my new apartment with all of my shit because the car was too full of shit that it couldn't fit any of us anymore. Seeing Jodie rush over to meet me after school, helping to basically unpack and organise my whole room, was a sight which reminded myself that these friends are true gems in my life. I don't deserve any of this kindness, I am so full of shit most of the time it was hard to digest everyone's selflessness and willingness to help me out today. 

Perhaps it was also the moment when I saw my mother falling asleep on the couch, lightly snoring. It is then I realised that she had barely enough sleep on the plane ride to Melbourne earlier on, but was quick to help pack up my whole house in the afternoon with no breakfast, no lunch and no coffee. A mother's love is deeply moving and so, so selfless. It should never be underestimated. I recall that night that I fell into her arms and sobbed my eyes out, heaving into her wet shirt, because I was so bummed out about this moving situation, losing a close friend and was overwhelmed by guilt that she had to come over, but she hugged me and stroked my head, as if I was 9 again, and told me that it was going to be okay. She will help me. 

So tonight, I am going to head to bed telling myself that it is going to be okay. Mum and josh and all these wonderful friends are here to help me. This place will soon feel a little more like home soon. 

I would like to say I'm homeisck but I'm not sure where is home anymore. 

Seventeen And You've Grown.

five & one.

you were pulling and tugging

my hair like my temper

was short 

you were always cutting it close 

with your carelessness 

with my impatience 

you are still my little brother. 

eighteen & fourteen.

your voice changed

I was away from home and had my heart broken

you would think now that you could swing your arms around me- 

I'd treat you like your age

I was barely there and now when I try to recall 

it's almost like trying to rewind an old cassette video tape recording 

staring hard at the tv screen 

with occasional fuzzy black and white lines in between snippets of our bickering,

our laughter muffled by scratchy sounds from 

everything falling apart,

"you were never there" 

"you were never home"

you are still my little brother. 

twenty one & seventeen. 

we have slaved ourselves to vices 

sticking to the sibling code of conduct:

diss but never tattle

last night like a deer caught in headlights,

she found out.

we had this conversation that I never thought I would have with someone 

only seventeen

someone that is in the same plight. 

I didn't shower and you didn't fall asleep,

even though I smelled like steamboat and cigarettes and you had work the next day. 

I remember looking at you,

finding it hard recognising sadness in your eyes-

they were always either emotionless or excited. 

It was never emotional with you 

restrictive, bounded and built like a man.

last night felt like we were tearing at the seams

I told you with nothing but conviction,

"you have such capacity to say these words that you said at 

only seventeen, 

that I could never have done when I was seventeen." 

I could have never done the same.

Have you ever felt respect for your younger sibling? 

It's a bit weird because they were always

bratty, childish and sometimes almost stupid. 

Last night's conversation was something that kept playing at the back of my head when I was trying to fall asleep 

while trying to be an older sister

I have come to realise

you are still my little brother, 

but

boy, have you grown up. 

Like The Breeze, The Thoughts Of You Come To Me

Today, while crossing the road, I noticed a young girl probably in her first year of secondary school, dressed in a skirt way below knee length and socks perfectly above her ankles. She was walking towards the train station with her grandfather, who had the typical friendly ah gong face and was holding her violin while she carried a stack of folders in her arms. He probably went to pick her up from school, I thought to myself.  And just for a moment, my thoughts went back to my grandfather.

Many times, when popo and I talk about gong gong, it was always about the way he used to spoil me when I was a kid by buying me ice cream before dinner. His bad temper. His sickness. His failure as a father. 

Sometimes, if I try to think hard enough, I'll recall the letter I wrote him with tear stains smudging the ink off the lines on my foolscap paper, begging him to come visit me in my dreams. That letter I wrote to him and left it on his coffin when everyone else left him flowers. The angels will translate my English into hokkien right? I was fourteen years old. 

I will also vividly remember the hot afternoons he used to come down to my place and visit me with a whole box of paus, and longans - if I was lucky enough. And that one sweltering afternoon I wanted to pump air into my bike tyres but we couldn't find a nearby bicycle shop so we he pushed my bike around the whole Joo Chiat area, under the hot sun and never once did he complain that he was too tired. 

From time to time, I'll miss you. And at that split second when I was crossing the road, watching granddaughter and grandfather, I remembered you. The rings on your fingers. Your strong scent. Your pack of cigarettes. Sometimes, a soft whisper of your voice would resound in my head. 

It's been 6 years and death works in a funny way, we talk about the dead as a weak attempt to try to keep them alive. Your stories were never great; they were always about the mistakes you made or how the richer siblings took advantage of your kindness. But they were stories of you after all. 

Popo once told me, "your gong gong never knew the right ways to show his love for his family. But somehow with you, he did it right. He loved you the most, you should know that."

Some days more than the others, I wonder how it would be like if you could see me now. Would you still love me the same? I would still have your weekly visits and hot steaming paus to look forward to, and probably better conversations with you.

Y3S1 Mid Sem Shenanigans

Sometimes you need to remind yourself that you are your own individual person and there is no need to latch yourself onto someone or something or some sort of ideal that you desire for. It's always the case where I find myself stuck in the situation of always being "too nice" and I'm over being that one friend that would risk everything and anything for everyone and giving my heart back so easily to people that have hurt me before. So here's a playlist, future Rachel, to remind yourself that the best decisions you've made are those that were based off what you wanted, what you felt was right, what you contemplated on independently. 

I am my own person I am my own person I am my own person I say this over and over again and please start to believe it. 

(I apologize for the lack of updates, I've been so busy with work and unnecessary shit) 

A Mother's Embrace

Forgotten how a mother's embrace can tear you apart and piece you back all at the same time, with her steady breathing and soothing pats. 

She looked at me with those eyes surrounded by wrinkles, her aged face showing an expression of helplessness as I crumbled in front of her. Suddenly I felt like I was 10 again, apologizing profusely for being naughty and getting all of us scolded by father, "Sorry, sorry, I am so sorry...." 

I could only muster these words, but she knew everything that my heart wanted to say. 

Her hands stretched out to me - like how she has always done so my entire life, "come here." And I did. She hugged me against her chest and told me that everything was okay, that I will be okay and I don't have to feel bad about anything. My guilt was engulfing me whole the last few days/weeks/hours and I couldn't stop bawling my eyes out into my mother's arms. 

Her embrace took out all the guilt that I've been bestowing upon myself the last few weeks, and her pats on my back almost felt like her shooing the guilt out of my system. 

"Mummy will go. It's going to be okay. Don't feel bad anymore." 

I've forgotten how it was like to hug my mother and have her tell me things are going to be okay. Tonight I realized how therapeutic it was, and her embrace stitched back my wounds that were caused by people that were not family. It was infected with hurt, betrayal and disappointment with a tinge of anger. Mother's hugs were like medicine - morphine, almost. It numbed the pain and I felt alright again. 

In her arms, I found my safe place. Oh, how I have missed your warm chest and soothing back rubs, mother.

The Feeling That Lingers / Goodbye Sean

Mourning over the loss of someone is such a weird feeling that I still can't get a grasp of. Regardless of how close we were, or how often we met, or how the some of the only memories we shared were something we couldn't even remember ourselves and had to have our parents remind us - like the time we showered together as kids in the same bathtub, causing the both of us to be embarrassed when we met again when we were 17 and 22. The feeling of loss is still something that I can feel moving through every corner of my soul and the only words I could muster out was, "my condolences", regardless of how rarely we met.

The closer we were, the longer the feeling of loss lingers around in me, that's all. 

I'll miss you. And I know you'll be remembered because your mother dedicated her whole life to taking care of you. What will she do now? She was always worrying over you, hovering and watching your every step. Your father never really got himself involved, but I guess his way of taking care of you was by providing for the whole family financially. Your brother used to act like he didn't give a shit, probably because he never got the attention he wanted because you were sick for a very long time, but he grew older and understood the painful situation that the whole family was going through so he started to love you more each day. 

They all say that it was about time you go because you've really been fighting a long battle that not a lot of people can imagine going through at such a young age. The surgeries, the medication, the pain... the loss of youth. You are only 25 after all. 

I'm glad that we got to share that Thailand trip with you and your mum back in 2012. We had great fun and I'll always remember that night where Josh and I screamed and ran around in circles in our room because there was a frog in the toilet, and you rushed over asking us if we were okay and laughed when you saw our flustered expressions after realising that it was only because of a frog. 

You caught the frog for us and let it go. 

I will also remember the look of determination on your face when we were playing archery that afternoon. When you saw Josh try it, my dad egged you on, "Have a shot, Sean. You've got nothing to lose!" Your mum, as usual, worriedly rejected the idea of having you pick up a bow because your left hand has been shaking ever since your last op. She said that it was something that you were really self-conscious about in front of people. 

Your mum's words didn't stop you that afternoon. My dad managed to convince you to pick the bow up and have a shot. Your hands shook uncontrollably while all of us tried to ignore it like you know, how we sometimes notice a clear difference in how someone acts/behaves/looks but we try to ignore that and treat them all the same? I know I did it that afternoon.

Despite being self-conscious about your shaking hand, the look on your face showed none of that and only seriousness. Probably only sighs of frustration could be heard when you couldn't get the arrow to rest properly on the bow, though that didn't stop you at all that day. You were focused on getting that bow to work the way you wanted it to, and after a couple of tries, you finally managed to shoot one. Into the pond. Every one of us cheered the loudest we could. 

These were the best memories but sadly the only ones that I shared with you. The last time we visited Thailand, your mother said that you were too sick in bed to get out of the house anymore. We didn't even get the chance to visit you then. 

Rest in peace, Sean. Thank you for showing me what fearlessness and positivity meant from your perspective. I know that now you'll be able to walk with your own legs, eat and speak without your mother worrying about you and you'll be able to pick up that heavy archery bow without your left arm shaking.

Your soul has left this sickened body and now, you are free. You are a courageous young soul, and I hope that you're enjoying yourself up there in heaven.

We'll miss you, Sean. 

1 YEAR AFTER TONSILLITIS: HIS WILL, NOT MY WILL BE DONE.

I think when something is so painful and requires a lot from you to get through it, once you've passed it, you can't help but have that whole torturous process ingrained at the back of your head. Like a milestone. I can still remember how shit it was to go through every exam period in university, O levels, inter-school competition and training... something like that. 

I think one of the most unforgettable experiences I've had so far in my short 20 years of living would be the terrible case of tonsillitis that I caught this time last year. It feels almost a bit like celebrating a little anniversary or some sort, you know? Like yay! Congrats, it's been a year since you've fallen so ill until you couldn't stand straight without the room spinning! Good job! 

Looking back on this experience 1 year later - because let's face it, we all tend to subconsciously (or consciously) look back on painful experiences that have passed and relish in the fact that we've come so far ever since. I still feel grateful, content and somehow just filled with God's grace again. One of the greatest takeaways from it was that I had a close encounter with God, and I know I turn my back against religion quite often throughout my life, including this year, but somehow, thinking and reminding myself about this experience always sets me back onto the right path. 

It seems as though this time of the year has been especially blessed with God's grace or something (woah holy holy). I half kid, but the other half of me is actually serious about it. Because the last 2 weeks I've been struggling terribly with internship applications and I was never the kind to brush things like rejections off like dust so easily. So the last 2 weeks included crazy studying for exams (which I am currently in the midst of), sending out about a total of 20/30 emails out to firms, and crying after receiving rejection emails because I tend to be too hopeful and optimistic about these type of things. Which is quite funny, really. 

So mum kept bugging me to keep applying but at the same time, "don't forget to pray, Rachel." x10000 times. I got annoyed for a while because it's not that I haven't been praying. I just didn't understand why God wasn't listening. Till one Sunday, I went to church and had a mini revelation after the sermon, which evidently proved to be really good - I was praying wrongly. Too often we pray with us being the center of the prayer. Of course I would pray for God to give me this internship. Or if that didn't work out, please give me this other one because I really tried my best, God you know it. 

It became me praying about what I wanted God to do in my life, instead of fully surrendering it to him. Very often, that's the case when we think we're fully capable on our own and God would just aid us in providing some sort of divine intervention to steer us into the direction that WE want. When I was down with tonsillitis, it was somewhat easier for me to surrender everything into God's hands because I was physically immobile, physically incapable of doing things that I wanted to do i.e. eat/stand/walk/study. It was easy for me to wake up and go: God, please if it is Your will, help me.

So I went home and prayed differently ever since that sermon. I stopped asking God to let me have xxx internship, or asking him to give me an internship opportunity from places that I specifically wanted. Instead, it was a lot of surrendering and asking God to show me HIS way instead of constantly trying to make things go MY way. His will be done, y'all. It was never my will. On some days, it really is hard trying to have faith and believing that God has other plans for you that will not only be good for you but will prosper for you, especially after receiving rejection emails after rejection emails. It sucks. But I really do make it a conscious effort to fervently pray for God to show me bit by bit, the plans that He has for me. 

And 2 weeks later, after praying differently and learning how to deal with rejections - I had my first internship offer made to me yesterday. And to many non-believers, I would guess that this small milestone would be attested by pure luck and sheer effort of constantly sending out emails. Because, the more you send, the more likely you will get an offer! But I know that's not the case, even though it may seem like it. I know that in some way or another, God has indeed worked his way and revealed perhaps, a tiiiiiny bit of what He wants and what I am to do in the near future. 

It's still unclear if I will take up this offer, as I'm still waiting on other internships, but internship applications and interviews were giving me anxiety and causing so much stress during the last 2 weeks, and finally, God has kind of put it to rest. Thank God. 

I always ask myself why does it take some sort of hardship like my tonsillitis and internship applications for me to really see God working in my life, and being so ignorant and blind to other small things that He might be doing in my life every day? It's hard to constantly attribute your success to God - perhaps because you can't see Him, and it's so much easier and natural to attribute your success to your own effort and special talents. And if things don't work out the way you want them to, it's easy to blame people or blame God for not having things your way. 

Here's a little something I wrote on my old blog when I was reflecting back on the experience of fighting tonsillitis so far away from home: 

I've learnt so much over the last 2 weeks, and it has really indeed drawn me closer back to God. So that's why I was saying this time of the year somewhat feels like a "big lesson-learning" time more than anything else. First it was tonsillitis, and now, it's internship applications. It may be a little issue in retrospect, but sometimes it's these things that you go through that shape you, teach you how to come out a little bit stronger and builds up a little bit more faith in God. I'm glad I got my lesson this time around. 

I took some notes down to remind myself about how I should pray and here it is: 

Now I'm just excited, waiting to see what God has in store for me.