t gets terribly confusing at times and very trying. I honestly cannot really justify myself as much as I would like to.


Guilty guilty guilty. As charged.


She was/ is sick and extremely volatile, but she has never ever been that easy to get along with anyways. Yet, I fell for it. The inability to be more tolerant, more patient, more understanding, more compassionate, less reactive, less angry, less volatile led me on a path of curt, caustic retorts.


You see, not just am I splitting image of my mother, I resemble her in other areas. It is almost like a leaf out of another cheesy chick flick movie or another greek tragedy. The mother-daughter tirade.


And almost as automatic as always I feel deep remorse, guilt and sorry for having retaliated.


I was devastated when she said I caused her to become ill. Amongst many things which I have been responsible for, and cancer being my specialty, I supposed 9/11 was my fault too as well as the forest fires in California, the problems of global warming or human trafficking. Yeah right, I wish I was THAT important.


But I know deep down those were taboo lines that had been crossed. It would sink deep heavily into my soul every time I thought of my mother suffering, or her being in pain. I would cringe just knowing it was me who might have erected the memory of irritation,hurt or annoyance to some level that had ledl to her stress in turn leading to her writhing in pain. At times like these, I want to take a cold shower and breathe in logic. I have to be calm to deal with problems especially since people who are sick have every right to be grumpy or unhappy.

But every choice not to be too. I just have to try harder.



Close your eyes. Pray. Breathe to the calmness and peace within your soul. No matter how tough it is to swallow your pride, it can be done. Your positivity will cheer her up, not your anger.


I know at the very core, she was elated for the things that I had worked for. I know that no matter what she was always on my side not against me. I know it would really sadden her if I stopped talking to her. I know I have to dig deep to find genuine sincerity to communicate again. I know I need to improve on being an improvement.



I need to be more patient.


"Have courage for the great sorrows of life and patience for the small ones; and when you have laboriously accomplished your daily task, go to sleep in peace. God is awake."
-Victor Hugo

The night is very very long.I'm showing cred to Katy Perry's Hot and Cold by living that experience. The fever comes in waves grasping my neck and bare back before a tingling chill literally sends shivers down my spine. Hot and Cold, Hot and Cold.

What is missing from this equation essentially is the incessant, boisterous nagging from mum. She lies forlorn in her sombre hospital bed as dull as Jack who concedes to "all work and no play". Did you find that sudden interjection of a mini jingle alienating?


" All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy".


Only because my mother is always working. Her meticulousness in managing the affairs of the household is unrivaled. Dull is but an illusion, no, delusion from the actual core. My mother is dullest because she is also unable to stop making things spic and span or taking neatness and tidiness to the pinnacle. And that is why I am influenced. With a genocide and holocaust of all germs and dust in sight, who would not be swayed? I would be kidding if I grew up without a care for hygiene. When I lived out on my own overseas, I noticed the indoctrinating effects creeping up on me. I noticed myself cringing when I saw dust collecting on surfaces, hair conquering the floor or dirt culminating in areas between surfaces. It's no surprise that I react in this manner though, because I stand proudly etched to that fact:


" I am my mother's daughter."


I will have you know that mothers are rare, exquisite treasures who love you with arms folded neatly across chests, undiscerning scowls decorating their faces, pursed lips and terse countenances. Usually the frowns become wider when a child such as thee or me decides to review the popularly favored themes of "Indifference" or take the idea of "obliviousness" to heightened levels.


Of course we all know as mature, intellectual thinking people that being just a little obtuse is human nature. Being resistant to persistent nagging and consistent obsessive compulsion and just a little less amorous in face of asia's unrelentless humidity and temperature is but perfectly logical. Yes, how did I even implicate a whole continent's tropical heat into this? I deserve a medal for my insurmountable excuses.Ha.


I really should be more tolerant, more patient, more understanding, more amiable, more trusting, more friendly, saccharine sweeter,more polite,more selfless,more respectful,less quirky,less tongue-in-cheek, less judgmental,less mental,less vengeful, less angry and altogether more filial. I should really stop being annoying me, actually.


But the point is this woman has efficiently put up with my volatility all these years. Of course sometimes with violent opposition and less desire to withstand the constant teenage rebel within me. But who can forget the hugs at the airport, the teary goodbyes as the realization dawns upon her that peace would be irrevocably restored in the house when yours truly was gone. 


I learnt during the growing endearing years that some people will never understand you, but those who do understand even your tears.


And these are the people you know love you with their hearts and not their minds. Do you love a person because the person is perfect? I think logically we all want to love an easier to love target. Who doesn't want a more manageable child, a less quick tempered wife, a more doting husband, a more modest boss, a more selfless best friend, a less indolent domestic helper? That's called calculated love with risks attached. I love you instinctively more IF you can be more of these things.....Bring on, the pre nups.


Regardless most people cannot help it, neither you nor me either. Because it really gets sufferable when a person falls to a distasteful level of lovability. I know I find it difficult to love me sometimes, well most times, hence why would anyone even courageously attempt? And yet my mother told me that despite her wronging me in my growing years when she did, in spite of the unfortunate unfairness when she did bestow, she did love me very much. I remembered I quipped and asked her if loving me with difficulty meant she could make it up later (which was now and the future) by being sooooooooooo nice to me. And she laughed and said


" Am I not doing that already now?"



Yes you are mummy. That's why you'll live to a 100 and more. You have no idea mum, but every tear I shed when it gets difficult to have faith in people, in friends and relationships, I automatically want to crawl back to you. Sometimes I start accusing God for being mean but always I eat my words again when He blesses me with a windfall of genuine friends, faith givers and amazing opportunities. And you mum, for raising me and teaching me these values of being good to people at all times. I know I have more room for improvement, much more than five football fields and state of the art olympic sized auditoriums but I assure you that your words were/are never strewn aside with indifference even when I do show THAT face.



Please get well soon because I've had my dream come true. Now let me thank you every second for it.



"One good mother is worth a hundred schoolmasters". ~George Herbert

Thisbe in her unknowing guise stood facing the world, a drop of sorrow on a camel's back. Packed her tears, every glistening drop to the sync of fallen hearts. Then it happened, as if a comet had struck her as it would deadpan earth, to the snare of those revolving beats. It was a song that died. Thisbe's song has died.

The poison


I drank from that foul,vile spring
Hungry, swirled my tongue deliriously
Drops that trickle in toxic dance
Inundated with the fervor of thirst
Drink, drank I, drunk in petulant delight
Every scruple of my fallen insight

Drink I did in willing ignorance
That fountain sprung of bewitching guile
As pellets fell so did drops, dressed
Prettily streaked upon my lips
No rancorous tirades nor a chalice
Kissed with the mar of loving malice

Poison may and poison be
A loveless cheer, a squandered heart
Debasing minds of bitter shards
Fall, drunk in valiant stupor then
Victim to a tainted spring
Than a soul that cannot sing.

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