The cheque is in the mail

I bumped into an acquaintance today while I was out doing my errands. After the customary greetings, we did some catching up and exchanged notes on our career path. As I listened to her chatting on about her glamorous and exciting life, I willed myself to see her nose growing longer by the minute. Now don’t get me wrong. I was not green with envy, even though her tales might have put Paris Hilton to shame. The truth is I happened to have met her mother about a week earlier who had already given me the low down on her daughter’s exploits and it certainly was a far cry from what she was telling me now. Of course, I did not want to spoil her fun and so let her ramble on and sent her off on her merry way.
Well, I have to admit that I too have on occasion spun a rather interesting yarn or two. Maybe its human nature and we can’t deny the fact that we all like to tell what I shall euphemistically call tales. Some of them may be molehills but the majority of them, I have noticed, are of Himalayan dimensions. You know all the lies fishermen tell about their big catch. Well, we drop equally fictitious references to our personal, social and professional ‘big catches’, virtually all the time.
If you don’t believe me, do some serious eavesdropping the next time you’re at a party, a wedding and yes, even at a funeral. You’d probably hear someone bragging about her last vacation at some exotic island where she was accosted by a tall, dark and handsome stranger. Chances are, she probably went to Port Dickson, where a 60 something male tourist with a protruding belly and thinning hair kept on winking at her.
Then we have the name droppers who claim that they are cousins to some celebrities, ministers, members of royalty or someone rich and famous, while carefully omitting to reveal how many times removed the connection is.
At times, some women love to brag about their husband’s/son’s/son in law’s ascension up the corporate ladder at a speed that would put NASA outputs to shame. Their children seem to be geniuses; they are likely to enter University by the age of 12. Their routine dinner guest list reads from a socialite magazine’s who and who.
At other times, the lie is a cover-up, a façade behind which a person hides his/her vulnerabilities. “Of course I got an invite to the party, but I was away in Greece at that time.” But in the same breath this person vows never to speak to the hostess of that party for some time.
Then, we have the compulsive liars. They lie as easily as they breathe. In fact, if they cannot embellish a simple story, it isn’t worth telling. They do it for effect, they do it for laughs, they do it for sympathy, but they do it all the time.
They are the ones who turned down a marriage proposal from a foreign millionaire because they couldn’t bear the thought of leaving Malaysia. They are the ones who got picked up by the contestants of the Miss World Beauty Pageant during a night out in town. They are the ones who have had several near death experiences that they are a walking miracle.
But is it true that women tend to tolerate tall tales more than men do? A guy told me that he once heard the biggest whopper of all from a demure lass and what amazed him was that while all the guys were turning red and squirming, none of the ladies so much as batted an eye lash. Even as the men got hot under the collar or stared in stupefaction (well, so would you if someone you’ve known for years suddenly told you that she once dated an international footballer, only she doesn’t remember his name, which team he belonged to or which year it was [ it was soooo long ago!], the women only smile.
Maybe it’s a Cheshire cat smile. A smile that says, “I’m onto you, so stop right now.” Maybe it’s a smile that says, “That was a good one. I need to work on my stories.” Then again it could be a smile that says, “OK, you’ve had your moment. Now it’s my turn, and boy, do I have a big one!”

My seven deadly sins!

We Christians just finished our 40 days of Lent during which we were reminded time and time again to repent of our sins. A funny thought just occurred to me. I am guilty of having sinned recently. Covetousness, gluttony, envy, pride, lust, anger and sloth – I was subjected to and fell under the spell of all seven deadly sins last week when I went to a Book Fair!
In an old warehouse, rows and rows of tables held thousands of books. Since I love books, I COVETED them all. As I stepped on some toes and elbowed my way through the crowd, I GLUTTONOUSLY grabbed books of every shape and size – some almost new, some well-thumbed and dog-eared, some serious, some funny. And I was filled with PRIDE at the bargains I had been shrewd enough to spot.
Even though my bag was stuffed and dragging the floor, I unashamedly peeked over the shoulders of strangers to see the titles of books they were clutching, ENVYING the treasures they had beat me to.
Then, as I approached the “rare” books section, I LUSTED after the exotic, expensive books displayed there, knowing I couldn’t afford any of them. And as I glanced at my watch, I gave in to ANGER, because I was running out of time and money and I didn’t want to leave.
There was only one of the seven deadly sins left. But of course, soon after I got home, SLOTH took over as I ignored my household chores and poured over my treasures. I lovingly paged through the humour books, mysteries, romance novels and miscellaneous. Then I noted a great quote in one of the really old books. It was from an 1870 news item: “A waspishly small waist no longer excites admiration – the spirituelle figures are not considered stylish nowadays; deep, healthy shoulders and plump, round waists of 22 and 23 inches are now the fashion.” TWENTY-TWO inches? A lot of thanksgiving turkeys have a waist plumper than that!
Another quote concerned dining etiquette of 1875: “It is well to carry in your pocket a small pincushion, and, having folded your napkin, to pin it at the belt.” And then there was a page of advertising which offered a sale on lady’s hairpieces – “fine braids, waterfalls, puffs and frizzled curls.”
All of that sounds pretty funny today but those ideas just might be helpful. With a napkin pinned at a 22-inch waist, a pincushion in your pocket, and a waterfall on your head, you’d be much too restrained to commit any of those seven deadly sins!

That special someone

Often we meet someone who just seems to fit quite nicely in our lives. We fall into a comfortable relationship as if we have known that person for a lifetime. I too have found such a person who just walked into my life one day and continued to stay even when others left and went away. She knows my innermost secrets and never once has she judged me or turned me away – she has accepted me for who I am, warts, flaws and all. I’d like to dedicate this to my best friend, Jacqueline Tegjeu Martin just to say a big thank you for all the years of unselfish friendship.

*******************************************************

Yes, I know we’re different, but she’s my close friend - my best friend.

I love to hear her stories, she’s so animated, so verbally colourful. When she talks I listen and laugh till I cry.

I love to watch her with people. She touches when she talks, drawing some near, turning some off. Her vocabulary is vulnerable, open, at times offensive to the less open. And she always steals the show – the life of the party.

Her eyes reflect her love of life, her exuberant spirit, her heart. What a heart! When she loves, she loves deeply, loudly ….

God I know you must really love her, too. You created her. You know her best.
Thank you for my friend. She says so many things that I can’t find the words to express. She makes our every meeting a fiesta. She gives me so much of herself.

Yes, I know she’s different. But she’s burrowed in my heart and I want her to stay.

So what if I'm an attention seeker

Someone accused me recently of being an attention-seeker. Initially I was upset by this accusation. But later upon reflection, I have to admit that he was right. Well, first of all he flung the accusation at me simply because I have been telling all and sundry to check out my blog. I mean what is the purpose of having a blog if no one is gonna read it, right? And how do I get people to read my blog? Well, obviously by promoting it myself and with the hope that my so called friends would tell their friends and so on … Its quite simple actually and in this case I find absolutely nothing wrong in blowing my own trumpet! So, yes, I am an attention seeker. So what?

Being single is not a crime

Singleness is a gift, a box of freedom, a package of time.

Single people cannot be themselves. Like politicians, we are public property. Everybody and her aunt needs to how old you are and why you are still single. Well meaning friends and relatives are always trying to pair you off with so-and-so’s brother, son, nephew etc.
If you happen to be above the age of 35, then it’s divorcees, widowers and ‘dirty’ old men that you are condemned to, as “all the nice ones are already taken.” You are left tired, exhausted and depressed but never alone.
If you are single, irrespective of your professional qualifications or designation, your standing remains that of a failure. But remaining single is a choice, whether circumstantial or professional. Just as we don’t ask a person why he/she is married, why question someone who is single?
If a single woman loses her temper easily, it is followed by sniggers of “She’s single and frustrated!” Like a well-meaning insult, your single status is always aimed at you as the reasons for your limitations. Why can’t a person be judged for herself, irrespective of her marital status?
Married friends are cautious of you being around their husbands too often lest you try and tempt them into an affair. Single friends with boyfriends prefer that you stay as far away as possible from the love of their live in case he finds you more interesting, attractive etc.
I am tired of those who pity me and pray for my deliverance. Life is not easy for anyone. The only way we can make it so is by acceptance. Why highlight what you think is missing in another person’s life?
A complete life is one which is lived fully and unconditionally. It’s an accomplishment that cannot be equated to the number of children you have, the kind of home you make or your performance as a spouse. Life is about your success as a human being first and last!
I know that many single women like me say “I don’t care”, but in reality we do … we say it out loud only to drown the pain.

*********************************************************
Honest Emotions

Single. Sounds simple. But it’s so complicated, so confusing.

Some people don’t know how to treat me. They don’t know if I am content or miserable. They wonder whether this is my decision or if I’m heartbroken.
They talk with me about love as if it is something I’ve never experienced. They try to fix me up with their friends as if my heart is up for grabs.
They want me to have their life-styles, their remedy for happiness. They mean well but they really don’t understand.

To be honest, I’m not sure I really understand either. Sometimes I don’t know how to act or respond. I’ve been single all my life and still I can’t comprehend all the rules to the game.
Do I conceal my loneliness? Admit I’m content? Show my tears? Voice my frustrations? Reveal my peace? Do I share with others all the contradictions I feel as a single woman?

Sometimes I dare not be vulnerable with my deepest feelings. By opening up my soul, letting it speak for itself. I often hear words that surprise even me. Yesterday I was so content, so peaceful. Now I hear my heart speak restlessness. Sometimes I reveal in my freedom, other times I dream of having someone special to share the memories with me.

I have all these feelings, all these honest emotions, all these hurts and joys.
I’m a single woman, discovering daily exactly what that means to me.

Time out

Time stood still for me last week. My watch broke. Actually it wasn’t even the watch – just the watchband. But I soon found out that a watch on the wrist is worth two in the pocket.
I decided to take a chance and venture out minus my watch. Since I never knew what time it was, I didn’t know if I had more time than I thought to finish something or less time - it was less. I didn’t know if I should hurry or take my time – I should have hurried.
I found out that even without a watch to alert you, time marches on. I met a friend for lunch and we sat and chatted on because I was sure I had plenty of time to run the rest of my errands – I didn’t. I decided to jump on the bus and enjoy the scene instead of taking the much faster LRT because I was sure I had time to get to an appointment – I was wrong.
But all week I had this euphoric feeling that I didn’t need to hurry or scurry or even worry. Without a watch to warn me, I had no idea that I was running a day late and a dollar short all week. But you know what? By the end of the week, somehow everything got done anyway!
Maybe I won’t get that watchband fixed after all. It was a lot nicer to give my friend my undivided attention as I listened to her woes. I could empathise better when I wasn’t always glancing at my watch, wishing she’d talk a little faster. I enjoyed the scenery along the bus route and was amazed at the many changes that had taken place this past one year or so.
It was a lot nicer keeping calm and collected rather than bringing my blood pressure to its boiling point, worrying about every minute wasted.
I’m always thinking or saying, “I just don’t have enough time.” But I do. I have all the time there is. I have 24 hours a day, seven days a week and 365 days a year. Time is not on my hands – but it is in my hands. It is how I choose to use it!

Thankful for the memories

They say that a picture paints a thousand words. Yes indeed it does, and it also creates a thousand memories. I read an article by a clinical psychologist who said that the “body language” in old photos could tell a lot about your family. According to the learned doctor, there are a lot of hidden messages in those old faded faces. You’re supposed to look and see who’s standing next to whom, who’s smiling at whom, who looks mad, who looks left out and who’s hiding behind a bush.
The psychologist thinks if you never see a husband and wife pictured together maybe that’s because they’re trying to pretend they don’t know each other. Personally, I think it’s just because somebody has to take the picture and they don’t want to trust the expensive camera to one of those kids. But maybe that’s why he’s a famous psychologist and I’m hiding behind a bush.
Whatever those old photos say to you, looking at them is sure a fun way to spend a rainy afternoon. Imagine seeing a photograph of your grandfather grandly dressed up in a three-piece suit (the only time you’ve ever seen him in one) or your young and beautiful mother/grandmother/aunt posing coyly under a Chinese parasol or some young handsome uncle with Elvis-styled hair astride a motorbike.
They say that photographs are one of the first things that people try to save when there’s a fire in the home. And no wonder. They are irreplaceable memories of family history, special ceremonies and the people, places and milestones of life. That’s why looking at them can open a window to yesterday that gives us glimpses of values and hopes and dreams – a solid foundation on which to build a future.