Steadfast

Familiarity
With a routine that goes back as far as my memories can take me

Of sitting around the table
Of glowing red on the cheeks because of the heat
Of dropping slices of meat into the pot and not being able to find it
Of diligently chewing on semi-cooked food and insisting it’s cooked to avoid my cooking skills being the topic at the dinner table for yet another year
Of letting the steam mist those spectacles and cloud the vision
Of silently dumping the sea cucumber that I’ve fished out, back into the soup without being lectured on how nutritious they are and how I should not be picky about food

Although,
The table isn’t round
Functional metal spoons are used instead of exquisite porcelain ones meant for meals and soup like this
Going out for a meal will save much hassle of preparation, having to cook the food myself and having to clear up after dinner

But, there’s nowhere else that I can get away with
Using a fork for a hot pot dinner to poke the dumplings out of the pot without being stared at
Drinking fish maw soup, trying pineapple tarts, biting into bah kwa and washing it down with wine all within a meal
Sulking and snapping that I keep being prodded to eat more and having heaps of food put on my plate
Picking up and tucking the slice of abalone I dropped on the floor into my mouth with no hesitance

The hot pot broth,
Bland and clear in the beginning
Only gets richer and more flavourful
Because of the mesh of ingredients
That’s thrown in and left to brew and boil

Just like the family
Each one so different
But known and accepted, the way we are- the little good, some bad and much ugly
Some parts routine, some parts responsibilities, some parts obligations, and most parts
Just because we are family.
Just because they are the first pple we knew, played with, ate with, lived with,
Learnt about love and kinship and endured pain and hardships

Familiarity.
There were years i dreaded it. Resisted it. Wish I could avoid it.
But this year... in the Lord's presence, I snuggle in the steadfast and abundant love of family.

Happy Chinese New Year dear all.

Saving Grace

When work first started, weekends meant action.
Ambitious goals were set. Targets must be reached.

To do the shopping that can't be done on weekdays.
To partake in the brunch/hi-tea specials that had to be missed because of work.
To catch up with friends and try to maintain relationships like they used to be when we were all still students.

Come Wednesdays - the mid-wk countdown begins.
Thursday nights - invites anticipation and sustained energy to stay on MSN to welcome Fridays. Fridays and it's wholehearted action!

That...was a few months ago.


Nowadays, yearning for the weekends officially begins on Monday.
Mondays are for reminiscing the past wkend that whizzed past.
Tuesdays are for the next weekend that seems oh so far.
And then begins the long-drawn and often agonizing wait, Wednesdays & Thursdays.
Come Fridays, there's no longer the guilt of wasting a precious night away if there's no scheduled visit to town or no meet- ups with friends. Would be grateful the workday didn't stretch till Saturday.


All I want to do now during weekends is to hole up at home to:

- Catch up on some much needed sleep in the comfort of the bed instead of having to sneak in a fitful doze on the cab that keeps emergency braking
- Spend alone time to reconnect with my feelings, listen to my heart instead of ignoring or shoving it admist the busyness of working
- Shed that plastic and obligatory smile and niceness necessary at work to express my mood on my face with no concealers
- Touch base with my family. To catch up on the happenings of the wk with my mum- without falling asleep. Or multitasking in front of the laptop. Or losing my temper, pent up from working, on her.
- Time out from work to ramble incoherently like I am now:)


There's no egging each other on to stay longer on MSN.
No pressure to meet up soon.
Smses are peppered with understanding 'go sleep soon' and ' have some rest' instead of
jeerin 'dun be a spoilsport, come out and meet us' when appts are missed during oldtimes

Maybe reality has struck
We probably have exhuasted the reserve energy from schooling days.
We can lament that the insidious effects of working life is seeping into us.
But perhaps, it's also because we've all matured.
We've become more undertsanding with a touch of pragmatism.
To know that we no longer can catch up and update one another every single day.
To understand that we can't expede the same effort much as we care and want to help.
Managing expections. Reducing demands.


Changes. There's no avoiding them.
Only one thing remains the same.
Weekends are such saving graces - to stay sane, real and who I truly am.
Thank God for them.

Full Circle

Once, eating porridge was a torturous affair.
It looked like curd.
It tasted like coagulated retch.
It was either too thick or too watery. Too hot or too cold. Too salty or too bland.
The perfect food to induce puke and tears as i coerced it down.
Meant for the sick, it made me sick downing it.
I agonised trying to force it down. Adults antagonised trying to force it down me.

For a good ten years after those nursery days where porridge was the staple food for meals, I stayed clear of it, avoiding it at all cause.

Never would I have thought I would come back to embrace it in such a big way now.
To queue for hours to relish a bowl of this tradition.
To take in the subtle whiff when its served
To savour the silky gruel running down the throat
To be soothed and calmed from the wet and the rain by its warmth
To be nourished by something so simple

Taste and perspective.
How they permutate, change and switch sides.
How they can reconcile differences at times and yet fuel the differences to tear it all apart at others
How they can make one swoon and fall head over heels one moment and run away in disgust the next

I so like to rush things sometimes.
To talk myself into embracing something/someone.
Tricking myself to resent some other things/people.

Everything in its time. God makes sure of that.
I just need to take one step at a time.