Separation Anxiety

 The elder kid left for the UK in September of 2022. Sending her off was not difficult. No tears were shed at the airport. Then she came home for Easter, spending five weeks here from March till April, and this time, I had separation anxiety. No tears at the airport but a day after she left, I’m feeling the blues. She’s all independent and happy to travel alone to the UK on a more than 30-hour door-to-door journey now. She doesn’t need mommy anymore. I’m trying to recall if that’s how I felt when I left her at home and went back to work after maternity break, when I left her at home and flew to Tokyo for work, when she started school.

It is such an odd feeling. A feeling of bereft. Like my family is incomplete. 

Thank goodness for baby P at home. She’s still sleeping in my room. She’s still at home but refusing to be in my bed.

How do parents of single kid cope? Do they have much worse separation anxiety?

Back to 21

 On July 13 this year, a day after turning 51, I connected with a colleague who's lost tonnes of weight. OK, may be not tonnes, but more like 40 kg. I've seen people with large weight loss but this time, I spoke at length with him, discovering how he did it. Curiosity got the better of me. Can a keto diet and intermittent fasting do it? Get weight off my body, I mean.

So I weighed myself that day and got started, at 54.0 kg. I was near my heaviest then, which was 54.5 kg. At my heaviest, work slacks were hard to button up and I refused to go to 'L'-sized clothes, steadfastly remaining at M size. Beautifully-embroidered and sequined tops from Salabianca of yesteryears had been packed away in paper bags. That was the nearest to giving them away. For years, despite the weight gain, I had them hanging in the wardrobe.

And so my journey began. I cut my meals, to begin at 12 pm and end at 8 pm. That was an 8-hour eating window. And the carbs were cut out. No rice. Only protein and vegetables and fruits. No biscuits or cookies. No cakes.

There was hunger, especially in the morning. Midday was heavenly. Snacks came in the form of nuts, fruits and cheese.

About 10 days later, on July 24, I was shocked to weigh in at 52.3 kg. I had not gone below 52.5 kg in my previous attempts to lose weight. In ecstasy, I set myself the target of going to 50 kg. That'd be my goal.

It took me exactly two months, when on Sept. 23, I got on the weighing scale and couldn't believe my eyes that I'd reached my target. The scale read 49.7 kg. I thought I had seen the numbers wrongly. A day earlier, I had been 50.2.

Then I went on the four-hour eating window, setting a new target of 48 kg. Yesterday, on Nov. 4, I was at 48.1 kg. Let's stay on this journey, I tell myself.

Thank you, KFM, for the guidance. His advice to me was, or more like his questions: Apa lagi yang you belum makan? There was also this: It's OK to indulge a bit, as long as you know what to do to lose that weight. Great advice, really. Those were inspiring words.

And some weeks back, my sister sent me an article on whether one could get back into denim that you used to put on at 21. If you could, it means a greater health risk. My answer is, not yet but almost there. Let's continue with my journey, in the meantime.

Where Are Daddy's?

Stories for My Daughters' Wedding: Part 2

Ever watched MIIB or Men in Black 2?

We did, with the younger K. In one scene, Jay (Will Smith) tells Kay (Tommy Lee Jones) to hit the villain on his balls and reminded Kay that the balls are hidden, under the chin.

SF and I laughed out loud, prompting the 8 year-old K to ask what those were.

Balls, mommy said. Testicles, daddy replied. 

Little K: How come daddy doesn't have them?

Mommy: He does.

Little K: Not on the chin.

Mommy: They are not where you can see them. Down somewhere, darling. 

Sex & Planning Ahead

Stories for My Daughters' Wedding: Part 1 

I'm having some good laugh with the kids at home during this lockdown period for us in Malaysia. I remember the exact date the lockdown began for us. March 18, 2020. Today is Nov. 8. That means eight months of working fully from home, with about a handful of visits to the office. Who would have thought.

Amidst all these, the elder K started university and tasted campus life for 2 weeks, and had to come home and be in lockdown with the family.

This post is about the elder K. It was Friday evening, and while doing the dishes, she approached me.

K: You really want to vacuum and mop tonight?

Me: Yes, darling.

K: But why? Don't you have your meeting at night? [It's been a case of 8:30 pm or 9 pm meetings on an almost daily basis since the lockdown. Weekends are also pretty much work days, albeit shorter ones.]

    Can't we vacuum and mop tomorrow?

Me: Nope. I've got art class tomorrow.

K: Can't we mop tomorrow evening instead?

Me: I don't want to. I want to get it done.

K: How about we mop next week?

Me: Hey, that's a brilliant idea. Now, why didn't I think of it?

K: Because you don't plan ahead.

And because mommy must have the last word:

Me: That's so true, darling. Sex with daddy was so great that I didn't plan ahead and had you girls as a result.

Isolating

Isolating is my kind of thing. I love going off on my own, to read a book, obtain some retail therapy, get a massage, or even hit the gym. After isolating, I feel really good and want to go back to the other half. It's my way of maintaining my sanity.

Now, it's hard to isolate. I'm turning to running as my way of isolating. Who runs with me but I and myself. This is the best thing to do. Thankful, very thankful that I'm in a housing area that allows me to do 1 km for each loop. A bit boring to get to 21.0975 km going round and round the neighbours' homes but many don't have this luxury.

The isolation gets extended, to April 14 now from the initial April 1. Is it good? It's good for our health. It's to flatten the curve on the infection.

Sanity-wise, that remains to be seen. Kids are fully managed at home. No daycare, no school teachers, no transporters. Only the other half and I.

Teachers have a break for now. Parents get overloaded.

 

Lockdown

The outbreak sent us all packing. We packed up in the office and retreated into our homes. We left school, we withdrew from malls. Everything came to a standstill outside the home. The first day was March 18. I went to work still. Essential services were operating still and we were essential.

But by the 20th, a Thursday, we were told we have to be working from home too. So it was that March 21 marked the start of being cooped up at home, with the spouse and the kids.

What a explosive combination that was.

There was screaming, shouting, key-throwing (on my end), and major outbursts with crying.

What this says is, cooped up, the other half and I just want to remain halves far away from each other. So how did we come together in the first place? How did we think teenage love was enough to keep us going for the rest of our lives?

This I will ponder in the days to come.

For now, I put a routine in place. Waking up, I do some cleaning of the garden, then get down to yoga of 20 minutes. It's quite a sweat out, and I'm amazed. This morning was the second day of the routine. After that, it's down to work starting at 9 am. I feel more refreshed after the workout. I miss my morning workouts.

When I was sending the elder kid to school, I'd be hitting the gym after dropping her off at school. That, I pray will be a routine again, when the younger one gets into the morning session in 2022.

In the meantime, we're still going at each other's throats.

Stay safe, stay healthy and try to stay happy. A mantra for myself.

Poem: Leap Year

This leap year celebration

I remember;

Across the restaurant,

He puts his arm around her

A kiss on the cheek

The warmth of young love;

Ah, it’s not for the meek

It’s truly from above

Here we are, in the same venue

Still sharing a meal

But for love’s sake

We treat it like a deal

If Bob Dylan says

Love is in vain

Why do I still wait

To be wrecked like a train

So I plead, never again

True love comes

But only with the rain

Enough for this lifetime

I don’t need the crumbs

Please, please

Lock me up

Throw away the key

So that love

Doesn’t find its way into me.

Poem: Africa

In Africa I see

The plains and mountains

Standing tall

Proud as can be

In Africa I seek

Give me not just time

for ever,

But your love for eternity

They flock to you

Clambering for a view

I must hide

Their adoration is not new

Staying far

The pain obscured

I try to hide

Africa off my radar

But by George

When I looked behind

The Africa I see

Is all but fine

There’s too much pain

In the daily grind.

A poem: Feb. 26, 2020

Sing to me 

The words of yesterdays

Memories we made

Laughter we trade

From our songs of yesterday

I smell the sea spray;

But can you hear the waves

Walk back the clock

Take me there, when

Robina Park was

never far away

On the beach we laid

It beckons with 

the library, we said 

The memories we made

The songs you sang

Will you sing again

And no longer be afraid. 

The Tortured Poets

I've been churning out poems recently. It was gratifying to put emotions into words that don't just say "I hate you to hell," or "I love you really well." (Now, that's a funny rhyme, no?)

The challenge was to mask the feelings via words but still get them expressed. I was elated at the completion of each piece.

That's the aim. To get out words that make others nod and say, yes, you said to me how I wanted to say it to the world. That's why The Rainy Day by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow resonates with us so well. He perfectly captured the feeling of being down, and yet told us how every life has been there.

Now, back to writing.

To write the poems, I had to feel the lows, the angst, the sorrows, the pangs. The hardest part, I had thought, was to get into these feelings. And that means torturing oneself into the darkness. Feel the bleakness, the despair so that I understand. 

Driving one into the darkness is not too difficult.

The fight comes when after sinking myself there, I have to pull out of this without-light place.

The daily grind is insufficient to play the positive role of lifting me out of this place I've intentionally sunk myself into.

How do I generate a large enough amount of happiness to be the crane that does this for me? 

The more I seek that happiness, the more I find I have none to tap into. And this is when the argument within myself ends with the conclusion that I have none. Having none equates being in misery.

Peering into my soul for the darkness and finding that it exists in me is good for poem-writing but it isn't as simple as peering and then withdrawing from the bleakness. 

And so, tortured poets then become so tortured that they send themselves off the edge. Such clarity. That said, putting the angst into words does have a cathartic effect. It cleanses the soul.