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. 

Ups and Downs

The other half was asked recently, he told me, by a childhood friend what marriage was for him. The other half replied it has its ups and downs. Because the question came from a friend whom I’d known well enough for decades, I took it as an affront that my other half presented the marriage to me as being not such rosy a bed to lie in. That must mean I’m not that fun to be married to half the time, no?
Let me dissect this.
My first question to myself was, why did I feel betrayed? Did I think my marriage was perfect?
Perfect, I knew it’s definitely not. But I measure mine against one I know most about — my parents’.

Theirs fell apart when they were in their late 40s, where I am now. Granted, they’d been married longer by then, having started younger. So, the fact that I’m still in mine must mean that my marriage has more ups than downs.
Secondly, I worked hard at maintaining this household financially, and at not aggravating my spouse. That’s not perfect enough?
I helped bring two kids into this world. (with God’s grace).

The above was written in February 2018.

Since then, I've forgotten that this was my angst then. Isn't it odd how I viewed such trivial things as the one and only thing to make me blow my top then but yet today, I'm able to look back and just hurrumph it? (May 2, 2018)

So, the lesson learned for me is, do not sweat the small stuff, it's all small stuff.

Toughest Role

You and I have many roles. Wait, why am I writing as if I still have an audience to write for? Must be the two decades of journalistic journey I had. One can't shake it off that easily.

Assume a role and it doesn't go away even when I've had not had a career as a journalist career the past half a decade.

Roles are what we take on. And today, my whine, my rant, my cathartic outburst shall be over my toughest role to date.

From my earliest memory, I was a sister. Since the time I was aware of what's around me, I've had two younger sisters -- the twins.

There never was a time when I remembered being an only child, so I've never grumbled then about my siblings' existence. Though later, when more came along, I did. I told mom that it wasn't fun for me that she has so many kids. There's less of everything to go around. That's my rationale.

So my earliest role that came to mind, being a sister.

Being a daughter didn't seem to imprint itself on me very much as a child. Could it be because I didn't need to manage the old folks then? Perhaps.

When mom and dad were splitting up, however, it was a role that bothered me. I felt helpless as a child, seeing my parents' marriage falling apart and yet without the authority to make them get back together, much as my siblings and I wanted them to.

So, some roles in life meant we have little say in how we want the outcome to be.

I enjoyed being a granddaughter, though. Being smart and respectful meant I was loved by my paternal grandparents. They weren't the kind to shower us with hugs and kisses but their love for me was evident. My maternal grandmother I saw less of, but it was good to hear her tell her friends that I'm the clever granddaughter. What irked a little was also how, in the same breath, she'd describe me as the "gua soon" in Hokkien, meaning maternal granddaughter. But the "gua" means "outside" or "foreign" and I understood that as to mean I don't belong. Odd.

Being a niece was great too. My maternal aunt was always showering my sisters and I with gifts of candies, Mickey Mouse watches, clothes, when we visit annually. Till today, she's my favourite aunt, someone I'd go a long way out for.

In my teenage life, it was so wonderful to be a girl, yet this role came with a lot of angst as well. I wasn't as pretty as others, What can I do? Nothing. Argh. But wait, I could be witty. And smart.

As a girlfriend, I was on cloud nine. The first time I was loved for being me, right? Parental love seems to pale in significance.

Being cared for is as great as caring for someone who belongs only to me.

My marriage cemented that role, turning me into a wife. The daughter-in-law role came hand-in-hand. Many days, this was not a fun one to be in. I had a very supportive husband and that made the daughter-in-law role an easier one to stomach. SF was always fair to his parents, and his tack was to tell me to let them be.

At work, I'm a colleague, a friend, a subordinate and a superior. Those roles I take on with gumption, especially as a subordinate.

I've gone all over the world, and now here I am, in the toughest role I've taken on -- as a mother.

A mother should be nurturing, pushing her child to experience the world, seeing the good side and being the shoulder to carry on when the not-so-great side hits.

A mother grooms her child into the best that she can be, and someone that society respects, someone other mothers want their kids to emulate, and later someone other mothers want for their sons to marry.

In this respect, I may have failed. I've taken on that role twice over. And I'm not coming out anywhere near a C, never mind a B, on producing a child whom people respect.

Cleanliness and hygiene are my priorities at home but no, the elder girl thinks otherwise. The fear I had in venturing into the room was always the fear that I would be "discovering" some unknowns stashed away under the bed, in the wardrobe. I've seen a whole box of candy wrappers, empty cans of tuna and moldy bread in there. Who can fault me for shivering when I step in?

Update

Since writing this post in 2017, and not publishing it, I've seen some positive changes in the elder girl. Is it maturity? I pray that's the case. I can now rely on her to keep her bedroom cleaner. I nag and she gets on it. She still has books on the floor, but clothes in the wardrobe are neater now.

The point I always make is this -- how can a roommate or a spouse tolerate the daughter I've brought up? Will her co-workers like working with her as a teammate?

Hence, the need to be a tough and unwavering mother, my toughest role to date, in ensuring my daughters grow up to be society-valued and well-respected and easily-loved people. Being God-fearing may be one way to start.

Mommy loves you girls a lot.

My Toughest Role

I have many roles currently. Will they be reduced, I asked myself. Probably not. Because other roles will replace those that have ended, I think.

So, what roles do I have now?

Old

Today, Karen had the question of the day. 

"How old are you, mommy? One hundred? One-zero-zero?"

Three Months

(This was to have been published on Nov. 17, 2012) Kayrin's little sister turned three months last week and we celebrated it with another immunization! Poor Karen had fever right after, as she did the past two jabs. She gets pretty cranky for two days too.
Her milestones now are, almost doubling her birth weight to 5.4 kg, growing her head diameter to 41.5 cm, gurgling a lot when talked to, and looking at her own fists! She's also uncurled her clenched fists.

When 2016 Ends

It seems I post about once a year these days. As I review the year that has been, I want to honour and thank my soulmate. He's been there for me for years but this year has been one where he has quietly outdone himself.

When MIL had to be hospitalised this year, he managed almost everything on his own. He singlehandedly took care of her admission, dealt with the doctors, and her after-op visits. When she came home and was unwell still, he took on the task of getting her set up to be home with us. And when she once defecated all over the house because of the inability to control her bowels, I came home unaware of it all. That took place when we were sans a maid. This was evidence that my soulmate, my spouse and my best friend had cleaned up the place thoroughly,

He managed the girls all on his own while I was away for a week at St. Petersburg. He's the one who manages to get them out for breakfasts on days when I work and he doesn't.
On days that he works and I don't, the girls and I are still wallowing at home in pyjamas at 11 am.

This year, when I ran my first road run -- at the StanChart KL Marathon on Aug. 7 -- he stayed home with the girls. Karen was unwell, too. If it wasn't for him, I'd be sleeping that day away. He had tugged my toes to wake me up just before 5 am that morning because I had overslept after staying awake that night to mind Karen, who had a fever while we had a power disruption.

"Why did you marry daddy?" Kayrin asked me often,

This week it dawned on me clear.

"Because daddy lets me do whatever I want," I said.

Last week, we went for our first overseas holiday in three years. I picked Ho Chi Minh City when SF had opted for Kota Kinabalu,

At the Vietnamese city, SF had looked up the Ipa-nima outlet I wanted to check out, and brought us there. After a large amount of purchases, I wanted to be back for more. This he made happen by getting us there again the day we flew out.

When I want to shop, SF doesn't hold me back. When I wanted to run, he encourages me to in his quiet way. When I want to travel and eat, he's there with me.

We share a love for food but he loves his Penang curry mee while I love Hokkien prawn mee. We love art pieces but he's into abstracts and I'm into water colour paintings. Music we enjoy -- his is loud while I'm into ballads. We love books but no one loves being at home more than him. He's the real homebody, seriously.

To my partner in every way, thank you and I love you.

School

Every year, this time of year, I get queries on my experience with Sri UCSI. As big K wraps up six years there, perhaps I can document my journey through that school.

When she started at that school in 2010, quite a few private schools offered the local syllabus still. There was demand for the local syllabus still -- mainly because, in my view, Maths and Science were taught in English. Sadly, that was the final year for such a policy. The following year's students had to study the two subjects in BM and English.

That, in my opinion, eroded the demand for local syllabus private school education. Many schools, including Sri Nobel, moved entirely to international syllabus for primary and secondary school. Sri KL had moved by 2010, if I'm not mistaken.

Sri UCSI wanted to do the same but pressure from parents with children doing local syllabus at the school led to two "streams" at the school. Sri UCSI proceeded to start an international school.

As I started my search for secondary school, albeit a little late in 2015, I realised the proliferation of private schools or learning centres over the past few years.

Many are small learning centres, a few are large and considered premium ones, such as Taylor's and Rafflesia.

Oddly enough, not all expensive schools work for the kids. I encountered one parent moving her son to Sri UCSI from Rafflesia. A few others withdrew from Sri UCSI for Taylor's and Sunway International.

My take? All schools will have their pluses and minuses. For me, the time spent commuting to school is equally important as the the type of school that suits the kids.

Big K is now in a school that she thoroughly enjoys though the hours are longer than what she had in Sri UCSI. So,  from grumbling about being home from school late, she now talks about missing school on weekends! Sure hope the feel-good factor lasts. 

The Run That Didn't Happen

As a kid in school, I never excelled in sports. I couldn't run fast enough, jump high enough or throw far enough to earn a medal. Cooper's Run I could complete but anything else was just not good enough.

This year, I eagerly awaited the start of 

registration for the Standard Chartered KL Marathon. I signed up within hours, for the 10 km Run for a Cause, which means I get to raise fund for a charity I pick. I chose Hospis Malaysia. I've always wanted to do more for Hospis. This organisation assisted Woan and I dedicated my first road run to my sister.

September came along, and less than a month before the run, we were engulfed in haze, smog from forest fires in neighbouring Indonesia.

Two days before the race, the race was declared still happening. I rushed to Dataran Merdeka after work Friday to collect running kits. The haze was so awful that I'd told myself I wouldn't turn up for the race. The following day, the race was declared off.

I'd spent that Saturday house cleaning, so the news arrived my end only when my work was done for the day.

I was still glad to have raised money for Hospis even though my first road run failed to take place. Next year then. And here's little K with the finisher medal that Big K said I "cheated" to obtain. Whoops. 

Running

Running was not my area at all. My legs, thighs would itch when I run. So I never ran. Hardly run. Avoided running.

A year ago, the gym closed for renovation. I'd just returned to the gym after I stopped breastfeeding Karen in April.

I couldn't just stop my workouts after a hiatus of 20 months for breastfeeding and the nine months of pregnancy. I'd just started working out!

I chose to run at the park then. It started with one loop in the park. About 1.3 km. then I put on my earphones, and achieved 3 loops or 4 km. I felt great!

By August, during a holiday in Penang, I had gone on to 5 km.

The running in the morning also meant I had to shower in the surau because the gym was unavailable for use.

In October, I reached 6 km and 8 km. and the 10 km milestone was achieved in December.

Somehow, along the way, I'd lost the sensation of itch on my legs and thighs. How very odd.

Today is also an achievement because I made 10 km on a treadmill. My first. 

It's odd to run because one will never run out of space to run. And I have this in mind when the running gets tough: Why walk when you can run.

Thank you, 2014

The year 2014 simply flew by. But which year didn't, eh? May be the year that Woan was diagnosed.

Last year was a year to be extremely thankful for, for the family.

I kept at nursing baby Karen till she was 20 months old. She adjusted well to formula when we started her on it at 17 months. After stopping breastfeeding, I went back to exercising.

Just as I was getting into the habit of hitting the gym, it was shut for an upgrade. Shucks.

I took to running, or rather, jogging and walking in the park and at home. That was in July. 

I got a boost in this activity when SF gave me a jawbone UP fitness band for my birthday.

He also gifted me an iPhone arm band for running.

Off I went. Half a year later, I've gone from being a total non-runner to a 10 km one. It's been hectic trying to squeeze in running when there's no gym to shower in and there's the school run in the morning. I could go on and on about the obstacles, couldn't I?

How things turned out is testament to a bit of willpower and a lot of God's blessing. I showered in the surau and made time for running before starting work.

This year, I've started yoga classes again to build core strength. Running isn't taking a back seat and I'll keep striving at it. I work at it to have better health -- physical and mental.

This is a year of Kayrin's first major exams. I'm anxious but I've also pushed her to better herself at her studies.

Challenges will be thrown at us, whenever and whatever we do. It's our will that will carry us through. Happy new year!