Doubles in December - part one

Two graduations

It was only in December last year that we briefly met, that you gave me five bright orange goldfish, that I was surprised to see you as a patient in clinic, that after dinner the train broke down for the rest of the night. Not long ago, I felt that it was sad how you valued all other friendships from these university years but towards me you were sporadic at best, mostly hateful actually. But somewhere between then and now, those things have lost its hold over me. Neither the dark cryptic comments and you wanting nothing to do with me, nor past memories or any positive aspects of your character which I appreciate, would affect my emotions with any intensity again.

A few years ago I remember you said, perhaps the next time we meet will be at graduation, hearing each other's names being called out in that hall. You were almost right. I never would have imagined then, that I could walk into a room and have no desire to face you, and be content with not acknowledging each other's presence. At the same time, I was sincerely happy for you, and clapped, knowing that I had both helped you and made this journey difficult for you. Time does heal after all, albeit rather slowly.

Regarding my own graduation, I guess it's supposed to be a significant event but I was just glad that the weather was not as hot as we expected it to be, that hiring gowns was a relatively straight forward process, that the gown and my dress matched relatively well, that photo taking was tolerable, that I could flip through the yearbook so I only briefly fell asleep during the ceremony, and that I didn't trip with heels whilst walking up and down the stage. The perks were probably seeing my best friends in medicine graduate together, spotting them amongst the sea of blacks and reds (sea of redback spiders), waving and hi fiving them on the way back to my seat. Also my two bouquets of flowers and cards, friends and family whom I love, and having my lovely little sister who was so excited hang out both her arms and half her torso off the balcony, to wave.

Contrary to the speeches, I don't feel there is any reason to congratulate myself about finishing the degree. These up and down years has shown me clearly that it is in God that I find any reason to live, and any strength to do what I do. Plus, I am somewhat aversive to change and just as I really really dreaded moving away from home and starting university, I feel similarly about starting work. How do you feel, to be a doctor? I feel (though there's no rational reason to really think so) sorry for whoever is going to be my patient, ha... I feel fake, and don't think that doctor title should ever be associated with my name. For the first time, I understand what the lecturer in first year said, when she talked about the imposter syndrome.

Tonight, Christmas carolling at a hospital, the familiar smells and pink de-bug bottles stirred in me (if I may borrow the phrase) a sense of impending doom. I wanted to run awayyyyy. My friend laughed and said, "you can't run away forever", and my sister gave me a big and very sympathetic hug, then proceeded to brainstorm ideas:

C: "How about you tell your teachers you quit?"
W: "Aww darling, I already finished school, I can't quit anymore haha."
C: "I know, you can leave them a nasty surpriseeee. Put a rat next to everybody's cheese, and make them scream. Then you will be fired!"
W: "I'm not sure I want to be fired..."
(after a pause) C: "Or, you could just not turn up to work."

I guess it is important to contribute to society through work, and living off others when you have the capacity to work is not living according to the word of God. Looking back at the university years too, I can be encouraged that there is joy and meaning to be found in walking with God. Even through times that I wouldn't have chosen for myself; the tiring, the draining, the confusing, the sad, the stressful, the difficult times.

How many have you loved

Who, what, when, where, why. I would not have been impressed with this guy's smooth talk if I had asked the same question, "how many have you loved?"

I've sang it countless times in song lyrics, in English, in Chinese, and more. Wrote it out once, maybe twice, in an indirect, roundabout way. How far along a relationship do you first start to say "I love you", we discussed, in our lovely but not so productive group study session - which ended up to be a delicious feast of Korean fried chicken with pear salad, mango and grapes, jelly and flavoured seaweed, and lots of random chit chats. I can't remember ever having said those three words aloud, ever. Really?! That's so weird. 

Anyway, I thought about how I would answer that question, and whether what the guy in the short film said resonated with me. Did I love at the time; and even if I did, is it fair to retrospectively say that I did or did not love, based on my thoughts about what love means now.

What is love? Oh how it changes.

As a child love was the desk buddy you blamed for something that was your own fault, but still brought your homework books to your house when you left them at school. Or a classmate who twirled red and green pipe cleaners to create a perfectly shaped heart and sweetly handed it to you for Christmas - instead of the other boy who saw what the first boy had done, and made a wonky white and yellow imitation that barely resembled a heart. Love was a poorly written piece of poetry, left beside your scooter, which you tried hard to decipher because it was barely legible, but soon gave up and forgot about shortly after. Love, was the not very academic boy teased and hated by everyone in class, who had the foresight to bravely ask you to be his primary school graduation dance partner a whole half a year (no less!) in advance. Or for some, love was the cutest and most popular guy who expressed his interest.

In high school love was the boy who asked your mother for permission, before asking you out in person. Which was a refreshing change from randomly declarations of love from people who you never spoken to, who said you were beautiful, and declared their love from behind the screen of a computer. Love was the warm and fuzzy feeling that kept you awake after your first date, of watching a movie that neither of you paid much attention to. It was not caring what this or that person said about what he looked like, what his background was, or being together, despite the frownings by the nosy adults in our community who said - you are going to be distracted in your studies. Love was having a Valentine to bring you gifts and endure the teasing of your crazy girl friends. It was drawing a lovely blinking bear in front of a rainbow, childlishly playing footsies under the table, or letting someone hold your hand for the first time.

At the same time, love was not that best friend who awkwardly swapped seats to be seated next to you on a long international flight, then in the middle of the plane trip, abruptly held his hand up and declared that you should do the same so that you could, palm to palm, see how perfectly they fitted one another. Love was not the intensity of one depressed person paired with another sad person to create waves of negative emotions which would wash over from one to the other. Or him, having long DNMs (to borrow my friend's phrase) with other girls on long phone calls, or having other fights which would result in long silences on the phone whilst you felt the time pressure of trying to prepare for your piano exams, as well as high school finals.

Later on, love was being unfortunately paired with an annoying, arrogant jerk for school work, only to later become best friends with him. Love was catching each other's eye in class, then quickly looking away and feeling giddy inside. It was never exchanging words at school, but writing a million emails back and forth, every day, about every thing. Love was having a person to make you laugh after you had a fight with your parents, or listening to his sibling conflicts at home. Love was well, sort of nerdy. Getting through the final part of high school together, studying and racing to solve mathematic problems on practice exams, outdoing one another in assessments, seeing each other at the library every day during study week and pouring water on his head every time he took a drink at the water fountain. Or (get ready for more nerdiness) receiving clues via a message encoded in a series of matrices and colour codes. Love was the fun of changing your profile picture and screen names to be the same so that all your friends were confused. Or the awesome delight of receiving a creatively carved block of cheese, in the shape of a rat!

Love was being relentlessly pursued for years though you had laughed at him, offended him, when he first told you how he felt. Love made the high school formal magical, and made you dance happily until midnight, though your friends had left hours earlier. Love was saying goodbye for a year, waiting and hoping that the lyrics of (Guang Liang's) 童话 and 约定 would really come true. But fairytales are fairytales for a reason, ha ha. Love was going through many seasons thereafter as good friends, listening to each other's new love problems, but that would also end one day.

In a brand new city, love was the boy who shared his breakfast with you, and many meals thereafter. Love was filling an emptiness in one another, until the world seemed to only contain the two of you - only later do you realise how you each had neglected to invest in other friendships, interests and hobbies, to your detriment. Love was exploring the city, learning to do daily chores, and helping each other to get by with living away from home for the first time; vacuuming, laundry, dishes and all those mundane things in life. Love was not - having that closeness, then not acknowledging it by calling it, just friends.

Love was confiding secrets in one another, caring for one another, having someone to sit by you when you are delirious with fever. Love was staying overnight at the airport, so that he could pick you up early in the morning, and leaving you a lovely surprise in the fridge upon your return. Or the thoughtfulness of making a home-made drink out of green tea ice cream for you because you loved it so, and prettily completing the drink with bubble tea pearls and bright green mint leaves. Love was being taken to the highest mountain, or highest buildings in the city, looking out on a beautiful sunset, then being showered with multiple cakes, surprises, long road trips, and expensive gifts. Yet soon realising that you can have beautiful scenes and even beautiful times, but that doesn't always equate to a beautiful relationship. Love was a warm hug, but then seeing, how love was not a valid excuse for lust. Love was, sitting through church services with you every Sunday, and even taking notes; then perhaps realising, love was not about trying to meld two sets of values that were worlds apart. Never being able to agree on the fundamentals about what life and love was about - all that would do was make one another unhappy, or compromise on the essence of who we were.

As college students, love was about being crazy. Running around and literally chasing one another down the corridor, down the street. Having your headband and shoes stolen, and plotting revenge by throwing his shoe outside the window, or apple pieces into the principal's courtyard beneath his balcony. Hiding in the wardrobe and jumping out to scare the other person, smashing the table tennis ball at one another's faces, play fighting and choking one another. Then, love was about the quieter times too - talking until early hours of the morning, walking around the graveyard, learning from the Bible together, praying and asking God for help, and memorably, love was about honestly pointing out something wrong in your life. Love was crazily intoxicating, but it is not about being blind to how you hurt others in the process. Neither was love about taking a huge leap before you take a good long look, and think about what you were doing. Love, it seemed, was the long period of harmony at the begininning; until a year had passed and you saw that it was merely the sweetness that marked the first stage of a relationship.

Back in high school, I would show an interested guy this poem, which would basically ask whether he liked me or liked the notion and feeling of being in love. I would never have admitted it, but perhaps for many years, I too often confused the two. It seemed that anyone who came along the way was suitable enough as long as there was that buzz, or as long as they were totally, "my zing" (Hotel Transylvania, terrible movie). It took me a long time to realise that it's very inadequate not to be able to give specific reasons as to why you like someone - you have to look a bit harder, take a bit more time to work out who they are, whether there is something special, compatible, worthwhile pursuing, beyond the delusional feelings which would fade one day.

I agree with the guy on WongFu productions, how "the final" would contain bits of everything - the crazy times, the fun times, the mutual care, the hopes, learning together, getting through daily life, and more. But, with so many silly and strange ideas about love over the years, after seeing all that love is not, who would really want their final person to embody everything that they found in all their previous "loves"?? Looking back you wonder, how could I ever have thought this or that was true love. Then you wonder, would I mock myself with the same question if I looked back from the future, to where I am now?

What does the picture of love look like in my mind, now?

Dreams - part 1

Dreams. The dreams you have at night, and the dreams you have about your future. "I wouldn't dream of..." and "as if in a dream...". Nightmares, recurrent dreams, vivid dreams. The topic did happen to be the latest lesson available on BBC English. But, I didn't tell my class why I really chose that topic.

It was because I had a vivid dream which was lingering as I thought about what to teach that week. A vivid, also recurring, and not nightmarish, but certainly disturbing, dream. That's okay. They have reduced significantly both in intensity and frequency. Medical descriptions are pretty handy, for all sorts of things.

When I wake up, I always wonder what to "do" with the dream. Does it mean something, is it trying to tell me something, is it reflecting my inner psyche? Do I try to not think about it so that it will fade into oblivion? Take it as a prompt and act on it? I do a bit of both. Dreams are just dreams. But, they can and do have tangible effects, depending on what you do with them.

In this case, my dream and our brief exchange of words that followed, has led me to be disappointed, and colder.

Out of my collection of whacko friendships, or non friendships, you are the one who I never got angry at. I never portrayed you unfairly, or even written negatively about you at all, really. I never failed to correct nasty or uncalled for snide remarks against you. I never echoed your coldness, cynicism or sarcasm. To you, I've only communicated genuine, warm, offers of friendship, in various ways, over years and years and years. I didn't give up on you because long ago, we expressed a common sentiment that it's sad if we can't even be friends.

You've always been surprising. Surprising in how long you can stubbornly clutch onto a cup of poison. Surprising in your maturity and generosity at the least expected times. I had always hoped that time would heal sufficiently, to allow us to start over anew as friends. "Maybe we're a bit better now," you remarked not too long ago. Then you seem to change your mind depending on the season.

Thinking back, we can sum up our interactions by the same questions we've been asking  each other all these years. Why. Why shouldn't I hate you, ignore you. Why do I need to let go of anything, why shouldn't things remain the way it has been, why should I have anything to do with you. And my answer all along has been, because. You don't have to, but you could, and why not? You could never give an answer to that either.

Sometimes I think you're ungrateful. I come across your photos, and see that you're happy to be normal and happy with our mutual friends. Why should I be any different. When I see your confident smile I want to ask you, do you remember how you used to be awkwardly hiding your face or giving a blank look in photos, until I sweetly suggested to you to just smile? Look at your earlier photos if you don't believe me. I think about you graduating and wonder if you remember how I helped you with that year, how I encouraged and believed in you when you said you felt like a failure. Or how I cooked and washed up so that you could study. And did you forget how many assignments and essays I patiently edited for you? It's no wonder that I know the course material so well, though I've never done it myself. Of course it's your own work and achievement in the end, that you scored well and entered into a course which you've always wanted to do.

In the time that followed, what more could I have done to demonstrate my constant friendship, or how else could I have done better in giving you the space you required? Yes there are other areas in which I could have done much much better. And although I can't change what's passed and am unwilling to change where I am now, I don't see how I could apologise more sincerely, and try to understand your point of view any more than I have been trying to do for the past years. I tried to keep out of your way when I knew it would be unsettling for you to see me wandering down your corridor. When you don't appreciate my light hearted comments, I give you a serious answer. When you wish to speak in cryptic codes, I play along with you. When you are drawn back into reflecting, thinking, I haven't ignored you. Hey, why should you pick out the worst aspect of me, and remember me based on that particular season, never looking back, never looking ahead? Unfair, I say. I have always remembered the good in you. Although I am still learning to deal with the consequences of the scars you have left in my life, I have never held it against you, or hated you for what you did. You probably don't have enough insight to realise what they are, or what their effects are.

Which is to be expected. You were always selfish. This time you respond like this, because it is an inconvenient, busy time for you. To even give a civil answer. I hate to compare but am almost certain that I have better reason to be too busy to be friendly to you. Back then, every time exams came around, it was inconvenient for you to discuss or face anything. Often, you were so engrossed in your constant physical and emotional ailments, that you could not bring yourself to recognise, much less help me deal with mine. Always saying that your love was one sided, I think the truth is that you're too self pitying and ungrateful to even recognise love when it was in front of you.

Look, it doesn't what you were like before and hopefully you've matured since then. After all, I was taken aback when I calculated your age this year, ha. This dream, your response, my reflections, might just be what I need to wholeheartedly acknowledge God's wisdom, thank him for his grace in a time where I ignored him, thank him for where I am today, and move onto a new stage in this healing process.

Love gone stale

It's been awhile since I've had the time to walk these familiar streets, without needing to be anywhere soon, having the time to reflect, and remember. Walking in the cool, watching the golden setting sun reflect off the roofs of cars and glass panelled buildings.

It struck me how M is like an old lover. Love that has gone stale.

That year, for the first time I had to learn how to layer appropriately, how to dress in something besides a T-shirt, shorts, and flip flops. Well, the excitement of having long coats, boots, stockings, scarves hasn't completely worn off.  I saw trees turn from a lovely crisp green, to yellow orange red, falling in heaps with the strong wind, and becoming bare skeletal branches - oh yes, I was seeing seasons for the first time in a decade.

I was delighted with being able to walk the streets at night (yes it's dark where I come, yes there are street lights, as well as crocodiles in our gardens, and we do ride kangaroos to school.) I've never spent so much time just gazing into the reflections in the river at night. I hopped on my first tram and arbitrarily chose a tram or train line, and only headed back when I felt tired of exploring. I saw terrace houses for the first time - with intricate designs, squished next to each other, looking very small, and I never knew how deep the houses were. I was also fascinated with just living with other students, and all the possibilities of apartments, hostels, colleges that I could live in, in the years to come.

That year, I had so many different mugs of hot chocolates, and spent more time studying in cafes than I ever have, or ever will. At that time I had never been to a typical Melbourne cafe. That year I tried my first bah kuh teh, nasi lemak, and met more Singaporeans and Malaysians than students from any other backgrounds. I happily discovered that it was possible to buy dinners for $6.50 or less, and eagerly tried all the affordable eating places nearby. Well, at least the appreciation for the sheer variety, and quality of food, and the sense of excitement when it comes to trying new food hasn't waned at all. M, you are still my favourite and beloved, for food.

That year, I said goodbye to my closest friend at the time and the prospect of a year apart felt like eternity. That year we argued often until late and somehow, our paths changed courses forever. I appreciated for the first time that the sunlight in the garden can't be caught and caged. And like many of my high school classmates, learnt to be skeptical about LDRs.

23/02/7 Long distance relationships, friendships even, pretty much the same thing. You once shared each other’s world, were a part of each other’s daily lives. And now, living in two different worlds, meeting new people, you slowly begin to drift, begin to have less to say to each other, less common experiences, interests, you begin to live a good life with or without the other person.

That year I was seventeen, never cooked a real meal, started university not ever hearing about a cell. I spent more time sleeping than being awake in lectures, because I simply did not understand the content. At all. That year, I visited a church alone for the first time and literally no one, not the adults, not the young people, talked to me. I've never felt so ignored (and have definitely not been back since) and instantly learnt my lesson about cliques. One evening after dinner, I walked along the campus, wondering if I will ever settle here.

Where I lived, I met a creep who was a guy but had hair like a girl's, who had a room directly opposite the female toilets, and the creep tried to hang out in my room by pretending that his laptop was broken. Ha, very funny. That year, I shared food with 303, little knowing that it would result shape my entire university life. That year we cooked and shared so many meals, had picnics, visited places, had so many birthday celebrations with a group of friends who, with the exception of one or two, turned out to have nothing to do with me from thereafter.

In some ways this semester is more like that year than any other semester. I'm here, I've walked past the old haunts, eaten out often, taken public transport instead of driving, gone back to our green, leafy campus every week after hardly being there at all for more than two years. But M and I have passed our infatuation stage. What I see in M is a place with too many cars, too many traffic jams, long commutes shared with untreated psychiatric patients who shout and carry on. The serene night walks are replaced by frowns at numerous clubs, brothels, "gentlemen" clubs, weekend party goers in long noisy lines, drunk people slurring uncalled for comments along the sidewalk. M has too many people, who are too cold and distant, to be a place of community.

M, I will never find you quite as amazing again. Just like a relationship. The unfortunate stage when little remains of beauty and all that you once loved, and much is replaced by difficulties, disappointment and cynicism.

The grasp

It's here. As I try to enter the realm of sleep, the thoughts run, start, stop, repeat, like a broken record.

I'm still thinking it. Feeling it. Thinking. Feeling.

How long more? How's the scenery from the other side of the gate? I don't know how to deal with it, in a mind unafflicted by dementia or ECT. Neither will that firm, prolonged grasp loosen its hold.

Just an illusion

Would I have been happier in the illusion of a pleasant, albiet brief, encounter? Yes, if I hadn't asked, I wouldn't have realised that seeing, even acknowledging with a smile, doesn't mean that we really met. In reality, only I did.

A tad disappointing.

And a bit sad.

To echo those words, I don't think anyone, not even you, understand, the effort behind inaction, or minimal action.

I always plan to write when everything is bright and rosy, but those times are easily shared with good company, over good food. Whereas these thoughts are ones that don't make good meal conversations, and invite unwanted responses.

Coins and squares

The image is from a year 12 English past paper.

The story has been told, in one way or another, by several authors. Including myself. The events highlighted, the emotions, the assumed intentions are so vastly different that it has been the ultimate example of looking at the same series of happenings from different viewpoints, perspectives, two sides of the coin, or more accurately four sides of the same square. Which is the real version?

Some were outright with what they saw happening, others didn't see the point in conversing. At one point I would not have accepted that there could be a different spin on the story. You could have, and maybe did, write me off as immature and exaggerated in my response, and I could have just easily dismissed you as clearly inappropriate in your behaviour. Or this time, I would be put off by that seething hatred, stubbornly held onto season after season, and similarly, you would close your ears as you accuse me of being blinded. What is the point, of telling them how I see it from here, and how they see it from there? What is the point, when talk alone never changes what is, and we are each set firmly in our opinions about one another.

Maybe, listening is the first step in acknowledging that your views, and feelings, are worth considering. That you may be right, and I may be wrong, or we both may be right, or wrong. Maybe, when we understanding the back story, the hate and anger will dampen, and gradually be replaced by forgiveness. Not unlike what that psychiatrist said about BPD patients - if you could connect with the troubled little girl behind the anger and chaos, you may be able to care for them better, and be more patient with their behaviour.

Maybe listening does have something to do with patience, loving thy enemy, and dealing with the overwhelming anger and hatred that comes so naturally.

Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry, because human anger does not produce the righteousness that God desires. - James 1:19-20

Side note 1: This time I woke up. And had to think for awhile whether it was real. Then I looked at the orange colours in the bottle and realised it was real.

Side note 2: Not an invitation to extrapolate "truth" in human interactions, to truth in general and say that there is no absolute truth.

Rare sighting

In a way, I was mourning and burying the dead all these years. But you are actually alive. I know because I caught a brief glimpse of that ghost after almost three years. Almost like the dream where I saw you through the window of an apartment.

It didn't make me freeze, or cry, at least not at the time. And amazingly it made me walk straight past for the sake of not stirring the brewing bubbling pot. I would have never have pictured that to be my response. Certainly I never responded like that in those recurrent dreams.

I've labelled you these years, said you're emo and weird. But no matter what I felt or what anyone said, I never presented a one sided picture - that is, I've often spoken about both the beautiful and the ugly, spoken about the stupid things you did, and the stupid things I did. In these years I never hated you or had any malicious thoughts. In fact, though I'm a pseudo stranger, I probably have more understanding and compassion of where you're coming from than most. And I guess, that's only natural after what was shared. Ha, and especially able to empathise, when history repeats itself - in that, you are partially right.

I wished so, so, so much that animosity would be replaced by healing and a normal friendship. I haven't completely given up. But with this, I've learnt to be more patient than I could ever have imagined myself to be.

Finally I want to address the friends. All that gossip. Does it make you feel special having knowledge about the secret lives of others? But hey, you know what, it's not a secret. I dare you to ask me to my face, and I'll tell you the story from beginning to end. There's nothing about it that I'm ashamed of - though that's not to say there's nothing in it that I don't regret.

Back from the grave

This is supposed to be dead and buried. But no, somehow it manages to magically crawl and leap through the dirt, up out of the grave, into broad daylight.

It troubles my mind, it troubles your mind, and yours, and yours. Why do we need to go through this (history repeats itself is your explanation?), what are you trying to achieve with your weird comments, your hate is consuming and you need to deal with it for your own health. And you, I'm most troubled, disappointed about you. Why are you:

1. Careless about how you feel, how you make others feel, how you hurt relationships.
2. Selfish about what benefits you, what is convenient for you, and therefore unwilling to make changes.
3. Impulsive and just plain sneaky by invading people's privacy.
4. Stupid. Not intentional, but foolish. Damage doesn't need to be intentional. I've warned you so many times.
5. Stubborn. Too stubborn to listen.