absolute zero

i don't get affected by the cold. i enjoy the cold blast of air pumping out of singapore-strength (read: juiced up with steroids) aircon unit in my office. the secretaries never ceased to be amazed when i breezed by in my sleeveless tops while they huddle under layers of sweaters.

i'm very strong, they said to me.

when it turns cold, particles stop their vibrations. i guess they just decide to sit down and take a break. they're tired, i understand. all that shaking boogieing and constant motion can be tiring. go even colder and the particles lie down for a nap. tucked under their warm down duvet, they drift off to dreamland. nothing moves in absolute zero temperature. at -273.15 degC, all the particles are fast asleep.

it is usually bad news when i feel cold.

when it turns cold for me, i'd like to do exactly the same thing. hide in bed with a book, music playing in the background. shut out the real world. all that stress and frustration and anger can be tiring. it is tiring. sometimes i manage to drift off in a dreamless sleep. not often. i'm still waiting for my absolute zero to happen.

cold - it is just an absence of heat. a lack of energy. the temperature in a vacuum goes to absolute zero: there is nothing inside it to vibrate and dance around. no heat energy. a vacuum is cold.

it has been raining in singapore for the past weeks. the aircon in the office turns extremely cold whenever it rains (and is lukewarm on hot days). there is a flaw in the design, the temperature regulator must be inversed. and every day, i continue to breeze around the office in summer clothes, uncovered arms.

i hear awestruck whispers when i walk by. "ssshe'ss sssso sssstrong!"

today, for the first time since the rains arrived, i have my sweater on.

perhaps at last, my absolute zero has arrived.

falling

i dreamt that i was falling. i don't know if i was really falling or if i had dreamt it. these days, my insomniac nights swirl around my fatigued days, like milk whirling in a cup of jet back coffee. white on black, and then, a monochrome brown.

i was falling.

i don't remember when exactly that i started having my fear of heights. actually, it is my fear of falling. the possibility of falling. put me on the edge of a cliff, or on top of a long flight of stairs, my stomach flips. cable cars make my uneasy, amusement park rides make me queasy. i avoid walking across the iron grills that cover storm drains. it feels too much like walking in thin air. impossible, i will fall. i must fall.

falling away, falling out, falling in, falling apart, falling in love, falling out of love, falling down, falling. always falling.

the cat likes to push things over the table and watch them fall. keys, rings, pens, i come back to find them scattered on the floor. tap tap tap, she goes with her inquisitive paws. tap tap tap over the edge. she sits and observes the falling object with intense curiosity and then finds something else to play with. tap tap tap starts over again.

the inescapable pull of gravity. the apple falls to the ground. the apple hits newton's head. the apple floats away. what goes up must come down. come back down!

i dreamt that i was falling.

i think it was a dream. i wouldn't have survived the fall otherwise. my heart would have stopped, but i am still alive in my monochrome brown state. the rush of air past my ears. the sensation of being weightless. the fear. the cold. the loneliness. nobody falls en masse. every fall is alone, isolated, encapsuled in the rushing air. fall in solitude.

i could see everything happening with crystal clear clarity. as if i was falling in slow motion. there was nothing i could do to stop this inevitable fall. how do you defy the laws of gravity, anyway?

free fall. free to fall. fall freely.

i dreamt that i was falling. i don't know if i was really falling or if i had dreamt it.

i am still falling.

normal bates

would norman bates end up as psycho if he had moved out of the house when he was younger?

he could have gone to college somewhere or decided to hitchhike his way along route 66, which was all the rage in the 60s. or he could have ran away from his oppressive mother. would he still be a psychopath if he had done so?

nobody has the perfect relationship with their parents. at least i'd like to believe so. my parents and i have personality clashes of the titanic scale. being constantly unhappy, i left home at the first opportunity that i had. it wasn't easy. just plain ol' moving out goes against the grain of my old fashion traditional parents who have very strong and rigid ideas of how a girl should be like and what is acceptable behaviour.

moving out clearly belongs to the "i'll kill you for dishonouring the family name" category. not wanting to make cold-blooded dishonoured murderers out of them, i bid my time until i had a job offer in europe.

the money's better, i told them. and i've got better career opportunities when i come back.

(if i come back.)

like most asian parents aspiring better things for their children, they grudgingly agreed.

after years of freedom, i'm now back living under the same roof with them. absence didn't make heart grow fonder. in fact, we've all grown even more stubbornly set in our ways with age. i have lost the equilibrium that i had found while i was away.

i will never get used to the heat and humidity in singapore, but i can get used to the feeling of being constantly hot and sweaty.

similarly i will never get used to living with the parents, of the knowledge that i will never be something that they want me to be, but i can get used to living with the absence of happy.

and i can't help but wonder, if norman bates would have turned out the way he did if he had escaped the clutches of his overbearing mother at an early age?

we'll never know...

... but whatever you do, don't ever shower at my place. you never know what might happen.

if happiness is a fruit

will it be a peach, a gentle sweet ripeness underneath its soft velvety skin? promising endless joy until you bite too deeply and break your tooth on the stone hard pit inside? to give up something in exchange for the all encompassing sweetness, is that happiness?

will it be a shiny red apple, innocently offering us with the knowledge of good and evil? knowledge, does knowing everything make one happy? the apple was the mode of poison used by the evil queen to send snow white to her sleeping death. well, she did get woken up by her price charming and lived happily ever after. is "happily ever after" happiness?

or will it be a coconut floating away to sea. wandering around the world until it finds a nice beach to rest. waiting for someone to pick it up, rinse away the sand before proceeding to split it open for the refreshing coconut water inside. this person would then painstakingly scrap at the tender white flesh to finish his snack. the ultimate sacrifice to bring relief from the heat to someone. is that happiness?

* * * * * * * *
the guy who shares my office told me of his dream of getting an apple orchard by the sea with his wife. his face lit up as he told me the story of how he discovered the fragrance of apple blossoms in the middle of nowhere somewhere in scotland. is having a dream happiness?

if happiness is a fruit, what fruit will it be?

not fair

it's no secret that asians like clear porcelain white skin. here in singapore, sunblocks and whitening creams are sold everywhere together with face moisturiser creams with SPF50. everywhere, we can find ads featuring whitening treatments for those who aspire towards this fair-skinned perfection.

i am naturally tanned, a healthy shade of dark brown. and i have freckles on my face. after 5 minutes under the sun, i turn a few shades darker with a few more spots on my nose. unlike most asians, i happen to like my skin colour and the splatter of brown spots across my face.

pale face? only if i'm sick, no thank you!

i get harassed by salesgirls at beauty counters to buy whitening creams. i get harassed even by my hairdresser to get whitening facials. i get harassed by my mother who couldn't understand how the fruit of her womb turned out to be dark-skinned and be so irritatingly stubborn against seeking professional help about it.

i just go on with my life, impervious to the madcap flurry of desperate whitening happening all around me.

but yesterday, i was harassed by my gynae about my freckles. i suppose, as a doctor, she has the right to lecture me about the dangers of skin cancer, premature aging and how fair skin is really more attractive.

but shouldn't she focus on the plumbing down there, and not the freckles up here on my face?