at yoga last week...

*breath in*

plank

*breath out*

crocodile

*breath in*

upward dog

*breath out*

downward dog

*brea-*

someone farted. very loudly.

*hold your breath and try not to laugh*

child pose

7th month

the 7th lunar month came to an end at last.

the boyfriend was instructed not to kill or harm any large insects during this month, lest it be the spirit of my ancesters coming to check on me. whenever there was a wasp or a moth fluttering around, attracted by the bright florescent lights, i would run and seek refuge in another room. as i take my leave, however, i would quietly say "hello ah ma", in case it was my grandma visiting.

you never know.

i wouldn't expect my grandfathers' spirits to visit though. they were so entrenched in their archiac preference for boys to continue the family name (what so rare about our family surname?) that they had largely ignored me when i was young.

wouldn't expect that to change with death. if they came back, they would be hovering around my brothers, not me.

there was also a huge grasshopper hiding in one of my plants that i greeted every morning. it disappeared after the first week of the 7th month. maybe it got bored and hopped off to see the getai song and dance performances scattered all over singapore during this month. these getai shows were put up for the entertainment of the spirits, complete with scantily dressed singers, sexy moves and the whole works.

we believe that the gates of hell are opened on the 7th lunar month of the chinese calendar so that the spirits can visit their loved ones (and seek vengence too, probably). it's not exactly clear to me, but from what i understood when i visited haw par villa last year, the traditional belief is that there are no distinctions between heaven or hell.

when we die the good get reincarnated, while the evil-doers receive their due punishment and are tortured before they are allowed to be reincarnated. the methods of torture are very precise for the evil committed. exactly how long these punishments are mete, it wasn't stated at the haw par villa displays. i would presume a very long time, years and years.

(so don't lie, cheat and be respectful to your elders!)

during this month of remembrance, we burn material things to our departed family, all conveniently made in fire-friendly paper: cars, houses, clothes, tv sets, and of course a lot of money. money talks, even in hell!

we make food offerings and we ask to strike first prize in 4D. the chinese are practical people and extremely skilled in making deals: let me win 4D and i will burn you a sports car.

and though i am not a very superstitious person, i do secretly hope that my grandma had visited me in one form or another during this month. it would have been very nice. i miss her.

and now, we are a the 8th month. it brings along the most beautiful full moon of the year and endless sweet mooncakes. and the return of insect masacre.

tickle and itch

a tiny little dot moved up my leg. it moved quickly spordiacally, stopping from time to time in between runs. it stopped. if i squint, almost crossed-eyed, i could see its feelers waving about in a purposeful manner, scenting the air. a mad dash diagonally across to the outside of my leg. it stopped again - to investigate a length of hair on my shin.

and so the little black ant proceeded up along my leg. quick run, investigate strange objects, mad dash, scent the air, dash, dash, dash.

i lifted my leg up for a closer inspection of this uninvited explorer: black common kitchen variety, resilient and very curious. my new kitchen was plagued with ants. this one had strayed into the living room and interrupted my slow drift to a blissful afternoon nap on the sofa.

another mad dash.

it crossed the kneecap area. now i could feel it moving on my more sensitive thigh area, a weird mix of tickle and itch. it was not an uncomfortable sensation but it wasn't that nice either.

*smack*

not so resilient after all, i flicked the flattened black speck off my hand and sunk back to my lazy drift into afternoon nap.

not the ABCs

can you read the letters on the blackboard over there? she asked, squinting at the sign. she had her lasik procedure less than a month ago and was testing her newly improved eyesight.

i turned around to look at what she was pointing -------> the drinks list of a cafe. it wasn't that near, but even though i couldn't make out the individual letters (the handwriting wasn't good), i could make out the list of 200 variations of coffee served.

it's not about the ABCs, i told her. it's about which coffee tickles your fancy!

shoes too big

i'm a child pretending to be a grown-up person.

i might do a good job of it from time to time, be a responsible and organised person who is reliable and calm. most times, i just stumble along, trying not to make too many mistakes. trying to hold everything together. trying not to get found out in these shoes that are too big for my kiddy feet.

often, i get overwhelmed. i over-react to regain the equilibrium inside. i get angry because it is the only thing i know. perhaps if i shout loud enough, the situation would be under control. while deep inside, i quake silently with fear in my too-big shoes.

sometimes i am lost. lost in this jungle of complexity. i feel all alone amidst the flashing lights and writhing dancers. the people around me, do their shoes fit like cinderella's or are they clomping clumsily around like me? how does one dance in these giant shoes?

occasionally, of course, i get it spot-on. everything falls right into place by luck or chance. i smile bravely and wriggle my toes with relief. i cross my fingers and hope to be lucky all the time.

i look down at my too big shoes and my skinny ankles. brown leather boots, well-made and sturdy, and clearly too big for me. i wonder who had made me wear them - was it my choosing? how long more before i grow into them? will i ever?

i am a child, just a child trying her darnest to be a grown-up person.

raphael

over the weekend, my friend's dog died.

he died of old age and he was indeed very old. i have met him only once and he was, to me, a very fat chihuahau. at that time, he seemed to have taken a liking to me. dogs are not my favourite animals but i can be quite partial to chihuahuas and poodles. it followed me around for a little bit before plopping down with a huff. it was a hot day.

i heard that it was a sickly young pup once upon a time and my friend's mother fed it up nicely. it was something that asian mothers do very well, fattening up the young 'uns. i won't wax lyrical about him frolicking in doggie heaven now: the vision of a fat chihuahua sporting angel's wings and gnawling contentedly on a rubber slipper while sitting on a puffy cloud is too much for me to bear.

what is important is that he had a happy and contented life, and that is more than what i can say for many people i know. although my friend never referred to the dog by name, preferring to call him "my dog", "my stupid dog" or "my fat dog", i knew that he was very much loved, especially by my friend.

raphael was his name.

rest in peace.