Sunshin3

The weather over the weekend was terrible, to say the least. All plans over the weekend were shelved including attending a friend’s birthday party at East Coast. Considering that i was really looking forward to getting out for a walk, the rain was a bummer.

But because of the rain, I found time to brush up on my culinary efforts. Notice I mentioned efforts and not skills because of the obvious.

Old boy once taught me the joys of pork fat melting onto a pan of potatoes and sprinkled with lots of oregano. The last time he cooked it for us, it left me with tears in my eyes because of the sweetness of the potatoes and the tenderness of the meat. I tried the same with a cut of rib-eye that was marinated with lime, soya sauce, cooking wine, and black pepper previously.

Somehow, searing the meat was like an ode to Old boy all over again. After all, that was how he was. Sweet and tender.

That was Saturday.

Sunday was spent mixing pasta with pesto sauce on Sunday for dinner. And yes, he taught me that as well. Cutting the long beans, carrots, corns, crab meat, bacons and mince meat was easy but the difficulty was coordinating the right amount of milk with the pesto sauce. I lost count of the number of times my tasting spoon dipped onto the pesto sauce.

I don’t really know if I was a good student, since I was banking on serendipity to guide me through but I guess the meals I cooked were decent enough.

Now, if only I can have an epiphany on how to make foie gras.

With each touch and stroke, his eyelids grew heavier. I stayed in a corner, running my fingers down the same spot, and watched his eyes close. Despite the pain, he remained silent and steadily, the breathing slowed to an inaudible pace.

The snores followed subsequently and the boy slept, peacefully unaware that I was (six feet) under the bed, crushed and pushed by his sheer strength.

But I laughed it off anyway.

And for the first time, in a very long time, I finally realised why I never had dreams of him. Because I don’t need dreams to tell me that he knew just how to make everything alright.

I’ve come to a stage of realisation that i cannot deal with it anymore. Not from an emotional point, a mental point, a physical point or a psychological point.

I am tired, resentful, hurt and withdrawn. I do not feel a sense of acknowledgment, a sense of relief or a sense of sensibility in my actions. I can’t sleep, i barely have my appetite, I’m popping pills and perhaps even drinking, every day.

This isn’t me but yet i am now.

And what lies beneath is a choice.

The mere sound of the word ‘oncology’ is enough to strike fear in the hearts of many. Tomorrow is my scheduled appointment with the oncologist. As much as work is the excuse, i guess the main reason for the hesitation is the fear of finding out the truth.

Perhaps, in the process, i have encountered and heard of stories of men and women, God-fearing alike, who ask Him why them when things do not go their way. Yet what pains me is the reasoning behind, the thought process that they have on their quest to find out the answers.

Doing good deeds or volunteering for church activities will not give you the jailfree card that the Monopoly games have.

Just the other day, my colleagues and i were discussing about Him. Ironic as it seems, the women in my workplace all have relationship issues while the men appear to be pretty henpacked. But that aside, with the confessions, came the knowledge that the Church of present had lost its grounding and has become too commercialized.

Faith? Do you really understand what is faith or have you become like the masses, who interpret faith to be as logical as a mathematical equation? I know there is God, therefore, i have faith?

As i reflect, i feel for certain that i have stopped growing, i have stopped caring and it is evident from the present relationships that i have. I know no more than how to salvage a relationship now than perhaps 2 years back. Books of knowledge have helped me thus far but i need more.

And the best source?

You and i both know the answer.

For some strange reason this evening, i miss Old boy more. Maybe it was his warm embrace while we shared a moment in the kitchen, or maybe it was the love and effort he put in cooking for me, or maybe it’s the washed shirts that still have his scent on them.

I can’t really explain why or how but just, i miss him alot.

With the stress of the everyday activities, coupled with the lack of sleep, I know you are trying your best not to be irritable and frustrated.

Because of you, everything was possible.

Thank you.

For your time, for your efforts,
For your love and forgiveness.

Mom remarked recently that she found it hard to believe that i was not even an adult, given the things and events that i had gone through or was currently dealing with.

She was, in every sense, right and so was the fortune teller.

I am undergoing blood tests and more tests to determine whether i have reached pre-menopause or am i experiencing premature ovarian failure.

Either way, they both don’t sound good. And to shut those on the other side of the fence, the abortion had nothing to do with it.

Perhaps, like one of Dr House’s episodes, i may have become over exposed to testosterone, which resulted in the low production of estrogen.

I never thought that could happen but i guess, the thin line between reality and fiction just got thinner.

I have this strange adversion for floor plans that i think i must be an architect in my previous life. In fact, one of my hobbies is actually, hanging out at new launches and show flats to get glimpses of their floor plans.

No one really knows of this hobby of mine, not even Old boy.

Of course, viewing of floor plans is one thing; constructing them is another. Now that the tenancy agreement has been executed, the headache of getting quotations for the minor works that i was intending to do, was next.

Thank goodness there was floorplanner.com.

Nothing says it best with pictures and it bridges the gap between the designers and myself. Despite the fact that it is a rented flat, it is exciting and as close as i can get to owning my “home”.