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Archive for January, 2014

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Here’s wishing everyone who drops by a happy and prosperous Year of the Horse!

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moment

There are some feelings that you can’t run away from.

Like how people who make you feel depressed as a child will always continue to make you feel depressed no matter how old you grow, no matter how much distance you put between, no matter how far you have come.

You just find more ways to cope, to hide, to get away, to endure. But it never really goes away.

Then there are the times you can’t cope, hide or get away. That’s when it hits you like a ton of bricks.

Then what?

You write yourself little notes. Shred them. Have a drink. Carry on.

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I am not bitter.

I am not usually petty or mean-spirited.

This is not permanent.

Mela can get through this.

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regret part 2

For Regret Part 1, go here.

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What if you had a chance to meet someone from your past again, someone who had once been part of your support network, and say to him all of the things that you should have said at some point in time but didn’t; things like thank you for your time and effort and for everything else you had done for me, and I’m sorry I wasn’t a better friend and for not trying harder to stay on the radar, I’m sorry for being young and stupid and for thinking that people were a sum total of the relationships they form and obsessing about these relationships instead of all of the other more important things that made up a person.

Would you do it? Or would you keep silent and live with all of those words unsaid. Then again, are those words unsaid necessarily a bad thing? Are you in the end seeking to speak those words in a bid to resolve imaginary issues that never existed to anyone but yourself?

Those are questions I have been mulling over for the last week or so.

I am a defence lawyer. Rejections are part of my business as usual. So I should not have to think so much about this and just get on with it but I do because over the years, I have become more temperate and circumspect. Sometimes, I yearn for my younger, more reckless self who’d just screw all this thinking and just do it, come what may.

As I’ve always said, knowledge and wisdom does not set one free. They bind you and imprison you in this little black room to the point where no matter how many opinions you get, they are never enough to shed any light on the situation.

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My parents had once told me that on the day when my first uncle (as in my father’s eldest brother) passed away, he suddenly asked for my father to take him on a ride in our dingy car to see Sheares Bridge.

My father rushed over to his place, they got him dressed, and away they went on a ride through Sheares Bridge and its environs. He returned home satisfied and passed away the same evening.

My father is a splitting image of his eldest brother. As a child, I have always been fascinated by the photographs of them together, and that old black and white photograph nailed high up on the wall in my first aunt’s old apartment at Stirling Road which was from his funeral. We visit his niche every year at Mount Vernon Columbarium. My parents had once lived in the same apartment in the years before we came along and my mother told me about how first uncle was always smiling even when he was chiding his children. After first uncle’s stroke, my father took over the upkeep of the family (even though mother and him had by then moved out of the cramped apartment) and his children together with first aunt (who sold porridge in a school canteen) with his limited income as an aircon repairman.

So with the opening of the new MCE, and the closure and possible future demolition of Sheares Bridge, a part of my family’s narrative history will be lost in the change of the Singapore skyline.

I feel that sense of loss close to my heart because having never known any of my grandparents or my first uncle for that matter, my only memories of them are perceived memories contained in old photographs and stories told and re-told by my parents in the past years.

I really should start writing all of this down.

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