63: EVERYONE has stuff..

It has been a while since my last offering, where I have had a moment to sit down and be in a clear enough ‘space’.  Of late, life has been filled with far too many matters that needed urgent and focused attention – dramas of all sorts – leading to a struggle to find any semblance of the balance I preach to my three girls.   Have I finally leapt over the mythical hump and am now in a calmer space?  Actually no.  The only reason why I am even sitting down with a remotely untaxed mind is because I am waiting for some work on the car to be done and I am in the middle of no man’s land – ergo a perfect time to pull out my laptop – although after so many nights up worrying about things I know I have absolutely no control over, a pillow to rest my weary head would have been better!  But then, it has been an eternity since I last used my laptop and I feel a need to reacquaint myself.

It has now been just over a year since we arrived and it feels as if no time has passed.  For a few of my friends though, time has been painfully slow as they struggle with different challenges and wonder if the fog of grief from their individual losses will ever lift.  An acquaintance recently took out her grief on me as she raged about how life was so unfair with her new ‘situation’.  I tried to share about the countless friends who had gone through her current situation but were now, in hindsight, in a much better place.  I did stop short of the age-old “time heals everything” refrain as I had recently read somewhere that time did not ‘heal’ per se but rather “accommodates” the pain, loss and change that an event can bring.

And so I tried different approaches, from being a sympathetic ear to cheerleader, to pragmatic advisor.  I soon got tired of the tsunami-sized animosity that kept coming at me though.  She attacked my seemingly good health.  I responded I was dealing with issues she was not aware of.  She challenged my claim and I shared things even my husband and GP are unaware of.  She scoffed, finding injustice at my seemingly charmed life.  I told her she did not know my story and that everyone had stuff they were trying to deal with and get through, myself included, that what you saw was often not the whole ‘story’.  And then she attacked my mothering skills. That hurt.  She had found her mark.  I bit back any retort and chose not to go into any sort of verbal combat, pushing down my anger at what I perceived as her lack of grace, realising she was lashing out through her pain.  She followed me around the house throwing more barbs.  I retreated more and more into myself and slowly but surely pulled away; but at the same time feeling like a failure for not being able to help her.  Her parting shot was that she had come to me with her heart in pieces, with the inference I had failed her by not helping put her together again.  But I guess, in hindsight, I was the wrong person to help.             

In the days and weeks following, as my mind replayed the encounter like a bad playlist on repeat, I had many conversations with my girls about life, challenges and the challenge of climbing out of the emotional pit when you have had one of those days/weeks/months.  We talked about empathy and of how every single person is going through ‘stuff’ -- be it personal or through association.  We talked about how the content of certain days can feel like the worst day ever but how to symbolically, psychologically and emotionally recover -- and come out stronger on the 'other' side by feeding the soul.  My timing was ‘lucky’ because not long after that topic du semaine, Faith came home absolutely devastated about the day she had had, where everything felt like an uphill battle every which corner she turned. 

After her tears dried, we spoke about how what she was going through is real life and as such, there are always going to be good days and bad.  I explained that every single day cannot be perfect as that is just the way life is but that how one reacted to and tackled any sort of challenge often shaped the severity of that ‘blow’ and what kind of ‘state’ you ended up in after that ‘bout’ in the proverbial boxing ring.  That earned me a beautiful smile.  Although I was not able to be helpful to my acquaintance, I was grateful I could be somewhat ‘useful’ to my child.

Shortly before I sat down to write this, I came across the following piece: “Happiness is not the absence of problems but the ability to deal with them.”  We ALL have stuff.  We ALL have good and not so good days – regardless of how well we might be able to mask it to the rest of the world.  BUT, what we need to get through another tough day is already inside each and every one of us – we just need to take a moment to reach for that courage and take that leap of faith that WE are ENOUGH.

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45: No beauty queen

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As a child, and right until I left home at 17, I was force-fed a daily diet of jibes of how ugly, fat and stupid I was.  They left such an imprint that even at 40-something, even though my head now knows different, the wounded child within cringes at every imagined magnified flaw.  When I became a teenager, the insults took on another level where my own father gave me all sorts of hurtful labels (eg slut, whore) – all because boys started showing an interest and calling the house.  I felt embarrassed and dirty.  So I had my hair cut short (to look like a boy), and tried my hardest to blend in with the furniture and not call attention to myself.  Of course, years later, chasing a career in show business was SO at odds with that! But a lifetime of self-loathing followed.  Then again, it took having my own babies to realize the failings did not lie within myself but with the monsters who had branded me... 

Then, some 15 years ago, my older brother asked me to accompany his wife to a cosmetic surgeon’s office in Bangkok because she was anxious about her level of English and apprehensive of the potential end-product from a ‘lost-in-translation’ situation.  Meanwhile, I was more concerned about my lack of proficiency in Cantonese (my sister-in-law’s mother tongue) AND my lack of Thai!  But he insisted.  And so, like a good little sister, I went along on the appointed day.  Long story short, after the doctor finished with her patient, she turned around to me and said, “Now, I could really get to work on your face and make you look MUCH better!”  Ouch!

But the ‘good doctor’ was probably right.  Even now, I don’t do myself any favours.  I struggle to commit to any sort of beauty regime, keep my nearly-always-unpainted nails short; and am known to sport a shiny forehead due to a lack of foundation or powder.  At 40-something, I do try to remember to at least moisturise (sometimes), but even I know its only a half-assed job. My daughters go to the hairdressers more than I do; AND I know at least one girlfriend who would be horrified to know I nearly ALWAYS take the kids to school in my workout gear.  After all, why bother with the hassle if I am just going running straight after?  The problem with that?  I struggle to be useful to my girls when it comes to the whole ‘beautify me’ thingy, often having to call my girlfriends who have a better idea on – for example, how to avoid collecting multiple frequent flyer points in Zits-ville or how to avoid a shiny face!

I kid you not! A couple of months back, when Matt and I got invited to go to some swanky fundraiser, I was petrified!  The crew who invited us are what they would call in Italy “sprezzatura”, in that they look fabulously and effortlessly glamorous – 24/7! Panicked, I promptly booked a facial, called a girlfriend-in-the-know about the whole eyelash thingy (don’t ask!) and spent the best of two weeks trawling the malls trying to find the ‘perfect’ dress and frankly, the WHOLE thing was EXHAUSTING! The time and effort required!  Urgh!  I admit I came away with a new-found respect for these girls from the little I glimpsed of their world.  But I cannot help myself – a ‘glamour-puss’ I am not.  Nada time nor patience.

I know I am not good at teaching the girls the in’s and out’s of ‘prettying-up’ and often find myself extolling a “less is more” mantra with them – whilst calling girlfriends in a panic for advice or researching the Internet for answers I do not possess.  BUT, I AM good at talking to them about being kind and strong; about the importance of ‘feeding’ their soul, heart and mind; of being true and honest; and the paramount necessity of balance and dreaming.  And most importantly, how beautiful and loved they are.  I hope its enough.

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34. Allergic to competition

Olympics fever has people all over the world glued to their sets, cheering countries and athletes on.  As for me, the only real interest I’ve shown these past so-many-days was for the Opening Ceremony.  Now THAT brought a lump to my throat.  Why the general lack of enthusiasm?  For starters, the time difference, PLUS I am rubbish at sedentary viewing (too fidgety!).  And, if I was honest, whilst I enjoy the celebration of sportsmanship and the personal stories, I am not one for competition where for every winner, stands a whole posse of defeated souls.   Yes, I’ve been found out:  I don’t enjoy competition and the angst and agro that comes with it.  Its an 'allergy'.

I grew up in a very competitive family and when I was a child, life seemed to revolve around discussions about who got the best grade, the most As, was the most loved, etcetera.  It didn’t help that my aeronautical engineer father placed a ridiculously high value on As for science and mathematical subjects and was hugely contemptuous of everything else.  He regarded history, literature and English as disciplines introduced for the morons of society.  Much to his angst, owing to the slant of his viewpoint, I belonged to that particular group.  As such, my killer grades for what I excelled in were routinely dismissed with a “any idiot can get an A” whilst my paltry marks for maths (especially!) invited humiliation and sometimes a beating.  When my literature teacher wrote of my “tenacity” in a report card, my father interpreted the remark that I had been stubborn – so I got beaten up for that too.  I should mention I was confused at the time of the beating, wondering what I had done to invite such a ‘terrible report’ (as per my dad’s reason for the walloping) as I could have sworn I was one of Mrs Grainger’s better students seeing I routinely topped my class.  It was only years later when the memory re-surfaced that I realized my father did not understand the real meaning of ‘tenacity’.  Ah, but I digress.  

As I was saying, unfortunately for me, next to one brother gifted in Maths (now a shipbroker), another a natural with language and the written word (now a professor), plus the two extra brothers who went on to become an anesthetist and a lawyer respectively, I was officially the dummy of the group – by HIS reckoning.  But that’s okay with me --  just as long as I didn’t have to participate in stupid mind games and soul destroying politics.  And so, with such a 'stellar' introduction to the mechanics of ‘competition’, it is little wonder I am not a fan of rivalry, no matter how friendly.

But of course, it is inevitable to go through life without crossing paths with people who are competitive about EVERYTHING!  From racing to the traffic lights (even if they are red), to being competitive about jobs and earning power.  Unfortunately, much as it pains me to typecast, women (as a whole), can be the biggest culprits.  Sorry girls, but you know there is truth in what I am saying.  

It starts early, with competition revving up around the 10-year-old mark: an unspoken contest to be the smartest, the prettiest, the most sporty, the most popular.  Developing into a race for the best boyfriend, record-breaking college results, the better job, the ultimate wardrobe, etcetera, etcetera.  And then, the ultimate whammy: motherhood!  Who’s baby was the best sleeper or the best eater.  I’ve even had a woman demand why her daughter did not have the same curly hair as the waves my three daughters sport (and NO I do not colour or perm my children's hair!)!  Bizarre!  And then, when Faith was applying for schools after sitting her 11+ exams (in London) came the “Oh!  Which schools are you applying for?  Well!  Six schools have hinted at a promised-spot for MY daughter!  We just have to decide which one will provide the best contacts for her later on.”  Seriously?  BLEH!   

Don’t get me wrong, I am fiercely competitive – it is in my DNA.  I am stubbornly determined and rarely give up.  But the only person I compete against is myself, constantly setting targets and goals, always trying to improve on my last efforts.  I don’t, however, feel the need to be consumed by anything or have the desire to possess a killer instinct; nor do I have a ‘win at all cost’ mentality.  For me, my mantra revolves around balance, being true to myself and having integrity. 

My girls will have make their own decisions about how they feel about competition and while I encourage them to give things their 100 percent and tell them nothing is impossible; I also talk to them about the importance of enjoying what they do, balance, fair play and being gracious – regardless of whether they end up victorious or not.

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