50: Old wounds

I am BIG on the ‘past being the past’, ‘moving on’ and ‘focusing on the now’.  And generally, I am quite proficient.  Of course it helps to be as forgetful as I am with my ‘now’ overflowing with all the essentials I need to keep in mind with the girls’ schedules -- making it easier to bury unpleasant memories DEEP in some hard to reach recess of the brain and heart.  Our move to Singapore, however, has stirred these memories and forced me to acknowledge my past.

To Matt’s delight, I have always had an aversion to shopping, putting the task in my dreaded “only if I really need to” basket.  Possibly, that may have been what spurred him on to propose!  And then one day, shortly after our move here, as we drove past a particular mall, I felt sick in my stomach as I recognized it from my childhood days.  And the memories came rushing in. With the implosion of my parents’ marriage and my father’s disappearance to his ‘other’ family, mom used to banish me out of the house with strict instructions not to return before a certain time.  If I was a teenager, perhaps that would have been music to my ears.  But I think I was not quite 10.  And so, with barely any money in my pocket, I stayed out of the house until the sun had set, seeking refuge from the heat by wandering aimlessly around certain malls.  Till today, I am not a fan of overhead fluorescent lights and malls.  I think my sanity was saved when I discovered I could block out my reality by losing myself in books at the library -- until closing time.

A few weeks ago, I received a letter from the Singapore Immigration office advising me the country did not recognize dual citizenship.  It was a surprise.  At 15, I had not wanted to leave Singapore and move to another country with my father (who was now a violent stranger to me) and his wife (who was not shy about showing her displeasure about being my new ‘responsible adult’).  My naïve self was sure I could find a job, support myself financially AND still go to school.  So I did what any foolhardy15- year-old would do.  I ran away, found a job, and hid at a friend’s house.  Of course my father found me.  And we left soon after.  And the beatings my father used to ‘grace’ my mother (and then the Indonesian and Filipino maids) with, I became the ‘heir apparent’.  I didn’t last long.  Two years later, and nearly broken, I left home at 17.  An unfinished education.  No money.  No job.  No prospects.  No relatives and nobody who cared.   Just some clothes in a bag.  In a country still alien to me.  I felt someone painted a big fat “L” on my head.

I was lucky my first boyfriend’s mother took me in.  But that didn’t last long either.  I felt second-rate and a loser on every level with not-a-bright-future ahead.  If I had known I had the option to go back to Singapore to be guided by one of my many uncles or aunts (my father came from a family of 10!), I think I would have hopped on the next plane -- if only for a welcoming face.  Instead, I left the sanctuary of this kind woman’s house, ashamed I was not good enough for her son but determined to be the master of my own destiny.   Fast forward 29 years, my grown-up self weeps at what my 17 year-old-self went through for the next few years.  But I consider myself lucky because things could have been much MUCH worse. 

But the recent opening of these previously forgotten wounds have not been for nothing.  It has reiterated to me how fortunate I am and forced me to really scrutinize the principal driving motivator in my life: to leave a positive legacy through the next generation.  I know I speak quite openly about my past.  It is not to garner pity but to remind myself that I am one of the lucky ones. 

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33. Going 'off-piste'

For some unknown reason, whenever we have a dinner party, I find myself not only trying a new recipe, but also going ‘off-piste’.  Depending on the disparity between how the flavors come together and what I think a dish should taste like, dictates what seasoning (if any) or extras I add.  But it is quite possibly the ONLY instance where I routinely veer off the ‘beaten track’ and become rather adventurous – which is quite the opposite of my 40-something ‘everyday self’.  

Take my training for example.  Matt and I have signed on to tackle a running event in Angkor Wat in December later this year.  Not a fan of running more than 45 minutes (yes, its THAT precise!), I only said yes due to my romantic notions of the location of the race.  And so, I thought I had better take a good look at my weekly routine to determine how much my ‘game’ needed raising. 

Mondays is a cycle circuit up, down and around Mount Faber to strengthen my 40-something-year-old knees for the week ahead; Tuesdays is a 7km run; Wednesdays and Fridays see me at the gym doing weights, a small cycle and a shorter run; Thursdays is a 10km run; Saturdays is interval training involving 2-minute sprints (BLEH!); and Sundays sees me COLLAPSE in a heap!  All in all, if the route is unchanged, I can tackle it relatively comfortably as I am familiar with all the twists and turns of the course (quite often letting gravity pull me along!) and I distract myself by pondering about what to write about next -- never mind all the limping when I am done (but that’s for ANOTHER story)! But, when Matt decides to come along on my run AND THEN takes us on a different route (just for the ‘adventure’!), I struggle mentally and lag far far FAR behind; my labored panting peppered with “You’re killing me!” and “Argh!  Where are you taking me?!”, complimented by “I’m sloooooooooowly dyyyyying!” and “Please can we walk for a few metres?”  Just as well I have a patient husband who reminds me its ‘all in my head’!

I look back at my past and wonder if I was always like this.  After all, I couldn’t be THAT risk-averse if having decided to live life on MY terms, I left home at 17, penniless and with nothing more than a bag of clothes; or when I took off to Japan to sing on a cruise ship without a single word of Japanese; or all those times I started little businesses from scratch; or fell in love?  Risks?  I’ve taken aplenty!

But I find that the combination of becoming a mother, age and time constraints brought about from the children’s schedules have morphed me into a bit of a control freak, constantly in a state of micro-managing possible challenges that may lay ahead.  Choosing safer options, with plans B and C tucked in my back pocket in case plan A doesn’t quite work out.  And it has its pros and cons.

I find this inherited quality comes in useful when I have to juggle this family-of-five’s schedule (six if you count Buddy!) because it enables for majority of the elements that make up our crazed lives to fall into place – most of the time.  And so, I am accepting of the necessity of being more circumspect than my younger self -- life is no longer just about me.

And so, yet another reason why I am lucky to be married to Matt: he who reminds me (and the girls) of the importance of going off-piste every now-and-then and the fun in being spontaneous – which is why every so often, I allow myself to be led on his crazy adventures to venture into the uncertain; to stay young, find new reasons to laugh, create fresh memories and learn something new.

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19. Motherhood

 

Okay.  Before I start.  Quick confession.  “Motherhood” was not on my bucket list when I was growing up. Neither was “marriage”.  But that’s ANOTHER story.  As a child, I never played with dolls, because I didn’t have any.  And I don’t recall myself as being the ‘nurturing’ type.  If I was honest with myself (seeing I am already in confession mode!), I truly did not think it would or could happen for me.  And yet, here I am.  At 40-something.  With not one, but three munchkins, whom I am the primary “responsible adult” for.  And quite frankly, there are times, when the enormity of the responsibility scares the living daylights of me, and I agonize if I am doing good enough a job.

Not a ‘natural’ mother.  That is what I am.  I am rubbish at play because I am too practical and  constantly find myself lost in the day-to-day mechanics of what needs to be done between now and forever.  And there you have it!  Another reason why I am SUPER grateful for Matt and constantly remind the girls how lucky they are to have him as their dad.  I admire how he doesn’t need to have things all planned in advance.  The way he is the ‘funghi’ (ahem.. did you get it?) in the crazy mix of our family of five (six if you count Buddy, our rescued dog AND the ‘son’ we never had!).  Rough and tumble.  Madcap and fearlessly wonderful.  That’s Matt. 

Me?  “Sit up straight!  Stand tall!  Have you done your homework?  Be proud of who you are!  Have conviction!  Stand up for what you believe in!”  Yadda yadda yadda.  You get the drift.  I am waaaaay too serious!  Especially when I press the ‘playback’ button in my head after another ‘discussion’ with the girls.  It doesn’t help knowing friends who, whilst complimenting us on what wonderful girls we have, also confess they are not as strict as me.  But I SO don’t want to win the award of “Most Strict Mom”!  I mean, REALLY!  And yet, if it means keeping them safe or equipping them with the tools they will need in life, then, I guess that is the role I must play.

Such an unexpected business, “Motherhood”.  For those who choose to leap into this condition whereby you are forever linked to the child who spends the best of 9 months in your tummy, forever changing your sense of self and your body (unless you happen to be a supermodel); and when he / she enters the world, your life – forever.  From sleep deprivation to stinky nappies, the constant worry and what goes in and comes out of this little being, the demanding weight of responsibility.  The list is endless and there are days when I’ve looked in the mirror and wondered if I am ‘man’ enough for the job.

I remember when Faith first arrived.  None of the books, nurses or doctors brought me any comfort as I struggled to figure out why she wouldn’t feed or sleep like my friends’ babies.  I felt like a failure.  I went from being a ‘can-doer’ and someone who was such a firm believer in the impossible, to tearfully telling Matt I couldn’t possibly have any more children as I already stunk so badly at being a mother to one.  Luckily, he understood and supported me in every way possible.  Things got better after a year. 

But soon, it was evident to us we needed to give her a sibling, if only to have one friend for life.  Faith didn’t want to play with any of the other children.  Only me.  And nobody was allowed to engage with me as I was her ‘property’.  And so, we tried for baby number two.  And lost the baby.  Again, I was overwhelmed with a sense of failure.  Was it something I ate?  I shouldn’t have gone for that run.  Self-remonstrations abound.  And then, 3 weeks later, I fell pregnant again.  I was nervous.  But for nothing.  Tia was healthy and a different baby to Faith.  And so, a promise for another baby was made.  Our last, Paige followed soon after.

Today, at nearly 9, 10 and nearly 13, life with the girls is busy, sometimes crazy, and full.  Most of the time, our household operates like a well-oiled machine.  Every so often though, I get a crippling sense of doubt and worry if I am doing enough.  I fret over their emotional well being and get heart palpitations over their safety in their journey in life, from the physical to the emotional and the intangible.  And so I pray.  For guidance, for their safety, their peace of mind and heart, and their happiness.

Motherhood may not come naturally to me, but I am very lucky because I have beautiful friends I learn from by observing, a great partner-in-crime, and three wonderful girls who inspire me to want to be a better mother everyday.  If someone had told me how hard 'motherhood' was going to be; how the task involved sleepless nights, huge responsibilities, self doubt with a large dose of never-ending worry, I probably would have run the other way screaming.  BUT having entered this ‘office’, with both eyes wide open, I confess I wouldn’t trade the pockets of joy and love, that lump in my throat when I watch them grow and develop into wonderful people, or even those crazy days when it all falls into place, for anything.

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