Sinking

There are things that I can't and won't ever want to say. Words that would make things fall apart if it was heard... or has it already became pieces?

I closed my eyes. It's there. I opened my eyes. It's still there. Has it always been there and I just didn't see it coming?

Denial. Is your name Denial?

I push them away and tucked them in the deepest corner of my mind. Keep busy, keep working, be distracted, I remind myself times and times over.

Busy.. distracted.. busy.. distracted.. a short moment of silence later.. it springs right back.

My thoughts throughout the days spin around like this. Concerned, depressed, uncomfortable, indifferent, nervous, resigned, scared, crushed, relieved, apathetic, pretentious, exasperated, uneasy. In no particular order.

It's like my emotions are running high on this overworked treadmill. Make it stop. Make it stop already!

I have to remind myself that the only thing that will remain unchanged, is change itself. Regardless of it being good or bad, nothing is meant to last forever... though it might last a long long time.

I want to remain emotionless, I don't want to lose that bit of control, because I am quite sure the floor will open up and swallow me into the realm of the irretrievable if I just let myself go.

Something so beautiful, can also be so morbid. Depends on how you look at it. So what do you choose to see?

Didn't they always say focus only on  the good?

Focus on the good... Focus on the good... Focus on the good...



I am freed now. So why am I still sinking?

Bad Mom

Like most mothers, who started out pure and simple, we just want to be the best mom for our child/ children. You had probably tried to read countless books and articles that you could get your hands on, and had lots of advice on how to raise your children. At the beginning, you were convinced that you're never going down that lane, becoming who your own mother used to be. You are going to be different. To be better.

Believe me, I was once all that too. Then, in a few years’ time, reality served.

Too many moments, I found myself doing things that I am too ashamed to admit or raising my voice, saying THE MOST awful things that any good mothers would disapprove of.

“Shut up and do it because I am your mother!” “Stop it or I will make you regrets this.”

It was as if I was this third party, seeing this terrible parent who couldn’t control herself whenever she was being challenged. I rolled my eyes at myself and got insanely livid and disgusted for being me.

At times, my urge to control or just to make a stupid point pushes me back into being a juvenile. Perhaps, I am desperate to put my child in the role of an adult. And for what? To compensate my desire to have made all the wrong things right? Or am I trying to avoid confronting my improbable fear as my children approach the age when I lost that only chance to grow up in a proper family. I don’t know and it frustrates me even further.

I find it especially hard to analyze battles nowadays; which are the ones to fight, and which are the ones to walk away from. And I just take them all up. Gone were the days when it was just discipline, now being in control is often just the beginning of the path that propels me to issue more threats, let out more screams, and dish out more punishments. These have been emotionally crippling me. Regardless of winning or losing the battles, it made me feel like a complete failure, because I know very well that I had absolutely crossed that line. I had morbidly transformed into the bad mom that I swore I would never become.

I really don’t need someone to point that out to me because I know it better. And you have no idea how much that guilt is killing me.

Maybe I shouldn't be too bothered if my children are healthy, well-behaved or if they will perform well in school. Or worry if they will grow up righteous and successful. Perhaps I should simply conform, be like the millions of moms out there; just throw my kids some damn Ipad or gadgets and just get on with life, the easier way out. Or had I just leave my kids to my helper or let myself to heard from time to time, I might have prevented all these menaces. I don't know what's right any more. My intent which started out looking quite noble had took on such an ugly turn.

Being nine months pregnant and giving birth to my children don’t automatically grant me the know-how to be someone’s mom. And more so, when the balance of being firm and overbearing becomes blurred with the juggling of multiple roles that I wasn’t trained or prepared myself for. And I definitely didn't have the mommy’s qualities bestowed upon me when my children came along. The more I tried to be perfect, the more I struggled.

You probably think that I am looking for excuses for being who I have become, but you are not me, you have not walked a mile in my shoes.

So, I hugged my daughter who was lying stiffly in her bed. I cried and I apologized for screwing our life up. There was some hesitance it was almost like she was contemplating my motives because I always get mad when I find them not sleeping. Then suddenly, she threw her arms around me and sobbed, saying, “It’s OK, Mommy. It’s OK, really. I still love you…”

And this bad mom was forgiven. The uncompromising love, innocence and the magnanimousness of a child that will put any grown-up to shame.

The Forgotten Child

"Hey! Long time no see." 

Then we hugged and I shook hands with his children (a son and a daughter). He continued, "Where are you working now?" "How many children do you have? How old are they?"

I was at a wedding dinner last weekend and conversation like the one above is always very common, you would think. The only thing unusual about it was - the person who was having that conversation with me is my own father.

Yes. My biological father.

My parents went their separate ways. I was 8, and nobody told me that my life was going to change forever. 

I was sent to stay with my grandparents and aunts, where I spent the next 14 years growing up without either of my parents by my side.

While my mom made continuous effort to reconnect with us (my brother and I) during our teenage years, my dad on the other hand, withdrawn himself further and further away from us after forming a second family, with his new wife, completed with a new set of children of their own.

As far as I can remember, I had never been to my dad's new home or spent a day with him and his new family. I saw lesser and lesser of him, from once a year to once in a few years, then came a day, he stopped visiting me altogether. 

Some 7 years back, I bumped into him when I was pregnant with my first child. I walked up to him and greeted him. He looked completely puzzled then he casually told me I must have mistaken him for somebody else and he walked off. My own dad did not recognized me! I had to call out his full name before he could remember he had another daughter, who was right there, standing in front of him.

That evening, at the wedding dinner where I met him, he brought along his children. Apart from our overly polite handshakes, we had no interactions whatsoever, because we are not anything, but strangers.

Her daughter should probably in her mid 20s, looking very polished, refined and elegant, seated right next to him, looking absolutely like a proud daddy's little girl. She was like this delicate orchid, so sheltered, protected, growing in a perfect greenhouse. And I was like some weeds! Fending for myself out there and getting tramped on.

If I told you, I wasn't feeling bitter that night, I was lying because that girl sitting beside my dad could have been me. But no. I never feel like I ever had a father.

I never blame my dad for remarrying or for making choices to live life as a wholesome father for my step-siblings. But I just couldn't stop myself from feeling I had been deliberately forgotten and that he had chosen to neglect me, to have nothing to do with me.

Where were you when I was battling depression? Where were you when I tried to take my own life? Where were you the whole time? Where? I had wanted to scream at him.

But I didn't. 

As much as I would love to have a father to love me and protect me, I knew it's all over. He WAS my father, but not any more. 

I have grown up. I have moved on. I have no need for a father any more.

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My Mom

Mother's Day is long overdue. I didn't get to celebrate with my mom this year, coz my kids were down with Hand, Foot, Mouth Disease. A few days before Mother's Day, I called my mom on the phone and broke the bad news to her, I apologize to her as I couldn't bring her out for dinner and neither would I want her to come over to my place because my kids were infectious. She comforted me, "No worries, we can always have dinner, any day, as long as the kids are healthy. Go, take good care of them. Mommy will be fine."

My mom was diagnosed with terminal cancer in 2008, she fought a good battle through chemotherapy, radiation therapy and mastectomy. While she still has cancer, she is trying everything she could to stay health, and fighting to stay alive for her children as well as her grandchildren. Her immunity is weaken by the chemo drugs she is taking, hence I didn't want her to have any chance of catching the dreadful HFMD. The best precautionary measure seemed to be keeping her away from my kids. But we all miss her terribly.

The last time, I saw her was close to a month ago, I was busy preparing for a business trip, then I was away and when I came back, the kids were unwell. So she insisted to come over to my place earlier and cook dinner for my kids. We absolutely LOVE my mom's cooking. But my Laetitia had not been clear of HFMD yet, so I was worried. I called my mom this afternoon and told her not come, but she assured me that she isn't afraid. She wanted to come and keep my daughter company since she was barred from school for more than a week now, and my mom reckon my daughter would be thrilled to have her around.

While still on the phone, I confided in my mom about some recent unhappiness I was having with my daughter's impermissible behavior and her unwillingness to comply. My mom listened patiently to my ranting. When I finally ended. She said this to me gently, "Girl, just let it go. Look at Mommy, I used to be worried and get upset easily, then I got cancer and now I realized that a lot of things are not as important as it seemed. Let it go, don't be like me... Anyway, I am going over to your place now. See you later." And she hung up.

I held on to the phone as a tear rolled down my cheek. Yes. My mom is right, I have to learn to let go.

Just now, after dinner, she showed me her hands and feet, they were extremely dry, peeling, darken and her nails are falling off! This is one of the many side effects of the chemo drug that she has to withstand. I gave her some Physiogel cream to bring home, but it sadden me to know that I can't relieve her of any of the sufferings. This feeling of helplessness is unbearable.

Many of the friends she made, when she was receiving treatments in KK hospital, had passed on or are in really bad shape now. I don't know how long more I will have my mom around. The morbid thought terrifies me.

Earlier, I saw a post on FB, it says "I wanna donate my life.". I didn't have a close friendship with this person, but strangely, I left a comment, almost out of sheer desperation.

"Yes, give it to my mom, she needs it. She wants to see her grandchildren grow up. Thank you."

Even though, I knew it can NEVER be possible, still, I ask for it - An almost zero % chance that my mom can have the life that someone takes lightly and make good of it, I want it.

'Chope-ing' Should be Prohibited

Unless you are Singaporean, you might not know what  “Chope” means. It is a local slang for reserving a seat with something insignificant, like a packet of half-used tissue paper (it's a top choice).

Seriously, I hope this practice will be prohibited, like how we had bubble gums banned in Singapore. It is neither fair nor gracious to leave seats empty so that the inconsiderate individuals can take his/her own sweet time to run their errands and then come back to reclaim their seats, totally unbashful.

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I had a horrible Christmas this year. I think I caught a virus or something during my vacation to Montigo Resorts at Batam. I was getting chills and my body ached real bad, as a result, I tucked myself in at 10 pm on Christmas eve. Who cares about counting down, when you are feeling too crappy to stay awake?

Then on Christmas Day, I woke up with razors in my throat, a pounding head and pain deposited in every part of my body. I was feeling pretty relieve to be heading home that very day. Plus Montigo Resorts sucks!

Fast forward.

I boarded this overly crowded ferry with my family, which had some passengers transiting from another ferry, it was chaotic. I was frantically searching for seats to settle my two young children and my mom down, while fatigue had gotten me and I was in a state of torpid. My hubby signalled to me to come over to the front of the ferry, where he had found three seats for us (he could just move and sit somewhere else).

The seats were kind of dirty, littered with pieces of newspaper and a small plastic bag. But it would be alright, we could clear them up as long as I could sit together with my little ones and my mom.

Just as we will about to take our seats, out of nowhere, this man in his early 50s came charging at us, shoving us aside, while accusing us of stealing his seats. He crudely claimed that those 6 seats (3 of which we were about to occupy and another 3 behind us, sat a middle-aged woman) were all his because he had 'chope' them with his belongings.

Belongings? What belongings? All I could see were pieces of newspapers strewed all over the place and a tiny plastic bag containing God knows what's inside. Neither him nor any of his friends were anywhere near those seats when we were there.

The middle-aged woman tried to argue that the seats were unoccupied when she came. That man hollered at her aggressively. So my hubby pointed out to him that the seats on the ferry are on a first-come-first serve basis and no reservation of seats are allowed, not especially when he was trying to 'chope' 6 seats without even bother to be physically there.

Then that bugger changed his story and said, he and his friends were already at the seats way before us, but they just left the seats for a short while to go to the toilet.

Seriously? ALL 6 PEOPLE WENT TO THE TOILET TOGETHER!!!! Who the hell were you kidding??!!

But the bugger just wouldn't give up and kept on ranting and ranting beyond reasoning. While his mouth was raving, his hand was swerving his plastic bag in front of my face.

I don't know if my fever had kick in or this arsehole sky-rocketed my blood pressure, I felt as though I was burning up inside. As unexpectedly and abruptly, I snatched his offensive plastic bag and threw it down on one of the seats he so much desired. "FUCK! YOU, FUCK OFF! FUCK TO YOUR SEAT. YOU PISSING ME OFF!" I exploded.

At this point, he shouted "Fuck" back at me and raised his hand up with the intention to hit me, but was apprehended by one of his lady friend, who apologized on his behalf.

With that, we decided to quit arguing with this crazy bastard and moving out of those seats. We have more integrity than this shameless bugger.  Anyone in the ferry who had some sense of righteousness could clearly see that he is nothing but a bully, robbing seats from a family who was dragging bags and luggage in this sardine-packed ferry, saddled with two very young kids and an elderly.

On our way out to the next deck, he was still shouting at us. I couldn't help but snapped at him, "Just shut up and sit lah, sit until you rot and DIE!" I swear if I had another plastic bag, I will not hesitant to hurl it at his irritating  face.

By this time, the ferry was about to set sail, the staff from the ferry managed to find two seats to accommodate my mom and my 3 YO and there really wasn't any seat left for us. But there were some kind souls who witnessed the saga and offered us their seats. We thanked them, but refused to take it from them. It wasn't a long journey, we reckon we will be fine just standing around. Later that same staff, brought out a plastic stool from behind a counter for me.

As I sat there, carrying my sleeping daughter in my arms, emotions surged through my heart. I couldn't help but felt very victimised, the warmth and generosity which I received from the other passengers and the ferry staff just amplified it further. I didn't tell anyone then, but I was on the verge of breaking down in tears. It was pathetic to feel like that on a Christmas Day.

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Personally, I have never seen 'choping' or similar practices anywhere else in the world. Not even in Malaysia;  I kid you not. Why can’t more Singaporeans adopt better social morality and be less self-centred?

Or at least, carry a sign like the one below, wherever you go, if you really cannot live without 'choping seats'! 

(Image taken from http://ninetoten.wordpress.com/)

June, Bloody June

Hasn't been blogging for quite a while since I came back from my Malaysian road-trip. Apart from being crazily busy (but happy) at work, June has been a terribly hot month and bad month for my family.

My kids were sick beginning of the month (before the road-trip), then I was down with throat inflammation when we returned from the trip. Days later, both my son and my husband became ill. It was especially painful for my 2.5 YO son,  Leonitus, who was throwing up and burning with fever that went past 39 degree for many days. As a result, he became the tantrum monster in the house.

Now that they are feeling better, my damn sore throat came back, this time with a vengeance! The pain was excruciating and it brought along with it fever and chills too. *moan....

Because of the above, we had spent so much money making the doctors very happy on our medical, and I have not been running for the entire June. And to make the matter worst, I have a 10 KM run coming up next month! SOMEBODY HELP ME!!

I can only look forward to a cooler July, when I can return back to my healthier self and do some running again.

PS: On MC today, so finally had the time to type an entry. *sniff, sniff
 

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Nothing to be Afraid of

10th Oct (I know I am late) was World Mental Health Day, a day to raise public awareness for the mentally ill. I know most of you would be shunning, "Oh, I don't want to have anything to do with the crazies!"

And this is exactly the reason why I have chose to blog about it. There is an absolute need to debunk the myth of mental illness. Blogging about my own struggle with Borderline Personality Disorder would make me vulnerable; in this stigmatising society which we live in, I might lose some friends or perhaps even my job when this entry goes live. But I want to do something, I want to give back to the society, I want to put a face to it, to show everyone out there that being diagnosed with a mental illness is nothing to be ashamed of. It is a sickness, not a sin. And we can go on to become well and lead dignified and fulfilling lives.

This was me, 5 years ago. Having battled depression for more than half a decade, I was finally diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder at the age of 30.

And what was I like then?

I looked fabulous and could have impressed people easily, but behind closed door, I don’t even know who I really was. I was confused with my own identity.

I wasn't like those mad people you watch on the TV, locked up in an asylum. But I indeed stayed in a psychiatric ward in a hospital for a short time - 14 days to be precise.

I had poorly regulated emotions, which was why I would be nice on some days and screamed at the same person, the next.

Occasionally, I would have intense anxiety for no apparent reason, which made me retreated into my own solitary.

I was aloof because we didn't want to get unnecessary involvement, coz I felt it would always be me who get hurt in the end. I was superficial because the intensity of human relations drove me to my pits and I believed being indifferent will help me keep that facade.

I had chronic feelings of emptiness, that was why I jumped from people to people to fill the void, but I feared being connected emotionally at the same time. I fell for people easily and fell out of it, just as quickly too. I had abnormal fear of attachment, as I thought of attachment as future abandonment.

I was impulsive and self-damaging, I tried killing myself a few times. And I actually enjoyed self-mutilation because I believed the physical pain would lessen my emotional turmoil.

I  used to be paranoid and depressive, I felt the world was an evil place. I didn't know how to take things lightly because my life was a matter of black and white, I didn't know how to accept the multiple shades of grey.

I hated everything, I blamed everyone, including myself, I wanted to be dead.

That was me.
.
.
.

Now, I have come a long way.

I am successful (in my own opinion), drug and therapy-free and loving each and every day of my life. And I want you to know, with early interventions, there is nothing to be afraid for being a little mad some times.



Bread and Butter Pudding will save the day

Yesterday morning, I received a telephone call from my gynaecologist; it was news that wasn't very pleasing. Although, I kept reassuring myself to stay positive; it still had me thinking.

If I die one day, would I have anything that I might want to pass on to my kids so that I can be remembered by. That afternoon, I showed Laetitia how to make a simple dish, using 'recycled' bread from our fridge. I know she would surely love my recipe for Bread and Butter Pudding. And I was right! Laetitia couldn't stop eating it.



Ingredients:

5-6 slices of bread (I used leftover corn bread, but any bread is fine)

2 cups of milk (I used the free samples baby's formula)

2 eggs (small to medium size)

Half cup of brown sugar (white sugar will do too)

A handful of raisins

1 tsp of vanilla essence

A pinch of salt

About 2 tbsp of butter for greasing the pan and buttering the bread.



Instructions:

1) Preheat oven at 175 degree and grease a 24cm x 20cm baking tin well with some butter.
2) Cut the bread up into quarter or smaller pieces and butter both sides of all pieces of bread.
3) Beat up the eggs lightly and pour in the milk, then whisk them up gently.
4) Pour in the sugar, vanilla essence and salt. Continue to whisk until the mixture is consistent.
5) Line the bread pieces up in the baking tin, sprinkle some raisins on top and pour in half of the mixture, passing through a sieve.
6) Lay a second layer of bread pieces, sprinkle the rest of the raisins and pour in the remaining of the mixture, passing through a sieve.

7) Press lightly on bread pieces to ensure that the mixture soaks through well.

8) Pop the baking tin into the oven and bake for 45-60 mins until you get a golden colored top.

9) You can pass through a fork in the middle and if it comes out clean the pudding is ready.
10) Set it to cool for a while before cutting.

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Tomorrow, I would be having a surgery to remove the pre-cancerous cells found in my cervix. I know, many of you might be worried reading about this. But please chill, you would be helping me, by believing that I would do well.

If you are still feeling down for me, use my recipe and bake yourself some delicious Bread and Butter Pudding. Trust me, baking therapy does you good!

Negligence

I have been neglecting my blog for quite a while. Besides the fact that I have a crazily busy month filled with trainings, workshops and what not, I am tired.

I am tired. Not the physical exhaustion type which one can recuperate from sleep or rest.

I am tired of looking at my calendar and planning my life around work and home and still worrying if the balance is ever right.

I am tired of freaking myself out necessarily whenever my kids cough at night, worrying if I have made the wrong decision to take them off inhalers and throw them into the embrace of TCM.

I am tired of putting up with the fact that my mother has terminal cancer and fooling myself that she is able to survive anything now and forever.

I am tired to know that I have about ten thousand things to do on my next off day and none of them can be considered pleasant. (I have to go to the Indo Embassy to ask about my helper's home leave, get Leonitus jab for Pneumococcal, visit my gynaecologist, do the grocery shopping, visit the dentist for my wisdom tooth and I don't even know how to fill them all in within just one day.)

I am tired of trying to convince myself that the abnormality of my Pap Smear result must be something totally not serious. It's been so fucking nerve-wreaking but I choose not to tell anyone, up until now.

I am tired of fearing death. Not that I am afraid to die but I shiver whenever I imagine my kids grow up without a mother.

I am tired for knowing that I can do a million things that were right and all I need is to make just one mistake and judgement would rain on me all the same.

I am tired for I am unable to cry out loud to relieve myself because I refuse to be weak.

I am tired of neglecting myself for what seems like a very long time.

And I am sorry if I brought your mood down with this post but you know what? I am just too tired to care right now...

Dad

Father's Day is just round the corner.

I don't remember ever celebrated Father's Day with my dad.

No, he didn't die when I was very young; in fact, my estranged dad is alive and kicking, somewhere. I don't exactly know where. He had given me his name card, but I think I had misplaced it already.

My parents divorced when I was young. My dad deposited my brother and I with our grandparents while he formed another family. We used to see him, once a month, then once every few months, then once every Chinese New Year. Then, occasionally once every few years. Now, once in a blue moon when we bumped into each other on the street.

So much had been reported on the importance of an involved father in the growth and development of a child. Children with dads who are active in parenting, perform better in school, show lesser behavioral problems, are more confidence and have greater chance of being successful when they grow up.

It is believed that young women often look for men resembling their own father; and if their fathers had been dirt bags in their growing years, you can imagine the kind of disaster that are awaiting the future of these women.

If you could close your eyes and recall the images of your dad in your childhood, what was it like?

Did you see your dad bringing you for walks? Did he carry you on his back? Did he read to you at bedtime?

Or was he never around when you needed him? Is he cold, distant, unapproachable or punitive?

To those dads who have eyes glued to your Iphone/Ipad all the time, is that how you really want your children to remember you by when they grow up?

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I closed my eyes. There was an image in my mind - a still and invisible figure.

I guess, that must be my dad.

Happy Father's Day, Daddy, wherever you are.

Staring Cancer in the Face

We have been planning to bring my mom for a short vacation coming Sept, when I told her I am giving her a trip to Phuket as part of her Mother's Day present, she was ecstatic. I was equally excited because I had always wanted to bring my mom abroad and finally I have the chance.

That was last Sunday. Since then, a drastic turn of event had shattered our exhilaration.

Three years ago, my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer, terminal stage. She had chemotherapy which gave her good results despite the fact that the cancer cells had metastasized to her lungs. After a series of chemo, she was put on a type of anti-cancer drug that was working well for her - until now.

During one of her BSE, she had detected lumpiness in her breast, so she asked for a Mammogram and a Breast Ultrasound. The results came in on Monday. It wasn’t looking good.

Her doctor had scheduled her for a CT scan and had talked to her about the possibility of mastectomy or another round of chemo.

My mom is devastated.

There had been a dark cloud looming above my head since then. I tried to tell myself that I should be grateful because we came so close to losing her the other time. These three years of borrowed time had given my mom the opportunity to travel to many countries that she had wanted to visit, witnessed the wedding of my brother, celebrated the birth of her two grandsons and made many new friends in her cancer support group.

Having lost my cousin, her niece, to breast cancer just months ago, it sure felt as though Death still lingers among us.

I know I can’t have her around forever but I do hope we would have another three more years, or if I could have it my way, another five more years, if that’s not being too greedy. It would mean so much to me and for my children, they would retain better memories of this grandmother who dote on them so dearly.

But having said that, my wish for her is to be blessed with having the quality of life, even if it means shortening the length of time we have of her. I just don't ever want her to suffer.

It has became much harder to stay positive confronting cancer for the second time, but I will have to find the strengthen to be my mom’s rock; I can’t crumble, not now, not in the future.

With this post, I am linking up with Shell for her Pour Your Heart Out Wednesday.

I Want to Trade In

I thought I was winning the battle before I left for Medan last Wednesday; Leonitus' cough seemed so much better. Then I phoned home on Thursday and received the bad news; he was running a temperature -- a rather high one too.

My mom and maid brought him to the paediatrician at Railway Mall because his regular paediatrician at Kidslink CCK wasn't open, but I really have no faith with the doctor there. As I predicted her medication were those very common ones and they weren't helping Leonitus at all.

Yesterday, I brought Leonitus to the Eu Yan Sang Clinic at Sembawang. After my last near success with TCM, I was really hoping for this alternative to work out well for him. To my surprise, the clinic is very modern; it even has a hip playroom for its young patients. My thought for EYS was really some 'atas' (high-end) shit for TCM, but the consultation plus medications were really cheap compared to a trip to the kids' paediatrician.

Somehow the words of the EYS's physician weren't too resounding. Actually, no, it provided me with nearly zero confidence. I could almost sniff out a huge sense of doubt she has with herself and TCM all together when she told me that I might want to go hand in hand along with Western medication because TCM's effect might not act quick enough for Leonitus. She said Leonitus's lungs are getting too congested.

Last night, Leonitus' temperature shot over 38 degree again and he was coughing throughout the night. He wheezed and fought for air. My heart just broke into millions of pieces seeing him suffered.

I took urgent leave this morning to bring Leonitus to Winston Ng of Kidslink after he coughed and threw up all his milk. He was already not eating well and now with all that vomitting  just how much more can he take?!

Dr Ng diagnosed him with Bronchiolitis AGAIN! This is the fourth time and Leonitus is barely one year old!! WTF!! Just what can I fucking do to keep him well?!

Now everything is back to square one. It is the antibiotic, the nebulizer, the Singulair, the Ventolin and all those Western medicines that made him and me crazy, that I had choose to stop back then, they are all back once more!

It's such a fucky feeling to watch your kids fall ill and you have absolutely NO POWER to make them feel any better. It's sickening to be this vulnerable. I hate it!

I, Cindy Cheong Shin Yih, is prepared to trade in 10 years of my life, in exchange for good health of my children. Any takers, God or Devil? I don't care, just fucking take my life and make Leonitus/ Laetitia well again!

UPDATE @ 6.30pm:
Laetitia came home from school with a fever; her nose is stuffy and things aren't looking too good for her too.

The ENT Infection (Part 2)

After being plagued by a terrible sore throat after a sinus infection which comes and goes for the last 3 weeks, I had finally decided to visit an ENT Specialist to find out what exactly is wrong with me or in this case my throat.

The doctor used a flexible fiber optic scope to examine my throat by passing it through my nose. Eeeekk!!! When he told me what he was about to do, my soul jumped out of my body and bolted out of the door; Doc sensed that I was about to shit my pants, he assured me that the procedure would not hurt and went on to numb my nose with a spray.


Although the scope looked menacing and I was terribly intimidated by it, the procedure was only slightly uncomfortable but still very much bearable.


Here is the picture of my larynx, with inflamed arytenoids and there were little nodules found on it. Doc thinks that I have been abusing my vocal chord and he suggested that I talk less and talk softer.

But how am I going to ever do that when I am a trainer by profession and a mother to two ever challenging young children?!?!

The ENT Infection

This was how I look a couple of weeks back. Healthy, pretty and feeling fantastic.

Last Friday, I developed a fucking nasty sore throat. Pardon my vulgarity, but there is no other better adjective I would rather use to describe how much pain I am in right now, all thanks to my damn throat!

My throat hurts so freaking bad that I cringe every time I swallow, to the extent that I would gather all my saliva in my mouth until I absolutely have to swallow or risk drooling, then I take it all in with one big gulp.

To make matter worst, my ears are blocked and a pain in my head, between my brows soon followed. This morning I woke up to a strange feeling of my eye sockets and a look in the mirror, I really hope I was dreaming it. My nose bridge, between my eyes had swell up and became very tender.

For the picture below, I drew a white line on the middle of my nose bridge so as to illustrate the puffiness around my right eye socket and my nose.

The area swell so badly that my nose seems rather crooked now and there is even a presence of what feels like a worrisome bump on the bridge of my nose.

A colleague of mine had thought I re-do my nose filler; if this is the result of my $500 worth of hyaluronic acid jab, I would have slaughtered my doctor already!

Now I look like a Neytiri of Avatar wannabe.... NOT!

I am, but a fucking frustrated person who had seen 2 doctors, spent more than $150 on medical bills and sucked more than a dozen lozenges in 3 days and still couldn't get rid of the pain in my throat nor the swell on my nose!!

Please make the pain and swell go away when I wake up tomorrow.

PLEASE!!!

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Goodbye, Cousin!

After battling breast cancer for close to 2 years, my cousin, Kim, passed on at the age of 37, leaving behind a husband who loves her dearly and 3 very young sons.

I was Mandai Crematorium, saying my last goodbye, this morning. It was utterly heartbreaking to see Kim's second son, who was only 5 yrs old asking his father where mommy was going, just before the casket entered the cremation chamber. I felt so sorry for Kim's 3 boys, to have lost their mother at such young age. I felt so helpless, not knowing what I could do to make any of them feel better.

As a parent, myself, I knew how much Kim had hated to leave this world, to let her sons grow up without a mother. Death, itself, can never be as frightening as not knowing how it can affect your children and their lives thereafter.

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Kim, or Ah Leng Jiejie (as how I had always call you), I wish we had the opportunity to bring our kids together and let them play, then perhaps I would know them better and be a better aunt for them, than the one, I am today. I am sorry. But I will try to meet up with your boys and get to know them in the future.

I am not a believer of any religion, nor do I believe in heaven or life after death, but I really hope you will be free from sufferings and be happy wherever you may be.

So long, Cousin. It's has been good being your relative all this time.

Outburst

I had just sent Laetitia off to bed early and I had to take away her privilege of bedtime story as a punishment for throwing a horrendous tantrum that shouldn't had escalated in that way if I wasn't totally flustered.

And here I am with the 2 kids asleep; very alone and feeling very... very... I don't know how to describe but my heart just aches. It's excruciating.

This was what happen some 45 minutes ago....



Laetitia was in the bathtub whining and making senseless fuss over the littlest thing. I thought I better nip it in the bud before it turned into something out of proportion, so I stepped into the bathroom to give her a quick shower. She was screaming and kicking in protest, as though she was a fish out-of-water and caught on a hook!

After I dried her, she complained that her tummyache and asked for medicine. I felt suspicious about it because she was well a moment ago, plus she HATES taking medicines. Anyway I gave her the benefit of doubt and got her gripe water, which might help if she had wind in her stomach. She took a tiny sip, followed by a large mouthful when I urged her to finish up the spoonful of "medicine". The next second, she spit the gripe water all over herself and on me which I believed she did it in deliberation.

I yelled at her. She shrieked even louder than me. That moment, I just snapped. I lifted her up by her arms and threw her into the bathtub!

She continued to wail even when I carried her out from the tub and dried her up. She didn't stop wailing until she threw up her dinner. Ironically the puking ended it all.

It took us a short while to calm down; I apologized to her for losing my temper and for doing things that weren't very nice. And I got her to say sorry to me and my helper (she puked on part of my helper's bed).

Then we laid down on her mattress and talked for a while; I told her I love her and explained to her that I was mad at her partly because I was facing some tensions with planning our Oct's holiday and I had been feeling like a damn martyr because I was trying too hard to perfect the vacation, to accommodate everyone and to anticipate all potential obstacles when I am not the best planner to begin with.

As I spoke, tears ran down my cheeks. Laetitia looked at me emphatically and she wiped those tears off with her tiny hands. Then she rolled to her side and shut her eyes, after she mumbled, "Goodnight. Sweet dreams." My usual line when I tuck her into bed every night.



As I am typing this, I am so consumed by shame for having an outburst which spun so out of control. I felt really lousy about myself because I was unable to guard my own emotions. I allowed setbacks to get to me and I was such a reptile when I took it out on my own daughter.

From now, I have to remind myself to take it easy and not beat myself up to try to come up with an unbeatable all-inclusive trip. After all, Laetitia is only 33 months, not 33 years old; she will do just fine even if our trip was only to Sentosa.

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I am BBB

A few days back I bumped into my ex-boyfriend. It was so totally unexpected. This was the first time I saw him after we had parted, in the last two and a half years and you know what?! I was looking like SHIT!

I had the worst of the bad hair day. I was wearing an outfit that show off my post-partum tummy which resembles tyres at the place where I am supposed to have a waist. I could have felt better if I had some makeup on, but hell no, my face was more naked than a baby's bottom!

At the instant, evil word bubbles formed in my head. Fuck, he must be thinking, "Heng, I siam fast siah! Look at what an auntie she has become! From 'chio bu' becomes 'lao kueh bu'!"

I felt lousy but not for very long. I reminded myself of those days when I was looking damn chio but always feeling old and ugly because I had a younger boyfriend who ranked high on the infidelity meter. No matter how pretty I was, I wasn't going to be the one he wants to be with. It was THE worst self-esteem crusher anybody can have.

Right now, I am more than a ton overweight, smells like soured milk, wears no makeup. And my current fashion has been my least figure flattery pyjamas for the past months, but I have a wonderful man who makes me laugh with his lamest jokes and holds my hands in bed. On top on that, I am blessed with two beautiful kids, who never fail to brighten my days. So why the hell do I have to care how I look in front of an ex?!

Underneath that big, frumpy facade, I am beautiful because I have a beautiful family and I am living a beautiful life.

Yes. As for now, I am BBB.

BIG, BUT BEAUTIFUL!

PS: Whatever you are looking at is only temporary. I am still going on a diet and would return to my chiobu-ness soon. Hehehe....

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I dreamt a bad dream

Some nights back I woke up from a bad dream, crying. I searched for Mr Hubby's arm in the darkness of the night, when I found it, I held on to it tightly. It was as though his arm was a rope for me to climb back to reality. This woke Mr Hubby up, sensing that I was crying, he pat me gently on my head. I broke down; I couldn't stop my tears from flowing. I drenched the corner of my pillow.

No, I didn't dream of monsters. I dreamt of my childhood; one which was filled with many painful memories, disappointments, grievances and anger. One which, I supposed, emotionally damaged me for a long time.

"Your parents don't care about you." "Nobody wants you." "Get out of my house."

Those casual remarks by the adults probably didn't mean too much to them, but to a child, I was scarred. Permanently scarred.

All these years I tried to free myself from my own malicious past. I thought I had it conquered. But the bad dream was like digging into my raw wound. There was just too much hurt. Although it was only a dream, but the disquietude was so real; I wasn't able to go back to sleep.

The baggage from my past makes me a person who fiercely guards against hurtful and meaningless words spoken in the presence of my children. I flinched when hear someone telling (jokingly)Laetitia that she is naughty and nobody will love her. At that instant, I wish there was a "mute" button I could press on.

I probably won't be able to fully bury my past or completely let off those who, unwittingly or deliberately, contributed those harsh words. But I can do my best, using my own ways to bring up my children without crushing their spirits or their dignities.


Speak only what is true and not threaten them with lies, for you teach nothing but you just gave them a reason to tell lies.


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Happyness

I always had people coming up to me saying that I look/seem/am happier now then I was when they compare me to my past. They would quickly assume that my life is now easier, have more love or money or maybe both.

Some had asked me how I do it. Seriously, I don't know. Don't get me mistaken. Not that I am unwilling to share; if there is even a secret recipe to happiness.

Truth is... I am not even sure what exactly is happiness. Is it how I look on the exterior. All smiles and laughter?! Then it would be easy; my tips is: just have many 'happy face' masks to interchange.

In the past, I had always thought of happiness like as if it was my final destination. Everybody gotta find their right route to reach to it somehow or another.

Then later, I read that happiness is a journey. A state of mind. A choice. A decision. A feeling. An over-rated feeling.... They all sounded quite philosophical. So when people ask, I tell them about happiness as of what I read, not what I thought it would be.

Deep down, happiness to me is a mission; complete with or without my personal emotions. It is my duty to bring her up, truly understanding the real meaning of the word "HAPPYNESS", which should be nothing more than PURELY BEING HAPPY. I wanted it to be just that simple for her.

And I know that will be my utmost happyness too, if I would to live long enough to see her achieve that.

"I would love for you to be nothing else apart from being healthy and truly happy."

I am climbing out

I know this is life; filled with ups and downs. But at times I would allow myself to be sucked into a negative spiral and sink deep into a ugly mess of self-induced misery.

While I was submerged in the waist-deep shit of own sorrow, I attended 3.5 day of training on 7 Habits of the Highly Effective People. It was a refreshing change for me, for once, I became the trainee, not the trainer.

Having already read the book, I went to the training, not expecting to know anything new, but what awaits me was a big surprise.

At the end of the training, I realized I seriously suck BIG TIME at being emphatic, I have poor listening skill and I almost ALWAYS forming perceptions and judgement despite trying very hard to stay unbiased. The whole paradigm shift thing whacked me with a bang.

It dawns upon me that I am so WRONG to think that I was right all along.

I wanted to go apologize, to undone the mistakes I had made onto him, her, to myself and maybe even you, who is reading this now....

But give me time, I need to gather myself together once more. Well, at least, you got to allow me to climb out of this abyss before I can get there.

Alright.. alright.. I am getting my butt moving already!

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