Saturday, August 04, 2012
Literature as Life & Life is a Curse...
Remember how I once mention that sometimes fiction imitates life and life imitates fiction? A particular book has an uncanny way of sliding itself into your life in a timely manner, allowing you to relate and play your life before you in words. Or perhaps you have attracted the book your way?
Lately, since my return from Singapore, my thoughts have been fluid. I have been thinking, reading and writing a lot. I feel my dormant soul being enliven and my vibe closer to the heartbeat of the Universe. Whatever and whoever I am thinking about, I will hear from them and receive the answers to the questions in my head.
I believe in the Law of Attraction. I always seemed to have a vortex attracting troubled souls to my life. Hardly do I have a friend without angst and pain. My return home to them to lend a listening ear was always timely. Friends connect to me that way. A few days before my return home to Singapore, Shania felt my homecoming after three years of absence. I was timely. Can you ring me for a chat? she asked the first time we made contact after the three years. We chatted for three hours despite the fact I had lost most of my voice. She needed to hear what I had to say about it. And I spent most of my holidays home with her and being there for her.
Two nights ago, as I was about to log off my computer, Junita waylaid me on my Facebook message. It was one night I could do with my sleep. She was a wreck and suicidal. I never saw that coming from this ex-colleague who is such a bubbly girl with the picture perfect family and growing up in a privileged household of super achievers. Her anxiety levels are running at all time Mt. Everest high. She was tormented by the guilt and her infidel mind. Her heart was squeezing and every 10 minutes, her heart was in pain and she hyperventilating. She was becoming insomniac and she could not stop finding someone to talk to, just like V did the summer I went back and her relationship with Rash was heading to doomsday. I was kept awake all night- if we weren't partying, we would be on the phone after the party. I slept no more than 4 hours and would be awaken by her phone calls. We also tried staying upbeat by listening to Pink Martini's "Hang on Little Tomato"...
****
Junita's call feels almost timely after finally making peace with myself in the final leg of my trip in Singapore regarding the Old Boy. Like a summary of my past life. I get her and know how dark a journey she must be going through. When one has anxiety and depression, it eats into your core and your soul. I never want to be in that cold and sinister place again. Perhaps I never will because I feel less angst and more centred. But still, it took me a long time without medication because I believe in the power of the mind. Trekking up to Everest Base Camp was my way of training my mind and body to quieten my seething soul. I allowed my awareness and intuition to guide me and try to draw lessons in my everyday life.
I remembered my disturbed soul and was reminded of a time in my life where I drank a tad too excessively and allowed the alcohol get the better of me, which betrayed my supposedly charming persona and reared its ugly head. I was manic. The current Junita reminded me of me in my mid to late twenties. Then my pilgramage to Nepal and my trek up the Mt. Everest Base Camp transformed my soul and quieten my mind, only that I seemed to have lost that well of life and vibrancy that had previously characterised my bohemic soul. My healing journey was piecemeal at best...
****
This morning, DL and I went to our usual weekend cafe for breakfast. As usual, he bought the weekend papers. I took the small weekend magazine on Arts and Literature and found this poem. It reflected Junita's current state of being. And I too realise, not too long ago, I, too was in that dark, neurotic place...
(Summer is fiendish and life is a curse, I said in my heart)
It was a cold summer year.
What I remember is the chill on my skin
as you stripped me in fiendish haste,
the raw southerly swelling and parting the curtains of the rented room.
Now, when life begins to leave itself
why is it this figment that clings?
Such a light thing, and yet it will not fall away.
My last curse may be to lose everything but this.
All I know is that each southerly quickens my breath: the dustbag mattress is under my hips
and the words you said and the words you didn't say buzz and snap in my skull.
I can't even care that in the end I will spout them
to some kindly nurse who has your laugh
when all I am is my plastic wristband and my list of medications
and the cardiologist is the only one who
messes with my heart.
- Melinda Smith
Lately, since my return from Singapore, my thoughts have been fluid. I have been thinking, reading and writing a lot. I feel my dormant soul being enliven and my vibe closer to the heartbeat of the Universe. Whatever and whoever I am thinking about, I will hear from them and receive the answers to the questions in my head.
I believe in the Law of Attraction. I always seemed to have a vortex attracting troubled souls to my life. Hardly do I have a friend without angst and pain. My return home to them to lend a listening ear was always timely. Friends connect to me that way. A few days before my return home to Singapore, Shania felt my homecoming after three years of absence. I was timely. Can you ring me for a chat? she asked the first time we made contact after the three years. We chatted for three hours despite the fact I had lost most of my voice. She needed to hear what I had to say about it. And I spent most of my holidays home with her and being there for her.
Two nights ago, as I was about to log off my computer, Junita waylaid me on my Facebook message. It was one night I could do with my sleep. She was a wreck and suicidal. I never saw that coming from this ex-colleague who is such a bubbly girl with the picture perfect family and growing up in a privileged household of super achievers. Her anxiety levels are running at all time Mt. Everest high. She was tormented by the guilt and her infidel mind. Her heart was squeezing and every 10 minutes, her heart was in pain and she hyperventilating. She was becoming insomniac and she could not stop finding someone to talk to, just like V did the summer I went back and her relationship with Rash was heading to doomsday. I was kept awake all night- if we weren't partying, we would be on the phone after the party. I slept no more than 4 hours and would be awaken by her phone calls. We also tried staying upbeat by listening to Pink Martini's "Hang on Little Tomato"...
****
Junita's call feels almost timely after finally making peace with myself in the final leg of my trip in Singapore regarding the Old Boy. Like a summary of my past life. I get her and know how dark a journey she must be going through. When one has anxiety and depression, it eats into your core and your soul. I never want to be in that cold and sinister place again. Perhaps I never will because I feel less angst and more centred. But still, it took me a long time without medication because I believe in the power of the mind. Trekking up to Everest Base Camp was my way of training my mind and body to quieten my seething soul. I allowed my awareness and intuition to guide me and try to draw lessons in my everyday life.
I remembered my disturbed soul and was reminded of a time in my life where I drank a tad too excessively and allowed the alcohol get the better of me, which betrayed my supposedly charming persona and reared its ugly head. I was manic. The current Junita reminded me of me in my mid to late twenties. Then my pilgramage to Nepal and my trek up the Mt. Everest Base Camp transformed my soul and quieten my mind, only that I seemed to have lost that well of life and vibrancy that had previously characterised my bohemic soul. My healing journey was piecemeal at best...
****
This morning, DL and I went to our usual weekend cafe for breakfast. As usual, he bought the weekend papers. I took the small weekend magazine on Arts and Literature and found this poem. It reflected Junita's current state of being. And I too realise, not too long ago, I, too was in that dark, neurotic place...
(Summer is fiendish and life is a curse, I said in my heart)
It was a cold summer year.
What I remember is the chill on my skin
as you stripped me in fiendish haste,
the raw southerly swelling and parting the curtains of the rented room.
Now, when life begins to leave itself
why is it this figment that clings?
Such a light thing, and yet it will not fall away.
My last curse may be to lose everything but this.
All I know is that each southerly quickens my breath: the dustbag mattress is under my hips
and the words you said and the words you didn't say buzz and snap in my skull.
I can't even care that in the end I will spout them
to some kindly nurse who has your laugh
when all I am is my plastic wristband and my list of medications
and the cardiologist is the only one who
messes with my heart.
- Melinda Smith
