Wasabibaby's Journal

5:52PM - Our Love

I wake to feel your arms around me, I can feel the gentle swishing of the ceiling fan cooling the sweat from a late summer night.  I reach up to kiss you to make sure that you're real, you kiss me back gently, I snuggle into your arms and you pull me closer.  I know I am loved and protected.  I know you will never let anything hurt me.  Until you, I never knew what the man of my dreams would look like and until you, I never knew that a love like this could exist.  Yet as time goes on, words alone cannot define how very perfect you are for me and words alone cannot define the love that we share.

9:05PM - Lessons in Life

Lessons in life come in different forms.  I learned something yesterday, about love and devotion.  I watched in awe as a simple husband supported and held his physically and somewhat mentally challenged wife as I took her stitches out from her hip.  I could not help but notice how he soothed her with simple but calming words as I yanked and pulled at the staples.  I knew how it hurt and how it pinches, I've seen even the strongest men flinch and almost have tears in their eyes when I am done.  She clung to him as I cleaned her up and taped up the open wounds, I smiled as he stroked her hair and told her that she was great and that they can go home soon.  I watched in awe, as he strapped her down and made sure she was safe and in position in her electric wheelchair.  I was amazed at how well they worked together, how he told me that they've been married for twenty years.

It was an uncomplicated, simple love between two simple people by our standards.  As they leave, I notice the pity in the eyes of fellow patients, I wonder to myself, if they don't sometimes look at us and pity our complicated lives because somehow I think they are probably happier than the rest of us.  I doubt if they do, they seem to have accepted themselves for who they are and learned to be happy with it.  They have a simple, pure love that is not tainted by boundaries and by expectations. 

Less, is perhaps, sometimes better.

6:42PM

When they say that everyone, at some point in their lives, meet their true love, I had doubted the possibility of it ever happening to me.  Some people find and know who theirs are while others do not.  When I first met the quiet doe-eyed JEB, I never realized that it was merely the beginning of what I can call the greatest love I've ever had.  Our first anniversary has come and gone, but I still feel head over heels about him like when we first started dating.  I am still sometimes giddy and giggly like a teenager and I often have to catch myself before I start daydreaming.  Yes, it feels like being young all over again. 

We have had the most amazing year.

He makes me feel like I am the most beautiful person ever, I love how he holds me close when I am exhausted and sometimes I catch him staring at me or was it me staring at him?  Yes, he has brought tears to my eyes, with the gentle kind words he whispers to me and my heart explodes from happiness.  I am in awe when he holds my hands in his and tells me how much he loves me. 

I never quite understood the meaning of finding that special one that you can't live without.  I would like to believe that I am understanding now, since he has been in my life, he has opened windows to a world I believed only existed in words.   The world seems to be brighter, even when I am having a really bad day, just the sound of his voice makes me feel like there is one person who loves me even if no one else does and I keep going on.  He makes me smile brighter to the world and I really mean it because I am so happy that I want to be able to share it with other people.  Yes, my world has been so much better, brighter and happier just because he is in it.  

This is just the first year and if this is merely the beginning of what's to come, I can't wait for the many years ahead!

6:08PM - How Do You Make Me Happy?

Just by being you.  You hold me close when I am feeling insecure.  When my head rests on your shoulder and you have your arms around me, I am shielded from the outside world.  I feel so safe and so at home.

You leave little I love you notes, on my desk, on my pillow.  You have no idea how happy you have made me.  You have no idea how lucky I feel to have someone like you love me.  You have no idea how much I appreciate the little things that you do. 

When I look into your eyes, I can't help but feel how much you love me.  I can't help but know in my heart how very wonderful you are.  I am so addicted to you.  I can't get enough of being with you, whether it is waking up next to you or watching you as you sleep.  Sometimes I catch myself staring at you, because I still can't believe how in love I am with you.  I never knew that a love like this could exist.  I have never met someone who could sweep my heart and my mind away, but capture my soul all at the same time.

I love you JEB

7:30AM - Someone Like Me

Little text messages.  Random calls during the day.  Cards out of the blue.  Flowers with notes like, "Yes, these are for you."  Eating out because neither of us wants to cook.  Walks on the beach. Going to places just because we can.  Waking up at 4:30 in the morning and somehow knowing the other is awake.  Thinking about the same movies.  Calling each other at the same time.  I cook, he does the dishes.  Foot massages.  He makes breakfast and cleans up.  He brings me coffee cooled just right because I don't like hot drinks. 

It is so sweet thinking about it that it gives me cavities.  Sometimes I wonder if this is how it's actually meant to be and I've just really been very deprived over the years.  I don't know, I am savoring every moment that I can.  It's been more than nine months.  It is a welcoming change when someone offers to take care of you because they can and because they want to.  Someone who says to you, "Baby, I'll take care of you."  He is such a low maintenance boyfriend, he is not moody, well except for maybe when the Lakers or the Steelers lose, he is grumpy for about ten minutes and then he's good to go.  I never have to worry about being late because he is always punctual, I never have to stress about whether my friends will like him or not because he is always so charming in his quiet way and I never have to feel embarassed because he is so considerate of the people around him.  It is such a welcoming change to have someone who is considerate, caring and sweet.

It's true, life is not about finding the one you can live with, it's about finding the one that you can't live without. 

3:24PM - The Best Things ...

Some gifts are wonderful in little blue boxes.  There is something about those little blue boxes that promise intrigue, beauty and surprise.  My favorite gift this Christmas did not come in a little blue box, but they were a series of little boxes, beautifully wrapped boxes that were thoughtful, sweet and beautiful.  The biggest box promised warmth.  And the person who gave all this to me did not have to make any promises, he did not even have to buy me the world, what he has given me in the last nine months, has been more than I ever dreamed of.

I have been blessed with people who love me.  For that, I am grateful. 

I've been asked many times as to whether I regret going through what I did.  Things happen for a reason, I don't think I would change my decision if I were to live my life over, but there are some things that I may do differently, but whether the outcome would be as it is right now, probably not.  Life has its ups and downs, life has taught me to embrace and make the most of it.  If I have managed to touch just one person's life and made them happy, then I have been successful.

I go to bed every night, knowing that I have someone who loves me.  For that, I am grateful.

Sometimes late at night, when the house is completely quiet and my body aches from pain, I lie awake thinking of probabilities and possibilities.  Not a day goes by without some part of my body aching and some reminder that I may indeed not be the person I used to be.  Yet, blessings come in different forms of disguises, I believe this was second best thing to happen to me.  I was becoming a person that I never wanted to be, I was truly wasting my life and someone out there helped me change my life, drastically. 

I wake up every morning with renewed hope and that I am alive.  For that, I am grateful.

I like to believe that if you don't love yourself enough, how do you expect someone else to love you?  I wondered in hindsight as to how much I must have hated myself to allow myself to go through what I did even before the accident.  Happiness is so under-rated, life is too short to be miserable, too short to blame someone else for your mishaps, too short to not be happy, too short to not fall in love.  I learned to love and be happy by myself. 

With that, the best thing that ever happened to me found me.  For that, I am grateful.

10:00PM - Things that ...

Matter to me:

My parents
My brother
Sexy Eyes
School 
Thembi
Happiness
Being in love
Helping others

I'd like to do before I am 40: 

Finish my phd
Speak 8 languages
Build a house for someone less fortunate
Travel to at least 20 countries
Bungee jump off Brown Falls in New Zealand


I am grateful for in my life: 

Jonathon
Being able to walk again
Knowing how loved I am
Being surrounded by loved ones

10:52PM

The simple touch of your hand,
The way you look at me,
My heart soars,
I am flying high,
You,
And only you,
Has made me feel,
So loved, so in love,
I smile,
I know,
I love you.

11:24AM - Wow

My world is a better place because you're in it.  Thank you Sexy Eyes.

8:03AM - Frogs

How many frogs do we need to kiss before we meet our prince? 

9:14AM - Great Grandfather Bull's Curse

Part One - The Journey West

The past is what makes us who we are. There is no point in denying it, after all, if we do, we inevitably deny who we are and where we essentially came from. The past will never change. It is with this in mind that I am on this relentless quest to know the stories of my parents' past. The story of my paternal great grandfather who first came to Africa and his journey west. My account of this, is merely from what I know from the elders, those that are still barely half alive. So if there is any question of doubt from what is to follow, it wasn't me, although admittedly, I might just add a bit of my own seasoning to make it a little more flavourful to the eye.


It was said that my great grandfather had fled to Africa because he had killed two men. In the early 19th century, when the Manchurians were still grabbing hold of the little power they had left, murder would result in off-with-your-head. Being a simple farmer who felt guilty for his actions, he decided that fleeing China would be the best option otherwise he would lose his head for the crime he had committed. The fact was, there were often thieves stealing his crop off his little farm and he barely had enough to feed his family. One night he decided to stay up and scare the thieves away, when he heard some noises in the dark, he shot randomly in hope to just scare them away. It was a freak accident indeed, somehow, those shots managed to kill both thieves and he was using an old sandgun, something they used to shoot birds with. Perhaps those two were meant to die that night, I mean, there was no such thing as electricity back then and to kill both of them? Even if he were arrested, he would have probably just been in jail for a few years, it was after all self defense and he didn't intentionally kill them, but being a simple farmer he never knew that. Perhaps it was meant to be that this would be his reason to run off to a far away land where lions and tigers would be as rampant as mosquitoes. It was geographically impossible for lions and tigers to be in the same continent back then, but of course, they didn't know that. Tales were told of a land where people were darker than coal with teeth so white that it almost glowed in the dark. In fact, that was how they knew where the other was in the dark. At night, they would walk around with big smiles on their faces, the glow of their teeth would lead the way, although one should be suspicious of those big smiles, especially at night. No tv, no casinos, no movies, what else would there be to do? I guess I'd be smiling all the time too.


Bull Wong, I shall call him that, after all, that's what his name is directly translated to, Wong Ah Ngau, which is quite interesting, because his dad was called Wong Ah Gau, which means Dog Wong. It was quite the joke in the village, because the Dog gave birth to the Bull. Jokes were a little bizarre back then. Anyway, back to Bull Wong, in his rush, he fled to Macau, back then there were no borders and Macau was a Portuguese colony, so even if there were people after him, they couldn't do anything to him in Macau. There were a lot of people in Macau who had been back from Mozambique, which was also a Portuguese colony and told tales about Africa, about how it was a good place to start over. It was exactly what Bull needed, so with that in mind. He took the next ship to Africa, a long three month trip to Mozambique and then the long three week walk to Rhodesia. When he eventually reached customs in Rhodesia, they asked for his name, he understood the word name, to which he replied Ah Ngau which they misheard or probably couldn't spell, they spelt it Ahgow. So instead of using his family name which was meant to be Wong, in Africa, it became Ahgow.

6:38PM - Louis, My Silent Hero

It was an unexpected call that I received. It's been ten years since I had the first hand experience of when someone young dies. It was my last year of high school, a state of the art international school which housed children of foreign diplomats, the UN, dignitaries from other countries, kids who's parents that people read about but never met and the rest of us, who were just there because it offered the best type of education, that even money did not necessarily buy. Scholarships were offered to many students from all over the country, I wasn't one of them but that was how I met him.


Louis was a township boy from the outskirts of Johannesburg, in an area called Soweto. During the apartheid era, the blacks and asians were forced to live in areas far off from town, about a good forty five minutes drive from downtown Johannesburg. When you drive down the highway today, you can see two areas worlds apart separated by a mere highway. On the left hand side as you head towards the areas, you will find Soweto and on the right, you will find Lenasia. While the Indians flourished and went on to build brick houses painted in bright happy colours, the Africans on the left, still live in tin shacks and there is a small growing number of brick houses. They are literally a stone's throw away from each other, but set worlds apart. Lenasia is bustling Indian community, who looks after each other and themselves very well. Lots of people, lots of food and everything is halaal. It's a great place to visit just for the vibe. However, there is a sense of alert, where they have their own people policing the community and the walls that are built facing the highway are a good ten feet tall with electric fencing. During the day, many workers from across the highway work in the community, all is harmonious and many workers are loyal to their employers. However, because of the high unemployment rate, the constant influx of illegal aliens and growing crime, it's difficult not to put up defenses. It's a great sense of vulnerability when you can't even feel safe in your own home. So it's not a big surprise when you find that most people live in a fortress, high gates, burglar bars inside and outside the windows, motion detectors in the house and have huge vicious dogs. I had been to Lenasia once, about two years ago to see a client. Just by looking at Soweto and Lenasia, they seemed worlds apart but right next to each other. Such a contradiction. Ying and Yang at it's best.


Louis was a quiet boy with a faint sense of arrogance. He was very aloof and kept himself apart, it was a difficult adjustment for many newcomers into a school, where some kids drove porsches or got dropped off by limousines. It was a school of true diversity at a time when South Africa was struggling with it's newfound democracy. I found it a difficult adjustment at the time, it was completely different from the Chinese boarding school, I had attended for the last eleven years. It was so open, so free and everyone was a different colour, yet everyone got along fine. Children from opposing political parties were at the school, but what happened in the outside world, stayed beyond those glass walls. When there were riots, times of political unrest, we had the army surrounding our school, the school secretary phoning all parents to pick up their kids and everyone was checked for firearms at all times.


It wasn't a wonder when I first chatted to him, he found it weird. He wasn't a very friendly person, he was just very suspicious of, everyone. I had found out that he lived in Soweto, the taxibus ride to school was a tedious affair and his favourite subject was English. He felt very out of place many times, when other kids were splurging on cigarettes and drugs, he was wondering if his mother still had a job the next day, if anything was stolen from his family while he was away at school and if he'd even make it to school the next day. He faced the realities of a cruel life at an early age which made my problems seem unrealistic. The girl behind me, Camille, was from Ethiopia, tall, dark and spoke English with a French accent. Her mother worked for the UN and was stationed in South Africa during that time to help with the democratic process. She had lived all over the world, her favourite city was Geneva and loved buying stuff at the Body Shop. There was a Japanese Turkish kid, Yannick, very good looking, his dad was the Turkish Ambassador to South Africa at the time and was fluent in seven languages. He talked of far off islands, how he wanted to be a diplomat as well and I was sure he'd be able to do the job. Louis had never even heard of the Body Shop, Okinawa or tasted Turkish coffee, but they shared stories from different perspectives which was really quite something. I think it was a time, we all learnt a little bit about each other in different ways.


I remember one cold morning, Louis came to class looking quite flustered, a little far off and somewhat scared. His eyes looked like he hadn't slept.

"They were shooting like crazy again last night. They shoot every night. But last night was crazy."
"I heard it too. It was awful." said the voice of Mohammed Mohammed, a rich Indian boy who lived across the highway, he came across as being too good for the rest of us but soon melded in with us.


All of a sudden, the world seemed to be a little smaller. The incident had bothered Louis a lot, it had sounded like it was just outside his window and it was often that their windows to their shack were shot at or someone had thrown stones through it. He slept in fear, he lived in fear and for that reason he enjoyed school. He had nothing to fear at school. He could be a little more comfortable in his own skin there. No matter how tedious the ride to school was, he made sure he was there. It was an excellent education and he was determined to be the first in his family to get into university.

"You see, " He explained to me one afternoon, "in my world, most homes are made of tin, riddled with bullet holes and we actually pray to see the next day. People around me dying everyday, if not from AIDS, then bullets." It was true. I never worried about tomorrow, I never worried about not seeing the people I love again, I had always thought my struggle with migraines and the pain was unbearable. Nothing beats the pain of burying a child, going to funerals were what they did most weekends while we worried what to wear and what was dinner for the evening, they tried to stay away from windows and avoid straying bullets. They had a war in their streets, outside their homes and survived, perhaps, on pure luck.


Louis never missed school, even when there were riots or when he was sick. It was much to our surprise when he didn't show up one morning. We had wondered what happened, when his best friend Vanessa came into class, her eyes red, puffy and swollen and told us the news. She was a gorgeous girl who promised to be the first black Miss South Africa and had endless dates. Louis had been shot the night before by a stray bullet as he walked home from the bus stop. We were stunned. The rest of the day went by in silence, we weren't sure what to make of it, we brought a huge condolence card and flowers for his mother. Our little United Nations group was just getting to be close to each other when this happened, it was strange how close to our hearts this was. Just like that, life was gone. The day before we were discussing the atrocities of the Holocaust and had considered doing a school trip to Germany and we were going to pitch in to get Louis to come with us if plans got off the ground. We never went to Auschwitz, we took the money we put together and gave it to his mother.


It was the first, perhaps the saddest funerals we had ever been to. His mother, Nina was wailing, he was her eldest child, it was so heart breaking. It was also very strange for a black community to see a small diverse group of people there. Vanessa tried hard to comfort Nina, it took two big men to hold her back when the coffin was lowered into the ground. It was an awful sight for anyone to see. It literally wrenched at our hearts, by the end of it all, most of us were too choked up to speak. In true African hospitality, we were all invited for dinner, we could hardly eat but we stayed anyway. It was a family in mourning, a community that lost something, hope perhaps that one of them will get out of that area but in the end could not escape it. When we finally said goodbye to Louis' family that night, I noticed the bullet holes in the door, the walls, the windows that were duct-taped over and over again, the four different locks on the door and how grateful his parents were for us to be there. There was a sense of urgency for us to leave, they didn't want anything to happen to any of us, as darkness falls, the bullets and the war begins all over again. That was the last time, I saw Nina and Louis.


When the call came, I was taken by surprise. Nina tried calling all Louis' former classmates, it seems that I was the only who was still at their old number. She wanted me to visit her, she wanted someone he knew at a memorial get together dinner at their new home. It has indeed been ten years. I didn't know what to expect when I prepared myself for dinner, it was an early dinner. I took with me some chocolates and some fruit.
It was a long drive towards the setting sun and amongst the traffic, how time has flown by and how much has changed. It was quite a surprise when I arrived, right next to their old shack, was a newly built brick house with high walls and a small garden. Apparently, someone didn't have the heart to tear down their old home. That touched me.


Dinner was lots of meat, lots of corn, what one would call soul food, it was just a lot of everything. It was here that I learnt that when you're eating dinner with Africans, you must leave a little food on your plate if you don't want it refilled. A custom completely different from Chinese people, they say that if you've finished everything, you're not full yet, they don't like their guests to leave their house hungry. I spent most of the night talking to Nina, until most of their guests had left. It had been a difficult ten years for them, their request to the government to build a brick house had finally been granted and life is starting to look up for them. She missed Louis terribly, that was why she insisted that the shack be left there, exactly the way it used to be. I could see in her eyes that she had a hard time getting over that loss. It was almost ten 'o clock when a bizarre idea came to my mind. I could hear the distant sounds of gunshots, I knew I had to leave very soon or suggest my idea. I asked Nina if she minded if I stayed the night, it was a rather imposing idea, but I really didn't think she'd mind. She offered me a guest room which I politely declined but asked if I could stay in Louis' room in the shack. She looked surprised. I told her about the times when Louis told me about how afraid he was in his own bed at night. She smiled at my wanting to understand. We talked for another hour or so and decided to call it a night.


There were pictures of football stars all over his walls, perhaps to hide the bullet holes and books of all sorts. A copy of The Great Gatsby still on his desk. It was left the way it was from ten years ago, the bricks to raise his bed so that that the tokoloshi won't get to you when you're asleep. His radio still tuned to 98.5fm, his numerous certifications and trophies, shone brightly his desk. A picture of his family. Various scribblings and an unfinished history essay which was due for the day after he was shot. Our telephone numbers scribbled on his wall. We never even took a picture with him. It was strange to be there, it was almost like getting to know him from a different perspective. I was exhausted from a long day and a heavy meal, it wasn't long after midnight that I fell asleep in his bed.


I had barely fallen into a deep sleep when the sound of rat-a-tat-a-tat awoke me. I thought it was a dream, it seemed far away, but as the sounds neared with the screeching of wheels and honking of horns then the gutteral sounds of the unmistakable AK47, it became real to me. There were screams of joy from the perpetrators, then the shooting started all over again, it was loud, piercing, almost horrific to be so close to the sounds. I started to quiver a little, I could feel the first beads of sweat forming on my forehead, then another screeching sound of tires pierced the air, another round of gutteral bullets infiltrated the air. A torrent of cursing and more shots, then a scream. Then more shots, the bullets sounded like they were flying just over my head, I squeezed my eyes closed and tried to block out the sounds. It was difficult, the walls of the tin shack were like paper to the sounds, occasionally something hit the roof, since it was the only thing that was visible to the street. I could feel fear building inside me, the tears in my eyes forming as I imagined this could possibly be the last night I would be alive. More screeching tires and an array of shots in the air, the unstoppable spitting bullets of the AK47's, I had by now lost count of how many were possibly outside those walls. Then a few more screams, I could only imagine being as some people being shot, then more shots, more screams, then the pulling away of cars. Silence. Some groans could be heard and the screaming of a wife, a sister or perhaps a mother. I wasn't too sure. I lay still, my heart pounding in my ears, the sweat and the tears dripping from my face. I had never been so afraid before. I could hear the people coming out of their houses to look, the wailing of loved ones, the cursing of how their brothers had just left them there to die. Everything could be heard through those walls. It was the longest half hour I had ever experienced.


I lay there realising how these people grew up with these sounds, how Louis went to bed every night listening to this, how he insisted on studying at school because he never got any peace at home. How Louis tried to defy the odds, not join in any gangs and studied hard so that his kids wouldn't have to go through that kind of trauma. How Louis became a victim. Louis was a silent hero. He is my silent hero. The nearing sirens of an ambulance and some police cars came a good hour later, the revised cursing and blaming of a lack of control of police in the area meant that this was a common occurance. Gang violence was a daily thing. The policeman called Johnnyboy apologised for being so late, there was another shooting about fifteen minutes before this one, he had to sort that one out first. Four boys shot, two dead, all under eighteen. Louis was also eighteen. The routine questioning went on for another half hour, when the slamming of tin doors meant that it was over for the night, or at least for the time being. I looked at the clock on my cellphone, it was just after 3am.


I tossed and turned the rest of the night. It wasn't a restful sleep, my mind was alert for the gunshots that rang in the distance. There were shots heard throughout the night, there was really no sense of comfort. Somewhere along the line, I seemed to have fallen asleep, because when I opened my eyes again, the early morning sun was streaming into the cracks of the tin shack. I could see the bullet holes shining through the walls. I made my way out to thank Nina for letting me stay the night. It was about 6:30, I had to make my way back home before traffic, I looked out the gate and saw a street sweeper sweeping at what could only be the blood of the victims the night before. She was shaking her head as she swept, it was a terrible job and it wasn't her first time. I thanked Nina for allowing me to have this kind of experience and told her that it has opened my eyes to different world that I never even dreamt about. There were little children already playing and so happy, oblivious to the happenings the night before, I probably had a funny expression on my face, Nina took my hand in hers, " The young ones are happy to be alive, that's why they are celebrating and making the most out of it before night falls again."


As I pulled out of their driveway, I noticed the surprised look that many people had, it's not everyday that you see a Chinese person pulling out of a driveway in a black community. In between, the daily humdrum of trying to make a living, paying bills, trying to deal with insignificant shortcomings, in a world not even an hour away, there are people who can't even sleep in peace, who don't know what happens to them tomorrow and they are going to bury someone's child again this weekend. Although the tin shacks are slowly turning to brick houses, many more buckets of blood must still be swept away in the mornings, there are some things which probably won't change and the rest of the world keeps moving and keeps changing.

1:02PM - Mom, Me and Sex and the city.

It's a particularly cold night. I suppose after all that extra summer we got this year, winter eventually has to kick in sometime. So in preparation for some good entertainment, having my feet wrapped up in thick socks, a blanket, hot chocolate and a slab of dark chocolate. Double dose of chocolate because it's full moon tomorrow, I am going to have a terrible migraine anyway. I'd might as well enjoy myself. Watched the first half of the UEFA cup game between Real Madrid and Juventus, wasn't as good as last weeks Premiere English Football game, but Juventus actually kicked ass today. Not bad.

Sex and the City is always on Wednesday nights, I love watching it. After getting my mom hooked on watching Wil and Grace, she has come to enjoy the humour of Sex and the City. We sit there laughing away, she doesn't understand everything said, but she gets the main story line and she loves Samantha, after all, who doesn't? In her words, "Kui seng yat fat hau fat dan." which literally translates, "she's always so horny." And Mom just asks me, "She always say fuck so much because she not getting any?" My mother, with her weak command of English can be quite hilarious. I am no longer as embarassed about watching sex scenes with her, but I always wonder when the next time will be when she comes up with something new, whether it be purely from experience or just fleeting thoughts. Imagine the following conversation in Chinese.

"How old do you think she is?" Meaning Sarah Jessica Parker
"I dunno, maybe forty or so."
"Wah, she's so wrinkled." It's true, she's not aging very well, but she's still nice, from far.
"White people just look older than they really are."
"And that Hau Por (horny woman meaning Samantha) looks well over forty."
"Who knows?"
"You know, when I was over forty, I never let your dad touch me."
"What?"
"I don't understand why these women are so horny. When I was over forty, I had no interest in sex."

My jaw just dropped. Good lord. My mother is talking about sex again.

"Why?" I managed to stammer.
"You are just not interested anymore, it's not as fun as when you're young. So when I was about forty five, I didn't let your dad touch me anymore. And at that age, your bones and muscles ache for days afterwards."

That was way more information than I really asked for.

So I sipped on my hot chocolate and swirled dark chocolate into it. I thought about how times have really changed. It seems like it's a reversal in roles, where my mother has become more bold and open with her outbursts of sexual topics, I am still trying to get a grip of where the heck she gets these ideas from. I suppose, as the saying goes, she was young once upon a time. It makes me smile as I think of all the funny things she comes up with. I wonder, if I will grow old to be as hilarious as she has.

10:49PM - On Jackie Chan etc

It's Chuck Norris movie marathon this week. I am not a particular fan of Chuck Norris, or Jackie Chan for that matter. I refuse to pay to watch any Jackie Chan movie, I would, however, pay to watch Jet Li and most definitely Chow Yun Fat. Yes, I am discriminating against Jackie Chan. Chuck Norris annoys me, I just don't like him, nothing personal I guess, he has some slick moves and attempts to act, but that's as far as it goes. Any half wit seems to try, like half the people who are in LA, who are barman/actor/writer/scriptwriter or stripper/prostitute/actress. Who knows how far one has to go before you make it big? Lucy Liu was a porn star once. And anyone who thinks she's beautiful has got to be kidding me. But I guess she has an upper hand that she can pretend to act and she speaks Mandarin, properly, not that let-memorise-the-pronounciation-pseudo-Mandarin-sounding banter.

I've been meaning to bring this up a while ago already, but then it would have seemed like I was targeting particular sorts and someone had mentioned in their blog about how Hollywood seems to screw up using the right ethnicity for the roles they dish out. So it wasn't until the other night when Chuck Norris was in one of his numerous roles with Chinese people that this subject was brought up again. My mom, the wonderful diplomat commented: "Gee, he speaks a better Cantonese than half of the Asians who pretend to be Chinese." I had to laugh. How very true.

Now how is it that there are so many Asians who try to be in the entertainment business but can't spit a few words in Mandarin or Cantonese properly ? I suppose being third or fourth generation Asians in America, it makes it difficult to be in touch with one's mother tongue, but for the role, at least ask someone to help you. The fact is, Asians will always look Asian and they will be required for the roles that require Asians who should at least speak their mother tongue. But alas, this is where Hollywood fails. To no fault of their own I suppose, after all how many Chinese based English speaking movies can one make? So they try to aim at the masses and throw any two-bit excuse together to satisfy their own ignorance or rather lack of understanding of the Asian culture. I am very sure someone has laughed at the stupidity of some of script that they try to throw together in Chinese, which does not sound Chinese because a Korean or a Viet is struggling to pronounce the words and pretending to act. Which is possibly why Jackie Chan Hollywood movies require few words and lots of action. After all, the boy can't act for shit and his English sucks but it's improving although he's raking it in. Whereas excellent actors like Chow Yun Fat may only make the occasional movie, but it's worth your while watching it. And Jet Li? Well, he's just a likable guy, he actually gives off this sincerity about him that makes him likable and he fights better than Jackie.

I guess I am just biased against Jackie Chan. There was a special on him over the weekend, he had all this stuff he packs away for charity and all these things he claims to do for the needy. It looks so good on tv and great for publicity but the guy won't pay child support to his illegitimate daughter. And pointedly said that he will only leave HK$1 to her in his will when interviewed on Hong Kong television. How's that for being a jerk? So I refused to go to watch any of his movies from then on. The funny thing is, I had met him and got his autograph when he was in South Africa back in 1997.

It also helps when you're good looking, you have to give it to the delectable Kelly Hu and the gorgeous Russell Wong. It brings me to mention that Michael Wong, Russell's brother who tried out his luck in Hong Kong, to not much avail, well, basically because his Cantonese sucked and his acting skills, what acting skills? Quite laughable to the point of being pathetic. Asians will eventually make it into Hollywood, one day, but not anytime in the near future, why? Because there isn't the market for it, there is only so much of mindless humour you will pay for and when the monkeying tactics of Jackie Chan wears out, it will just be another phase. So basically, if you're not drop dead gorgeous, in view of the masses, it's a very difficult market to break into. If you can't spit a word of your native Asian tongue and not exactly the camera's best friend, you're basically screwed, because you ain't gonna make it in the Asian market and you're not the first thing that comes to mind in the American market. I mean how many really ugly people out there have made it big? Margaret Cho did, but note the past tense and how long did that last? There have been a few overseas born Asians who have made it big back in Asia, like Sally Yip and the gorgeous Christy Chung, but we still can hardly understand when she pretends to speak Cantonese.

So yes, it's a tough business to break into even when you're drop dead gorgeous. It's also quite embarassing to see a non-Asian who speaks better Cantonese or Mandarin than people who are supposed to be of Chinese descent. Mike Chinoy puts a lot of us to shame.

9:12AM - Born again?

It's a fear. Stemmed from a life past. I never thought I would get down to writing this, but the reincarnation story that I was supposed to tell many months ago has stretched for too long. Perhaps no one would recall me even mentioning it, but it doesn't matter. It is the now that matters and now I am going to tell it. I don't know where I should start, but let me begin with that fear. It's not a fear of spiders, snakes or the dark. It's actually two fears, which could possibly explain why I am not keen on having children and the second fear, of being deserted.

It was possibly between the years of 1934 and 1939 that I should begin this tale. I am trying to dig into my memories as far back as I can, but what I am writing about, is merely from facts that my mother has told me about and flashes in my mind which I seem to recall, but not from this lifetime. My grandmother had four children, during that time, it was war in China. Japanese occupation into Manchuria and slowly invading into China from the north and the war between the Kuo Ming Tang and the Communists. My grandmother was 21 when she married my grandfather, who according to rumour, had been married before, but in those days, it was okay to have more than one wife. His first wife left him. They had no children. My grandmother was the youngest of eleven children, there was never a need to clean or cook, since she was the youngest, she was spoilt. My maternal great-grandmother was 50, when my grandmother was born. My great-grandfather made sure all his children were educated and made very sure that his daughters never strapped their feet. My great-grandmother endured enough pain from her strapped feet and was pregnant every year, imagine having to crawl on your knees with a baby on the back and a baby in the front. It wasn't a pretty sight. Life was good for them before the war and communism, everyone worked hard and there was enough to go around.

My grandfather was a businessman, in those days they had something like a booming grocery store in Jiangmen and GuangZhou. Sold the typical necessities, like soy sauce, rice and oil. Business was great, booming in fact that they even expanded into Shanghai. My grandparents were happily married to each other for a while, at least. Until the war. By 1939, Japan had invaded into Shanghai, people were trying to run, my grandfather escaped to Hong Kong. My grandmother was in Jiangmen pregnant with my mother and there were three other children to look after as well. It was tough, my grandmother tried hard to take care of the children. There wasn't enough to eat, war does terrible things to children, one by one they died of starvation and malnutrition. By the time, my mother was three, she was the only left. My grandmother was determined to keep her alive. One couldn't imagine the pain she had to go through burying those children, watching them die, helplessly, suffering the losses on her own, no one to share that helplessness with.

When my mother was three, my grandmother and her were captured by the Japanese and sent to build railway tracks in Hunan. They lived on Chinese radishes and watery rice for nine months. Until this day, my mother shudders at the thought of Chinese radishes. My mom has few vague memories of the Japanese soldiers, although she recalls something about burying the sick and weak in mass graves alongside the track, she also remembered a kind Japanese soldier who used to give her snacks and showed her a picture of his family back home in Japan. It was a cold and long nine months, until my grandmother took my mother and somehow got back to Jiangmen. From there, they managed to get to Hong Kong. Just in time and a lot of bad luck, when Japan started bombing Hong Kong. My grandfather now worked in a hotel in Hong Kong. My mother remembers the sirens going off as the planes started bombing, although she was just barely four years old, the psychological damage caused, she freezes everytime an ambulance or the fire brigade goes by. It's been nearly sixty years. They stayed in Hong Kong for nearly a year and somehow, for reasons unknown, they went back to Jiangmen to try to rebuild their home. My grandfather sent money back to them and his mother. By 1945, Japan finally retreated, the reconstruction process was coming into place, my grandfather decided to come home.

My grandmother was happy that they were able to start again, at least the family was together. My grandfather had a reason for coming back. During his years in Hong Kong, he had met another woman. They had two children together. He came back to ask for permission about letting him marry his second wife, she would still be the first wife. It weren't as if this were an option, there were children already. My grandmother wasn't impressed, he wasn't there when the older children died, he wasn't there when she was suffering in Hunan, he sure as hell wasn't there when she needed him most. My grandmother told him that the choice was clear, it was either her or the other woman. There was no in-between. So when my mother barely five, her father deserted her and her mother. Never to be seen or heard from again. He never even sent money home for his mother or his daughter. My grandmother looked after his mother until the day she died. My grandmother suffered a life of pain, recurring, only to be letdown, time after time, by the person she loved most. My grandmother doted on my mother, she loved her dearly, after all, she was the only family she truly had left. My mother was devoted to my grandmother, a love built by two people who went through hell together.

I never realised how this was of any relevance to me. The first time I had a flashback was when I visited China with my parents. We did the typical thing by visiting the villages of our ancestral homes. Anyone who has been back to China knows how the houses are built in little alleyways and finding a house is never easy. When I was there, there was a sense of familiarity, I had never been there before, somehow I knew where to turn and where to go to find my mother's old house. It scared me, it was so familiar, yet in many ways, new. After all, a lot can change in twenty years. I knew where the well was, I felt very familiar with the people around me. It was a strange but welcoming feeling. I never brought this up, but I kept it in my mind. It wasn't until I came back to South Africa that I realised, my grandmother had died a few months before I was born. She was also left handed. As my mind becomes more and more set, I realise why I often do the things I do. I keep coming back home to be with my mother, why I can't handle being away for too long, why I can't imagine having children. The truth is, I don't hate children, I just don't want to bring them into this world to suffer, or to watch them die. I can't desert my mother, the way she was deserted when she was barely five years old. I am also beginning to understand the love and the relationship between my mother and I, it stems from a love that existed from a long time ago. I also know the reason why I am here. I was my own grandmother. I believe I am. I also believe I am here to find out about the other family, to find out whether my grandfather had any remorse for deserting his wife and his daughter the way he did. I am not sure whether I will achieve this, but I know someway or somehow, there needs to be closure to this. I need to find out why. I don't know where to start, but there surely has to be a way.

12:57AM

Just some fiction I wrote, thinking in the frame of mind of this person.



Letters to My Mama

It didn't break my heart when you left me. You destroyed it. After all I was only eight years old, but I was alone. I hated being alone, after a few thousand nights of wishing and crying, I got used to that feeling. You know that feeling of being there but not really belonging. It always felt like I was an outsider, an outsider to everything that happened. The years that passed me by, I was used to watching, involving myself but still not quite belonging. Perhaps it was to set the tone and structure for my life ahead. I don't know if you had ever thought of me through the years, but I thought of you often, whether you were happier where you were right now and whether you feel that you did the right thing. They speak lowly of you, I think they do it to make me hate you, to make me think less of you, somehow something inside me tells me to find out for myself. I used to sneak out of bed at night to look at the stars, they were my only comfort, my only consolation was that you, could have possibly been looking at the same stars thinking of me, perhaps even missing me. I know life must have been tough for you through all these years, walking away is never easy, never mind letting go. I never ask why you left, you must have your own reasons, I have never spoken of you in all these years, I don't know why I never asked, I just felt like you deserted me. In actual fact, you did. You left without a word, a letter, there wasn't even a sign to tell me that night would have been the last time I would see you. You tucked me into bed the same way you always did, you kissed my forehead goodnight and rocked me to sleep. Sometimes at night, I could almost see you telling me the stories your mother once told you, I could hear your voice and it would comfort me, I would think to myself that when I woke up the next morning, all this was a bad dream. Morning after morning, it felt like that same morning, when I ran into the kitchen and it was empty. The floor was icy under my bare feet and there was no tall glass of orange juice, no packed sandwiches for school and it was as though no one had been there for a long time. The sunshine that streamed in didn't warm me, all of a sudden, it felt like the kitchen was caving in on me. Everything else started caving in afterwards. No one said a word, no one ever mentioned you, I never had to ask, I just knew you weren't coming back.

Life was a blur after that, no more fresh flowers on the table, no one fussing over dinner. I don't recall having dinner together, it would always be ready, there was always something to eat, but never together. You were the string that tied us together, the warmth in the winter and I had a reason to come from home school everyday to know that you would be there. Winter was extra cold that year, it was so cold it froze my heart, my tears had stopped flowing since that winter, no one seemed to care, maybe they just didn't notice. There were times I wanted to hate you, I wanted to call you and ask you why don't you come home and it would all be okay again. I never knew where to call you and I knew somehow even if I did, you weren't going to come back. Loneliness attacks you in different ways, since you never cared to give me younger siblings, I was tossed from grandma to aunt to aunt. I was about ten years old when he started dating again, sometimes late at night I would hear him coming home and a female laughter, not long after that strange noises from your room, I never used to understand what they were. He never bothered introducing them to me, perhaps he was too drunk or perhaps I reminded him too much of you. Grandma used to say I have your eyes and your face. Grandma passed away about five years ago, she was the one who taught me about my period and she was the one who showed me that someone still cared. She wouldn't speak about you for years, she didn't think I was old enough to understand. Yet when I was about 14, she spoke of you as though you were in the next room, she loved you dearly. He was always on business or too busy, so when I was valedictorian in high school, grandma was the only one there who took pictures, I wanted him to be there, I wanted so much for him to be proud of me. I don't think he ever was. I find it difficult to call him Dad, I never really had a relationship with him, we were more like housemates with different schedules, he paid the bills, school and gave me enough money for clothes, entertainment and anything else I needed. Money, clothes, food and by the time I was 18, there was even a German car in the driveway for me, but I didn't want all that, all I wanted was a real dad. And my mom.

He left me an envelope the one morning before embarking on one of his trips, in it was a credit card, bank account details, a short note of congratulations for my acceptance into an Ivy League school and that everything would be paid for, there was a check for miscellaneous things I needed for going away, shipping details for my car and a plane ticket. It was formal, businesslike and impersonal. I shouldn't have expected more, after 10 years of a letter writing relationship with him, this was expected.

This would have gone on forever, had it not been for Grandma. After my third year in school, I received a call from home, Grandma was very ill, she wanted to see me. I got on the next plane home and for the next 2 weeks, I was with Grandma all the time. She told me everything about you, how wonderful you were and how hard it must have been for you to have left me. She wanted me to love you, she knew it wasn't entirely your fault. After all these years, I realised how alike we must be, Dad was not the most affectionate or loving person, his nonchalance often drove me mad, I could imagine how it would have been for you. Perhaps old age finally wore him down and having these walls around him made him lonely, when he finally came to see Grandma. He said that it was great to see me. I was surprised and shocked. That night, a cool autumn's evening not unlike the last night you were home, we sat down as adults and had a conversation. For the first time in thirteen years, he looked at me and said that I looked just like you. He never remarried, perhaps he too was waiting for you to come back. In the back of his head, I am sure he knew otherwise. We all like to hang on to an invisible hope. It was the first time I took a good look at him, he was ageing attractively, it wasn't a wonder that young women were always interested in him. For the first time, I asked him if we could take pictures together. And for the first time he apologised for having been so cold to me over the years, he loved me dearly, but I reminded him too much of you.

***to be continued***

4:48PM - Happy Thanksgiving

While I will happily wish everyone who celebrates Thanksgiving a Happy Thanksgiving, we do not celebrate turkey day in South Africa. We had pilgrims once upon a time too, but we never had native Americans and turkey is not popular with the natives. You have no idea how glad I am that we don't. I have nothing against the whole meaningfulness of this holiday, I do think that the turkeys could come in smaller sizes. I thoroughly enjoyed Thanksgiving, it was a warm holiday and everyone was happy, the itself was fabulous for me except for a few comments I had received from someone, I had a good day. I guess the only thing to put me off was the leftover turkey that lasted for the next ten days. It was enough turkey to put me off so much that I have never touched the stuff for last four years.

It was lovely Thanksgiving day many many moons ago, I was excited that it was my first Thanksgiving and all the preparation in the turkey and all the other dishes was a lot of fun. It was a good test of my cullinary skills. No one died afterwards so I guess I was okay. My one room mate invited his African American friend, Kurt over for dinner, I didn't have a problem with it, after all there was enough food to feed a small village in Africa. Kurt thought it would be interesting to meet an Asian from Africa, who probably knew more about his African roots than he did. So whilst we were cutting up turkey and serving everyone on the table that got a nasty comment which I felt was totally uncalled for. "It must be odd for you to have a black person at dinner and you having to serve him." I raised an eyebrow and said to him, "I beg your pardon? Are you totally unaware that segregation was imposed on Asians too? And yes I have served black people at my parent's restaurant but they were a lot more civil about it." He graciously kept his mouth shut and I knew he was thinking of something else to criticise me on. Dessert was a baked apple pie with fresh cream, when I served him his dessert, his next quip was, "I heard you have a maid in South Africa, it must be terrible for you to play maid here.", I had decidedly had enough of being diplomatic, "Yes, most people have maids in South Africa, it's very much like how Americans have the hispanics to do their dirty work, in fact we have three gardeners too, all they do is pick weeds and wash the cars for us. And yes, it has been hard for me having to wash the dishes, make my own bed, wash my own clothes and make my own tea, but it's nice to come to earth and be a pleb for a while, it allows people like me to find my spirit." While my other room mate tried hard not to choke on his dessert, I just grinned and enjoyed the rest of my wine and dessert.

We later had a discussion on colonisation, I had no idea why Kurt insisted on talking about controversial topics to fire me up, trying to get me to feel some slight of guilt about slavery and how wrong colonisation was. It weren't as though I was born during the Victorian Era and descendents of the perpetrators, although I speak with a slight British accent, I look very Asian. I was rather confused by the constant attacks, he being a college professor at sociology, I thought he would have been a little more open minded. But then again, you get all sorts of people out there. When he went on and on about how wrong colonisation was, I got tired of him for one night, "Well think of it this way, if your ancestors weren't slaves and if they weren't shipped over here, you would never have been a college professor criticising the wrongs of other people. Maybe you'd be happily dying of starvation like the rest of Africa in your straw hut or some cave. So how about instead of pointing fingers at other people and their wrongdoings, you should actually consider finding out the facts first and go back to Africa. Your ancestors didn't have a choice, you do."

So after much deliberation, he actually apologised for being a biggot. When he had heard that I was from South Africa, all he knew was that racism was predominant. I reluctantly accepted his apology. The turkey was really tasty, the yams were yummy but after having it for three meals a day for 3 days, it started getting tedious. It was supposedly a small 14lb turkey, I didn't want to know what a big turkey was, after a whole five days of turkey, turkey soup, turkey sandwiches, turkey pie, turkey salad, turkey curry, turkey casserole, I decided if I am going to do this again, we're going to someone else's house for it and they can deal with the left overs. It got to the point that I couldn't stand the smell of opening the fridge that I just threw everything out and decided that I wasn't going have turkey again. That was four years ago.

11:39PM - Grilled Salmon

I munched on my herb salad as I watched them passing by. Young couples would look at me oddly and old couples would pretend not to look. I had dressed up today, tied my hair up in a bun, put some make up on and wore this dark grey wool dress. My thick rimmed sunglasses added to that look of arrogance. I wasn't in a social mood, which was precisely why I decided to have lunch on my own. A tiny restaurant on a bustling street, excellent food in small portions so that it gives you a chance to savour their different specialities. I find that food which comes in smaller portions tend to taste better, but that could just be a psychological trick, who knows, for me as long as the food is good, it doesn't really matter. As I munched the last of the basil and relished that walnut and lime vinegarette, I couldn't help but just let my mind slip away to a far off place.

"Do you mind if I take a seat?" It was more of a statement than a question. You never ask, you just let yourself into my memories as though it were home and you'd make yourself comfortable whenever you felt like it.

"Sure. It's not like I have a choice." You're still the same, with that scarf on your neck, tied casually, your hair slicked back and your thin gold rimmed glasses. You look at me with the same intense look from almost eighty full moons ago. You smile at me with that boyish grin. I am almost lost, engrossed, swept away by the promises that smile is able to make. Lost in a moment, in a world where there are only two of us.

"Can I bring the rest of your meal?" The waiter interrupts us. Our moment is shattered. I nod and you smile again.

"I've been meaning to see how you were and to see if you'd come here again." You're right, I am here, reliving the moments we had together, eating the same things we shared, sitting at the same table and my mind floats to you.

My lunch consisted of a grilled salmon stuffed with prawns and angel hair pasta. It was delicious, as it always was. You're sitting there with your baby calamari tubes in basil and mint. We say nothing and I soak up your presence like a very dry sponge. I look up and reality shines into my dark lenses and shakes my being into shape. Suddenly I am alone again. The same odd glances from couples walking past, the constant stream of cars driving by and the buzzing of hushed conversations around me. I finish my pasta quickly and order a chocolate mousse ice cream. The rich dark chocolate from a well-known Belgian chocolatier, whipped up into a mousse, frozen to perfection. Almost too perfect to be eaten, I sink into it spoon after spoon, in pure decadence, pure joy and pure ecstacy. Almost ungraciously piercing into my newfound happiness, the drowned humming of passing cars and buzzing of people talking, my cellphone interrupts the air like a saxophone blaring out of tune. "Hello" I answer.

"I was just thinking of you." It's you. Invading not only in my thoughts but into reality. Taking my memories and putting it into a plural, making them our memories. Reflecting the moments that just trickled before, like you were here, really here looking into my eyes and reading my mind. It were as though someone had really captured us into that time capsule and the only two people who ever existed were the two of us. I was almost unsure of this call, whether it was another image my mind had conjured up, until as though you once again read my mind and said " I was thinking of us, in that little restaurant where you had that stuffed grilled salmon .... "

7:48PM - Late August ....

It was late August five years ago. I remember clearly that the weather was warming up. She called me the night before and said that she needed someone there with her the next morning. I didn't question why, all I had to do was be there with her, that's what I did. I picked her up early from her home and during the drive there, she said nothing but pointed out the directions. She had a faraway look in her eyes and I could almost feel the confusion in her head.

We walked up the stairs and that walk through that long corridor painted images in my head that I can still remember like it was just yesterday. It was long and stark white, like most hospital walls. The echoing of people's heeled shoes rang loud and clear like a knell. I remember shivering not from the coldness but from the harshness of the reality that lay ahead of us. I looked at her, she was emotionless, her head just facing towards the door and that her decision had been final. It was her life and it was her choice, I wasn't there to persuade her or change her mind, I was just there to support her and be her friend.

My sneakers squeaked painfully along those sparkling marbled floors. That heavy walk which lasted possibly only thirty seconds felt like hours. When we reached that back room, a young Indian woman looked at us disapprovingly, handed us a form and told us she'd call us when it's our turn. I looked around us, we weren't the earliest ones there. A really young couple, probably late teens were ahead of us, the young man kept rubbing her hand and telling her that it was going to be okay, that they'll have more when they're older and more stable. I thought to myself that he'd dump her the next week. Then there was an older woman with a friend, her eyes red and tired, she looked like she hadn't slept in days. Another couple walks in after us, the procedure is repeated and they eye the people around them out, the same way I did. I want so much to ask them what their story is and what made them come to this decision. But I am not here to jump to conclusions or to pass judgement, I, too, could easily be one of them.

"He is married" She spoke so suddenly that it made me jump.
"He made you do this?" I probed.
"No, I am not ready ..." She was right, we were barely into our twenties.
"Yes, it changes your life completely." I took her hand in mine and gave her a small smile.
"Thank you" I knew she was grateful for me just being there.

We watched as a young woman came out. She was pale, looked almost scared but relieved. There was no one accompanying her, she smiled at the receptionist gratefully and whispered a thank you, as if she were the one to thank, the receptionist actually smiled back. It's a depressing job. I took the form and handed the receptionist the required $60. "Come back in 2 weeks for a check up." The line seemed well practised and the coldness of the words said so pointedly at me. I squirmed in spite of the fact that it wasn't for me, I wanted to scream out, it's not me, it's not me.

It was a twenty minute wait, a very long twenty minute wait until it was our turn. I couldn't go in with her, but I sat there outside waiting and watching as other people came in, with that same miserable look in spite of the fact that it was a beautiful day outside. The sun shone brilliantly through those windows, the brightness made the walls whiter and the reality of it harsher. I almost wanted to just run down that corridor screaming. I had to wait, watch people making choices about their lives, in that little room, where one decision could change their lives completely. It was just ten minutes for her. She came out, with that same scared look on her face and I rushed up to hold her up, she gave me a small grateful smile, a sigh of relief and together we said goodbye to the receptionist. The walk out of that corridor was a lot quicker and the sun was still shining brilliantly outside. That is how I remember a Saturday morning in August about five years ago.

12:03PM - Marriage?

Before Ed and Anna got married two years ago. They went for counselling and not long after those sessions, they were always fighting and Ed wasn't happy since it looked like a lot of his dreams were being dashed. He was wildly in love with Anna, but there were many things they never agreed on. When I asked Anna if she loved Ed, she said "Yes," but she went on to add, " It's like this, if you have a pet for a long time, you will grow to love it too." I didn't know what to say to that. I questioned the validity of their love, but who was I to make any comment or judgement? Ed wanted to sign a prenuptial agreement, Anna refused, saying that if anythere were to go wrong in the relationship, she would be left with nothing. Anna is from Shanghai, very smart, very smooth, I wouldn't call her good looking, but she had several men wrapped around her little finger. During Ed and Anna's courtship, she managed to swindle a car out of another guy, money from Ed to pay for her unsuccessful business ventures and numerous holidays overseas. When Ed was overseas for business, she'd bring "friends" to their home, she didn't think she'd get caught until Ed's employee who was living with them at the time, heard noises from the other room. There were times when I said to myself that this girl has some moves which would come in handy one day. Did I hold her in high regard? Not at all and I still don't. But Ed is a business partner, so it's now part of the package. I suppose I could have charmed a car and a house out of someone in Hong Kong many years ago, but where would that leave me now? Like the rest of the rich tai-tai's who spend all day shopping and getting ready for balls and meeting someone for tea eight times a day. It's not that difficult in actual fact. I am sure if I tried really hard now, I can still do it.

After a lot of fuss and fighting, I told Ed that if you don't see the two of you growing old together, then don't do it. Ed did. Did Anna? I really don't know. They had their wedding. I thought to myself, maybe she'll grow up after signing that piece of paper, after all, she's just a friend's wife, nothing more. I prayed that my judgement was wrong. As time went by, last November, they had their first baby. She seemed more mature, more settled and seemed like she wanted to work at being a mother and a wife. Why I say that is because Ed used to be at the office all the time and never went home and I'd ask out of curiosity as to why he was there all the time? He didn't know where Anna was. Or he'd hang out with Alex and I all the time and we'd tell him to bring Anna along, he'd say that she's out with her friends. I am not saying that when you get married all your freedom is gone, but if you're not going to be together and work at a family life, you're better off not being married to each other. I seldom see Anna, since I choose not to, but lately she's been working and looking after the baby. It seemed more and more that my prior judgement about her was incorrect and I was glad for Ed's sake. Until last night, Alex and I have almost 500 tickets in this draw for a Porsche or $1 million at a nearby casino. We were playing slots and eating pancakes and having coffee, until who should we see but Anna. Alex naturally asks if Ed were there. She looked around her quickly and said no. She looks great for someone who's just had a baby. She kept looking around, not dramatically, but you can tell from her eyes. Ed was working late and she was supposed to be home looking after the baby. We told her to have fun, started walking away and then in front of probably 20 other people she yelled, "Don't tell Ed you saw me here." I just raised my eyebrow and gave Alex the look. Since he'd been the one telling me that she's changed and looked like she was going to be a decent mother. Alex knew what I was thinking, I said to him, "I wonder now, how honest that relationship is. Maybe I should call Ed and ask him, "it's 10pm, do you know where your wife is?" " Alex just replied, "Maybe she's just having fun with her friends, she's allowed out you know." I just grinned my cynical grin and replied " Yeah, that's why she was looking around so nervously and told us not to tell Ed that we saw her here. It makes me wonder, is that really Ed's baby?"

So it looks like the vows of marriage are different for everyone. I can see Celeste and Jack growing old together, as for Ed and Anna, I dare not even imagine.