Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

Attended her father's wake, and found myself seated with a few couples in their 50's, friends of her parents. She and her mother were also at the table, recounting and reminiscing, at times with sad-smiling humour, the final hours, the period of illness, his stubborn refusal to take his medicine, and reaffirming the good in the man. And I remembered how it was also like this at my maternal grandmother's wake. It reminded me of support groups, except this was not among the "anonymous".

Customs and rituals are more intricately woven into our lives than we realise. Wakes are not just about honouring the dead; they are also a means of beginning the healing process for the living. Instead of avoiding the topic, talk about the deceased is socially sanctioned, even expected and encouraged.

It got me thinking about how people cope with loss and grief. Keeping busy and getting on with daily life is certainly important, sooner or later. But facing up to what has happened, instead of being in denial, is just as critical to our emotional recovery.

So I think that when a couple breaks up, mourning sessions should be organised right after. As this is an activity that understandably, is unlikely to be participated in with equal fervour by both parties, the broken-hearted (obviously) will then have to take it upon himself/herself to organise such a session.

He/she will need a photo of the ex, if not an entire photo album of pictures taken during their times together, to be placed on the main coffee table, as the guests arrive. A registry for friends to record their condolences may also be included. Depending on personal preferences and his/her level of self-control, mementos from the relationship can be placed around the house, or the confines of one's bedroom, or just any box, to allow glimpses into the relationship and also to serve as conversation starters.

It will also be most considerate and helpful for the friends to minimise the burden on the host/hostess, by showing up with some light refreshments. Nothing too rich (beware the comfort eater) or alcoholic; perhaps fruit salad, wasabi chips (for stuffy noses), some soothing camomile teabags; and don't forget tissue paper for the teary-eyed.

Don't be afraid to let your friends know. At the very least, you wouldn't have to keep repeating yourself ad nauseam on different days and occasions. Hey, your friends could even help spread the word for you, and perhaps, after a suitable lapse of time, get you back into the meat market again. That being said, bringing along a prospective to the mourning is a no-no -- there is such a thing as too much information. And bringing your own shoulder for him/her to cry on, whilst slipping a foot in the door, might just backfire in ways you've never dreamed possible.

Notes:

1. A bonfire, to send remnants of your relationship up in flames, is optional; depending on whether you live on landed property with a generous backyard; whether your neighbours are likely to summon the fire engine at the first sign of smoke; and how much symbolism you place on the act of cleansing by fire.

2. A pinata, in the likeness of your ex, is however, NOT advised. Aggression is hardly constructive in the recovery process.

What lies beneath.

The Korean.

In Season 2 of Witchblade, there was a scene of Danny Woo (played by Will Yun Lee, the only Asian in the cast) going through a martial arts routine in a dimly lit gym, AND revealing this incredible body that came with broad shoulders, huge defined biceps and basically taut everything. OK, excuse me while I snap my jaw back...

Is this the same guy who spent most of Season 1 lurking in the background, huddled up in his nondescript sports jacket (actually, I did think he was kinda cute, except for the blah body -- or so I thought!), while the 2 male leads, blond surfer dude David Chokachi (of Baywatch fame, need I say more?), and the mysterious dark-haired hunk Eric Etebari, took centrestage? Ling4 Yan3 Xiang1 Kan4 -- am definitely looking at this guy with "a different set of eyes" now. Heh. By the way, he played Colonel Moon in 007 Die Another Day.


The Baron (aka Beefy Cook), the Crow, and Muta.
(These are characters from The Cat Returns)

Tonight at dinner, SF and I discovered the Beefy Cook -- actually, it was more like he uncovered himself. Grin widely. Both of us do remember seeing him the last time we were there, but he did not make much of an impression then. BC went about his work quietly, AND he was definitely wearing something loose that also covered his arms. Tonight, as we sat at the counter and faced the open concept kitchen and stoves which were just a couple of metres directly in front of us, we noticed how his tight grey shirt revealed HUGE biceps and triceps, followed by the flat tummy and narrow waist that tapered to a reasonably tight-looking ass. We were definitely savouring more than what was served on the counter, what with our eyes participating in the sensory experience as well. Laugh. After a while, even the other cook and the waiter, whom we called Crow (small and dark, probably still serving the Army) and Muta (white and round) noticed, and passed comments out of our earshot.

The night ended with a sweetener: we noticed how BC quickly made his way to the cashier to attend to SF (which was actually Muta's job) as she walked over to pay for the meal. It's nice when your attentions are noticed and in a way, reciprocated. Heh.

I wonder how it works for the men -- can something about a woman "change" the way they start looking at her? Well, what sayst thou my loyal male readers out there? :-)

And oh, sorry Trjs, I guess you'll just have to hang on a while more for your "Hot Babe Sandwich" -- as you can see, you would only have been in our way. Giggle.

Single & Unhappy. [edited]

"The lady doth protest too much, methinks."
(Hamlet: III.ii.239)

Man, I wasn't even thinking of starting a verbal spar (many times bitten, now very shy) when she pounced on me for making a comment and "funny" face about a mutual acquaintance being single.

Suddenly, it became a personal crusade to correct everybody's (except that I was getting the full blast) misconception about singlehood -- mainly hers, so I quickly discovered to my horror, as she dragged me kicking and screaming down the path of no return. Singlehood is also not a "disease", which apparently, my facial expression seemed to suggest. She was extremely indignant that I had condemned her to eternal singlehood with my "judgement" about "old maids". Say whaaat??? I whaaat her to eternal whaaat???

Come on...give me a fucking break. I wasn't even talking about her!

- - - - - - - - - -

Thought for the day:
If you have accepted yourself for what you are and are happy with that, why do you try so hard to make sure that other people can also accept "you"? Why should it matter what others think if you're indeed at peace with yourself?

Here fishie, fishie...

Down in the meadow in a little bitty pool
Swam three little fishies and a momma fishie too
Swim said the momma fishie, swim, if you can
And they swam and they swam all over the dam.

Chorus:
Boop, boop, ditty ditta wattum choo
Boop, boop, ditty ditta wattum choo
Boop, boop, ditty ditta wattum choo
And they swam and they swam all over the dam.

Stop, said the momma fishie, or you'll get lost.
But the three little fishies didn't want to be bossed.
So the three little fishies went off on a spree,
And they swam and they swam right out to the sea.

Well, little fishies, here's a lot of fun,
We'll swim in the sea till the day is done,
So they swam and they swam and it was a lark,
Till all of a sudden they met a shark.

Help, cried the little fishies, look at all the whales.
And quick as they could they turned on their tails.
And back to the pool in the meadow they swam
And they swam and they swam all over the dam.

- Three Little Fishies

- - - - - - - - - -

Interesting entry by Ling, about graduates who have chosen to leave comfortable white-collar jobs to wait on tables or cook.

It got me thinking about SF's recent ramblings about the Age of Pisces, that we are living in a time of endings and beginnings (Pisces is the last of the 12 astrological signs and thus represents the end of a cycle).

As we stand at the edge of flux, watching old establishments being torn down, our beliefs and value system being challenged (human cloning comes to mind), do we dig deeper into our comfort zone, cling on to what we know best, and resist these changes and the unknown? Do we dare venture into this amorphous chaos that is even now re-shaping itself into a new world order?

Looking beyond the immediate threat of terrorism and war, religious tensions (interestingly, Pisces is also the sign ruling religion and is considered the most mystical of all the 12 signs), financial scandals, and economic recession, might we not take what we now perceive as disorder and suffering in perspective?

The teachings of Buddha tell us that desire and ignorance are the cause of all suffering. Indeed, we now have more than we ever had in terms of material desires, but happiness is increasingly fleeting or simply just beyond our reach. We continue to crave for more, because we have to make up for diminishing returns, or else we are still searching in vain for that non-existent thing outside of ourselves that will give us true happiness. And so we draw ourselves deeper into this vicious cycle of desire and suffering, and we grow increasingly disillusioned with our purpose in life.

Buddhism also teaches the need to overcome ignorance and see the world for what it is. When we lose ourselves in our cravings and enjoyment of the material world, we neglect our mental and spiritual development. Thus, we are unable to recognise the transience of the material world; we delude ourselves into thinking the establishments we have built are forever and so we cling on stubbornly to them and resist change. Eventually, we will also lose sight of and cease to understand ourselves, our motivations, our actions, our human potential and what we were once capable of achieving.

Closer to home, if not for the loss of jobs, the disintegrating boundaries of our comfort zones, and the growing uncertainties all around us, which are all coming together to force us to re-examine our values, would we have found the courage to do and go where we had not dared or thought to go before? Would we be reading about lawyers giving up their profession to waitress or to spend more time with their families?

What if change WILL come, whether or not we want it to? Do we wait for the tsunami of change to overwhelm us, to wring our hands in the inevitable wake of more suffering, or do we go out there, meet it head-on, and ride it out to calmer shores?

Yes, we ARE in an existential crisis, and the moment is coming that we have to make a choice.

Well then, what matters to you? What and how will you choose?

Sing me a lullaby.

Sleep that knits up the ravell’d sleave of care,
The death of each day’s life, sore labour’s bath,
Balm of hurt minds, great nature’s second course,
Chief nourisher in life’s feast.
(Macbeth 2.2.36)

So I'd thought to be a good girl, skip the bedtime coffee (yes, I actually do have coffee before I go to bed some nights), skip an hour's worth of Dungeon Keeper 2, and go to bed earlier than my usual. Except what I did do was toss around for more than an hour. And in my frustration, started to remember how falling asleep has not been as easy as before.

Lying on my side, eyes closed, one arm flung across the other pillow, listening to Sarah McLachlan's soft cooings, but sleep easily eluded my blind grasps in its thickening darkness, as the minutes ticked on inexorably.

Began to miss having the bear to snuggle up to (as I have on so many other nights), even if it were just having him in the same room -- even if it were just holding on to the soft toy that had his scent (which I've since given back to him, along with everything else that resembled the polar bear). I thought about what I would say to him if he wanted to start dating again, even if I wasn't to be the only one. And I imagined my face buried in the distinctive scent of his cheek, and my hand being held in the warmth of his...again...

Also thought about what SF had asked me over Saturday lunch at Sketches. What if I'd agreed to the non-exclusive relationship that he had asked for? How different would things have turned out?

The faded first wife, who lies alone on the coldness of her bed, while her husband is amusing himself with the new flavour of the month. She would still be awake, even as the night finally slips away and it dawns on her that he would not be returning to her chamber afterall, not tonight, anyway.

As I played out the "what if" and "thereafter" in my head, I knew this was an unacceptable hypothetical situation that would never be part of my reality.

And then I thought about how that might not have been his indirect (or cowardly) way to say he wanted to dump me (nevermind what his subconsciousness or heart really wanted), which I thought it was, and thus had I decided then to perform the amputation myself before it turned gangrenous.

Afterall, he did say he was ready to break up with the 4-legged snake-woman (yeah well, a dragon just has 4 more appendages, and there are many other creative alternatives to the five-letter B-word), if I wanted to get back together. Had I been so blinded by the shock of his revelation that I had failed to see the opportunity before me to redeem our relationship, and had instead let go of us too quickly?

Started to wonder if I had made the "wrong" decision based on my "wrong" assumptions, if I had been too severe in my expectations and being unable to forgive. And then I cried a little, perhaps for loneliness, perhaps for the bitterness that he didn't have to deal with the loneliness, perhaps for a hasty choice made, perhaps for an inevitable choice made, perhaps for an inevitable but valuable lesson which I'm still learning, but for which I've had to pay a very high price for.

And then, I remembered that nothing changes the fact that he had cheated on me. And that he wasn't sorry about it.

Ah well, this Pavlov's dog will just have to re-learn the conditions for sleep to occur, eh?

- - - - - - - - - -

Was just joking with SF that while she's gone in Bangkok, I'll have withdrawal symptoms from having no access to the Happy Tree, and that I couldn't scratch my back on the office Happy Tree wannabe, which is not unlike a fake gold bar wrapped only with fancy gold foil. Heh.

Uncharacteristically enough, the fake Happy Tree was bitching the whole of today and just being negative about our problems at work -- an odd reversal of roles, since I'm usually the one bitching. Come to think about it, she's been going on more holidays of late, her self-proclaimed cure-all for the humdrum of life. But they don't seem to have helped lift her spirits, as they did before. I would look over at her ever so often, and her eyes would be the same opaque black discs on listless sheets of white. Her eyes no longer have that sparkle that they used to, as she came bounding into the office, the day after one of her holidays.

Am reminded of an earlier reflection on the nature of happiness, as well as a recent study that believed happy people were those who kept themselves occupied and surrounded by pleasantries.

Now then, what happens when the activities you relied upon to keep you happy begin to give you diminishing returns?

Back to the drawing board (II).

We've been taught not to judge a book by its cover; looks don't matter; there is no such thing as "love at first sight", but more likely "lust at first sight", which in any case is not a good way to start a relationship.

Well, what if all that were wrong?

So, we have proven the superiority of the human race above all the other animals by creating human civilisation and our own codes of conduct. We have shown that we can rise above our primal beginnings and so-called baser instincts.

But, what if we have turned our backs on the natural order of things; that is meant to be; that is intended for the continued existence of the human race? In other words, maybe we can "read" a person by his facial features; maybe we are hard-wired to seek attractiveness, whether by objective or subjective standards; maybe it's intended for us to identify our life partners or mates by listening to the physical chemistry of our bodies (e.g. sniffing out each other's pheromones to determine genetic compatibility).

Studies done in 1987 and 1991 by Langlois et. al. have found that infants look longer at faces that are rated as attractive by adults, than at faces rated as unattractive by adults. If the preference exhibited is unlikely to have arisen from social conditioning, do we then surmise that there is an innate human tendency to gravitate towards attractiveness? Indeed, many other studies have been done on attractiveness.

Moving away from scientific research, what about palmistry, face reading and fortune telling, that have so many more years of research (some might say unscientific) and real-life anecdotes?

Look at your history of close friends. Do they all have a common facial feature? Do you have a preference for a face shape? Or have you ever, on first impression, or even, first sight, intensely disliked a person? Do you particularly dislike certain facial features? What about your significant other, or others (if any)? Have you tried sniffing them? Stripped of all artificial fragrances, do you still like them as much? Do you remember disliking the smell of the ex that you were only too glad to have rid yourself of? What kind of emotions do you experience as you breathe in the scent of the significant other or someone that you are attracted to?

So, are you a "facist", or maybe a "sniffer" even?

- - - - - - - - - -

Talking about attraction and marriage, what's so idealistic or romantic about marrying for love, or "the one"? Why do we have to try so hard to rationalise and sustain a union? Not that I don't believe relationships need to be continually nurtured, like plants. What I do believe is that it won't feel so much as a contrived effort than a genuine want that you don't need to consciously remind yourself of.

Been hearing about people whose marriages are not turning out well, or those who have not married for love and later found the follow-up hard to stomach. And there's the one whose husband slaps her and then walks out during arguments. It's not that domestic violence is uncommon. But this was especially disturbing and somewhat distressing because it's a close friend, this has been going on for a few years, she has never made it known before, and because I thought she was sensible enough not to have let it go on for so long. I've always felt that physical violence between a couple, even if it were just a slap, is just wrong. There's just something so base and morally wrong about a husband using physical force against his wife -- the love of his life...or not? Sure, there are tons of excuses one can offer, but there are some things that you just do NOT do. To me, once would have been one too many times.