Struggling

We’re well into October, nearly knocking November’s door. And as usual, I’m struggling to put into words exactly what I’ve been doing all year long. Minutes fold into hours, fold into days, fold into weeks. Before you know it, it’s Saturday again. Before you know it, another month has passed.

They’re putting up Christmas decorations on Orchard Road already. S incredulously commented: “It’s three months away!” Of course, this isn’t exactly right – that’s just me telling her she’s got another three months till Christmas and she really doesn’t need to tell me what she wants for her present this year quite yet.

I’ve been closely following the run-up to the Writer’s Festival and it’s finally here. And I find there’s nothing really interesting I want to attend. There was the whole Neil Gaiman thing, but I’m not a die-hard fan and refuse to line up for hours for a pair of free tickets. No matter how many chances I get. I have singled out two things, and it’s in this singling out that I now find my purpose for the next month.

NaNoWriMo.

I discovered this some years ago and failed. I refused to even attempt it subsequently. Now I’m sitting, a week before it starts, and I’m contemplating it. Why not? There will be a launch party next week which I’ve decided I will attend (I hope – if I can convince others around me to carry on with the usual routine without me). Why ever not, really? I haven’t written a single word in ages. How am I supposed to teach my children perseverance when I don’t have any myself?

Of course, there’s plenty other stuff to think about. All my usual work around the house. Several people ask me why I sleep so little. I am always tired – I need sleep, but I don’t get any. I’m always trying to stay on top of the paperwork that lives and breathes on my desk like a growing amoeba. It spreads – horizontally and vertically – until I cannot stand it anymore and take to it with a brutality that would put a butcher to shame. After all the massive cutting, culling, hole punching and filing, I have a slender stack of outstanding issues that sits neatly before the mousepad. And then it all starts again – the growing, the spreading, the gradual takeover of every inch of table space I have. All in a matter of days. I still don’t get it – why do I get so much paper? Why am I this busy?

Maybe if I didn’t entertain my Facebook account quite as much as I do, I would have better control over this endless cycle. But no – Facebook is an outlet. Frivolity at its best and most convenient. How could I give it up?

Anyway, I run out of time. As always, my days are tightly scheduled. In the house one minute, 10 minutes to sit on the computer and then we’re off getting ready for something else. This time I’m running late. Again.

Writing. I need to find time to write.

Fives

It’s funny what sticks in your head.

I was a little girl when I watched The Washington Ballet perform “Fives”, by Goh Choo San. It remains, to this day, my all-time favourite ballet. The dance itself is hazy, but I remember the feel of it – the bare costumes, the five couples on stage, the dim red lighting, the big “V” on the backdrop, the opening bars of the music, the way the whole thing put together made the hair on the back of my neck stand.

Unfortunately, despite this being the age of wikipedia and youtube, I cannot find any video of the ballet being performed. I have, however, learned the name of the music.

Perhaps one day I’ll watch Fives again.

Concerto Grosso No. 1 for strings and piano, by Ernest Bloch.

What are you doing, on the world??

I am cutting N’s hair. He keeps moving because it’s ticklish. Fortunately, cutting N’s hair requires minimal skill since he has little hair to start with. Styling is almost a non-issue. That said, it does take a bit of work to achieve a “slope” at the back, especially when he’s squirming like a worm.

It is taking a little time to do this and a little boy cannot really be asked to STAY STILL. I am, however, insisting he try. Otherwise I may nick his ear or snip a little too much off, resulting in a very awkward bald patch.

By this time, N is immensely tired of this ticklish snipping.

“MOMMY….. what ARE you doing? On the world??”

I am hot and bothered and more than a little annoyed by the squirm worm who refuses to stop moving.

“WHAT??”

“What. Are. You. Doing. On. The. World????”

Suddenly, through the haze of flying hair and sweat, I realize what my boy is saying to me.

“Are you asking me what in the world I’m doing??”

“Yah….”

The way he answers me, you’d think I’ve asked the dumbest thing ever.

Project Get-Yourself-Together

Something must be really wrong with me if I feel I haven’t been able to get myself together for almost two whole years now. Perhaps this is really my natural state – the inability to schedule, prioritize and act. Two years ago, my so-called workload was less than half it is now, so it was easy to be a slacker and still get things done. These days, I have to be focused and disciplined. Which I’m lousy at. All the same, I am determined to get my act together. If not for any other reason (other than being constantly nagged  and yelled at by all parties for the things I’m not doing), then for the children. Being disciplined is best taught through example.

Oh boy, the kids are really in trouble now.

2 a.m.

The alarm goes off for the second time in 3 days in the middle of the night. For some inane reason. Yeah, sure, I really need this. Between the three children, all of whom decide they must wake me up at some point in the night (in the case of M, several times a night), I really don’t want to be woken up by yet another thing at some ungodly hour.

Such is my life. It doesn’t get any more exciting than this.

Promises, promises

Yeah, yeah. Right, I am updating this blog. I will.

So we now enter the season of many events. I go a little crazy on SISTIC – I love watching stuff. Any type of, for lack of better description, stuff. This week, it’s the Singapore International Story Telling Festival. I’ve booked tickets for a couple of events, regardless of whether the significant other actually cares for it (he does – he gamely joins me on any damn thing I book tickets for). Of course, he’s just announced he can’t make it, so I’m dragging another friend to it.

We’ve got tickets also for this weekend’s The Extraordinary V Conference. Goodness knows what that is, but it’s by Irene Ang and she can be very funny, so it must be good stuff. It’s gotta be – it cost too much not to be.

I’ve also booked us tickets for something at the Sun Festival and something at the Da:ns Festival. I’m even doing a workshop which is a side event at the Da:ns Festival.

You know how people love buying junk? I’m that way with performances. Just call me a junkie. Ah, but I can be snooty about what I watch too. Not everything under the sun, mind you, and if it’s too weird and too new age or just plain strange, I won’t be wasting my money on it.

I suppose the point really to take away from this little story is that I’m getting my life back. In bits and pieces, but it is coming back. Do I really want another baby after this? The jury is still out.

Is this blog still alive?

Yes, it is. Even if my posts are few and far between. To the faithful few that still swing by here, THANK YOU. I could probably count you on one hand, and I pretty sure I know all of you in person.

I’ve recently found myself re-energized to start writing again, so posts should be coming up more frequently.

But right now, I’m off for dinner. I will be back. I promise.

The Secret

Of teaching your child Mandarin.

You need

(a) a little busybody for a child

(b) something you really want to say to your spouse while in front of the kids, WITHOUT having said kids understand you.

VOILA. 

Note to self: Time to find another “code” language with spouse.

Dance, dance, wherever you may be

I danced as a child. For many years. And then I stopped. Abruptly. 

Today, I met a dear friend with whom I danced in school. She still dances today and asked if I would join her.

I love dance. Everything about it. From the music and movement, to the shoes and leotards, to the stage and rehersals. I love everything there is to love about dance. I spent many years doing ballet, but the truth is all types of dance fascinate me. Dance with rhythm and definite movement, not the strange awkward pieces that pass off as art these days. I admire the discipline, the focus on perfection, the form, whether individual or group. I miss all this – I have missed it for years now.

And today, pondering a return to ballet, I wonder if I will ever dance again. I dance to be on stage. That is really what I love about dance – the performance. I know I can never perform again – I’m soon to be on the wrong side of thirty. But there is still the strong draw to recapture the moments of my youth. The excitement, the dedication, the end result.

I come back to this every few years, desperate to find that little piece of my past that I so loved. It’s never the same and it never will be. And yet, I still come back to it.

So will I dance again? Maybe I will. Even if it’s to recapture something long gone, it is mine to keep, mine to treasure. It will be fun, silly and hopefully will help me get back into shape.

Dance again, my sweet. Time is short. There is little to ponder.

Blogging is so….

Yesterday.

Indeed. 2009 hasn’t been a good year for posts. Ideas are few, motivation to write lacking. Micro-blogging seems to have taken over, in the form of status updates on Facebook and 140-character lines on Twitter. Perhaps that is the reality – my ability to construct a coherent piece of prose has gone down the drain.

Still, I’m not ready to shut this blog down. I believe there will be a day when I will seek sizeable airing space again.