E&E

One of the joys I experienced over the December vacation whilst in the midst of celebrating my first Christmas and my first New Year's as a married woman -- oh, the wonders of heaps and mounds of leftover turkey, mashed potatoes, raw celery and pickled red cabbage! -- was being witness to the interactions the two loves of my life, my husband and my cat, sorting out their territorial issues.

Neither of them will admit to this, of course. The cat thinks that she owns the house anyway, and takes for granted that there is no realm beyond the reach of her little paws, and my husband, of course, scoffs at the idea of there being any kind of competition for space whatsoever, because next to him, she is nothing more than a small piece of fluff that just happens to be able to carry itself on its own four legs and make appropriately demanding sounds at meal times.

They have their own little games. The cat sneaks to eat tinsel of the Christmas tree, as a result of which my husband literally blows the whistle on her to scare her off, whereupon she retreats to the top of Palais d'Effy (we made her a cardboard palace in an attempt to dissuade her from laying siege to the wardrobe so that she can mark all our clothes with her fur) to clean herself and to pretend that whoever the miscreant was, it definitely was not her because she was not where the crime was committed. My husband, when he feeds the cat, throws decoys -- one or two pieces of kibble -- to distract her while he hides the food bowl somewhere in the study, an exercise which might help the cat to keep her hunting skills honed, if not for the fact that he helps her to find the food anyway.

All in all, it is very civilised. In their own way, I am quite certain that they feel quite a strong affection for each other. I have witnessed the cat sitting outside the bathroom door waiting for my husband while he is in the shower, and keeping quite still despite the fact that I am no more than three feet away preparing her supper. I have even seen her taking potty breaks when my husband does, something which I have not seen before. And I have overheard my husband having patient conversations with the cat, complete with replies at appropriate intervals from said feline.

There are even days when I feel a bit out of the loop with the two, but generally, the amusement from observation is more than a satisfactory substitute for direct involvement in their antics.

O Christmas Tree

It seems somewhat incredible to me, but last night was the first time that I actually was involved in the decorating of an entire Christmas tree. Somehow, I don't remember being involved in decorating Christmas trees before, even though we did have Christmas trees when I was a child, and I have been to many houses where family and friends had trees. But somehow, I cannot remember helping to decorate an entire tree.

Maybe, simply, this tree is especially significant to me, and it's the first time that I got to help with the choosing of everything from the bottom up, where all the decorations were new and had to have their strings tied on. It's the first time putting up a Christmas tree with someone whom I've promised to spend the rest of my life.

And, like so many other things that have come to pass this year, the tree, the process of setting it up, has been poignantly symbolic to me. It represents a union of effort, something that we construct together, like the room that we painted together, like the life that we are building together. There's pieces of each of us in that tree: the lights that he untangled and draped, the small soft toys that I placed on the branches in the tree that remind me of my friends and, the silver and blue decorations that we chose to continue the colour theme from our wedding, and the tinsel that we tossed on the tree that gives it a kind of rumpled shagginess.

It kind of makes me think though, about the significance of the things that we do, and the things that we share. They are all images. There will be no wedding, no room, no tree that will ever look like this again, even if we were to do it over. Some of these things last a long time, and some are over within a matter of weeks, but someday, it's all over, and what we have are the memories.

My beloved shared with me the other evening, about how much his grandmother loved her husband, and went to place flowers at his grave often over the thirty years that they were parted. What was it that held them together so strongly?

Like so many things, relationships are kept alive only as long as we want them to be. And perhaps, the images that we have along the way, like Christmas trees or new clothes or gifts that we buy or receive, feed the impression that what we have is something that is alive. Ultimately, because all things pass, perhaps too the significance is transient, but these things breathe life into the moments, give it warmth and a flame.

I know each string I tied onto a Christmas bauble for the tree, I did so with tenderness in my heart, and that warmth will stay with me perhaps even beyond the season itself. Till the next season when we'll put up something else to mark the passing of time.

Help Me Help You Help Me

I think everyone has days like these, when they go through a period of feeling like they could be more connected with their partners, and wondering why the communication isn't working as well as it usually does.

Of course, if one is in an unhelpful state of mind, it doesn't assist with making the situation better. What happens instead is that the wiring gets even more crossed and the communication becomes even more challenging because comments meant as jokes or teasing are taking as criticisms, alternative perspectives induce feelings of frustration and helplessness rather than providing a wider viewpoint to resolving the situation, and, very simply, the love can't be seen even when it's staring one in the face. Needless to say then, that one frustrated individual can easily become two frustrated individuals, and two frustrated people trying to communicate while mutually experiencing what looks like rejection can make the most loving relationship look like a mine field.

The fastest way out of these perceptions of sabotage is, of course, to alter one's state of mind.

That, though, is very frequently much more easily said than accomplished, and sometimes, the more one struggles, it adds to rather than desists the state of frustration.

There are some questions, though, that can be fairly effective in enabling one to successfully take a step back to reassess the situation:

1. How is my partner showing care and love in what he / she is doing / saying / expressing?

Consciously going back to the trust in the relationship, and in one's partner, helps me to calm down and to take a step back because I feel reassured by remembering that no matter what he says or does, Mister B does love me a great deal, and is usually doing his best to help me to see things a different way, or to show me that he loves me in one way or another. I remember he once said that he can only love me as much as I allow him to love me -- if I am not responding or if I am rejecting the ways in which he shows love, then he runs out of options after some time. And just because the manner of demonstration doesn't make sense to me at that point in time because it might not be how I demonstrate my affection doesn't make it any less valid as an act of love, and remembering this, especially at times when the feeling that communication isn't working as I would like it to work is threatening to overwhelm me.

2. How am I being loving in this situation right here and now?

Sometimes, I find that the need to feel heard and understood steamrollers my ability to connect with how Mister B is doing his best to show me that he loves me. In these moments, I know that I can be very selfish. Asking myself this question helps me to connect with the intention I have that I want to be as loving as I can possibly be, even when I am annoyed or frustrated about something. It helps me to take a breath and stop to think of a different way to express myself so that I can get the kind of affirmation or response that I need from Mister B in order to feel like I have been heard and understood, while at the same time, reminding myself that Mister B has needs and feelings too, and that he deserves to also feel heard, considered and understood. No matter what it is I am feeling, I know I want him to feel loved, and reminding myself to behave in a more loving way usually helps me to take that step back from being completely blown away by whatever is frustrating me.

3. How is what I feel blocked by actually a way for me to be free or to get what I want?

I find that very frequently, the very things that frustrate me from what I want to achieve are actually in themselves a means to the desired end, if I can perceive them from the right angle.

In the same way, I find also that sometimes when people come to clash over something, it is usually because they both want the same thing, only from different sides of the same issue.

Having this as a conscious reminder helps me to see that the problem can be its own solution, and that if I change my perspective of the matter, I can free myself of feelings of pain and suffering, frustration and anger, and even hate.

I find these questions more useful to me than some other questions that I ask myself from time to time, like how can I get out of this? or so what do I do now? or even questions like is this that important to me, really? -- if it wasn't important to me on some level, then I wouldn't be upset about it. What's rational or not usually doesn't really matter because one way or another, it's about managing the response that is emerging and causing the misery at that specific point in time. Breaking away from our patterns of thought development isn't always easy; the more emotional we get or the more deeply we feel the issue sits, the harder it is to step away from, though most of the time, it's being able to take a step back that helps us most to re-evaluate and find the solutions that we want and need, that can help us to really be free of that which ails us.

Colour My World

Painting the house together is a bonding activity which most people miss out on these days, I think. Foremost on the average Singaporean mind would be hiring someone else to renovate and paint the new pad so that when you step into it it's all dandy and new and done. Having tried it, though, I think painting together is a useful way to make sure couples bond.

Seriously. There are so many different kinds of communication and interaction skills that one gets to practice and benefit from in the course of this particular D.I.Y. project:

1. Negotiation -- This happens at every stage from deciding to paint ("Are we really going to do it? Is this what we want? Wouldn't it be easier -- and cheaper -- just to live with the walls as they are?"), when to paint it ("This wee..No, this week is bad. Next week is worse... How's next month looking?"), what colour to paint it ("That's one vote for bittergourd green, one vote for sandbum yellow. Hmm... At least we both agree that it's not going to be sweetheart puce."), and beyond. It's a great way to find out who likes what, and how the other person sees the world and the choices they make because of it. Discussions about the colour of the room needing to complement the function of the room also help flesh out the picture of what ind of life it is you've decided to build together, if that wasn't already clear.

2. Mutual Admiration and Affirmation -- Painting the room is a job that you can practice immediate recognition and praise with, and generally it's not possible to go so far wrong that insults become necessary, though a hefty amount of teasing might occur if one has a tendency to persistently drip paint on one's feet. But where the positive comments are concerned, almost anything goes, from "That looks great, honey" to "You were right about how the colour would just light up the room," and, if you're short on words and long on monosyllabic responses, "Mmmmmm...Niiice..."

3. The enjoyment of creating something together that is about the relationship -- this is invaluable to the entire nesting process. As Mister B so eloquently put it: "It's not perfect, but it's ours; I love it." Taking ownership of the nest, can be about more than just moving stuff in and finding places for it all. The opportunity as well to look at something that represents the relationship, the life that you are trying to build together, knowing that you did your best to make it beautiful, smiling a little when you see the little cracks here and the little smudges there... Life isn't perfect. Nothing is. And nothing has to be in order to be beautiful and worth admiring and appreciating. And that's the way it is with the relationship as well. From time to time, the putty won't stick or the colour might be patchy, but looking at it as a whole and seeing it for the unique piece of work that it is... Isn't that exactly what a relationship worth working for looks like?

4. Sharing the labour of love -- Painting the place is also a great way to find out how strengths and weaknesses can complement each other. I'm not very patient so stripping off tape is great for me whereas shoving putty into gaps (especially if it's lousy putty that won't stick anyway) had me growling up a storm in the corner. Better to growl at putty and the walls than at each other, so I think it was a good thing that Mister B got to see my grouchy side for a cause that definitely wasn't about any kind of personal conflict. On the other hand, he also got to see what happens when I'm excited -- I just about painted everything yellow. Just about. It's such a great colour to work with, especially since it doesn't show up all patchy like the blue. ~rollz eyez~

All in all, I would say that it was tiring, but definitely worthwhile. There are many things that we are still learning, but also so many more that we could learn if we gave ourselves the opportunity to see the lesson happening for us right there and then, to enjoy the process of each and everything that we do because everything, no matter how small, is about life and learning to live it well.

One Little Month

It seems like just yesterday that we were boring our guests and causing great agonies to our videographer (aka. my long-suffering younger brother) with our long self-written and completed-only-at-2am-the-night-before wedding vows. As of today, though, it's been a month.

It's very teenage-emo to mark the relationship by the commemorative week and month (while looking up at the ceiling while whistling with all the evidence of a certified innocent at the mention of the months to come), but I'm willing to indulge in at least one childish celebratory jig around the couch.

Mister B and I actually had a very serious (if sleepy) conversation about doing a First-Hundred-Days review of our marriage. While there are better ways, I suppose of making myself feel like the First family of the US of A, I do agree that if we are serious about helping this relationship to succeed for many years to come, and about keeping it a conscious and growing relationship, then such measures are a necessity and not a whim.

Personally, since I'm still caught up in my hip-hopping around the room while chanting "one month married! one month married!" I thought it might be good to review what has changed for the better in this last month.

1. I no longer do the laundry because the one time I did the laundry, I turned all of Mister B's white shirts blue. I have since been barred from standing within a two-meter radius of the washing machine, a distance determined by a trial of the accuracy of my aim: I was made to toss my bras into the top-loading monster until it was determined that I was standing at a distance where I would be guaranteed to miss the open orifice by at least twelve inches.

I am allowed to hang some of the laundry, though, provided I agree not to let the clothes slide off the bamboo pole onto the innocent trees, cars and stray cats below.

2. I have started a blog. TWO blogs. After two decades of keeping my private views and life all to myself, I have finally been brought up to date on the modern way of baring my soul to the universe by blogging every bacteria of thought that manifests in my still-stunned brain. I have found the experience to be a rather interesting one as, while guiding other more pliable young minds to the right forms of writing establishing that knowing one's intended audience is of utmost importance, I have nary a clue about who I'm writing this blog for.

I think it is a sad attempt after thirty years to convince myself that I am a successful writer because I do possess work that is published on a public forum.

The next step, as I understand it, involves getting me listed on MySpace and Twitter and all sorts of other social networks so that I might spend more time chatting to Mister B online and posting tit-bits about our private life while he sits no more than a meter away in our tiny rental room expounding on his beliefs that ones private life should belong to oneself and not the rest of the known and unknown world.

3. My cat finally has someone to call "Daddy". Somehow, I don't think the consonant sounds of the word suit her temperament. She's learnt how to meow "Marrrmeeee", especially at 5am (breakfast time) and whenever she thinks I look like a complete ditz while I'm doing any one of my exercise videos.

For now, I'm still slave to the feline owner of our abode. I'm hoping that this will change soon: she's made her home in Mister B's suitcase and watches him balefully from beneath half-closed eyelids while he works (to make sure he stays on the job instead of surfing up Lady Gaga MTVs, I'm sure).

Well, my bus is reaching the station. It's time to post this and run.

Nonstop Yakety-Yak

This is a new experience for me, talking in my sleep.

Particularly since this morning I spoke so loudly that I woke myself from slumber, which was quite a bizarre experience.

What was I talking about? I haven't a clue. According to Mister B, I said something along the lines of: "What's happening now?"

I distinctly remember talking to Mister B. in a dream, then, because I heard my own voice, waking up and then exclaiming: "I've been talking nonsense in my sleep again, haven't I?" and receiving a response from a very sleepy Mister B (he denies having said anything in response though I have my doubts -- how is it that he can describe in such minute detail the position of my head and the supposed twitching of my arms and legs if he was as soundly asleep as he claims?) before rolling over to fall back into a thereafter dreamless sleep.

I'd have to say as well that prior to being married, I've never spoken in my sleep.

Then again, who's to hear me speaking in my sleep apart from my cat who never says anything to me except when she's demanding to be fed? I'm long past the age of sleepovers and when I have stayed over at camps in these last couple of years, it has always been as staff, which means, basically that either I'm sleeping all by my lonesome, over-imaginative and usually terrified self in the staff room, or I'm forced to stay awake all night long to make sure the sweet little tikes (~derisive snort~) are safe and sound.

And since I've been married, Mister B claims -- quite a few times already -- that I have spoken in my sleep, usually (and this is where I cringe in embarrassment) to teach. What I am teaching, he has no clue because I'm not coherent enough in slumber (present and ex-students will proclaim that I'm not much better awake either) for him to figure out, not that he is in any condition or mood in the wee hours of the mornings when this happens to make sense of my mutterings and mumblings, no matter how dictatorial in tone.

Can I hide behind the term 'job hazard' and wave my midnight confessions aside? It's just as well, I suppose, that there's nothing really secret in my life. A friend of mine once refused me the right to pick 'truth' in any round of her favourite game 'Truth or Dare' because, as she exclaimed indignantly, "I know everything already!"

From another perspective, it's a good thing, I suppose, to have so much to say to my husband that even in sleep I'm still working on our communication.

Maybe I should charge for providing round-the-clock entertainment.

Feeling Sixteen

It's quite a refreshing experience to be in a relationship with someone who is constantly aware of and evaluating the condition of our relationship. Like me. And though we have encountered moments of can't see the forest for the trees, as well as your tree ain't the same as my tree, buddy, overall it's very reassuring. It definitely helps me feel less alone in the world. After having been in relationships where it felt more lonesome being with the other person than being on my own, I certainly feel like there is a lot to be grateful for in my life, not just in what I have, but in what I have had the opportunity to learn, that I am now able to discern and to experience this gratitude.

Today, I feel sixteen. I was telling Mister B the other day about how sometimes, depending on the state of our relationship and correspondence level, I realise that I feel like a younger version of myself depending on which age I'm associating the experience of our relationship with. It's a bit freaky, given the understanding that most people would associate with feeling a certain age because of things like energy level and so forth. Or maybe I'm just cursed with needing to analyze everything, instead of just going with I feel younger and it's great!

What was going on at sixteen? I think it was a pre-boy/man problems age where the only person I really had to worry about in any relationship of that nature that I had at this time was myself. That is the lovely simplicity of unrequited love: You know exactly where you stand, communication isn't really a problem because whatever kind of communication is going on is mostly one-directional anyway. And when I was sixteen, I celebrated sunrises and funny dreams with energy and alacrity. I watched clouds and had 32 penpals from around the world. I wrote three times a week to this guy I had a crush on (ten years later when we met again and he said he still kept my letters, I told him to destroy the evidence). For most part, though there was the occasional wistful whimper in the direction of the victim of my adolescent crush, I was happy.

And today, with Mister B, I feel sixteen.

I wondered about that, and about why, day after day of being with him, having meals with him, talking with him endlessly about whatever babble happens to fall out of my face, I don't feel like it's enough. I used to get cabin fever from just being with the same person for three days, like if we were travel buddies. So this, with Mister B is pretty extreme for me.

I think it might be because being with him is like being with myself. Sort of. It's hard to explain. It took me a while to get to the point where I was fully comfortable with being with myself all the time, instead of just being comfortable some of the time or even most of the time. Up till just past my mid-20s, there were times when I would feel overwhelmed by the sense of loneliness, of being lost and isolated, sunk in the realisation that if I were to disappear, it's highly probable that no one would notice. And in spite of this, the idea of being with other people just irked me, made me feel as if my skin was being scratched all over in the wrong direction. It was bizarre. Later on, though, I think what happened was that I came to a better understanding of what I really wanted, of who I really am and how I got to where I am -- and all that fear and loneliness just evaporated. I'm still learning and searching for what I really want -- ironing out the wrinkles and filling in the details, as it were -- but I'm at peace with who I am.

And that's how I feel when I'm with Mister B. Like it's ok to just be me, lost or found or whatever, and to just enjoy the moments as they come because each moment is different, and while each moment is an opportunity for me to reinforce or to change who I am, none of it has to matter unless I say so, and it's ok either way.