bittersweet symphony
so i've been wanting to blog for a few days now. I do have loads of stories to tell from the holiday (as everyone can see from my dad's comment, it was quite the mad experience), and since my parents and shafa left, loads of studying (read: free) time.
But instead I watch episodes of scrubs (which i've all seen before), and DVDs of movies (which i've all seen before) and eat all of shafa's chocolate minibites (I'm sorry! i'll buy you a new box before you get back, I promise), and feel sorry for myself. It's weird: this thing called loneliness...I suppose it comes into stark relief only when you lose something - like how you can see the stars only when the sunlight fades, but they were there all along (although loneliness is a lot more bleak and alot less hopeful, although i guess the same amount of romanticised, as stars).
I never thought I missed home much until my sister and parents arrived, and we embarked on our mad dash around Europe (and by europe I mean the English Channel). But they came, and they were just the same, from the neuroses to the nagging - and when my mother fussed over me like she used to, and a reflex wave of scorn at her motherliness came in spite of myself, a defiant lift of the chin: "i'm not a child!"... and then I see: I always thought I was independent, and I never could wait to grow up. But now that I really am and now that I had to, now that I provide for myself everything I used to count on her to provide, I just somehow wish that I could be a child again.
And everything else that I had in the last two weeks: the exasperation, the laughs, the security and even the understanding that we all shared: that despite the notre dames and the london eyes and the louvres and everything else, my parents would still be happiest with my mum shopping while my dad waited in a starbucks with his coffee and his book. It was nice and bustly and busy, but I had to say bye again, and become an adult again, with the stiff upper-lip and the "i can take care of myself" bravado. When actually sometimes I feel so lonely I could die.
And it doesn't seem fair does it, that I can't have my family here, and I can't have my oldest friends around me, and I don't even have the transforming love or whatever. Then I remind myself that I chose this, and that I am blessed and lucky, and that anyone would wish to be in my place...and I know I'll start feeling that way again soon, but for now I just need to feel a little sorry for myself.
But you know in one of my moments of clarity I can sort of see how this all, is kind of like our roadtrip to stonehenge:
You start off excited and a little anxious - "we have two hours to get there before it closes!" dad declares - and nervous, because nick's not coming and suddenly YOU'RE the navigator. and you can't read a map to save your life. But the sun is shining and you're full of youthful confidence, and you look at the maze of lines, and you think: how hard can it be?
and the first bit of the drive is great: the radio's playing great songs, your mum's peeling oranges and everyone's buoyant. Then we make the first wrong turn, and the second, and the maps start looking alot more complicated, and you just don't know which bloody line we're on. And the sun sets a little too quickly, and before you know it: it's pitch dark outside and your dad's attempting to reverse delicately on a very busy highway, to make that turn I forgot to tell him we were supposed to make.
And then the roadtrip doesn't seem like a good idea anymore, everyone's kind of tired and angry, and people keep on reminding each other that it'll be too dark to see anything anymore! and someone keeps asking "why so long? I thought we would have reached by now"....and the unspoken consensus that hangs in the air is very much that stones are definitely so not worth this.
And then suddenly in the distance you see it: the mist kind of curling around the tips, and it's spooky as hell. And a shiver runs through the van: the stones look just scary and majestic enough from the distance to maybe just make this a great trip. Then you get out of the car, and there's this giant wire fence keeping us a 100 metres away from the stones, and mum rolls her eyes at the sheer bathos of it.
But as you and dad stroll the perimeter of the enclosure, suddenly you look up: and the last rays of sunlight and the wisps of cloud conspire and you see this:
and it might just have been for a split-second, and the wire fence might still be in your way. but you hear dad's whistle of appreciation echo the awe in your heart, and there is no doubt in your mind: it was worth it.
But instead I watch episodes of scrubs (which i've all seen before), and DVDs of movies (which i've all seen before) and eat all of shafa's chocolate minibites (I'm sorry! i'll buy you a new box before you get back, I promise), and feel sorry for myself. It's weird: this thing called loneliness...I suppose it comes into stark relief only when you lose something - like how you can see the stars only when the sunlight fades, but they were there all along (although loneliness is a lot more bleak and alot less hopeful, although i guess the same amount of romanticised, as stars).
I never thought I missed home much until my sister and parents arrived, and we embarked on our mad dash around Europe (and by europe I mean the English Channel). But they came, and they were just the same, from the neuroses to the nagging - and when my mother fussed over me like she used to, and a reflex wave of scorn at her motherliness came in spite of myself, a defiant lift of the chin: "i'm not a child!"... and then I see: I always thought I was independent, and I never could wait to grow up. But now that I really am and now that I had to, now that I provide for myself everything I used to count on her to provide, I just somehow wish that I could be a child again.
And everything else that I had in the last two weeks: the exasperation, the laughs, the security and even the understanding that we all shared: that despite the notre dames and the london eyes and the louvres and everything else, my parents would still be happiest with my mum shopping while my dad waited in a starbucks with his coffee and his book. It was nice and bustly and busy, but I had to say bye again, and become an adult again, with the stiff upper-lip and the "i can take care of myself" bravado. When actually sometimes I feel so lonely I could die.
And it doesn't seem fair does it, that I can't have my family here, and I can't have my oldest friends around me, and I don't even have the transforming love or whatever. Then I remind myself that I chose this, and that I am blessed and lucky, and that anyone would wish to be in my place...and I know I'll start feeling that way again soon, but for now I just need to feel a little sorry for myself.
But you know in one of my moments of clarity I can sort of see how this all, is kind of like our roadtrip to stonehenge:
You start off excited and a little anxious - "we have two hours to get there before it closes!" dad declares - and nervous, because nick's not coming and suddenly YOU'RE the navigator. and you can't read a map to save your life. But the sun is shining and you're full of youthful confidence, and you look at the maze of lines, and you think: how hard can it be?
and the first bit of the drive is great: the radio's playing great songs, your mum's peeling oranges and everyone's buoyant. Then we make the first wrong turn, and the second, and the maps start looking alot more complicated, and you just don't know which bloody line we're on. And the sun sets a little too quickly, and before you know it: it's pitch dark outside and your dad's attempting to reverse delicately on a very busy highway, to make that turn I forgot to tell him we were supposed to make.
And then the roadtrip doesn't seem like a good idea anymore, everyone's kind of tired and angry, and people keep on reminding each other that it'll be too dark to see anything anymore! and someone keeps asking "why so long? I thought we would have reached by now"....and the unspoken consensus that hangs in the air is very much that stones are definitely so not worth this.
And then suddenly in the distance you see it: the mist kind of curling around the tips, and it's spooky as hell. And a shiver runs through the van: the stones look just scary and majestic enough from the distance to maybe just make this a great trip. Then you get out of the car, and there's this giant wire fence keeping us a 100 metres away from the stones, and mum rolls her eyes at the sheer bathos of it.
But as you and dad stroll the perimeter of the enclosure, suddenly you look up: and the last rays of sunlight and the wisps of cloud conspire and you see this:
and it might just have been for a split-second, and the wire fence might still be in your way. but you hear dad's whistle of appreciation echo the awe in your heart, and there is no doubt in your mind: it was worth it.
hey! blessed new year!! my prayer for u is that the Lord conts to watch and guide you over everything! and that He's your centre of focus in anything okae! take care and misss you loads!!
Posted by
dont kaysiao |
8:43 AM
hey good post here. the comment frm 'tony' is quite a dampener tho!
Posted by
R |
4:56 PM
Back here reading this yet again.. jetlagged and also feeling quite pained now that the whole holiday has come to an end and its time to face the real world with all its problems and shit. altho i'm with family, somehow everything seems less rosy back here. hope u're able to deal with the loneliness the right way..find ur comfort in Something which will last. Ok? I'm tryin to do the same back here. Take care..
Posted by
R |
2:23 PM