Perfect Imperfection

 

I have not been blogging for a while.  I made the conscious choice to stay away from anything that involved investing too much time and energy analyzing the what and wherefore of every sordid detail of everything that I had observed about life to create some meaningless content on my blog.  Instead of playing spectator to a stage of external events, situations, and issues before me, I started to walk introspectively to play spectator to myself.

 

I spent the last few months wading through an emotional and mental transformation that involved my letting go of aspects of myself that I had come to dislike. Every effort that I had used to make towards being better than what I was yesterday, at work, at home, in my personal life, and at the gym were deemed as an incomprehensible display of inane vanity that served to support my ego.  Every expectation that I had placed on others to be better than they were yesterday, at work, at home, in their personal lives and at the gym were deemed as an intolerance to anything or anyone that could not compete with my ego and I.

 

I woke up one day to the fact that if I could not be everything to everyone, then I should not be expecting that of myself. Nothing needs to be that perfect.  Life is not a checklist of “things - I –need- to- do”.  I did not need to push for an achievement in every aspect of my life to feel complete.  And if I was not expecting that of myself, why should I be expecting that of others? 

 

The Perfect Marriage

 

David and I founded our marriage on the principle that we were Best Friends First.  There was zero romance, very little time spent together, and we might have possibly violated some acceptable norms of a traditional marriage. We did not feel compelled to be the perfect spouse, having to message each other ever so often to say something inane like “I love you babes.” Didn’t we already know that?   We did not feel compelled to set aside a specific time for date night.  For goodness sakes, when we sparred at the gym and I spent half that time dodging his jabs, that was a date night.  We did not feel compelled to plan an annual vacation together.  When he had a photography assignment overseas, he would ask if I would like to come along and extend a few days after his work to enjoy some “we time” exploring the sights and doing street photography.  

 

We are indeed Best Friends First.  So that would mean that even in the absence of romance, hair, obliques and one’s own teeth, everything about this marriage was perfect to us.  I chose to let go of societal norms of what a perfect marriage should be.  I refused to be defined by other people’s definitions of what romance was.  I disliked reading women’s magazines which spewed advice about what good communication, togetherness and romance in marriage should look like.    This would be an example of a romantic conversation that we might have. 

 

David, “I would like to nuzzle my beard in your neck.”

Me, “No need. Thanks.  By the way, where are my yellow handwraps?”

 
We do have the most perfectly imperfect marriage.

 

The Perfect Mother

 

Joel and I have the most unusual parent-child relationship founded on the fact that I had very little maternal instincts and plenty of respect for Joel as an individual.  When Joel was little, my friends would be carefully planning their children’s meals to provide them with balanced nutrition.  However, Joel and I would sometimes share a Snickers bar for breakfast, against the advice of friends who felt I was callous about nutrition for his growth. I remembered trekking hills and climbing mountains with a 1 year old strapped to my back, against the advice of friends who were worried that an accident might happen to the boy or he might catch dengue fever or malaria.  As he grew older, and went into national service, our idea of fun back home was challenging each other with diamond push-ups or chin-ups. I was not a traditional mother the way my Mom was to me.  Mom made sure I had hot food on the table every time I got home.  I just made sure Joel knew how to create his own meals every time he got home.  Mom made sure my clothes were always nicely washed and ironed. I just made sure Joel knew how to do his own laundry.  I did not feel compelled to turn up at every concert Joel was performing at when he was in school. However I was there every time he went through a hard time at school, or through a break up with some unimportant cow. 

 

He was never academically inclined and often did not do brilliantly in his exams.  While other parents would panic and throw tutors and enrichment classes at their children, I ignored the pressure and just walked with him through the several parent-teacher meetings, praying that one day, he would look back at this stressful academic system when he grew up and laugh because he had brilliantly created his own opportunities for success in a world that did not give a damn if you had won the egg and spoon race in secondary school. I chose to let go of any preconceptions of what a perfect mother should be.  When I was younger, I was often left out of mother-baby groups where the women got along very well because they followed the rules of what good mothering was all about, whatever they were. I sometimes felt guilty that I was not the mother to Joel the way Mom was to me.  However when I watched Joel grow up to be a strapping young man with values far older than he actually was, I thought I might have done a bloody good job, with no regrets.

 

I did not define my relationship with Joel with hugs, kisses and terms of endearment.  There was no need to.  This would be a typical conversation Joel and I might have.

 

Me, “Joel, you’re my favorite son.”

Joel, “But Mom, I am your only son.”

Me,  “Oh yes.”

 

In our world, Joel and I has the most perfectly imperfect mother-son relationship.

 

The Perfect Marketing Department

 

I used to push myself at work, with my brain switched on almost 24 hours a day 7 days a week, thinking through marketing plans, poking holes into every proposal that landed at my desk and dreaming up of marketing content and ideas at every chance I got. Everything that came out of my department had to be perfect.  With 20 years of Marketing experience amassed at some of the most prestigious blue chip companies, how can anything that I touched be less than perfect?  The reality is, those years back then meant nothing if I refused to grow alongside a world that had evolved with opportunities for others who might not have had the relevant experience, skills nor qualifications, yet had the balls to create brilliant marketing ideas that added value to the community.  They might not have been the most perfect plans but they worked to our business and marketing objectives.   

 

When I lifted this myopic veil of egoistic perceptions of what could be the perfect marketing plan, then I was able to uncover the passion, tenacity, and authenticity of creative souls who merely wanted a chance at making a difference through scope of work that I had initially claimed as my own out of sheer arrogance.  When I accepted that there was no such thing as the most perfect marketing plan, I was able to open my heart and mind to learn from others who did not have the same skills and experience as I did.

 

This made for a perfectly imperfect working environment at which I got excited about every day when I showed up for work.

 

The Perfect Home

 

My housekeeper Evelyn had been away for the past 3 weeks on vacation back to her hometown in the Philippines. Knowing that I was not exactly a Domestic Diva and would not have been able to tell the difference between the washing machine and the microwave oven, she set aside some time before she left, to teach me how to use the appliances at home, and pointed out where all the equipment and the washing liquids were kept.  Secretly, I was furious.  This was my home.  How could I not know how to upkeep my home, right?  My pride caused my nose to get dented out of bent when she wrote a timetable out for me to dictate when I should have my bed linen changed, when the dogs needed their bath and which capsule in the washing machine was for the laundry detergent and which one was for the fabric softener. 

 

When I recovered enough to tell my ego to go to hell, I sat down with David and Joel to map out a plan to divide and conquer the chores.  As the days went by without Evelyn at home, I became more comfortable with the routine of juggling all my priorities with the help of David and Joel. And I realized that over time, I accepted that it was okay to not have a home that was perfectly neat and tidy.  I valued quality time with the family over a sparkling clean kitchen. The pile of clean laundry that needed ironing kept growing.  However I was not pedantic about getting them all ironed and put away at a specific time.  It could wait.  I have better things to do, like spending some good quality time with the family.    I did, in the end, come back to a perfect home. It was a perfect home with a family that was not stressed about a little speck of dust on the shelf, or a white sock that had turned purple in the wash.

 

As I wrote this post, I began to love the imperfections within me and around me a lot more.    The best thing I did for myself in these few months, was to wake up celebrating just being the imperfect me, appreciating the imperfect people in this most imperfect world.


 

About The Writer

The writer of this blog post is a Marketing and PR professional for over 20 years.  Due to her love for Combat Sports, she is also a freelance sports writer on the side, contributing articles to several sports media.  She works in partnership with her husband, David Ash, who is an avid sports photographer from www.singaporemaven.com.  She is passionate about Boxing and nurtures a dream to fight competitively one day when her coach stops making fun of her.  She is also a psychic intuitive by birth and runs a consultancy that does tarot and numerology readings under her brand, Sun Goddess Tarot.  This blog is affectionately called "The Crazy AngMo" as she is married to one, although she has not yet explained to THE Ang Mo that when translated, he has been labeled  “the bloke with ginger hair”.  

 

 

An Indomitable Spirit

"Strength does not come from physical capacity. It comes from indomitable will." ~ Mahatma Ghandi

A Change of Plans For Christmas 

We had big plans for the year-end merry-making.  Mum was preparing to whip up a big lunch the weekend before Christmas, to celebrate the Winter Solstice.   I was going to be hosting our annual family Christmas Eve dinner.  On 27th December, Mum organized a big dinner party to celebrate my parents' 45th wedding anniversary. Dotted in between these, we have got several invitations to join our friends in their Christmas celebrations.

However, these plans had to change.

Dad Is not Well

Dad was suddenly hit with a stroke and  taken to the hospital where he was also diagnosed for Parkinson's disease and dementia.  That meant he will need to be religious about his long term rehabilitative program after he got discharged.   In fact, Dad was diagnosed with a silent stroke a few years back and the neurosurgeon did advise that he should do his rehabilitative exercises regularly.  Of course, Dad was stubborn and would rather continue eating and living well in his own way than to spend time in and out of the rehabilitative cente. Even when his mobility deteriorated to the point where Mum had to assist him with basic activities like bathing, eating and walking, he would make an effort to shuffle from the bedroom to the living room, holding onto furniture for support along the way.  We were not thrilled by this because we were worried about him falling at some point but we could not stop him.

Well, this time round it certainly was not a silent one.  His left arm and leg got impacted, his speech slurred more, and he looked confused.  I had seen Dad become increasingly frail over the years, but I have never seen Dad looking completely lost and feeling helpless.  My heart broke when I saw him being wheeled through the doors to get to his MRI session.  His even frailer form looked so broken.  However, no matter how ill or weak he was, I detected fire in his eyes.

He Still Has Fire In His Belly

His frail frame disguised the fire in his belly.

When the therapist came along to ask how old he was, he slurred defiantly, "..as old as the hills...and older than you."  When the therapist asked him to point to his eye with his finger, and then to point to his tummy next, he slurred even more defiantly, "You are asking me to do such a simple thing?"   I had a good laugh as I thought, "That was not a question honey, my Dad wants you to stop insulting his intelligence."  He struggled to get out of his bed and told me as he pointed to the nurses, "Come on, let's go.  They are preparing for us to leave."    The nurse told him that he was not going to be able to go home just yet.  So he looked squarely at her and challenged, " That is what you say."   For once, I was thankful that he was not mobile enough to put himself in any danger.  I was however impressed that in spite of his frailty, that indomitable spirit never waned.

I grew up watching and learning from that indomitable spirit. Just before he was incarcerated without trial for his "off-center" political views in 1978,  I remembered the moments when the lackeys of the Establishment marched Dad, in handcuffs, into our home while I was having Mandarin lessons with the tutor.  I saw  how frail and helpless Dad looked then ( like he did just now as he was wheeled out of the ward for his MRI session)  surrounded by a bunch of burley men hiding behind dark glasses, walkie-talkies and cheap plastic name tags.   Yet, at that point, he tried to be stoic and promised Mum and I  that all was going to be fine.  I was however, mortified that these strangers could barge into my home to disturb the peace of a once happy family.  I was extremely angry that they handcuffed a man with alternative political views when that handcuff should be reserved for common criminals. I was even more aghast at the thought that Dad was going to be taken away from us, without trial, without any ability to defend himself.  I rushed towards Dad  shouting " Let him go, you bastards.  He is not a criminal."   Dad shot them a very angry look.  It took me years to realize the anger was not at what had happend to him, but at the terrible way in which they handled the issue in front of his family that included an 8 year old.   His indomitable spirit never waned even then, as he just wanted to protect his family.

Bringing Christmas To Dad

Dad's condition will not get better.  That is the fact about stroke.  It is a condition that should be managed, but it will never get better.  As the doctors put him through tests after tests here at the hospital, he said, " They are wasting my time."  I agree.  They are.  I felt his frustrations.  I am sure somewhere in these tests, they are doing something productive to help him get better but I am not seeing it just yet.  His lack of rest at the hospital is not helping.   I wished I could take him home with me now and we could all have a fabulous Christmas celebration together as a family.  But I know that is not possible.  So, like Dad, with his indomitable spirit, if he cannot join me for our annual family Christmas Eve dinner, I will bring the Christmas revelry to him at the hospital on Christmas Day. 

Joel, please chill the wine already.

About the writer:

The writer of this blog post is a 44 year old mother of one, who spreads her time between her day job as a Marketing and PR professional at a financial institution, her hobby as a Certified Professional Tarot Reader and Numerologist, and her family which includes a 20 year old son and 3 dogs with personality disorders.  She's married to a Scot who has been affectionately called "The Crazy AngMo" and prays that he does not find out that the colloquail term when translated, has labeled him as a "Ginger Head".   Together, we create a home made up with more nuts than a fruitcake but filled with plenty of love.

This is Dad when he was younger.  Wasn't exactly David Hasselhoff..more like an Asian Che Guevera eh? This picture was taken during a family vacation at Desaru Beach in Malaysia. I remembered he lost his glasses in the waves.

I Am A Pre-Empty Nester

Empty Nesters Syndrome

In the last few months, David and I had been experiencing odd moments of solitude at home as Joel increasingly spent time at campus, with his friends, on industrial attachment at the hospital or with his girlfriend – just fill in the blanks because one never gets  a straight answer from him to a simple question of “Where are you going?”

The environment seemed so quiet and peaceful, sans the occasional barking of the dogs when the newspaper delivery guy appeared at our door.  Instead of cooking a feast for the family, we both would be munching on salad leaves and left-over’s for lunch or dinner during weekends.  In the past when the dogs were automatically walked 4 times a day by magic, we now have to roster the dog-walking duties between the 2 of us.  While I used to have a car-door opener and shopping bag carrier during our window-shopping trips, I now have to carry my own bags.  As there is only 1 other tea aficionado at home, I now have to brew my own cup of tea.

I reckoned this is what they famously called, the “Empty Nesters Syndrome”

Pre-Empty Nesters


When I searched Wikipedia, it defined “Empty Nest Syndrome” as a feeling of grief and loneliness parents may feel when their children leave home for the first time, such as to live on their own or to attend a college or university. This can result in depression and a loss of purpose for parents, since the departure of their children from "the nest" leads to adjustments in parents' lives. Empty nest syndrome is especially common in full-time mothers.

Let me qualify here that I am not a full-time mother and I am certainly not depressed.  While it took some time for me to get used to the quiet surroundings at home without the boy, it definitely gave me a lot of time to pursue my own interests like taking on more Tarot reading appointments and Tarot coaching sessions on weekends.  I know David felt the same because he too started taking on more photography assignments and had even used his spare time to help a friend manage her pub.

Seeing that we should be more accurately termed as “Pre-Empty Nesters”, I then  started searching on the internet for ways to “prepare for his move to the next phase of his life – out of my house”.  Don’t get me wrong.  It’s not that I can’t contain my excitement.  It’s just that whatever I could do to make productive use of time when we had it, I wanted to ensure I was doing just that.

Preparing For The Chick To Leave The Coop


I found  the following information on WikiHow:

1) “Prepare for the departure. If you're expecting your children to be leaving within the next year, take this time to check that they are aware of how to do the basic essentials for caring for themselves alone. Make sure they know how to wash their clothes, cook for themselves, balance a checkbook, …”

Houston, I think we may have a problem.  The boy needs a map to get himself to the bathroom for a shower, his room currently looks like the aftermath of Hurricane Sandy and by the weekend, his allowance is down to a mere 20cents, enough for him to call me from prison should he stupidly land himself there.  While he is adept at making tea, he can’t do much else like wash his own clothes, cook a decent meal  and balance a checkbook.

 
Improving Communication

2)  ”Explore the ways that you intend to keep in touch with your children. You'll feel a sense of loneliness and emptiness when they're gone because you can't just turn around and tell them things as you always used to do. Keeping up constant communications is vital for maintaining a sense of family togetherness..”

Honestly, I think it is better that communication is kept to a minimal.  If there is communication at all, someone needs to develop a dictionary to go with it.  You see, communicating with someone from teenage to early adulthood is quite frustrating.  Can someone please explain to me what “ROFL”, “LMAO”, and less than 3 mean?  Less than 3 was picked up when he sent me this text that said “<3”.

Recognize The Symptoms

3)  “Understand what empty nest syndrome is, so that you can recognize the symptoms in your own situation. Empty nest syndrome is a psychological condition that affects principally women, producing grief when one or more of the children leave home..”

I haven’t experienced that grief yet.  Perhaps I am still experiencing Pre-Empty Nest syndrome which is more accurately described as feelings of being in love with spouse again, feelings of glee because I now have the entire house to myself, feelings of satisfaction because I now have more time to accept more Tarot appointments, feelings of exhaustion because I now have to carry my own shopping bags, and feelings of thirst because no one is there to make tea for me.

Looking After Our Own Needs

4)  “Start looking to your own needs. Once you're satisfied that you've set your child on the right path, you'll start noticing the big change in your life. The way in which you choose to perceive this change will color your feelings and approach to it – if you see it as a gaping hole, you'll feel much more miserable than if you choose to see it as an opportunity to revive some of your own interests and pursuits. Avoid creating a shrine out of your child's bedroom...”

Now, this is possibly the only piece of advice that I resonate with.  David and I have started looking after ourselves better.  i)  We started creating a salad bar at home, upon the suggestion of a friend.  At dinner time, we would just fill our plates with different types of vegetables, nuts, fruits, some roast chicken or smoked salmon, and whatever is available in the fridge.  It’s a simple dinner but it had transformed our eating habits and hopefully will contribute to better health for us. We couldn’t quite do that in the past because Joel had an aversion for anything green in colour. ii) We started spending more time on our passions.  David had been taking on more photography assignments and I had been accepting more Tarot reading appointments and Tarot coaching engagements.  In  the past, we were conscious that time spent with Joel was very limited during weekdays due to school.  However, now that he had been spending more time with friends, girlfriend, and school projects both on weekdays and weekends, we had decided to keep ourselves busy with our respective activities.

Rediscovering My Husband

5)  “Rediscover the love of your life…”

This is the best advice ever.  In the last 12 years of marriage, David and I had been so busy juggling our respective careers, family commitments and other projects.  For the first time in 12 years, we started walking on this journey of rediscovery.  Age is a wonderful thing. One’s perspectives, interests and passions evolved with age.  I thought David’s evolved for the better.  He had become more interesting a person to talk to than he ever was 12 years ago when we first got married because of his varied interests and his very bold “dare-to-do”/ “no-harm-trying” attitude to life.  I saw this in the way he passionately rehearsed his guitar for his gigs, I saw this in the hard work he put into his photography assignments and photo-editing that he would  do through the night in order to get the photos to the client the next day. I saw how gamed he was in agreeing to help a friend run her pub. 

Even our weekends now are never pre-planned.  In the past, we had every activity scheduled like a school timetable.  Now, we might just take the car out on weekends saying “ Let’s see where the yellow brick road takes us.”

I like being a Pre-Empty Nester.  It’s somewhat like dating a new guy, only somehow, I know him and like him even better.  As for the boy, I am hopeful that this Pre-Empty Nester period is teaching him new skills to hone his independence for the day I become an Empty Nester.

About the writer:

The writer of this blog post is a 43 year old mother of one, who spreads her time between her day job as a marketeer at a financial institution, her hobby as a certified professional tarot reader and numerologist, and her family which includes a 19 year old son.  She's married to a Scot who has been affectionately called "The Crazy AngMo" and prays that he does not find out that the term when translated, has labeled him as a "Ginger Head".

A Boy Lost

A Daughter For Life!

When I was a child, my parents were my world.    I grew up in fear that one day they would grow old, fly up into the clouds and become angels.  I want them to stay by my side, cook and clean for me, fetch me from school,  sit beside me as I practiced on my piano, buy new accessories for my doll’s house, and repair my baby dolly so that she can pee without my having to squeeze her little tummy.

As an adult, my parents are still my world.  I live in fear that one day they would grow old, fly up into the clouds and become angels.  I want them to stay by my side to cook my favorite food, be arbitrator when I fight with my son, walk the dogs when I am on vacation, feed the hubby when I travel on business ( or was it the other way around, walk the hubby and feed the dogs…can’t remember) and tell me stories about my younger days when I grew up in fear of their growing old, flying into the clouds and becoming angels.

Before I married David, I told him that he had to accept the notion that in my life, Joel was number 1, Mum and Dad were number 2, and he would be number 3 after the dogs in my list of priorities.  He was new to Singapore, a waif and stray, so he agreed and we got married.  He spent the last 14 years of our lives together, being there for Mum and Dad, fetching and sending and running errands for them, like a good son-in-law should.  It made me extremely happy when he did all that.

Mum had always told me before I had Joel, that if I had a son, I would actually be bringing up a man who would  one day  be taking care of another man’s daughter.  If I had a daughter, I would have a daughter for life who would love me forever, and would live in fear of my growing old, flying up into the sky and becoming an angel.

A Son For Life?

When Joel entered nursing school last year, he had put his heart and soul into the course after his initial misgivings about being “Gaylord Focker”.  David and I made every effort to ensure he stayed on track, encouraging him all the way, and appointed him our personal private nurse at home.  On days when I didn’t cut my finger while peeling an apple, he gladly volunteered to be the personal private nurse to our dogs.  They didn’t seem to mind the exercise of running around the house, away from his stethoscope and blood pressure monitor.

Not too fond of examinations, Joel struggled through the stress of burning the midnight oil during the nursing examinations.  He was not particularly fond of pharmaceuticals – frankly how difficult was  it to spell Aspirin?

So like a good mother, I made sure I stayed up with him, blogging into the night, like I am doing now, while he practiced how to spell the word Aspirin.  I even made tea for him, made late night sandwiches and prepared other snacks for him, made sure he was well fed and watered while he studied.  David even did the dog-walking and garbage-throwing duties during Joel’s examinations.

Our display of parental love and commitment surely must be exemplary.

And what did the boy do?

A Boy Lost

This afternoon, Joel texted me with this cursory note, “Passed Exams.”  I was ecstatic!  I told him how proud I was and how wonderful that his hard work paid off, and promised him a wonderful weekend of treats. 

Then as I was checking my FaceBook newsfeeds, I spotted Joel’s post on his status update. A proud declaration rung seemingly loudly across his FaceBook status “Passed all my modules for year 1, semester 2.  Got my girl to thank for pulling up my Human Bioscience grades…if it wasn’t for her constant nagging and dragging me out to study on weekends knowing that I’ll most probably be slacking away at home, I think I’ll be seeing myself re-sitting the year 1 exams again.  Bravo.”

Bravo indeed.  My own son forgot for that moment, how much effort, prayers, hope and sweat his Pops and Mum had put into ensuring his success.

We were gutted.

But We Are Still Here

Like a good mother, and like my mother before me, and her mother before her, I will still walk beside my child throughout his journey through life, unscathed by such lack of consideration for our commitment and love as parents.  Parental love is unconditional, I was told. However, from time to time, I wished he would tell me he lived in fear that I would grow old one day, fly up into the sky and become an angel.

About the writer:

The writer of this blog post is a 43 year old mother of one, who spreads her time between her day job as a marketeer at a financial institution, her hobby as a certified professional tarot reader and numerologist, and her family which includes a 19 year old son.  She's married to a Scot who has been affectionately called "The Crazy AngMo" and prays that he does not find out that the term when translated, has labeled him as a "Ginger Head".