You know, I've been neglecting this blog for a while. I know nobody else besides me reads this, but hey, I think I'm a good enough person to entertain to continue.
You may know that I am totally boy-crazy. If you didn't before, you do now. I had this one project where I wanted to create a 'Prapim's Top Ten Men' zine, but it didn't quite go through. Who knows, perhaps one day, I'll do it. For now, have this post.
Sunday 27 May 2012
Wednesday 8 February 2012
There are so many things I had wanted to say to you
I'm not the type of person to have regrets. I do dwell a lot on the past, and I reminisce more than I think I should. I'm not the confident type who would say that were I to live my life again, I'd do it exactly the same. There's a lot of things I've done I've always thought I could have, should have done better, or differently, or not at all. There was one time when I was about three years old, at a birthday party, where I blew out the candles of a birthday cake that wasn't mine. I remember stealing a handful of candy at around the same age from a shop, running away as the elderly shopkeeper came out, shouting after me. I've had my share of temper tantrums and outbursts.
But I don't particularly regret them. Sure, I wish I hadn't done them - if for nothing else than the consequences after - but now that I've done them, I don't feel too bad about it. I look at myself and say, you're only human, I understand. You shouldn't have done it, but you did, and I understand. You see, this is how you learn. Maybe it makes me a better person, these things. Maybe it doesn't. It's all fine.
It must have been the late hour, the watching as dark clouds against a sky intermittently lit by the light of the plane, the one empty seat next to me as the man in the aisle seat slept, but...as I was coming back to Singapore yesterday from Bangkok, it suddenly struck me that yes, there is one thing I regret. Or rather, two.
I regret that I never got to properly say goodbye to my grandparents.
You see, my maternal grandmother and paternal grandfather passed away within the same year. I didn't attend the funeral of either. I was in London at the time, unable to afford a ticket back home for two return trips, my family insistent I stay to concentrate on my studies. It hurt me, but I understood. No, that was not what I regretted. What I regret is that I had wanted to say more, so much more to them, before their passing.
(What would I have said, I wonder?)
But in any case, they were already gone, and what I'd be saying I might as well say to the wind. Perhaps I might believe in their spirits watching me, listening in anyway, but I'd never know for sure. During a time I could be certain, I didn't say anything.
Perhaps I knew it then. I wish I'd been braver. I remember when I left grandmother's house three years ago, looking at her, frail, in her late seventies but so much weaker than she should have been, tears had unexpectedly welled up within me. My seventeen-year-old self had managed to wipe tears away before anyone could see and even my breathing so I didn't choke, but as I look back now, I guess somehow I must have just known, that today, yes, this would be the last time I saw her. If only...
It amazes me, this grief. After all this time the pain unexpectedly still comes back, the tears. I know it's not healthy to have regrets. And so, I have only just this one - or two. It's enough for me to live with. So, for now, I'll say: "Good bye, Ah Kong, Khun Yai. I'll see you on the other side."
But I don't particularly regret them. Sure, I wish I hadn't done them - if for nothing else than the consequences after - but now that I've done them, I don't feel too bad about it. I look at myself and say, you're only human, I understand. You shouldn't have done it, but you did, and I understand. You see, this is how you learn. Maybe it makes me a better person, these things. Maybe it doesn't. It's all fine.
It must have been the late hour, the watching as dark clouds against a sky intermittently lit by the light of the plane, the one empty seat next to me as the man in the aisle seat slept, but...as I was coming back to Singapore yesterday from Bangkok, it suddenly struck me that yes, there is one thing I regret. Or rather, two.
I regret that I never got to properly say goodbye to my grandparents.
You see, my maternal grandmother and paternal grandfather passed away within the same year. I didn't attend the funeral of either. I was in London at the time, unable to afford a ticket back home for two return trips, my family insistent I stay to concentrate on my studies. It hurt me, but I understood. No, that was not what I regretted. What I regret is that I had wanted to say more, so much more to them, before their passing.
(What would I have said, I wonder?)
But in any case, they were already gone, and what I'd be saying I might as well say to the wind. Perhaps I might believe in their spirits watching me, listening in anyway, but I'd never know for sure. During a time I could be certain, I didn't say anything.
Perhaps I knew it then. I wish I'd been braver. I remember when I left grandmother's house three years ago, looking at her, frail, in her late seventies but so much weaker than she should have been, tears had unexpectedly welled up within me. My seventeen-year-old self had managed to wipe tears away before anyone could see and even my breathing so I didn't choke, but as I look back now, I guess somehow I must have just known, that today, yes, this would be the last time I saw her. If only...
It amazes me, this grief. After all this time the pain unexpectedly still comes back, the tears. I know it's not healthy to have regrets. And so, I have only just this one - or two. It's enough for me to live with. So, for now, I'll say: "Good bye, Ah Kong, Khun Yai. I'll see you on the other side."
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