I'm always a phonecall away (part 2)

My phone vibrated – text incoming.

“Good pm how are you ” I answered, “Hi, I’m good. Hope you are doing well.”

Next one:

“I want met to you. I wate for your met today can?” I didn’t know how to answer so I left it.

17:39hrs – The phone rang.

I ignored it.

17:57hrs – I returned the call.

“Hello.”

“Hallo – where are you? I want meet you now. Today”

“Today cannot. I’m busy.”

“Why cannot? Okay, we meet today. You tell me your address. I come now.”

“No, I have something on today. Cannot meet.”

“What you something on? Okay, tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow also cannot. Busy – this week very busy.”

“What you busy busy. You tell me where you , I come now.”

“No need to, you will see me on Saturday.”

“I only want to see you. I have to see you today.”

“No, I can’t.”

“What you do today? “

“I’m visiting a friend who is sick in the hospital.”

“Today cannot ah? I have to see you today. Okay, tomorrow.”

It’s a joy to be wanted. Sigh…

Harrrruuumphhh...

I didn’t know that I was in a relationship. I’m one half of a “platonic lover” it seems. I didn’t understand exactly what was meant by that. Well, I have a vague idea but still, I needed to confirm it. I did a google and true enough, as I had thought – it means being in a deep, non-sexual relationship. It is not gender specific, this relationship – meaning, I can be in a platonic love relationship with someone of the same gender.

Hmm…I didn’t know what to make of it. I mean, at least he loves me – love is love, whatever the form may be. It only becomes a problem when one of the pair doesn’t feel the same way. When one wants to hug and kiss him fiercely. When the heart beats faster that it should, leaping at every morsel he gives out. That’s what I see when I look into his intelligent, naturally lined eyes with those soft brown eyes. But I have had to refrain – afraid that it would ruin whatever good we have so far. Then I would be left with no love and no platonic relationship.

We always have a great time together and we hardly do anything much. We mostly sit and chat or he does his work while I watch the TV. It is a warm, comfortable silence that exists and I relax whenever we are together, instinctively knowing that I am safe and I will be looked after. Every sentence spoken is a tease that begets a quick rebuff from the other one, with just the slightest of a smile and lots of mirth reflected in both our eyes. It is difficult to read him at times, though. I know that beneath that smiling face and witty jokes, there’s more. He covers it up pretty darn well but I instinctively know what he needs for that moment.

“It’s nice to have company sometimes.”
“I know.”
“How do you know?”
“I don’t know…Instinct.”

As the elevator door opens, the moment dissipates, carried away by the gentle breeze of the morning, beginning to be warmed by the glorious sun.

He makes me smile.

Petal P. Rose

It really puzzles me.

How women can allow themselves to be abused - in whichever way, be it verbal, emotional, mental or physical. The sad thing is that I can't say that these women are stupid. They are intelligent and they are living their seemingly normal lives amongst you and me.

Before you tell me to get off my high horse – fuck off because I have been through some of it. It may not an extreme case as some but enough. And it stopped only because I said so.

As far back as I can remember, I’ve always been terrified of father’s anger. When I was a child, they used to fight all the time. I was too young to understand what it was about and even though he never hit mother, he used to storm out of the house, bags packed. I remember being afraid that he would go but not sure if I cried. Maybe I was in two minds – peace and no more terror but that I would miss him because he’s father.

He reared birds and kept them in cages. My joy as a child was when he would close all the windows and let them fly free around the house. In a fit of anger during one of these temper tantrums, he let all the birds free – I remember I was heartbroken.

We were a young family starting out and my guess is that the pressure of themselves being young and having a child, of course, puts extra pressure on them to be and to give the best of themselves. Father used to also fly into a jealous rage if he caught other men speaking to mother. She is attractive. Fair skinned with white pearls. He took a parang to the coffeeshop and hunted down the guy who spoke to mother once. I must have only been about 4 or so.

I was sickly as a child. Every other week was a trip down to the doctor and/or specialist. I was draining them of their resources. Mother used to slap me whenever I threw up the medication or when I was being difficult. My lip would split from the force, trickling anger down my chin – to be soothed later with cold butter. I never saw when the next slap would come flying at me. I was a child. I was supposed to have been in trusted company.

I learnt to be mute around the house. No noise as far as it’s not necessary. He didn’t want to hear it. Even the sound of mother nagging is torture to him and I would bear the brunt of it. I was living in fear that he would either hit mother or me. I would rather him hit me – if it was mother he hit, what would I do?

I started hanging around “bad” company. Not that I was doing anything wrong. I was a teenager and wanted to be part of the inner circle. I literally only hung out with them – I didn’t get into fights or stole or even smoked (even though they did it all and more)!

I was reminiscing the other day when mother told me to buy a loaf of bread on the way home. The loaf was so nice and squishy, yielding to your grasp, making itself comfortable and moulding itself to suit the pressure. But given the force that the loaf was travelling at when it greeted my face one fateful day…I was the nail and the loaf, a hammer.

When my ex-boyfriend and I made a mutual decision to break up, it hurt for 2 years and I wasn’t even in an abusive relationship, just a difficult one. It has been…hmm…about 4/5 years now, I won’t be surprised if it’s more, and it still does hurt at times. I wanted to recreate the same, safe, known relationship that I had with him with different men after but I realised that there can never be another one quite like it. It wasn’t fair to the men who came after so I stopped doing it and just let things flow freely.

What more if you are breaking up with your spouse or your father – even though he’s been abusive, in your eyes, he’s been the “best” there is for you and no matter how you rationalise it and how someone else points it out to you, “he” will always be the best. In the case of a father, it will be an undoing of self. Your whole being is in jeopardy.

It will be (extremely) painful and picking up shreds’ easier said than done (yada yada yada…) but the pain goes away with each footstep forward or at least given a chance for the pain to go away. At times it is for love that you break up. Love for yourself and for the other person.

What will it take for a woman to stand up to a man? All she has to do is to decide that she’s had enough and walk away. Will it be at the cost of a life or worst, someone else’s (a child’s) life? Why does it have to escalate till too late? Why can’t these women love themselves? It is a joy to be alive, why choose to die?

I’ve been told that I will never understand but I understand this much: I love and respect myself. I would NEVER allow ANYONE to tear that down. Not even father.

What more do you want from me?

Is it not enough?

the fantastic sights you’ve been privileged to peek?

Would you like a magnifying glass

to bring you closer?

Or perhaps a microscope to bring you into the deep black

depths of the crevices

It never existed, those fantastic sights,

only fantastic sighs. We were never princesses,

always slaves – not quite the wonderful fairy tale

It only all exists in your head.

There never was a psychedelic rainbow splash, darling babe.

All there ever was -

icky wet earth and bits of charcoal lumped with ashen grey

Petal P. Rose

*cartoon courtesy of: http://onthepatio.typepad.com

I'm always a phonecall away (Part 1)

“Hello, who are you?”

“I am Petal – remember? From Migrant Voices? I went to the shelter last week?

“Who are you? What’s your name?”

“Petal? Remember? SBM, shelter…”

“Why you want meet me?”

“For the creative writing – remember?”

“Where we meet?”

“Lavender Street, the shelter.”

“Lavender shopping?”

“No no. Not Lavender shopping. Lavender Street SHELTER!”

“Huh? Lavender Shopping Centre?”

“ Nooo! We are NOT going shopping. I will see you at the Lavender Street SHELTER. Okay, I have to go now.”

“Where are you from?”

“Singapore lah.”

“No, no…I know you in Singapore but where you come from?”

“I come from Singapore, like SBM.”

“Ha…you tell me. You not Singapore. Indonesia? Philippines?”

“No – I’m Singaporean. Okay, I have to go. My boss calling me.”

“Where you working?”

“At the university.”

“Oh...teaching, ah?”

“Umm…no – but can. Okay, so I see you on Saturday, 8pm at the Lavender Street Shelter.”

“Ha you bluff me.”

“Okay, see you. Bye!”

CLICK

Petal P Rose

Their story, their words.....

“I’ve got something else for you,” she said and hands me a VCD. “It’s called “Freedom Writers. It’s related to what you are doing so I thought you should watch it.”

I’ve heard of the movie. I wasn’t in a hurry to watch it when the movie came out in the theatres here. “Pah, it’s the same as ‘Dangerous Minds’. Nothing new.” This was the thought that went through my mind when I read the synopsis of the movie.

But I felt obligated to watch it since it was handed to me on a silver platter. I watched it and drew parallel sights into the movie and my present. I also gleaned some lessons off it.

I am running a creative writing workshop with a men’s shelter with a few volunteers. It’s only been 2 runs so far – not counting the ice-breaker session I ran. The idea was for me to not be part of the workshops directly. The volunteers are to come in, rotating, week by week, and give updates, share experiences and observances via a blog. This, I suspect, may not be the case – not for at least a month or so, if I’m lucky.

It is an uphill task every time to start something new – we all know this. But imagine if this uphill task involved one other person. Then imagine having this uphill task involving hmm…I don’t know – just about between 10-15 men and just for fun, let’s mix it with language and cultural issues. Oh, and I forget, trust issues.

Every step is such a drag. I have to send a text message to each and every one of these men reminding them of the workshop. Then I have to ensure that they turn up as consistently as they can. We took to calling them last night when not a single one turned up. My volunteer took a taxi down to us and he was sick. A thousand and one excuses later, I made a decision. “If Mohammed won’t go to the mountain, the mountain will go to Mohammed.” We imposed on them and made our way to their hang out.

I am not being a martyr or do this to feel good about myself. I do it because I want to and I love doing it. It isn’t about being tired and yes, I feel like quitting at times but seeing the dedication from my volunteers and also the support I’m receiving, I can’t let them down. They keep me greased and push me forward. When I accompany my volunteers I see the delight on their faces when a simple exercise worked and got through to the men. I love the faces of the men when they reminisce about home, the lives they’ve left behind. Some were happy, some melancholy, some happy but mostly I see the longing in their eyes to be back home and be with their loved ones.

They take me to places I’ve never been and think of things I didn’t have to think about. They also never fail to make me laugh and teach me a new term or two. I learnt the slang ‘oil’ last night. To ‘oil’ is to tell lies. In a sentence, it can be used like this, “He’s oiling you. He always Ali-baba talking. Rana is Master oil.” ‘Ali-baba’ talking is also another term that I learnt recently.

It is more than creative writing. It is space for them to breathe and be themselves and be children if they so deign to and forget their troubles. It is where all walls come down and trust is built. In an ideal world, there’d be no sadness, no heartbreaks and no longing.

“Sister, why you take so many photos?” one of them asked. “You last week take, before also take. Where my photos?” Yes, I’ve been trigger happy. Unfortunately, these photos and stories will not be available for public viewing for now.

I can’t tell you how much I’ve taken back with me since these workshops started. Whatever effort I’ve put in seems pittance to what I’ve gained from all of them. All that I’ve heard, experienced and seen humbles me.

Hugs,

Petal P. Rose

Okay, here comes a(nother) rant.

One of my pet peeves’ – is someone deciding my time for me. I absolutely HATE it when someone decides to offload their “to do stuff” on me without asking. I hate it when my mother does it so for those who fall below her in terms of importance – well….

I am anal about time because I have so little of it. A huge chunk is spent at the office, like most people. I am not complaining about that. The time has been set aside for this purpose. I am, however, very particular when it comes to the time after office hours and time during the weekend. It is essential that people keep their appointments with me. If they can’t, they should let me know in advance, if they can help it. They don’t need to know the nitty-gritty details of what goes on in my head when I make a decision to meet them. I think it’s just bleddy good manners that you shouldn’t take another person’s time for granted. I get upset, of course, if they can’t let me know in advance – but if there’s a valid reason, fine. That time I set aside for that particular meeting could have been given to someone else or I could have met the next person on my schedule earlier or I could have a break – do I need to go into details??

My time is the worst on weekends. I try to not fill it up (so I can have a weekend too!) but at times, this can’t be helped. I then operate like a zombie, going for one meeting after another. I collect my thoughts whilst travelling or while waiting for the next appointment. Sometimes, there’s an overlap – one will overrun or the other will be early and I have to refocus quickly.

Every single minute counts during the weekend. I work far out into the boon docks and end officially only at 1815hrs (if I end on time, that is). By the time I wait for the bus to even get out of here, I take about an hour to reach whichever destination I’m supposed to be at -yes, even home. I can’t zip in and out of the office during my lunch hour to run errands, like I could previously when I was in the main shopping area. I have to wait for the weekend.

I particularly did not appreciate that I was given the task of buying a prezzie for someone who I don’t even care to think about. It wasn’t a choice – it was meted out to me. I won’t go into it here as to why I didn’t protest, blah blah blah – you want to know more, ask. When I did protest, this was the answer: “Aiyah…you’ll be in town anyway, so you can buy after that lahh…”

I had a very good mind to slap this person. My time is tied for 8a.m right till 6.30pm. I have another appointment at 8pm. In between, I scheduled a 7.30pm appointment. All this before I was meted out my “special assignment”. Then my fecking handphone conked out. I got it to the service centre and collection date is all on the same day as all these other things happening on top of it. He doesn't have to know all of this -but before assigning me the task, bloody well ASK! Hmm…so let’s prioritise as a responsible person:

1. 0800hrs – 1830hrs (work)
2. 1830hrs – 1930hrs (collect HP)
3. 1930hrs – 2000hrs (meeting)
4. 2000hrs – 2200hrs (meeting)

As you can see – there is absolutely no time to get a present for even myself, much less for someone whom I’m not bothered about!

What I would like to do ideally:
1. Collect HP – 1100hrs – 1200hrs
2. 1930hrs – 2000hrs (meeting) 1400hrs – 1500hrs
3. 1500hrs – 1600hrs – FREE TIME = any other errands that I need to run
4. 2000hrs – 2200hrs (meeting) – I have a personal interest in this, so I will make it a point to be there.
5. 0800hrs – 1830hrs - don't give a shit about
6. Present - don’t give a shit about

Ahhh…fuck it. It should be this way:

1. Collect HP – 1100HRS – 1200hrs
2. After testing out that it works, promptly switch it off, get on a plane and bugger off for a long weekend at some resort.

Love,
Petal P. Rose