A gentle breeze, she strokes my fever hot cheeks and forehead to soothe.

I was in a conversation with Himself, sharing abit of how it was like growing up. There is very little memory of being happy. I can only just about recall the bad ones, being terrified and being as quiet as a mouse. One of the "happy" times was when we had house parties. I recall my father with long hair and my mother with long, flowy dresses to match her tresses. Preparations would start early with mom getting all the glasses, crockery, cutlery, what-have-yous ready. I can't remember what I would do. I just remember being amongst adult and being cute. *shrug* what's a kid to do?

Himself asked to bring photos recording the moments and I told mom. She took out my album. We each have our own albums. Mine was the biggest, with picture of a girl, carrying ducks in a wheelbarrow on the cover. There were so many photos smiling photos that I can't remember. Mom started going through one by one, telling me the stories behind each photo - who bought or made my clothes, whose place it was, what had happened, etc. She could remember so much. Her stories were peppered with "do you remember...." "you don't remember,.....".

Pictures of their friends - I wonder what's happened with them all. I assume they all got married and have their own kids, etc - I never did see them again - or if I did, it seems to be lost in my labyrinth of memories. Mom even remembers my friends. The only person I've kept up with is my best friend - the rest, I'm not interested in. I do think of how so and so is doing but there's really nothing to anchor me to the past of that memory. They left me with a bitter taste in my mouth and I honestly wish that they get a taste of their own medicine that I was forced to swallow.

Mom says that she keeps the photographs so that she can one day show our kids how we were like growing up. "I keep them so you can show your kids", says she. But who will tell the stories behind them? I can't remember and most of what is recorded in my memory is the harshness of those times. Do I really want to tell my kids my memories? Or should I record her words and play it back? The ghost of happier times.

Today is her birthday. Today she is a year older. There will come a point when she will stop being a year older as her breath becomes still and the deep freeze will never have a chance to thaw.

Happy birthday, Mom.

Petal P. Rose

Thunder bolts of lightning.......

Very very frightening......I forgot what I was doing at 5/10/15/20/25 years old!! *gasp* *shock* *horror!!* See, I was part of a drama workshop and we were supposed to act out the things we did when we were at those different ages and I realised that I couldn't for the life of me, fucking, remember! The childhood songs, the childish games, the old wives tales told to scare......poof!

I went through the rest of the exercises in a daze as panic slowly settled in to my being. Oh God, what did I do at those ages?! For most part, I think my mind blocked out alot of the happier times or could it be that there were just too few to make a dent in my memory? As I slowly try to trace my memories, some have resurfaced...but they are so distant and so blurred - I hesitate to even acknowledge that it happened at all. Was it just me wanting to believe that it happened out of desperation of a memory?

Well, I remembered being the only child for awhile, surrounded by boy cousins (who bullied me to no end)...of going to the zoo, being the chaperone to my then dating aunties, of rollercoaster rides and oh, wrestling and being the goalkeeper while my cousins gleefully either cheat for their goals or hit me with the soccer ball. I had memories of visits to the kampung and picnics at Sentosa. It helped that I have colleagues who are older than I am - I wove this memory thing into our lunch conversation today - they were reminiscing their childhood pasts and helped me in reminiscing mine. I remembered that I used to be able to draw - still lifes, poster projects....whereas I am not quite the artist, I was at least able to and I enjoyed it. Where has it all gone??!

I don't want "me" to be wiped out as time goes on. I want to live on and take those memories with me. It may not be all the good ones but they were all a part of me. The building blocks of me. I want to remember the songs sung to me by my mother as she sings me to sleep...the stories read to me...how my mother and father looked...the cries of my baby brothers....the voices raised in anger....the sounds of the birds we kept in cages....

Hush now...be still and at peace

Petal P. Rose