Parting is such sweet sorrow

We say goodbyes everyday.

To the siblings and parents we leave behind, to go off to school. To the classmates and colleagues we encounter, that we expect to see them again tomorrow. To lovers, who deliver goodbyes in parting, hoping that such words needn't be. To friends, to family, to the people we care about.

Today I leave behind two people who have been there for me when I needed help the most. They have been there when I was lonely, been there when I was sad, been there when I was ecstatic with joy, and been there ... when there was nothing special at all to be said.

I met them both today. It was not meant to be a special meeting... but just merely a mudane meeting with friends. A typical day for a typical reason, in a typical setting.

But now, I am glad.

Both of them will not be able to come to join in an upcoming milestone in my life, soon. Each have their own reasons, said or unsaid. I desperately wish they could, because now I realize how much important they are, in my life.

Life is strange. It takes so little to bring happiness, so little to bring despair, so little to bring hope... But it only happens to the people who are the most important for you.

We spent the day together... in the very typical manner. But when it was time to part ways, I was consumed with emotion. Very little needed to be said... both looked and realized that they will not be there, when they should be. Two heartfelt goodbyes, coupled with two heartfelt hugs, with no words said - because they were not required. It was a true relation, in many sense of the word.

I've cried so many times when I had to part with my boyfriend... just a mere happenstance of a plane ride, or a brief absence. Words will almost always never be said - they are implicitly understood.

On that day, they will go their own way, while I share my happiness with so many others... yet it is something that they rightfully should have a chip of.

I now beheld the hope of hearing the words, when that parting has been put back together in a circle. The day when I will come back, firm on my steps, and I will softly tell both of them,

"....ta dai ma."

And when they respond back, it will be the sweetest words that I will hear.

On Routines

Alrighty, people. I need some inspiration, and I need it fast.

What do you do, when you decide one day that it is about time to write another blog post... and yet, you don't really have anything to write about.

Its not exactly a writer's block. I mean, I'm NOT a writer in the first place. At least in any formal, official sense. Actually, probably not even in the vaguest sense of the word.

I was thinking of writing about love, but that is so cliche. Eccentricity is a good choice, but there's hardly is any at the moment to feed my obssessive compulsiveness. I was originally planning to write about the weather (and how it will be extremely cold tomorrow , at least for me) but it doesn't sound exciting enough.

Most of the time I start writing because I'm at my wits end - things like being still in the office at wee hours of the morning, or in a monumental depressive state due to sheer pressure, or naming new nephews with stupid names, or even a guide in buying air conditioners - just because I pretty much delved into the whole I-got-to-know-the-specs-and-built-an-aircon-myself kind of thing.

But pretty much at the moment, there's really natch.

Everything is preeeeeeetty mudane. I go to work (and there are some interesting things recently, but nothing worth noting in THIS blog), have lunch with friends and colleagues, keep working on many different little and big things, get myself worked up and harrassed, catch the ride to the ferry, get back home - where sometimes I pass by the supermarket downstairs to cook up something interesting - cook or reheat some leftovers, promptly wash the dishes, take a bath, chat, and go to sleep.

Ah. Eccentricity. I do seem to notice that I am obssessive about cleaning dishes. I think I like washing the dishes more than actually eating. I think it is the satisfaction that your plates, bowls, pots and pans are SQUEAKY clean - whereas half an hour ago it was loaded with oil.

In any case, it really isn't THAT exciting to begin with, to write out a post.

I mean, posts have to have some objective, some purpose... some meaning, right? And here I am, talking about nothing - about the normal, the mudane, the routine.

Is it actually mudane to have a post and a discussion on being mudane?

Hm.