Feb 03, 2010

to my dearest sasha,

i can't remember how many times i tried to start writing this. everytime i started, i just fell to pieces. i can't remember now how many times. i guess this is what grief is all about.

i can't believe that you're gone. when i read coy's text that they had made the decision to put you to sleep, the first thing that came into mind was how i felt riding in the cab with you back home the day i bought you at the chatuchak market nine years ago. you were just a puppy - a large one though who perfectly fit the length of my lap. it amazed me that strangers who just met could feel so at home with one another. i remember thinking 'we've found each other.' the first night in the flat, after you sniffed every single corner and cranny (and pooped and peed in some) you were happy to snuggle down in bed with me when the lights were out. you pushed your cold wet nose into my neck and from thereon you did that every night. eventually i read somewhere that puppies did that with their mothers.

it is crazy that i am tortured by all the memories i have of you. i was initially lamenting that all i have of you is a photo on my phone of you and me sitting on the couch but in the light of your leaving, i find it is more than enough. my brain is reeling with all the adventures we had from thailand to manila.

i remember the first time you discovered the swimming pool at the condo. you were barely 3 months old and you saw your reflection in the swimming pool. you started barking at it furiously and lunged at your reflection only to plunge into the pool. in two seconds, you discovered the joys of the water and swimming and from thereon, you looked forward to visiting the pool. no one ever from the condo discovered that i let you swim in the pool til the day i brought you home to manila. you never lost your love of swimming - and i was very happy when coy would bring you when he was camping so you could swim in the lake.

i remember your quickly learning that the best seat in the car was the middle of the passenger seat right smack in front of the aircon vents. everyone wondered at my dog who was used to riding in elevators (she was a penthouse condo dog for a while) and was used to the driver opening the car door for her so she could sit in the best seat in the car.

everyone who saw you fell in love with you. the vets and their staff from bangkok to manila would rave about you. people who hadn't even seen you spoke about you affectionately. even mama's fruit vendor would set aside apples and oranges for you because she learned mama would buy fruit for you without telling anyone who it was for. when she eventually revealed she was buying apples because you liked them, mama's fruit vendor made it her weekly mission to set aside apples for you. it was a bit bizaare that the fruit vendor was giving mama apples for you instead of selling them to her customers. but that was typical of the magic of sasha.

little children who just met you, who were half your size were happy to lie down and roll about on the floor with you when they came to the house. they would always leave in floods of tears, they would have to be pried away from you when it was time for them to leave and they would demand their parents either take you with them or buy them their own sasha. little did they know there would and could only ever be one.

you were the kindest, most loving, most affectionate, smartest and gentlest golden retriever in the world - and you were mine. i knew that if something like you could love me with the kind of unconditional love you gave me, i was alright.

when i brought you to manila - i knew it was for your own good. i couldn't take care of you and spend as much time with you because i was busy playing big time advertising career woman who was living on planes. it killed me everytime i would leave - you had come to hate the luggage trolley. you turned into this psychotic wild rampaging angry puppy who bit my heels everytime the trolley came out because you knew i was going away. i would drown in guilt at having bought you, only to be subject to the doggie hotel for days at a time because i would be on business travel. the height of my guilt saw me hiring 2 nannies for you - a day nanny (the one you loved and who spoiled you rotten but couldn't stay 24-7) and a night nanny so you wouldn't have to be at the doggie hotel. both your nannies would tell me how you would jump into bed and push your nose into my pillow to sleep when i was away.

but everytime i came back, your world would be right again and so would mine. you were so happy to see me. we would resume living our condo life like my going away never happened until i would have to travel again and the whole trolley wheeling sound and ankle biting episode would be replayed. until your grown up life, you were traumatized by the sight and sound of any luggage trolley. it was a reminder of all those times i had to leave you. coming home to you - those were the times when i felt i was really at home.

little do people know how much i hated my time in thailand. i hated how i had become a slave to my job. i hated flying like a maniac and the endless meetings and teleconferences. i hated how i tried to fill the emptiness of my life with untold numbers of clothes, bags and shoes. you were the one shining light of that period of my life. all those nights i spent crying at the emptiness and materialism surrounding me, you were there. always happy to see me, always loving me and seeing that underneath the overworked monster lay this woman who was really nothing more than scared shitless of failure and god knows a million other things.

when i left for london, i was firmly of the mind that i was going to find a way to get you there with me eventually. the times i would spend in the park - i had these imaginary scenarios we would someday be walking together in hyde park and shopping in selfridges together because they allowed dogs in the shop.

i read every single ruling in the UK on the net, talked to every single animal importation official who cared to listen, wrote the RSPCA, talked to embassy officials and offered to pay them if they could pretend to be your owner and bring you into the country for me - ANYTHING and EVERYTHING so i could get you here and they all said no. eventually the one path that was open involved a two year process and a 6-22 month quarantine period. i knew that you would never survive a month in quarantine much less a 6-22 month wait. and still, i refused to accept i could never get you into the UK.

i'm not used to the word no, and you know that. i thought, i just needed a bit more time and i would eventually find a way.

i think my failure was that i always thought i had time. last monday when i left to return to london, i was unsettled. like there was a puzzle that was unsolved - how you had turned around extraordinarily from death's door when everyone including the vet with over 20 years experience thought you wouldn't make it. i was too happy to ignore the warning in my head - i kept chanting, no she's alright, stop being paranoid, she's better now. go back to london.

the morning i left, i deliberately kept the house dark and quiet because i didn't want you to see me go. i knew, how the luggage trolley made you feel and i didn't want to traumatize you again just when you were, as we all thought then, just healing.

so i thought - better to leave softly. just like the song 'softly, i will leave you softly, long before you miss me. or my heart would break, if you should wake and see me go'.

it turns out, you thought about it before i did.

the vet said, you were a really good girl. that when i came home, you put on a good show for me. that you fought hard because i was there. that you were determined to show me you were getting better because i was there. well you certainly fooled me. i left for london with images of you wagging your tail and your teddy bear face with the dark soulful eyes staring at me with happiness and love like always.

the minute i left, the show was over. your poor little body just gave up and before anyone in the family could even take a breath, you were worse than when i came home. i don't want to imagine in my head how mama described you - your suffering and the pain that took you. it breaks my heart that all this time, you were masking your suffering for me. for us. even during your last days, you were trying to shield us from your pain until it became too much for you to bear.

i don't think i could have survived seeing you in the state mama said you were when you were going. i'm a big coward sasha - i want to remember you happy and joyful. i remember when we had to put skipper to sleep - i was the only one left in the room with the vet and when they administered the shots, i remember how first, the pain left his eyes. then slowly the light left his eyes and eventually turning blank. and then i knew he was gone. at that moment i remembered you and i knew my sanity would never survive if i were to see you in that state. i want to remember your eyes shining with light and i am thankful for your gift of that being my last memory of you.

i don't care if everyone crucifies me with ridicule over how much i loved you and how much you meant to me. i don't care that people laugh behind my back and snicker at how ridiculously sentimental i am over you.

only those who have ever been gifted with that kind of unconditional love, and been given the opportunity to love and belong to someone unconditionally would understand. those situations in life are rare - they are far and few in between. many people spend their lives searching for and never finding it - we found it in each other.

thank you sasha for coming into my life. i loved you - with every fiber of my being, my heart and my soul. i am beside myself with sadness that i will never see you again nor hug you. that you won't be there to meet me with your wagging tail when i come home.

beyond the gift of love, you made me realize how much i could love. that i had the courage to belong to someone, that i was brave enough to pick someone to love without needing to hear that i was loved in return.

rest in peace now under the tree with skipper.

sasha - you were mine, and i was yours. forever.



Sasha Nov 2001- February 2010

Softly, I will leave you softly.
For my heart would break if you should wake and see me go.
So I leave you softly. Long before you miss me.
Long before your arms can beg me stay for one more hour, for one more day.
Softly, long before you kiss me.
After all the years, I can't bear the tears, to fall, so softly...as I leave you there.
As I leave you there. As I leave you there.

The Parable of the Eternally Fabulous Handbag

'the handbag of glory' is one of my favorite books. it was written by edward monkton, self-declared poet, artist, philosopher and interesting fellow. i suspect he left out 'a woman or wanna-be woman deep inside'. people who see his books on my shelf always tell me they think he wrote the books especially for me.

i've been thinking about bags recently. i told my friend, the truth about louis vuitton handbags is that you can have a hundred of them but none of them have the ability to hug you back.

it sounds like another of those vintage jill lines.

today however, in the emptiness of the selfridges' fragrance hall, i thought more about what i said.

who in the world ever buys louis vuitton handbags expecting them to hug their owner back? only a fool would expect that.

my second thought about that was, when i thought about the fact that my handbags couldn't hug me back, why didn't i think harder about why was it important that they hug me back?

the reality was that, i didn't want the bags, i wanted the hug. i was simply too far gone into my head and my pride to admit to it. and just because it was easier, i kept buying bags, and kept asking them why couldn't they hug me back.

sometimes we are so far into ourselves we are in severe denial of what we actually want. we try and replace those things our souls are longing for with other stuff and then wonder why the void inside us just won't be filled.

it takes immense honesty with yourself to admit to and try to understand the void inside you that you are trying to fill.

if it's just a handbag void, it will easily be filled up by a new handbag.

trying to fill in a void however, with handbags, or shoes, or chocolate, or foie gras,
without knowing what void it is that you are trying to fill, is futile.

and yes, a handbag may never be able to hug you back but you can certainly love it for the thing of beauty that it is. and that in itself, is a beautiful thing.

next chapter: the shoes of salvation

Gordon....

for a time i started to hate gordon ramsay for being overexposed and the swearing had become a tired act for me.

until i watched his new show - gordon's great escape.

where he went to india and literally explored, not just the michelin starred restaurants but the places where the greatest food always come from - the homes of everyday indian people.

he took cooking lessons from mums in kerala where he was shown how to cook fish with spices wrapped in a banana leaf.

went to an ashram and ate what he said was the best vegetarian meal he ever had in his life.

he visited and apprenticed with the most esteemed street vendor in the very slums where slumdog millionare was shot. he played cricket with the kids in the street and walked among the shanties.

he went to the most northeastern area of india, went hunting, cooked for and ate with a head hunting tribe.

he went cow wakeboarding with farmers in a flooded indian paddy.

and amongst all these adventures you could see the immense pleasure the whole experience gave him. often in the series you see his eyes light up at everything he was seeing.

and he had this amazing humility and appreciation for all that was being offered to him.

no one could ever fake that kind of excitement, appreciation and enjoyment.

just when you think you were tired of the man and hated his guts, he turns everything around again. humility traditionally is not associated with the man - until this show.

he really is brilliant - and a show to watch in himself.

ok gordon, i forgive you....will start watching you again...

The Unfazed Delusional

i am writing this because i feel like i am about to explode with my delusions. i clearly know i am deluded yet i am unfazed. in fact, i am amused at how delusional i am. maybe pleasantly, funnily psychotic is a better term?

i am totally obsessing about this man. i've gone to calling him twitter man. i met him only a grand total of 4 times. and i am completely convinced i have fallen madly, utterly, totally in love with him.

in fact - i am so crazy about him, i just want to shut myself in my room, listen to sad songs and cry like they said in glee.

i'm so obsessed with him i've become his twitter stalker.

and i haven't even said hi to him on twitter because, like a stupid, delusional teenager i am afraid he might think i have a huge crush on him.

and yeah i've googled him and read all the bit of limited literature about him. in the desperate attempt to find useless trivia like when is his birthday, i've clicked on useless links all the way to search page 38.

i need to know his birthday so i can check out his western and chinese horoscopes to see how compatible we are.

remember that high school game we used to play called 'flames'? you basically take both your names. cross out the letters that are present in yours and his. then count the remaining letters which you don't have in common. the number you come up with will correspond to one letter in the world 'flames'. f means friends, l means lovers, a means apart, m means marriage, e means engaged and s means singles.

yeah i've done that - using several configurations of my names and nicknames, reversing it using letters not common to both our names.

oh and i have subscribed to a love tarot astrology site which delivers me daily readings about my prospects with him.

two days ago, a tall, nordic, boardskating looking kind of guy was browsing at our counter. he asked me all about gucci perfumes and he bought one. then he left then came back. he had a sheepish smile on his face and shyly asked if he could get my number, for a drink maybe? and i said no i've got a boyfriend. i was i this imaginary haze where in my head i was the girlfriend of twitter man.

when he left and i was for a moment, snatched back into reality, i wanted to scream at myself 'MY GOD WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!!!! RUN AROUND THE STORE!!! LOOK FOR THE SNOW BOARDER AND GIVE HIM YOUR NUMBER!!!!BEG HIM TO TAKE YOUR NUMBER IF YOU HAVE TO!!!'

and then, the delusional haze took over again. don't worry, twitter man is YOUR man jilly!!!! so i went home and stalked him again on twitter. i am considering creating a fake twitter account and pasting a bombshell photo on it and twittering him.

LOL!!!

i am shaking in fits of laughter as i write this.

ahhh...twitter man, i heart you....won't you please heart me too?.....hehehehe.......

This Year

i will remember that one of the best things about me is how funny i am. even my laugh is funny. i don't even have to crack jokes sometimes, all i need to do is unleash my maniacal laughter. we went to watch a really funny movie once and i was laughing so hard, the people around me didn't know whether they were laughing at the movie or me.

which means, i will go to more funny movies and shows. and confuse the audience and make them laugh double harder because they won't know if they're laughing at the show or me.

i will start getting rid of all those bags, clothes and shoes i haven't used in forever. one by one so i don't go into shock. god help me.

i will spend more time reading those books as fast as i buy them.

this year - marks the return of my inner voice - for fear of ridicule and not wanting to be vulnerable, i silenced it. never again.

i will stay the course - the course of my heart's longings. nothing less.

i will get back to exercising!

i will have a new career. the one i always wanted to have!!! the one i knew deep in my heart i was meant to be but never told anyone because i was too afraid. now i am ready for it.

i will go to paris, milan, tokyo, beijing, morocco, madrid and manila. and taste more, eat less.

i will fall in love. with abandon. with a very good man. a hunky, smart, funny and tall good man. who makes a very good living. who also happens to fall in love with me with abandon.

this year...i will.

Swine Flu Sentiments: Part Deux

the literature on my pack of tamiflu antiviral capsules read: swallow tamiflu with water (i guess to make sure you don't get any other ideas on what to swill it down with - like maybe a glass of rose?). tamiflu can be taken with or without food, although it is recommended to take tamiflu with food to reduce the chance of feeling or being sick (nausea or vomiting).

argh...food...it is the last thing on my mind right now strangely even if reading my new cookbook/travelogue journal venezia gives me a lot of comfort during the periods when my fever slightly abates.

i have been living on pineapple juice, water, grapes and bits n pieces that my flatmate cooks.

as i need to eat when i take my flu tablets, i had to find something even if i wasn't exactly feeling it. i just wanted something i could swallow quick - cooking is the last thing i want to do right now.

i opened our fridge and scanned the contents: a hunk of brie, gorgonzola, 2 tubs of philly cream cheese, orange juice, brown sugar splenda, orange marmalade, plum jam, some eggs, prosciutto, grapes, olives and 2 bottles of champagne. ok...not exactly sick food but it does tell me what the priorities are of the current house tenants.

i made myself some coffee which in my current state has been tasting like water where 2 month old unwashed socks were soaked in. fried an egg which made me nauseaus. ate a piece of toast with it and afterwards swallowed my tamiflu pill ration of the morning.

i haven't felt any sort of hunger in the past four days and still not inclined to be hungry but swallowing something other than the meds does lessen the impulse to barf.

i swear i have never encountered a more stubborn cold virus strain in my entire life.
usually when i get a cold, it clears up in two days, three. six days later, my nose is still clogged and so are my ears. i am still coughing incessantly.

yesterday, it snowed while i was awake. i was thinking how blasted cold it must be outside. i have to admit watching the snow falling while inside a centrally heated house was a pleasure. the snow falling was beautiful and peaceful. i watched it through our balcony doors overlooking the central court garden.

i started to think about all those homeless people i would pass when i would go home from work. they would be lying in doorways, curled up somewhere underneath construction scaffoldings in their sleeping bags that i am sure offered very little protection against the -3 degree weather. most of them reek of alcohol - but listen, if you were homeless in this weather, coffee is the last thing that would keep you warm. the alcohol will. i don't know....

all i could think of yesterday as i was watching the snow fall was how thankful i was that i wasn't homeless. that i was sitting on a large couch, bundled in a blanket, surrounded by pillows in a centrally heated house, with marvin gaye singing in the background 'what's going on?'....

Swine Flu Sentiments

i suppose, i will be making quite a few entries on my blog in the next few days. i am alternating between bouts of feeling ok, usually for a period of an hour or so after i take my medications, drifting off to sleep for an hour as i am feeling extremely worn out by the fever then waking up shivering when the fever comes back full blast. by that time i know i need to take another paracetamol.

i don't know if i am tired because of the move or i am tired because of the fever. or both.

i am listening to jules massenet's meditation from thais to calm me down. and when i am feeling ok i go through the pages of my beautiful new book which i lusted over for 6 months which my wonderful friend arnold gifted me with this christmas.

if i were a book - this is it: I would be Venezia - food and dreams by Tessa Kiros.

this was the cookbook i would have written but she beat me to it. i was insanely jealous she did it first. the pages are filled with beautiful photos of venice taken in the soft light. interspersed with the recipes are her thoughts on the trip she had taken, written down as a journal. i'm not sure if it can even be called a cookbook. more like a travel memoir.

the food is served on beautiful, homely, rustic platters. bread sticks shaped like bracelets lie on masks worn to a carnivale. the cover shows scallops baked in their shell lying on a silver platter, beside a vase of hot pink roses, an antique almost kitschy candlestick holder holding a lit stubby, melted one adorned by a necklace of pink beads.

tessa kiros writes in the foreword: There is not much I can tell you about Venice...you will have to come and see it for yourself...The city is like a beautiful mysterious woman who everyone wants to watch and stand as close to as possible; an ever changing powerful lady who flows with the cycle of nature and commands profound respect for her beauty and uniqueness. Like a mermaid sprung unruffled from the deepest waters, she moves and gives with the tides. She is, I find, most beautiful from a distance...These are the things I ate in Venice....Venice is like when you hear a piece of music that scoops down into your soul or notice a real tear getting ready to drop from the eye of an unlucky child. One of those rare moments when you grasp the magnificence of this world. Yes, Venice is one of those moments. You will have to come yourself and see...

she wrote two more of these life journals/cookbooks. one called "falling cloudberries" and the other 'apples for jam'

what i wouldn't give to have been the one to have written Venezia. the first moment i saw this book, i fell in love and i knew without a shadow of a doubt that if i were a book, i would be Venezia.

never mind....the chance to have done so is far overshadowed by the fact that one day i will wake up to find all of my dreams have come true. in fact....I am Venezia....