You don't know pain until you've been through happiness - and so these images have encompassed the last month or so, the happy tingly bubble part of it which I'm thankful exists because I would be in a sanitarium otherwise.
But somehow I still feel like I'm walking through life in a hazy daze of not knowing, not understanding and not realising what led to this labyrinth. If I had to write an article answering the who's, what's, when's, where's, why's and how's of my life, I would be at a complete loss. Unfortunately, it isn't as black and white as public affairs reporting.
Amidst the glitz and glamour of the Salvatore Ferragamo fashion show where I stepped into a world completely unlike my own, mingling with the celebrities, making small talk and enhancing social skills, picking at bite-sized expensive treats and an overdose of champagne, I felt like a totally different person. A socialite, a person behind the dolled-up facade - as much as I enjoyed the experience, I wonder how these people can live their lives like that. I dislike social events for that reason, but I must say I adored the fashion show. The dresses, bags and heels donned on perfect figures, legs and bodies - in the world of fashion perfection. That night I pushed aside the editor dream for awhile, the idea of running a fashion show and styling the models seemed like a much brighter and exciting prospect.
The Waraku dinners and Marmalade-afters with people that have changed my life to be the source of comfort through the thorny rides, and SATC marathons without the series itself. Still, picnics in the comfort of your own home? With a posed photoshoot and keel-over type laughter after that - everyone should have silly days like that. And of course, Garibaldi with the bestie. It was somewhere that I've always always wanted to go, but was way out of my budget. It didn't disappoint though, first class service, an ambience that makes you feel like you've been transported to the rich colourful past, coupled with bubbly champagne and swoon-worthy Italian food, I'm going back when I've an occasion to imprint.
An unexpected birthday surprise for the youngest birthday girl in the group brought the four of us together again as well, and that night at Holland Village was really reminiscent of the past - the post 'A' level Hong Kong trip, and of course, China, where it all started. It has been ages since we've last celebrated a birthday together where everyone was present, and I'm glad that the chemistry hasn't changed. Add in new members, new situations and new phases, but the core of the friendships is really, love.
Then you have the night out with the girls whom you've known for six years, and suddenly you're your 15-year-old self again. Because they were the ones who went through the ugliness, the MTV filming, the radical birthday presents, the sleepovers where no one slept but spent hours filming the funny speeches on Star Awards - and they know you for the person you really are. I want to see the world through my 15-year-old eyes once again, the pretty rose-tainted days where happiness was found in stopping by Orchard Road after school and eating char kway teow on the bus ride home.
But as you grow older, the unfortunate truth is you actually get wiser about things, and the world falls into place in a completely diferent light. The idealist you know yourself to be slowly fades away to become the realist you hate, although there are parts of yourself you want to cling steadfastly to. I suppose that's why Stardust and Enchanted are two of my favourite movies this year - okay, and Ratatouille. Because it signifies hope, and you come out of the movie feeling like a young girl once again where everything is shiny and bright in a place where love prevails. Sure, I did enjoy TheQueen and the likes of Letters from Iwo Jima, but it doesn't leave that sugar-high feeling. Of course, that cynic that has somehow stemmed its way into me this year shortens that feeling, but the momentary bliss is all I need.
Shinjuku, Harajuku, Ginza and Mount Fuji with the mother is next up on the list beginning tomorrow. And maybe the magical experience of Tokyo Disneyland, although I believe nothing will be as magical as the first one. Some mother-daughter bonding time, and hopefully we don't get into too many fights. I've had enough of those this year already, I'll pacify her and let her think we're on Gilmore Girls.
Now that was last December, before this whirlwind of a year started.
I love December, it's my favourite time of the year when everything starts to get a little prettier, with iridescent Christmas lights, toffee nut lattes at Starbucks, and familiar carols playing in supermarkets and Topshop. I'm going to be away for most of December this year, which I'm looking forward to - to getting away from this country and experiencing December the real way, with winter and jackets and boots and scarves.
But first I have to get over that media management nightmare which is as frightening as November was.
My extended family has increased in size. At my granduncle's 77th birthday party tonight, I realised that just a few years ago, half these kids didn't even exist. It is fun being part of such a big family where all the children are just running around, although it feels weird not being the one pampered, scolded or referred to as "the kids" anymore. And being at that age in between where you're neither a kid running around wrestling with each other, nor an adult engaging in conversation about the property market and politics, you sort of wonder where you should be in this frightening gap called the twenties.
I chose to sit in between, dividing my time between entertaining the children, making faces and engaging in babytalk, and participating in some intellectual talk with the adults about the liberalisation of gays in Singapore (which happens to be what everyone is talking about these days with 377A) - the Public Affairs Reporting class was of tremendous help.
Still, it was mostly about the children. The moms talked about what they did with them, their daily routines and how exasperating they could get, although with that obvious hint of pride beneath the rolled eyes. The dads talked about their daughters cajoling them for money, and their careers in order to support their children.
My twelve-year-old twin cousins, Gregory and Genevieve, the typical Anglo-Chinese Junior School and Methodist Girls' School stereotypes, waiting to go into secondary school, at where else - ACS (I) and MGS. With them, talk was all about schoolbus fares, Gen beginning to shop at Takashimaya, Greg and his tennis and rugby lessons, PSLE scores and how Gen is a good 20cm taller than Greg at this age even though they're twins.
Then there's James, Jared and Jessica, age nine, seven and five respectively, all behaving in the same shy manner, except when it comes to fighting with each other. You'd think that being the youngest and only daughter with two older brothers, Jessica would get bullied. But no, watching her with her sweet smile, small frame and fair skin, her ferocity emerges when she wins arguments against her two brothers. And the two boys are as different as night and day - James is big and wiry with a face that screams 'stay away', while Jared is a fair good-looking angmoh-looking roly poly.
The one that got most attention was three-month old Cedric, a bright-eyed baby boy who looks as if he's six months old. He let himself be passed around from one set of welcoming arms to another, and lapped up all the attention as he stared at the people that circled him half the time. I know he loved being the centre of everything though, he didn't shed a single tear. I swear he even nodded at me once.
And my grandmother, being adorably hilarious as usual with her mix-up of words. When James and Greg started kicking each other, she scolded them and told them to stop playing "karaoke". She meant to say "karate".
Then the 9pm show on Channel 8 began, and suddenly everybody, young and old had their eyes transfixed on the television. I miss those days when I actually had time to follow these drama serials.
When it was time for my granduncle to cut his birthday cake, all his grandchildren gathered around the birthday cake, gazing at it with wide-eyed fascination as children always do when it comes to chocolate and lighted candles. Until, my aunt's horrified voice resounded,
"James, don't blow the candles!!!"
Two candles were now emitting smoke.
So after the whole enchilada of lighting it again, and finally singing a birthday song, all my granduncle's grandchildren blew the candles out excitedly. All my granduncle did was stand there and smile proudly.
The older generation celebrate their birthdays only so that their family can come together once again. They sit quietly during these big gatherings, but really, they're watching their family interact, and nothing makes them happier than seeing the next generation happy and knowing that they have left a good legacy behind.
