Missing You

Love is missing someone whenever you're apart, but somehow feeling warm inside because you're close in heart ~ Kay Knudsen

My dearest E.,

I've been extremely bogged down with work of late. It's the year-end frenzy, when companies want to close their accounts for their financial year, where deals are sought to be sealed, when people want to take a breather from the rigidities of daily working life and spend time with family and close friends during Christmas season. I have been working late every night, and don't get to spend as much time with you as I'd like to.

On Wednesday night, I was still at the office at 9.45 p.m., with no end in sight of the work I needed to finish by Thursday morning. I called my mother for a breather and she kindly offered to have you spend the night with them. We spoke on the phone a short while then, you and I, E. It was fun, and hearing your lilting voice cheered me up tremendously. You made little cooing sounds, as usual, and went on a frenzy of "words", "speaking" so much to your Mummy on the phone that my heart melted. I was, at least, comforted in knowing that your grandparents would take super good care of you. They are, after all, the only few people in this world I'd trust completely to take care of you.

By 11.30 p.m., I'd given up trying to complete all my work by the morning. Tired, hungry and exhausted, I wanted to just have a piping hot meal, a warm shower and my comfortable bed. And there was a terrible aching feeling inside me, that I wasn't able to place initially. I thought I was just tired out. Then the realisation hit me that I missed you. Tremendously.

Somehow, silence and emptiness greeted me when I came home. I mournfully surveyed your little blow-up swimming pool in the living room, your toy baskets in the corner, your jumbo Barney plush toy sitting by the piano. Images of you playing in the living room flashed before me. I heard your happy laugh ringing in my ears. I felt your warm arms close lovingly around my neck, your soft hair poking up my nostrils as you lay your head on my chest (You have such thick, lovely hair, sweet pea). I suddenly wanted to cry. The aching in my heart grew worse as I trudged upstairs slowly, dragging my feet.

I put my things down and meticulously removed my office clothes, changing into my towel to take a shower. Stood by your crib and looked into it for a long while, picturing you lying there with your chubby legs hugging your bolster, your repose peaceful and quiet, as you suckled on your Winnie the Pooh pacifier and twirled the corners of your blanket. I smoothed my hand over your silk quilt and "My Little Princess" comforter, folded your soft fleece blanket, fluffed your pillow and chased away the mosquitoes (if there were, indeed, any), doing as I do every night before you go to bed. I picked up your bolster and held it close to me, breathing in your sweet baby-scent. It was as if you were there with me, your lingering scent filling my nostrils.

I showered and allowed the water to run down my head, my face in warm rivulets. Standing there in the shower, I realised that I was crying. My heart ached ever more.

I went to bed rather depressed, but was comforted by your father's presence. I confessed to him how much I missed you, and he said that he did as well. We both snuggled close together, whispering in soft tones about your loveliness in general, and reminisced about how much youve changed our lives for the better.

I don't think I could stand to have you being away from us again- even for a night, sweet pea. My heart pains too much to have to do that and not have you beside me. That room in my heart which you fill with your wonderful presence was left empty for those long, 18 hours. I don't think anyone else would be capable of filling that void you left that night.

When we finally saw you the next evening, your smile of happiness at seeing us, coupled with your rush into my arms, made my world complete. Once more, the flowers started blooming again.... And the sun began to shine onto my dark world again.

Father

There's something like a line of gold thread running through a man's words when he talks to his daughter, and gradually over the years it gets to be long enough for you to pick up in your hands and weave into a cloth that feels like love itself. ~ John Gregory Brown, "Decorations in a Ruined Cemetery"

My dearest E.,

I'm going to tell you about your father, because he'd probably be too modest or too shy to tell you. He's simply one of the most delightful and lovable people you'll ever meet in your lifetime, and I kid you not- when you grow up someday, you will forge a very special bond with your father, exclusive to the both of you, and I will look on with pride from outside the circle, with understanding and love. And I speak from experience, because your grandfather (my father) and I have this special bond, too: and indeed, it is so very special that it transcends all emotions of humanity, all things in this world. It's a love that's so big your universe fills up with it and it never goes away. I'd like to think that you and I will form our own special mother-daughter bond- but that's another story. Today I want to tell you about your father.

Your father grew up in a broken home. His parents divorced when he was very young, and his mother, through some crazed, demented phase she was going through, literally left him and his two brothers, your Uncles James and Jerry, at an aunt's home, and simply vanished. She remains unfound today, although she did make contact a few times throughout the course of the past decade and a half. For many years, your father and his brothers endured hardships but never complained. They were taken care of by kind family members (your paternal grandfather had his share of problems and was unable to raise them himself), but with each year, they shuttled back and forth through their various relatives' homes, finding no stable sense of security, no place to call home, no mother's or father's love to guide their way. They made few friends, and because of the constant need to move about their various relatives' dwellings, their friendships rarely withstood the test of time. All they had were each other, and till today, little E., you will see how much they value, love and care for each other. The brotherhood was all they had then. And notwithstanding the hardship and sometimes, poverty, they've all become wonderful, wonderful men: loving people with financial and career stability, good-hearted soldiers of God, good fathers and husbands. (Your Uncle Jerry is unmarried to date). I referred more to Uncle James and your father.

Your father is a truly unique person. I don't know if there ever existed such thing as love at first sight. But when I met him for the first time years ago, I already fell in love with him. He was so kind, funny and gentle. He made me laugh all the time. He was frank and uninhibited. And he was as handsome as a picture!-and still is, of course. We became friends first, your father and I, and grew fond of each other as time passed on. And of course, eventually, he also fell in love with me, and we got married. And look where we are now!- we have you, my dearest.

You know, E., I am still so in love with your father. Even till this very day, he doesn't fail to make me laugh, brighten up a gloomy day and ignite our love for each other. He still makes my heart beat faster and makes me feel all the feelings a woman does when she is in love (You will, in time, come to know what I mean...).

And when we discovered that I carried you, our precious fruit, in the belly of my womb, your father began caring for you with a love so intense, it was beautiful. He would gently rub my belly every night, massage my aching swollen feet lovingly and speak to you about all sorts of things, while playing your favourite Mozart CD. He treated both you and I like queens, little E.! He is a wonderful husband and a wonderful father.

Sometimes, when you may feel irritated at him, or when you feel that he doesn't want to let you go and spread your wings, and discover things in life for yourself, have a heart and think of how much he loves you. Think and picture in your mind all the wonderful things he has done for you. Your father and I, till this very day, sometimes cry, hugging each other close as we stand by your crib and watch you sleeping: because you have filled our lives with so much joy and love, it's painful. Sometimes, we watch the video taken of you when you were born, and we shed tears again.

Your father is a special person, sweet pea. Even though you may not hear his voice speaking to you the way I do through this blog, (he's not the writing type, your dad), you will somehow always hear his voice resonating at the back of your mind, loving yet cautious, wanting to set free the little butterfly that is you, but at the same time, wishing you would remain in your cocoon and depend on us for love, food, comfort, warmth and security.

I suppose I wanted to tell you that all these things I am saying to you, all these lessons I have learnt in life and am trying to impart to you, these are things your father would've said too. A father is really a little girl's best friend, a teenager's hero, a young lady's idol and a woman's ideal of her perfect husband. You will know what I mean someday.

Because my father is a hero, too... Just like your father.

Insomnia

If you can't sleep, then get up and do something instead of lying there worrying. It's the worry that gets you, not the lack of sleep. ~Dale Carnegie

My dearest E.,

Dale Carnegie's quote is so apt. Being deprived of sleep is bad enough. Your body and mind are tired, but for whatever reasons, you are kept awake and you need to attend to more important things than sleep. It was like that for me the first few months after you arrived- but I wouldn't change it for the world, sweet pea! Waking up in the middle of the night to nurse/change/feed you was the most amazing experience for me. Also fueled by the realization that you needed (and still need) me, my one desire during those moments was to provide for you and comfort you in your most vulnerable state. Now you sleep quite well almost throughout the night after your last feed, and although I welcome the resting hours I am given now, I do miss those times we spent together at night (or in the wee hours of the morning).

Sunday night/Monday morning found me unable to go to sleep. You fell asleep not long after your last night feed, and your father was watching football downstairs. I paced through "The Street Lawyer" by John Grisham, a book I had read at least 20 times and clearly showed it: with dog-eared, yellowed pages and higgledy binding. My body was yearning for rest, sweet pea. We had had a long day, especially playing with you, and I was exhausted. But my mind wandered, like an animal set free into the wilderness and long after I had finished reading my book, I was still lying in bed, comforter pulled up to my chest, staring at the ceiling. Your father came upstairs and fell asleep almost immediately upon his head touching the pillow. Still, sleep eluded me.

You moved in your sleep, shifting for a more comfortable position perhaps. Sometimes, you let out a tiny whimper. Or your little foot would find its way between the crib slats. I woke up each time to look at you, using the illuminant from my mobile phone as light. For a long while, I sat in front of your crib, resting my chin against the bed slats, just watching you. Your chest quietly heaving up and down, your tiny fingers gripping the corner of your blanket, your toes wiggling every now and then. Peaceful and quiet. You sleep the slumber of an angel. I counted my blessings again, and thanked the Lord that you were mine.

You know, E., when you can't sleep, you think. And I thought a lot that night. Of my work in the office. Of your grandparents. Of your father. Of you, most of all. As I sat there beside your crib, for over an hour, thoughts just kept washing over me, most of them memories of your early days. These thoughts were so vivid and crystal-clear and happy, that I found a tear rolling down my cheek. It was very dream-like. And like in dreams, that tear appeared to glisten as it quietly plopped on my hand- and the illumination of that tear opened up ever more doors to memories.

I finally blew you a kiss and went downstairs, unlocking our main door and ventured outside. I sat out there in our small, tiled "garden" for a long while, contemplating the silence of the night, occasionally shattered by the cry of a neighbourhood cat, or the distance rumbling of a car engine. The night was beautiful and quiet, the sky was high, dark and perfectly clear, completely cloudless, dotted with more stars than I could count. One star blinked constantly, and I took that to be some sort of satellite. Three stars, however, formed a perfect line. I wondered if that was supposed to mean something. I kept looking up, counting the bright stars, wondering what the world beyond ours was like.

Perhaps Heaven. I don't know. But that night, I fancied all the people I had loved and lost watching down on me. Most of all, I fancied my grandmother (my father's mother- she passed away the year your father and I got married) looking down on me. I could almost feel the light touch of her old frail hand on my head, the warm dry skin of her cheek pressed against mine, and I would breathe in the sweet pleasant smell of her scented powder. And I wished fervently that she could have stayed in our world a little longer, if only to see you. She would be so proud of you, my little one. She would've loved you as much as I do.

The sky was so lovely and endless, my little E. That wide expanse across our world. Who knows what lay beyond? I felt comforted, thinking about my grandmother that night. And someday, little E., when you're grown and sitting out in the garden watching the sky one lonely night and when I have been called into the world of spirits, always remember that I love you, and that I am only a heartbeat away. As long as the stars shine down from the heavens, I shall watch and guard over you, like the skies watch and guard over our world.

Supermodel

It's not what you do once in a while, it's what you do day in and day out that makes the difference ~ Jenny Craig

My dearest E.,

You're going to be a junior model! OK, I'm only saying this because your father and I are naturally excited that a talent agency called. And they had informed me that their client, a drink manufacturing company, had shortlisted you- YOU- as a talent in a forthcoming TV commercial. Now, that is really some news.

When your father and I took you to 2 talent agencies some time ago to cast your portfolio, we never really thought of anything. Of course, we did it because as your parents, you are the cutest and most beautiful baby to us. And every parent will naturally feel that about their own child. To us parents, our children can do ANYTHING. That you kids are the greatest ever, the cutest ever, the smartest ever, etc etc etc. We love you so much that we have that much faith in your abilities, notwithstanding your tender age. We were also prompted by our friends, who all ooh-ed and aah-ed over your good looks, and your sunny disposition, and everyone claimed that you'd be fantastic as a model. Who cares if you're only a baby? That's how you start out.

Having said that, this is not to be taken as my acquiescence that you should pursue modelling as a career. There is nothing wrong with modelling, really. It is a good, decent job, pays very well, gets you famous, etc- but that's only the glitz and glamour. The behind-the-scenes portrayal by some models we know: that's the ugly truth. Just like very other job, modelling has its pitfalls: long hours, hard work, and the constant need to maintain one's looks and figure- and it is sad that models are, by comparison to other professions, deemed 'loose', 'easy', bratty, prima-donna, diva-like, stupid, daft, etc. Simply put: shallow and superficial. Sometimes, this may not be altogether true- but the industry has crafted that sort of reputation for itself, a reputation that I, as your mother, is wary of you getting involved in.

All that aside, you must remember that your studies, education and the firm grounding for a good career must come first and foremost. You may choose whatever profession you wish- but you MUST study smart, and obtain a sound education. Without education, you have nothing to fall back on. Good looks will fade one day and there is only so much charm that can take you places. You must learn that, with education, you are at least assured of a means of making your living. That translates into work. A good education can take you further than good looks or charm alone. I cannot emphasize enough the importance of a good education- and you know that your father and I are firmly committed to providing you with the best education necessary to ensure your future.

Anyway, I took some time off from the office this afternoon, as did your father, to take you to the casting agency, Cheese, once again, to have your portfolio updated. You charmed the lady there, right off to her toes! You were at times playful and coy, boisterous and joyful, mournful and irritated- and as she continued snapping photographs and shooting a video of you at play, I stood by the sidelines and happily watched you. My daughter. Something like a huge balloon swelled up in my chest, that was how proud I was, and for a moment, I had to catch my breath and force myself not to choke when I look at you. You are so beautiful in every way, little E. Your happy lovable disposition serves you in good stead, and I am sure it shall continue to do so every step of your life.

You have the great makings of a model. But I'd think that, because you are my daughter, my precious jewel. You have the great makings of anything you set out to be, simply because you are my daughter and I believe in you.

How I love you, my sweet, sweet E.! And it doesn't matter if you do not get cast for the TV commercial... The money will be a plus, certainly and a bonus to be added on to your education and well-being fund- but it really doesn't matter. At the end of the day, your father and I are just happy with you, being you.

Dancing with abandon

Kids: they dance before they learn there is anything that isn't music. ~William Stafford

My dearest E.,

You love to dance! Did you know that? You begin to dance when you hear the sounds of anything that remotely resemble music, even my whistling, or tongue-clicking sounds. But most of all, you begin to dance most animatedly when you hear your favourite songs from PHDC cartoon channel... Or your much-loved Mozart CD in the car. Or, for some reason, "Jingle Bells" drives you wild and if you were capable of moving onto a dance floor in a club, you would do so in a flash!

You have created a funny, little dance movement which you employ most times- a wiggling of your little butt, a sway from side to side which increases in velocity with the rhythm of the music, a head movement not unlike Stevie Wonder or Ray Charles (you must have "soul" to do this!). Sometimes, you also oblige by shaking your shoulders. I love to watch you dance.

You dance with abandon, happiness and free spirits, and it makes me wonder when the last time was that I had danced the way you did. It certainly has been quite some time. But you will excuse me, sweet pea. And as you grow older, with the weight of responsibilities on your shoulders, dancing with abandon may not come as easily as it used to. However, this is not to say that I will never do so anymore. I have learnt, once again, to dance in my heart because you have re-ignited that passion in me when I look at you.

Your grandmother (my mother) told me that when I was a child, about the same age as you, my passion for dancing blossomed and continued into my teens. I was always inclined to put on Tchaikovsky's Blue Danube and start dancing in the hall (My parents live in a reasonably big house, with a big spacious hall, perfect for dancing!) Sometimes, I would knock over things, accidentally stub my toe on the foot of the coffee table, crash into the TV cabinet- such wildly did I use to dance. Over time, my passion for dancing softened (and was not helped by ballet classes too- it was meant to teach me some grace and poise, but that didn't exactly take off, as your mother still remains somewhat klutzy to date) and as my seriousness grew, the dancing faded. The only dancing I ever did after that was in clubs! And that kind of dancing is no rocket science.

You came along, though...and I learnt to dance again. Mostly, I learnt how to dance in my heart, and to live life like a process of dance, with many chapters and phases- sometimes a sarabande, sometimes a gavotte, sometimes a waltz. Of late, I have been learning how to dance your dance style, it looks somewhat comical, because I am an adult, and you are a baby, and everything a baby does is too adorable, cute and sweet for words- whereas as adults, we bear the brunt of ridicule and mockery.

But in my heart, sweet pea, I hope you will never forget how to dance (and by dance, I don't just mean a physical dance with fancy wavering arms and shifty feet and all: I mean, dance within your thoughts, weaving them through your mind and consciousness) when you grow older, and that you will always look at it as your personal means of escapism, or catharsis, if you wish, to allow you those few moments of abandon and freedom.

Because you love me

It was the tiniest thing I ever decided to put my whole life into. ~Terri Guillemets

My dearest E.,

I awoke this morning, not to the harsh, annoying beep-beep-beep of my alarm clock, but to the soft gentle caresses I felt on my face. They were so light and feathery at first, I thought they were mosquitoes out for an early feed, but upon opening my eyes, still tired with sleep, I saw you, sitting up on our bed beside my head, your chubby hand stroking my cheek. What joy! What delight!

You smiled at me, that beautiful happy smile, with such a look of tender, comforting love, that I folded you into my arms and began to kiss you incessantly. You laughed and giggled, and we both played about a little, with your father snoring quietly by our side. Only the day before, had we taught you to show your affection, by stroking our cheeks. And you learnt to do it so quickly simply because you were filled with love and that if you did not show to us your love, it would over-spill and you wouldn't be able to fill your Cup of Love with new love.

I asked you for a little kiss- and you obliged... leaning tentatively towards me with your cheeky grin, and you planted a wet, open-mouthed kiss on my cheek. I love that, my sweet pea. I love your little kisses, I don't care if you drool over me as long as I get a kiss.

Because you love me, and have shown me your love and affection, I am a more complete person. With every day, you blossom like a lovely flower, and each new act of blossoming fills me with immense pride.

Kiss.

Giggle laugh giggle

When babies look beyond you and giggle, maybe they're seeing angels ~ Quoted in The Angels' Little Instruction Book by Eileen Elias Freeman, 1994

My dearest E.,

I don't think I've heard you laugh and giggle as much as you did over the weekend. You presented such a huge treat for me and your father. I'm not so certain as to what amused you, but it must've been tremendous to create the proportions of laughter and giggles that you displayed oh-so-generously. Methinks it could've been Daddy playing catch with you on all fours; or watching your favourite cartoon programmes on TV, Pocoyo or Elmo's World; or because you had so much fun splashing about in the little blow-up swimming pool in our garden (you wore your new orange halter-top bikini and looked simply adorable); or just because of the sheer fun of hanging out with your parents for the whole weekend uninterrupted. Or maybe you were playing with the angels?

Giggle, laugh, giggle. Your sounds were such music to my ears, and I kept telling your father, "Look at E.! Look at E.!" amid spatterings of "Oh, my God, she's super cute!" Yes, clearly, we adore you like crazy. You have also developed a new "move": recently I noticed that whenever you were extraordinarily excited or happy, you would jump up and down and wave your hands, just like a dancer. Your legs are so chubby and adorable, I love to watch you moving about on those little gams. I especially love to have you in your diapers and a t-shirt or cotton top only, (the weather has been quite irate of late, too: toasty oven-hot now, then cold and peltering with rain next) because I love to watch you using your legs to your advantage, and to perfection.

You have been "speaking" or verbalizing a lot more, too. And it's extremely pleasant to hear you trying to imitate words. When confused, you say "Whoo...". I laugh so hard. Your father and I have made a mental note to stop using profanity and/or bad language around you. Still, you are amazing, and have picked up a few words already. Or maybe I imagine that you have because I want to hear you speak terribly. I fancied that I heard you say "Hi". You have also learnt to say "Da-da" which makes your father terribly happy, of course. Your vocabulary isn't particularly extensive at this moment, but that's fine by us, you know that.

When you laugh or giggle a lot, I do fancy that you're laughing or giggling with an unseen "object", which I'd like to think, are angels. Or friendly beings who love to play with a cute little baby like yourself. Who wouldn't, human or otherwise? You are just too adorable for words. Sometimes, you have such a hard time falling asleep at night: you won't stop laughing, giggling or playing around- no matter how tired you are! At these times, I would usually say a quiet prayer and beg for whoever your play-mates are, to allow you to go to bed, and resume playtime the next day. Inevitably, by some strange coincidence, this usually works!

Some people may approach this with a large amount of skepticism, some others may scorn and some may believe: but there are things beyond our world which cannot be explained. Like angels. Or roaming spirits. Or malevolent beings.

I believe in the spirit-world. And as you grow older, perhaps you may believe in this too, or maybe not. Your father certainly does too.

But all that aside, we both believe in one thing: that you are an angel sent from Heaven, and that you're always happy and bubbly because you have your little angel-friends to play with you all day too. They miss you too much to completely let you go when God sent you to us, but as you grow older, you will find them playing with you less, perhaps, because they'll be forced to do so, and allow you to discover our world for yourself and spread your own angel-wings to fly.