the curse of the blinking cursor

There it is. The thin vertical line that disappears and reappears on this blank white screen. It won't stop. It won't go away. Well it does but only momentarily. It comes back again. It does this over and over. My eyes are drawn to it. Whilst thin and tiny, its presence seems to become more apparent the longer I stare at it. I don't count the number of blinks. I never feel the urge to. I would if only to let myself be hypnotized by it. Instead, it seems to tease me about my bad case of writer's block. Wait... "writer"? Hardly. A blogger's block might be more appropriate. Then it seems to nag me to write something, anything... right now. It proceeds to annoy me as I start to think I'm wasting my time. But I'd argue that I'm not. I am in fact making time for this, blogging. Not so much as a conscious effort to be a contributing citizen of the blogosphere. Who am I kidding? Really, not another soul bothers to read my posts anymore. Mainly because there's nothing new to read. In any case, mine will never be one of those blogs that achieved great following. Nor does it aspire to. Blogging to me now is not even so much as to chronicle special moments or put my reflections down in writing and express myself. I think blogging has become more of my way of talking to myself whether to remind myself of what really matters in life because my daily pressures tend to make me forget; or to open a debate between my two opposing thoughts until I figure out which side I'm on; or to fool myself into believing that I'm right about something I thought or felt or did because sometimes I'm not but I have to learn to live with that bad judgment; or to tell myself off because no one else does.

For instance, for eating crap today and most of the last week. Succumbing to McDonald's was the ultimate crime. By doing so, I have blatantly demonstrated my lost of self-discipline... perhaps even self-respect. I've not been to the gym for maybe 2 months. I've stopped counting.

And what do I need to remind myself about what's important in life? What are those moments that stopped me in my tracks for a moment of reflection? One time, I was feeling unsuccessful at work by the end of the week. I turned around to my colleague and said "I don't feel like a winner today". She turned around to me and said "Cherry, you are a mother and a wife. If you are even 95% a winner at home, then you're fine. Nothing else matters. You are a winner." Those words instantly stopped me from whinging about work. She was right. I needed to hear that. I told her I agreed and thanked her for pointing it out. But that was quickly followed by an overwhelming feeling of guilt because the way she said it was obviously her own assumption that I was in fact at the very least 95% a winner at home when I knew I was not. I even came close to deciding that she had very high standards but immediately stopped myself from thinking that anything less than 95% was acceptable. Of course one has to have high standards of excellence in marriage and parenthood. I know that. I want that. Only, I ought to work on it much much harder.

The other day, I was getting Cerise dressed and I wanted her to wear a necklace. Nothing fancy. Just a plastic pineapple pendant that she would tie around her neck with a ribbon. She refused to wear it which I took as an outright disobedience and disregard of what's cute. She insisted she didn't want to wear it. That in fact, she didn't need to wear it. When I asked why she didn't want to wear it, her response was "I don't want to look like a spoiled child". The remark stunned me. Did someone said she was a spoiled brat? The answer was no. My next question was how and why she would think that. She returned with a "just cause" answer... a shrug actually. I walked away from the scene wondering whether I have been unconsiously making my daugther feel uncomfortable with the way I dress her up. You'd think she'd go for the fashion trends but clearly, it's the least of her concerns. She just turned 9, after all. It looks like I'd been mistaken to think she is quickly growing up to be a lady after I handed her down two of my casual t-shirts not long ago. I thought of it as a rite of passage, with much excitement and aniticipation of what's to come, i.e. mother and daughter borrowing clothes, shoes, accessories; shopping together, etc. Clearly, she thought nothing of it except perhaps that she had more clothing she really didn't need.

My boss snapped at me on Friday. First time ever. And I think the first boss ever to do it to me too. I didn't see that coming though I got where she was coming from. It unfolded in front of everyone. Yup, everyone. Because we all just got in to work and just started the day. It was quick, sharp and stern. Not that I felt embarrassed or upset. Surprisingly, I felt nothing. Just a little stunned but I got over it in a second and all I could think of was "Oh well." The incident invevitably created this awkward silence around the office which I actually thought was funny how people tend to be quiet and turn away instead of making eye contact with me and not pretend it didn't happen. It took like 4 hours before anyone even mentioned it and checked on me and reassured me it was nothing compared to what they've seen and subjected to before, as if to make me feel better. It was only then that I started wondering if the incident in fact embarrassed me. Did everyone thought I was humiliated? Odd. Because I thought my boss was. When she said "I'm very disappointed with you on this, Cherry. I think you handled this very poorly." and walked away, I honestly thought to myself "Right back at ya." Was that too proud?

While I'm typing away here, Edwin cooks pasta... because I won't. He'll never tell me off for not cooking. He will make requests sometimes but only when he knows I'm in the mood to do wonders in the kitchen. But in all these 9 years of being married, he's never taken it against me that cooking is very rarely in my daily agenda. We go out and dine most nights. It's interesting how when I was a kid, dining out was always a big deal and how I would savour every bite because we rarely did it and only on extra extra extra special occasion. Now, my own child does not distinguish cheap and cheerful dining from fancy restaurants where you pay for water. To her, it's just what it is. Dinner. It's a sad sad tale of me not cooking habitually. I could write a whole blog about it. I've heard it all.. "Take lessons to inspire you."; "Just give it a go and stick to it because once you start, you can't stop."; "It's really simple especially when you start with cookbooks and pretty soon you won't be needing them."; "Cook from the heart. It's not about cooking as a chore but it is about cooking for your man." All true. All inspiring. But clearly not effective until I take it upon myself to just do it and keep doing it no matter what. If I cook at least once every week (making realistic goals here), then I'd come much much closer to that 95%rating. If my daugther is able to identify one dish to fondly remember her mother by, I would award myself "Mother of the Year".
I'd have to stop blaming my being a working mother. Really, people... human beings do work and come home and cook. It's a fact of daily existence. I don't blame my mother for not dragging us to the kitchen and turn us into master chefs. I have my father do that. Besides, she had her reasons. We had help around the house and she locked us in our rooms to study study study and thanks to her, that's paid off. It does make me wonder if I am right now giving a bad example to Cerise who might turn out to be like me, a woman who is so hung up on not being good and active in the kitchen. I don't lock her in her room to study study study either. I tend to allow her to procrastinate and rush her in finishing her work and studying for exams always at the 11th hour. Another one of my faults.

So there's all my shame summed up into one post. The curse of the blinking cursor surely brings out my self-loathing. Undoubtedly there's more to speak of but let's not litter the blogosphere with too much of my mess at one time.