The art of subtraction

   I only write when I can be honest. Hence, not often. It's not that I wish to deliberately hide but so much of the things that affect my life are tied up by obligations of secrecy and confidence. The realisation that writing has consequences. Jeffrey Eugenides' writing advice rings in my head, "Young as you are, play dead - so that your eyes will stay open". Write as if there is no consequences. The naivety of youth unfortunately no longer holds - she should know better. Are there any more painful words?

   I had lunch with Y today and she told me, paraphrasing a quote beautifully out of thin air, that the saddest words are it could have been. We were talking about the desire of reading literature as they were written in their original language. I talked about wanting to finally read Eileen Chang in our mother tongues. How her stories capture a certain mood, of unrequited longings, of unfulfilled wishes and obligations. I tell her I think a lot of the pain the women in her stories experience is the expectation of fidelity from men. Fidelity to me in the chinese society is a modern concept. Historically and culturally, men took many wives. Oh, but there are cheating women too, women of beauty and passion that intoxicate "good" men, break their hearts and leave them breaking other hearts. Perhaps, one of those hearts were hers, Y added. I start to think, a good writer immortalises her heartbreak, a great writer breaks your heart with her. I tell Y that one of her stories that stayed with me is about a man falling for his friend's wife. The wife was deemed wild and promiscuous in his eyes. She wanted to leave her husband (who abused her) for him. But he declined - for she was for "loving" and not for marrying. They cut off all contact. Years later, the man sees a young child on the bus and a mother taking care of the young child. It is her, years later, crow feet and all, sans make-up, beautiful. Their eyes meet. It could have been.

  I don't remember how but Y asked me if I liked e.e. cummings. I do. Do you think he is unstructured? I shake my head. I think he is very structured actually - it's all very precise, on point. I pause, and explain I've been thinking about how life really seems to resemble primary school mathematics (arguably, the building blocks of life). We learn to add at the start, but really what we want to reach is the art of subtraction. Y agrees and shares with me about what a famous designer once said. We talk until time runs out.

  What is difficult in life is subtraction. We can live with many things, but there are few things we can live without. Life is about finding out those things you can subtract effortlessly and those things you cannot. It takes confidence and a real understanding of what is important. Zen philosophy advocates detachment. But perhaps, I am still too shallow, I can only dream of subtraction.

   I started this blog to remember my marriage. Mainly, the little things. For those are the things first subtracted by time - no matter, how hard you hold on to them. And perhaps, to give another perspective to people considering marriage or are already married. When ZM first asked me to marry him two months in the relationship, it was easy to say yes. He changed my life and made it so beautiful, I thought I was flying. Life is still beautiful, more beautiful even at moments, but different. It was harder to have the same conviction of getting married, when we first signed the property documents two years ago, and finally during the solemnisation. I have never given anyone more in my life, as I was basically giving my life. The truth is I've always wondered if I could live my whole life with him, and I do not know the answer to that (please check back decades later), but I only knew I couldn't live without him. Because he made me whole, when I hit rock bottom, when sleeping was frightening and waking up was terrifying, when he was with me in those nights of stiff fear, when I was zero, or even lower, minus minus minus everything, he took it all, added everything up, and we were whole again.

  I don't know about the One (the magic number in love it seems). But, you have become an indivisible part of me.

"Like two negative numbers multiplied by rain"

    Sometimes, I think my writing is mainly a desire for strength and an admission of weakness. I write myself into the person I want to be. And in those nights, when I'm tired, bone-deep, inside-out, unquenchable, it is always words that saves me.

 ... Of course there was my

ambition to offer you the world, but one that I have rearranged

to make sense.

- For You Today, Jessica Greenbaum 

   And, another poem, tells me "[l]ike two negative numbers multiplied by rain/ into oranges and olives". My soul laughs. It all makes sense again. It all makes sense.

Inchmeal

Yesterday's word of the day was "inchmeal". What a beautiful word meaning "little by little", "gradually". Merriam-Webster says its origins are simple - the "inch" half is the familiar measurement and the "meal" is an old suffix that means "by a (specified) portion or measure at a time".

An inch is so small, but precious. Like the proverbial boy who placed his finger into the hole to prevent the dam from breaking - the inch, is your last breath of dignity. The inch is the space between me and you before we kiss.

People don't change suddenly. We change inchmeal, but see the change all at once. How we realise one day that some things no longer matter. Some people no longer disappoint. Inchmeal. We change.

How we realise someone has grown their way into our hearts. Little by little, becoming irrevocable. Inchmeal.

How, one day, I hope to turn to you, and tell you, a lifetime between us. Inchmeal.

They say you only grow old when you stop trying

All pictures from www.seaofshoes.typepad.com

   When I was looking through the old photographs in my computer to search for the old wedding gown inspirations, I came across the old photographs I saved from "Sea of Shoes". Sea of Shoes is one of the more popular fashion blogs because it featured a really beautiful young red-hair teenager with a wardrobe and collection of shoes most grown women would curl up their toes in envy.

   It was interesting to revisit the site again many years later, and nice to see her older and blossoming well in her style. It was also interesting to see that there was a outcry earlier in 2012 about her "true colours" as people called her a snob and ostentatious in showing off her branded fashion collection. While it's clear that she comes from a privileged background, I think it's also very clear that she has excellent taste, a very strong sense of what she wants in life, and a deep determination to do it extremely well. One should be careful for jealousy is the real ugly colour.

  Her photographs always remind me to have fun again in dressing up. These days, my days are split into court attire and non-court attire days - a stream of black and white and structured clothing. On the weekends, when I'm free, I only desire to wear something loose and comfortable, such that I generally wear my default comfy sweater and shorts combination.

  I'm sure my eighteen year old self will look at this in horror.

  I sadly realise I don't think I have fun in dressing up anymore. No more the imagination, the dream, the whimsical fancies.

  Well, it's never too late to start again. I've been thinking of buying a pair of pastel coloured converse sneakers. I thought a pair would be a lovely contrast to feminine dresses and also shorts and flowered tops. Sneakers + Fresh Grass = Picnic.

  I think it's time to try again.

Absinthe

Taken from the Absinthe Facebook Page 

Absinthe
72 Boat Quay
For reservations: 62229068
Lunch: $40-50 (set)
Dinner: $80-150 (ala carte, set, with wine)
French
Calls itself "casual" but clearly french chic!
Slightly slow but beyond excellent service

   I have many food memories I want to write about, and will clearly never have enough time. But, I suppose that in itself is a blessing - that the world is richer than I could ever remember. I think it is mildly amusing that all my food memories so far are of French restaurants - it gives the impression that I only eat french food! Perhaps, it is all a coincidence, or perhaps, it's the french way of eating - slow and simmering that just seeps into your skin, your memories, your words.

   R surprised me by booking Absinthe for our lunch, since we per our tradition usually eat Korean or Japanese food. It was raining, and I had to run back to office to grab a giant umbrella, as the two of us tottered down the street, bridge, sidewalk to Absinthe. This beautiful mint green restaurant with an alfresco area that made you want to call it a day, and dream sweet absinthe dreams by the river.

   We had the set lunch and as usual, I ordered the foie gras. I think Absinthe's foie gras is one of the best ones I've had. My main course was the fish (can't remember which type), which was really fresh. It was wonderful - the christmas spirit still lingering in the air, the warm red brick walls, the small fragments of light from the tiny windows that seemed to made reality just that softer for the moment, the bread and the homemade butter, R's laughter.

   Honestly, I never thought that R and I would get along that well. R is very posh and crisp. I don't ever recall seeing her undignified. But, if she was golden, it was her heart that was gold. Her inner child is just like my inner child, and while we don't really know the intricacies of each other's life and hardly know each other's histories - we know that life is most beautiful when you believe in all the simple wonders of the world (including unicorns).

  I had came to Absinthe before to celebrate a close friend's birthday. It was us four girls and they gave us a secret green room on the 3rd floor. The secret room had an Ipod dock for us to play inappropriate music in a French restaurant. We ate a 5/7 set course for dinner, became so full that we prayed that fine dining would truly be tiny dining, and finished a bottle of champagne with lots of giggles.

    Absinthe, the green fairy that Hemmingway called "brain-warming, idea-changing liquid alchemy". The rain still went on outside and we marvelled that we could be in any place in the world right now. Or so it seemed.  Thanks for being the magic that propels the world to spin.

"The One"

   Many people have asked me to write about my wedding. My proposal. My love story. But, in many ways, it feels like a story with no start nor end - for it begun even before we knew it, and the more you try and capture it, the further you get from the truth.

   I shall share my wedding dress story because perhaps it will help future blushing brides. For it shall propel the myth of "THE ONE". I've always loved lace. I think I've spent most of my youth dressed like a renegade grandmother. I didn't know a single thing about what I wanted for a wedding dress, but I knew I wanted it to be lace!

   Because ZM actually asked me to be his wife two months after we got together, and we actually planned when we were going to get married, I had very excitedly started to look for wedding gowns one or two years into the relationship. Clearly, a Bride-zilla in the making. So, I started to save lots of lovely things for future inspiration and ideas... and then proceeded to forget all about it when I actually started to prepare for the solemnisation ceremony.

  So, actually, it is a good idea to start looking at what you want very early on, such that by the time you actually start planning the actual thing, you have filtered down to what you really want - you and him and a simple promise.

  We went to the street along Tanjong Pagar road with all the bridal shophouses. We were just going to browse for fun to get an idea of the prices and designs. But, voila, as decisive as usual, we settled the gown the first time (this applies to everything else for our wedding - which perhaps explains why we are together, we think about it, we decide and don't ever look back). I actually found a gown I loved at the first shop - it was a mermaid cut with a really gorgeous lace pattern. But, ZM said we should at least see a few other shops to ascertain that we are not being fleeced.

  Hence, we walked down the street and tried three other shops. Nope. Abysmal. It was clearly the first shop with the over the top decadent victorian gown! So, we decided the fifth shop would be our last shop. It was really crowded and the sales assistant was far too busy to give us proper attention. I tried a few gowns and told ZM, let's pick the victorian gown.

   As we were leaving, I saw a plain gown at the corner of the shop. Hanging awry. Probably had just been tried on by someone. It was completely plain and nothing like any of the gowns I tried before. So, I decided to try it. The last gown I would try.

   Indeed, it was the last gown I would ever try. When I wore it, I knew. It was like I had came through an upside down tunnel and came out right.

   The interesting thing is that for this entry, I went to look at my old wedding gown inspirations, and it turned out that the pictures I've saved looked very much like the gown I picked in the end. So, perhaps, my story in the end is that when the mind forgets, the heart remembers.