The movers arrived at 930am today and will be here until 5pm. Of the five men here today, three look familiar. The supervisor, Nasir, who's been with the moving company since 1978, remembers us.
"I unloaded your shipment two years ago when you moved back to Singapore," he says. "Where's your marble table gone?"
"It's sold", I tell him with a wry smile.
And so it begins, the hours, of taping, wrapping, packing and crating.
"Hopefully," I mumble to Nasir, "I won't see you for another five years."
The Chinese medicinal hall that housed our favorite 20-cent ride was closed the other day, so we walked around with a pouting-irritable-whiny Eva to find another one.
I was about to pacify my almost-meltdown toddler with cake and chocolate and various assorted promises when the husband so wisely turned a corner and found this one. I've never encountered a ride like this, with the child facing the animal.
No matter; the crisis was solved and the tantrum averted. *Phew* Parenthood really teaches you to appreciate the small things in life, doesn't it?
Packing is an ordeal for an adult but great fun for a child.
Here's Eva in a make-believe parade with the bits & bobs she found while we cleared out her cupboard: one Singapore flag brolly, one shiny windmill, one rabbit lantern, one pig keychain, one hello kitty toy phone and fan.
"Look Mama, I'm taking my rabbit for a walk in the rain!"
We've dedicated this week to packing. That means deciding on, and sorting out piles of our stuff into four main categories:
1. Things to ship
2. Things to discard or donate
3. Things that we need to use until the day of departure, and will go with us on the flight
4. Things that we will use until the day of departure, and then discard
These four categories apply for ALL our stuff, including cutlery, clothes, toys, art materials, books, shoes, decorative items, bedding, stationery, shampoo etc. It is difficult as it is packing for oneself, but with a toddler in the mix, and a toddler without the capacity of packing for herself, it is just madness.
The most challenging things for me are those one would call unclassifiable knick-knacks. You know, the eceteras. The magnets, the frames, the puzzles, the basketball hoop, the lone beach stool, the painting Eva did in class, the greeting cards from three years ago, the spare white envelopes, the cute piggy banks....to keep or to throw? Will I ever need or use or look at these things again?
Ahhh, packing. No wonder they've ranked Moving as the third most stressful life event one can experience, behind Death (No. 1 spot) and Divorce (No. 2 spot).
Moving internationally is a logistical nightmare. This isn't our first time, but it still isn't easy. Thank God I have a husband who pushes me to do, pack and throw, a husband who is a purposeful taskmaster and gets my procrastinating ass off the floor.If not for him, I'd be the hoarding grandma with my stackfuls of magazines from 1990 and boxes of clothes I never wear. With him around, it is a tad easier.
Still, I NEVER want to do this again.
This is what Eva's room looks right now. Onwards and upwards with the help of more kopi-C!
I've been stumbling on inspirational and heartwarming videos of late. You know, the stuff that makes you pause and catch a breath. And then those that energize you and make you want to start on the million to-dos you'd promised yourself to complete 10 years ago.
So I thought I'd start something of a good habit. Every Monday, from today, I'm going to post a video that made me want to change my life for the better. Because as much as sardonism and small-mindedness exists on the Internet, there is hope floating out there too.
Here's this week's:
For someone struggling to get back on the mat after hobbling around for two weeks, this really made me get off my ass and just do it.
I guess I write in spurts. Spurts that are determined by the events in my life. More stuff happening, less writing. Less stuff, more writing. It's not that I don't want to write, its just that there's simply not enough time or energy to string my words together into a meaningful sentence.
Since the last time I posted, Eva, then me and finally the husband, came down with a nasty virus- high fevers and an awful body rash. I escaped with a mild rash on my tummy, but Eva was so awfully and obviously polka-dotted that we simply kept her at home for days with a good dose of Peppa Pig and art & craft.We also weathered a big crisis at home, my foot wound not healing right, and general anxiety regarding the Big Move that is happening in less than 6 weeks.
Six weeks!
The movers are coming next Monday to ship my life away in big brown boxes. From now until then, its chaos. Chaos with a capital C. So bear with me while I indulge in wordless pictures.
I guess life happens in spurts too.
On an idllyic rainy Friday cooking stews and waiting for my foot to heal, I feel the urge to revisit this video and share it with you.
Awe-inspiring.
This post is long overdue. As most friends who read this blog already know, I am facing my third cross-continental move. And the repeated postponement of this post pretty much reflects my attitude towards the move- an active denial, a general avoidance, an unwillingness to face the upheaval to come.
If not for a gaping wound on the sole of my foot (necessitated by a dermatologist's suggestion that I remove a suspicious mole), forcing me to slow down, physically and mentally, I might have never written this post. But here I am, hobbling and limping my way around, cursing my doctor, staring at my (6!) stitches, unable to do anything productive except lie in bed....and contemplate the next two months.
Since I married the husband, we have moved together four times: two local moves and two international moves. The upcoming one will be our fifth.
I find it pretty ironic that most of the moves were motivated by the husband, whose innate personality- a loyal, enduring, stable character that generally eschews change- does not exactly lend itself to such disruptions. Where as I, the adventure-loving, fickle, impatient, bored-easily type, have been happy to tag along. Well, most of the time, at least. So in the last couple of years, the husband has had to embrace change, whereas I've realized the value of some stability in life. God works in mysterious ways, I tell ya.
I don't know, maybe its motherhood, which has tired me out and worn me down, or maybe its all the packing and unpacking I've had to do again and again. Whatever it is, just like the Chicago-Singapore move, I'm feeling tons of ambivalence this time around again.
A lot of people exclaim: "Oooooh, so exciting! I'm so happy for you, are you excited?" To which I give a sobering response: "Er, yes, sometimes."
You see, I don't want to be a party-pooper, but I don't want to lie either. The prospect of living and experiencing another culture, another country is always, always exciting. But, and here is a big B U T, our human emotions are never simple, never one-dimensional and never black & white. So although there is anticipation, there is also fear, sadness, trepidation, dread, (a lot of) anxiety......and grief.
Grief? Yes, grief, grief over the losses that I am facing/ will face:
1. The loss of community: Losing the family and friends that I have here in Singapore is painful, no matter how lovely my destination is. We will not able to afford annual trips back this time, so it could be years before I see them again. Which hurts.
2. The loss of my career: I make it no secret that I love my job, and to loose it, just when I was hitting my professional stride, truly sucks. Of course, there will prospects on the other side, but you know, it is bloody exhausting to have to start all over again.
3. The loss of the familiar: No matter how I grumble about the inadequancies of this country, it is my hometown after all. There is nothing like the land in which you were born and raised. There is this comfort, this security, this easy-ness to living in the place you know so well. The simple details of knowing where to go for your favourite meal, which skincare product works in this weather, where to find a reliable pediatrician, these are things we take for granted, and only realize when we are 16,000 miles away from home.
But, and here is a big B U T, we are no strangers to this process, and we now know what we need to do to enjoy this transition.
Because there is no beginning without an end, no meaningful beginning without an equally meaningful end.
(Top 3 lessons of moving in the next post!)
My uncle Harris & I are exactly 50 years apart. I was born in early November, and he in late November.
Growing up as an only child, he was frequently my only companion when both parents were at work. He walked me to school, bought me lunch, assisted me with school projects and taught me how to love cats. Sometimes, he would willingly keep mum as I fibbed to my parents. If I remember correctly, he helped me hide medicine that I didn't want to take. Yup, he was my accomplice in crime. And I loved him for it. To 8- year-old me, he was cool.
There are two generations between him and Eva, exactly 79 years' difference. He is still cool in his own way. I hope my daughter will remember her grand-uncle.
When the husband was away I was in charge of planning Eva's itinerary, i.e. various ways to keep her happy and occupied so I can enjoy some peace.
Wait, who am I kidding, even when the husband is around, I inevitably take on the Minister of Internal Affairs role, which includes planning playdates, buying presents, suggesting new activities, maintaining the family calendar, nagging everyone to hurry up etcetera, etcetera... You get the idea. A quick survey with my mommy friends indicates that this is the prevailing norm, that the female in the family (un)consciously takes on this role, sometimes to much aplomb, other times, to much resentment. Me, I vacillate between the two.
Last weekend, I actually approached this task with great gusto, surfing mommy blogs to get a new idea. I also had a bit more courage, as I had an extra pair of hands around, (Eva's dotting grandmother.) more hands to lift her up and away in case she throws one of her majestic tantrums.
So off we went to Petite Park at the deserted Changi City Point, bright and early. We were the second ones in, Eva was ecstatic, I had my hour of wandering around alone with a Starbucks latte in hand. Worth every dollar of the $18 entry fee (good for 2 hours).
When I joined in, I got myself into some sticky playground parent-to-parent interaction when Eva first attempted to befriend some fellow toddlers, and then later, pushed an elder girl. Tricky stuff this is. How much apology is enough apology? How friendly should one be? Should we ask about personal details? What do you do if another child sneezes into your kid's face? What if your child was bullied? Should you ever reprimand another person's child?
Stuff for another post altogether.
