Today marks a full three weeks since I got ill. I haven't gotten on the weighing scale for a few days now, so I don't know how much weight I've lost in total, but last count was 7kg.
It's day 3 of the antibiotics, I've passed the halfway mark. I managed to have a proper meal last night. I even managed to make it down to have dinner with everybody else. Achievement. I was so damn happy.
I slept through the night and didn't wake up starving every three hours like I have been. Achievement.
Everything was going really well until about lunchtime today. My stomach got uneasy again, I got really drowsy, and it was a huge blow to me.
I did the idiotic thing of Googling for other people's experience with Giardiasis. That was horrifying. People saying it never goes away, antibiotics didn't work...
Shite.
Julien came home and I was a mess. Crying about how I'm not feeling good, how I'm terrified the antibiotics won't work, how I can't have this keep happening every few months...
I honestly don't know how he's handled me these past three weeks. One of the reasons why it's been so tough on me is because of my emetophobia. Thanks to that, anything to do with my tummy makes me more anxious than it would someone who isn't emetophobic, and rule one of any tummy issue - DO NOT GET STRESSED. IT MAKES IT WORSE.
On top of that, Giardiasis makes you more emotional than you'd normally be because the parasites starve your body of nutrients. Really doesn't help that I'm emotional to begin with.
I am getting better. I can feel it. I'm definitely not messing about though. I'm going for tests after I'm done with the antibiotics to make sure these parasites are gone for good. I am not going through this again.
I think I feel guilty as well because it's my mother's birthday, and she wanted to have dinner out tonight but I got this immense craving for Chicken Rice so we're staying home and having that for dinner instead.
I just want this to be over with. I hate that it feels like I take one step forward and two steps back. I just want to keep moving forward.
I also hate that we have no idea where this came from. It's making me very paranoid.
The antibiotics are giving me this disgusting metallic taste in my mouth. Gross.
Stay healthy, guys. Seriously.
Thursday, 2 May 2013
Thursday, 14 February 2013
There's a grief that can't be spoken, there's a pain that goes on and on...
In June 2010, I married my husband. Quite a few family members flew up to London from Singapore to be a part of the festivities. Among them, my grandmother - Jiddah - and two aunts - Aunty Yah & Aunty Noor. Between September 2011 and February 2013, my family lost all three of these amazing women to cancer.
I wasn't in Singapore for any of the deaths, but did see each of them a few weeks before their passing. All three women played a huge role in my life, they were all mums to me. They were a significant part of my lives. They guided me, protected me, fed me and most of all, they loved me unconditionally. They welcomed Julien into their lives with open arms. I am forever in their debt for everything they've helped me with as I grew up.
Aunty Noor's death has hit me the hardest. I was so unprepared - when I found out, I thought it was a cruel joke. She was meant to survive this, she was meant to pull through.
Aunty Noor used to tell us that we'd all take care of her when she retired and enjoyed those years, and not one of her (many) nephews and nieces would have grumbled at that. She was so loved.
When I was younger I used to get major separation anxiety. I hated being apart from my mum, especially at bedtime. When we had sleepovers at my cousin's place, I'd sneak into Aunty Noor's bedroom when everyone was asleep and climb into bed with her. It was the only way I could fall asleep. It was the only way I'd feel safe.
She was my first Valentine. Every year she would give us personalised gifts that she made herself. She never forgot a birthday.
When I broke my leg, Aunty Noor stayed in the hospital with me when my mum couldn't. She took advantage of me being immobilised to slather creams and lotions on my face. When they finally let me out of bed after a few days and was taking a dump in the bathroom, she found it hilarious that I had to do so with my broken leg on the dustbin, so she took a picture and emailed it to everybody. I had no idea until I was on a cousin's PC a few years later and saw the photograph.
She used to bite my nose as a child, and when I was older she told me she only did that to one nephew and one niece - her favourites. As I grew up and got taller than her, I loved hugging her. I loved trying to make her feel as safe as she made me feel when I was a kid.
I never doubted that she loved me.
I feel like my heart has been ripped out then shoved back in my chest three times, and each time I lose a piece of it. Now there's something wrong. It doesn't feel right, and it just constantly hurts.
It hurts that none of them will see my kids. They used to tell me how excited they would be when I finally have children. It physically hurts my heart to think about it.
It just hurts. Everything hurts. It hurts to look at my mum and think about how she must be feeling. It hurts to think of my Jiddah Yon (grandaunt) who's lost her sister, daughter-in-law, and now her daughter. I want to take all their pain away. If I could, I'd take it all, I'd bear the load for them if it meant I could stop the tears.
I don't know what I'm meant to do. Sometimes I feel like these past 17 months can't have happened. Life can't be that damn cruel. Right? Then I go back to Singapore, and they're not there. The 'welcome home' hugs that I always looked forward to are gone. The comfort meals they used to cook for us, the laughs as we sat around the table teasing each other, the holidays, the good times... They're all just memories now. Memories that make me smile in remembrance, but that make me bawl because I will never have new ones to add to the collection.
My grandmother's death pushed my mind towards television, it became my escape from reality. It was the only way I could deal. Us cousins bonded over a show that we'd discuss in a Whatsapp group weekly, that we'd rewatch together, that we'd quote lines from... I can't speak for them, but I would be broken without it.
Is that sad? I don't think so. We all deal in different ways, this is my way.
The pain doesn't go away. 17 months on, there are still nights where I stay up crying because I miss my Jiddah. I've just learnt to live with it. I've learnt how to stop myself from bursting into tears in public when something reminds me of them. But I still feel my heart crumble when I find something they gave me, or see an old picture.
Right now, when it's all fresh, I'm not in control as much. I try my best to stay upbeat in front of everyone because I don't want to make them cry. I choose to be strong for them. Then I get home, climb in bed, curl up into a ball and can't stop myself from cursing the world, from wanting to escape my life.
So please allow me some time to have not so pleasant tweets and spam your Instagram timeline with pictures of my beautiful aunt. I don't mean to be a nuisance, I just can't believe she's gone.
Finally, please join me in saying a huge FUCK YOU to cancer.
Thank you.
I wasn't in Singapore for any of the deaths, but did see each of them a few weeks before their passing. All three women played a huge role in my life, they were all mums to me. They were a significant part of my lives. They guided me, protected me, fed me and most of all, they loved me unconditionally. They welcomed Julien into their lives with open arms. I am forever in their debt for everything they've helped me with as I grew up.
Aunty Noor's death has hit me the hardest. I was so unprepared - when I found out, I thought it was a cruel joke. She was meant to survive this, she was meant to pull through.
Aunty Noor used to tell us that we'd all take care of her when she retired and enjoyed those years, and not one of her (many) nephews and nieces would have grumbled at that. She was so loved.
When I was younger I used to get major separation anxiety. I hated being apart from my mum, especially at bedtime. When we had sleepovers at my cousin's place, I'd sneak into Aunty Noor's bedroom when everyone was asleep and climb into bed with her. It was the only way I could fall asleep. It was the only way I'd feel safe.
She was my first Valentine. Every year she would give us personalised gifts that she made herself. She never forgot a birthday.
When I broke my leg, Aunty Noor stayed in the hospital with me when my mum couldn't. She took advantage of me being immobilised to slather creams and lotions on my face. When they finally let me out of bed after a few days and was taking a dump in the bathroom, she found it hilarious that I had to do so with my broken leg on the dustbin, so she took a picture and emailed it to everybody. I had no idea until I was on a cousin's PC a few years later and saw the photograph.
She used to bite my nose as a child, and when I was older she told me she only did that to one nephew and one niece - her favourites. As I grew up and got taller than her, I loved hugging her. I loved trying to make her feel as safe as she made me feel when I was a kid.
I never doubted that she loved me.
I feel like my heart has been ripped out then shoved back in my chest three times, and each time I lose a piece of it. Now there's something wrong. It doesn't feel right, and it just constantly hurts.
It hurts that none of them will see my kids. They used to tell me how excited they would be when I finally have children. It physically hurts my heart to think about it.
It just hurts. Everything hurts. It hurts to look at my mum and think about how she must be feeling. It hurts to think of my Jiddah Yon (grandaunt) who's lost her sister, daughter-in-law, and now her daughter. I want to take all their pain away. If I could, I'd take it all, I'd bear the load for them if it meant I could stop the tears.
I don't know what I'm meant to do. Sometimes I feel like these past 17 months can't have happened. Life can't be that damn cruel. Right? Then I go back to Singapore, and they're not there. The 'welcome home' hugs that I always looked forward to are gone. The comfort meals they used to cook for us, the laughs as we sat around the table teasing each other, the holidays, the good times... They're all just memories now. Memories that make me smile in remembrance, but that make me bawl because I will never have new ones to add to the collection.
My grandmother's death pushed my mind towards television, it became my escape from reality. It was the only way I could deal. Us cousins bonded over a show that we'd discuss in a Whatsapp group weekly, that we'd rewatch together, that we'd quote lines from... I can't speak for them, but I would be broken without it.
Is that sad? I don't think so. We all deal in different ways, this is my way.
The pain doesn't go away. 17 months on, there are still nights where I stay up crying because I miss my Jiddah. I've just learnt to live with it. I've learnt how to stop myself from bursting into tears in public when something reminds me of them. But I still feel my heart crumble when I find something they gave me, or see an old picture.
Right now, when it's all fresh, I'm not in control as much. I try my best to stay upbeat in front of everyone because I don't want to make them cry. I choose to be strong for them. Then I get home, climb in bed, curl up into a ball and can't stop myself from cursing the world, from wanting to escape my life.
So please allow me some time to have not so pleasant tweets and spam your Instagram timeline with pictures of my beautiful aunt. I don't mean to be a nuisance, I just can't believe she's gone.
Finally, please join me in saying a huge FUCK YOU to cancer.
Thank you.
Tuesday, 15 January 2013
Holding On.
I'm not a hoarder. Far from it. Well, I'd like to think so anyway. I'd be lying though if I said there was nothing in my life that I hold on to for certain sentimental reasons.
For example - I have kept pretty much every card or letter that the husband has given me throughout the seven years we've been together. I most definitely am a sap that hoards all that... stuff. (Yes, I was going to say crap JUST TO RHYME but I sensed nagging would be imminent so...)
Last night I was just lying in bed trying to fall asleep when it hit me that there are things in my life I keep around not for sentimental reasons - but because it's a symbol of something, whether it's a symbol of where I came from or a symbol of a dream I had when I acquired that object. Let's concentrate on the latter.
Should I keep that object around? Why do I hold onto it so tight - because I still think the dream's a possibility or because I know it's impossible but can't admit it to myself? It gets even harder when the object itself is something you've always dreamed of owning, like a dream car for example. If you admit to yourself that you're not going to get that dream, unfortunately it means you have to give up that dream object, and what's worse you also have to deal with the fact that you'll probably never get that dream object back.
Nobody likes to admit their failings. It's even worse when those failings are going to pretty much be advertised. "Why did you sell it? Wasn't it your dream (insert object here)?" But how far do you let it go before you realise that your pride is just going to end up hurting you?
So you suck it up and give up the dream, and that beautiful object that's been making you hold on to that dream. And you admit to yourself that you were stupid for thinking you could ever achieve that dream. This is as good as it gets. You just have to learn to live with it.
For example - I have kept pretty much every card or letter that the husband has given me throughout the seven years we've been together. I most definitely am a sap that hoards all that... stuff. (Yes, I was going to say crap JUST TO RHYME but I sensed nagging would be imminent so...)
Last night I was just lying in bed trying to fall asleep when it hit me that there are things in my life I keep around not for sentimental reasons - but because it's a symbol of something, whether it's a symbol of where I came from or a symbol of a dream I had when I acquired that object. Let's concentrate on the latter.
Should I keep that object around? Why do I hold onto it so tight - because I still think the dream's a possibility or because I know it's impossible but can't admit it to myself? It gets even harder when the object itself is something you've always dreamed of owning, like a dream car for example. If you admit to yourself that you're not going to get that dream, unfortunately it means you have to give up that dream object, and what's worse you also have to deal with the fact that you'll probably never get that dream object back.
Nobody likes to admit their failings. It's even worse when those failings are going to pretty much be advertised. "Why did you sell it? Wasn't it your dream (insert object here)?" But how far do you let it go before you realise that your pride is just going to end up hurting you?
So you suck it up and give up the dream, and that beautiful object that's been making you hold on to that dream. And you admit to yourself that you were stupid for thinking you could ever achieve that dream. This is as good as it gets. You just have to learn to live with it.
Monday, 14 January 2013
Les Miserables... Mostly gushing, with some ranting.
If you follow me on any sort of social media, you would have no doubt seen my rants because Les Mis was released mid January here in England when basically every other country got to watch it on Boxing Day. That being said, I didn't have to become a recluse because (a) spoilers were not an issue and (b) I pretty much already knew which actors were going to bomb. That being said, I present my review.
The family went to watch it the day it came out - first showing at our local cinema. We live in a small village. Apart from us, the cinema was filled with 60 year olds. It was about 50-70% full. Let's run through my family shall we:
It was gritty, flowed well, the new song actually fit, and overall just blew my mind. Do I have complaints? Of course. But my complaints are limited to casting choices and the way one song was performed in particular. I have absolutely no complaints about how the movie was put together. It. Was. Brilliant.
I was in tears pretty much throughout the movie. It started as soon as Colm Wilkinson appeared as the bishop. Why? Colm IS Jean Valjean. Seeing him in the Les Mis movie 27 years after the debut in the West End... There are no words. Of course then it continues because it's just a really sad movie. Let's face it. Even the few happy parts makes you cry. Then Russell Crowe and Amanda Seyfried started singing and I just kept crying because I just wanted them to stop.
Hey, Amanda Seyfried did well in Mamma Mia. I have no doubt she can carry a tune. But it takes a certain kind of voice to play Cosette and while I commend her for trying, she just ended up sounding like a kettle. It wasn't nice to hear. At all.
Then again, anything's better than Russell Crowe. You look at him and he's Javert. You hear him speak, and he's Javert. But then he sings. And you pray for him to stop. There were parts where I thought he didn't sound THAT bad, but then I realised those were the times he was basically talking in tune and if he managed to mess that up, then really, they probably wouldn't have cast him. I mean, Hadley Fraser was in the damn movie! I've never seen a better Javert! Why was he just an army officer?!
As for Hugh Jackman & Anne Hathaway - they did well. My only complaint is how Hugh performed 'Bring Him Home'. It's one of my favourite songs from Les Mis, and I wouldn't call myself an expert - but that is NOT how it's meant to be sung. I'm sorry. The best performance of it I've ever heard to this day was Alfie Boe's, and Colm's is a very close second. THAT'S how it's meant to be sung. I was very, very disappointed. I wasn't too happy when Jackman & Hathaway were cast, but they impressed me. I still feel they could have gotten people from within the theatre community who would have done better, but I understand why they cast them.
The stars of the show, in my opinion, were Samantha Barks, Eddie Redmayne & Aaron Tveit. No words. Just amazing. And guess what?! Theatre folk! GASP! I've seen Samantha live and let me tell you, she's brilliant.
Special mention to young Cosette & Gavroche - their performances were mindblowing.
All in all, I'd give it a 9 out of 10. I have no doubt I'm going to be watching it again, and again, and again...
To end, all I have to say is, "To love another person is to see the face of Colm Wilkinson."
The family went to watch it the day it came out - first showing at our local cinema. We live in a small village. Apart from us, the cinema was filled with 60 year olds. It was about 50-70% full. Let's run through my family shall we:
- Me - Theatre & TV nut.
- Julien - Relatively new to an obsession with theatre & TV, but has always been obsessed with movies.
- Dina - Theatre & TV nut.
- Azril - Hmmmm. I'd say not really obsessed with theatre or TV but actively enjoys them.
- Salma - Everyone was watching the movie, so there was nobody to babysit her. She does enjoy what she wathes though.
- Mother - The woman who got us obsessed with theatre.
- Sara - Theatre & TV nut, but she doesn't really understand a lot that goes on in what she watches.
- Father - The dad version of Sara.
It was gritty, flowed well, the new song actually fit, and overall just blew my mind. Do I have complaints? Of course. But my complaints are limited to casting choices and the way one song was performed in particular. I have absolutely no complaints about how the movie was put together. It. Was. Brilliant.
I was in tears pretty much throughout the movie. It started as soon as Colm Wilkinson appeared as the bishop. Why? Colm IS Jean Valjean. Seeing him in the Les Mis movie 27 years after the debut in the West End... There are no words. Of course then it continues because it's just a really sad movie. Let's face it. Even the few happy parts makes you cry. Then Russell Crowe and Amanda Seyfried started singing and I just kept crying because I just wanted them to stop.
Hey, Amanda Seyfried did well in Mamma Mia. I have no doubt she can carry a tune. But it takes a certain kind of voice to play Cosette and while I commend her for trying, she just ended up sounding like a kettle. It wasn't nice to hear. At all.
Then again, anything's better than Russell Crowe. You look at him and he's Javert. You hear him speak, and he's Javert. But then he sings. And you pray for him to stop. There were parts where I thought he didn't sound THAT bad, but then I realised those were the times he was basically talking in tune and if he managed to mess that up, then really, they probably wouldn't have cast him. I mean, Hadley Fraser was in the damn movie! I've never seen a better Javert! Why was he just an army officer?!
As for Hugh Jackman & Anne Hathaway - they did well. My only complaint is how Hugh performed 'Bring Him Home'. It's one of my favourite songs from Les Mis, and I wouldn't call myself an expert - but that is NOT how it's meant to be sung. I'm sorry. The best performance of it I've ever heard to this day was Alfie Boe's, and Colm's is a very close second. THAT'S how it's meant to be sung. I was very, very disappointed. I wasn't too happy when Jackman & Hathaway were cast, but they impressed me. I still feel they could have gotten people from within the theatre community who would have done better, but I understand why they cast them.
The stars of the show, in my opinion, were Samantha Barks, Eddie Redmayne & Aaron Tveit. No words. Just amazing. And guess what?! Theatre folk! GASP! I've seen Samantha live and let me tell you, she's brilliant.
Special mention to young Cosette & Gavroche - their performances were mindblowing.
All in all, I'd give it a 9 out of 10. I have no doubt I'm going to be watching it again, and again, and again...
To end, all I have to say is, "To love another person is to see the face of Colm Wilkinson."
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