chucking a wobbly

April 22, 2007

They say building a house is one of the most stressful experiences one can have – second only to divorce. Not to make any excuses but there were a number of extenuating factors that ultimately led to my unfortunate outburst. Long story short i should have probably “deeped breathley” and turned down my decibel levels.

Stepping back – i probably should have done it a bit differently. Their fault (and deservedly or not) i am toying with the possibility of offering an apology for my misconduct. Unfortunately for them, timing is everything and bystanders (innocent or not) easily enough become collateral damage. Still it would have certainly helped if the person at the other end of the line was a bit more gracious rather than egregious and cantankerous.

To my credit, it has been a while since my last episode and given my genetic predisposition this was nowhere near as visceral as the one then. And here i thought i had been mellowing with age (perhaps even maturing) or maybe even gaining composure as a father of a precocious, young child. I guess i must just get myself back on the wagon and keep on working on my equanimity – for everyone’s sake.

death and distance

April 14, 2007

My wife’s nana passed away recently and it reminded me that my lola hasn’t been with us for over a year now. I regret that neither of us had the opportunity to see them off and probably grieve accordingly. It really didn’t make much sense and the timing and logistics in both cases were difficult at best. Not that either would stick around anyway – for surely they are in a much better place. I like to think that at least both of them got to see my son even if if he was still relatively young.

Somehow you would think you might have missed them more (or perhaps felt worse or even sadder). My own excuse is that as part of coping with repatriation one tends to build a layer of insulation. Not to be cold or turn your back on your history but simply as a practical measure to be able to manage on a day-to-day basis and not miss home so terribly much (with the exception of the rare and fleeting indulgence of nostalgia). We are , after all, too busy with the pressing matters that comprise our activity-filled here and now.

All our families are already looking forward to our homecoming this Christmas. Short of counting the days, we are utterly convinced we will get get there come hell, high water and exorbitant airfares (even in spite of the precariousness of making bookings and securing travel arrangements this soon). I wonder though if were in for a mixed-mood-ed return – and it will only hit us then when we return and that we will only just then realise what we have really lost.