It's been a while. I know posts have been quite sporadic and I must thank you if you are one of those who keep checking back. Personally I use a feeds service because of the large number of blogs I read, but enough people disable their feeds for me to remember how painful it is to have to check back for new entries.
Not too long ago there was an interview with Li Lin in the papers. I have never particularly liked her but this time she said something that I quite agree with.
"Yes, I have an opinion and I'm not always all that interested in expressing it but since you asked, I'll tell you."
That pretty much sums up how I feel recently. It's not like I lost all my opinions overnight, just that I don't feel like expressing them anymore.
Last week, I unwillingly went to a new hairstylist for the first time in 11 years. My hair was growing out into a long mess and I desperately needed a trim but for 2 months I couldn't get an appointment with my regular stylist. Every time I called the salon, they said she's still on medical leave. So I had to break my own rule on not calling her after work hours and I texted her to see what was wrong. Frivolously I thought it was probably due to a difficult pregnancy but boy was I wrong. She was actually on chemotherapy for breast cancer.
How do I describe to you the pain I felt for her? It was not just because I had a cancer scare myself, but because she's my friend and it is the last thing I imagine would happen to her.
For over a decade, we bonded over hairstyling equipment and my unruly fine hair. She was just two years older than me. I saw her through one divorce, two marriages and the birth of two beautiful children. She saw me through my university days, bad jobs and numerous boyfriends. In a sense, we grew up together. I told her I'm not changing hairstylist ever; she said she'd cut my hair for me at her house if ever she quits to become a tai-tai. She lamented that her neck has grown longer while waiting for me to get married; I told her to shut up and bring up her son well so that he can be a viable option for my daughter.
It's scary to think that all these can be snatched from us in a heartbeat. Her texts show a quiet determination to fight and get well. I told her I wish there's more I can do but there's really nothing except to hope for the best, as well as to be starkly reminded of the fragility of our own mortalities.
Anyway, for someone who professes to want to say less, I have contradicted myself. Ah well.
Just one more thing. Keep writing L. I'm reading.
No comments:
Post a Comment