Little joys

It took me a while to realise it, but I'm still holding on to a lot of anger about time gone by.  Up until last night, I was raw, seething.  

Sadness is bad.  Denial is painful.  But sometimes, I feel like anger is the worst possible feeling for the human heart.  Anger has all the undercurrents of betrayal, fear, humiliation and mistrust that plain sadness lacks.  And unlike pure grief, it eats, from the inside out.  

This morning, I woke up.  It had rained all night.  A torrential thunderstorm to a quieter prickle.  The world was quiet.  The delicate beige of a washed out eggshell.  The sun was taking a slow shine.  I tested my weight on my emotions.  They held, and I felt all right.

Just like that, the new year felt like a good place to start letting go. 

My father sent out a Tennyson poem to friends and family this December and one line kept crashing around in my head: "The year is going, let him go;/ Ring out the false, ring in the true".  Let him go, indeed.  

Today at coffee, my friend Dawn and I discussed failed relationships.  "You have to remember," she said, "that things didn't happen because of you.  They happened because the other person is who he is, right down to the core, and nothing is going to change that.  It's not your fault."

We spend a lot of time hurting ourselves with playbacks, with hurt and indignation, with beating ourselves up over things we cannot change.  Why not just stop?  Slowly, even though it will be difficult, it's time to gently unloose the claws of all the rage, even, especially the anger I have against myself.  I can't change anything about the situation, but I can try, little by little, to work on how I feel.  

I don't doubt that there'll be good days and bad days.  Scratch that.  Downright horrible days of tears and struggle and loathing.  But I can do the work.  And being thankful for little joys - like the fact that the day involved skyping with one of my best friends, Becky -  is not a bad start.

A couple nights ago, I went over to my friend Ben's place.  This is the cat he shares with a Amanda - a blind-in-one-eye Persian, Crumbs.

Crumbs is docile and friendly, but I really took to Rusty, a little orange rascal who reminded me of Chip because of his curiosity and mischief.

Amanda's carefully placed decor never stood a chance.

In the end, height won out.

New Yankee Candle from my friend Sook.  It smells just like a good vanilla sugar cookie!

Last night, I cut myself pretty badly.  You might not believe it, but as I was bending down to pick something up, I shuffled my feet and kicked my hand with my own foot.  The side of my thumb got sliced open by my toenail, a move both gross and bizarre.

Remember when Burnol used to look like mustard paste and stain everyone's scabs a noxious yellow?  At least it still smells the same.

My coffee outfit, except I didn't really wear the cardigan.  I brought it with me but we sat outdoors.  Sometimes I just like to pretend Singapore is colder than it is for just a split second.

First latte of the year and my gorgeous friend, Dawn.  Every time I take Dawn's picture, I'm like, "Dawn.  You are so hot," and she gets annoyed and shushes me.  Well.  She can't do anything about this.

Me with my favourite delicate silver necklace.

And my greatest joy of all:

Brand new year, same old Chip.