Effort

There's just something about Scrubs I like very much. Yes, it's old and passe, but still.

I think it's the way they manage to squeeze cheesy life lessons into the plots, with the effect that after watching enough of it, you definitely would come across an episode that reaches out and hammers a specific lesson home.

Tonight, it's the lesson that "Nothing that's ever worth having comes easily", delivered by Dr Bob Kelso of all people.

Yeap, it's probably just more hogwash to you. It's just "Easy come easy go" reworded, you protest, it's nothing much.

But sometimes it's the obvious things we overlook, and sometimes we are reminded of them in the queerest of ways.

Mr. Snuffles

07

You squeal with delight when you first lay eyes on me, and I reciprocate by falling in love with you instantly.

How does one ever forget an image like that? Of you running up to me, laughing as you wrestle me away from your mother’s outstretched hands. You are a sight, a little girl of 7 struggling to hold me up, when I’m almost half your size.

You fuss over me, and I can’t help but preen myself as you heap endearments on me. You gush about how my tail is frizzy, how I’ve got the softest fur, how my button eyes are already speaking volumes to you.

I think it’s in the way you hold me. It’s in the way you laugh, a hearty, innocent laugh that fills the house with warmth. I can’t help it if you inspire trust in me so very easily.

I stay awake that first night, just to watch you sleep. Time just doesn’t seem to flow anymore, and the bedside clock has the courtesy and good manners to signal her ticks softer. By the moonlight you look so very, very perfect.

You can’t hear me, but I’m holding on to you with my paws and I’m promising you, over and over again, that I will always be there to soothe away your pains, to comfort and guide you as best I can.

I belong to you, already.

14

I sit in your lap contentedly, as you scribble furiously away in your diary. Your tears are still hot against my fur, but they do not bother me.

You hold me up to let me see what you have written. I can’t read, so you say it aloud for me. I’m telling you to stop, that apologies aren’t necessary, but you go on anyway (you’ve always been stubborn!).

I’m trying to say, I understand. I know you wanted to seem like a big girl in front of your friends, especially around the boy you have a crush on. So I understand that when they found me on your bed and asked who I was, you casually said I was just some soft toy, like I didn’t matter to you.

You start crying again, burying your face in my side. I know you have recorded this incident in your diary so that you will never forget how important I am to you, but you know why it’s not necessary?

It’s because you have spent these past 7 years by my side constantly. I’m your confidante, your closest friend. You have shared your deepest secrets with me, and have always felt renewed with the silent companionship I offer. You have given me more than I could ask for, and now it is my turn to do something for you.

If what you need is space, to grow closer to your other friends, take it. Do not feel guilty about it. Love is letting go too, yes? I’m glad enough to know I can always cheer you up, make you happy. So, shoo!

21

You pick me up, squeal my name, and hug me tight, for the first time in months. And that’s when I know today’s the day you make your choice.

You have been deconstructing your room lately, packing it all up into little brown boxes. Some boxes are shoved into your wardrobe, but others are adorned with bright air-mail stickers and moved into the hallway.

You’re about to leave for a study program overseas, and I wonder which kind of box I will end up in. I’ve tried to ask you gently for some time, but you don’t really talk to me anymore.

I hate to admit it, but I miss you holding me to sleep.

Twice this past year you have let me comfort you, once when you fell out with your parents, and another when you failed a class test. Twice this past year did I feel needed, wanted again.

And twice this past year did I feel ashamed of myself, for being so selfish. For I have seen what an alluring, confident, successful woman you have become, and I know that asking you to love me like you did years ago, would only hold you back.

I’m proud of the way you are handling most problems on your own now. I’m proud of the close friendships you have cultivated with others. I’m proud of the way you stand on your own two feet, independent, strong.

My heart still aches, sometimes, when I see that you really do need me less, but I understand. It is necessary. I’m just not what you need now.

You slip me into a box, and slowly tape up the opening. I know then that you won’t be bringing me with you, for the rest of the box is filled with an assortment of oddities you won’t be needing overseas.

You confirm my suspicions when you shift the box a short distance, and then close the wardrobe door. As the sounds of you packing continue to filter in, I slowly let go of the hope I’ve been nursing in the bowels of my heart, and it floats away like the morning mist.

35 / 07

The sunlight hurts my eyes, as the lid of the box is pried away. There's a strange male voice in the background, and he wants me thrown out.

You do not listen (you never did!), and instead you lift me out and hug me. You have aged, my angel. There's a certain gauntness to your face I did not think possible before. What storms have you weathered without me?

It's a warm, familiar hug, one that I've not felt in 14 years. I hug you back instinctively, with love I've bottled up for so long, and I regret it at once. It hurts the very second that you disengage just a little too hastily, because I know you no longer feel the same about me.

"Mummy! Who is he!" I turn to see a younger you on the bed, jumping in excitement. She has your eyes, your hair, and most importantly your warmth. Before you can react, she has grabbed me away from you.

She engulfs me in a hug, defiantly staring you down. You disapprove, saying that I’m unclean (I take umbrage at that!), but she doesn't seem to hear you (it runs in the family!). She demands that you let her keep me.

I hesitate.

My heart's in pieces as it is. Can I really go through all this again? Of caring for her, living a life with her, only to see her grow up and walk away, just like you did? You have no idea how painful it is, to love someone with all your being, and then to realize one day that your love is simply not wanted anymore.

That's when she kisses me.

Despite what the male voice says about my thinning fur and loose stitches, despite what you say about me being old and dusty, despite her knowing that there are a thousand other prettier companions out there, she has kissed me.

"I love you, Mr. Snuffles. Will you be mine?"

I hear those words, and something in me mends. I think it may just be possible… for me to love another again.

Crisis Management

Recently, I did something that can best be summed up as not "thoroughly thought through".

You know the standard operating procedure. When an idea flashes by your mind, you're supposed to evaluate the consequences, and then sleep on it. If you still see things the same way a day later, a week later, then do it. Impulse is often hazardous!

It's not that gut instinct is always wrong. In fact, it's often right. The problem is, gut instinct does not illuminate the best way you can go about doing something. It merely shows you the shortest, most obvious path to your objective.

This quick and dirty route, by its very nature, misses out on the finer nuances or considerations that any person with a positive EQ score would pick up on. Even if you think you're instinctively savvy, trust me, hindsight will put you in your place.

But life doesn't quite play out by the book, does it? Many times we find ourselves pressed to make the best choice in a limited time, or else face paralysis by indecision.

And you will inevitably make a mistake, or perhaps simply not make the best call about something. Then, voila! The mistake may even blossom into a full-blown Richter 8.0 Crisis.

I couldn't help but feel overwhelmed at first, for crises tend to do that. Initially, my mind did nothing but try to grapple with just how big the mess is, and I entertained a thousand useless questions like why did I do it that way and how could I not see a better choice.

But it got better the moment I cleanly excised all the emotional responses, and instead just focused on what I could do next. Given that the ogre of a Crisis had just hit puberty right before my eyes, what options were open to me, what possible courses of action might actually remedy the problem?

And then things got better.

This time around, I spent but an hour anguishing about the Crisis before I sprung into action. I'm improving, after all. One of the small graces in life, it seems.

TOD

It was on some lazy afternoon that I flicked the TV on and caught the opening minutes of ER (George Clooney looked so much younger then!). Now, I had just finished watching Season 2 of House, and was very eager to spot the differences in standards of both shows.

So after the introductory credits rolled, viewers were treated to a scene where this badly maimed child was wheeled in, nurses all screaming, paramedics trying their best to stop the blood squirting out of him.

The doctors played by Clooney and some dude called Anthony Edwards took over quickly, and when they realized the child's heart had stopped, Edwards stuck his hands in his chest and began massaging it. This, unfortunately, went on for an excruciatingly long time.

(After a while)

Clooney: Mark, stop. Just stop.

Edwards: No! Nurse, quick! 10 milligrams of idunnowhatthehellhejustsaid!

(More exciting, 'heart-pumping' moments, hurhurhurhur)

Edwards: Come on damn it! Come on!

Clooney: (grimly, looks at the clock) Stop it Mark. Time Of Death, 1800 hrs, Sunday.....

Edwards: (upon hearing "Time Of Death") Damn it!

Of course, by this time I was almost laughing. I mean, come on! How ridiculous was it for Edwards to keep trying when any doctor could have seen that the child was too far gone? The child had lost so much blood, he had apparantly suffered brain damage too, what was the point?To my mind, Edwards' character was not believable at all, no way.

I turned off the TV, and never thought about that scene until today.

Edwards wasn't exactly wrong, now that I think about it. He was, like any other human being faced with the loss of something dear and precious, was only trying his utmost best to save it.

And he was, like any other human being, sensitive enough to know when it was too far gone, when he had to let go. When false hope no longer did anything but made the pain worse.

He was believable, after all. He has to be believable, right?

After all, I did the same tonight.

Gambling For Love

For all they say about romantic love being a painstakingly crafted monument, about it being more the product of effort than chance, there are many similarities between love and gambling.

Type One: Puppy Love

Puppy love... is akin to amateur gambling. As someone without any experience whatsoever, you tend to plunge ahead of yourself, betting on the first thing that seems to proffer the best chances. Your bets are either too large or too small, you're not sure how to play your hand, you make mistakes. If you win, good for you. If you lose, burnt by your experience you withdraw from gambling altogether, swearing "never again!"

The more cautious ones would look on from the sides, nervously fingering their betting money and hoping to learn a thing or two from the experienced gamblers in the field. But watch all you want, there are only so many lessons you can learn from the sidelines.

Think... lottery ticket buying, or betting on soccer teams you've never heard of.

Type Two, Subspecies A: Casual, Flippant, Guilt-free Love

What do amateur gamblers mature into? One type is this, the sufficiently well-off gambler who is naturally immune from the agony and woes of losing. It is his luxury, his privilege to flit from game to game, playing whatever takes his fancy at the moment, without worrying about the repercussions or consequences. He delights not so much in the outsmarting of each individual game, but in the conquering of as many games as he can.

Either that or gambling is nothing but a distraction for him, a way to while away the hours as he focusses on the other things in life. If you perchance happen to scream at him in frustration, questioning his cavalier approach to gambling, do not be taken aback if he simply responds with "I do it because I can".

Think... the high rollers who gamble for the momentary thrills, and who never are quite perturbed if they lose.

Type Two, Subspecies B: Cautious, Indulgent, Exclusive Love

After weathering a few storms of your own, losing and winning in more or less equal proportions, you finally begin to develop some technique, some style to your play. You know what games of chance you prefer, where your skills lie, and you calculate odds to a much more refined degree than you ever were capable of before. Even when you think you've find the game that suits you best, that thrills you like no other game can, you still tread cautiously. Painful lessons from the past still linger.

Enter the experienced gambler. You're the one the casinos watch out for, the one card shark who knows what he's doing and does it well. When you finally do settle on a game you fancy, you're not there because you feel lucky. It's because you know what your odds are. Lost the first few rounds? No matter. You bet on, knowing that the odds have to turn in your favour soon. And when they do, you start earning big.

But as with all gambling, you inevitably have to take a certain amount of risk. You're not here to gamble for fun, you're here to gamble for keeps. And the only way to do that is to gamble everything, bet all that you have. You push all your chips towards the banker, seeking comfort in the knowledge that all your calculations have led you down this path.

Who knows how the dice will roll? When you bet big, when you give all you have, you either gain the world or you lose everything. That's how the game goes.

Think... poker, or other high stakes games of calculated chance.

Conclusion

Gambling with spare cash is fun. Gambling with cash you need for something, isn't. You've got to figure out just how much you can afford to lose, really. And my advice is, even when you go for broke, thinking you can win it all, always, always keep an extra $20 or so in your shoes or something.

For gambling is a caprice, an unruly creature of chance. And when the banker grins and pulls your chips towards him, you're left standing there cold, like a fool. One moment you have it all... and the next, when you don't, you'll be glad for that $20 to go home with.

Farewell

I hope one day I'll find the words to explain things to you. Until then, I thank you for all the love and concern you've had for me, till the very end.

Sometimes things just click and happen. Sometimes, they don't. In any case, chapters close and open all the time.

As you said, 5 years ago we were but strangers... we'll be friends 5 years from now, won't we?

Forgive

Emotions overwhelm me. I try to press on, to distract myself, but it's not easy.

I've just spoken words I'd never thought I'll hear myself say. Sometimes, at night, when it's so quiet you can practically hear yourself think, I've thought this all through a thousand times, always to the same conclusion.

Yet, barely a few hours later, you're awash again in a sea of doubt and indecision.

I've said it, and although I thought for a while I could just bounce about, sing a frog song or two and take it all back, I guess I can't.

I wish I were older and wiser, stronger, with more spirit and resolve. I wish I had done everything differently, and not have to look back and regret all the stupid things I did, or omitted to do. If there's anything I am clear about, it's the certainty, in my heart of hearts, that I'm the one to blame.

I'm so very sorry.

Be A Man...

Another stab at tackling the great unknowns of life, at 5 am in the morning. Haha, bye-bye body clock.

I've always been taught to do the right thing. After a certain point I no longer needed my parents by my side to remind me - every conscious action on my part reflected a sincere desire to simply do what was right.

Most of the time, temptation was kept at bay by the glowing satisfaction of knowing I had made the better choice. For example, I never had problems returning money I had found, I've never cheated in a test, I've never torn a page out of a library book.

But has it occurred to you, that as you grow older it gets harder and harder to do the right thing?

Perhaps it is because the morally right choices are often made at one's expense. And as you mature you realize that no one's there to protect your interests for you - it's often a one man show. If you yourself don't seek what's best for you, who will?

Recently, I discovered that a friend was undergoing punishment for misplacing his belongings. Somehow, it had gotten lost a few months back, and for the life of him he had been unable to locate it. Into thin air, it had gone.

That night, on the spur of the moment, I decided to check my cabinet to see if his belongings were with me. The logical part of me acknowledged the low probability, but there was something at the back of my mind, nagging away at me...

Lo and behold. His items were actually with me.

I will gloss over the pros and cons of confessing. In the end though, after almost 2 sleepless hours in bed, I messaged him and apologized profusely, taking all responsibility for my honest mistake. Fortunately, there was a happy ending. Of sorts.

And tonight, yes, just tonight, I had to make just such another choice.

It was a choice that messed my insides up completely, keeping me awake until now. I will always remember pacing my room, asking myself why should I not be selfish and just do what I wanted. The morally right choice suddenly seemed too exacting, too painful to make.

I almost succumbed. I almost made a choice that I am sure I would be ashamed of in time to come. In the end, as heart-rending as it was, I made the better choice.

The dust's slowly settling. How will things turn out? Will it all be worth it in the end? What if I realize, a few months down the road, that I was much better off just watching out for myself, instead of always having to keep others in mind?

If you haven't been to such a crossroads before in your life, I wish you strength of resolution and clearness of mind. For it is then that you will see, truly, how difficult it is to -

"Be a man, do the right thing."