Not too long ago, I made a deal with my mom. A scary deal but I was serious, we were serious when we talked about it one humid summer day when all my other smaller siblings were enjoying their afternoon nap.

Out of the blue, I looked into my mom’s eyes and asked her that if in any case, if she dies, she’d promise she’d visit me as a ghost. I am no brave soul, easily terrified of all the horror movies no matter how hard my parents tell me it’s just a movie setting. I can’t sleep at the thought of ghosts and witches and all other dark elements that could be watching me or near me. God, I hate that topic.

As an adult, I found myself heavily disturbed days after watching The Others, What Lies Beneath and The Ring (I curse myself why did I even tried to watch it!).

So, why did I make a strange pact with my mom that summer day? I don’t know. I was not ready to lose any of my parents that time (I was 10), nor I am ready to lose them now so I thought in case she goes (knock on wood!), I’ll be less sad if I can still see her, even as a ghost!

My mother, half-amused and smiling, of course, agreed and even told me she’d kiss me in my sleep.

Twenty years has passed since that day she promised. My mother is healthy and living with me right now. Does she remember the ghost pact we had? I doubt it. Do I still want her to visit me as a ghost in case something happens?

Call me crazy but yes, I still want to. 

This writing exercise is fueled by the writing prompt “ghost” at Sunday Scribblings.

When I was in the driving school some years back, I remembered my teacher telling me how to handle curves in the road. Before coming to Japan to study in the university, I have never imagined learning how to drive in my entire life. I never even knew one day I’d be able to buy a car and most of all, drive it. Curves and parking was my weakness, along with uphills since I learned to drive in a stick, not automatic.

The instructor would always say, when approaching a curve on the road, there are three things to remember: approach slowly (slow down the current speed), proceed cautiously and exit safely. Driving too fast will might throw you off the road because of centrifugal force.

I dread coming to a curve and thought, why didn’t people just make all straight roads and make life simpler?

Same goes with our lives. Every once in a while, things go unpredictably wrong, plans jumbled up a bit. Life curves are the bumps in the middle of an otherwise smooth, straight road and the words of my driving instructor echoes inside my head: slow down, be cautious and get out of the curve safely/wisely. In other words, don’t panic and think of a plan B (slow down), execute the plan to solve the problem (being cautious) and get yourself out of the problem with minimal damage (safely/wisely).

The road in our journey called life are not all straight roads, there are curves and even dark tunnels along the way. But with careful, cautious and safe steering of our wheel, we can arrive there safely and wiser… and maybe discovering a lot more colorful view at the end of the curve.

This writing exercise is fueled by the writing prompt “curve” at Sunday Scribblings.

I can’t believe I’ve taken a too long off from the gym. Last Thursday I did not workout to give my body some time to rest after working out for 5 consecutive days. The instructor told me I need to take at least a day off and so I did. The next day, Friday, I planned to be back but since it was my day off, the little boss did not give me a release.

Last Saturday (at this point I could sense anyone who reads this will smirk and say, I am writing all the excuses I could think of…) we went for a desert safari and left home at 2:30 pm and came back at 11.

Three days straight without going to the gym is the longest ever since I started working out. I felt so guilty. I had been faced with the dreaded weight loss plateau, a situation in which you have exercised and being conscious of diet yet the scales are not moving. Weight loss plateaus are great motivation killers. Googling “weight loss plateau” will take you to articles on how to overcome it. One of the ways to overcome the weight loss plateau was to rest and have a normal life! Well, guess what, I did rest and ate normally and the scale finally moved again!

But honestly, I won’t quit exercising even if the scale don’t move for weeks and driving me stark raving mad. I am healthier and happier with what I am right now. I don’t want to go back to being sluggish and complaining of backache every single day. Oh, and it’s funny that the scale was not moving for two weeks but I am losing a dress size.

For people trying to lose weight by exercising including weight training, bear in mind that health and fitness can’t be measured by the scales alone.

This writing exercise is fueled by the writing prompt “quitting” at Sunday Scribblings.

Last week there was a program in Pristine’s school called Arabic Day and in the note from her teacher, they are required to wear traditional Arabic dresses. It also said, “if the children are not Arabs, please let them come in their school uniforms“. I thought it would be interesting to have her wear something unique so I tried to look for a costume but found nothing and she went to school with her uniform, anyway, it was not required.

At 10 am, I got a phone call from her teacher saying, “don’t you have any costume for Pristine? Her class has a song and dance number and she is one of the lead dancers/singers.”

What!? This is the first time they told me that! While I felt bad they didn’t give me enough time to prepare (I could have searched more to find the proper costume), I rushed out and asked my Muslim colleagues where likely I can find an abaya, in children’s size. I rushed to the store and grabbed whatever I thought would fit her, handed to my husband who drove from his office to meet me at the store and he rushed off to the school. What a hectic day!

The program went well. Pristine danced so gracefully with an Arabic song in the background. She even loved her costume, though very plain and less sophisticated than the others.

You can click on the photos to enlarge. This was taken from far so it’s not really clear.

I love the costume of the girl in the middle. Next year, I’ll find something fancy for my girl too. Pristine is in the right-most of the three girls in the center. She is wearing a traditional black abaya (Arab women’s dress robes) with flower embroideries. 

Only M attended the program because I was caught up in a meeting and he had videotaped the presentation but with very poor quality because it is from the digital camera. Now we know we need to buy a new video cam to document the little girl in school.

Oh, and when the program ended with the curtain going down, Pristine shouted, “Bye bye Papa, I love you!”, to the delight of the crowd. All the while, our girl was aware of her father there in the crowd and acknowledged him.

The proud father stood there, amazed, shocked and soaring from happiness of course.

This writing exercise is fueled by the writing prompt “soar” at Sunday Scribblings.

I had been going to the gym regularly (5-6 days a week) for almost three weeks now. I have lost weight, although not much but I feel good and know that my body is firmer than before, especially around the *jiggly* midsection area.

Came office friend #1 who came back from her one month vacation in her home country:

“Did you put on weight?”

How did that happen? I was not even slouching. How can people not see the difference from a month back to now? I am not paper thin but I’m certainly more fit now than a few weeks back!

Then I met friend #2 at a mall after months of not seeing each other (she works in a different building).

“You put on a little weight, honey.”

Unlike friend #1, she did not ask if I put on weight. She threw in a declarative sentence saying I really did. You know what’s the most disappointing part? Both of them are bigger than I am, both of them never even set foot on a gym and eats more than I do.

How can I stay composed with those kind of remarks?

It’s very easy to get discouraged with the comments I received lately. Imagine the hard work I put through working out and still being told fat unfit but I am putting it in a better perspective.

I am working out yet they still see me otherwise, what if I don’t?

This writing exercise is fueled by the writing prompt “composed” at Sunday Scribblings.

Since having a child, all the photo albums in our home has photos of her or us with her. In short, all photographs leave a clue that we have a kiddo with us.

We left our old photo albums in our former home due to limited baggage capacity during our relocation abroad.

Once when I took Pristine to my parent’s house, we had the chance to look through old photos of myself when I was still single (and thin hee hee). It was amazing how she can still recognize the young girl in the photo is her mom. Then the wedding album popped up. She immediately recognized me and her dad in it. With a quizzical look on her face, she asked me,

“mom, why I’m not here?”

Of course she was not there, because she was not born yet. But how do you explain this to a (then) 3 year old? She is used to see all photos had either me or her dad in it but in the wedding photos (hundreds of it), she was not in any of them.

I did not bring the wedding photos in our current home right now. It is left in my parent’s house and I will only bring it when the time comes Pristine is not saddened by the thought that she is left out during the photo shooting!

This writing exercise is fueled by the writing prompt “that photograph” at Sunday Scribblings.

Have you ever stopped and thought  how many thousands of kilos of food are being wasted and thrown to the garbage every single day? That statistics show that one in every four hamburgers end up in the bin? And on the contrary,  how many people dying of hunger?

People gripe about the prices of food in restaurants constantly rising but fail to notice that food waste accounts for a significant part of that cost. I am not talking about a half piece of bacon, or a quarter slice of a bread left - I have seen people leaving platefuls of food enough to feed one human being. I worked in a restaurant when I was a student and I was incharge of throwing food left on tables.

It’s heart breaking and disgusting! 

Don’t even start by saying the customer might be on a diet! Smart dieters put food within their diet limits on their trays.

I grew up being told food is a blessing and should not be wasted as there are many others who are not as fortunate as I am, living in extreme poverty and starving. I just don’t get people ordering food and leaving thinking it is ok to waste because they paid for it. As parents, what kind of example are we giving to children?

Let us stop wasting and order wisely, order less and if afterwards should we still feel hungry, we can always order again. Is that too difficult to do?

This writing exercise is fueled by the writing prompt “Things I don’t get” at Sunday Scribblings.

There were more than 300 examinees when I took the exam 13 years ago. English, Math and Chemistry, oh I so well remember each hurdle I took. Particularly, I could not forget my effort to hold the pencil as it continuously slip through my sweaty palm. I had been always cautious of timed exams and since this one was life changing, it caused me to panic inside.

After the punishing exams, I took the next boat ride home. Day after day, I was anticipating the result too much I could not sleep . Negative or positive I had to know! I don’t want to be left in the dark. At least I am already preparing two reactions I practiced in front of the mirror for days. Nothing will shock me anymore.

Days turned into weeks and weeks to months. Nothing came and summer was over. It was time for enrolment again. My friend came to my house and threatened me that if I won’t go enrol myself now, she’ll literally drag me to the school registrar with ropes.

I refused to enrol. Inside me, I imagined myself in another world, in another set of uniforms, in another school. It was wishful thinking considering there were 300 examinees and only two will be chosen. The anticipation almost killed me that summer.

I finally enrolled myself in the same university on the last registration day. In a few days, classes will begin again and I had to wear the school uniform I almost bade goodbye to. It’s all crumpled now, resting in one corner of my closet, almost forgotten. Obviously, my mind and heart were set somewhere else. Just not here.

My father met me at the gate that late afternoon and handed me a paper. It read:

My dear daughter,

A representative from xxxx visited me at the office to congratulate me. You passed the scholarship exam to Japan! I am very proud of you and forgive me I wrote this letter instead of telling  you directly. Out of my extreme excitement, I wrote you as this is the only way I can manage myself properly.

With love,
Papa

This writing exercise is fueled by the writing prompt “Anticipation” at Sunday Scribblings.

The word experiment is something I can’t forget because I have a scar in my right wrist because of it. I didn’t like doing experiments in school. A few years ago, I would not have burned my skin if only my experiment partner reported for school and translated the Japanese text to me. Instead, he just decided one day he’d go back to his hometown and leave me hanging.

I was a foreign student and my Japanese language skills were inadequate. Mixed with my clumsiness, I was a disaster waiting to happen in the chem lab. Oh, memories I’d really love to forget!

The next school year, when we were done with acids and incomprehensible chemical symbols, it was announced that our next experiment would be computer hardware. My teacher formed groups of three or four of my Japanese classmates first then distributed the foreign student’s names randomly. He wrote my name below a random group. There were three of us who will be doing the experiment.

After two weeks, one of my group mates quit school (I don’t have anything to do with the reason, promise!). I was having a difficult time with the group work. I was battling depression over a wasted relationship that time and was in no shape to study. Most of the group work was done by my partner. I just kind of ‘floated’ in the background.

What if this last member disappears too?

How would I go on doing the experiment by myself, with all this bulky Japanese text books lying around? Contrary to my fear, my partner reported for school week after week, deligently did the exercises with me, even offered to tutor me so I can answer for the finals. I passed the syllabus without any hassles, thanks to my partner who helped me and promised to never leave.

True to his words, he never left. In fact, I see him when I wake up in the morning everyday! 

This writing exercise is fueled by the writing prompt “the experiment” at Sunday Scribblings.

There are a lots of things that take me down memory lane, things that turn back the hands of time, even unintentionally. A certain perfume smell, songs, clothing styles and most especially, photos.

I was back home for the holidays some years ago when I decided to clean living room shelf with piles and piles of photo albums scattered around, just gathering dust. What would be a 30 minute plan to complete the job took me almost one whole day. Before I knew it, I was sitting there, scanning the albums page after page, looking at the photos smiling, giggling, sometimes crying. Suddenly, it seems that I was not staring at life scenes printed on paper. It was as if I was travelling back in time and experiencing the whole thing again.

There were baby pictures of my brothers who were bald headed, chubby cheeked burlies before they became men of big voices that they are now. I was in almost every picture carrying them, playing with them. Ah, life was so uncomplicated before! Then there were my photos of my first day in grade school, my very first identification photo that made me step back in time to when I was a girl with a missing front tooth who hesitated to smile for the camera. I remembered the hallway to my first classroom, even the smell of the freshly baked bread at the canteen came back to me like magic.

When I picked up another album with my high school photos, I was completely out of the present world I am in. Instantly, I am away in my thoughts imagining all my friends and that phase in my life I still consider as the best. It was fun to see the clothes my friends and I wore during that time. I could never imagine having to wear those right now! and how come I had that small waistline? I mean, I never even exercised and ate all I want before…

For the first time in many years, I actually skipped lunch that day, too engrossed at the time travel experience. With one final look, I caught the photo of someone I really liked and those butterflies in the stomach that I thought were long dead flapped its wings again. I couldn’t help but smile. What a beautiful journey I just had.

This writing exercise is fueled by the writing prompt “time travel” at Sunday Scribblings.