Movement
The post that I really wanted to write, which I started a month ago, is still stuck in the dungeon. I've got the title—it's a good one—and the content, but I can't find the right words. To relieve the bloated draft and hopefully move it one step closer to seeing the light of day, I am posting what I wrote today separately instead. Pardon the uninspired title and the abrupt nature of the entry, because I don't have any words left for today. Still, I would like to list down how life has been moving for me in a new direction, albeit in small, incremental steps. It's a new season for me—I start my new job next week—and all around I see new life in tiny seeds and little sprouts, in movement of body and mind.
In early June, we went for two hikes spaced two days apart. The trails were flat, and we walked at a child-friendly pace for a child-friendly distance. There was nothing breathtakingly scenic, as are the landscapes here, but we went for one hike along an old railway track—getting drenched in a downpour midway—and one at an offshore island.
We've started cycling as a form of commute to nearby places. The bike-share bikes we use are decent, accessible and surprisingly, slightly cheaper than taking the bus. I've discovered that I really enjoy commuting by bike. There's something about the active effort of transporting myself to my destination, the conscious activity of steering the bike, pedalling and navigating, and the wind in my face. Over time, I've seen my confidence in cycling take off. I've started cycling alone, and I've even gone on to ride alone with my son at the back, something I had never dared to attempt all my life before.1 I've also recently figured out the trick to ride hands-free—by keeping your legs close to the bike frame—and am working on becoming good at it.
It's been a couple of days since I started exercising, with the motivation to even begin stemming from a threat I received to sign me up for a class. Now I have no desire to attend a class in order to exercise, as it would mean having to get dressed, go out and travel someplace on top of the physical exertion of exercising itself! And so I've begun a callisthenics workout that focuses on progression, but I already have doubts if I can persist with this form of exercise. The repetitiveness bores me. I space out whilst doing reps and struggle to even keep count. To add to my exercising achievements, I even went for a rather spontaneous run—I mean jog—last weekend and clocked 3.7 km in 40 minutes. Impressive simply because I somehow had the mind to do this and did not stop to walk along the way. I'm hoping to make running a weekly thing—and one day I hope to keep up with my son on his bike—but I should really learn the proper way of running first so as to prevent injuries.
We went for an orchestra performance last month, and my four-year-old enjoyed it greatly. Now, we've got a violin on the way, and he'll be starting classes next week. I'm excited because I'm hoping that in the best-case scenario, I'd actually be able to learn the violin and play on his 1/10 violin.
Then tomorrow, I'll be seeing Joe Hisaishi in concert. And we only booked the tickets today! It's such a nice surprise because we had, like star-crossed lovers, narrowly missed the chance to catch him both in W and back home two years ago. Then by the time I got to know of this upcoming concert, it had already been sold out. As I wasn't going to take a chance on buying from resellers, I had given up on the idea of going. And yet, the opportunity presented itself once more. The tickets were pretty pricey since we could only choose from the top two categories, but I felt that we had to go nevertheless—to see him once in concert, to hear his music in person, and because (it pains me to say this) it just might be our last chance.
On top of hoping to learn the violin, I also intend to learn sign language beginning next week. My husband signed up for an online course, and the freeloader in me has decided to sit "in" or rather "out of screen" for his classes.
My quest to self-learn Japanese has been stagnating. I haven't studied anything new, nor have I done any immersion. The only thing I have continued, though inconsistently, is to review the 1,500 kanji I learnt previously. Recently, this meant reviewing almost 1,000 cards in a few days after a prolonged break from firing up Anki. Reviewing so many cards at one go really meant relearning a lot of them, which was a shame since I had put in a lot of effort to learn the entire set of kanji prior. So I'm hoping to stay consistent to prevent that loss of effort. Coincidentally, reviewing cards on Anki can feel quite motivating at times. I like the set structure—read the word, say its meaning, flip the card, check my answer, score it, then rinse and repeat—it feels a bit brainless and yet it works my brain at the same time and can feel quite therapeutic.
Two weeks back, I went for a one-day writing course and am now trying to write/rewrite the children's picture book that I had the inspiration for seven years ago. I had drafted a manuscript that was maybe 75% complete at that time but lost it to an unfortunate, no-thanks-to-ADHD mistake. I haven't even got to writing anything yet. I'm starting from scratch and have started researching local wildlife in order to determine my characters. And although it was a pity to lose my blood, sweat and tears from that time, I think I will be able to write a better book now than I could then—hopefully, if I can successfully write and complete it. Following that, I would need to think of publishing. The entire process is quite complicated, and the work of a writer pays a pittance. But there's a story inside me that I want to tell, and I really hope I will be able to tell it one day.
I fixed a 1,000-piece puzzle together with my sister (mostly) the other day. At one point, we had four adults and three little kids huddled around the puzzle fighting for the reference picture. It's nice to do the things I enjoy, to have the opportunity and the motivation to do them.
Thanks to my mum's confidence in me, I have now become a budding home barber. Mum bought me clippers and sent me how-to videos, firmly convinced that I would be able to successfully cut my son's hair on my own. I was uncertain, but Mum was right, and now I've completed two haircuts with the clippers. It's a real upgrade from the basic haircuts—mostly straight snips all around (but it's not an awful bowlcut, I swear!)—I'd been giving him for years up till August last year. And though it can't pass off for a professional's, it's still a really decent home haircut. I'm looking forward to continue honing my skills, and perhaps even take up a course.
A blow-up was the trigger and motivation that I needed to do the laundry on a more regular schedule. (When will I ever outgrow the need for an external motivator?) Now I do it twice weekly without leaving a pile of unfolded clothes on the sofa for another day, which usually means some days later. Laundry has been made better by listening to a Mandarin podcast sharing slice-of-life stories. There are often words and meanings I don't know or understand. But the narration is soothing, and when I do catch the story, when the words find meaning and touch my emotions, they become the words that stay.
Speaking of clothes, I recently went shopping—I hardly do—and updated my wardrobe. I quite like some of the new pieces I've got. The only problem is seeing the clothes I have, or worse, the clothes I'm wearing on someone else—sometimes even a child. That's the downside of shopping at the national uniform store and buying clothes from their kids section. Ironically, contrary to their name, wearing their clothes won't make you unique, at least not where I live.
The upkeep of my hair has increased of late. Some weeks ago, I had a belated revelation that I actually might be losing more hair than normal. Belated because the housekeepers in W had conveyed similar thoughts two years ago. A suggestion that I had dismissed then because I had honestly thought that that amount of hair fall was usual for me and that the length of my hair made it seem more than it actually was. Fast forward two years later, and I react in horror when I grip my ponytail and get the feeling that it used to be thicker. I've gone from washing my hair twice a week to washing it almost every day. Now I'm using a hair loss shampoo and a conditioner I bought and applying a hair serum my sister passed to me. I'm even washing my hair upside down, according to a suggestion she gave, though I don't even know what it does or if it even does anything. I still don't brush my hair, though. I've been running my fingers through my hair for years because it means that I don't have to clean a hairbrush. But I suppose that's the next step I'll try to take.
It's been a month since I've started flossing! Since my last pain-filled visit to the dentist, I've been flossing daily or at least every other day. I hope to persist with this until I next see my dentist. I don't think I've ever done that successfully, but perhaps it will be different this time.
I've also been applying moisturiser and sunscreen more frequently. If you haven't realised by now, self-care is a series of tedious and boring activities that I would rather not have to engage in. How do people do 10-step skincare routines? Or apply makeup daily only to have to remove it all at the end of the day? It boggles my mind.
There's still a mess in one of the rooms in the house, and well, mess and too much stuff in all the other spaces as well. My decluttering efforts have been sporadic, but one notable event was giving away the bulk of my books—the books that had formed my childhood and youth, and the books that had formed me. After holding on to them for years and years without revisiting them, I have finally found the heart to let them go. This act of letting go of things once cherished, though painful, seems to make space for something new—the new that I need, and the new that I now welcome with open arms.
Before this, my last attempt at something similar was when I rode him in a trailer on a bike tour in Salzburg last September. I questioned my crazy decision multiple times throughout the tour. I had never ridden a bike with a trailer before and had also not expected the terrain or the distance. I had to navigate narrow spaces, push bike and trailer plus son up slopes, and ride on roads with traffic. At one point, I thought I was going to die when I rode past a red light at a traffic junction whilst trying to keep up with the group ahead. I had to push myself to keep up for most of the tour. At least I had survival instincts—I pedalled with burning thighs, willing myself to keep moving, because being lost in Salzburg was a problem I did not know how to solve. The reward for my labour and trial was the unforgettable moment when I looked beyond a long stretch of grassy plain to see in the distance, bathed in the warm sunlight, a castle atop a rising mountain. I had wanted a keepsake of that moment, but there was no time for stopping. But that moment alone was well worth the ride.↩