Wanderlust

I shouldn’t take such a long time to update my blog. While I have been busy attending to the ‘babies’, it must not always be the default excuse to abandon this space. The truth is I have not been inspired to write.

Abroad, I was exposed to a motley assortment of experiences that would see me rushing to share it in my blog, particularly with my beloved folks back in the homeland. I love to experience new cultures and explore foreign places. How their way of lives differs from mine, and in turn, how I go about acclimatizing to this new environment without compromising my beliefs, identity and integrity. (In a previous entry, I mentioned fearing a change in geographical location arising mostly from this unavoidable issue of having to adapt and fit in. That aside, travel is my middle name!).

With my kindred spirit, Amy in New York City, June 2002

I love to travel, but I am not the loner sort of traveler. I need companionship to savour the moments with. And being married to someone who shares my passion for the wanderlust befits my thirst for adventures. That is not to say, I have the proverbial itchy feet, ready to take flight at the slightest temptation. On the other hand, I would not hesitate if I have the financial means and no other ‘baggage’ to fuss over.

Nowadays, I have a sense of obligations to my growing family. It is no longer the equation of two people in my tiny universe. There are FOUR of us now and I must take that into account before journeying into any unfamiliar territory.

Of course, it would simply be uplifting to relish those trips only with my other half, but I can’t bring myself to leave them behind at such a young age. I believe there is always a time for the two of us when we find ways for it in our daily lives. Besides, bringing the children in our travels makes the experience richer and more rewarding.

With my darling Sadia in Paree! July 2007

Going by my earlier premise that I look to traveling as my muse in writing, I would like to stress yet again that this keen sense of adventure naturally heightens the urge to regale others of my intoxicating discoveries, the kooky locales and the vibrant flavours in these countries.

Sure, I have traveled locally and met with a few interesting characters along the way, and even unearthed some hidden treasures and niches. But over time, its similarity and monotony leave little to the imagination, and much less to report, especially if you visit the same spots again and again.

Lest someone calls me an ungrateful lot, I must quickly add that it is always gratifying to have the means and privilege to enjoy the local wayfaring two (or three, if I’m lucky!) times a year. I am just saying nothing much surprises me anymore.

I want to see how other people across the globe live and prosper. How their life experiences, societal norms and cultural mindsets can enrich my own perspective. I love to visit the ruins of ancient civilizations and absorb the new, alien surroundings around me.

With 6-month old Sadia in Delft's Saturday market, September 2006

I am a rabid observer of the socio-cultural and geographical kind. Perhaps, it is never too late to dabble in a bit of anthropology. I wonder if Travel & Living Discovery Channel would consider sponsoring a 30-something mother totting two small children around the world. And I don't think my husband would mind at all if I were to fluff the resume up by mentioning that my other half was a geology major - one never knows how handy that will come 'on the (travelling) field'.

Change is Gonna be Good

Let’s face it. I am never that amenable to change. Sure, it’s the small changes that I can swallow; not those hard, hit-you-in-the-face kind of changes. If you recommend that I should change my hairstyle, I would be game for it as long as it doesn’t end up augmenting the roundness of my face. Or if you like me to try out this new food craze – in other words, change my culinary habits – I am more than happy to dive in. Like the next person, however, another proviso also applies in this gastronomic case: make sure it is always on the cooked side!

Ironically enough, even for some people my abovementioned changes are difficult to undertake and impossible to attain. They are either so entrenched in some lofty, structured ideas or set in their conservative ways that plunging into the unknown is an inconceivable proposal. In the end, I do believe that a change in itself is purely a subjective matter.

For me, changes that give me the heebie-jeebies run along the line of matrimonial ties, geographical location and new addition to the family. Even though I knew those changes were imminent, I was never able to fully comprehend the expectations behind and the consequences arising from them.

Recently, as most people may already know, I gave birth to a beautiful, bouncing baby boy. Everything was hunky-dory from the moment of delivery right up to the first day I was back at home. Well, hunky-dory might be pushing it – it felt more like I was in a daze from the time my water broke to the time I exited the hospital with an infant cradling in my arms. As I had predicted, I took a sudden turn to being lachrymose. Tears streamed down both cheeks without a prior notice. Some people might hastily attribute it to postpartum fatigue or something of its ilk. It was a combination of a number of factors. But uppermost on my mind at that time was how to divide my attention and affection on two children. I was grappling with the fact that I am now a mother of two and I need to adjust to this new, foreign concept.

I wondered if I was neglecting my firstborn by focusing my energy on the newborn. I was worried how she would react and cope with this new person in our lives. If she would feel abandoned and less loved.

Less loved? Can you even love a person less? Isn’t it a matter of absolutes – either you love or you hate?

Other than that, I was afraid that I would miss the routine that I had indulged with Sadia alone. Going to the playpark in the morning, watching the television together and reading her storybooks at night. And how I irrationally feared that I would gradually forget the familiar smell of her hair by concentrating fully on the baby.

Initially, we observed that Sadia was wary and surprised even, of the sudden appearance of this cherubic creature. She did know, in some toddler-like level of comprehension, that I was pregnant and there was a baby in the tummy. Perhaps it did not dawn on her that the day would finally come when the baby would come out. After all, I was sporting a watermelon-sized tummy for 6 months (yes, I was ‘showing’ very, very early, no thanks to lax stomach muscles (read: uncontrollable eating)) that in children’s world, must seem like forever.

The first two weeks saw her trying to emulate her little brother by wearing mittens and socks and insisting on being tucked in with a blankey, not unlike a swaddled infant. My heart went out to her. Is it her way of bonding with the baby and making sense of the baby’s presence? Sadia was also curious enough to observe, participate in and even mimic (thanks to the aid of her small baby doll) every mundane chore like diaper-changing, sponging and burping the baby.

I still remember the first night when we got back from the hospital, trying to figure out the sleeping arrangement for the four of us. Sadia was adamant that she must sleep next to me and burst out crying with the new house rule. She was trying to fathom what was about to take place and its ramifications on her position as the previously only child. With the two children flanking me on the right and the left and Yayah on Sadia’s left, we slept in perfect harmony (minus the night feeding) from thereon.

Naturally, Sadia would oftentimes show her jealous streak and attempted to squeeze in while I was nursing. Or she would insist that I stayed with her on the computer games when the baby cried his lungs out for a top-up. But at the end of the second week, I could sense her growing affection towards her brotheras she would sniff his hands whenever she got the chance and became upset when a visitor jokingly announced that he or she would be taking the baby home.

In retrospect, the three of us were coping and adjusting to Saeif, also known as either the milk guzzler or ‘Big Fella’. Now that he has turned two months old, the adapting continues. Sadia has slowly come to terms with the youngest addition to her family and, sadly I have to leave her to her own devices at times – playing computer games and watching television – as I run about finishing domestic tasks and breastfeeding Saeif. Her temper tantrums have worsened in some instances, but she remains loving of her brother. My husband and I also have to be on the constant lookout and remind her to be gentle with Saeif as she can be one rough and boisterous girl. The currently cooing Saeif, on the other hand, loves all of our ‘vocal’ attention and doesn’t seem to mind Sadia’s ‘manhandling’ at all.

As for my ambivalence in embracing the big change in my life, it had dissipated as soon as I took charge of my situation and acknowledged its reality and limitations. Besides, with poo of explosive nature, pee launched from a seemingly erratic projectile and smelly diapers mounting, I have no time to overanalyse these new sensations and instead enjoy them as God has intended it for me.

And most important of all, the distinctive smell of Sadia's hair still lingers in my nostrils alongside the new, welcome scent of Saeif's hair.