Tag Archives: Friends

Love people. Cook them tasty food.

Today was the kind of day that I describe as quiet but very, very loud. Quiet because I didn’t venture more than a few kilometers from home and loud because my thoughts have been racing. There aren’t many days like these.

It’s the end of the calendar year, which means that nearly every conversation I’ve had over the last few days has led inevitably to a discussion of who’s staying or going at work. Who has resigned their contracts, who has decided to move on at the end of the school year, who’s attending which job fair, who has signed up with which recruitment agency. Who’s moving on, adventuring elsewhere, pursuing different dreams.

Even though they’re commonplace and repetitive, these conversations leave me very sad because saying goodbye is hard, and it doesn’t help to think that it’s six months away.

I went for a run today in the rain – on purpose. I figured that if I was going to cry, I might as well do it when the sky was crying, too. But I ended up laughing because I was squinting to see, jumping to avoid puddles, and absolutely soaked about two minutes in. And while laughing, I realized that I had a choice.

I could be sad because people were leaving, or I could be happy for the times we’ve spent together, the ways we’ve known each other, the laughter and ideas and conversations that we’ve shared.

And I realized it was okay to feel sad, but that the sadness would never be stronger than the joy I have felt around the friends that I’ll be sending down new roads when the time comes. Basking in that joy is what allows me to feel sadness and that’s okay, too.

My mum has a dishtowel that aptly sums up my philosophy towards the people in my life. “Love people,” it says. “Cook them tasty food.”

I’m bringing gingersnaps to work tomorrow.

On Music

Music is a world within itself
With a language we all understand
With an equal opportunity
For all to sing, dance and clap their hands
-“Sir Duke”, Stevie Wonder

Listening
Though my auditions for my high school’s jazz choir were never successful, I did learn and grow to love “Sir Duke” by Stevie Wonder, the choir’s closing number at every concert. My favorite part was a section in the middle of the song where the vocalists would imitate the instruments of the band. Their rendition of that song comes back to me surprisingly often.

Regretfully, I’m not really a music person. Instead, I am fascinated with musical people, the ones who inhale music the way I do books. Music occupies such a prominent role in their lives and they know so much that I don’t, which is always interesting to me. My favorite way to learn about people is to investigate what they love and why.

In the Jane Austen novels I read when I was younger, people used to quote poetry and verse. Those were universals, areas where everyone was able to participate. Our modern universal is music in all of its varieties. Regardless of its form, there are elements of music that stand out to that, that we can all relate to. I’ve written before that there’s often a song playing in my head and I know I’m not the only one.

Knowing Me
There are songs I listen to in the dark, loudly, face down, huddled under the blankets for protection.

There are songs I hear when I’m running particular paths with screaming lungs.

There are songs I seek out when I’m feeling empty, groundless, numb, swirling in a void heading nowhere.

There are songs I turn to in moments of unbridled joy, passion, excitement.

There are songs I listen to out of anger, knowing that I’m fighting to reclaim them, to make them mean something other than what they’ve come to mean.

There are songs I don’t listen to anymore, songs I’ve grown out of or away from.

There are songs that make me laugh, songs that make me cry. Songs that push me harder and songs that remind me to slow down.

There are songs that hold me together when nothing else does and songs that tear me apart. Songs that make me realize what I’ve forgotten and remind me where I am.

There are songs I’ve listened to on repeat for days, unwilling to let go of the safety they provide. There are songs I’ve avoided for months at a time, unwilling to engage with the emotions they provoke.

Toward the end high school and continuing into college, a friend and I sent song lyrics back and forth, writing found poetry that reflected what was on our minds. I still have those many pages of lyrics saved as a Word document.

Discovering You
And then there are the songs that people have shared with me. The mixes my music-breathing friends made for birthdays, summer parties, or just because. I’ve listened to some of those mixes so many times that I will forever associate certain songs with “So-and-so’s Summer Mix” or “So-and-so’s 21st Birthday Mix”. One of my favorite songs came from a breakup mix (“So-and-so’s Second Summer Mix 2”).

Just as sharing books is a form of intimacy, I see sharing music as much the same. When you send me a song, you’re giving me a part of you that I might not otherwise be able to see. You’re asking me to accept something that matters to you with an open-mind, knowing that my own preferences might differ, but wanting me to understand what makes you tick.

And I will listen. I will always listen. And then ask why you like it, why you shared it, what stands out to you, how you found it. I want to know why this resonates because I want to engage with you, learn more about you. I want to be part of your life and I want you to know that I’m curious about who and what you are. So I listen, I ask, and I listen again. If your music has lyrics, I often read them. What’s in there for you?

We share with people we care about, people who we hope also care about us. We invite them into our lives and hope they’ll accept. We show them pieces of ourselves and gauge their reactions before stripping ourselves bare, exposing one thing at a time.

And when we find something that connects us, we are overjoyed. We are ecstatic that someone has welcomed that piece of us, that someone is invested in us and our well-being. We call these people our friends, our lovers, our family. We feel at once affirmed, validated, secure in who we are.

We know, in that moment, that we are doing okay. We know that we are okay.

You’ve got the music in you
Don’t let go
You’ve got the music in you
One dance left
This world is gonna pull through
Don’t give up
You’ve got a reason to live
Can’t forget
We only get what we give
-“You Get What You Give” – New Radicals

A Night in Outer Space, or My First Onsen Experience

I had no plans last Saturday night and eagerly said yes when my roommate asked if I’d like to join her at the onsen. Having heard her mention it before, I knew that the onsen was a sort of sauna/spa and I knew that we’d be naked. I love trying new things and I’m willing to do just about anything with a buddy.

Still, I asked for step-by-step directions before we left the house. What did I need to wear? (Something easy to take off.) What did I need to bring? (Face lotion, maybe a face mask to do a mini facial.) That’s it? That’s it.

And off we went!

I learned that an onsen is a Japanese hot spring, which is replicated as best as possible in a bathhouse, which is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. Bathhouses are part of Korean culture, too, and my helpful guide told me about the differences between them.

When we walked in, we were given small and large towels and a kimono. We locked up our clothes and personal items and like a child, I subsequently copied everything my roommate did as we moved in and around each room.

The first room was the shower room and we sat on low stools, getting used to the heat of the air and temperature of the water. I adore piping hot showers and haven’t had one since leaving the US, so it was really enjoyable to just feel such hot water on my body.

From the shower room, we spent a few minutes sitting in the sauna. I rubbed salt on my arms and washed it off with hot water, leaving a softness that I can still feel two days later. I’ve been in saunas before and sauna heat is unlike any heat I’ve ever felt in the real world. There’s always a moment where my breath catches because it’s so freaking hot but I love the feeling of what is actually just “good, clean sweat.” I love feeling it run down my back in tiny rivers and I love not caring that it’s happening.

Once we felt ready, we returned to the main room with its four pools. This was when I realized we were actually in outer space. The room was dark with low ceilings (rare in Singapore) and walls covered in white tile shaped sort of like hot air balloons. The four pools were roughly oval-shaped and situated next to each other on a raised platform making an almost wave-like pattern along the floor. It was quiet except for the bubbling from jets under the water. There was murmured conversation that could hardly be heard. Weightlessly floating in the pool, watching naked women climbing in and out, I truly felt like I was somewhere secret, somewhere unearthly. That feeling stayed with me all evening.

The first two pools were 38-39°C and the third was half a degree warmer, hence the need for the sauna before entering the water. The water in each pool had a slightly different mineral or chemical formulation to mimic the effects of a hot spring. It was interesting to notice the effects of each type of water on the body. I noticed a tingling and then almost tangible sleekness as my skin got used to what was in each pool. That silky, tight, rejuvenated quality seemed to remain only until the next pool’s sensations washed it away.

The fourth pool was the cold bath, which was 17-18°C. It was shockingly cold. I couldn’t sit down in the pool the first time at all and could crouch down only as low as the tops of my thighs. The cold shower, however, was much easier, if for no other reason than I had just been in a very cold pool.

Feeling clean and refreshed, we dried off and changed into our kimonos to have dinner at the onsen’s Japanese restaurant. We walked down a wood-panelled hallway with elegant lighting placed so that you couldn’t quite see where it was coming from. Thick strips of dark curtain partially obscured any additional light sources from the locker rooms themselves, adding to the sense of wonder and mystery I felt. Again, I pointed out the odd sensation of being in outer space.

Although we didn’t spend any time there, my roommate also showed me the resting room, a darkened space with couches, chairs, and blankets reserved for reading, silent use of electronics, and quiet conversation. More curtains segmented, creating a calm and privacy almost like being in a pod (outer space again!), but far more open with easy access to other parts of the area around.

After dinner, we went through the rotation a second time, though much more quickly and with the addition of the face masks we had brought. This time, determined to prove that I was stronger than the cold bath, I jumped in as much as one can in a pool shallow enough to sit down in, and successfully submerged for a few seconds. Victory.

Throughout our time at the onsen, I’d been very interested in all the different bodies and their shapes, sizes, hair, or lack thereof. I consciously looked at everyone out of pure curiosity, with no element of voyeurism at all. While floating in the very first pool, a quote often attributed to Maya Angelou (though originally from the Roman poet Terence) came to mind for what might have been the first time: “I am human. Nothing human can be alien to me.”

What was strange, and I didn’t realize this until later, is that I was almost completely unaware of my own body. I’m very, very shy most of the time where my own body is concerned (as in, I have blushed at my own reflection in more than one dressing room and quickly discarded whatever I was trying to wear). I do think, however, that shyness is different from being self-conscious. I don’t care particularly what I look like but I do like my own privacy. That was utterly stripped away at the onsen and I didn’t even notice. So now I wonder if my shyness is more of a habit than anything else. I don’t have an answer, but will be exploring this new idea.

We spent a few hours at the onsen and I left with such a feeling of relaxation that it took some real effort to lie in bed and write about the day, which I try to do most nights. My skin felt clean and soft, my muscles loose and comfortable, and my mind calm and easy. I’m really glad we went and it was such a nice way to spend an evening. I highly recommend it.

Interested? Intrigued? Take a look. Let me know if you need a buddy.

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