Ever since I started blogging again after a year long break I’ve tried really hard to keep writing regularly and not let myself slip into that dark abyss of writer’s block again. Okay, so sometimes it is not that hard. Some days a post basically writes itself while I let my fingers fly on the keyboard. Other days though, each word comes out heavy and slow, dripping with afterthought and second thoughts and lingering doubt. The last few days fall into an entirely different category. I call it being struck by a case of “nobody-caresitis”. It is a condition of the mind where you feel like regardless of what you write, you shouldn’t fool yourself by thinking it matters because really, nobody cares. So you had a good weekend filled with laziness and laughter and good food? Why would anyone want to read about it? So you heard some new music that you can’t wait to share with everyone? Who cares? You’ve had an epiphany about life late one night when everyone was asleep? So what? So I start writing posts, then leave them unfinished for the want of content that would actually matter. And then feel bad because I haven’t actually written anything of consequence, and get panic stricken about whether this is the start of yet another writer’s block.
Meh. It’s weird inside my head sometimes, not to mention chaotic and restless.
And it took me quite a bit of soul searching to realise that all this restlessness can be actually traced to one person and one person only. Embarrassingly so, it is my Mother. Um yes. I am almost thirty, married and a Mom myself and living a thousand miles away from my Mother for the last four years and yet, I talk to her every single day. The longest we have gone without talking on the phone is three days (she reminds me accusingly) and that was when we were in Phuket earlier this year enjoying a much needed holiday. And now that my parents are in Singapore visiting my sister, conversations are sporadic and mostly on video chat where Miss Munchkin kinda steals the show with her antics and I am relegated to being a camera woman. Which explains why I have been feeling restless. I miss my sounding board, my very own Pensieve (Harry Potter reference) that I need to keep myself sane and functioning. Which in turn could be why I can’t seem to write straight. Go figure.
In other news, we completed a month in Dubai yesterday. It took me a month to accept that sometimes it is okay not to have an opinion about something. If you know how opinionated I am you will realise how difficult it has been for me to accept ambivalence. Let’s just say I have almost gotten used to this place. I have taken to finding reassurance in the ding-ding of the tram as it makes it way on the tracks on our street, the brakes making a screeching noise as it turns the corner. We have found our groove, and despite the unpredictability that naturally comes with being parents of a toddler, we have somewhat of a routine in our lives. We have even found time to make a few rituals of our own and I have finally found the order I was craving. You know what else I have found? That trading square feet inside the apartment for a good location has its merits. We have found a treasure trove of restaurants and amenities in our neighbourhood and for the first time ever, we are living in a “happening” place and loving it. What else? I finally read The Girl on the Train and felt let down, if anything, because of high expectations. I let YouTube drift me to the happy land of music awaiting discovery and chanced upon Bombay Bicycle Club and Mindy Gledhill and let the rush of newness wash me again.
There I go again, relapsing into Nobody-caresitis. The Husband is brooding in the balcony hoping the fresh air would clear out his blocked sinuses and I am inside nursing my mulled apple juice while typing all of this nothingness after a long frustrating day. Sending this off into the vast web with hopes of being able to come up with something meaningful and insightful or even funny very soon. Being a Mamma’s girl is a quirk in itself but never before had I realised just how much of a Mamma’s girl I am. Oh well. Here’s to the woman who keeps me sane, and to the little girl who drives me insane. I think I now know why she is the way she is. You know what they say about the apple and the tree, right? Doesn’t fall far, folks. Doesn’t fall far.