Singapore, April 1998. We moved here, to an open plan apartment on Tanjong Rhu Road, only three months ago.
Singapore with daily temperatures of 37 degrees and humid was divine. Being of lizard blood, this 24 hour heat bath soaked into my frigid grateful bones and I loved it. No nasty, frigid air conditioning for me. I kept the temperature within human living conditions by slightly opening all the windows in the apartment just enough to get a cross breeze going.
I had just put the baby to sleep and was padding softly towards the kitchen relishing my hour's peace. It was Tuesday, Dr Phil day on the Oprah show. I had just enough time to make a cup of tea before the 9am start. As I was about to enter the kitchen I noticed that the curtains at one of the open windows while acting as a filter for the sun also seemed to softly breathing in and out with the breeze. It's gentleness caused me to stop and watch.
Then my inner voice spoke, 'I am content.' Startled I said, "What?" And it spoke again, 'I am content.' I thought again, "Gosh, maybe I am." I wondered about that. Then it struck me that until that moment, I never had that thought before.
But then my ego kicked in, "Don't admit it otherwise you'll jinx it." I was afraid to express it out loud or to share it because to do so would cheapen it and it might even break this run of good luck.
And then panic, how do I make it last? How do I ensure it never goes away? That's when I started reading self help books. Actually that's not strictly true. I have been reading self-improvement books since I was ten when I stayed in my cousins in Dublin - my grandfather in England had died and we stayed with them while my parents went to the funeral - and I came across a book with a title along the lines of 'how to be the modern woman' produced by Chanel. I read it avidly but the only thing I remember was their advice on how to wear a watch. Pointless now as I am allergic to watch straps.
When I turned twelve, in my eagerness to be a true teenager which I was sure was going to be a dazzling experience, I eagerly devoured my friend, Ciara's older sister's teen magazine, Jackie, to see what teenagers do. Apart from articles on how to wear make-up and recover from a break-up with your boyfriend neither of which yet applied to me, everyone seemed to be on a diet and so I went on one. I became obsessed with calories and went from a seven stone twelve year old to a nine stone 14 year old and have been fluctuating ever since. But I digress.....
Back to my 34 year old self. I couldn't leave well alone, could I?
Not content with being merely content, that following Saturday, with hubbie home and after my son's football training, we headed to Wheelock Place and their huge bookshop on the ground floor and I bought my first book from the "Self Enrichment" section. What that first book was I can't recall but I do remember out of curiosity picking up a book called, The Divorced Woman; Managing your Finances and my husband promptly plucking it out of my hand before I even got to read the 'Contents' page.
"You won't be needing that!" he said.
Singapore with daily temperatures of 37 degrees and humid was divine. Being of lizard blood, this 24 hour heat bath soaked into my frigid grateful bones and I loved it. No nasty, frigid air conditioning for me. I kept the temperature within human living conditions by slightly opening all the windows in the apartment just enough to get a cross breeze going.
I had just put the baby to sleep and was padding softly towards the kitchen relishing my hour's peace. It was Tuesday, Dr Phil day on the Oprah show. I had just enough time to make a cup of tea before the 9am start. As I was about to enter the kitchen I noticed that the curtains at one of the open windows while acting as a filter for the sun also seemed to softly breathing in and out with the breeze. It's gentleness caused me to stop and watch.
Then my inner voice spoke, 'I am content.' Startled I said, "What?" And it spoke again, 'I am content.' I thought again, "Gosh, maybe I am." I wondered about that. Then it struck me that until that moment, I never had that thought before.
But then my ego kicked in, "Don't admit it otherwise you'll jinx it." I was afraid to express it out loud or to share it because to do so would cheapen it and it might even break this run of good luck.
And then panic, how do I make it last? How do I ensure it never goes away? That's when I started reading self help books. Actually that's not strictly true. I have been reading self-improvement books since I was ten when I stayed in my cousins in Dublin - my grandfather in England had died and we stayed with them while my parents went to the funeral - and I came across a book with a title along the lines of 'how to be the modern woman' produced by Chanel. I read it avidly but the only thing I remember was their advice on how to wear a watch. Pointless now as I am allergic to watch straps.
When I turned twelve, in my eagerness to be a true teenager which I was sure was going to be a dazzling experience, I eagerly devoured my friend, Ciara's older sister's teen magazine, Jackie, to see what teenagers do. Apart from articles on how to wear make-up and recover from a break-up with your boyfriend neither of which yet applied to me, everyone seemed to be on a diet and so I went on one. I became obsessed with calories and went from a seven stone twelve year old to a nine stone 14 year old and have been fluctuating ever since. But I digress.....
Back to my 34 year old self. I couldn't leave well alone, could I?
Not content with being merely content, that following Saturday, with hubbie home and after my son's football training, we headed to Wheelock Place and their huge bookshop on the ground floor and I bought my first book from the "Self Enrichment" section. What that first book was I can't recall but I do remember out of curiosity picking up a book called, The Divorced Woman; Managing your Finances and my husband promptly plucking it out of my hand before I even got to read the 'Contents' page.
"You won't be needing that!" he said.
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