Her movements in Wifey has decreased. We are going to the OBGYN now. Pray for us that it's not anything bad.
4pm update: everything seems to have returned to normal. Faith kicked her usual amount of fuss inside Wifey for most of today. Non-stress CTG was normal with good baseline variability, accelerations in synchrony with fetal movements & Braxton-Hicks contractions. No decelerations recorded. Keeping our fingers crossed until delivery
Wednesday, November 02, 2005
Memories
Memory - all alone in the moonlight.
I can smile at the old days,
I was beautiful then.
I remember the time I knew what happiness was.
Let the memory live again.
Daylight, I must wait for the sunrise.
I must think of a new life,
And I mustn't give in.
When the dawn comes tonight will be a memory too,
And a new day will begin.
Touch me, it's so easy to leave me
All alone with the memory
Of my days in the sun.
If you touch me, you'll understand what happiness is.
Look, a new day has begun.
From the musical by Andrew Lloyd Webber
Lyrics by Trevor Nunn (after T. S. Eliot)
I can smile at the old days,
I was beautiful then.
I remember the time I knew what happiness was.
Let the memory live again.
Daylight, I must wait for the sunrise.
I must think of a new life,
And I mustn't give in.
When the dawn comes tonight will be a memory too,
And a new day will begin.
Touch me, it's so easy to leave me
All alone with the memory
Of my days in the sun.
If you touch me, you'll understand what happiness is.
Look, a new day has begun.
From the musical by Andrew Lloyd Webber
Lyrics by Trevor Nunn (after T. S. Eliot)
The mess that was Sunday & Monday
The new study room
Monday, October 31, 2005
Undoing the ties that bind
It's been a thought-provoking few days.
I couldn't sleep much last night at the new place. New sights, new sounds, new smells. It's funny how I had less problem adjusting to life in Melbourne some years ago compared to how difficult it was last night in a place less than 20km away from my old apartment.
Strange how that sounds. Having to address the former place as "old". Granted that it's been more than 3 decades since the first residents moved in (including my parents). There used to be a graveyard behind, now it's prime estate. I used to be able to see the CBD skyline because it's on top of a small hill. On some days, the angle would be just right and I'd get a view of the full moon rising between the skyscrapers of Raffles Place. On the other side, I could see the glow of the industrial fires burning on the southern islands. Now the views are blocked by shiny new high-rise apartments that boast full-length windows and owners who put up full-length curtains to maintain privacy. How ironic.
There used to be pretty wooden furniture carved in 60's fashion. Downlights hanging from the ceiling, paneled walls, sunken-in wardrobes, wallpapers with pastel coloured circles, floors with chip tiles, a laundry area where the evening sun would ensure dry clothes before night.
The fate of the old apartment has been sealed, now that the collective sale has materialized. The wrecker's ball will swing into action early-2007. I wonder if it'll be kitsch for me to take a brick off the walls as souvenir. This place is the last physical tie I have with a father whom I never knew. In a way, this apartment was meant as a legacy from him. It has provided shelter from the rain and a place I could hide temporarily away from the troubles of the world.
It's feels almost like mourning for someone. Maybe it's poetic that this place should die before I find new life in another. Maybe this place needs to die as a symbolic and very real release of all the emotional baggages of my adopted-family. Maybe, finally, everyone can move on with their own lives.
I couldn't sleep much last night at the new place. New sights, new sounds, new smells. It's funny how I had less problem adjusting to life in Melbourne some years ago compared to how difficult it was last night in a place less than 20km away from my old apartment.
Strange how that sounds. Having to address the former place as "old". Granted that it's been more than 3 decades since the first residents moved in (including my parents). There used to be a graveyard behind, now it's prime estate. I used to be able to see the CBD skyline because it's on top of a small hill. On some days, the angle would be just right and I'd get a view of the full moon rising between the skyscrapers of Raffles Place. On the other side, I could see the glow of the industrial fires burning on the southern islands. Now the views are blocked by shiny new high-rise apartments that boast full-length windows and owners who put up full-length curtains to maintain privacy. How ironic.
There used to be pretty wooden furniture carved in 60's fashion. Downlights hanging from the ceiling, paneled walls, sunken-in wardrobes, wallpapers with pastel coloured circles, floors with chip tiles, a laundry area where the evening sun would ensure dry clothes before night.
The fate of the old apartment has been sealed, now that the collective sale has materialized. The wrecker's ball will swing into action early-2007. I wonder if it'll be kitsch for me to take a brick off the walls as souvenir. This place is the last physical tie I have with a father whom I never knew. In a way, this apartment was meant as a legacy from him. It has provided shelter from the rain and a place I could hide temporarily away from the troubles of the world.
It's feels almost like mourning for someone. Maybe it's poetic that this place should die before I find new life in another. Maybe this place needs to die as a symbolic and very real release of all the emotional baggages of my adopted-family. Maybe, finally, everyone can move on with their own lives.
Sunday, October 30, 2005
the final 24 hours (IV)
Dead tired after packing and running around the whole day.
@ 9.30pm, battery flat
Pretty dramatic day. It began "normal" enough if you'll consider moving house normal. Anyway, as I was walking across the carpark of the old place in the morning, the property agent spotted me and shouted out my name. Now, this person is a very prim and proper lady who's also eight months+ pregnant, like Wifey. So it was rather uncharacteristic for her to shout my name from across the carpark. And why would a property agent know me by name? Well, this old place is going under the hammer. The whole estate, I mean. Most of the residents have been trying to sell this place collectively (en bloc) since before the economic crash of 1997. I believe at one stage we were hoping for over 2 mil per unit, before the Thai baht took a beating. There had been many attempts since then and I'm pretty tired of another attempt now for the en bloc sale.
the main door, with the shoe area
Anyway, here's the conversation between me and the agent...
Agent: Andrew!
Me: Oh hi! (groaning inside...argh...not again)
Agent: How have you been?
Me: ok lor, moving house tomorrow.
Agent: Wow, already? All set for the sale huh?
Me: What sale?
Agent: Oh I forgot to call you. The en bloc sale went through with 80% agreement.
Me: ....
Agent: Oh yeah, and we got X million more, which translates to Y million more per unit.
Me: ....
Agent: And one more thing, the court order will probably be issued soon and you'll be expected to move out & get the cash by next Christmas.
Me: ....
Agent: So you don't actually need to move that soon.
Me: er, ok...so when's your baby due?
Well, that's about all I can recall.
Talk about serendipity.
This is a weight taken off my shoulder, having looked after this place for everyone else for the past 2+ decades. Having said that, I will still miss this place. Yes, it is going to be a trauma moving away. It will probably linger in my memory for a long, long while. I might even look back with nostalgia and regret in future, leaving this place. I will miss having Botanic Gardens at 10 minutes' jog away and walking through its quiet grounds whenever I feel like it. Whatever it is, time to move on.
Take care, my old friendly dragon. You will always be the fairy tale of my teenage years.
view from the balcony
@ 9.30pm, battery flat
Pretty dramatic day. It began "normal" enough if you'll consider moving house normal. Anyway, as I was walking across the carpark of the old place in the morning, the property agent spotted me and shouted out my name. Now, this person is a very prim and proper lady who's also eight months+ pregnant, like Wifey. So it was rather uncharacteristic for her to shout my name from across the carpark. And why would a property agent know me by name? Well, this old place is going under the hammer. The whole estate, I mean. Most of the residents have been trying to sell this place collectively (en bloc) since before the economic crash of 1997. I believe at one stage we were hoping for over 2 mil per unit, before the Thai baht took a beating. There had been many attempts since then and I'm pretty tired of another attempt now for the en bloc sale.
the main door, with the shoe area
Anyway, here's the conversation between me and the agent...
Agent: Andrew!
Me: Oh hi! (groaning inside...argh...not again)
Agent: How have you been?
Me: ok lor, moving house tomorrow.
Agent: Wow, already? All set for the sale huh?
Me: What sale?
Agent: Oh I forgot to call you. The en bloc sale went through with 80% agreement.
Me: ....
Agent: Oh yeah, and we got X million more, which translates to Y million more per unit.
Me: ....
Agent: And one more thing, the court order will probably be issued soon and you'll be expected to move out & get the cash by next Christmas.
Me: ....
Agent: So you don't actually need to move that soon.
Me: er, ok...so when's your baby due?
*
Well, that's about all I can recall.
Talk about serendipity.
This is a weight taken off my shoulder, having looked after this place for everyone else for the past 2+ decades. Having said that, I will still miss this place. Yes, it is going to be a trauma moving away. It will probably linger in my memory for a long, long while. I might even look back with nostalgia and regret in future, leaving this place. I will miss having Botanic Gardens at 10 minutes' jog away and walking through its quiet grounds whenever I feel like it. Whatever it is, time to move on.
Take care, my old friendly dragon. You will always be the fairy tale of my teenage years.
view from the balcony
Saturday, October 29, 2005
last 24 hours (III)
@10.50am packing the plates in old newspaper
snapshot of the living room
door number, made by Wifey
main entrance
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