:(

Looking thru my old posts, the last one was 2months ago and how different i feel.

The feelings are back....on and off but mostly on.

Kind of miss him.

My period is here, i think i am emotional. :(

......

The feelings are back to square one.

Closed the biggest deal ever but not feeling entirely happy. Why?

I rather be at work now.

Those aren't fight words, Dear

Ah fat sent me this one day....so familiar....

My version is in red.

August 2, 2009
Modern Love
Those Aren’t Fighting Words, Dear
By LAURA A. MUNSON
LET’S say you have what you believe to be a healthy marriage. You’re still friends and lovers after spending more than half of your lives together. The dreams you set out to achieve in your 20s — gazing into each other’s eyes in candlelit city bistros when you were single and skinny — have for the most part come true.

Two decades later you have the 20 acres of land, the farmhouse, the children, the dogs and horses. You’re the parents you said you would be, full of love and guidance. You’ve done it all: Disneyland, camping, Hawaii, Mexico, city living, stargazing.

Sure, you have your marital issues, but on the whole you feel so self-satisfied about how things have worked out that you would never, in your wildest nightmares, think you would hear these words from your husband one fine summer day: “I don’t love you anymore. I’m not sure I ever did. I’m moving out. The kids will understand. They’ll want me to be happy.”

But wait. This isn’t the divorce story you think it is. Neither is it a begging-him-to-stay story. It’s a story about hearing your husband say “I don’t love you anymore” and deciding not to believe him. And what can happen as a result.

Here’s a visual: Child throws a temper tantrum. Tries to hit his mother. But the mother doesn’t hit back, lecture or punish. Instead, she ducks. Then she tries to go about her business as if the tantrum isn’t happening. She doesn’t “reward” the tantrum. She simply doesn’t take the tantrum personally because, after all, it’s not about her.

Let me be clear: I’m not saying my husband was throwing a child’s tantrum. No. He was in the grip of something else — a profound and far more troubling meltdown that comes not in childhood but in midlife, when we perceive that our personal trajectory is no longer arcing reliably upward as it once did. But I decided to respond the same way I’d responded to my children’s tantrums. And I kept responding to it that way. For four months.
“I don’t love you anymore. I’m not sure I ever did.”

His words came at me like a speeding fist, like a sucker punch, yet somehow in that moment I was able to duck. And once I recovered and composed myself, I managed to say, “I don’t buy it.” Because I didn’t.

He drew back in surprise. Apparently he’d expected me to burst into tears, to rage at him, to threaten him with a custody battle. Or beg him to change his mind.

So he turned mean. “I don’t like what you’ve become.”

Gut-wrenching pause. How could he say such a thing? That’s when I really wanted to fight. To rage. To cry. But I didn’t.

Instead, a shroud of calm enveloped me, and I repeated those words: “I don’t buy it.”

You see, I’d recently committed to a non-negotiable understanding with myself. I’d committed to “The End of Suffering.” I’d finally managed to exile the voices in my head that told me my personal happiness was only as good as my outward success, rooted in things that were often outside my control. I’d seen the insanity of that equation and decided to take responsibility for my own happiness. And I mean all of it.

My husband hadn’t yet come to this understanding with himself. He had enjoyed many years of hard work, and its rewards had supported our family of four all along. But his new endeavor hadn’t been going so well, and his ability to be the breadwinner was in rapid decline. He’d been miserable about this, felt useless, was losing himself emotionally and letting himself go physically. And now he wanted out of our marriage; to be done with our family.

But I wasn’t buying it.

I said: “It’s not age-appropriate to expect children to be concerned with their parents’ happiness. Not unless you want to create co-dependents who’ll spend their lives in bad relationships and therapy. There are times in every relationship when the parties involved need a break. What can we do to give you the distance you need, without hurting the family?”

“Huh?” he said.

“Go trekking in Nepal. Build a yurt in the back meadow. Turn the garage studio into a man-cave. Get that drum set you’ve always wanted. Anything but hurting the children and me with a reckless move like the one you’re talking about.”

Then I repeated my line, “What can we do to give you the distance you need, without hurting the family?”

“Huh?”

“How can we have a responsible distance?”

“I don’t want distance,” he said. “I want to move out.”

My mind raced. Was it another woman? Drugs? Unconscionable secrets? But I stopped myself. I would not suffer.

Instead, I went to my desk, Googled “responsible separation” and came up with a list. It included things like: Who’s allowed to use what credit cards? Who are the children allowed to see you with in town? Who’s allowed keys to what?

I looked through the list and passed it on to him.

His response: “Keys? We don’t even have keys to our house.”

I remained stoic. I could see pain in his eyes. Pain I recognized.

“Oh, I see what you’re doing,” he said. “You’re going to make me go into therapy. You’re not going to let me move out. You’re going to use the kids against me.”

“I never said that. I just asked: What can we do to give you the distance you need ... ”

“Stop saying that!”

Well, he didn’t move out.
Instead, he spent the summer being unreliable. He stopped coming home at his usual six o’clock.

He would stay out late and not call. He blew off our entire Fourth of July — the parade, the barbecue, the fireworks — to go to someone else’s party. When he was at home, he was distant. He wouldn’t look me in the eye. He didn’t even wish me “Happy Birthday.”

But I didn’t play into it. I walked my line. I told the kids: “Daddy’s having a hard time as adults often do. But we’re a family, no matter what.” I was not going to suffer. And neither were they.

MY trusted friends were irate on my behalf. “How can you just stand by and accept this behavior? Kick him out! Get a lawyer!”

I walked my line with them, too. This man was hurting, yet his problem wasn’t mine to solve. In fact, I needed to get out of his way so he could solve it.

I know what you’re thinking: I’m a pushover. I’m weak and scared and would put up with anything to keep the family together. I’m probably one of those women who would endure physical abuse. But I can assure you, I’m not. I load 1,500-pound horses into trailers and gallop through the high country of Montana all summer. I went through Pitocin-induced natural childbirth. And a Caesarean section without follow-up drugs. I am handy with a chain saw.

I simply had come to understand that I was not at the root of my husband’s problem. He was. If he could turn his problem into a marital fight, he could make it about us. I needed to get out of the way so that wouldn’t happen.

Privately, I decided to give him time. Six months.

I had good days, and I had bad days. On the good days, I took the high road. I ignored his lashing out, his merciless jabs. On bad days, I would fester in the August sun while the kids ran through sprinklers, raging at him in my mind. But I never wavered. Although it may sound ridiculous to say “Don’t take it personally” when your husband tells you he no longer loves you, sometimes that’s exactly what you have to do.

Instead of issuing ultimatums, yelling, crying or begging, I presented him with options. I created a summer of fun for our family and welcomed him to share in it, or not — it was up to him. If he chose not to come along, we would miss him, but we would be just fine, thank you very much.

And we were.

And, yeah, you can bet I wanted to sit him down and persuade him to stay. To love me. To fight for what we’ve created. You can bet I wanted to.

But I didn’t.

I barbecued. Made lemonade. Set the table for four. Loved him from afar.

And one day, there he was, home from work early, mowing the lawn. A man doesn’t mow his lawn if he’s going to leave it. Not this man. Then he fixed a door that had been broken for eight years. He made a comment about our front porch needing paint. Our front porch. He mentioned needing wood for next winter. The future. Little by little, he started talking about the future.
It was Thanksgiving dinner that sealed it. My husband bowed his head humbly and said, “I’m thankful for my family.”

He was back.

And I saw what had been missing: pride. He’d lost pride in himself. Maybe that’s what happens when our egos take a hit in midlife and we realize we’re not as young and golden anymore.

When life’s knocked us around. And our childhood myths reveal themselves to be just that. The truth feels like the biggest sucker-punch of them all: it’s not a spouse or land or a job or money that brings us happiness. Those achievements, those relationships, can enhance our happiness, yes, but happiness has to start from within. Relying on any other equation can be lethal.

My husband had become lost in the myth. But he found his way out. We’ve since had the hard conversations. In fact, he encouraged me to write about our ordeal. To help other couples who arrive at this juncture in life. People who feel scared and stuck. Who believe their temporary feelings are permanent. Who see an easy out, and think they can escape.

My husband tried to strike a deal. Blame me for his pain. Unload his feelings of personal disgrace onto me.

But I ducked. And I waited. And it worked.

Laura A. Munson is a writer who lives in Whitefish, Mont.

Copyright 2009 The New York Times Company



Those Aren’t Fighting Words, Dear

By LAURA A. MUNSON

LET’S say you have what you believe to be a healthy marriage. You’re still friends and lovers after spending more than half of your lives together. The dreams you set out to achieve in your 20s — gazing into each other’s eyes in candlelit city bistros when you were single and skinny — have for the most part come true.

I seriously believed we had a healthy marriage.

Two decades later you have the 20 acres of land, the farmhouse, the children, the dogs and horses. You’re the parents you said you would be, full of love and guidance. You’ve done it all: Disneyland, camping, Hawaii, Mexico, city living, stargazing.

We were together for 6 years when it happened. Travelled quite a bit together. Scuba dived together. Build a home together. Decorated it together.

Sure, you have your marital issues, but on the whole you feel so self-satisfied about how things have worked out that you would never, in your wildest nightmares, think you would hear these words from your husband one fine summer day: “I don’t love you anymore. I’m not sure I ever did. I’m moving out. The kids will understand. They’ll want me to be happy.”

"I don't love you anymore. It's been going on for months." Oh boy was I shocked!

But wait. This isn’t the divorce story you think it is. Neither is it a begging-him-to-stay story. It’s a story about hearing your husband say “I don’t love you anymore” and deciding not to believe him. And what can happen as a result.

I didn't believe him. I just didn't.

Here’s a visual: Child throws a temper tantrum. Tries to hit his mother. But the mother doesn’t hit back, lecture or punish. Instead, she ducks. Then she tries to go about her business as if the tantrum isn’t happening. She doesn’t “reward” the tantrum. She simply doesn’t take the tantrum personally because, after all, it’s not about her.

I was quite sure it wasn't me. I did not do anything different.

Let me be clear: I’m not saying my husband was throwing a child’s tantrum. No. He was in the grip of something else — a profound and far more troubling meltdown that comes not in childhood but in midlife, when we perceive that our personal trajectory is no longer arcing reliably upward as it once did. But I decided to respond the same way I’d responded to my children’s tantrums. And I kept responding to it that way. For four months.

I suspected he was in some kind of mid life crisis. He wanted to change jobs, join a gym, do this and do that. He had very random ideas. I could tell he was bored.

“I don’t love you anymore. I’m not sure I ever did.”

Yup heard that over and over again.

His words came at me like a speeding fist, like a sucker punch, yet somehow in that moment I was able to duck. And once I recovered and composed myself, I managed to say, “I don’t buy it.” Because I didn’t.

My initial shock turned into sadness then anger then calmness. I told him I didn't believe him.

He drew back in surprise. Apparently he’d expected me to burst into tears, to rage at him, to threaten him with a custody battle. Or beg him to change his mind.

So he turned mean. “I don’t like what you’ve become.”

He was a meanie. Put the blame on me.

Gut-wrenching pause. How could he say such a thing? That’s when I really wanted to fight. To rage. To cry. But I didn’t.

Instead, a shroud of calm enveloped me, and I repeated those words: “I don’t buy it.”

I don't know why. I had the same calmness. I even had to console him on the days when he was miserable to be married to me and he doesn't think we will work out ever. Those days I stopped crying.

You see, I’d recently committed to a non-negotiable understanding with myself. I’d committed to “The End of Suffering.” I’d finally managed to exile the voices in my head that told me my personal happiness was only as good as my outward success, rooted in things that were often outside my control. I’d seen the insanity of that equation and decided to take responsibility for my own happiness. And I mean all of it.

Somehow I knew I would always have a great life no matter what. I was at peace with myself.
I think God made me in a way where I cannot and would not look at myself in self pity. My God, my abba father, my source of strength tells me that my worth was measured in gold and not in misery. I am a champion no matter what.

My husband hadn’t yet come to this understanding with himself. He had enjoyed many years of hard work, and its rewards had supported our family of four all along. But his new endeavor hadn’t been going so well, and his ability to be the breadwinner was in rapid decline. He’d been miserable about this, felt useless, was losing himself emotionally and letting himself go physically. And now he wanted out of our marriage; to be done with our family.

I am not sure till this day what happened. Was it because I join a new company and I made new friends that he felt he was out of the picture? Was I learning new things faster than him? I was the last person he expected to join a bank, watch CNBC and has Bloomberg as a homepage. I was picking up financial terms and how it works faster and better than him. Did he feel like his self esteem was under attack? Did he feel like he was no longer smart enough for me? Did he feel like I stopped giving him the attention he needed? Did he feel inadequate being with me then?

But I wasn’t buying it.

Of cos I wasn't buying it.

I said: “It’s not age-appropriate to expect children to be concerned with their parents’ happiness. Not unless you want to create co-dependents who’ll spend their lives in bad relationships and therapy. There are times in every relationship when the parties involved need a break. What can we do to give you the distance you need, without hurting the family?”

"Why don't you tell your male friends and talk to them?"

“Huh?” he said.

Scratch?

“Go trekking in Nepal. Build a yurt in the back meadow. Turn the garage studio into a man-cave.
Get that drum set you’ve always wanted. Anything but hurting the children and me with a reckless move like the one you’re talking about.”

Go out with your friends. Do something. I am not stopping you. I can wait it out. I can give you time to think about what you want.

Then I repeated my line, “What can we do to give you the distance you need, without hurting the family?”

“Huh?”

“How can we have a responsible distance?”

“I don’t want distance,” he said. “I want to move out.”

"I do not want to waste your time. Better to end it early."

My mind raced. Was it another woman? Drugs? Unconscionable secrets? But I stopped myself. I would not suffer.

I keep wondering if it was another woman. What else? Whatever it is, it's not me.

Instead, I went to my desk, Googled “responsible separation” and came up with a list. It included things like: Who’s allowed to use what credit cards? Who are the children allowed to see you with in town? Who’s allowed keys to what?

I looked through the list and passed it on to him.

His response: “Keys? We don’t even have keys to our house.”

I remained stoic. I could see pain in his eyes. Pain I recognized.

“Oh, I see what you’re doing,” he said. “You’re going to make me go into therapy. You’re not going to let me move out. You’re going to use the kids against me.”

Funnily enough, he suggested therapy.

“I never said that. I just asked: What can we do to give you the distance you need ... ”

“Stop saying that!”

Well, he didn’t move out.

Instead, he spent the summer being unreliable. He stopped coming home at his usual six o’clock. He would stay out late and not call. He blew off our entire Fourth of July — the parade, the barbecue, the fireworks — to go to someone else’s party. When he was at home, he was distant. He wouldn’t look me in the eye. He didn’t even wish me “Happy Birthday.”

Somehow, he still came home the same time and we managed to eat dinner together. We didn't talk at home. He stopped holding my hand. It was weird to even be too near to him. I felt like I was living with a stranger. He was always chatting online. And I couldn't even sit next to him. He would blow his top and said I was intruding. It was very heart breaking.

But I didn’t play into it. I walked my line. I told the kids: “Daddy’s having a hard time as adults often do. But we’re a family, no matter what.” I was not going to suffer. And neither were they.

MY trusted friends were irate on my behalf. “How can you just stand by and accept this behavior? Kick him out! Get a lawyer!”

Hahaha... you know who you are.

I walked my line with them, too. This man was hurting, yet his problem wasn’t mine to solve. In fact, I needed to get out of his way so he could solve it.

I felt like he was a teenager who was lost and I had to bring him back. If I left him, he was be even more trouble with himself. I had to be patient, not to tip him over the edge. But he needed to solve his own problems.
I know what you’re thinking: I’m a pushover. I’m weak and scared and would put up with anything to keep the family together. I’m probably one of those women who would endure physical abuse. But I can assure you, I’m not. I load 1,500-pound horses into trailers and gallop through the high country of Montana all summer. I went through Pitocin-induced natural childbirth. And a Caesarean section without follow-up drugs. I am handy with a chain saw.

I know what you are thinking too. Don't worry about me. I am very hardy. I take on molesters on buses, road bullies, pick pockets in Paris and tuk tuk drivers who try to pull a fast one.

I simply had come to understand that I was not at the root of my husband’s problem. He was. If he could turn his problem into a marital fight, he could make it about us. I needed to get out of the way so that wouldn’t happen.

Sorry. It's just not me. Why are you blaming me? I am pretty sure it's you.

Privately, I decided to give him time. Six months.

Privately. I gave him 2 years. Sibei long hor?

I had good days, and I had bad days. On the good days, I took the high road. I ignored his lashing out, his merciless jabs. On bad days, I would fester in the August sun while the kids ran through sprinklers, raging at him in my mind. But I never wavered. Although it may sound ridiculous to say “Don’t take it personally” when your husband tells you he no longer loves you, sometimes that’s exactly what you have to do.

I ignored his miserable look and tone. I put aside his " I don't love you" I went to work laughed and joked all day long. Day after day. When I reached home and faced him, I allowed him to vent his fruastrations on me. Tears stopped coming, not because I wasn't sad anymore but I knew he needed help and I was the only one who could help him. I gave him time and space.

Instead of issuing ultimatums, yelling, crying or begging, I presented him with options. I created a summer of fun for our family and welcomed him to share in it, or not — it was up to him. If he chose not to come along, we would miss him, but we would be just fine, thank you very much.

And we were.

I was fine. I had a revelation when an angel spoke to me. I knew I was going to be ok. Whatever happens. I let him know that.

And, yeah, you can bet I wanted to sit him down and persuade him to stay. To love me. To fight for what we’ve created. You can bet I wanted to.

But I didn’t.

I sat him a couple times but when he turned into his meanie self. I backed off.

I barbecued. Made lemonade. Set the table for four. Loved him from afar.

I invited him to meals with my friends. I invited him to my office parties. I suggested places to go. I went off for a weekend diving and had fun. Loved him from afar.

And one day, there he was, home from work early, mowing the lawn. A man doesn’t mow his lawn if he’s going to leave it. Not this man. Then he fixed a door that had been broken for eight years. He made a comment about our front porch needing paint. Our front porch. He mentioned needing wood for next winter. The future. Little by little, he started talking about the future.

Finally one night, when he joined my colleagues and I for clubbing. He never let go off my hand. He held me tight like he knew he would lose me if he continued his route of misery.

It was Thanksgiving dinner that sealed it. My husband bowed his head humbly and said, “I’m thankful for my family.”

I could tell he was scared of losing me. He never let me go out of his sight that weekend. We were like 2 peas in a pod.

He was back.

Yes he was.

And I saw what had been missing: pride. He’d lost pride in himself. Maybe that’s what happens when our egos take a hit in midlife and we realize we’re not as young and golden anymore.

Maybe he felt the same way. I will never know for sure.

When life’s knocked us around. And our childhood myths reveal themselves to be just that. The truth feels like the biggest sucker-punch of them all: it’s not a spouse or land or a job or money that brings us happiness. Those achievements, those relationships, can enhance our happiness, yes, but happiness has to start from within. Relying on any other equation can be lethal.

You are happy the minute you choose to be happy. Be the theremometer not the thermostat.

My husband had become lost in the myth. But he found his way out. We’ve since had the hard conversations. In fact, he encouraged me to write about our ordeal. To help other couples who arrive at this juncture in life. People who feel scared and stuck. Who believe their temporary feelings are permanent. Who see an easy out, and think they can escape.

He is still sometimes in a world of his own that I am unable to step into. I let him be. He needs his space. I will love enough for both of us if need be. I will have my ups and lows as well. But I know Jesus will provide me enough strength to get by the lows. I refuse to let him give up on himself.

My husband tried to strike a deal. Blame me for his pain. Unload his feelings of personal disgrace onto me.

Yes he blamed me. All of it. Everything was my fault dated way back to 2003.

But I ducked. And I waited. And it worked.

Thank you Jesus.

Laura A. Munson is a writer who lives in Whitefish, Mont.

Copyright 2009 The New York Times Company

Heart

I lost a colleauge today....her new boss makes mine seem like an angel.

Some people just have no heart. do whatever they can to reach their personal targets.

I love my boss!

This is for you, you, you and you!!!

Listening to Jay Chou's Dao Xiang



A light melody introduced to me by csb. Kinda hooked on it now.

Reached home about an hour ago after dinner with my folks and guess what? I went to the gym and spent an hour on the thread mill....walking of cos :p Nontheless, I was perspiring like mad and felt really good about myself.

Had a LZB pajamies (bwen's version) party at club depot. My sistars crack me up!!! alot of insults and taunting shooting back and forth but no hard feelings in this group. We all know we love one another.

My favourite Malaysian aka Lazy POW, always has a listening ear despite her wise ass jokes and signature ala pirates one black tooth and captain sparrow's black smouldering eyes. Can't believe we survived 18 years together. She is the tooth picking bitting, fashion police who loves K POP!

My favourite Indonesian aka Ahnik, who lets us boss her around and keeps the place clean and has more patience for her dear friends than her men. One who is always not afraid to curse in hokkien in the gentlest of tone and fantazises to launch an attack on a flasher one day.

My favourite Singaporean friend aka Tatulla twinkie tai tai tey, who is always ready to pay for food and drinks, haggle with durian uncles and will drive over to comfort or bring you to the doctor. With her phoenix eyes (which somebody insists she has, i wonder who?), she will give you the most kiam pah look and you can count on her to spit poison on your enemy.

My favourite Taiwanese friend aka Ahfat who missed the latest LZB gathering but has her heart and soul with us here in teeny tiny Singapore, vowed to order 30 chicken wings when she is back. Although she is far away, she is always kept abreast of the latest gossips and will bring goodies when she back. Through her emails, you can always feel her warmth and concern. My favourite Shu Umera importer!

You have made my life more colourful.
You have provided me with loads of laughter.
You have given me different perspectives.
You have listened to my woes.
You have allowed me to be who I am.
You have shared my happiest moments.
You have gained weight with me.
You have encouraged me.
In the words of Jerry Maguire " You complete me."

XOXO,
bobo