heart of the matter

Tomorrow, I'm going to the hospital to get a 24-hour holter monitor fitted on me. I have been having problems with my heart for a few months now, and a dizzy spell last week and numbness on my arms saw me at the emergency clinic halfway through work, and going through yet another ECG test. 

Frankly, I'm tired of all these testings, and of not knowing exactly what is wrong with my heart. And to add salt to a wound, my impatient nature only contributes to the stress of uncertainty. 

Seven months ago, my GP thought my accelerated heart rate was due to hyperthyroidism - a pre-existing condition I've lived with for the past eight years. After some blood tests, of which the results turned out normal, he diagnosed me with palpitations caused by anxiety instead.

Last week, I heard another new word, another possibility - tachycardia - a condition where your heart is beating constantly at an elevated speed - even when you're resting. At this point, I'd much rather know what's wrong with me, and take whatever medication I need to control it - rather than have dizzy spells because not enough oxygen is pumping through, or feel like I've just run a marathon when all I'm doing is sitting on a couch, and struggle to breathe. 

The holter tomorrow will monitor the rhythms of my heart over a 24-hour period; taking constant data and noting the patterns of when the heart rate peaks and subsides. It's not supposed to be invasive. Merely a concoction of electrodes and wiring that's stuck to your body, with the only uncomfortable factor being that I won't be able to take a shower tomorrow.

But the truth is, I'm a little nervous. And a little tired of being ill. And of not being able to run, or walk up a steep path without feeling like I'm going to keel over and die. 

Hopefully by tomorrow, everything will be over. But until then...

... I'll just have to do what my mum says, and love my heart.

anticipation

In exactly two months and three days, The Boy will be The Husband; and life as I know it, will never be the same again. 

I've been veering between excitement, trepidation, and restlessness as the Big Day draws closer and closer, while my List-of-things-I-have-to-do-before-the-wedding, seems to be getting longer and longer. 

Needless to say, bouts of slightly manic behaviour have reared it's ugly head - as I rush around trying to get everything in order. Printing menus, organising favours, registering for our marriage license, compiling a list of music for the night, reminding The Boy to write his vows (which I have to note he still hasn't done), were only some of last few weeks' task that I managed to cross off.

On top of that, work is getting more stressful each day. For the first time since I've been in New Zealand, I'm managing an entire magazine by myself. From coming up with story ideas, interviewing an average of ten people a week, writing almost all of the articles, producing the flatplan, and working with my designer on laying out the pages as well as proofreading them when the pages are done, I have certainly been busy. And that's just the beginning.

The Boss has taken over a competing lifestyle magazine - which we will begin working on next month. I have just been tasked to manage that too. 

How I'm going to produce two magazines, plan a wedding, harass immigration for my residency and keep my sanity at the same time, I really do not know. 

But in just two months, The Boy will be The Husband. And at the end of the day, that's all I really need to know.

_______________________________________________

For every smile, every touch, every tear you wipe from my eye, every night you hold me to sleep, every morning you wake me up with a coffee, every time you worry, every second you hold my hand in yours, I love you. You've given my life a meaning it never had, a love stronger than anything I've ever felt, a reason to be a better person, and a hope for a wonderful, beautiful life ahead. 

I carry your heart. I carry it in my heart.

colours of spring

The Boy and I love gardens. More accurately, The Boy loves the rugged nature, while I tend to prefer pretty pathways and blossoming flowers. However, we always try to compromise our differences - and as we're on a rather tight budget these days due to the upcoming wedding, we thought visiting a nearby garden would satisfy our craving to do something outdoors without having to pay an arm and a leg.

And so, The Boy and I decided to meet his Aunt Helen who was in town at the Mt. Eden Gardens - a lovely, peaceful spot which we've heard about but never made the trip until now.

The garden was overflowing with colours - and I was mesmerised. We had a lovely breakfast of pies, muffins and lattes and then enjoyed a short stroll, with me snapping away with my camera, attempting to immortalise all the beautiful, vibrant flowers.

After breakfast with Aunty Helen, we then went over to the North Shore to do some wedding shopping, and to visit his sister Claire in Milford, where we spend a good two hours enjoying the afternoon sun on her deck - gorging on doughnuts, delightful conversations and plenty of laughs.

Days like today make me thankful that I'm alive. When it's constantly raining of you, you tend to forget that at some point the sun will have to shine again. It seems like the dark winter days are finally over. 

Here comes the colours.

quickie

Very tired after a long day of interviews, writing, and walking around, all while battling a 12-hour migraine. But just a quick one to assure that I've received all your emails, and an apology for some of the brief, one-sentence reply in between work. 

For those emails that I haven't managed to formulate an apt response to yet (yes Amy, I mean you), please know I've noted down your address and will be sure to include it in.

I've been testing out the security features - and if I'm not mistaken, you'll need to have a Google account (if you don't already have one) after awhile in order to log in. I apologise for the inconvenience, but I suppose it's worth the price to be able to write and publish whatever I like.

Thank you also for all your kind words and encouragement. After the battlefield of the past week, your support and extended friendship is much appreciated, and I look forward to getting to know all of you who've written in. 

For the rest of you, there's still time. =) Just email me at jolene.sojourn@gmail.com at any point and you'll receive access.

But until then, I need to rest my battered head on my extremely cuddly pillow, and thank God for another day survived. I will persevere.

darkness

I've just spent the past half hour going through old archives - reading and remembering my life four years ago, fresh out of university and already cynical with plenty of questions and no answers. 

Some of what I wrote way back then, seems like it still applies to me this very day. Inevitably, this causes me to ponder upon how much (or little) I've actually changed over the past four years. Am I destined to always be on a roller-coaster journey of life - lately filled with more challenges and obstacles than anything else - so I have something to write about? Would life have been kinder, if I had followed my other dream and became a psychologist instead?

These days I'm overwhelmingly tired after work; slipping into my pajamas around 8, tucked into bed with my laptop around 9, and falling asleep the minute The Boy turns off the light. I can't remember the last time I felt rested when I wake up, and I struggle to get through the day (not ideal when you have an entire magazine to put together in three weeks).

Problems with my residency application is ever endless, with today throwing me yet another curve-ball I wasn't expecting, leading me to make endless calls to the NZ Immigration, and finally leaving work early to go to the Immigration Department in person. Not that it helped in the least. I don't think I'll ever understand the difference between courage and recklessness. Was it courage that brought me here on my own? Or was it really the fact that I had nothing left to lose?

Two years ago, I would probably have given up. Why struggle so hard to stay in a country that's making it so difficult for me to? I'm not here to exploit anyone, or take advantage of the country's minimal facilities. I'm here because I thought it would bring me peace. Because I'm an intelligent, hardworking person that will do all I can to reach the top. Because I thought I could contribute something with my experiences and education. Because I was foolish hopeful that I've finally found my home, and I wanted to make something of it.

I don't know what's right or wrong anymore. I only know that any decision I make from here onwards, is a decision that has to be made by two. What IS different about me today, is the fact that I'm no longer alone in my journey. My pain is his pain. My frustration is his frustration. My inability to move forwards holds him back. My sadness is his sorrow. My happiness, his joy.

The person I am today is no longer able to pack up her bags and leave like she used to. From one house to another, one man to another, one country to another. She has to stay and fight. If for nothing else, than to be with the man she loves, the other half of her heart. Either that, or he runs away with her. And that dear readers, is for another story, another time.

A long time ago, I wrote that 'hope is the last to die'. Today, I feel the embers of that emotion fading in my heart. For tonight, all I want to do is curl up under my blanket, have his arms wrapped around me, and leave the rest of the world outside - for as long as I can. 

I am inextricably exhausted.

Introducing...

... Delilah Gee-Lyn Hicks

Baby and mum are safe at home, and Olivia has taken to her little sister very well. Here's wishing the Hicks family all the best in their new journey, and I truly can't wait to see them all at the wedding - only two and a half months to go!

update on 'privacy'

Hi all,

Thanks to those of you who've already emailed me with your details and address. I am touched by the response from both strangers and friends, and it's encouraged me to keep up with the writing. 

However, contrary to what I mentioned in my earlier post, A Life Uncorked will be closed to the public from this weekend - so do email me your address by Friday and I'll make sure you're able to access the blog.

someone like that

My grandpa made me sandwiches of white bread, butter and sugar, folded in half. Not because it was particularly healthy, but because I used to enjoy them so much as a child. 

My grandpa took care of me when I had chicken pox and high fever for two weeks. He made sure I had a damp cloth on my forehead to take away the heat, and sat by my side, stroking my hair while I slept, and dabbing my spots with cooling cream so I wouldn't scratch.

My grandpa created a 'kill the mosquito' game. My cousin brothers and I had to run around catching as many mozzies as we could, and he'd give us 50 cents for each one, and then take us to the store so we could choose our treat. I never got a single mosquito. He'd give me five dollars anyway, when my cousins weren't looking.

My grandpa knew when I was lonely. When I sat quietly in the corner reading my book, he would come over and make me play cards with him.

My grandpa never failed to ask me if I wanted a cup of hot Milo, every single evening.

My grandpa would sit by the window and wait with me for my mum to pick me up at nights.

My grandpa had strong hands. And sometimes, he would sit by my side on the couch, and hold on to my hand so tightly that I wasn't sure who needed who more. 

My grandpa loved how much I love books - just like him; but at the same time would scold me for reading at the dining table. 

My grandpa would chastise me for not finishing my dinner, and then buy me an ice cream as a treat for dessert. 

My grandpa laughed at my bad Chinese and my frustration when he couldn't understand what I was saying in English, but held me on his lap and hugged me anyway.

My grandpa fell ill after my grandma passed away a few years ago, and was never the same man again. 

My grandpa died today...

... and although it's been awhile since he's remembered my name, made me a sandwich, or played a game with me, my grandpa was my rock when no one else was around, and I will always love him.

Rest in peace, ah kong. (Wa chiak pa liow.)

privacy

After much thinking and consideration, I've decided to go private. Yes, from the beginning of October, A Life Uncorked will need your email address and password to be accessible - and for your email address to be valid, I’ll need to be informed what it is so I can include it on my list.

I’m doing this for a few reasons. Firstly, A Life Uncorked is essentially a personal website – with plenty of private, intimate information of myself, The Boy, and my family. While I’m obviously not too uncomfortable barring my soul for the world to see (after all, my blog has been available to anyone and everyone for almost four years), lately I’m becoming concerned about the fact that some of my readers are virtual strangers to me – who not only know personal, intimate details of my life, but also the life of my partner, and my family and friends when I inevitably write about them.

My tracking system (I know, it’s very James Bond of me) has shown me that in the last four weeks, some readers log on almost everyday, go through my entire archive, and spend hours at my site, searching through all sorts of private information. The same tracking system shows me I now have over 400 unique visitors – and I don’t even have that many friends! Now, this wouldn’t bother me if it were people I trusted, and at the very least, can identify. But as I don’t know who you are, the thought of someone being so completely interested in my life as to read archives from 2005, is a little unnerving.

To cut a long explanation short, I request that if you want to continue reading my blog after this month, please drop a comment below or send a quick email to Jolene.sojourn@gmail.com with your email address, so I can add it onto my security list when I block the site. From October, all you’ll have to do is key in your email address, password and viola! - A Life Uncorked with a lot more pictures of my family, and personal stories from my past.

I know I’ll feel heaps better knowing that the tales I tell of my family and friends, and the pictures I put up, won’t be read or downloaded by stalkers or someone who probably doesn’t even like me, but still want to nosy into my life.

And if you’re someone I’ve never met, but somehow stumbled on my site through links of others, don’t hesitate to drop me a line as well. As long as I know the connection and I know you’re safe, read away!

Here’s to a new, safe and improved site – a guarded community for family, friends and loved ones.

with arms wide open

A very warm to little Delilah Hicks, who made her grand entrance to the world at 8.47pm last night. Weighing at 3.57kg, Delilah measures 54cm - and according to her parents, already has a headful of hair! Can't say the same for her big sister though... =)

Anyway, congratulations Donna, Colin and Olivia! May this new addition to the family bring all of you many more wonderful experiences ahead, memories to treasure forever, and heaps of joy and laughter (amidst the crying and nappie changes of course)!

Hope to see my new niece in November!

identity

"What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet." 

I've started using my married name at work. My New Boss and I figured that since I would have to change my name in two months anyway, we might as well do it now. This way, we don't confuse clients, or have to reprint business cards and etc. when the time arrives...

... all of which is completely fine to me. Except that it takes some getting used to. Seeing my new name in print gives me a jolt that feels remarkably like joy, and at the same time, wariness. The feeling is not unlike having a new addition to the household, such as a puppy. You love it immediately, and care for it instantly, but it is inherently still a stranger to you - for that first day and night anyway. (I know, I really shouldn't be drawing analogies between a person's name and a puppy - but let's see if we can draw some similarities here.)

A puppy that you're meeting for the first time will worm its way into your heart in seconds. You will laugh at its antics, and tickle and cuddle the little bundle of joy for hours on end. The 'newness' of the experience exhilarates and excites you. You treasure every moment, and take hundreds of photographs. But despite all these, you don't know its habits, or what it's accustomed to. You don't know if it's lazy or active, obedient or mischievous. So you follow it around to make sure it doesn't chew your shoes, pee on the couch, or jump out the window. You are on your guard, to make sure nothing goes awry.

My new name, like a new puppy, is as comfortable as it is strange. As wonderful as it is confusing. As exciting as it is a challenge. As immediately welcoming like a new addition to the family would be, as it is a stranger. I still find it strange when the people I work with acknowledge me as a 'Mahon'. Even weirder when I have to call new clients and introduce myself, because I feel as though I'm not truly introducing myself. And yet, I find myself feeling strangely contented when I see my name printed on the magazine. When no one is looking, I brush my fingers on the words, feeling almost tender. 

I suppose at the end of the day, your name is the first mark of your identity. It is why people change their given names when they're older if they feel their original one doesn't fit. It gives you a clue as to the race and nationality of a person before even meeting them, which in return helps you formulate a framework in which the person is viewed.

No one would expect to see a petite Asian girl from Malaysia, when seeing my name on print in the magazine. But it is in fact, an addition to my identity. Much like being born and raised Malaysian is; or growing up as an only child, or moving to the United States when I was 18. Now I can add being married to a German and living in Kiwi-land as part of the pieces that makes me who I am.

Oh well, I suppose I should be thankful that his last name isn't Schweinsteiger or something like that. Somehow, I just don't think Jolene Schweinsteiger has quite the same ring to it. 

and so it is...

things i'll never say

I've finally admitted to myself that I'm hopeless at keeping my blog up-to-date, while having a full-time job as a writer/editor at the same time. Something about staring at the computer for nine hours on end, and reading thousands of words every single day, makes me want to shut out the world the internet when I'm home. I don't want to write, or reply emails, or surf. Reading is the only exception. When I read, I get lost in someone else's words and world - and for awhile, I cease to be. 

Truth be told, I'm not particularly busy - but I still feel completely drained at the end of each day. My computer have only just arrived today (after two long, tedious, boring days of keeping myself occupied with nothing but a chair and a desk to fiddle with), but I'm still without internet connection or emails, which is really frustrating. There really is no reason to have a computer when you can't log on to your emails or to the internet (especially when you're in the media industry and need to stay ahead of the game). 

Lately, I'm beginning to think that I can't win. I couldn't really enjoy being on 'vacation' because I didn't really know until the second week, if I was able to find another job in time. Now that I'm working again, I'm beginning to question if this is what I want to do - and more importantly, if New Zealand is where I want to be for the next five years. 

I think I've just about had enough with Immigration - and I'm tired of filling out documents and paperwork, paying the government hundreds and hundreds of hard earned money, just to be able to work (and pay taxes) for their country. It makes me wonder why I'm putting so much effort to stay here, and getting nothing back in return. 

Not only am I less respected in my field simply by being Asian, I also have to struggle harder to be heard - something the Kiwis in my company certainly don't have any problems with. I'm a naturally fast and efficient worker (or so I think, given past experiences), but have had to accommodate and tolerate my slower more complacent counterparts, only to be blamed when something doesn't get done. 

The truth is, I'm just tired. The two weeks of enforced vacation allowed me to refresh my mind, rest my body and be inspired to write again. But my soul feels beaten. Beaten and weary from dealing with bureaucracy; from being in a nasty company for the past year only to now work in a similar environment (perhaps because the new environment consists of the same people from Company X, who left to start Company Y?); from not being able to consider other career options because of permit restraints. And even after I've dotted all the i's and crossed the t's, I'm still stuck with nowhere to go - with nothing but paperwork to determine my future.

How did it come to this? I'm not very sure. I needed to leave Malaysia a year and a half ago for personal reasons. I thought New Zealand, with its outdoor scene and 'peaceful' vibe, would be just the place for me to rejuvenate. But now I'm feeling lost again. Perhaps I'm just never meant to find a place I can truly call my home. 

For now, the path is paved - and I am walking on it, partly because I have no strength to pave a new path. But mostly because I still want to see where this road leads, and if all the stones I've laid down to get here, will end in a destination that's been worth the journey. 

Sometimes I wish I were more complacent. More like the Kiwis I see around me. More accepting of my fate, instead of being in possession of this raw determination and need to reach, and never stop reaching, for things that may be far beyond my touch. But for today, I just need to keep walking. Keep walking, loving, reading, sleeping, dreaming, hoping. And maybe one day I'll look back and I'll understand all of it. 

Until then, I've got you. And you are my heart and my home. 

di yi ci (aka the first time)

There are a few firsts in life that will always be memorable. The first time you fall in love. The first kiss. The first time you are able to play a difficult piano piece without mistakes. The first time you get all correct answers in a test. The first time you cook a meal for a loved one. The first time you live on your own. The first time you take an airplane. The list goes on and on.

And so, there are many firsts in life. But not all will be memorable. Today, my first day at my new job - was one of those not-so-memorable events. I had two extraordinarily busy hours in the morning, reading and correcting pages and pages of copy in time for lunch, followed by four absurdly leisurely hours doing absolutely nothing.

Now, while I'm a big fan of the L word, being 'leisurely' at work is not something I'm an advocate of. I'm a firm believer in having work to do when sitting at my desk for nine hours, having a goal to accomplish, and the higher the pressure the more I thrive. 

Suffice to say, having to occupy myself with mindless doodling, flipping through pages of old magazines, making tea or traipsing to the bathroom every hour just so I had something to do, was not really my ideal vision of what my first day at my new job would be like. 

Here I was, all geared and pumped up on pent up energy, ready to run the race, only to have it postponed. I must say it gave me a hell of a lot of time to arrange every morsel on my desk, wipe up every speck of dust, and turn round and round (when no one was looking of course), on my surprisingly agile chair. 

Five hours of boredom and a car ride back from 'work' later, The Boy decided to take me to our local Starbucks to pick out a new coffee mug for my new workplace. I am now the proud owner of a pretty green and orange mug that is bound to cheer up any morning. I predict tomorrow will be a better day. 

And even if it isn't, at least I now have a cool mug to have my four-times-a-day coffee and tea in.