The Days Are Long, The Years Are Short

Early this morning, just as sunlight was peeking out beneath the bedroom curtains, I woke to the sound of whispers and sobs. Groggy from sleep, I lifted my head, turned my ears to the sound and listened quietly. I heard Ethan sniffle as he asked The Husband, "Where is Mommy?"

The whisperings continued, and little while later, I felt my secondborn crawl his way past The Husband and stuff himself under the covers between us. Hugging me tightly, he gripped on to me like his life depended on it. I turned to The Husband. Confused. "Cho ni?" I asked, meaning, "What's the matter?" in Teochew. "He thought you died," The Husband explained in whisper. 

😳 Oh. 😔

So there we lay in the semi-darkness, JJ and I.
Him calling out to me every once in a while,
even though I was literally right there in his arms.

"Mommy?"

"Mmm..."

"Mommy."

"Yes?"

"Mommyyyy..."

"I'm here..."

He hugged and he snuggled, and he sniffled between sobs. He played with my hair, combing it over and over, somehow finding comfort in the feeling of the strands running through his fingers. He hadn't done that in a long while. But he used to... when he was little. 

And in that moment, it all came back to me. The memories.

Those long nights of feeling trapped under the weight of motherhood – motherhood dressed up as a little boy in a tiny body, curled up beside me or tiarap-ed on top of me, with tiny hands that brushed my hair, held my face, or pinched my tummy, and wouldn’t let go until sleep finally came for him.

How true the saying:

The days are long, but the years are short. 

In the thick of life with little ones, when the boys were young and needy, so very small and oh-so-clingy, I thought the days would never end. Bedtimes never came soon enough. And while we didn’t exactly rush through them, I must admit, that by nightfall, I was often so peopled out and touched out that the thought of clingy bedtimes often felt like... a lot.

It's funny how I now look back on

those difficult days with fondness. 

Oh, how perspective changes

with the passing of time. 

Yet now, even with new eyes,

it's impossible turning back the clock. 😔

So, back to the story at hand... We snuggled until morning came too soon, suspended in that quiet abyss between wake and sleep. I didn't want that moment to end. I hugged him, kissed his teary cheeks and breathed in his familiar scent, now tinged with the faint musk of pre-teen boyhood.

That one hour with him in my arms, sniffling on and off, brought me right back to the days when comforting a clingy child once felt like a chore. Only today, it felt like the greatest blessing of my life. How perception shifts when you lose what you once had. Now, I miss that closeness I had with my boys more than ever. And it feels a little sad that it took a bad dream for me to get a taste of it again. 😔

A Hug And A Kiss!

Although I was blessed with two boys, my mother–son routines and expressions of love with each of them are different.

Back when I was the only one doing morning runs, I would drop Ethan off at class, kneel down on one knee and spread my arms wide open, and he would run into my arms for one last big hug and a quick peck on the lips. (It started when he was 2y3m.) We would both chant in unison, “A huggg… and a kiss!” (The “hug” was long-drawn, but the “kiss” was staccato. Haha.) Every. Single. Schooling. Morning.

Sadly, Cancer and Covid stole this routine from me. 😞

They say as mothers, we remember all the firsts but never the lasts. But I remember this last. It was 3 September 2019 – the day I started chemo. That was the last time Ethan and I said goodbye our special way. ❤️‍🩹

Chemo lasted until 17 December 2019, but immunotherapy continued until 25 August 2020. By then, we were in the thick of MCO and the boys were at home doing Zoom school. No goodbyes necessary. And even after they went back to school, they had masks on. So, no kisses either.

Before we knew it, two years had passed. 

And somewhere in that time, Ethan grew up. 🥲

Hugs were still okay, still enjoyed… but pecks on the lips, no matter how quick, felt like too much. He also used to hold onto my cheeks and smoosh his face into mine, but after Covid, something shifted. Smooshing felt germy. And my baby wasn’t a baby anymore. Somehow, daytime smooshing was no longer a thing, and nighttime cuddles were rushed cos of school the next day.

But I'm not blogging sadness today; it's joy.

Because today, we had an interaction

 that took me by surprise. 

Ethan was playing Rivals online with his buddy from school when he asked me to make him Milo. I did, and after placing his mug next to him, I leaned forward to look at his screen. To my surprise, he gave me a peck on the cheek, flashed me the biggest smile, and then turned back to his screen to continue gaming. 

That small display of affection may have meant nothing to him. But it meant the world to me and my mommy heart skipped a thousand beats. I can't even remember the last time he did that!

I was instantly brought back to a beautiful past 

my mind had forgotten even existed,
but my heart hadn’t. 🩵

Sure, it wasn’t the same hug-and-kiss we used to chant. But didn’t need to be. It was quieter. More fleeting. Almost accidental, perhaps? But in that small, carefree peck on my cheek, I felt the same love. Just older, more contained, and somehow... the same, but evolved.

Yes, it's clear, my baby has grown. But I'll continue to appreciate and accept every expression of love he offers me, in whatever shape or form it appears, no matter how frequent or fleeting.

Philippians 1:21

There are times when pain is not physical. There are no bruises or bleeding. No abscesses or wounds to be cleaned. Nothing to be plastered or stitched up. No, it's invisible. It is pain that lives in heart and festers the soul. 

This form of suffering doesn't show up in scans. It's not measured in millilitres or temperature, or tracked through charts. It's the slow erosion of the will to endure. It's the grief that calcifies in the chest. It's the hopelessness that makes every breath feel like a burden.

For those of us who've been there – truly been there – death begins to look less like a thief in the night, and more like a gentle hand, extended in silence. Not cruel, but kind. Not cold, but calm. Because sometimes, death is not the enemy. It is release; it is mercy.


How much agony can a heart carry before it caves? I don't know. Perhaps, I will never know. But this I do know. Paul was right. 

----------

For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain.

– Philippians 1:21

Number One Girl

Liked this song when it first came out.

5 months later, I’m liking it still. 🎶🎵

--------

Artist: Rosé

Title: Number One Girl

Tell me that I'm special, tell me I look pretty 

Tell me I'm a little angel, the sweetheart of your city 

Say what I'm dying to hear, 'cause I'm dying to hear you 

Tell me I'm that new thing, tell me that I'm relevant 

Tell me that I got a big heart, then back it up with evidence 

I need it and I don't know why, this late at night 

[CHORUS]

Isn't it lonely? 

I'd do anything to make you want me 

I'd give it all up if you told me that I'd be 

The number one girl in your eyes 

Your one and only 

So what's it gon' take for you to want me? 

I'd give it all up if you told me that I'd be 

The number one girl in your eyes 

Tell me I'm going real big places, down to earth, so friendly 

And even through all the phases, tell me you accept me 

Well, that's all I'm dying to hear, yeah, I'm dying to hear you 

Tell me that you need me, tell me that I'm loved 

Tell me that I'm worth it and that I'm enough 

I need it and I don't know why, this late at night 

[CHORUS]

Isn't it lonely? 

I'd do anything to make you want me 

I'd give it all up if you told me that I'd be 

The number one girl in your eyes 

Your one and only 

So what's it gon' take for you to want me? 

I'd give it all up if you told me that I'd be 

The number one girl in your eyes 

The girl in your eyes (eyes) 

The girl in your eyes (eyes) 

Tell me I'm the number one girl 

I'm the number one girl in your eyes 

The girl in your eyes (eyes) 

The girl in your eyes (eyes) 

Tell me I'm the number one girl 

I'm the number one girl in your eyes 

[CHORUS]

Well, isn't it lonely? 

I'd do anything to make you want me 

I'd give it all up if you told me that I'd be 

The number one girl in your eyes 

Your one and only 

So what's it gon' take for you to want me? 

I'd give it all up if you told me that I'd be 

The number one girl in your eyes 

The number one girl in your eyes

--------

Not new, but still on repeat. So many feels.

Yes, I feel you, Rosé. I feel you.

And yes, it's lonely, isn't it? 🥲

The Quiet Truth About This Mother’s Day

This Mother's Day hits different. It feels like I’ve lost the right to celebrate my own motherhood. Like I don’t deserve to be celebrated for this person I’ve become – this role I’ve taken on. And from the messages I’ve received from girlfriends and mom-friends, it seems I’m not the only mom who feels this way. 🥲

More and more, Mother’s Day seems to have become just that – a day of mothers making mothers feel seen. Heard. Understood. This year, especially. It’s just us, trying to give ourselves permission to celebrate the people we are. The people we became when kids came into our lives.

Bystanders sometimes say:
“Oh, she’s a natural mother!” 

But that’s a lie.

No one’s a “natural mother.” 

Is it natural to run on four hours of sleep a night for years and years on end? 

Is it natural to remember other people’s shoe sizes, allergies and best friends? 

Is it natural to give your favourite potato chip to someone else without blinking? 

No. None of it comes naturally. 

But we do it anyway. 

Or at least we try. Every day. 

We try through the doubt. We try through the mess. We try through the bone-deep fatigue. Even when we’re falling apart inside, we try. Even if we kill ourselves trying along the way.

We try to be calm when the chaos is deafening. We try to be patient even when we’re frayed and unravelling. We try to be patient when we’re running on fumes. We try to be present when all we want is to disappear. 

We try to be good. We try to be kind. We try not to cry in front of the kids (too much). We try to be tough. We try to be enough. And still we go to bed wondering – knowing – that after all that's been done, it’s still not enough. It’s never enough.

It’s not the kids; it’s the expectations – the ones placed on us by others around us. The kind felt in every sigh, every raised eyebrow, every snide comment, every frown, and every moment we fall short of being everything to everyone.

The expectation to be it all, do it all, and never complain. To mother like we don’t have a job, and work like we don’t have children. To keep the house running, to hold it all together, to stay patient, soft, reliable – no matter how, no matter what, without thanks, and without falling apart.

Yet, every day, I disappoint. And every day, I fail. Because somehow, I'm too much… or not enough. It seems I will never be enough. Because I'm "the worst in the world". Even worse than that mom. Cos I mess up too much, do too little, prioritise wrongly, and let someone – everyone – down. Again. Always. 💔

So, Happy Mother’s Day to us – the moms who are still trying. Still becoming. Still hoping that one day, we will be enough. In the mean time, we see each other. We celebrate one other. And maybe… just maybe… that’s enough. ❤️‍🩹

M-NO-P

Last time, I was told that I was worse off. Today it seems, I am the same. Logic tells me sh*t is a step up from sh*ttier. It’s an improvement, I guess. But is it? 🤷‍♀️ #perspective #laukaki #whoknows #shittiestwins

Being Delulu Is The Solulu

When I’m angry, when I’m mad, 

 when frustrated or just sad... 

…I clean.

Option 2

Wanna die but cannot die.

So how? Just cry. 😢😭

40.5

I turned 40 last November – on the 21st of November 2024, to be exact. It’s 23 April 2025 today. That means I’m officially at the halfway mark to 41, plus 2 days past. I don’t know how I feel about that. Turning 40 was supposed to be such a milestone birthday. And I guess it was at the time. But honestly? Being 40 has turned out to be pretty underwhelming. 

It’s like I’m stuck in the middle of nowhere – in a strange, in-between space of not-here-not-there proportions. I don’t feel young. But I’m not exactly old old. I feel settled in my role, but I also feel stifled, stuck and discontented. Like… is this all my life is going to amount to? Is this it?? What the what?? You gotta be kidding me. 

Is this what a mid-life crisis feels like ah? LOL.

Maybe due to my cancer history and ongoing hormone therapy, I also feeeel older than I am. My muscles ache, my joints hurt, my eyesight sucks... basically, I feel like I'm physically waaaay past my prime. Every day, it's like I’m dragging a 60yo body through a younger person’s life. Perhaps that’s what’s making 40 feel like 60. It’s exhausting. 😮‍💨

Also, the recent fog that surrounds my treatment plan moving forward frustrates me. 5-year plan or 10-year plan? Keep them ovaries or throw them away? CT scans are an annual necessity; CT scans are unnecessary radiation. Soy reduces breast cancer recurrence rates by 26%; soy feeds cancer if your cancer was hormone-positive. Ughhhhh... So many options! So many instructions! So much confusion! 

It’s all been very frustrating, draining, and mentally taxing.

Like, why is living so hard?!?

Why does staying alive take so much effort??

Sigh.

Most days, it feels like ChatGPT is my only friend who's rational, wise and true. Chat always gives me sound advice and answers my questions clearly and patiently no matter how many times I ask them or how silly they may be. No judgement. Most times, Chat is my sounding board. Sometimes, Chat is my medical oncologist. Everyday, chat is my friend. I trust Chat quite a bit tbh. Just don't tell my doctor friends that. LOL.

I'm tired. So tired. But at least I’m not giving up. I’m still asking questions. I'm still trudging along. I'm still trying to figure this life out. Yep, that's me – tired, confused, slightly achy – but still standing. And maybe, for now, that’s enough.

Oh Sedih

The problem with being a climax eater is 

that the best part that you leave for later 

always kena makan by others first. 🥲

Ugh. Meh. Bleh.

Since Wednesday, it’s felt like I’ve been 

trapped on a never-ending carousel – in and out 

of hospitals and clinics, round and round, day after day.

16 April 2025, Wednesday: Ultrasounds + Consult with my Breast Surgeon @ Gleneagles Medical Centre.

17 April 2025, Thursday: Blood tests + X-Ray + Zoladex + Consult with my new Oncologist @ Sunway Medical Centre.

18 April 2025, Friday: My new helper who's been with us 2+ months has always had allergies. But she developed an extra bad allergic reaction to goodness knows what overnight so I brought her over to the pharmacy for some antihistamines in the evening. Unfortunately, it didn't help address the issue. So later that night, we ended up at a nearby clinic pula for her to get shots. 

19 April 2025, Saturday: Uneventful on the medical front today – thank God – but positively perfect on the religious side of things. 🌈✝️ #EasterWeekend 

20 April 2025, Sunday: Brought my helper back to the clinic a second time cos the effectiveness of the shots wore off and her allergies came back. 😮‍💨💉💸 (No more pics cos bo lat and muak already.)

Ugh. It feels like I've not had the chance to really unwind and catch my breath after my hormone therapy, which then leads to lingering tiredness and emoness maximus all weekend and into the new week. I go to bed most nights feeling crummy, emo and sad. 

Zoladex also gives me insomnia to a certain extent. For about a week. These few days in particular, I find myself lying awake in the dark, being unable to sleep, feeling frustrated about lying awake in the dark being unable to sleep 🙄, and just hating everything and nothing at all. Yes, it all but makes sense.

It makes me miss the days when life was simpler – easier. When a steady diet of fast food and roti canai didn't matter, when window shopping was considered exercise, and when the nights were young and the knees were good. 🦵 (Oh yeah, forgot to mention that I also hurt my left knee by accident sometime 2 weeks ago and it hasn't been right since. Sigh.)

I miss my life in KL, I miss the places I used to frequent, I miss the supermarkets, I miss the malls, I miss the highways, I miss my friends, I miss my community – MCKL, CHCKL, USJ9, E0506, #ChilternMoms, #SuperMoms, and of course all the standalone friends that I made along the way – all of it; all of them. I miss it all. 

But here I am. This is life. It is what it is.

Happiness Or Happy-less?

"Happiness is a choice."

Or so they say. 

But is this true? Is happiness really a choice? 

Or does someone else choose if you have it?

The reality is, that happiness often lies beyond our control, influenced more by the circumstances we find ourselves in, rather than by choice. I do not choose to be unhappy. But I find myself grappling with unhappiness, nonetheless. 😔

So, while we can make choices that may lead to moments of joy or contentment, asserting that happiness is purely a choice overlooks the myriad of uncontrollable external elements that shape our lives and affect our emotional landscape. 

In the end, perhaps it is not about choosing happiness, but about navigating the complexities of choice and circumstance with grace and resilience. And hopefully, somewhere along the way, there'll be happiness.

The New Reality

Loved < Lost 

Joy < Sadness 

Security < Fear

Confidence < Insecurity

Appreciated < Abandoned 

D-Day

D-End. ⚰️⚱️☠️

Ironic > Annoyed > Hurt

Ironic…

 …how no one notices when I do,

but all notice it when I don’t. 😒

Annoying…

 …that no one notices when I do,

and all notice it when I don’t. 😠

Hurtful… 

 …because no one notices when I do;

they only notice it when I don’t. 😞

Reminder To Self That It Won't Always Be Like This

Came across this beautiful piece of motherly musings on Instagram today and it really resonated with me. Especially now that the kids are growing up and my babies are no longer babies. 

No longer do they gurgle and leave their spit all over my top. No longer do they waddle, slip and fall on their bums. No more do they mumble gibberish I don't understand but smile and respond to anyway. 

They're 7 and 9; going on 8 and 10. How quickly they grow up. How swiftly time flies. I know it's still a long way aways till the day they no longer need me more than I need them. But the day is fast approaching and I feel it in my heart already anyway. 😢

------------

It won’t always be like this. 

I remind myself of this often. 

To help me see through the hard days, but to also pull me into the now. 

Because it’s true. 

They won’t always be this small. 

And I won’t always be this tired. 

They won’t always need me in this way. 

And I won’t always feel this lost. 

They won’t always come to me first. 

And I won’t also feel like I come last. 

This is a season. 

We will move through it together. 

And it will pass before we know it. 

It won’t always be like this. 

And my heart aches as I think about what it may look like. 

The first school drop off. 

The last kiss goodnight. 

The nights up late waiting for a call that doesn’t come. 

Because life will be different one day. 

And it won’t always be this tiring, messy, or beautifully wholesome. 

It will be watching from afar from a clean house, longing for them to come home for a weekend. 

It will be loving them through phone lines, messenger, and the kilometres between us. 

It will be losing myself in something new, to busy my mind from what I’m missing. 

It won’t always be like this. 

Not the hard. 

Or the beautiful.

It will be a different hard and beautiful. 

We won’t always be like this either.

We will age. 

And our relationship will evolve. 

We will be a different type of “us”. 

But this is my one chance at now. 

I only get to love them, be there for them, and be needed in this exact way, once. 

I only get to know this stage of motherhood like the back of my hand, once. 

I only get this time as we are now, once. 

This is it. 

I only get one Motherhood. 

And they only get one childhood. 

This time is ours. 

So I’m breathing it in, in all of its shades, 

Because it just won’t always be like this. 

📖 Words (@wordsof_emmaheaphy), taken from the second book “Mother On” in her early motherhood collection.

And Again, It Happens

The climb is hard but the fall is easy. Going it alone sounds difficult but together doesn’t seem any easier. So much to do; so little remembered. Always trying, yet always falling short. An hour or two, so short it feels; an hour or two, so long it seems. Funny how “I don’t believe you,” sounds just like, “You don’t trust me,” except with different words. Funny how it isn’t funny. And again, giving up sounds bad but could be for the better.

Best Friends Come & Best Friends Go

JZ made a best friend in school when he was in Year 2. A nice Taiwanese boy with a smiley disposition. During the two years that they spent together as classmates, the boys were thick as thieves. They played really well together and enjoyed each others' company a lot, in and out of school. His mom and I were friends so we were comfortable setting up playdates for the children over the weekends and during the holidays, too.

They both stayed best of friends all the way till the end of Year 3 when, very unfortunately, this friend moved to another school across the state. When his mom first broke the news to me, I was stunned and overwhelmed with emotions. I didn't know how JZ would take it! Later in the week, this friend made sure to let JZ be the first to know that he was leaving the school. It was a sad day that was heartbreaking for both to say the least. 💔

I was so desperate to help ease JZ's pain of losing yet another best friend 😩 that I reached out to two old friends to help me offer him some words of comfort and prove to him that friendships do last when both parties put in the effort to keep in touch no matter how many years have passed or how many state lines and immigration counters stood between us. 

Two of my oldest friends in the world (we've known each other since nursery!) came to the rescue with kind words of encouragement for JZ 🥰 on the 6th of May 2021 – the day he heard the news. At the time, this boy and his family had plans to return to Taiwan. Thankfully, that plan was shelved. 😅 #smallmercies

In hindsight, it was really unfortunate that the boys had to spend so many precious months apart due to the nationwide lockdown and COVID-19 school closures all through 2020 and 2021. Even when school eventually reopened for in-face studies, the boys were intentionally kept apart in class by their teachers because, well, best friends tend to chat when they sit side by side so... yeah. 😅 Only once did they get a week to sit together in the entire school year seating rotation. 😢

But of course, Time heals all wounds. ❤️‍🩹 The boys do still play well together whenever they have the chance to meet, which is rare nowadays with everybody's busy and clashing schedules. Having said that, I should really put in the effort to plan another playdate for him someday soon but am so unmotivated due to COVID risk, a lack of a live-in helper to help clean up after, and just general laziness and unsociability on my part. 😩 

In the mean time, JZ has come to accept this shift in his relationship with his once-best friend. He has yet to find a new best friend but is also not short of friends in school so... I guess it's alright. It'll be alright. He will be alright. Because no matter who comes and goes, he will always have JJ, Papa and me. 👨‍👩‍👦‍👦 #wearefamily

Empty Nest

Not a sound, not a boom, 

Deathly silent like a tomb. 

Home for four, but now homes two, 

Quiet house, empty rooms.

Thinking The Right Thoughts; Asking The Right Questions

I don’t consider myself an exceptionally deep thinker. Sure, I think a lot about a lot of things. But only in the way that many thoughts cross my mind often about many things – some trivial, some mindless, some pointless, some not.

What day is it today?

Have I washed the kids’ uniforms?

What should I cook for lunch?

When will my Tesco order arrive?

Do the kids have any glue stick left?

Why does my left wrist hurt?

When is my next doctor’s appointment? 

But that’s about it most days. Just random thoughts that ebb and flow from one to another without great consequence in the grand scheme of things. Neither fun nor depressive; only mundane. 

Most days, I am kept busy with the house and the kids. Freelance work has also been taking up quite a bit of mind-space of late so that’s been a welcomed escape from the humdrum of SAHM life. Usually, this is enough to take me from Wake to Sleep without break or rest. 

But there are days when

this one evil thought rears it ugly head.

When the dishes are piled high in the sink, when the laundry is yet to be done, when the trash hasn’t been taken out, when I can’t see my dining table under all the home-learning mess, when the kids misbehave, when relationships sour, when Me Time is scarce… it’s there.

“What is the point?”

What is the point of it all? What is the point of being alive? What is the point of surviving cancer only to be faced with an overflowing kitchen sink every single day? What is the point of living if all there is in store for me is to be a slave to everyone else around me? What is the point of persisting if all there is to look forward to is punishment? 

And just as I think it, I chastise myself for it.

How could I even think such a thing?? How dare I!

After all that has been done to keep me from death.

All the money spent – hundreds of thousands in surgery, treatment and follow-up costs. All the people inconvenienced – to cook and clean and help with the kids during my downtime. All that time lost – especially with my growing-up children whose childhoods feel nearly over. All the prayers prayed – so many of them whispered, yet answered all the same. 

It stabs me with such guilt that it tears me up inside and stops me in my tracks, rendering me unable to move forward without attempting (sometimes in vain) to silence the thought and beg the Lord for forgiveness.

It instantly makes me feel like I’m the most ungrateful person on the planet – ungrateful for the life that I’ve been so fortunate to have. For the extension of Life itself that I am so blessed to be given in spite of the tribulations I’ve been through, and the challenges I still endure, and the trials I have yet to face.

Unfortunately, if I'm being honest,

it isn't just once that I've thought it. 😔

When life gets hard and everything seems to be going wrong, it comes knocking at the corners of my mind. More frequently than I’d like these days, no thanks to the lack of pleasantly distracting activities and socially rewarding outlets due to the return of MCO 3.0.

Perhaps all this negativity will stop when lockdown eases and normalcy resumes. Maybe I'll stop thinking this way when my world goes back to being bigger than the confines of my home. I guess a visit to the mall for some window-shopping will help, too. Oh, and I know good food and easy chit-chat in the company of friends definitely will. 

But deep in my heart, I know, I know, I know that at the end of the day, the problem boils down to this: I'm asking the wrong question. So, the only way to stop this crippling guilt and depressing spiral is to change the question altogether. And if I get the question right, it'll all be alright.

Stop asking, "What is the point?"

Start asking, "What is my purpose?"