5 years and no longer counting. 
I cannot describe how much I am going to miss this, or how much otherwise I wish this situation is. 
Honestly, I cannot believe it, cannot come into terms with it. I can dream up situations where he will change his mind or come back weeks later to say it was a bad mistake, but it has ended. My dreams will stay dreams, my wishes will stay wishes. My regrets will always be regrets that will haunt me in this process. Things that I could have said, things I could have done, earlier, later.... My cognitive dissonance driven by the fact of thinking it was the right thing to do, and the wrong thing as well. 
I cannot describe the emotional roller coaster that is flying through my chest. That wave that comes every once in a while to give my heart a drop. Then my brain takes over and calms my heart down... but only for a little while. 
One thing I am sure, I love him dearly. I wouldn't have tolerated or stayed longer for him if it were otherwise. I dreamt far off when I would act as his wife; cook him his breakfast, straighten his tie, wait for him at night... all of these I have to stop myself. The urge to just march right up to him and demand to have another try. 
I come home and put my bag down, and I see so many memories of him. Everywhere, in everything. Then I sit here, unsure of what to do, what to say, or how to cope with the reality. I realise I really do love him and it's so painful, indescribably painful, to have it end. And hope. I search for hope.  
Perhaps this is the ending, to a new beginning. 
~Joanna

Expectation. A belief on a future, something or someone. We go through life with expectations all the time. Some of us expect to get terrific marks in examinations, while others are just expecting to just reach the passing mark. Some of us expect to have a full-time job by the time we hit our twenties (or even earlier), while others expect something different. It is great to have expectations. At least we know there's a bar line that we need to hit. Some sort of performance that we need to meet to have that sense of satisfaction or glory. Without expectations there might not be creation of goals or wonderful achievements in life. 

"Apart from a few starry-eyed poets or monks living on a mountaintop somewhere, however, we all have expectations. We not only have them, we need them. They fuel our dreams, our hopes, and our lives like some super-caffeinated energy drink.” 
― Tonya Hurley, Homecoming

The thing about Expectation is that it may or may not be real. Expectation can breed Disappointment when Reality does not meet it. Expecting an online item to be just the same when you order it, expecting your lover to forever stay as romantic as he is, expecting the people around you to act the way you want them to- they all have the possibility to only breed you disappointment.  I wonder as well, which is more stressful- putting your idealised expectations on others or having others put their expectations of you, on you? Thinking about it, relationships do sour when there's high expectations between just two individuals. Sometimes, in relationships- any sort of relationships (i.e. friendships, lovers, families)- expectations just seem to pull one party down and neither party could understand why the tension string is pulled. I guess the most stressful point of expectations is when you actually care about meeting other people's expectations of you. 

“If you spent your life concentrating on what everyone else thought of you, would you forget who you really were? What if the face you showed the world turned out to be a mask... with nothing beneath it?” 
― Jodi Picoult, Nineteen Minutes

Worse, in my opinion, are selfish expectations on people. That's when you expect everything of someone and have nothing of what you expect from you to that someone. Then you get angered, frustrated and grow a disliking for him or her because he or she cannot meet what you expect. What you fail to realise is that you did not meet any of their expectations either, but they just take it as it is and move on while you lament about how they fail as being your idealised friend/partner/lover/parent/child/etc. Better yet, is when you carry around expectations of what an ideal person should be. 

“When someone sees the same people every day, as had happened with him at the seminary, they wind up becoming a part of that person's life. And then they want the person to change. If someone isn't what others want them to be, the others become angry. Everyone seems to have a clear idea of how other people should lead their lives, but none about his or her own.” 
― Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist 

When you stop expecting people to be perfect, you can like them for who they are.” 
― Donald Miller, A Million Miles in a Thousand Years: What I Learned While Editing My Life

Expectations effect happiness. I remember reading a Richard Lazarus stating that when a person goes through life with hardships and deprivation have happier thoughts about their life because of the positive expectation they set. On the other hand, a person that goes through a well off life think negatively about their life because of the negative expectation they use as a guide in their life. I also wonder if people are happier with lower expectations in life and unsatisfied people are like that because of high expectations that are rarely met?

“There were two ways to be happy: improve your reality, or lower your expectations” 
― Jodi Picoult, Nineteen Minutes

To some extent, some people cannot understand why on certain things, I do not set higher goals in life or have higher expectations of other people. They wonder how I could stay so patient when things do not go as "ideally" as possible. The thing is...

“I wasn't disappointed. My expectations had been met.” 
― John Green, Looking for Alaska

~Joanna

Musings of Joadele? Are you serious? Can't you find a better blog name for yourself? And what the heck is with the more complicated url?

First thoughts when I spent more than 10 minutes changing from name to name before sticking to this one, but I'm glad I made the change. I decided that kienswindow had some irrelevant posts that I did not want to include into my "changed" perspective on blogging. The blog I use will now be strictly for muses (An instance or period of reflection. Unsure if I want to use this as a verb or a noun. Couldn't be bothered at the moment.)

I could have spent time cleaning up the old blog and then changing the outlook (which would take way shorter time than importing the blog all over again to this side and then deciding to clean it up), but I figured I wanted all my blogs to be under one e-mail (I have several blogs separated into different e-mails, you see). All of which are not really any of your concerns, I know. Just thought I'd share.

Not certain if I would regularly upkeep this blog. However, will promise myself to really try. Afterall, main reason of my blogging is not to get people's attention, but to record down thoughts and inspirations that I have before it fades into forgetfulness. There are often times where I had really nice ideas that I want to keep and stupidly thought I would remember them forever, therefore not jotting anything down. How very wrong I was. I fail to realise then that my memory was like a goldfish when it comes to sudden passing thoughts. Hopefully I can learn from my writings again as I used to do.

Thus starting my journey in journalling my muses.  

It was 8:30p.m. Around the dinner table sat my mother, my sister and me. We were having a simple meal, nothing much, just rice, egg and stir-fried baby long beans which my mother had cooked. It was a Sunday night and normally people would be out eating, but it was a relaxing one at home with just the three of us and no fussy requests, a simple meal to fill our stomachs was set on the table.

“Did you cook this?” I asked my mother as I chewed on the vegetables.

She nodded. “Yeah, why? It tastes different?”

“There’s a difference between Mama’s veggie and other people’s veggie.” I replied, to which my sister nodded and smiled in agreement.

The taste of the food that filled my mouth, into my taste buds was something that I missed very much. It brought nostalgia to me, bringing me back to the time when my whole family were still together, having my mother’s home cooked meal together as a family every day and night. It was a routine my parents had implemented; all members who are home, eat meals together at the same time.

In the present, normally my mother would not cook as a house-maid was employed lighten my mother’s burden. For two to three years, my mother had not cooked much. It was very rare if she did. Tasting her cooking again on that Sunday night made me realise how time had passed since I last enjoyed her cooking. So much has happened with promises of much more happening and I feel like I have not got the time to slow down.

My mother, the person who had cared for me and had once cooked meals every day for the family is no longer as young as I perceive her to be. One moment she was 40 and now she is already 60. This night has made me realise how much I took her for granted. Her kindness, her worries for me, her cooking, her sacrifices and the times she kept quiet when my bitter words and actions hurt her… all of them I took from her and then went about my business, thinking that I would have them for a long, long time. However, the fact is it won’t be long before it all stops. One day soon, she would have to leave this earth. All of us could die anytime. We could die tomorrow, or the day after, or the next week, or even years later. But despite the length of time, when a person goes, or when something stops, we would feel as if it was so sudden and time had passed so fast.

Like fine sand that you hold in your hand, first you have a tight handful, but then it would slip through your fingers, running until you’re left with just the residue that sticks to your palm. On the event that my mother goes, I don’t want to experience the death and then suddenly realise that I have missed the chance to get to know her or appreciate her or show her I love her or make her proud. I don’t want to realise that I’ve forgotten to say sorry for the times I’ve caused her pain or have no time to help her out when she needed me. Or when she would tell me things that I think was empty only to realise they were things I wish I would have paid more attention to. I don’t want to be left with that residue when everything is gone.

This was the mistake I have made with my father; remembering all the bad qualities about him, but failing to remember all the good ones that came together until it was too late. Going through the same mistake again with my mother would definitely be a shame on me. My mistake, my loss.

Mother, you are important to me and I love you.