Love of my life

Yesterday was St Valentine’s Day and Hubbie and I exchanged cards like we always did. After he left for work, I turned on TV and saw a women’s ice hockey match on the screen.

I used to look forward to every winter Olympic game, especially ice hockey games because I played the sport as a hobby. However this Olympic Game in Pyeongchang, I am not so sure. The reason for my hesitation is not because this game is riddled with too much of the political nuances but because of the heartache I feel every time I watch an ice hockey match. In some way, I could say that ice hockey was love of my life. It wasn’t just a mere hobby but the sport was my obsession.

Of course, my Hubbie is always the most important love of my life and because of his blessing and support, I could enjoy this beautiful sport for a long time.

What a fun, what a joy it was…

Two seasons ago, I decided to give up the sport and it was not easy. Even though I knew I was becoming too old for this amazing but also demanding game, the reality was hard to swollow.

Despite the doubts crept into my head every time I found myself not being able to keep up during training – ‘Am I too old for this?’ ‘Will I bust my knee if I go on too hard?’ ‘Will the coach give me less ice time because I look tired?’, I wanted to carry on as long as possible. It is true that the sport did help prolonging my “youth”. I enjoyed being a part of the team and my teammates’ friendship and encouragement was another reason why I wanted to hang on to the sport. A youthful atmosphere of the changing room helped me to fool myself that I was younger than what I really was, and it was addictive.

The thing I still regret about my behaviour towards the end of my player career was how jealous I was to some of my teammates. Without fully understanding what I was becoming of, I complained to the coach incessantly about my place in the game and the team. I must have been such a pain in the butt.

It is a cruel blow but the decision time arrives eventually to anyone who plays competitive team sports. If you can no longer keep up with the play and your teammates physically, the time is up. It really doesn’t matter how much you love the sport because the writing is on the wall.

Since that June, my hockey sticks have been shut away in a cupboard for good but I do miss ice hockey and thinking about it still gives me a tight chest. It feels like if I am mourning for a lost love. Remembering how great I felt sprinting down the ice and chasing a puck. It was a pure joy!

Now, I ponder if I will ever find another love like ice hockey. Is there any activity which can ignite my passion like the game could? I am really not sure…

Kaori by Kaori Okumura

Battered or Breaded

Sometimes, life can be a bit cruel, and as a result, events unfolding before your eyes may not match your expectations. And you lament, ‘Oh noooo! Whhhhhyyyyyy!?’

Those disappointing outcomes are not normally caused by other’s malicious intent but more like by a simple misunderstanding or by a freak accident. Nevertheless, it is undeniable that those tiny knocks and jabs which everyday life throws at you in a seemingly random manner definitely chip away your sense of happiness.

Don’t get me wrong because I am not a perpetual moaner, like Albert in the sitcom Steptoe and Son (I hope!) and I can take it most of the time.

However, it happened again.

Last Thursday, we decided to order fish & chips for supper through Deliveroo. I really fancied scampi then, therefore, I could hardly wait for the arrival.

Mmmm…, they are finally here…

Bella asking me, ‘What the heck are they?’

Their witty packaging made me smile…

Hello Your Majesty!

Then, I was devastated…

‘Oh bu**er! I didn’t know their scampi was battered, not breaded!!’

I asked Hubbie if he knew which way was the right way to cook scampi. ‘I never have scampi so I don’t know.’, he replied absentmindedly as he was busy with squeezing a wedge of lemon over his cod.

Oh shit! It was not supposed to be like this!, I pecked on the battered scampi and I was quietly pi**ed off. I was furious.

At least, Bella had some fun…

 

Next time, I will call up a chippy and ask them how they cook their scampi before placing an order…

Kaori by Kaori Okumura

Killer instinct

Or the lack of it, more like. Why am I saying this? It is because I am living in a perpetual bad hair day for quite sometime.
From last spring, I started to sport shorter hair and it progressed to a pixie style by the end of the summer. I thought it was very Jean Seberg – sophisticated, youthful, individual and modern. Then, completely out of blue, literally overnight, I changed my mind and developed such hate towards my hair. ‘Why did I cut my hair so short?’ ‘What made me think it would suit me?’ Bitter remose kept on tormenting me all day long. And the last straw was a remark from my good old friend. We met for lunch one day, and my hair made her gasp for words! I hadn’t seen her for a while and she didn’t know how short my hair had became. ‘Oh I prefer your hair longer!’ Yeah, I know, I know, I KNOW! I mumbled about this Jean Seberg fantasy while we settled down into the chairs. ‘Yeah I know what you tried but our head shapes are different from Caucasian’s.’ Yes dear, I do know that now.

It is so quick to cut the hair but it takes FOREVER to grow it back! Ugh, every morning, I loath to see myself in the mirror. I also absolutely hate to catch a glimpse of my own reflection in shop windows. I just hate, hate, HATE how my hair looks! Any fashion I sport, no matter how carefully I choose, my effort is cancelled out by my stupid hair style. During my darkest days, I even seriously considered buying myself a wig. I hated my mop that much.

At the moment, my hair style resembles a retro open face motorcycle helmet. It no longer looks like a pixie style but too short to be a bob. And it is very UNATTRACTIVE! It frames my face so badly and accentuates my jawline in a wrong way.
To make the matter worse, I will have to renew my passport in a few months time and I can’t bear to think that I will have to keep on seeing my bad hair day for next ten years!

Bella has no bad hair day…

I shall keep on taking collagen supplements, hoping it will speed up the growth of my hair…

Kaori by Kaori Okumura

Oh boy

I’m just not in the mood to do blogging right now even though I have an ample time to do so. Do you wanna know why I’m so unmotivated?

Hubbie’s office was broken in last night.

I was absolutely gobsmacked when Hubbie phoned me this morning from a front door of his office. He arrived at the door and saw a substantial damage on it with a huge padlock dangling from it…

This was what the police attached in order to secure the door.

Our neighbours, who lived above our office and reported the commotion to the police last night, saw two motorbikes and four guys speeding away from the street.

The actual damage, apart from the front door, was his five Macs. The thieves yanked them off from the desks and took them away. Luckily, they didn’t take any servers or cameras, therefore, they didn’t clean us out.

If you see this mark on your window or door, clean it right away!

A guy from another office on the same street had paid a visit to us and pointed out that the mark on our window was the same one which was left on his basement window. He claimed that the mark was a sign left by street criminals for members of local burglars so they would know which property to break in. And this particular one indicated which business premises had Macs in their office!

Our landlord came with a team of builders later so they could secure the front door. Their electric drill made a loud noise, and poor Bella was freaking out.

I don’t know when I feel like getting back to chronicling my road trip yet. I would like to but feel a bit too distracted…

You know what I mean…

The criminals made such a mess on my desk, and I am too depressed to sort it out right now… 😦

R.I.P Mr.Petty

Another musical giant is gone.


I especially loved this song, Free Fallin’.
The song and the visual were the epitome of everything I dreamt about the life in LA during the certain period of my life.

Rest in peace, Tom.

Blog at WordPress.com.