What's in a song?

It's been a week but my emotions are still raw and my nerves are frayed.

Every once in a while, the lump in my throat forms and fresh tears flow despite efforts to control myself. This happens mostly when alone and my mind starts to wander.

It doesn't help when I plug into my iPod while it's on shuffle mode and an emotionally-charged song hits me. Or when I'm driving and listening to the radio because I can't control the playlist.

And the one which gets to me every single time is Hoobastank's The Reason. Just the day before I was admitted to hospital, I drove MIL to the market. After she alighted, and while I was looking for a parking lot, the song came on.

I'm not a perfect person / There's many things I wish I didn't do

I quickly found a parking lot, slotted Pollie into the space, pulled up the brakes and sobbed. My whole body went numb. I couldn't feel anything except this deep searing pain in my chest and I couldn't breathe. I was weeping uncontrollably and I'm sure strangers walking past my car must have been taken back at the sight of me crying behind the steering wheel.

Not that I cared, really. I think I just needed to let everything out and honestly, I did feel a sense of relief after a few minutes. I stayed in the car for a bit and made sure I regained my composure before I got out to collect MIL's marketing.

On Monday, after I'd left the hospital for my post-op check up, I joined the queue for the shuttle bus which would take me to Bishan MRT station. The hospital was under renovation and I refused to drive because parking lots were scarce and traffic flow a nightmare. This time, Journey's Open Arms did me in. And once again, my tear ducts went on overdrive. By the time I got off the bus and onto the MRT, my eyes were red. I kept wiping away my tears and again, I got uncomfortable stares from my fellow commuters who must have been absolutely relieved when I alighted at the next stop.

As I walked from the train station to the bus stop where the hub was waiting, I suddenly became conscious of my puffy eyes and desperately rubbed them in a bid to get rid of evidence. If the hub noticed, he didn't say a word, fortunately.

Obviously I haven't learnt my lesson about the effects certain songs will have on me during this emotionally traumatising period.

On my way home from work on Tuesday, the most unlikely of singers (and songs) smacked me unexpectedly - Katy Perry's The One That Got Away. Honestly, I didn't see it coming at all and for once, I was thankful for the red traffic light because it gave me some reprieve of sorts. And to make matters worse, Hoobastank's The Reason was on the playlist right after that.

You can well imagine my shaken state when I finally arrived home. I marched straight upstairs and stood under the shower for a good 10 minutes.

It's getting ridiculous. And I know the hub will be upset if he realises that I'm not keeping things together. He's been trying to get me out of the house, to catch a movie or go for a meal. But each time I cook up an excuse simply because I'm not in the mood to do anything except to vegetate in front of the TV where the flashy moving images can perfectly numb the brain. I even turned down his Valentine Day's date because I couldn't bring myself to celebrate anything - it didn't feel right, especially when I'm still grieving over Bonus.

Worse of all, I can't look the hub in the eye because I feel that I'm to blame somehow for this misfortune. Can't help thinking that Bonus didn't make it because of me, despite what medical experts may say.

Perhaps it's insensitive of me to pour out my private feelings onto such a public space, especially since some may get squeamish over my personal revelations. I don't want to apologise because I'm not flouting any laws or getting into legal trouble by expressing such thoughts.

I just need an outlet to vent my frustrations and grief. Rather than gorge myself silly and pile on unwanted kilos which is an extremely unhealthy option (I don't have much of an appetite anyway), I very much prefer to pen my thoughts. Writing's always been my therapy, my way of dealing with issues.

Regrettably, I've noted that my writing's altered over the years and I've deteriorated into adopting an overly simplistic narrative style. For an English and Literature graduate, I've definitely fallen short of expectations, particularly my own. Or maybe I'm just being bitter, and brutal self-criticism is a way of slapping myself with a much-delayed wake-up call.

This reflection of sorts has forced me to realise that my priorities have been messed up. I'm not driven to excel in my career - I don't aspire to take on managerial or supervisory positions, but since I've been given certain tasks and responsibilities, I won't shirk them. However, I think I've reached my limits and stupidly allowed my work to get the better of my health (and my family). I staunchly believe that my poor little Bonus couldn't survive such a harsh, stressful environment and yet I didn't do anything to change the situation.

Friends who've been in similarly distressful ordeals shared that what I'm experiencing is perfectly normal and assured me that in time, all will pass. I'm grateful for the wonderful support and encouragement throughout this trying period. This mourning must end at some point, and I've to get back on my feet for the sake of my three daughters and husband. Though I can't do anything for Bonus, I can definitely be there for the ones who need me.