I am excitedly anticipating November 26. I cannot wait to sit for my speech and drama exams and I truly hope I meet my goal of getting a distinction. Failing which, I will learn from my failure, relook my pieces and retake it again in March.
I am so excited to be able to act and write scripts again! All of a sudden, my mundane bus rides serve as the best platform to people watch and wonder what goes on in the head of the woman who is dressed head to toe in high end brands but has to squeeze with 80 other commuters in a bus whose air conditioning is not working.
Or the hipster yuppie who is too cool to hold on to the handle bars in the bus – balance is his forte. Or the foreign kids and their oiled back ponytails going to a school where English is their second language.
And it got me thinking that all the world is really just a stage isn’t it? And we are merely players in this huge production with our own exits and entrances.
I am 25, not getting married or engaged, starting a new relationship, putting my well being as priority over everything else, about to start my university degree, finding out where my real passion lies, changing careers, saving and scrimping and trying my best to get by on a ridiculous pay, and working on making peace with myself.
Am I to be made to feel like a loser?
I am on the cusp of finding my identity and giving myself a second chance.
(My previous life did not work out for an extremely good reason.)
Well, first of all, your muscles get extremely heavy. And they start to ache. Your shoulders sink. The small of your back feels tight. Holding up your neck feels like one huge motherfucking monumental effort.
Then you feel a shortness of breath. Now, if you are asthma prone, you think it’s an attack coming on. Then after a few ventolin puffs and taking several deep breaths, when it still IS a little hard to breathe, you realise “ah this ain’t an asthma attack!”
Then you claw through your facebook, phone and email in a toilet cubicle for people you might be able to talk. Anyone? Someone? Fuck, its 4.47pm on a fucking Wednesday. Everyone is at work, toiling for their monthly wages in good, old Sunny Singapore. Some might even be having a worst day than me. “Panic attack ppfftttt you pussy Rach!!! My life is harder than yours!!!”
Then for some reason your brain turns its attention towards food. “Maybe you should eat something comforting” But you can’t decide on one food. Because your thoughts are too scattered and your stomach feel uneasy and it’s just generally, really difficult to focus on one thing right now.
And you want to cry and maybe contort your face into what you interpret as an ugly expression would be. Maybe hold that expression? Then un-rubber band my face and it will get better?
Nope, that shit didn’t work. Fuck you psychologytoday.com
Okay, well. You need to get through the day so calm your sweaty, shivering palms. Take sips of water, not gulps, you will choke. Breathe through your nose, not your mouth – it is dry enough. Clench your stomach, imagine that creates more space in your lungs for airrrr to fill up.
Watch the clock. Watch the clock.
73 more minutes till I get to walk out and take my express bus home to take cover under my comforter.
73 more minutes till I can breathe.
I need to go home.
I feel like fucking shit tonight.
And I can’t stop crying or feeling sorry for myself.
K: It’s been a couple of months now since Brian left. And yes, it is hard and does take more effort to keep the spark going
B: but so far, it’s been going well. We skype, email, facebook and
K: send each other little gifts. Oprah said communication is key to a relationship and she was right.
K & B: So I was asked last week what love meant to me
K: Love to me is not fighting the feelings that overwhelm me because I know I’m safe
B: Love to me is XXXXXX
This was the last scene from the play I wrote and performed in, in 2010.
I remember it being nothing short of a mad, emotional process because I had based the plot on myself and the ex.
Fast forward 4 years to 2014, here is how I’d now finish this line:
K: Love to me is being the best version of myself so that I am able to love fiercely, like I know I can. Unapologetic love is what I’d call my brand of love
I cannot remember what I filled up Brian’s (B) line to be, think I’d like to leave it as XXXX for now. Haha. :)
I feel like I can’t breathe at work this morning just because I suddenly seem to have a to-do list that went from 10 non-urgent things to 150 extremely urgent things so I am taking 5 minutes out to do this.
Found this via A Cup Of Jo
For the future. I am terrible at waiting for anything for longer than…a month, haha.
Of all the choices I am and am not making.
A great one to the ones I hold close to my heart.
To always be better, push harder, to laugh along with the universe when she plays a joke on me.
I hate many of the ideologies and restrictions that this place I am suppose to call home but am increasingly feeling alienated in has.
“ Is it just me or is every girl out there either a super sexed up sex doll who clubs every other night, believes and practices recklessness and is all about the fucking YOLO or a green juice yogi who has
pictures of her in some yoga pose peppered everywhere, photographically documents every pre and after exercise session and talks, lives, breathes the holy word of….green.” I ask my friend, S.
I mean like, where the fuck are the normal girls? The ones who like are honest in their IG pictures? “Woke up with a bloated belly, am currently sucking it in this bandage dress while I pose with my Starbucks frap (that I really should not be having)”
The ones who have days where they wake up looking like shit and who go to bed – still looking like shit? The ones who also go for yoga but look like a lumbering baby bear gasping for air holding that inverted what-have-you pose? The ones who are pinching pennies, trying to remind herself to not take a cab ride or buy that dress because the $xx dollars goes a long way in saving up for that degree next year or whatever-the-fuck-it-is that normal girls want to do next year.
The ones who are still trying to figure out their emotions and identities and LIVES.
Maybe I am ranting against the wrong audience. After all, its social media right? Where you gotta “live it up” about your clothes, day, food and boyfriend. And yes, of course, I get that sometimes, something truly amazing and beautiful happened in your day and you are happy! And I am so glad FOR you. But isn’t it also true that 90% of the time, it’s really just about living each day subconsciously wondering what epic hipster or non hipster picture you can take, edit, accompany with a great caption of emoness or obscure text or song lyrics and hopefully get 165 likes on?
I mean why would you post a picture of something you didn’t enjoy and had to google for text to come up with the caption? Did you really enjoy that movie so much? Did you actually understand the meaning behind the play? Do you actually “bounce out of bed ready to face the day with a warrior two pose?”
It hurts my brain. The fakeness and hamming it up for social media hurts my brain. Because your actions make other people (like me) feel bad. It makes me feel bad that I don’t always post a
- picture of myself and Nigel on every date night. Because most of our date nights are spent in Jurong eating coffee shop food and ice cream from macs thereafter– that wldnt make a a great IG pic wld it?),
– picture of myself before or after yoga. Lumbering, gasping for air baby bear? That is pretty much me.
– positivity commentary on a beautiful picture of the green greenery I take a walk through on my way to work. My positivity around work at this point revolves around chocolate and alcohol.
I’d love it if people were more honest! Which is why I was so so so terribly happy a few weeks back when a friend I know from my poly days posted an extremely pinterest worthy picture of his green salad lunch and accompanied it with “eating clean sucks”. BECAUSE IT DOES!!! But he does it anyway because it’s for good for him! So kudos to him!
Cut the bullshit. Keep it lean, keep it real, keep it original, keep it yours.
All this said and off my chest, this is also exactly why I tell Nigel not to post pictures of him and I on FB too often or to share whatever it is I do for him that makes his heart light up with just the 400 friends he has on IG instead of the 1000 friends he has on FB.
Because happiness is still a concept that many struggle with and on days that you wake up and not have a particularly happy day, you become a gargoyle and prey on other people’s happiness or “happiness” like I did today.
Yes, it is I, real girl trying to keep it real. I think I just gave you two sides on the same coin in ONE post. Did you keep up? And I actually don’t know if Nigel indeed has 1000 friends on FB and 400 on IG, my point in that statement was that he is a popular guy and I like my secret burrow (most times). Haha.
“I never wanted to be well-rounded. I do not admire well-rounded people nor their work. So far as I can see, nothing good in the world has ever been done by well-rounded people. The good work is done by people with jagged, broken edges, because those edges cut things and leave an imprint, a design.”
I cannot agree more.
All loves feel different don’t they?
I somewhat realise how stupid I have been, waiting in the shadows of my fear for another man to come by and love me the way I had previously been loved.
I think every relationship when you become an adult is almost like starting from scratch and learning how to fall in love again. And yes, I still, do sometimes slip down my own rabbit hole of despair and doom but he helps me up again.