Month: July 2018

I need answers. And it’s not fair that the questions I so desperately need answers to, aren’t questions in the first place to so many others.

I understand that even then, I am beyond privileged over many others—many of whom don’t even know that their lives need questioning—but still, let me throw these questions out into virtual space today, so I can sleep better tonight.

Why do I always need to run and hide? And seemingly, pull people down to run and hide together with me. This is a choice I have never chosen to make. I have never chosen to always run against, deliberately, the fragile social expectations of how I should behave. How I should act like a person, what kind of things I should and should not do, what kind of things I should like, what kind of dreams I should aspire for. What kind of feelings I should have. Otherwise, I’m wrong as a human. Wrong as a creature who never deserved to associate with society.

There are many things that I have done, which I should have done. But no one has credited me, because they are very normal things. I have seen others who have not done these things that I have done out of normalcy, perish and suffer under society’s cruel criticism. Because it’s never okay to not be normal.

But there are so many things that I have done, or with whom I associate with, that I shouldn’t have. And I have been heavily punished for: emotionally, mentally, physically, for these things that I hold very close to heart, even as a form of self identity. Sometimes, I feel like it’s wrong to live in my own skin.

And how is it that these things that I struggle to find an answer to, are so completely irrelevant to so many people around me? But then again, these people probably have their own problems that are irrelevant to me, too.

At the core, all of us have our problems that we struggle to find an answer to. All of us in one way or another are forced to take cover from society’s unforgiving expectations.

Yet who are we to blame? Ourselves only, for we make up society.

At the end of the day, society is a man made fantasy.

We will be sweaty and dirty, but I think we will be happy.

The sad truth is that we are not bulletproof, no matter how we shield ourselves from vulnerability. *Someone*, eventually, will break down our walls. And then break our hearts.

But this is part and parcel of growing up. As kids, in kindergarten a group of us would assign marriage to each other 20 years down the road. He would marry her. She would marry him. (Has nobody considered that he may marry him, or she may marry her?) Anyway, Johan, if you’re reading this—we’re probably not getting married, but wherever you are I hope you’re doing fine.

In many ways, a bittersweet emotional memory is something to be thankful for. Having someone go down forever in your books as a “painful” person to remember probably meant that before they were the “pain”, they were once a great blessing; a wonderful existence that you wished you could’ve done more with, but it did not work out. Maybe, just maybe, in the future we will collide again.

Every person you meet will teach you something, and every emotional collision is not a wasted collision. As much as it hurts one’s ego to know that they would eventually become someone else’s learning lesson, or that they were someone else’s “mistake”, it is only necessary because everyone needs learning lessons, and everyone makes mistakes. As much as we allow ourselves to make mistakes, we need to painfully accept that sometimes, we are the mistakes in someone else’s perspective. But don’t beat yourself up about it just yet; beyond every surface bitterness, there is always a tinge of gratitude, even if it is forever left unspoken.

I always believed in reading between the lines, or reading something that is seemingly nothing at all. As cliche as it is, I truly believe that the strongest of messages are usually not directly said; because words tend to fail us when we need them the most.

And all these bittersweet moments that wake me up at 4am, all these excruciating pains from these memories I sometimes wish I could permanently erase; I remind myself that someone shares the exact same memory as me, of me, in their own perspective. And in this sense, we will always be carrying a part of each other on our shoulders. And in this sense, we have never parted at all.

And maybe, just maybe, if there exists a parallel dimension: then there would be no such thing as goodbyes, because as long as there is a memory of a person, then this person will always be with us forever. Always. Just in another space and time.

I am working at a warehouse as a temporary 1 month stocktaking assistant, and the job is anything but desirable. You can forget about air-conditioning, sometimes I don’t even get a fan. Today, I ate literal dust in a small, dim, secluded walkway without the slightest hint of ventilation, my skin flaring up with rashes and my jeans hugging my legs with sweat. For $50 a day.

At the beginning, there were 30 part-timers. After 3 weeks, there are 6 of us left. Call me what you like, but I refused to quit. I’ve lost 2kg since the start.

Today during lunch, I sat down opposite one of my better liked full-time staffs. I asked her what she was doing.

“Same old. But today I don’t get to do it in aircon, so I’m very hot.”

“Don’t you get tired of doing the same thing every day?”

“Yes, I do. But I don’t have a university degree. You’re studying in NTU right? After you graduate, you’ll find work with a starting salary higher than my current one even though I’ve already been working for 35 years. I have a daughter, she’s doing quite well and earning 6k a month. I could retire and rely on her for money, but she needs to take care of her children so I don’t want to financially burden her yet. Anyway, I’m still healthy even though I’m getting old. When I was your age, it was quite impressive to graduate with even a secondary school degree. Nowadays, if you don’t have a university degree people look down on you.”

“How long has your daughter been married?”

“She married early when she was 18. Initially I was so sceptical because they met online. But I’ve learnt that you can’t restrict your children on the things they really want in life. I’m lucky that she was smart enough to graduate with a university degree. I’m lucky that she’s found someone to marry. If she doesn’t want a university degree, or if she doesn’t want to marry, I’d let her anyway. As a parent, the proudest moment is to see your child succeed. But you should never let your desire for a parental pride hinder what your child really wants. If your child wants to do something you don’t support, then if you love your child you will learn to bend and accommodate. To parent is to guide and nurture, not to guard and restrict. I’m lucky that my child took the route I would have wished for her to. But even if she didn’t, I’ll accept it regardless.”

And this is why I’m staying on in this job, even though I have a thousand reasons to quit.

Press the phone to my ear after dialling a number I memorise by heart—I memorise many numbers by heart, but this one calls for a bit more exclusivity. The dial tone rings, indicating that the number I have called is being rung as I wait. One, two, three, four, click. They have hung up on me.

Receive a text message shortly after, that they’re busy and can’t attend to my call. Oh, okay. It’s just part and parcel of life. Ride with the waves and overcome the vicissitudes of life, I can do that.

But what is this thing eating away at me?

Even though I know I’m going to be hung up on again, I dial the same number again. I’m so familiar with this number that my fingers glide across the dial pad without hesitation because it has long become muscle memory. I count the dial tone mindlessly because it’s in my habit to do that, just like how I have a habit to count my footsteps while running a long distance run. One, two, three, click.

I almost want to give up, then again I had no expectations of being answered the second time I called. My emotions are tied up in knots and waves of frustration and desperation rush through my body and mind. I know I am wrong, and I know I am better than this, but right now my mentality has stooped to an all time low and it is difficult—very difficult, to keep myself in check.

Maybe I need professional emotional help. Maybe the first step to self-healing is to acknowledge your weaknesses. Many people in the working industry depend on the weaknesses of others for a livelihood. In this world, we complement one another by covering each other’s inadequacies in exchange for a wage or salary.

Over the past two days I have dialled this number many times, like as though the act of dialling this very number in itself is a therapy regardless if the call actually follows through. I count the dial tones, and wonder what my potential interlocutor is doing on every dial. Sometimes, the call never gets picked up, or an automated voicemail message cuts me off.

Just like life, I never know what follows through next even if I do the same actions. Just like life, not every fall is salvageable. And similarly, not everything said is final.

I send my prayers into the distant sky up and hope for them to land upon your shoulders, wherever you are. I send my love even though I am sad, desperate, or hurt, up into the night sky and hope that somewhere, sometime, you can feel it.

Imperfect, sinful, inconspicuous as I am, my anger and hurt fades into a wisp together with my prayers as I send all of them up into the sky, where an immortal being will cure the anger and pain, while transferring my prayers to you.

And then, perhaps you will pick up my call.