ATTEMPTED

Yesterday, Zahidah and her husband dropped by Lush Vivocity, because they were nearby, and Aryan was there of course. He is truly such a happy, happy-making baby. He's so chubby and his smile is so cheeky and he's so gonna get far in life, because it all starts with whether you are a cute baby hahahahah.

Sometimes I wonder why people have babies, then I look at babies like Aryan, and some of my other friends' babies on Instagram, then I think, oh yeah, they're adorable and make people happy. But! Of course, having a kid is not just when they are a baby and making you happy - you must be equipped to care for that child, until you have to let go, because you do not own your child. Repeat after me: you do not own your child.

MONDAY TO SUNDAY

A couple days ago, one of my superiors was giving me feedback and she said she feels like I have a calm and composed energy, like I don’t get flustered, which is a different case from how I would have been just months ago. She says it helps because when I portray myself to have the calm energy, I give off those vibes and other people can mirror the same. I feel like it’s because the year of depression I had really sapped a lot of my energy, so nothing really fazes me anymore. I mean, in daily interactions, I no longer panic and freak out, I honestly just keep calm and carry on, because that’s honestly all we can do in life. I’m going to keep calm and carry on, because I can start by myself, and if there is anyone who needs my energy to mirror, they can do the same. Hold my hand, we can all keep calm and carry on together.

IT’S OKAY

I woke up today and said it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay to myself. It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay. If you say it enough times, it will be true. It’s okay, Sarah, my darling, it’s okay. It is okay. It is okay. It is okay. It is okay.

I cry occasionally, when I’m sad, like now, but then I think back to when I found out I was pregnant, then had a miscarriage, heard things from my mum that broke my heart, and cried everyday, thinking I could not go on, but I did. It is okay. It’s okay, Sarah. It might take time but it is okay. Every time you feel down, it still feels like the most down you have ever been, but you know that it isn’t true. It is okay.

ATONEMENT

She whispered his name with the deliberation of a child trying out the distinct sounds. When he replied with her name, it sounded like a new word - the syllables remained the same, the meaning was different. Finally he spoke the three simple words that no amount of bad art or bad faith can ever cheapen. She repeated them, with exactly the same slight emphasis on the second word, as though she were the one to say them first. He had no religious belief, but it was impossible not to think of an invisible presence or witness in the room, and that these words spoken aloud were like signatures on an unseen contract.

BURY ME AT MAKE OUT CREEK

I am on the way to work, as I so often am, and I was listening to Ariana Grande’s Tattooed Heart (I give you one guess as to who put it on my Spotify) and bopping to it while walking at the interchange of trains. A girl about 9 or 10 years old, turned to look at me and gave me the sweetest conspiratorial smile, I don’t know if she heard the music through my headphones — I hope not ‘cos that would be really loud, or if she saw me tiny-dance, but I smiled at her, and I think, things are alright. We don’t suck and are attractive, we have the woes of not sucking and of being attractive. I can live with that. Have the loveliest weekend, y’all. Note to self: when you get home, take out the marketing post-it you took from Chanel from your denim shorts pocket before you bring them to the laundry and paperfy everything

THE MORE YOU KNOW

Did you know that traditionally, Muslims are not supposed to have tattoos? It’s because the ink on a person’s skin prevents their ablution from cleansing that part of them, before they perform their prayers. This is, of course, bearing in mind that they are even steadfast to their prayers. I’m not sure I believe in a God of religion, although I can’t say for sure that there is no higher power, so perhaps I’m an agnostic. I don’t feel it, so I don’t believe it, but if there is something, then things can always change. My mother and grandmother are traditional Muslims, and have not accepted that I am barely a Muslim, let alone a traditional one, they always hope that one day I will see the light but if I get a tattoo, it will be a rather obvious sign that I will not tend towards that path. Many Muslim parents of people I know have broken down because their children got tattoos, and I foresee the same for my own, eventually. It is quite sad, that one would feel disappointed based on what their child did to his or her body. For one, it shows how superficial your relationship with your child is, to depend on their physical appearance instead of the person they truly are. For two, if anyone ever asks you for examples of how religion is used for easy governing and for people to turn into mindless sheep, show them the rules of policing how a person should dress or treat their own skin and body.

STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS

Sometimes I wonder if I’m a social climber of the strangest kind. I could have gotten pregnant with anyone’s child, but it had to be someone I met in LA, who was one degree away from a name at the forefront of technology at that. Then I think I also really liked Adam, who is pretty much the opposite end of the spectrum, who recently only got his membership card at a socialist club (or whatever it’s called — I’m not scrolling through his Instagram) and he and I said when I was in New York, he would help me when I’m getting pads and tampons and giving them to homeless femmes if they wanted them. Like, only last year I realised I had nothing to complain about during my period, I have a roof over my head and always have, I have access to clean and functional sanitation facilities, I have the money for painkillers, and there are so many less fortunate women in the world, and I want to help as many of them as possible, because you’re only as strong as your weakest link and if there is a woman in destitution, fuck me and my soaking in bathtubs, srsly. Today I saw someone working at an American-based multinational corporation, at the Singapore office, and I think of how Singapore has absolutely no resources to speak of, not even land, and it’s trying so hard to keep all its people, it has to have its people on lockdown in terms of finances and housing and everything within its fathomable control. On the other hand we have places like USA that has problems keeping people out, that even if its own citizens left by the hordes, it wouldn’t try to stop them. I think and I think and I think there must be a flaw in the system, a loophole I can exploit, something I can use as a bargaining chip, but there isn’t. I’m just going against nature, I’m swimming upstream. I am a salmon. And that’s the end of this thought thread.

THE TRAIL MARKED ON YOUR FATHER’S MAP

This is the sixth post I’ve put on here today. I am on the way to work, on a Sunday, and the third day of the Lunar New Year. This morning I recalled again, why I am so dissatisfied living in Singapore, despite it not having gun issues and natural disasters, etc. It is because nothing much happens here. One of the days that I feel most alive in this tiny island country, is in the middle of the year, at PinkDot, our version of a pride march, that is only allowed to happen with a list of caveats, that grows longer every year, as the government realises its growth. I have never been to a women’s march, nor any march, to be honest, because that is not what happens here. People here have been metaphorically (or otherwise) beaten to submission, nobody dares to step out of line. That’s why I like to travel to places where everything happens, the epicentre of media attention. Maybe that’s why people like to keep their eyes out for me, living vicariously with none of the personal risks, because they know I’m a hurricane who will never be satisfied. I’m not saying it is a good thing, sometimes I wonder why I have to be such a contrarian, why I will never be at ease unless I’m fighting for something, why my life always has to be caught in a whirlwind, when I will find a partner who will anchor me down and be my roots to the ground, somewhere. But it is what it is. I am what I am.

HUNGER PANGS

I woke up from a dream then started talking to Irene, who lives in Boston now and who says it’s currently 0 degrees Celsius and she and her husband are recovering from the flu. This flu thing, has it not affected anyone this season? I feel like it has moved to every corner of the Earth. I miss Irene, and I dunno how relevant this is (probably not at all) but I’m likely to meet Freya soon before she leaves to work in Dubai. It’s nice to see my girls overseas, it means that borders sometimes only exist in minds. I saw a photo of A at a bar, and a few days ago he said he was staying away from drinking ‘cos it helps him feel better, and I know from firsthand experience that mixing alcohol with mood regulators is a no-no. My head hurts from wondering if he’s drinking but yknow, I am going to trust that he knows what he’s doing, and I am nobody’s mother, and I am not here to take care of anyone, he is a very competent adult and I need to go back to sleep.

ALWAYS THIS

Nice people made the best Nazis. My mom grew up next to them. They got along, refused to make waves, looked the other way when things got ugly and focused on happier things than “politics.” They were lovely people who turned their heads as their neighbors were dragged away. You know who weren’t nice people? Resisters. — Naomi Shulman

ONE OF THOSE NIGHTS

It’s one of those times, a rarity, where I feel like by the grace of something I am unable to name, I have been placed in a very fortunate spot, that I am me. I am grateful I am me, that I was placed right here, because I would not exchange it to be anybody else. I really would not rather be a myriad of people I can think of, so yes, today, this instant, I am proud to be me. Is this just the ice-cream talking? Perhaps, but perhaps I have been someone I would always be proud of, and I will not take it away from me, not tonight. Good night/good day, everyone, I love you. :)

GOOD DAY

Today was a very good day. I spent it with my family. In Singapore (because I don’t know how it is celebrated in other countries), Chinese families celebrate Lunar New Year by indulging in steamboats/hotpots/BBQs, and married couples give red packets of money to non-married people. I earn my own keep but it’s always nice to have a little extra and feel young and carefree. Today I felt very happy about myself. I like myself for being brave, it has been about a year and I have made some tough and painful moves but I have grown and learned beyond where I was last year. If I could have this fearlessness to keep moving on, all the time, I will be proud of myself. Keep moving, Sarah, keep on moving forward. One can only hope one will never be so blind to the timesuck they are kept in.

CELEBRITY

I wonder what about me warrants such persistent attention, is it the fact that I don’t want to stay in the country I was born and raised in? Are my thoughts extraordinary? Is my 100% honesty refreshing? Is my writing astoundingly amazing? I have very average thoughts, I think. So why the preoccupation? Would you like to be friends with me? Because, to tell you the truth, I love making friends, as long as you are not a man I have been involved with.

Some things, I’ll never understand.

I returned to add more to this post. So like one of my sort-of-favourite things I love-hate to do is seeing a Lush Instagram post that’s more “controversial” like perhaps two men sharing a bath or when they say trans women are also women and deserve equal rights and there’s a photo of a Women’s March crowd, and then.

There will always be comments by people who say Lush is being too “politically correct” and that they just wanted to know about new bath bombs, not get political, and they are reconsidering whether to support Lush, and I’m like, aww honeeeeeey, go ahead and get gone.

People will stop at nothing to spread their hate, and I love that I work at Lush, and Lush will always take the side of love and moral integrity. Political correctness is not just gaining traction because it’s politically correct, it’s just the humanly decent thing to do, and yes, everything has to be politicised, because if it isn’t politicised, it will never change, and ignorance would prevail, so nope, we don’t want that happening. Not today, not anymore, Satan.

DIASPORA

When you’ve always dreamed of moving from the place that practises capital punishment for drug offenders and doesn’t believe in sex positivity, nor is the most tolerant of the LGBTQ community, to the place that refuses to change its gun laws, written around the same time as its slavery laws hundreds of years ago. One cage to another, one cage to another, but you will never be free, until you are free.

EH

I saw Black Panther and Three Billboards outside Ebbing, Missouri and very much enjoyed both. Life is good. Life is very good. Life is very, very good. Sometimes I worry people think I’m happy because I’ve got some lowkey love story blossoming in my life because I’m always talking about men but I have no man in my life, not a single one, nor one in a relationship, nor any kind of wordplay you could think of, there is no loophole, I have no man and my life and I are very happy.

POURQUOI TU GÂCHES TA VIE?

So today, I had a conversation with my grandma for about one and a half hours, or so. She found out about the incident that happened in LA, and she asked whether it happened voluntarily, even insinuating that perhaps Joey had drugged me (HA HA). That is how much my grandmother wants to believe that I am the pure, innocent girl that I apparently should be - that I cannot possibly be wilfully doing whatever it is I am doing out of my own enjoyment. Like my mother, my grandma also sort of requested that I didn't do the same thing again, except she didn't do it outrightly as my mother had. My grandma also asked what my thoughts on religion are, and I tried to navigate this as well as I could, as tactfully as is within my ability to be. She thinks that I never broached the topic of my miscarriage because I think it is a mistake and I would be too embarrassed to talk about it to her or my aunts, but I didn't talk about it because I don't think it's a mistake, it's a perfectly natural, run-of-the-mill, everyday thing that happens, every day on Earth. I slowly implied that I was indeed not as... Muslim or religious as she would like me to be, and I also said my beliefs are that if there is a God, the higher entity that I believe in would not be as.... ummm, inflexible, to judge me based on whatever criteria she believes in. I told her that I know I am a good person, regardless of whether I pray, or believe in certain things, etc etc. We talked about the Quran and the Bible and she asks where I think the universe came about from, so I told her "energy" but she doesn't understand the word energy the way I do, she thinks tenaga is a thing that only exists in humans when you eat food and it is converted to the strength needed to do things. She said, there is some Science in the Quran, and I told her well, yes, but there is also a lot of science that happens without and beyond the Quran, that the holy books were written back when there was much, much less science happening, that the only reasons why people believed in the supernatural and the.... spiritual ways of why rain falls and why crops grow and all that jazz, was because there weren't any laboratories or experiments, that people didn't have science to believe in, and therefore they believed in stories. I told her that a lot of science didn't happen or wasn't allowed to happen because the religious always persecuted the scientific, that for thousands of years, and even now as we live and breathe, whenever Science doesn't agree with what the holy books say, then the religious would always be scared, that the religious would then say "how can that be, we have never believed that so it can't be true" when the answer to "how can that be?" is that it just is, you can conduct experiments over and over again and certain things will always be true, and you just have to change your beliefs. My grandmother thinks I have been led astray, but I told her I haven't been led astray from anything, I have read everything and I made my own judgment as to what I believe, and I am not a bad person. I told her when I read the Quran or the Bible, the writing is too fear-mongering and I used my own intellectual faculties to decide that the style in which it is written is not something I think a higher entity needs to employ. If you need to scare someone into believing something because the alternative is hell, then they will not be organically good people, they are simply avoiding punishment. I said all this to my grandma, but what I did not say, was that a good 90% of people should not be having kids, if they think the way she does. I think people have kids when they think that their kids will grow up to be people whom they would accept, but chances are, you don't know what your kid will be. You could have grown up a good and obedient Muslim as you were raised, or you could have been rebellious until you got married after which you decided to change, you and your husband or wife could have dated the conventional Halal way, and you could think that your child can naturally and instinctively follow your guidance, but that is just as likely not to be the case. For as long as you think you will not accept your child if they were not Muslim, if they don't wear what you think is appropriate, if they are homosexual, if they turn out to have opposite political views - whether conservative or liberal, if you don't believe in tattoos, if you think a person who doesn't live with or takes care of their parents is irresponsible, if you want them to be a doctor or an engineer or a homemaker, for as long as you don't think you can accept your child for turning out as different a person from you regardless of the effort and how much love you put into your child, if you cannot accept your child the way they are - barring criminal intent - then don't. Don't have children.

I'm gonna watch Black Panther as well as Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri. I'm out, have a great weekend!

NO, BUT ELIJAH WOOD

send me your location



hadapilah ini
kisah kita takkan abadi

selamat tidur kekasih gelapku
semoga cepat kau lupakan aku
kekasih sejati ku takkan pernah sanggup untuk melupakanmu

selamat tinggal kasih tak terungkap
semoga kau lupakan aku cepat
kekasih sejati ku takkan pernah sanggup untuk meninggalkanmu

Ever since I heard this song more than a decade ago, I'd always wanted to name one of my daughters Sephia, if I had a daughter. This is one of my favourite Malay songs. It is not likely that I will have my own kid, but even if I adopt, I would like to name her Sephia. Today I thought about languages a lot. I thought about Jared, who was from Portland but who spoke (probably still speaks) fluent Indonesian because he works on mangroves and did his thesis research in the Sumatran islands, I think. I also thought about my best friend in France, who used to speak to me in French much more often, until I stopped, and now I barely recall any of my vocabulary, from both my school classes and the external institutions. I think about Adam, who understands conversational Japanese, because his ex-girlfriend of three years was Japanese. I think about how I keep going for white men whose girlfriends seem to always be Asian, and I wonder, what is going on? Should I be glad? Is this the end of racism? Is this playing into racial stereotypes? In my dating history, I have had exactly one person who spoke the same languages with the exact fluency, that is to say, grammatically anal with English, fluent in spoken and written Malay, and conversational in Mandarin. He also loved Sephia, and the song used to reflect us. I haven't thought of this song for ages, but then I saw him on my Instagram today, and then I think about him being engaged, and then I think about. How everything will eventually lose meaning when you don't employ it enough, like a language, and nothing really matters. My first love will soon be married, and it doesn't really matter to me, and the world is four and a half billion years old, and nothing really matters. What a strange thought.

28 MADRAS STREET

I posted something on Instagram today, and I was really feeling it. I really did and do believe it. But now it is three hours to Valentine’s Day, and I know it is a commercialised date for capitalism, and I know some say the date is arbitrary, but tomorrow, tomorrow is the eighth time I will be spending it alone, which means it is eight full years I have been alone, and now, I have to have one of my best friends tell me that I haven’t been alone these past years, I had plenty of adventures, but to have them telling me this, I wonder, to what end have I had all those adventures? To what end, indeed? Ah, bugger.

Edit: my app just reminded me my period is in four days so perhaps the additional gloom is due to PMS — I am going to walk over to Mustafa Centre and buy myself chocolate :)

THE FALL-OUT, OH BOY

So my sister asked about twenty minutes ago, whether I had posted anything online because apparently our mother is/was crying, so perhaps she has just read all my recent blogposts, and the inevitable fallout is impending. Sciencespeed, Sarah. Imma need all the positive vibes and energy I can get if what I suspect happens to be the actual case unfolding. I knew February was starting out too well. Was it the calm before a storm? Watch this space. Hahahahahah. It’s time to brace myself.

Edit: yep it me oh no

TIRED / WIRED

I met Zack today, he remembers the details from my blog with surprising accuracy. Things like my manager being a Filipino, or the parka from my mum, or Adam, or generally anything he reads here, he remembers. We only recently followed each other on Instagram and he said “that photo with your pigtails, you looked nice in it”, so I said “you know what would have signalled to me that you like it? You pressing like on the photo” and he said “did I not like that one?” lel okay. Today after we did all the things, he said he wanted to be friends, because he’s still not over his ex, and that he’s still fucked up from her cheating but of course, it was after all the things. I don’t know if I can blame him because I said I was passing time until I leave, although in my defence I also said I thought he was a nice guy and if I wasn’t leaving, I could and would envision something with him for sure. But then we did talk about my being hung up about other men, most especially Joey and Adam, so I suppose I can’t ask for much. I do think it is a dick move to only decide on friendship after finally having done all the things. I mean, another man, another joke on me. But you know: everything that is on my plate is there because I said yes to it. I am not a victim of my decisions and I accept the consequences of every action I take, etc etc. We’re all hurt and fucked up and all we can ever do is pass it on, right?

MOCKINGBIRD

I received a text from Adam close to an hour ago, it was a long apology for how he had hurt me. The funny thing is I didn’t have either Adam’s nor Joey’s number stored in my phone so for all of three minutes, I thought it was an apology from Joey, finally. Then I saw the area code and some of the things in the text and realised, hey it’s Adam, the man I still love and from whom I don’t even expect an apology.

We FaceTimed for a while, I showed him Mochi with her little bandaged leg. Arina was holding Mochi up, so she asked me who I was FaceTiming so I said “Adam” — she asked “you’re still together?” and despite every iota of me wanting to say yes we were, I said “no, we’re not.”

We ended the call within half an hour because I think he needs sleep before he spirals even further, but if we had talked for any longer I would have probably said “I love you”: which, given the both of us, doesn’t need to be said, because we both know it’s true, anyway.

I didn’t tell him about Hang the DJ or The Shape of Water, or all the things that had been building up in my head, I just watched him rub his eyes and ruffle his hair and make his cute sounds while covering half his face like he used to do, and I thought, this one’s mine.

OH NO

I woke up feeling a little dehydrated, a little virusy, a little on the... unwell side. But I am not falling sick. Next week I have five days off, and there will be reunion dinner and Lunar New Year goodies and snacks, and I am supposed to enjoy myself and taste food and. I am not falling sick. Body, you hear me? One more week. Just hold on one more week. Please do this for me. We can do this. I will sleep more for now if you want me to. I will eat fruits and vegetables! Antibiotics! All the things!

Oh no.

EVEN MY FEELINGS HAVE FEELINGS

I got home tonight and found that my mum had gotten me the cutest hooded pink parka from esprit, and it was placed in its paper bag on my bed. It is so adorable and I love it and I’m gonna wear it for years. I wore it to my sister’s/grandma’s room and my grandma said in Malay that now I wouldn’t need an umbrella, which was exactly what I thought, too. Apparently it was my youngest sister who thought it was nice, but my mother got it for me instead. (Inb4 you feel too bad for Arina: remember she Did get her desired Fall Out Boy concert tickets.) I cried when I saw the jacket, hahahah, I know it makes me sound like a basketcase but I dunno, it’s tough to navigate things like this with my mum because I mean I know she loves me in her own way, but then I want to do things that she doesn’t approve of, that she thinks is an affront to herself as a person, and then I don’t feel loved again, and erghhhh. It just feels really nice when people do nice things for me unexpectedly.

NICK CAVE & THE SEEDLESS GRAPES

This song is the accompaniment to one of my favourite scenes in a film, when Harry takes Hermione, removes the Horcrux from her, and they dance together in the tent, all with the awareness of Harry’s impending face-off with Voldemort. I also like the song itself for its own imagery. It strikes me as a very happysad song. It’s almost happy, but it’s not, and so close to being sad, yet isn’t quite. There is a tinge of hope, just like when Hermione set down the Horcrux. Or like, even if there is sadness, the oblivion to the sadness is... I dunno, it’s enviable. If you don’t feel sad at a situation that is rightfully sad, then is the situation actually a sad one? Or is it happy because you have no cognizance of it being sad? Am I tired and rambling? The answer to that last question is most definitely a resounding yes.

hey little train, we’re jumping on
the train that goes to the kingdom
we’re happy, Ma, we’re having fun
and the train ain’t even left the station

hey little train, wait for me
I once was blind, but now I see
have you left a seat for me?
is that such a stretch of the imagination?

hey little train, wait for me
was held in chains, but now I’m free
I’m hanging in there, don’t you see
in this process of elimination

This has nothing to do with anything but I just sneezed unexpectedly, a little violently, and spat some spittle onto my phone. My phone is disgusting. In fact, everything I own is quite germy. Hehehehe. How I have a best friend who is a hygiene freak, is beyond me. We are star-crossed best friends.

This has nothing to do with anything, part 2. Standing Outside a Broken Phone Booth started playing on Spotify and I just realised it is the sound of putting in a coin and the dialing of an old-school phone? I dunno if I never heard it because my earphones didn’t sound like these headphones, or I just never noticed. Huh.

AEO

I just got a pair of jeans from American Eagle Outfitters ‘cos they were on sale and I dunno where my jeans are (kidding, they are most likely with my sister - Melyssa Novianna Azalea, when I move away you’d best believe I will enjoy full ownership of my clothes).

First of all the counter guy is super cute, which is a pity ‘cos they’re only two stores away but they’re closing down. Secondly, the jeans I just got, they are US size 0. I mean, is it not the most inane thing you’ve ever heard? What do smaller people wear, negative sizes? -2? -6?? This industry is such bullshit, though.

FEBREEZE

I am on my way back to work, in the train. Next week I am working only two days out of seven, because it is Lunar New Year and I took time off to spend with my family and for just resting by myself. I’m three days away from the new week. Three days. At the moment, tired as I am, I am glad that I have Lin-Manuel Miranda’s voice talking on podcasts for me to listen to, that February has been and will continue to be a breeze, that my life is the most fantastic and beautiful mess. I love it. I’m telling you, the truth shall set you free, and in some ways, I am much more free than many people, I think. I say all my truths and I am not held back by conventional barriers.

ALL TOGETHER NOW

I came home last night, or early this morning technically ‘cos we were doing set-up at work, to find that Mochi’s leg was no longer bandaged and everyone else was asleep so I had to wake them up to send her to the vet because her broken leg was limp and dangly and red and infected. Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way.

There are certain things I tell myself not to mention, despite having possibly the most flexible and weakest filter known to most of humankind, because I know some things don’t have to be said. This, however, directly clashes with my honesty and owning up to what I feel, because I don’t like to hide anything. Last night, I was reminded of course, of the first time I’d stayed overnight for Christmas set-up, during which time Adam was at Comic-Con and he was nervous about it. In the morning, when I was cabbing home, he sang me a song. I loved him at that point, as I possibly still do now. I miss Adam.

When all is said and done, I will always say and do all the things. Have a great weekend y’all.

FILLERS

One time, back when Khalis was teaching me to drum, he said that although drums are supposed to set the beat for songs, there are just as many tracks in contemporary music that have the songs written and drums added on to complete the sound of it. I first noticed this in OneRepublic’s Good Life and ever since, I’ve never been able to unhear it — the jarring juxtaposition of the completely off-sounding drums that are filling up spaces instead of setting the beat. I don’t know how I can explain this.

Someone should write a modern-day love story, where the protagonist has about six different love interests, and likes each of them for different things and dislikes them for different things as well, and how complicated modern-dating can get, what with social media, and exes returning and reappearing. I want to say this is a modern issue, but then I think of Pride and Prejudice and I think again, perhaps not. Are you going to be my Darcy? Will you get over your hurt pride as I let go of my prejudice? Who am I even addressing? I don’t know, it could be any one of my six love interests. HAHAHAHAHAHA. Jesus. I am both Elizabeth Bennet and Mr Darcy, I’m complicated enough without a man trying to win my affections.

THE COFFEE ACADEMICS

I met Andrea and Vivienne at The Coffee Academics for dinner tonight. The food and coffee were great. You can view more on my Instastories if you're so inclined - otherwise, you may or may not take my word for it. We had pancakes for dessert and they were really good, with cream and berry ice-cream. I had coffee with manuka honey from New Zealand and I enjoyed it. I might be growing up, I'm liking more and more kinds of coffee. Oh jeez no please don't, I want to be a kid forever.

Since I last met her, Viv has gotten exponentially more tattoos. She has a swallow on her right arm, and a mountain on her left, which are her parents' names, Yan and Shan, respectively. I love the two, as I love all her tattoos. Viv has an infinity symbol on her collarbone, and we used to love giving each other things with infinity on them, 'cos we're #soultwins, I had an infinity on my room wall once upon a time. #basic

Andrea also talked about her tatt, down her side, which is slightly more relevant to me. They both go to the same tattoo artist, and apparently they trust him, so... I can take their word for it.

I have two doubts, first about the fallout that will eventually inevitably happen, because you know, my body apparently will never belong to me, but I'm mentally prepared for the fallout. I mean, I had a life inside of me, and got rebuked for that, and still survived, so, in the words of Miley Cyrus, there's always gonna be another mountain, right?

Secondly, the question is always: do I want this or do I want to be in New York City? I've been thinking on this and I figure this is an investment that I've wanted for literal ages, and if I get it, I might as well get it now, instead of spending my precious USD currency in future, right? Yes.

So. Let's go. Skin, ink and bones.

I also had the book The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo in my bag, 'cos that's my new read (although it is a relatively old book), and I'd always associated the book/movie with Andrea, and of course, she told us, she's wanted to get another, of a dragon clawing its way out of her back. Andrea and Viv talked about Rooney Mara and Noomi Rapace, Emily Blunt and Jessica Chastain, and I listened on passively, because I have much less appreciation of female actresses than I definitely should possess.

For some reason, I told Viv that although I used to be staunchly on the camp of people who say gif as jif, I started being okay with both camps, with either a g or j sound, after Joey. Joey said "it's not peanut butter, it's not jif" so I began saying it as give, like he did. We then proceeded to agree that Joey might be a rocket scientist, but given that he still knocked me up, he can't be all that smart, after all.

Viv said it's a deal breaker, whether I say gif or jif, and then I tried to dissimilate the pronunciation thing from actual deal breakers, like racism or bigotry, but she was having none of it.

We also talked about how Elon Musk is a genius, selling Boring Company caps and flamethrowers for funding, etc. Viv is reading Musk's biography, etc, and says she would so get a Tesla car, but as much as I most definitely admire Elon Musk, I also can't help but think, I dated a man who admired the hell out of Musk, but who wasn't the greatest of men, and Musk himself is not known for being the best husband or relationshippy-person. So: you could be brilliant and still be so lacking. You choose what you want, I suppose.

After dinner, we sat al fresco (chey sit outside Far East Plaza call it al fresco isit tak sedar diri isit yes?) and talked about Black Mirror and all the TV things, and I think I'd had too much sugar, because I was laughing uncontrollably at morbid things like deaths and funerals. May I just say that, I am the type of person who will be set in giggling fits at funerals, and please don't invite me to yours unless yours is the kind that is a celebration of what your life had been, and I am allowed to laugh and giggle until I cry. :')

I have ascertained that Hang The DJ is my favourite Black Mirror episode, and it is a great non-depressing episode, and Adam, if you're reading this, please watch it. You don't have to even talk to me, you can just watch it and feel whatever you feel about it, I think you'd enjoy it! If you're not reading this, whatever, lol, I'm very used to talking to myself.

Hang the DJ reminds me of one of my favourite films, that has a rather eccentric sort of actor as its protagonist. I love that film, although Hang the DJ is undoubtedly more feel-good, and more relevant to these times.

I love meeting up with Andrea and Viv, I hadn't done so for so long, but they are the type of friends that are, how would I put it, low-maintenance, and with immensely high payoff. I don't have to try hard to be anything I'm not, I'm the dirty-minded, exactly in between wild and experienced and timid and clueless girl that I am, admiring them, and enjoying their company and talking about things easily without trying to find anything to talk about. It just flows, and it's funny and entertaining and warm, and I like it.

THEY BEATING US LIKE 808'S AND HI-HATS

One day, this song will be about me. One day. Just you wait. Today's question is: do I prefer the original Hamilton soundtrack or the Hamilton mixtape made after the soundtrack? God only knows.


Today I watched The Shape of Water, which I liked, but not as much as I liked Pan's Labyrinth. Guillermo del Toro does his thing again, and I think it is magical, but just, I dunno, Pan's was better to me.

I remember talking with Adam about our favourite movies, and Pan's is one of his top five (it's also one of my favourite films but not in my top five, I don't think), and he also has top five favourite books, so I asked him whether he had a list of five favourites for everything. A lot about The Shape of Water reminded me of Adam. I don't know if I'll be spoiling it for y'all if I mention any of them, so I shan't, but he should probably watch it. Maybe one of these days I will text him to watch it, maybe I won't.

He posted an Instagram photo of himself being sick, but he's still such a goddamn qtpie, and I bet he knows it, because legitimately, would you post a photo of yourself being sick if you didn't think you looked good? No, you wouldn't. Ergh this man.

I felt good today. I finished The Road Less Travelled, finally, and I think it's now become one of my books to read at least once every year, just to revisit the lessons I've learned from it. Will you all do me a favour and read it, please? If you are readers, that is. But given that you're here on my blog, this goddamn whiny, repetitive thing, I'm sure you're somewhat of a reader. Go give it a read.

February is turning out really well.

AND WE BOTH KNOWALL THE TRUTH I COULD TELL

I found the letter I'd written for my therapist. I read in The Road Less Travelled that mental illness or imbalance is caused by the unconscious and conscious not being aligned. I guess I must say I am much more resentful of Joey than I want to admit. I resent that our mistake was made by two people but only one person had to face the consequences. I hate that I lost a year of my life, fell out with several of my loved ones, felt suicidal at times, let other men confuse me even further.

This is what the letter says:

Joey

Sep 7, 2016 was the last time I saw you, at SpaceX, before I boarded the flight back to Singapore. One year later, I have anxiety and I almost hurled my breakfast. My therapist said that it might help to write letters, even if they are never sent, so here goes. I find it hard, almost impossible, to associate bad traits with you, because you got me pregnant, and I wanted to believe you were as good as it gets, when it comes to having made mistakes. Also, I loved you during my time in the US and my fondness for you lingered so that I still regarded you with rose-tinted glasses, for months, pretty much a year after. However, unless I face the facts and deal with all my suppressed resentment, I will never be able to fully heal. When I told you the news, you said that if I wanted to keep and raise the baby, I had ownership of my body and you trusted me to be a parent to our kid. That was the last nice thing I can remember you saying to me. For the next week or so until my miscarriage, you found it hard to come to terms with my decision, because if you became a father, you'd have to tell your family and friends. #noshitsherlock

When I had the miscarriage, you said you felt sorry for me but you were very relieved. That was the last that you acknowledged my pregnancy/miscarriage. I asked you to foot half my clinic/hospital bills. You said you would but you never did. I told you my parents found out and I was in deep shit, to no response. A week later, on a Friday night and you wanted company, you began sexting me. I don't have any problems with the general concept of sexting, but I'd just gone through the miscarriage of our baby. I was incredulous. You and your friends were planning a trip to Japan for early this year, and I was always supposed to go along with y'all. You said you'd ordered a batch of Plan B's, or the morning-after pill, for me to consume, "just in case". Perhaps avoidance is your way of dealing with things, but in following your lead, I buried a lot of the aftermath of my post-traumatic emotions. Not anymore, though. I am finally on my road to recovery. I loved you for a summer and it lives on forever in my memories, but I don't love you anymore. Goodbye.

Your Sarah for a Summer

Joseph Alexander Hallock, when you do apologise, I want you to think through what you did to me, because you know I still have it all, more than just your words. I want you to believe honestly that I did not deserve everything bad that happened to me last year, and that you are sorry for it and sorry to me, and that what we did was as much your fault as mine. I don't want you to say sorry just because you know unless and until you do, you will never be at peace in your life. I want you to apologise to me, and for me, but unless that happens, don't.

MANSPLAINER OF THE YEAR

So I was at work, and a man saw me working, at my workplace, and he asked me what I was doing, because I was demonstrating a bubble bar, at the place that I work at, and so I explained, and then he said, “do you know that this brand is from the UK? It’s actually a very old brand” and he walked away, so my thoughts were, in this exact ramble: no shit Sherlock I did not know the store I work at originated in the UK, nor the length of its history, please do tell me more, pray tell #chinoncuppedpalm #leanin #unenlightenedasian

Fuck my life, what do you think I am doing at the store if I don’t know about it?!

Also: there are customers who come in with skin concerns and are looking for, say, masks that address those concerns, like maybe they wanna hydrate, right, so you recommend them masks that have all sorts of ingredients that are for hydration, and you go through a few options, but they keep declining, because they don’t “like the smell”, and they decide to get one that smells nicest to them, but doesn’t address their issue at all. When that happens, it takes all my energy not to say “that’s why your skin sucks and mine doesn’t” lol I mean srsly, I was trained for this but no, if you wanna choose something fragrant for your face, why don’t you try.... perfume???!! All views are obviously reflective of my own thoughts and are not indicative of Lush’s stance on anything.

FAUSTIAN PACT

Me, reading up on schools and fees and lodging expenses: why is studying so expensive I just want to improve myself and be a better and more useful person and my parents have never been of any help to me because they believe in “God will provide” jesus christ God if you exist, will you please credit my bank account with the exact amount I need to study please? They said, ask and you shall receive, well you best believe I’m asking

Also me: Sarah you need to stop whining and shut down your laptop and get ready for work God is dead there is no God

ESCAPE THE ORDINARY

Today I was in a changing room and the strap of my camisole had gotten caught on my helix stud (bc: of course) and I wasn’t aware so I just pulled it off and the stud came off and my helix piercing started bleeding again, so I exclaimed “what the fuck are you doing there, get the fuck out dumbass OWWW!!!” which I realised on hindsight might have sounded dubious to anyone else who was none the wiser and heard me. Now I don’t have a stud in and it is crusty and I am going to have to grin and bear the pain if I want it back in, which again sounds like innuendo but is honestly just my shite luck with piercings, goddamn it. I also met one of my good friends for lunch because it was her birthday recently. February has been a breeze: should I brace myself? :/

Anyhow, one of my favourite things to do at work now is posting an InstaStory on the @lushvivocity Instagram account. Nothing makes me happier than knowing my cringeworthy puns are getting more exposure than to just the people in my social circles. If you see a cringeworthy pun, it is highly likely it is me. Also, when will Lush realise I am the perfect person to write copy for product packaging, I was born for the job! Lush UK/North America, I’m looking at you!!!!!!! Also I spotted several typos and misprints, who is doing proofreading for them, srsly! What is this nonsense. My manager used to say I have OCD because I like to arrange things alphabetically but I most definitely do not have OCD, I just like things to make sense and follow a system.

FERRIS BUELLER’S DAY OFF

It is 3.52am and for the second night running, I am still awake and for the second night running, I just had a bowl of spicy chilli-cheese cup noodles and am panting my life’s worth. I was going to shower, then cycle to the laundromat for my week’s load of laundry, but I don’t think my hair will dry in time for me to sleep, not even with the cycling. I don’t use a hair dryer, anyway, which is the reason my hair is actually quite healthy. Ergo, laundry when I wake up later on the Sunday that is my off day. I’ve been awake since 10.30am on Saturday for work so I’ve been awake for about 18 hours and perhaps running on adrenaline and delirium. Being best friends with my sister again is a really comforting feeling. Also, Mochi is lying with me in my bed, she is fast asleep and I wish Adam could see it but regardless, the feeling is a lovely one and it will help me to sleep.

Today for some reason I thought of one of my friends whom I admire greatly and always have. If you have read my blog long enough, it is easy to tell whom it is. He beat up a girl once that she had to be hospitalised and I think he always felt ashamed of it. That happened a long time before I was properly friends with him and despite knowing the story, I never connected it with him because that was no longer the person he was and I never saw that in him, and he definitely learned his lesson. I think he might have carried it around because one time, I was out with him and we saw friends of the girl’s, and he told me they were definitely talking about him and the incident. He is not the only guy I know with such a story, men have the capacity to physically hurt women so much worse than they think they do. But there are always two paths. Some men do it over and over, and they tell the girl(s) that it will never happen again, yet it does, and they never seem to feel guilty about themselves. The latter group does it once, perhaps not so severe, but they are so shocked by what they’ve done, that they carry it around with them, and feel guilty all the time. I have seen both kinds in the course of my life, and I just want to say, if you belong to the latter group, put it down. Talk it out. Don’t shut it out and carry the weight of the world upon your shoulders. Shit happens in life. If you don’t forgive yourself enough to talk about it, nobody will be able to help you. As long as you know for a fact that you’ll never make the same mistake, you’re forgiven. This post is not directed towards anyone in particular, or at least the person I’m talking about is too far removed from me to ever chance upon this. If this hits home with any one of you, rest assured it really is not about you and this thing is far too common to be unique.

SATURYAY

I just got back from Singapore’s only 24-hr shopping mall, Mustafa Centre. It’s one of my favourite places in this country because it is so one-of-a-kind and truly locally-flavoured, unlike the other characterless malls. I was there with my grandma, my mum and sister Mel. I have no clue how it is already 4am but I am again feeling good. February is the best. It is laundry day. I have to sleep. I’m incoherent. The last time I was awake this late/early, I don’t even really remember when. Perhaps I will be more sensible and less delirious when I wake up in the morning. Imma sleep now. :)

DANCE, DANCE

It is very rare that I want to dance, because I can’t dance and I generally don’t do what I cannot do, but occasionally, when I am contented, when I am happy, when I am at peace with the world, I want to twirl around. I honestly cannot dance tho. Maybe someday that will change, but someday is not a day of this week.

I SHOULD BE SLEEPING

Me: how often is okay for me to text A
Me: once a month?
Me: once a year?
Me: never?
Me: what do I even talk to him about
Me: Terrace House
Me: people against MSG having racist undertones
Me: Taylor Swift
Me: his face that I am still solidly attracted to
Me: sex
Me: ho damn
Me: gotta blast

DOUBLE WHAMMY

I am so happy and proud of myself. Today I was so hungry, for dinner I ate the food (rice with beef soup) that my grandma had cooked and packed for me, and I was still hungry so I bought and ate chicken rice, and finished it all. Maybe I will finally put on weight this year, and it will mean that I’m happy. Or maybe I will be happy and still be skinny, who knows. Lel.

YOUR EX-LOVER REMAINS DEAD

try as he might, he’s unable to speak
he grabs her by the hair, he strokes her on the cheek
the bed is unmade, like everything is
dark little heaven at the top of the stairs

take me like that, ruin it all
then build it again by the light in the hall
he drops to his knees, says
“please, my love, please —
I’ll kill who you hate, take off that dress,
you won’t freeze”

one more night
that was a good one
one more night
the end should be a good one

he starts with her back ‘cos that’s what he sees
when she’s breaking his heart,
she still fucks like a tease

release to the sky
look him straight in the eye
and tell him that, now,
that you wish he would die

you’ll never touch him again
so get what you can
bleeding him empty just because he’s a man

so good when it ends
they’ll never be friends
one more night
that’s all they can spend there

I was walking at the train station, and had my headphones on, and someone was trying to get my attention, to sell either insurance or souvenirs or who-even-knows-what, but I had no time nor interest for it, and was walking away, but he held my arm, and I wanted to scream, I wanted to yell don’t touch me, because you shouldn’t touch anyone unless they say they are okay with it, but I didn’t, I smiled apologetically, shrugged him off and walked away.

I was reading a little on the lawsuit between Kesha and her sexual abuser, Dr Luke (about whom other female artistes have even said they don’t trust and that he’s shady, so). In the New York lawsuit, the judge (who is sadly a female, and women who are not allies to other women are scum, srsly #yesallmen #andsomewomen) threw out Kesha’s appeal. One of the reasons cited were that the sexual assault incidents “alleged” by Kesha only happened twice of the many years they had been working together.

I mean, the law is such bullshit. Anyone with money can corrupt it. As if sexual abuse/assault only affects you during the time it happens, instead of changing the person you are, taking away a person’s agency over their own body, messing up their trust in people and the world. As if you can count, oh it only happened 2/365 times out of the three years you’ve known this person, so the other (365x3)-2 days this person is okay and you can trust them. As if it’s an aberration. The fuck, seriously, why is the world like this.

28 DAYS LATER

shake it once, that’s fine
shake it twice, that’s okay
shake it three times
you’re playing with yourself

It is February, the month with 28 days! If I had a second favourite month after May, it would be February fo sho. I think this Feb is going to be super great, I’m really looking forward to it.

On a not related note, because our house wifi router is the furthest from my room and therefore my wifi sucks when I’m in bed, I just purchased 20GB for $20 from Circles, my mobile provider, on top of my base plan, so now I have about 27GB per month, or roughly 1GB per day.

What on Earth am I going to do with one gig of data per day? Watch more porn, perhaps. Although: there’s no point in me watching porn ‘cos I don’t do anything with myself. You see, when it feels really wrong for someone else to touch you, it continues to feel wrong to touch yourself too. I should go for sex therapy.

Sarah Mei Lyana: pushing boundaries on what to share on social platforms, all day err day. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

COME AS YOU ARE

Today one of my colleagues played emo songs (here I go, so dishonestly, leave a note / when darkness turns to light, it ends tonight) and I thought of Fall Out Boy, I don't know why. I used to listen to them circa Thks Fr th Mmrs/Dance Dance/Sugar, We're Going Down, but haven't really listened to their recent music.

This April I'll be going to see FOB live with my sisters, the three whom I live with, because the youngest loves them. I feel like I'm more of a chaperone, I AM SO OLD. Need to catch up with discography since my high school years of more than a decade ago.

I also had my staff review done today, and of all the things my manager said (lasted about an hour), one of it really struck me as superbly touching. Yay I am so happy and grateful.

I am at the third section of The Road Less Travelled, which talks about the relationship between psychotherapy and religion. It reminds me of when Han (my best friend: sometimes there are just such random people reading this, I wonder if y'all know who all the people in my life are??) asked me last week, whether I was just acting out against my mum with all my newfound "hardcore" atheism.

I suppose perhaps a little bit of it could be me being perverse, but it isn't like every time I say or write something, she hears or reads it, so it's not all for her benefit, or non-benefit. I dunno, my mother did use religion a lot as a screen for being domineering and for having me/us depend on her and to dictate every move, so maybe growing up into my own person and not seeing my mother as all-wise and all-knowing also means I don't see a higher entity as all-wise and all-knowing.

I also really think I'm much better off not believing in any god. Did you know, that at twenty-seven years old, I have only recently started not being scared going to sleep in the complete darkness? I figure that if God doesn't exist, neither do all the weird supernatural beings that exist along with the realm of God, and there is nothing to be scared of in the dark. I only learned that at twenty freaking seven, jesus christ.

MEOWTH

I dreamt I was in NYC for a while and I called A, asking him to meet, and we did, and we liked each other, just like we do. Or like we did? I don’t know. I miss him. Take your time, Sarah, and let it be. If it will be, it will be. If it doesn’t, it doesn’t. Que sera, Sarah.

Also today I found out there is an Instagram account @lunchcosmetics that parodies Lush posts and it’s super cheesy-weird-lols but also delicious and I’m so here for this and this world is wild and I’m happy to be alive. I think I might be hungry.

Is it finally going to be February in twenty-four hours in Singapore? It is about friggin’ time. That’s been a long time coming. You know what else is a long time coming? Hmmmmmmm....

An even later edit: I just read some articles about Eden Ang being a sexual predator and he’s gone on to deny the claims and say that he’s been maligned, etc. Uh, nope, always knew he felt like an off character. Even when he was playing Moritz in Spring Awakening and Nicole had a sort of thing for him. What year was that? She was most definitely still in her teens and he was already douchey.

Geez, fuckbois of the world. Guess what? Time’s up. Thank goodness for receipts. “Call me daddy” motherfucker I don’t even call my own dad daddy, who dyou think you are pressuring a young girl like that l e l

PETTY

Last night, my real dad asked how I was, and how my uni applications were going. I answered honestly and lengthily but there was no response to my answer. Instead, he launched into a monologue about how the two other women who are the mothers to his four other kids are now almost like sisters. I felt more than a little annoyed, because I didn’t feel like he was concerned about me, he just wanted me to be interested in my four half-siblings. I’m so tired, the onus is really not on me to care because you fathered six kids and cannot care for all of them equally. Sometimes I wish I could be like Melyssa and not talk to him at all. It’s not that I’m not glad for the younger ones that he’s a better dad than he was when he raised me (not very well, if you can’t tell how I yearn for men’s approval) but the very least you could do is not pretend to be interested in my life. Jesus. At least my mum with her misplaced religious worries actually takes care of me and houses me in her apartment. I mean, really, I might share my father’s genes but there’s no freaking love lost there.

ERROR 404

I have a petite colleague, who was just a petite colleague, until recently she told me she’s been reading my Wordpress (technically this entire website is hosted on Blogger but same difference) and suddenly she became much more than just a petite colleague.

I have not much value to my name, nor in my life. I currently sell soap for money, which is quite frankly the basis of my job. I haven’t even got an educational degree, and I haven’t written or done anything worth talking about. I mean, apart from growing up into an atheist in a semi-religious family with one parent that had violence and rage issues who eventually left, and one parent who has misplaced ideas of love that likely trickled down to me, and circumnavigating sexual trauma and harassment just because of how I look, and perhaps dealing with my own miscarriage that left me completely unbalanced for a year or so, I have not done much at all.

If there is one thing I hope people see value in me for, I hope it is that you choose to love. The only thing certain in life is death and that everything will eventually end. If you’re lucky, you have at least another fifty years to go before the end of your life. I hope you love, even with the risk of loss and pain. Love, even if you know it will end. Love, even if it is difficult. Love, even if it leaves you mentally unfit for a period of your life. Love, and then let go. And then love again, and then let go again. Because the things you do for work, they could benefit people through their lives and perhaps beyond their lifetimes and your own lifetime, if you are perhaps a teacher or a doctor or whatever your profession may be, but when you love, you greatly enhance your own life, and that matters as much as anybody else’s life you want to help with.

DON’T THINK TWICE, IT’S ALRIGHT

PSA: When things like this are no longer relevant, perhaps I will not feel overwhelmed by too many things enough that I have to write and talk all the goddamn time because I can't stand being with my own thoughts.

"There's nothing quite like a catchy but fairly mediocre pop track about being in love with the literal physical outline of an unknown woman's body, sung by British everyman and erstwhile Game of Thrones cast member Ed Sheeran, taking the trophy for Best Pop Solo Performance at the Grammys to hammer home the values of the world we currently live in. The category's other contenders — Kelly Clarkson, Lady Gaga, P!nk and Kesha — provided fierce competition not only vocally, but lyrically, touching on themes of political division, strength in the face of heartbreak and how to forgive your rapist."

Right, I am crying, properly bawling now.

A WILD NEUTRINO APPEARS

You know what we should all aim to be? Tardigrades. Tardigrades are more resistant than cockroaches, they've survived the last five mass extinctions, and they're also known as water bears, and they're even kinda cute. In a weird, gross way. Oh, they remind me of that weird caterpillar from Alice in Wonderland. The one that's always high on hookah or whatever.

So I did not run, nor swim, nor cycle, today. Yet I still had Ben & Jerry's chocolate chip cookie dough ice-cream, as well as strawberries with whipped cream, while watching Cosmos on Netflix. My reasonings are that I have limited time to spend with my grandma (yes I went to the market with her today), whereas even living overseas, I must have some means of cycling/swimming/etc.

Also, I indulged in ice-cream and strawberries and cream for similar lines of thought, to be honest I dunno if I can afford the luxury of ice-cream, et cetera so often if I'm living by myself, especially if I have to convert my savings by 0.76 to their currency. I will be even poorer than I am now, geez.

When we reached the supermart, my grandma proclaimed "macam dah masuk syurga eh" which means "it feels like we've reached Heaven" 'cos the supermarket is airconditioned and we'd been walking for ten minutes in the sun (not technically, because we were walking in shade). Perhaps that explains my propensity for using superlatives, and also my gramma is the cutest.

I wonder if the word for grandmother is cute in every language. I love calling her Nyai, which is like an old Javanese way of saying grandma, and I love how Lin-Manuel calls his grandma abuela, abuela sounds like the ideal word to call a grandma. In Chinese, it is something like "Nai-nai" (I never took Chinese as a subject so I don't know what the hanyu pinyin is) and that sounds really adorable as well.

When my grandma proclaimed the thing about having reached Heaven, I wanted to say I don't believe in heaven, or heaven doesn't exist, but then it might have given her a heart attack, so I refrained. If I ever had grandkids, I wonder what they would say to shock me, what if they say "I don't believe in Netflix" oh bless my dear heart, that would hurt my very existence.

wise men say only fools rush in
but I can't help falling in love with you 

HALLOWEEN ON CHRISTMAS

don’t waste your time on me
you’re already the voice inside my head

I plan to cycle, run and swim tomorrow and if I do all three, I will have an ice-cream. Otherwise, no ice-cream for me tomorrow! I really want to get my wedding dress but it’s in the US and shipping it here is not worth it, considering, well, considering I don’t think I’m getting married in Singapore. Decisions, decisions.

THE PROPHET

Here are snippets of the poem The Prophet by Khalil Gibran, quoted in The Road Less Travelled. I thought they were meaningful, so I’m bookmarking it here to share it, as well as a mental note to myself to read it in its entirety, sometime.

(Also: I really need replacement earphones soon, ‘cos geez, conversations in the train in Singapore are so mundane and boring, completely unlike in LA - spoken from experience, nor in New York - spoken from reading @overheardnewyork on Instagram.)

The Prophet: —

Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you. 

You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you
    cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them
    like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children as living arrows
    are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and
    He bends you with His might that His arrows may go
    swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also
    the bow that is stable.

Another snippet from The Prophet: —

But let there be spaces in your togetherness,
And let the winds of the heavens dance between you. 

Love one another, but make not a bond of love:
Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.
Fill each other’s cup but drink not from one cup.
Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf
Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of
   you be alone,
Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver
   with the same music. 

Give your hearts, but not into each other’s keeping.
For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts.
And stand together yet not too near together:
For the pillars of the temple stand apart,
And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other’s
    shadow.

SEB’S

Another day of sun, another night of fun. Girls will somehow always pay me more attention than guys do. You strip off all your clothes and lay on your bed, you pry open your laptop, then think “not tonight, I am too tired.” He missed a belt loop discovered only when Phoebe was checking for muscles in spasm. They take their coffee with no sugar, donuts with peanut butter and jelly filling are just for the ‘gram. What would Newton think? What would Jesus do? She wants to learn a new language, not for the sake of knowing a new language to converse in, but to get over the fact that she took Korean lessons with her ex. Mochi is the name of my real-life cat, but one time I played one of my favourite games, Harvest Moon, and I named my dog Wasabi, afterwhich I have always wanted to own a dog in real life and call him or her Wasabi. How do you verify the credibility of an alibi, especially before the advent of closed circuit footage? Piranhas live in freshwater, and I have a phobia of sharks. If the most powerful president in the world is one who has not earned the respect of his own people, what is the actual true worth of people over, say, a pack of wolves or hyenas? We are all made of stars, but some stars will always shine brighter than others, some are invisible and discovered only through their gravitational pull on other entities and some are supermassive black holes. What kind of star are you?

FROZEN THINGS THEY ALL UNFREEZE

and now I taste like all those frozen strawberries
I used to chill your bruising knees

I spent time with my best friend last night, wherein she said sometimes I say things that reek of skinny privilege, like “I look good in everything” when we discussed bridesmaid dresses last week. It’s not like I’m unaware that the fashion industry is completely ridiculous in always sizing down outfits and making more of the smaller sizes so that society is pressured to conform and fit in, I also follow body-positive bloggers and think they are gorgeous whatever size they are, and still, sometimes I say stupid shit like “I look good in everything” and forget to acknowledge that it is because the industry is catered to skinny-ass, curveless people like me.

The Road Less Travelled is indeed my favourite book and one of the things on my bucketlist would be to get everyone I know to read it at least once. There is a section that talks about how love is not a feeling but wilful action, and perhaps 28 is a little late to learn it, perhaps it is just the right time, but every word I read in the book resonates strongly with me.

I have had boyfriends and dates and lovers, for whom I might have had the loving feeling for, and for whom I would have or did make effort to love. I fought fiercely with my family about them, or I reflected upon myself again and again, wondering whether I did something wrong to upset them, or I re-thought my life plan and tried to speed things up to accommodate someone else’s needs, or you get the gist.

With each of these people, I wanted to be loved, and they might have had the loving feeling for me, they may have enjoyed being mutually attracted to me, the endless conversations about TV, or music, or social justice and politics, or cats, or teaching me to drive, or showing me their workplace, or you get the gist. But none of them actually loved me in the sense that they were willing to put in effort into loving me. When love becomes work, none of them wanted it, and according to the book, which I cannot deny, it is because I didn’t put in attention towards myself.

I love people, and I’m always talking about other people, but I haven’t put in the same effort into loving myself and improving myself and making myself the best version of me I can be. People love people who are passionate about things, and it is a weird request to get one man to start loving a girl whose passion has empirically always been other men.

For some reason, yesterday I thought of what my real dad said when I miscarried. He said “I didn’t think you liked kids that much, that always seemed to be Lyssa” and perhaps it was not his intention but what I heard was “you’re better off without it, anyway.” It’s funny how my own parent would assume certain things about me although they had not lived with me and put in no effort into raising me as a person for two entire decades. It is no wonder I don’t know how to choose love for myself, I have not had concrete examples of proper loving relationships from my role models. I am starting from ground zero, but I guess 28 is not too late.

MMM-BOP

A couple of weeks ago, my family of six went for dinner and conversation got a bit heated. My parents started out by positing that character is genetic, which is why although Melyssa never lived with our dad (hers and mine), there are certain traits he has that she has, as well.

Of course, myself being the argumentative lawyer-wannabe, I said that character has nothing to do with genes, and that it is all entirely learned and emulated. At that point, Mel and I weren’t too friendly with each other yet, but she also said for my parents’ benefit “as a Science student, I can tell you that character and personality are not passed on through genes.”

There are times when our two younger half-sisters, who are half-Chinese and half-Malay, say things that are ludicrous and incredible to hear, that stem from their Chinese privilege (you know how there is white privilege in the Western world, well in Singapore there is Chinese privilege and neither Mel nor I benefit from nor enjoy it, with the exception of through our Chinese stepdad — that then means on Lunar New Year, we also collect red packets of money, HE HE HE).

When this happens, when our two younger teenage sisters say things that remotely flaunt their Chinese privilege, Mel and I stop them and tell them why it isn’t okay to do so, and that their experiences are not necessarily the collective experience of the minority races in Singapore.

My mother is forty-six this year (yeah, she had me when she was eighteen: and yes, Gilmore Girls used to be our favourite mother-daughter bonding show), and you know how they say when you reach forty years old, your opinions and beliefs are set in stone and it is damn near impossible to change your mind about anything?

I hope that when I reach forty, I will still know when to admit I’m wrong, I will still reflect upon ideas and make the right moral judgment about things, I will still be flexible enough to think about the inherent value of anything, from homosexuality to BDSM to open marriages to I dunno, whatever.

SOME THINGS

I was telling my colleague Mavis that I’m a bridesmaid for two weddings this year, once for my best friend Atiqah and another for my cousin Hazwani. Both are people I love very dearly, but I was lamenting the fact that they are getting married while I am still single. Mavis then said, “well, you should be happy that you’re a bridesmaid for them, it means that they really cherish you and y’all are close enough for them to share one of their happiest days with you” and I realised, holy crap she just spat some truth bars right there. Two of my most favourite people in this world of seven billion, are getting married and they want me to be a special part of that, and I am so grateful.

I love Hamilton: An American Musical and Lin-Manuel Miranda’s portrayal of Alexander Hamilton and I know, Sarah, I know you love the ideals of freedom and truth and defending to the death the principles you believe in and I know you want every line to be about you but you are not A. Ham. I know you are a surprise bastard child in the traditional sense of the word, and I know sometimes you feel orphaned and you’ve always learned to fend for yourself and you love to read and to write but you are not him. The musical is not about you, and the line “you never learned to take your time” does not have to apply to you. You can and should take your time, in love and in study and at work. Hamilton lived in the 1700s, and their lifespans were not as long as you have it now, so he had to always be hustling, but you don’t. Take time to breathe. It is okay to miss out on some things for the sake of other things. “Look around, look around, at how lucky you are, to be alive right now.” Look how loved you are, look at how you envy the people who can do Math, and dance, and sing and play instruments, and look at how they envy you for being able to write exactly the way you want to. You are as honest as it gets. Use it wisely, don’t write yourself into ruin the way Hamilton did.

My iPhone’s earphones are spoilt ‘cos something spilt in my bag and wet pretty much all its contents so now I have to get replacement iPhone7 earphones because it has the weird lightning cable connector and not the usual earphone jack. Oh Apple you will be the death of me. When you made my iPhone7 waterproof why did you not do the same for the accompanying earphones? I also have to get a new iPhone charger for Lyssa ‘cos hers is whacked and isn’t charging her phone properly so she has been sharing mine. My iPhone charger that I got from an Apple store at The Grove in LA, one and a half years ago. I don’t remember what happened to my previous charger before that, that I had to get one in LA. Did I lose it? Spoil it? Guess my memory isn’t infallible after all. Huh.

THE BEACH

This morning has been a little bit of a struggle. I feel like it’s finally time to make use of the fact that my workplace is only ten minutes away from the beach and head there after work tonight. I would like to see the stars and feel the sand and maybe I could use a short cry. If anyone reads this and is open tonight and would also like to be at the beach, lemme know. Otherwise, I’ll go on my own, that’s truly fine.

COGNITIVE DISSONANCE

There are things I witness in my everyday life that do not sit very well with the things I value in my brain and heart and soul. Every time my mum or grandma tells me that my clothes are not what “a sweet girl” would wear, I think maybe I deserved all those times I was mistreated by men, maybe I am giving off the vibes that I am not “a nice girl” and all I want is to be toyed with. Perhaps it is growing up in a household with only girls, but I have never heard my family say to the boys that regardless what a person wears, he is not to touch her if she does not want to, that only yes means yes, that a girl who stays out with him past midnight can still be a good girl, that even as a man, he is not simply reduced to “boys will be boys”, that it is not on the girl, it is never on the girl, for a man who chooses to do something. A few months ago, a Malay Muslim woman was elected as Singapore’s president (although there were no votes, but that’s a whole notha story), and all I can remember is my uncle, with whom I grew up in the same household, saying “is this what we have come to? Is this what we were taught? That women can lead just the same as men?” and that’s when I realised the women’s activist groups I’d been in have been right for so long, that sometimes it is your very own flesh and blood that can be the most toxic, and the fact that you want to distance yourself from people whose values pervade your mental health, is not a bad thing. It is in the fact that the woman who raised me to believe that god makes you a better and more accepting person, then turned around to tell me I have made a grievous, shameful mistake, only because the same god said so, and not based on any logical proof, that I think “when will this fucking end?” If a person’s love for you is conditional upon whether you are a Muslim or share the same religious belief whichever it may be, then is that love, actually?

WHAT DO YOU MEANTHIS HAPPENED TO ME?

I’LL WRITE MY WAY OUT(WAIT FOR IT)

This morning (or was it last night, I can’t tell) I saw A post on Instagram that he was putting together the band and recording a demo of the song that he wrote, something he’d been wanting to do for years. I feel very proud of and excited for him. He also really looks like a qtpie in the photo. Ah, I miss him. Today I was whiling away time during my break at work and missing the times we’d talk about the everyday and the extraordinary to each other. It is a good thing his social media is all about as public as my own, so if I see a girlfriend on the horizon I can shut the hell up, lolol. I tried to do the 28 days without looking at his social media, and I managed to do it, but then I went right back to looking at it. He has no girlfriend and his profile is public, it is my prerogative to do whatever I want. Right? We launched Valentine’s items last weekend and I just want to ramble to him re: how pretty they are and how delicious they smell because: I dunno, I just do, I guess.

maybe she’s wrong
and just maybe I’m right

CHASING AMY

I saw a clip of Trump mouthing off on what he thinks are the visa lottery and chain immigration. On the one hand, I am glad I probably don’t hail from a country that he would deem a “shithole”, on the other, I really do want to be in the US so there are certain ideas I probably shouldn’t talk about.

Today my brain is trying to wrap itself around how conservatives are pissy about libs and safe spaces but their entire idea of building walls and keeping out people from non-similar backgrounds is inherently constructing what they think is the safest space for themselves. Death Eaters.

Imagine if I went around calling all white people Death Eaters.

DEPENDENCY

Passive dependency has its genesis in lack of love. The inner feeling of emptiness from which passive dependent people suffer is the direct result of their parents' failure to fulfill their needs for affection, attention and care during their childhood. It was mentioned in the first section that children who are loved and cared for with relative consistency throughout childhood enter adulthood with a deepseated feeling that they are lovable and valuable and therefore will be loved and cared for as long as they remain true to themselves. Children growing up in an atmosphere in which love and care are lacking or given with gross inconsistency enter adulthood with no such sense of inner security. Rather, they have an inner sense of insecurity, a feeling of 'I don't have enough' and a sense that the world is unpredictable and ungiving, as well as a sense of themselves as being questionably lovable and valuable. It is no wonder, then, that they feel the need to scramble for love, care and attention wherever they can find it, and once having found it, cling to it with a desperation that leads them to unloving, manipulative, Machiavellian behaviour that destroys the very relationships they seek to preserve. As also indicated in the previous section, love and discipline go hand in hand, so that unloving, uncaring parents are people lacking in discipline, and when they fail to provide their children with a sense of being loved, they also fail to provide them with the capacity for self-discipline. Thus the excessive dependency of the passive dependent individuals is only the principal manifestation of their personality disorder. Passive dependent people lack self-discipline. They are unwilling or unable to delay gratification of their hunger for attention. In their desperation to form and preserve attachments they throw honesty to the winds. They cling to outworn relationships when they should give them up. Most important, they lack a sense of responsibility for themselves. They passively look to others, frequently even their own children, as the source of their happiness and fulfilment, and therefore when they are not happy or fulfilled they basically feel that others are responsible. Consequently they are endlessly angry, because they endlessly feel let down by others who can never in reality fulfill all their needs or 'make' them happy. I have a colleague who often tells people, 'Look, allowing yourself to be dependent on another person is the worst possible thing you can do to yourself. You would be better off being dependent on heroin. As long as you have a supply of it, heroin will never let you down; if it's there, it will always make you happy. But if you expect another person to make you happy, you'll be endlessly disappointed.' As a matter of fact, it is no accident that the most common disturbance that passive dependent people manifest beyond their relationships to others is dependency on drugs and alcohol. Theirs is the 'addictive personality'. They are addicted to people, sucking on them and gobbling them up, and when people are not available to be sucked and gobbled, they often turn to the bottle or the needle or the pill as a people-substitute. In summary, dependency may appear to be love because it is a force that causes people to fiercely attach themselves to one another. But in actuality it is not love; it is a form of antilove. It has its genesis in a parental failure to love and it perpetuates the failure. It seeks to receive rather than to give. It nourishes infantilism rather than growth. It works to trap and constrict rather than to liberate. Ultimately it destroys rather than builds relationships, and it destroys rather than builds people.

The Road Less Travelled may turn out to be the most important book I have ever read and will ever read and become a favourite. The previous chunk of text seems a little like me in a nutshell, but hey, acceptance is the first step to recovery, right? Also, as long as I don't perpetuate the pattern with kids, I will have done one better.

MASS CLUCKING

My youngest sister (at least the one in my household, it takes too long to explain all my siblings) is watching an Elders React video on YouTube, and they’re watching the meme of Ugandan Knuckles. One of the elderly men watched a scene that had the closed captions [mass clucking] and he did the clucking sound and he said “I could have helped with this one” and I’m fecking ded, old people can be so precocious. I need some new music, my Spotify is made up of basically Selena Gomez, Lorde, Taylor Swift, the Hamilton soundtrack and mixtape, the La La Land OST and perhaps, Fall Out Boy circa my teenage years. I feel like I should really explore old songs, the other day my colleague played something by Tina Turner and she was positively affronted when I didn’t know what it was.