WAY BACK INTO LOVE

So half a year ago, I was on Tinder in Brooklyn although I'd never been in New York (don't ask why, I'm a little insane sometimes), and I matched with a guy called Ben. I then liked someone else, and got distracted, but Ben and I were Facebook friends. He and I continued to like several of each other's posts, but never really kept in contact. Two weeks ago, he asked me whether I would be free to have a cuppa with him because he would be in Singapore for a weekend. I said yes, of course. In the past two weeks, if I haven't been asleep or at work, then I have been most likely looking into his face. One of the first things I learned about him in person, was that he went to Harvard University, he studied English (read English? I dunno) and at first when he had told me, he said he didn't like how I was reacting and he didn't like to tell people and for people to treat him differently, but I liked it even more. I would think that being from Harvard would make it even higher odds that he could be an entitled highly-educated white prick, and I have met so many men who are intelligent, and none of them better human beings for it. This man, though, the first morning that we'd woken up together, he talked about social mobility. He said it's much harder for black families, they might get their way into the middle class but then fall back down the class ranks again, and it's very different from white families, and there's still a long, long journey to work and fight for. His mum passed away of cancer, and I see him still coming to terms with it, and when I asked him what his favorite food was, he said it was beef brisket the way his mum used to make it, and she taught him the recipe, but that his doesn't match up to hers because she'd been making it for decades, and he needs those decades to improve on his. I've brought him to eat local delicacies, things like laksa, and rendang - voted the most delicious dish in the world, in a poll by CNN International taken by 50000 people, and sambal stingray, and drinking sugarcane. He likes most of it, and he does this cute little review of sorts of our streetside everyday food, and he pronounces it in a butchery white man way, but I correct him, and he tries. Several days ago, my colleagues were having a conversation about whether they approved of Ben, because we have this joke that I am their mum, and they should approve of the man I'm dating, and the banter went back and forth but the consensus was that I was happy, and he was making me happy, and every screenshot I put up on Instastories of a conversation between us was cute and quirky and smart, and they like him. He's also turned up at work several times to fetch me for a meal or to send me home, and they think he is very sweet, and they are right, he is. Sometimes when I ask if I can film him for Instagram, he says "I'm not your show pony!" but then he does it anyway, because he said he likes that I so want to show him off. Last weekend, the public transport system fucked up again, and I hadn't known about it, so we had to take an extremely long detour, and my gripe about it was that nobody who was going along the same train journey as us, had seemed to know, and everybody was confused, and Uber was surcharging because everybody was trying to Uber home, so I said, we are a first-world nation with everyone owning and being hooked on a smartphone, it should have been easier to get the message spread on social media and make us aware of it, but I didn't say this, I yelled it while we had to walk past queues and policemen and volunteers trying to bring order to the situation. I also peppered it with constant "what the FUCK is wrong with Singapore? Fuck this shit!" and a whole lotta fucks, and basically I was in public-transport-rage-mode, and at this point, men usually understand I'm a basketcase with a lot of issues, but Ben, despite telling me he saw a five-year-old girl side-eye me for my rage, said it was normal and healthy, and distracted me and told me stories, and held my hand throughout, and I thought, damn, he does really love me. Whenever I say Jesus Christ, he says Superstar, like the musical, and I Instagrammed this and my manager Aileen was so tickled she kept singing it when I got to work. He dropped out of a community choir because the director kept gaslighting him and he accused Ben of saying that no non-blacks are allowed to sing black songs, and they had an altercation about appreciation and cultural appropriation. He also asked me what it was that I read and watch, to be in the know about such things as race and gender politics, and I told him I'm in an intersectional feminism group on Facebook, and the people on there had really helped me get through my miscarriage. This is the man I love, and this is the kind of white man I like. One of the things I hate people bringing up when the topic of my dating comes up, is that "white men only want sex", which befuddles me, because one, there is nothing wrong with sex, two, everyone wants it - white or men of colour, white women or women of colour, and three, men of colour, especially in Singapore, have not been introduced to the idea of systemic racism and gender politics. They hate being told that they've internalised misogyny, they hate being told that they're mansplaining, they hate being told that perhaps white men deal with gender politics better because they've been called out on their race politics and so have started to think about these things, and are thinking about the issue with a mindset that's a decade ahead than their Asian male counterparts. When we watched the Hamilton bootleg on my laptop, there's a scene in Aaron Burr, Sir, where they knock a beat on the bench and Laurens says "showtime! showtime! I'm John Laurens in the place to be!" and Ben asked if I knew where the "showtime" ref was from, and he said it is how crews start performing in public in New York, whether on train platforms or anyplace, that's how they start, and I told him I'd just read that bit of information in my Hamiltome and I knew it, and I thought, this man is living the life I want. He's living out the Hamilton scene I've been playing in my head over and over. Over the past week, I told him he shouldn't be making me fall in love with him, so he asked if I wanted him to do something horrible so I wouldn't miss him so much. I said, "well are you gonna hook up with someone else and disappear?" to which he responded that that would not be poetic, and followed up with "Hamilton is overrated." He said this knowing my feelings about Hamilton, that it's the American Dream taking place, but the cast is so diverse that black people and Asians and Hispanics see themselves as founding fathers of America, and if there's one thing I love, it's representation. Ben knows which buttons to push that I respond to, and he also knows to tell me he loves me, because I love being told that I'm loved, just as much as I love telling people I love them. This love has been a microcosm, perhaps like all loves, and I have enjoyed it so much, and I will miss you, Ben, always. Thank you for the best two weeks I could have had while turning 28.

PARALLAX ERROR

In secondary school (that's high school to you Muricans), I remember when a friend told me that I had used perverse thinking that it was the same word and meant the same thing as perverted. I later learned that he was right, they were two different things. In polytechnic (that's like vocational school), a good friend I still keep in contact with (Viv - I don't know if she'd ever remember this) told me what "patronising" meant, because I'd again never known. I initially had this impression it was a good gesture, I said "isn't it a good thing if someone is saying you're right and indulging your feelings?" before I really learned what it encompassed. Thinking back, I wonder what took so long for me to learn such words, but every time I think I know something, of course I can be proven wrong, and I must always, always, always remind myself there is always room for me to be wrong, and that I can always learn.

IN HEAT

Mochi is in heat and mewing non-stop and her eating/litter area is right outside my room so I get woken up most at night. The poor girl seems to be contorting herself and feeling really uncomfortable and it reminds me of my own premenstrual cramps, but at least I know why that shit happens and I get to take painkillers. Poor Moch. I think we've gotta get her spayed/fixed/neutered soon. I also have a gazillion other things to do and say but I am happy, happy, happy.

MAY THE FOURTH BE WITH YOU

I need the time to choose a font, email Maxine (that's @maxinengps on Instagram), reply the email from the girl/lady who reads this blog, write to Freya with regards to her move to Dubai. I will attempt all this through the weekend. I have the same number of hours in a day as Lin-Manuel Miranda. Also, my birthday is in seven days and I accept contributions to tattoo funds, hehehehehe.

THESE THINGS TAKE TIME

I was out last night for dinner with Ben (Glaser, it's a different Ben from someone else I was dating hahaha), we stayed out a little late past midnight. I had an 8am meeting this morning, so I had to leave home at 6am right, and I slept all the way in the train to work. About a year ago, or when I was depressed, I could not sleep regardless how I tired myself out, regardless what I did. I could swim and run and deprive myself of sleep intentionally, and yet I would lie awake in bed, feeling the worst things and not being able to fall into sleep. Now, just being able to feel tired and fall asleep during train journeys, feels like my life is back to normal. I am grateful for sleep.

GRACE

Monday night, I will be going to watch Fall Out Boy live, with the three sisters whom I live with. I haven't listened to their recent songs at all. I think it'll be fun. We saw the setlist, and I know they'll be performing at least four of their old songs that I know and like (Thnks fr the Mmrs, Sugar We're Goin' Down, Dance Dance, and This Ain't a Scene, It's an Arms Race). I think I might've read somewhere that FOB might be problematic, but who knows, everyone is problematic in one aspect or the other. Imma just go for the music, and to be my sisters' chaperone. I cannot believe I listened to them when I was thirteen and am now going to their concert with my fourteen-year-old sister. F U C K ME I cannot be so old!

YOU'VE GOT MAIL

Today I received an email from a girl (lady? I dunno?) who's read my blog and wants to be friends. I liked her email and I will have to reply it sometime soon. While I say I like making friends and having friends, sometimes it doesn't seem like it. In the past week, I had a guy I used to date for like, a month, in the past, and he said he wanted to be friends because he still cares about me and my life. While I appreciate the notion, I tried to give him all sorts of excuses why it wouldn't work out. I said we didn't have anything in common, and then we were both passive-aggressive, but then I gave in and so now we are apparently friends. I think I don't like it when men whom I used to date or have feelings for, tell me they just wanna be friends, because I always have very strong feelings, and I think if we are friends, my feelings will come back, but none of the men are ever worried about this, which makes me think, maybe none of them ever liked me as much as I liked them, and this saddens me.

DNCE

baby you don't have to rush
you can leave a toothbrush at my place
we don't need to keep it hush
you can leave a toothbrush at my place   

I would really like to see A Quiet Place. That's all I have in mind. I switched to my new phone, Samsung S9, a couple of days ago, and it felt a little strange not to use an iPhone interface, although I'd only been an iPhone user for barely three years. My sister and I were experimenting and her iMessages to me can no longer be delivered, which is strange because I use a MacBook and my iMessage and FaceTime should still function and be able to send/receive messages from my laptop, no? Curious. If you're an American friend, please know that I have switched to an Android, alright bye.

JE NE SUIS PAS UN HOMME FACILE

I watched I Am Not An Easy Man on Netflix. Shahida and Pamela, two of my best friends, separately recommended it to me because they enjoyed it and because they know I’m a feminist. While I would say, as a film it is enjoyable enough and men should definitely watch it — I’ve decided any man I am seeing must watch it and I will get their opinions about it — I also felt like, now what? The film didn’t really set out with a solution. If it’s about raising awareness then great, I hope men are aware and feel more empathy when they are themselves objectified. Will they set out to change this world that we live in though? Hardly likely. Change is made out of people willing to put themselves at discomfort, and not many people do this even if it’s for a greater good. Still, I will take what I can. If a man agrees to see I Am Not An Easy Man with me and offer me his opinion, I am more than willing to sit through the film dozens of times. For the greater good, non? ;)

CHESS NOT CHECKERS

A saying that Lin-Manuel Miranda favours is “chess not checkers”, and I really like it. Life is chess, not checkers. It’s not easy, it’s not fast, there are many rules, it takes patience, and there are multiple strategies to it. I am very tired today but life is chess, not checkers. It’s less than a month to my 28th birthday, which I am really looking forward to, because 28 is my favourite number and when I turn 28, all I want to say is “I made it” — the past three years have been especially rough on me, not even considering my tumultuous childhood but, hey, I made it to 28. I can breathe easy.

HO-HUM

Not much to say today. I read more of Hamiltome, armed with Post-its to annotate my own thoughts onto Lin’s annotations of the musical. I didn’t learn much today, but I felt content. Or perhaps, satisfied, to use my favourite track off Hamilton. I would be so much more useful if you placed me with books and words and told me to absorb knowledge from them, I don’t know why it costs so much to study. Where does the money go? I wish there was an equivalent for community college in Singapore. The thing about the United States being so diverse is that there is always an option for everyone, a safety net for people who can’t afford the expensive route. Wait, did I say I was feeling satisfied today? Yes, yes I am.

THIS IS NOT A MOMENTIT'S THE MOVEMENT

I am currently perusing my Hamiltome (official book title - Hamilton: The Revolution) at a Starbucks looking for college tuition aid, sipping on an iced shaken tea lemonade, wondering whether it is my Sbux consumption habits that are making me too broke for tuition, not the fact that tuition fees have been increasing by insane percentages. #millennial Here is what people see: I am at a Starbucks, with my MacBook, and a drink in my Tumblr-worthy tumbler. Here is what people don't know but what I am telling you: I am here for the free Wifi, and I brought my own sandwich from home, had to sneakily eat it from inside my bag, so I'd only have to pay for a drink and not food, which I can easily make at home. Still, though, all things considered - this is by far not the worst point in my life. It's been pretty decent. Pretty, pretty decent. I collected my new passport this morning. I'm thinking of whether I should burn my previous passport, it has stamps from my previous trips to LA/the US, and I've tried my best to rewrite or break off all ties to those times and memories, so. The difference between Alexander Hamilton's time and now is most definitely that we, as entities in this era, definitely have a much bigger say over who lives, who dies and who tells our stories. I will write my own story.

BOSS

Today I went to get a free scalp treatment done at the hair centre that calls me up to get my free birthday treatment every year. Today, as it happens every time, they tried to get me to sign up for a package, citing that my scalp is oily and clogged and I am therefore prone to hair loss if I don’t do regular scalp treatments. That is what they have always told me, but my hair is still quite healthy, and I still don’t experience hair loss. Even if I did, so what? I think that a lot of cosmetics and wellness businesses do this, they try to make you feel bad about yourself, or inadequate, or fear for your future looks, and you don’t have to allow it. I only go for beauty appointments when they are free, and it doesn’t matter how many blackheads I have on my face or clogged pores or flab on my stomach, I work hard for my money, and nobody else should have a right to dictate what I do with it, nor pressure me into spending money on perceived imperfections. I am perfectly fine with my imperfections and if the world tries to make you feel otherwise about yourself, that is a sign of imperfection in the world, not in you. In any case, my hair does feel soft after having gotten blown dry. I will appreciate that for the year ahead HAHAHAHA.

CAKE BY THE OCEAN

dive bar on the east side

where you at?

So a few days ago, one of the bigger influencers in Singapore, who goes by the moniker @bellywellyjelly on Instagram, had her sex tapes distributed by her ex-boyfriend Joal Ong, who has since deactivated his social media accounts, which seems to me pretty self-incriminating, since he was also a sort of public figure who depended on being an internet celebrity. I don’t know if anything happened between them as a trigger to lead up to the scandal, but if he did intentionally leak or post them, he is such an asshole. Of course there were people who found out and then commented that she’s a slut, but rlly, we are in 2018, can we stop slut-shaming girls who are having sex? Why is it that when a sex video is leaked, no one cares about the guy but the girl is suddenly a slut? If it’s okay for guys to be having sex but girls are not supposed to be sexually active, who are these men even supposed to have sex with???? This virgin/Madonna pretence has got to go. I think a lot of her followers are quite progressive and supportive though, which is great. I hope legal action and consequences happen to him. Honestly, why can’t people just be decent?

UNWIRED

Today, Facebook reminded me of this.

Text:

Earlier this week, my biological dad texted me after having read the post I'd linked, of him calling me ouzo: like an acquired taste, essentially unique. He was testing the waters, seeing whether I was okay with him, after half a year has passed. I was in no mood to entertain him, and then he said "maybe you're not ouzo after all", insinuating that I was hardened, that I was like anyone else who has not forgiven him. It irked me even more.

I forgave you when you strayed time after time when you and Mum were still married when I was a toddler. I forgave you when I was barely in grade school and you and mum fought so badly at the mall, you both somehow lost me and I made my way back home, about ten bus stops away, surprising everyone and even myself that I found my way back. I forgave you when you smashed the windscreen of the car Mum rented, despite the car having nothing to do with you. I forgave you when you harassed my maternal grandparents to let you into their house on account of some monetary issues with mum: my dear old late granddad who doted on myself and Adik and to my knowledge never spoke a word against you, and Nyai who, despite everything, tells us to acknowledge you because "no matter what, he's still your father." I forgave you for all the times my sister has low self-esteem and no trust in men because you were never there for her.

I forgave you time and again and allowed you into our lives and love my stepmother and four half-siblings but last year, when I was 25, I was approached by a man telling me to advise you because you had solicited for sex from his fiancée. Instead of showing remorse, your response towards me was that you didn't think I'd find out about it. The onus is no longer on me to forgive you, the onus is on you to change.

It's not that I'm not big enough to forgive you, you just haven't shown that you're big enough to deserve it.

My family members tire me out a lot. In the past three years, I got strung along by a man who was unfaithful to his soon-to-be wife, I found out my father was doing the same to my stepmother, I took a break for myself then got pregnant, then my mother chose to be really hard and unforgiving that I got pregnant.

Yesterday, I spent a bit of time with Mel, she was filling me in on where she is currently at with Gilmore Girls. My sister also said to me, the eldest child of my mother's four kids, and the eldest of my father's six (why do people have kids when they have no money or emotional capacity for them? religious people have the weirdest motivations), that my drama days are over.

You know, a lot of people have gone through less than I have, and they retaliate by doing the weirdest things physically, like they take out their anger onto the world. I just absorb things, and I write. All I ever do is write. Everything I feel, I channel into writing. Anyway, as I was saying, my sister says my drama days are long gone, which is a good, good thing.

I mean, I sort of feel it within myself, but to hear it from my sister is a good thing, because I guess she knows me best, besides myself.

EAT YOUR GREENS

Last night I’d gotten home quite late ‘cos the train service ended early and I hadn’t known about it so I had to take the shuttle bus instead which prolonged my route by at least half an hour. And adding half an hour to my original route home is not a joke. At 1ish AM, I asked my sister whether I should do the whole change-out-of-my-work-clothes, wash up and go to bed thing properly or just go to sleep. I told my sister that I read that people who are disciplined get somewhere, get to places in life, but I’m the most disciplined person in my household, and still I haven’t gotten anywhere. I make my bed, wash my dishes/clothes/whatever, keep my room tidy, take my pills, write and read whenever I can, I finish what I start, I commit, and still: here. So she said “go to sleep kak, you’re tired and for all you know, you might die tomorrow, there’s no point in doing all the washing up things” and I said “that’s what you and I wish for every day, but we always live on, don’t give me false hope” and we laughed for a good few minutes. My sister and I are quite depressed people, because there is a lot that has been taught us that I think we inherently want to unlearn but it’s always two steps forward and one back. Every time I unlearn something I think doesn’t agree with me as a person, my family pulls me back and tries to mold me back into the person that they want me to be. One time, I matched with someone on Tinder who was actually pretty decent, and I asked him something like what he wanted in return (I believe he offered me his bathtub because my bio had stated that I like bubble baths) and then he said, “not everything has to be done in exchange for something” and he actually initiated that he understood and empathised with the fact that I might probably have met a lot of men who want things from me. If only everybody believed that you can do things without expecting something in return. I feel like my mother’s parenting style is that way so I grew up believing it, that for having been raised by her in her household, this-this-and-this are what must happen in return, and there is no negotiating about it. Where did this Tinder anecdote even come from? Who knows? I have to mention something about eggs and cars and I thought it was hilarious but the perpetrator would like it to be a secret so it will only live on in our memories, and here as an anonymous mention. This is the time that happened.

HOLY DUCK

I’m on the way to work and I can’t even tell whether it’s my joints or muscles that are aching, maybe both. I didn’t even drink last night, I think I consumed too much sugar though, I had three ice-creams and the only liquor I had was from the lychee martini ice-cream. I need to swim, can’t remember the last time I worked out, and this lethargy must be contributed in some part by the inactivity of my body and limbs. Just one month, I think I’m going through this hustle for only a month or so, before I move to another type of hustle. One month more. I just want to sleep. Why did I go to a high-functioning social party when I barely just recovered from feeling like I was dead? Because I’m a sucker for punishment? Yeah, highly likely. I can sleep when I’m dead. Motherfucker I am so close to burning out.

PARTY

I am so tired but I told myself I would try to post once every day just to track my progression so here is my attempt. I went to a party tonight and the location was gorgeous. There were a couple of people who had co-founded a tech startup and were telling me about it. Apparently the layperson reason for why Bitcoin and cryptocurrency are so volatile is that you can’t do much besides buy and sell. So they’re endeavouring to change that by starting to bet on it and start hedge funds etc, and the more things you can do with it, the less volatile it will get. The female co-founder also said for her mid-life crisis she’d like to go to law school and get a law degree and I was like, whoa, I’m dealing outside of my league here. There were three Americans, talking up their places of residence/origin, like Salt Lake City vs Colorado. Today I learned that in the old-world-riches of the planet, skiing is apparently a little more prestigious and some private ski resorts look down on and will not allow snowboarders. I never knew. Such privilege. I saw many cute men, but while they made eye contact with me several times, it was the other men who kept me with my time and hitting on me. I never got to talk with the cute ones, but oh well. You win some, you lose some. It was overall, a very interesting night, and I enjoy mingling at parties, because you know, I’m superficial as all hell and also very talkative. People I’ve never even known tell me they see me fitting right in with people I’ve never met. This is why Singapore is not the place for me — also, the American lady told me she understands why I feel trapped, by having been born and raised here and never having lived anywhere else. She said she lived in Hawaii for a while and although people say things like “I don’t see why anyone would ever wanna leave” she said she had island fever, so that’s what I’ve got. Island fever. Being trapped in a tiny area of land, where there is nothing to do, and no one different to talk to. This was a pretty good attempt, for a last-ditch attempt, if I do say so myself.

STRONGBOW

The fan in my room makes a lot of rattly noise. Last night, my sister Mel slept in my bed for a while and she finally said she wonders how I get to sleep. She’d always thought I was imagining things. I’m really excited to get out of here, not too soon, but it’ll be here soon enough. Today is #MLK50 Day and I’m gonna read about the whitewashing of his legacy.

SIEMPRE, LIN

I received the eco-friendly cotton hoodie from the Hamilton LDN Prizeo raffle. It is a lovely soft green hoodie that is clearly my new favourite hoodie. Tomorrow I am finally back to work. Ooh, also, I’ve been binge-watching Queer Eye on Netflix and so far I have cried at every episode.

COSMOS

Watching an episode of Cosmos and it’s about Michael Faraday. Isn’t it intriguing how Faraday built on the works of Isaac Newton and everything since and between, and then Albert Einstein built on Faraday’s works and a lot of science essentially is a compilation of works by people who sometimes never even met each other, across hundreds of years? I feel like there is an underlying notion to be taken away from this but I’m too tired to follow through.

HUMAN CAPITAL VALUE

I was watching Netflix’s Take Your Pills, which is about college students in the USA being hooked on Adderall, which is a pill usually used to help people who have ADHD, focus better. I wish I’d been given Adderall, I used to be so easily distracted. I also didn’t finish watching the documentary because it’s inclined towards like, aesthetics that make me think of Andy Warhol, like it keeps cutting in to static and white noise, and then hyperrealistic scenes of pills and whatever, and I don’t like it when things don’t flow in the most linear of manners. Maybe it’s also because I’ve been sick and this isn’t the best time to watch the show.

CHRYSALIS

It is April Fool's Day in Singapore. I have been taking setamol, serratiopeptidase as well as amoxicillin, three times a day, for the past, I dunno what, four days? I think they're working but I have also had a lot of time by myself, being delirious and thinking incessantly, because idle hands (and brains) are the devil's workshop, as if the devil doesn't already reside in me when I'm at 100% health capacity - I kid, I don't believe in the devil. I don't fall sick often, but when I do, it feels like the end of the world, because when my system shuts down, it shuts the hell down. You know how caterpillars turn into butterflies and they don't actually quite know why they're spinning cocoons around themselves and turning themselves into jelly, and they don't even know that their end goal is to become butterflies? Yeah, imma coerce myself into believing this sickness is my chrysalis stage. Is this part of my delirium? Possibly, probably, yeah-huh. I've been taking my antibiotics and I think it's those pills that are upsetting my digestive system/stomach and making me churn and nauseous every time I eat, but if I don't eat, my sister says I won't have the energy to get better, so you tell me. For some reason, all this time to myself/by myself has made me realise how much of a mess of contradictions my mind and I are: I wonder if everybody is like this - I know I am possibly an average of many people I know, so yeah, I would assume most people are a mess, a mass of contradictions. I watched Netflix's The World's Most Extraordinary Homes, and at first, just like anyone watching the show, I of course thought, damn, I also want to build an extraordinary house somewhere in the Santa Monica canyons of CA, or in the gorgeous lush canopies of New Zealand, or in the Catskill Mountains of NY. Then I realised, all the people on the show, all the home owners are white people, they are Caucasian - regardless of which region of the world the episode is filmed in, they are white. Then I think, I cannot possibly allow myself to live in such luxuries whilst developing countries are still called developing countries instead of "countries struggling to recover from being ruthlessly pillaged and systematically destabilised" - I mean, white people make up only 20% of the world population, but from the North to the South, the East to the West of this planet, the richest of them, and the ones with the most ludicrously luxurious, beautiful, extraordinary of homes are still white. Why? Why do I date white men, four out of five of whom will tell me that the biggest problem they see in the world is income/wealth inequality, and yet continue to spend their money on visiting a new country every time, with a misplaced belief that visiting more countries means what, that you're one step closer to reaching nirvana? That they are somehow more worldly-wise? What is the point of recognising a problem that is almost unanimous with everyone else's worst/most urgent problem in the world, then closing both eyes to it? What have you done, that was not inherently for yourself? These questions, they are questions I ask myself because I know I'm a mess of contradictions, but I still find myself attracted to people who have never known it about themselves, nor seemed to ask themselves the same. My sister says I am more irritable because I am sick, and it is possibly true, I haven't been eating nor sleeping properly, and I just want to eat and sleep. Butterfly or not, please let me just be well enough to eat and sleep again.

PRAYER CIRCLE

Let us form a prayer circle for my health no I’m kidding prayers don’t do anything I’m just popping pills like it ain’t no thang. Also chugging water. Also binge-sleeping. Nothing seems to help, so. Just letting y’all know if I die, I would like everyone to share the funniest stories they know about me and not cry at all. Yes, I’m being dramatic. Life is an adventure and the most adventurous of times may happen in sickness, I honestly don’t know what has been going on in my brain.

SICK, SICK, SICK

I keep having intense headaches and fluctuating fevers that probably means the infection is putting up a hell of a fight, but the dramatic bitch in me is convinced that I have a brain tumour, especially 'cos I dreamt last night that I had a brain tumour, but since when have my dreams ever been right?

BUTTERFLIES AND HURRICANES

Me being me, I went through my Facebook posts and came across the one I'd written when I'd just found out I was pregnant and had had a miscarriage. It was initially only visible to people I knew were trustworthy, but after my mum found out, I made it public like my other posts. The way my mother found out was she opened a bill that I'd gotten from the hospital, one marked private and confidential and addressed to me, legally an adult at 26, a bill that I'd stored away in my own drawer, so yes, if anyone asks why I have trust issues, I would say, you can't trust anyone.

This is what it says:

If you had been following my Instagram stories, it might have caused you dismay at my levels of anguish, as some of you asked me what was wrong. I could not answer because I was only just beginning to comprehend things and my family had just experienced the passing of a loved one, so I did not want to cause them more stress and worry, and I still don't want to now. However, the storm has come to pass, somewhat, I guess, and it's time to talk about it, because I don't want to pretend it didn't happen.

A week ago, I suspected I was pregnant and eventually confirmed it with test kits and at the clinic. I told Joey first, of course, and I told him my gut instinct, which was that I wanted to keep it. I let him know that he was not obligated to be involved because it was unplanned, but the baby was mine and I wanted it. Joey understood and although he felt guilty as it was not in his life plan, he did not try to change my mind as he respected that I am an adult and am capable of making my own personal decisions.

I talked to a few of my closest, most trusted friends. Most of them advised me not to keep it, because I am not financially stable, nor is having a baby at this age part of my (travel-the-world, settle-somewhere-else) life plan. They don't want me to bring a life into this world and give it an instant disadvantage against its peers.

I understood their perspectives but at the same time, once upon a time, /I/ was this kid, and I felt so much for it, so much more than anyone else could. My mother also conceived me as an "accident", she struggled for many years, and I never lived quite as comfortably as many of my Singaporean friends I know. And yet, and yet, she managed, we managed, and I managed to have lived quite the fulfilling 26 years of my life so far.

I don't deny the tough times, of turmoil, of financial battles between my parents, of my mum only badmouthing my father, of being too distracted by family sagas to have focused on my studies, of not having a family income strong enough to see me through to university. I also don't deny I love my mum all the more for it, for having struggled for me, and I have received love from my mum and from endless, countless people in my life, people who tried to help and push me forward in any way they could and knew best.

If I had raised this child, they might and probably would have experienced similar struggles, but I would have wanted to impart the knowledge that I'd myself received. I would have wanted them to learn that money and status may make things easier, but they certainly don't make things better. I have travelled, maybe not as luxuriously as some, but fairly extensively.

When my friends asked for my favourite experiences anywhere, I would invariably answer about the people I'd met. I met this guy who had the most amazing library of books and DVDs, I had a kindred soul sister in a lodge at Lake Tahoe, I met your father and we went on dates in the canyons, we got called out for public drunken-kissing one night, with my hands in his back pockets, because he always kept me warm in this world too cold for me.

("Joey, I need to pee." "Sarah, go pee in the bushes." "No...." "Why not?" "'Cos I'm a girl!" "So?" "Joey!" "Yes?" "I need to pee!" "....."

This back-and-forth happened multiple times, after you grasped my hand tight and held me up steady, crossing roads and navigating barriers.)

Your father was an adamant engineering genius but most nights, he would let me pick a movie, even the most frivolous ones, and after feeding me dinner, he would watch it to the end while I fell asleep in his arms. Maybe one of those nights, you had already been conceived.

I wanted my baby to know that regardless of educational or monetary status, the most important thing in life would be the people they knew and the relationships they would go on to forge. I wanted him or her to know that you could make anyone feel anything based on the person they were and the things they said, not with the money in their bank accounts or the things they owned.

When I travelled across LA, I met a few single dads who also had children being raised by their mothers in other states or countries. I was awed by their love, their ways of parenting through Facetime, reading aloud storybooks and discussing morals and themes, and I hoped Joey would do the same. I wanted my child to know that even if his or her parents weren't together, they could and would still have a decent and fulfilling life, because I wanted them to and I would make it work. I loved their father, he was a simple, honest, patient, hardworking man, I always felt safe with him and I liked many things about him. If my baby could have any of our character traits based on our genes (besides being really cute), they would turn out a good person and rather likeable, with any luck.

A select few of my friends, as well as my cousin and sister, said they would stick by me regardless my decision, meaning they were prepared to co-parent my child with me. My best friend Han called dibs on being godmother, and my sister Lyssa already planned to buy tiny baby shoes for my baby.

The funny thing is, I think my subconscious knew I had conceived long before I was physically aware. When I arrived back in Singapore, I was playing with my cousins' kids at Nabilah's wedding and my cousins asked when my turn to have a baby was. I offhandedly answered "in 9 months' time" afterwhich they smiled and teased "oooh! You just got back from the US! Must be someone there, was it Joey!" I sniggered and walked away but some part of me must have known it was true.

Unfortunately, since last weekend, I was bleeding thick, heavy clots and the clinic that confirmed my pregnancy referred me to the hospital's Accidents & Emergencies. They drew my blood, prodded up my vagina to do an ultrasound of my womb, but could not find my pregnancy sac. I suffered a miscarriage and am no longer pregnant.

I read that the sex of a foetus is determined at the point of fertilisation. Please don't try to console me with scientific facts that it had not developed a heartbeat or limbs or a conscience. It was already a girl or a boy, as far as I am concerned, it was a life growing inside me, it was a person I already loved, and I have lost him or her.

I am exhausted from the physical, emotional, mental trauma. I would like to be given space to cope with this. Please don't ask me if I'm okay. Please don't ask my best friends or sister if I'm okay. I'm not okay now, but I will be. I just want to sleep till 2017, and I will talk to any of you when I'm ready to talk to anyone. At the moment, I can't, don't and won't.

PS. If anyone has any connections to my family, please do not tell them, especially my mum. I may talk to them about this when I'm ready.

PPS. Please use contraceptives if you're not ready to have a baby. This goes to both men and ladies.

Thank you for your time. So Much Love from Sarah Mei Lyana.

Many things have changed since then. For one, I don't believe in God, nor the afterlife, so if such a thing happened to me again and I wasn't ready, I wouldn't be as attached to the baby, and abortion would surely be more of a viable option.

I also don't see Joey as having either a halo nor a pitchfork. He was a decentish guy, he housed me and we did lots of fun things together and we were friends, but he never signed up for a baby, and obviously, neither did I. I romanticised him too much, but it has eventually all faded away to reality. Of course, he was a dickhead for not wearing protection and then not being responsible for the aftermath but I guess worse things have happened. I now see that perhaps if I'd had that baby, I would and could have eventually cut Joey off from being a parent, because he was a dickhead, and the other person in my life who is always a dickhead is my biological dad, who remains a dickhead to this day, at the age of forty-six.

I think most importantly, though, especially after having gone through the miscarriage and the one and a half years of all sorts of mental and physical handicaps I've had since then, and the support systems I've come to rely on, and those that began to disintegrate, I've realised just how important parenthood is. I would not have been as good or as equipped a parent to a child if I didn't know what I know now, and that is at twenty-six years old, or even beyond, a child may and would still need their parent's support, and for their parent(s) to be in their corner, instead of against them, and if I ever, ever had an adoptive kid, I would make sure that I truly loved them unconditionally.

BACK

I am not feeling very mentally nor physically well. My head is burning up and so are the backs of my eyelids and my brain is throbbing and my back hurts but I’m shivering cold and I don’t know why. I feel like I’ve been running into too many things that remind me of Joey and I’ve been suppressing myself from thinking or feeling anything and I don’t know where my pills are, the ones that numb my anxiety and thoughts. I was in the cab home from work ‘cos I had no energy to take the train and my co-workers made me take a cab for fear I would faint, and I really wanted to fling myself out the door while we were on the highway, but I know I can’t do that to my mum. I’m in pain. Can someone, anyone who reads this, please check on me tomorrow? I need help. I don’t know why this is happening.

TRANSITORY

The scars under my arms are from the endoscopic thoracic sympathectomy surgery I underwent, to remove the sweat glands in my palms, because I used to have palmar hyperhidrosis which means I used to perspire incessantly from my palms, they perspired extensively and all the time. I would wet exam papers, other people’s hands, gadgets, I spoiled my laptop keyboard because the sweat would pool up. There are some stories that, whenever I tell someone who is only transitory in my life, I wonder when I will be able to stop. I wonder when I will stop meeting another new man who will ask me why I have scars under my arms.

SUCI DALAM DEBU

Since last night, I've been singing Suci Dalam Debu to myself and thinking about the lyrics. Malay is a rather romantic language and when you think about the lyrics in English, it sounds so cringey and strange, even funny, but in Malay they sound very natural and romantic.

I love the song and I tried to translate it into English as best as I could. The music video is super cringey though, it's from decades ago but most Malays will see it when they go for karaoke sessions, it's a staple 'cos it's such a good song.

Like, hear me sing about my real and unabashed love!!!!!

Also, this reminds me of someone who used to be my best friend, who was very interested in linguistics and is a teacher, and she used to share things like how language shapes people. People who grew up speaking the Malay language are possibly more inclined to be more romantic, because look at our language and words??? We don't even have the word fuck in Malay.


engkau bagai air yang jernih
di dalam bekas yang berdebu
zahirnya kotoran itu terlihat
kesucian terlindung jua

cinta bukan hanya di mata
cinta hadir di dalam jiwa
biarlah salah di mata mereka
biar perbezaan terlihat antara kita

ku harapkan kau kan terima
walau dipandang hina
namun hakikat cinta kita
kita yang rasa

suatu hari nanti
pasti kan bercahaya
pintu akan terbuka
kita langkah bersama

di situ kita lihat
bersinarlah hakikat
debu jadi permata
hina jadi mulia

bukan khayalan yang aku berikan
tapi keyakinan yang nyata
kerana cinta lautan berapi
pasti akan ku renang jua

you are like pure water
in a dusty container
even though the dirt can be seen
your purity still remains

love is not only in sight
love is in the soul
let this be wrong in their eyes
let the differences between us be seen

I hope you will accept
even if this love is sneered at
the truth of our love is
felt between us

one day
there will be light
the doors will open
we'll walk through together

there we will see
the truth will shine through
dust becomes diamonds
shame becomes blessing

it's not a fantasy that I am providing
but the truth
love may cause oceans to burn up
I would still swim, regardless

I have no clue why I am already awake at 9am, it is my off day but my body sort of works by clockwork/likes routine. Yesterday was a full day of bridesmaid duties, but now I am done! I'm gonna go for a full body massage today, thank freaking god of massages.

MEESEEKS

All I need is to keep awake for the rest of March. Last night, I went for a barbecue with the work fam. It was great but I have a sleep debt that might put the US national debt to shame lol no I’m keedz I’m just delirious from lack of sleep. I have had such a good, good, good week though, and my heart is so full. Thank you. :3 eeeeeeee less than three heart hahahahaha I’m talking nonsense, it has been nice and the wedding! The wedding! Ah. One day I hope to see my laptop again to embed Instagram posts but I haven’t been home enough to see my laptop at all. I’ve been out and about and perhaps, very likely in love.

UNICORN

We had a hen’s night for my cousin. I don’t have my laptop at the moment so I can’t embed the Instagram post right now but will include it when I’m home from work later. It was a lovely night, and I already shed tears. My cousins, one of whom is the bride and one of them another bridesmaid, were discussing how they would probably cry if they looked at me on the day and see me crying. I have a reputation for crying at every wedding we’ve had in the family so far. Considering the cousin who is getting married is my first best friend in life — we’ve gone to the zoo in matching overalls, we went through first crushes, we saw each other develop our own quirks and personalities, I really wonder whether I should even bother putting on makeup on Sunday. My face is going to be a right mess.

'COS I LIKE YOU

isn't it? isn't it? isn't it?
isn't it? isn't it? isn't it delicate?


This is my new favourite ever Taylor Swift music video. My sister Melyssa and I are very confused, we were like "damn it she might have all the shit problematic politics but we still suckers for her music and videos" we are suckers I tell ya, suckaz.

I love this video, though, I'm sure Taylor would love to be invisible sometimes, and so do I. Is this the new Taylor Swift music video I will emulate? Who even knows anymore?

I wonder if perhaps she also has BPD. I mean, you must have some pretty intense emotions to have written all those songs about people. You know, at the time I posted the Shake It Off cover video, a lot of people were telling me that I do remind them of Taylor Swift, which if you think about it, isn't such a good thing: she's a dramatic, self-entitled prick, who always makes things about herself.....

.....I am the Singaporean Taylor Swift, aren't I? Sighsies. Maybe she really does have BPD, I mean, we can't control our condition, okay!

Speaking of being invisible, I am going to be really candid in this post. I like attention, but I suppose I cannot control the sort of attention I get. Ever since I broke up with my first real serious boyfriend, a decade ago, I already knew there would be a problem writing about my relationships and love with men.

The girls he dated after me were all... quite preoccupied with finding out everything that had happened with him and I, even like, years after we actually dated. Also, the guys I dated would also be preoccupied in finding out the same thing.

So sometimes, when I'm dating or when I'm trying to get over someone, you can see their name like 40, 70, hundreds of times on this single page, and you wonder, is this girl really over him? I think I also make it difficult by writing it down, because yes, everyone probably gets reminded of their exes and their dates by hearing certain songs, or walking past certain places, but then the moment passes, and the link is broken, but I cement those moments by writing about them, and making them a thing.

I also use the word love very frequently, so it sets a lot of people on edge. I don't know what I'm trying to say, or I know, but I don't know how to say it. If someone's name is not in this post, then I am very much over them.

If you know all of the things, all of these things that everyone else does, and you know all of the things I've tangled myself in, and gotten other people tangled in, and you like me, you must like me for me?

we can't make any promises now, can we babe?
but you can make me a drink

IN THE END, IT’S HIM AND I

It’s March 17. I used to have a best friend who was born on this date. She is now 28. I now have three best friends that I’ve fallen out with/grown apart from. I hope it ends at three. It is about nine days to my first best friend in life getting married. I cannot wait, a little because I’m quite nervous as I am preparing for her hen’s night, and also will be by her side on her wedding day, but mostly because I’m so glad that her big day is finally here. I’m so happy for her, and you can bet your bottom dollar I will be in tears at some point of time on that day. I gotta set my makeup really well.

DOES NOT COMPUTE

Yesterday I told a colleague/friend from work that I’d seen her boyfriend on Tinder. I was next to her, sent her the screenshot for verification, and told her that I could see his Facebook friends on that account and her Facebook account was one of them, so it was definitely his legit account.

I thought that was it, but later that night I saw a guy friend of mine, whose girlfriend’s Instagram still has nice #couplegoals posts of themselves, on Tinder. And you know you can tell what people are on Tinder for: sometimes, just for a little benefit of the doubt, they could be networking or looking for friends or whatever, but you know when someone’s trying to pull, or get laid. You just know.

I am very tired. My father was not a faithful person (who knows if he is now), and I’ve gotten into my fair share of things — remember when I liked a man so much, I truly liked the person he was and trusted him because we had such an intellectual connection, until I found out he was cheating on his fiancée with me?

Maybe it is just my fault for believing in love and for trusting that other people believe in the same thing, or to expect men to be faithful. Who knows. I wish someone trustworthy would earn my trust again. People are such trash.

ZAYN AND GIGI

Zayn and Gigi are no longer together so we can all pack up now, pack our bags and go, because love is not real and nothing lasts and I am out. There is no such thing as love. I repeat: love does not exist! I’m going to only chase money ‘cos money is real.

Edit: today Stephen Hawking died and one of the things he said was “remember to look up at the stars and not down at your feet” and I needed that, look up at the stars look up at the stars look at the stars they are shining for us and we are shining of them

DEFECTOR

Asian-born Asian female friend: how is it dating white guys? Are there racial dynamics that come into play?
Me: talks non-stop about race, thinly-cloaked misogyny, class, power, social economics, etc

*five days later*

Me: still talking

Same friend: do they have bigger dicks?
Me, smiling from ear to ear: well, can’t say I’ve ever been disappointed

And there you have it, my friends, the best and worst human being in the world, Sarah Mei Lyana, A.K.A. ME

LITTLE TALKS

though the truth may vary this ship will carry our bodies safe to shore

A couple of months ago, I was in that weird funk, and I felt really poorly about myself. I wanted to be happy, really, all I want is to be happy, I don’t care about being happier than anyone else, I don’t care about this goddamn thing and making people think I’m happy, I just want to be happy, for my own sake. I told Aqilah it’s so hard because sometimes I think my happiness is directly tied up with a lot of other people’s happiness, and I don’t want to make them unhappy, but I don’t want to live to make someone else happy, either, you know. Aqilah turns fifteen this year, but she is very mature, she is the third sister in the household I live in, and everyone we know can tell she’s wise beyond her age. So she says, at her grand fetal age of fifteen years, she tells me “you don’t have to care about someone else’s happiness, not everyone can be happy at the same time. Imagine if Trump got his way and was happy because everything happens the way he wants, do you think you would be happy about it?” Then I realised, girrrrrrl, I know nothing about life and my sisters are the bomb. I cannot equate anyone else’s happiness with my own.

MICK AND RORTY

Today was a good day, I had VeganBurg with Han. It is a Monday and it was a good day, so imma go out on a limb and say this week will be a good week. My period app reminded me that my period will be here in three days, and therefore there is a low chance of me getting pregnant but the scientific truth is of course there is 0% chance of me getting pregnant because I don’t fulfill the basic criteria for getting pregnant. Very good, self. Very good indeed! Today I also watched Cosmos and it was about how the land on Earth all used to be one giant supercontinent, named Pangaea. To be honest, I really wish my family members would watch Cosmos, perhaps they might be a little enlightened. They don’t exactly watch the most educational of things, though. Sighzzzzz. I’m out. Have a lovely week ahead, my loves!

NIGHTMARE

I have a new nightmare that when I’m in the cage being lowered to see the sharks in the water, the chain somehow breaks and the cage sinks and the sharks follow it/me down in the sea and I’m fucking drowning and that would be the worst way to die and I keep picturing it in my head and I most definitely have to do this thing by the end of this year or I will make it into an even gorier Final Destination scenario and the pit in my stomach will never end.

SIERRA LEONE

One time, I was in an Uber in LA, and the driver made conversation ‘cos he knew I wasn’t from there (or not — I mean, they make conversation with everyone over there, so whatever) and he asked what my name was so I told him Sarah Lyana. He said “oooh that sounds like Sierra Leone, you know what that means?” I said I didn’t, so he told me it means mountain lion. Dyou know that another name for mountain lion is cougar? It is no wonder I like younger boys. Geeeeez.

One of my very favourite books is We Should All Be Feminists by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, it is pretty much a transcript of her TED talk of the same title. Please either read the book (it is a way short one, I bought it at the airport to read during a flight but finished it in 20 minutes before I even boarded) or watch the clip.


This is one of my very favourite quotes by her:

Of course I am not worried about intimidating men. The type of man who will be intimidated by me is exactly the type of man I have no interest in.

I loooooove it. Every day I try to remind myself, don’t fold into yourself, Sarah, don’t tone down, don’t bend, don’t make yourself smaller to fit into the space that a man will allow you. Don’t, not anymore. I am not worried anymore. The type of men who are turned off by me, is the type of men I am not interested in.

STACY’S MOM

I once had a colleague whom I was rather pally with, but in a pally way, because he was attached and I knew he was attached. I mean, sure, I could look at his face without wanting to vomit and sure, I laughed at his jokes, but then I did that with all my friends, male or female, attached or single. Whenever his girlfriend came around to our workplace, though, she would never smile at me nor even actually talk to me, and I did not know why, I tried to be polite and cordial. Then I found out that colleague of mine had cheated on her previously, and then I realised, what the fuck, couldn’t be me, I would never be able to continue being with someone who has cheated on me because, what the hell is the point, if I’m always going to be looking over his shoulder? My Lord, and that lack of trust, and the misdirected angst and distrust, I mean, I had never done anything wrong, it was him who had cheated. Other women are not the problem. If your man is loyal, it doesn’t matter what woman is in front of him, not even Alicia Vikander. Well, not unless you and your man have that Friends-inspired arrangement where you each get a free pass if you saw a celebrity and slept with them once. But I ain’t no celebrity, and I don’t know any couple who have that arrangement, anyway. Geez. Could. Not. Be. Me.

Anyway, today was their wedding day, as I saw from Instagram. That’s why I’m talking about it. Couldn’t be me. And I am so glad for that. I just wish all women knew men ain’t shit and that women deserve better.

SOME DAYS I WISH THAT I WASN’T MYSELF

Second ep, Hate That You Know Me by Bleachers was used in the soundtrack. I looked up the lyrics and see that Carly Rae Jepsen sang on it with them.

sometimes I hate that you know me so well
some days I wish that I wasn’t myself

It’s a very boppy song though, can’t get me down. Ahhhh how I miss... I miss. It’s a happy Friday night/Saturday morning. Still love, and still miss. We’ll see, we’ll see. Kinda want to text now but like, it’s 2.49am here so like, you know, do I miss him or do I miss him? Hehheh *waggly eyebrows* naw I don’t want him to think I’m incorrigible. I don’t want to text because I’m incorrigible, although I pretty much am.

HEDGE FUNDS

I just watched the first episode of the third and final season of Love and I squealed in cringey laughter for half the time. There was Japanese porn and masturbating, drones and fireworks and whoever wrote the script for this episode wins all the points. I die. The show is produced by Judd Apatow, I don’t know who that is and I’m gonna play my “I live in Singapore and certain parts of the media don’t trickle down to me” card although the truth is just that I don’t know lots of things, I’m not knowledgeable. But Mickey is played by Gillian Jacobs from Community, and who doesn’t love Gillian Jacobs and Community, amirite? Of course, only while Dan Harmon was the showrunner bc after that it pretty much went down the drain and nobody watched Community anymore. Love definitely ties with Black Mirror for my favourite Netflix series. I hate that it’s ending. Also I have decided that my future husband has to watch Love in its entirety and enjoy it as much as I do. I’m decidedly very sure that I have a future husband even though all current signs point otherwise but you know, I’m an 8, so I’m sure I’ll get a husband someday, if I don’t keep imposing new criteria like watching a billion TV shows and reading twenty thousand books.

NON SEQUITUR

The third and final season of Love is out on Netflix today (not just yet because it’s not Mar 9 in LA yet) and tomorrow is my off day so you know what I’ll be doing. Binge-watching Love, filling in apps. Perhaps exercising a bit, though that is rather unlikely given that I’m not inclined to exercise unless it is good for my core like sex but I don’t currently have a sexual partner, so binge-watching Love it shall be. Bye bitches.

INTERNATIONAL WOMEN’S DAY

If you are a woman, congratulations. You’ve been fighting a battle since birth, whether it’s to prove that you have as much brains as you are beautiful, or that you should wear whatever you want to wear and it does not mean anything about your worth or values, or that you have the right to dress up and love makeup and fashion without being shallow, or that only yes means yes, and at no point of a man thinking you are acting coy does it make it the truth nor justify him acting on his assumptions that you are acting coy, or that you can feel horny and initiate and pursue sex without feeling any shame for it, or that you absolutely don’t like or want children, or that you definitely want children and to stay at home and take care of them, or that you can do anything a man can do, just as well as they can. Keep fighting those battles, and if a man ever says anything like “why is there no men’s day as an equivalent to women’s day”, drop that man. If he doesn’t recognise that you have been constantly fighting your own battles as a woman and every day is pretty much Men’s Day nor recognise his privilege at being a man, drop him. Men ain’t shit. You’ve got this, girl.

1955

I watched an interview of Lin-Manuel Miranda on Oprah, and it was about Lin bringing Hamilton: The Musical to Puerto Rico at the start of 2019, in which he will be reprising his role of Alexander Hamilton (!!!!! if anyone gets me a ticket to this my soul is yours - just the musical ticket is fine, I'll settle airfare HAHAHAHA).

No but anyway, Lin talked about how when he was younger, he was always feeling a little out of place when he would spend one month out of a year back in Puerto Rico because he would always be a little gringo-ish (white man) for them, but back in the US, he was always the Latino/person of colour.

He then said that is what makes a good writer, if you always feel a little out of place, and something in my brain went ding ding ding (!!!!!!!!).

When I was in the US, they wouldn't believe I was Asian, because I spoke English very well, but they knew I wasn't from there, either, because I have an accent (I have been told it sounds closest to Indian, although I don't have Indian blood). And here in Singapore, nobody shares my ummmm, my vehement passion for "I will do what I want". I swear, everyone here cares about someone else's feelings and lives by those things rather than pursuing what they want.

So yeah, perhaps that is why I write.

Today there was a book fair at the mall where I work, and book fairs are the legitimate worst. I will never be able to walk past one without getting something, ergh, I HATE THEM. I judge books by their covers, though, so I took one that immediately caught my eye, by virtue of being neon pink.

It matches my new graphic tote bag. You know, some of my colleagues hate the colour pink, so they tell me not to wear so much pink, and I'm like, wow, way to go, for people who are supposedly supportive of marginalised communities, y'all are waaaaay open-minded and accepting. ;)

The first page of the book rather assures me that this is a read I will enjoy, it's an excerpt that the writer chose:

Was it Laurie Anderson who said that VR would never look real until they learned how to put some dirt in it? Singapore's airport, the Changi Airtropolis, seemed to possess no more resolution than some early VPL world. There was no dirt whatsoever; no muss, no furred fractal edge to things. Outside, the organic, florid as ever in the tropics, had been gardened into brilliant greens, and all-too-perfect examples of itself. Only the clouds were feathered with chaos — weird columnar structures towering above the Strait of China.
The cab driver warned me about littering. He asked where I was from.
He asked if it was clean there. "Singapore very clean city." One of those annoying Japanese-style mechanical bells cut in as he exceeded the speed limit, just to remind us both that he was doing it. There seemed to be golf courses on either side of the freeway....
"You come for golf?"
"No."
"Business?"
"Pleasure."
He sucked his teeth. He had his doubts about that one.

— William Gibson, "Disneyland with the Death Penalty", Wired, 1993

ROOM FOR TWO

In the past hour or so, I have been feeling at ease. Suddenly, the knowledge that everything is going to end, that the sun will run out of fuel, that humankind will cease to exist, that everything is meaningless, makes me feel much better. One day a couple of years down the road a Sarah will look back and wonder why I used to feel so much stress when there isn’t any need to. Whether I stay in Singapore, or move to the US, or move anywhere else, whatever happens, it really doesn’t bother me, lol. I don’t know how long this will last, until Trump enacts a ridiculous nationalistic Neo-Nazi policy? Until the next shooting that forces students to think about how to stay alive instead of how to do geometry? Until another big-scale sex scandal happens, forcing people to display their blatant disregard for feminist and gender equality issues? Until my mum inevitably polices what I wear? I dunno, we’ll see. My sister Melyssa was trying to show me a video of a dog who had had snow boots on his hind legs, causing him to walk an entire round on only his front paws, but before she could even find the video, she kept laughing uncontrollably. Life is alright. Even if it isn’t, even if it’s better than alright, or worse than alright, it’s still alright, because it will end. So it all works out to being alright. I wanted to see Dua Lipa but her tickets for Singapore are sold out, and I’m not paying more money to a scalper, so that’s alright. I mean, I like her songs enough on Spotify. Is this what it means to be a mentally-balanced adult? Maybe. We just have to see how long this lasts. What is going to set me off? I think tomorrow if Julien texts, I will let him know I don’t really want to date him anymore. I need a lot of attention (even text/online) and he doesn’t really give me much, lololol. It’s alright if you’re judging me for that, I am at least aware of my own boundaries and what I’m willing to settle for. That’s what dating is for.

HOLD UP

Today a friend asked whether Adam had nudes of me, and I was like, ehhhh yes, and I have his too, some smoking ones awwww yeah hehehe but of course we have stopped but yknow, whatever. But anyway so I asked why, and she said her boyfriend has hers, and he told her if they break up they wouldn’t be secret and he would upload their videos onto porn sites, but then he also told her he’s only with her for the sex, and I’m like, wait a damn second. The closest I’ve gotten to such manipulation by a man I dated is probably Daniel Grayson, who cheated on his fiancée with me, while I was completely unaware. I mean, everyone else has been, I dunno, stupid and young and foolish fuckbois. Like, as much as I want to be angry at Joey, what we did was a rookie mistake, we both knew I wasn’t on birth control and neither of us actually took much precaution, I didn’t see rubber that entire month hahahaha. I mean, I did get pissed because his crisis management was quite non-existent, but it’s also not his fault I come from a conservative background and my family made me feel miserable for nothing. What I’m saying is a lot of people I dated could have handled things much better, but most of them didn’t have any malicious intent, when you come right down to it. But emotional blackmail is a completely notha level. Abusers have premeditated motives and intention, and if he says shit like that, this guy is bad news. I just read an article of batterer’s intervention, so they were a circle of abusers who were asked whether they started abusing their partners immediately: they all said no, because if they did, then she would immediately leave — they would wait over a year and calculated an optimum of two years to hook her in and give her reasons to stay, before they started abusing her. This shit is real, these people are cold, calculating and manipulative. They are not drunkards, and it is not out of their control, these people have a malicious intent to hurt and anyway what I’m saying is sometimes we all need all the support we can get and I hope my friend has the strength to separate herself from the toxicity soon.

RAGS TO BITCHES

What is a rags-to-riches story, if not a token for the rich to justify that you can make it if you wanted to, if you were not lazy, even if the odds are against you, for the rich to continue to be complicit to a system that perpetuates a rich-poor divide. Rags-to-riches stories provide reassurance to both the rich and the poor, and sadly, for very different reasons. If you are a rags to riches story personified, please be aware and don’t let yourself be a token statistic, that the reason your story exists is that there are the rich, and then the poor.

TWO TICKETS TO IRON MAIDEN, BABY

Will I always think Teenage Dirtbag is relevant even well past my teenhood? Possibly.

I met my cousin Syafiqah and her husband Ziff at Superloco Customs House for some Mexican food. We shared the fish taco, beef quesadilla, ceviche and a squid dish (I forgot what it was). They're both in the advertising industry, and Ziff does art directing in Saatchi, telling me about their fast track program. They both gave me tips on my portfolio.

The conversation got to the #metoo movement, and Ziff talked about how almost a decade back in Singapore, an ECD at one of the big firms (Ogilvy I think), Robert Gaxiola, had been playing with multiple women, and then those women banded together to write a blog that named and shamed him. Sounds like something I would definitely be in on. I wanted to read it but it has been taken down!

We talked about Aziz Ansari and the Weinstein controversy, and it is always very interesting for me to see the views of other women as well as of men, because geez, do they differ. We were also wondering whether in Singapore, the law recognises that marital rape exists and Syafiqah used her phone to Google "husband rape wife Singapore" at which point Ziff exclaimed "why would you do that to your algorithm?!" because you know, now Google thinks perhaps it is an issue she's facing lolol.

They asked what I wanted to achieve with my novel, like what I want people to compare it to, and I instantly said Black Mirror. I know what I want in the novel, an alternative reality that does not exist, but I want people who read it to feel like it does exist, like it's real. I don't want to write and people to feel like I'm trying to create something that's not already there, it has to exist in the minds of my audience.

You know how when some writers write, the characters feel like they jump out of the page, like you're barely reading words off a page, but you imagine it happening somewhere, even if the technology currently does not exist: I want to craft a world like that - like how Black Mirror is pretty much happening, even though it doesn't, not technically. I don't have the ability to do that, not yet, so I'm reading works that engage that craft, until I do.

Ziff recommended a book about writing/storytelling (not sure which, perhaps both?) called Invisible Ink, so I have to go get that sometime soon.

We moved on to P.S. Cafe at One Fullerton and had yums dessert.

I had the ginger and earl grey pudding, served with ice-cream. Ziff had something chocolatey, and Syafiqah had her favourite sticky toffee pudding, but after tasting mine, she said maybe she would change to the ginger as her new staple. I loved mine, hehe.

At P.S. Cafe, we talked about children and how they can be the devil's spawn, sometimes regardless of how much their parents try. I said that having a diverse group of friends would perhaps help in envisioning the spectrum of people your child could turn out to be, but they were very shocked at this idea. Apparently even if you accept certain people as friends, you would still not want your children to turn out like them. This I found intriguing, try this exercise - if you have friends, people whom you actively choose to socialise with, that you would not want as your children, it means you are not ready for children.

I think it is very amusing, though, because I would think I am that friend people would not want to have as their child, I am insubordinate and I have a mind of my own, and I dunno, I question everything and hate accepting the status quo.

On the way back, Kak Syafiqah talked about how she had silently primed and conditioned Ziff to tweak his toilet-roll-changing habits, and was now trying to get him to tweak his eating habits, to like eggplant and squid ink and all that, and she says she's a little psycho, because she applied and applies behavioural conditioning to her husband after having read about it.

Then I realised, we are all a little psycho and to admit the areas in which you're psycho to other people, those are the best social circles, because it means you're giving the other party an aspect to judge yourself by, and more often than not, you don't get judged because the gesture is reciprocated by the other party making you privy to certain information as well.

We talked about tattoos, because Syafiqah's sister has several, and she is one of the few (maybe three, in a family of twenty-five cousins?) people in our family that has them, so I knew Syafiqah wouldn't quite judge me, although I could tell that she doesn't exactly approve, either.

It was a great Monday, and a great way to start the week. Have a really nice March, y'all.

Today I heard a song from La La Land, and I thought about two of my favourite places, Griffith Observatory and Yosemite, which I visited in winter, and had the most brilliant white snow/nature experience with my best friend at, and I think, I wish I didn't have to hustle so much to decide between going back to my favourite places, and to settle on something more crucial for my life path, because I am but part of the proletariat.

But that's a first world problem, and I can live with it. Hustle hustle hustle.

ETA CARINAE

My body is feeling all sorts of fucked up and I need a massage, stat. I slept till 2.30pm today and I’m still tired and sleepy so you know what that means: I’m old. I watched a little of Cosmos today and Neil deGrasse Tyson, who is the presenter, said nothing lasts forever, even the stars die, and I know this because we are made up of stardust and I think why the hell do I even try so hard? I will eventually be stardust — I might as well move to I dunno, Borneo and live in the wild. Sounds like a plan.

SMILE

You know there’s a thing, how if you smile you apparently boost the happy hormones in your body or something, so now I’m smiling to myself while typing this, in hopes that I will feel better, but I think it just makes me look silly. I don’t feel much better, still tired and wired. I don’t even know what the tired/wired thing means.

What am I grateful for? My cousin is getting married and her bridesmaids (myself included) are planning a little something that I’m looking forward to. Unfortunately my cousin is a good little girl so there will be no strippers HAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Okay so that made me grin to myself and that felt quite nice.

I haven’t gone for a massage in quite a while, and my body is so tired. Why is this in a post about things I’m grateful for? I dunno, I’m srsly too tired to focus. What am I grateful for? Come on, Sarah, be present. God I’m hungry, I didn’t have time to eat before leaving home and I’m so damned hungry.

What am I grateful for? My head is aching. Sometimes at work there are tourists from other parts of Asia who are not able to communicate in English at all, and sometimes I can’t even convey or infer much from sign language then I think, it’s a good thing I speak perfect English. Then I realise Jesus Christ, what a colonised person I am, and then I feel bad about myself, and I hate the British and I hate when people make fun of my Malay accent, because that’s honestly not even a microaggression, that’s quite racist, I sound Malay because I am Malay. Fucking hate it that I’m expected to speak English the way a Westerner does, when if they tried to speak an Asian language, they sound like complete idiots. Why is this in a post of my gratitude?

I dunno, I just don’t feel much good today and trying to force myself to feel positive is even more exhausting and counterproductive and I changed my mind. Today I am just tired. Geez. Let me just sleep.

FISHSTICKS

I just woke up. Left work at 2am after having done inventory and I have to leave for work again in half an hour. On the one hand, I dread the commute to work, it takes up such a chunk of my time, daily, weekly, monthly and in life. On the other hand, I am doing okay in life, remember, this is where I need to be at this moment. I don’t have much good to say, except that if you get what you give, then I must be getting a lot of love back, so, yeah, give it to me. Do I even know what I mean? Am I even awake? When I start asking questions in a row, one truly wonders. I need time to fill up my apps, and not the kind that you install on your phone to do things. Sciencespeed, Sarah. What am I glad for? I’ll do another post about the things I’m grateful for, on the way to work, later.

BE STILL

“Always after a defeat and a respite, the Shadow takes another shape and grows again.”

“I wish it need not have happened in my time,” said Frodo.

“So do I,” said Gandalf, “and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.”

— The Fellowship of The Ring

I am on the way to work so as always, it gives me an hour to ramble whatever I want to ramble about. I posted the photos of Mochi with the shampoo bar on my own Instagram account, and my biological dad, who follows me, commented “but I think Snowy had nicer eyes”, referring to a cat he used to have.

I do not know if it came from a place of narcissism and having to bring everything back to himself and his own life, or whether he thinks everything needs to be a competition. Either way, I’m glad I’ve figured out where I receive certain parts of my personality, and things I need to work on. I can only hope each of my mother’s four kids and my father’s six also realises these things to work on in themselves, and sooner rather than later.

For the past few days (or many more, alright I admit), I’ve been lamenting the fact that my peers are settling down, are high-flying in their careers, are building families and putting down their roots in homes that will last perhaps the next decade. And I wonder why I don’t have any of that. But then I also think, most if not all of them had parents who stayed together, who were not toxic, who understood the importance of financial and family planning, and consequently these friends and family members of mine did not have to grow up way ahead of their time, and were allowed to have their childhoods, and therefore could transition into adulthood much more easily.

I keep having to remind myself that life is not a competition, and that for what I’ve been given, for the cards I’ve been dealt, I’ve played a pretty fair hand, I’ve never tried to cheat my way out of it. I also am a very dissatisfied person, I mean on a daily lifestyle basis I am quite low maintenance, but I have very lofty ambitions. My friends and family are happy with starting families and working where they are.

But me? I want to move to a place that believes in ideals, I want to leave behind a legacy. I don’t even know what legacy I want to leave, but I know I am not contented with living an ordinary life. And it doesn’t take one night to build a legacy, it doesn’t take even the same amount of time as everyone else has taken to get to where they are, it will take much more time. We are all working to what we want, and all our lives are works in progress.

Today I feel a little glad that I got pregnant and miscarried, because even if I had received a university education, I would not have learned everything I’ve learned so far if I hadn’t gotten knocked up or miscarried. If my family, my household, my mother and grandmother never found out about my activities, how much longer would it have taken me to eventually claim ownership of my body and my life? Would I ever even have confronted the issue? Who knows.

You’re doing okay, Sarah, for what you received and your intended destination, you are doing okay.

Edit: two nights ago, I met my best friend Han and we were having a conversation about the men I’ve dated, and I said not all white men are the same and rich and like Joey, and she said “the trust fund kid” I dunno why it popped up in my head I’ve never even said the words trust fund in my life and this has nothing to do with anything but TRUST FUND KID is so funny it hurts — no more trust fund kids for me in life, thx hahahahahahahah “trust fund kid” my best friend is the literal best

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.