Wednesday, November 04, 2015

Caffeine withdrawal

The flights are booked. I am really excited to be on the road again. For a pedestrian, I have traveled far.  A privilege and blessing indeed. I don't know any more than bliss will be contained in a cup of freshly brewed coffee where the skies are blue. Here's hoping.

The universe sent me a message yesterday. I came in the form of a forwarded message containing a youtube link which under normal circumstances, I would  ignore. It was like God telling me to be my authentic self. And today, I tried to be. It is liberating if not somewhat foreign. I feel like I have a decision and commitment to make.

Oh authentic self. I guess I am going to get my hair coloured red again. And get that tat I have been thinking about.  Somehow or a rather, through the randomness that accompanies idle chatter with Sharon, we begun talking about soul mates.

Once upon a time, I used to believe in soul mates. These days I would put my money on finding a unicorn instead.  Advice that was given is to go slow and try finding mates first. Meeting people is hard. especially people I don't want to stab. At this rate being a crazy cat lady is starting to make a lot of sense.

Sometimes it still hurts. For Will to say that tis better to have love and lost, the bard knows nothing of rejection - when the knife enters, piercing flesh and marking bone, and the final twist of the blade which maims the heart, not to kill but cripple it forever.  I would have preferred to not have loved at all. 

Sunday, October 25, 2015

Checking in

Its been a month since Janda Baik where the training wheels got taken off. The cult sessions, as the family calls it, are over.  I am glad to get my Mondays back but its so easy to fall into despair again when nobody is chastising me to woman up. Because it's so EASY.

Curling up into a foetal position and telling the world to fuck off is so beautiful. And it is ironic that it's not passion that gets me up in the morning but fear at being yelled at at the office. This love hate relationship with my career is getting stale. A peer who has just turned GM in another company is telling me that the world is huge. Him and just about every person I have spoken to.  Leaving the country now for blue skies literally is somehow not terribly appealing because truth be told, I have not severed the chains to my universe of fears that I have so carefully curated.

Anyway the cigarettes have stopped too because honestly, inhaling smoke, in the haze, then looking for a facemask and ingesting bird's nest for "strong lungs"... is the epitome of stupidity.  

Despite the occasional loneliness, I am relishing being in my own space. All 800 sq ft of me. From the walnut table to my Megat Sri Rama, to my Egyptian cotton sheets to the dead plants that were supposedly representative of my relationship with myself. Digressing a little from describing my interior design prowess, I have so far managed to kill every plant I have. Let's hope the moss in my terrarium survives my touch of death. I mean, its moss. If I do manage to kill that, then all hope is lost. 

Anyway, within this space is my queendom (a reference appropriated from a TED talk and not in reference to anything LGBT, I promise). Within this microcosm, is the most honest life I have lived.  This craving to be accepted has forced me in many ways and for so many times to compromise the essense of my true self. Like its always offered up for negotiations. Being just myself, just myself, never seems good enough. And right at the cusp of feeling sorry for myself, the devil's advocate ponders out loud,  whether is the learned friend wallowing in entitlement? 

It is seriously screwed up to want to give up, yet intellectually cognizant to realise that it's foolish, articulate enough to spew vitriol, too chicken shit to do anything and yet too much of a masochist to stop cutting myself up.  

Sunday, September 27, 2015

Count Cigarette Sticks

The best nicknames are the ones that appear from nowhere.

And seriously nobody counts ciggy sticks unless they are quitting. Or have quit and trying to just justify the occasional fall from grace.

They say that stopping cigarettes makes you fat.  That's for sure.  The stress cooking has started. Spent the whole day smoking up the kitchen. Just like in university when I used to cook up a dinner party right before exams.  Some kids smoke up, I go all Masterchef.
Ugh. (To be fair, my iced lemon poppy seed cupcakes are mind-blowing).

Its been 3 months since the move. I have been busy potting around, keeping dark thoughts at bay.  

Thursday, September 03, 2015

Why, hello!

I am shocked.
Its September and I have written nothing for 2015. Has the wordsmith been replaced by the analyst? But surely even the analyst would have something dry to say.
Woe indeed.

I had toyed with the idea of starting a new blog - the phoenix birthed from the ashes so to speak. But that is a cop out. There is no sweeping anything under the carpet. The scorched marks are on the damned carpet.
Trying to hide (from) the past - that is no phoenix. That's a fucking ostrich.

So yeah.

I am back.