Spent the afternoon with Ileane, Sha, and their FYP mates. I feel so old hanging around them- but on the flip side, being with them makes me feel young! Only metaphorically speaking, though, considering that Sha's actually older than I am by a couple of months. Whatever the case, it felt great to just get out and clear my head. I really need to get out more.
I'm pretty tired now so I'm not going to say much more, but I've been doing some thinking about what I want to do before the year is out, so here goes. I'll edit it as and when it's necessary:
Twenty things I want to Achieve before 2010 dies:
1. Get into either NTU or Tsinghua University (granted, the former's more or less a given)
2. Grow my hair out, hope it reaches past my shoulders by Christmas.
3. Get into NTU then join either Track & Field (keen on this) or Chinese Dance (if you know why, shut up)
4. Lose 10kg (don't ask because I'm not gonna reply)
5. Be a better friend to Sha, Ileane, Evan, PJ etc.
6. Memorize that monologue by Macbeth- the one that starts "Is that a dagger I see before me...?''
7. Study for the MCAT examinations with Xiwen.
8. Get really good grades for my first year in university. I know this trend should be perpetuated and sustained, but assuming 2012 is real...
9. Improve my Chinese (again, if you know why, shut up).
10. Finish those drawings (no need to ask about this).
11. Get my driving licence on the first try- read about a woman who flunked 768 times over a course of 11 years.
12. Improve my stamina in running/ swimming- without getting hurt because medical bills are nasty, nasty things.
13. Stay single and REMAIN SINGLE. (unless... no, don't think about that.)
14. Get a pair of black half-finger gloves (again, if you know why, shut up).
15. Spend more time at the piano.
16. Stop saying yes to everyone who asks a favour of me.
17. Read the newspapers every day so I'll know... never mind.
18. Learn to let go of what I don't have.
19. Learn to treasure what I DO have.
20. Get Millennia Institute's PE shirt (again if you know why, STFU).
Peace out,
Sarah.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Monday, March 29, 2010
A letter from my mother.
I woke up and found this on my bedside table. Thanks Mum for giving me permission to share it.
Sare-Bear (yes, this is her nickname for me and if you repeat it I’ll show you just how sharp my teeth are, I swear it)-
I stayed up late last thinking about everything until I finally conceded defeat to my exponentially-increasing persistent eyelids. I’m not going to lie to you and sugar coat things because you’ve seen for yourself that rainbows and roses aren’t what make the world go around. I AM disappointed, Sarah, and I AM angry.
I’m a mother myself whether or not you respect me as one, and if my kid were to come home cut up and crying, I’d have taken the head off whoever had inflicted that injustice upon him. I want so much to scream at you, knock some sense into that seemingly-impervious head of yours, and at the same time, I want so badly to hug you, the way I’ve not done in, oh, the past ten over years.
What you did was wrong on so many levels. You’re not stupid, but it’s one thing to be smart and another to show it. You didn’t, and I think you know that too. I wish I could tell you that he’ll forgive you the way I’ve done. I wish I could tell you everything’s okay, but we both know that it isn’t the case. So I’ll just be direct with you, but I want you to remember that you’re loved in more ways than one, and by more than one person.
Sarah, you are my daughter, my beautiful daughter, and believe it or not, for all your flaws, you are special, and unique, in your own wonderful way. You could be a President Scholar, or a road sweeper, or weigh 220kg and stand at 3 metres tall with scales and a green tail and it won’t make a difference because you’re still my daughter. My love for you is unconditional- like your love for X* C*** is. Surely you can understand that.
It breaks my heart to see you hurting yourself- by running and exercising like a fanatic just so you’ll sleep deeply and dreamlessly without nightmares. Mothers cover up their sadness far too often with anger, but the sadness doesn’t cease to exist. Yes, you’re right. He has to forgive you. But you have to forgive you too, and you’re punishing yourself in a way that’ll make anyone fume- him, me, everyone who has a halfway functioning brain can see that this is too much. Stop. Please. Don’t do this to yourself anymore.
You are absolutely worthy as you are. You don’t need to be a robotics champion or a walking Chinese dictionary before that makes you a “good’’ person. I don’t buy that and you shouldn’t either. When we’re angry, we tend to see only the bad things about a person. But I will tell you that anger takes energy that can be better channelled somewhere else and that I hope, someday, he will also see and- even if not leave out all the rest- recognize that loving, loyal, caring girl that I know you still are.
Deep inside.
Life is as fleeting as it is transient. Live it courageously and with passion, in forgiveness and strength and integrity. The Lord does not give us more problems than we can overcome, and no matter how hard it hurts, you will be okay. Maybe not now, but you will be. Don’t lose sight of that.
Don’t lose sight also of this- Sare-Bear, that whatever happens, whoever happens, I love you very, very, very, very, VERY much, and nothing in this world or any other will ever change that.
-Mum
It's obvious where I get my way of words from, isn't it?
But that made my morning. Not made it as in a hundred percent better, but it did shake me awake better than Coke Zero ever did. I still have you, and thank God I still have you. I can't and won't disappoint you, and I hope one day to give you reason again to say you're proud of me for reasons aside from just being me. Love you.
Sare-Bear (yes, this is her nickname for me and if you repeat it I’ll show you just how sharp my teeth are, I swear it)-
I stayed up late last thinking about everything until I finally conceded defeat to my exponentially-increasing persistent eyelids. I’m not going to lie to you and sugar coat things because you’ve seen for yourself that rainbows and roses aren’t what make the world go around. I AM disappointed, Sarah, and I AM angry.
I’m a mother myself whether or not you respect me as one, and if my kid were to come home cut up and crying, I’d have taken the head off whoever had inflicted that injustice upon him. I want so much to scream at you, knock some sense into that seemingly-impervious head of yours, and at the same time, I want so badly to hug you, the way I’ve not done in, oh, the past ten over years.
What you did was wrong on so many levels. You’re not stupid, but it’s one thing to be smart and another to show it. You didn’t, and I think you know that too. I wish I could tell you that he’ll forgive you the way I’ve done. I wish I could tell you everything’s okay, but we both know that it isn’t the case. So I’ll just be direct with you, but I want you to remember that you’re loved in more ways than one, and by more than one person.
Sarah, you are my daughter, my beautiful daughter, and believe it or not, for all your flaws, you are special, and unique, in your own wonderful way. You could be a President Scholar, or a road sweeper, or weigh 220kg and stand at 3 metres tall with scales and a green tail and it won’t make a difference because you’re still my daughter. My love for you is unconditional- like your love for X* C*** is. Surely you can understand that.
It breaks my heart to see you hurting yourself- by running and exercising like a fanatic just so you’ll sleep deeply and dreamlessly without nightmares. Mothers cover up their sadness far too often with anger, but the sadness doesn’t cease to exist. Yes, you’re right. He has to forgive you. But you have to forgive you too, and you’re punishing yourself in a way that’ll make anyone fume- him, me, everyone who has a halfway functioning brain can see that this is too much. Stop. Please. Don’t do this to yourself anymore.
You are absolutely worthy as you are. You don’t need to be a robotics champion or a walking Chinese dictionary before that makes you a “good’’ person. I don’t buy that and you shouldn’t either. When we’re angry, we tend to see only the bad things about a person. But I will tell you that anger takes energy that can be better channelled somewhere else and that I hope, someday, he will also see and- even if not leave out all the rest- recognize that loving, loyal, caring girl that I know you still are.
Deep inside.
Life is as fleeting as it is transient. Live it courageously and with passion, in forgiveness and strength and integrity. The Lord does not give us more problems than we can overcome, and no matter how hard it hurts, you will be okay. Maybe not now, but you will be. Don’t lose sight of that.
Don’t lose sight also of this- Sare-Bear, that whatever happens, whoever happens, I love you very, very, very, very, VERY much, and nothing in this world or any other will ever change that.
-Mum
It's obvious where I get my way of words from, isn't it?
But that made my morning. Not made it as in a hundred percent better, but it did shake me awake better than Coke Zero ever did. I still have you, and thank God I still have you. I can't and won't disappoint you, and I hope one day to give you reason again to say you're proud of me for reasons aside from just being me. Love you.
Twenty good things (???) about Sarah Xu
This is my mum’s idea, not mine, but it did make me feel better, somewhat. My mum knows me scarily well even without me saying anything; she’s disappointed as hell and she told me she loves me a hell lot more than I deserve (I promised her I’d stop saying hell and damn and everything so I’ll try to quit that), but she said I’m feeling bad enough as it is, and she’ll save the lecture- for a time when I’m feeling a bit less bad.
I was like, yeah, as if that’s possible. So she told me to find a reason to feel good about myself. I told her I probably would feel okay (not great because I’m really still feeling like- fine, I’m not going to say it) when I got my first good grade in NTU (assuming I 1. Get in 2. Can understand what’s going on to begin with). She shot back, no, I want you to find a reason to feel good about yourself NOW- and that reason CANNOT include… well, someone whose name starts with X.
I went whatever, but she was standing in the doorway so I had to act like my ears were working. To be honest, after so long of not knowing where he ends and where I begin, I can’t tell which part of me is still Sarah- as in Sarah that’s totally Sarah if that makes sense, but whatever. I could say that I’ve improved my Chinese by a long shot, but I know WHY I tried so hard in it in the first place, and I could say I’ve become more interested in Maths but that’s… well, because he was good at it too.
Anyway, I came up with this pathetically and laughably short list; Mum’s not pleased with it but whatever- and she says that I’m disgracing my own vocabulary by saying whatever to everything and anything. *sigh*
1. I’m good in English (and I’m trying hard not to think about how I always felt bad that I was and he wasn’t but w…)
2. My left eye has a degree of a 1000 plus but my right eye’s better at half of that. (I told you I was at wit’s end)
3. I’m not fat (but not healthy either but ARGH HELL)
4. I’m able to support myself (for the most part) with 1. Tutoring 2. Being a miser
5. I’m not on drugs (don’t tell me a person can be a drug because I DON’T WANNA HEAR IT!)
6. I don’t smoke (and I remember he doesn’t either, FML)
7. I have nice hair (??) – I think.
8. I’m not gay, but there’s nothing technically wrong with being gay either so I’m not sure if this counts.
9. I’ve been on the Roll of Honours again this semester (but this is expected from my mum so WTF)
10. I’m always there to listen to and help my RP juniors (but I don’t follow my advice, hypocrite)
So I showed her this and she said come up with ten more and I told her if I tried, I’d be invalidating point seven on account of how I’d be ripping my hair out! But it was that or face the wrath of a woman scorned by her daughter, so… PART 2.
1. I can play the piano pretty well (but again, this doesn’t count because I know why I learnt it.)
2. I’m a kickass long distance runner- Cross Country 2005 first position is still mine.
3. I can swim well for a girl (at least I don’t drown easily) but this is subjective. Mum says I look like a dog.
4. I was a good debater back in Bowen (and if you tell me a lawyer is a doctor who kills the societies, fuck off)
5. I have an excellent memory (yes, the infamous singing of the Periodic Table by E.H.)
6. For some reason, I’m very good at opening stubborn jars of peanut butter/jam/ bottles of Coke. Zzz.
7. I’m a light sleeper so it’s not difficult to wake me up and I don’t need an alarm clock.
8. I’ve never gone to jail- although I could change that.
9. I’ve not had an asthma attack for about a month. (But I dislocated my shoulder, so it’s a fair exchange?)
10. She made me say this one- I’m Sarah Leong (yes, she hates the name Sarah Xu even though Xu is her OWN surname, just that she’s 许 not 徐). And that can be a good thing. If I choose to make it as such.
Okay, I admit. It made me feel just a bit better. Notice I didn’t say anything about Chinese dance/ Chinese culture/ Robotics (and I suck at this anyway because my attention span is that bad) because I know deep inside… that’s not really me. It’s me in his shadow. Or something. Whateve… okay shut it.
But I did feel better. Not enough to start dancing to my guitar music (forgot that too), but better as in stop crying and return to the land of the living, for whatever it’s worth. I love him, but I love my family too. I owe them that much- to try. I can’t bear to disappoint anyone else.
Although there’s a side of me that doesn’t give a dam- a darn- either.
I was like, yeah, as if that’s possible. So she told me to find a reason to feel good about myself. I told her I probably would feel okay (not great because I’m really still feeling like- fine, I’m not going to say it) when I got my first good grade in NTU (assuming I 1. Get in 2. Can understand what’s going on to begin with). She shot back, no, I want you to find a reason to feel good about yourself NOW- and that reason CANNOT include… well, someone whose name starts with X.
I went whatever, but she was standing in the doorway so I had to act like my ears were working. To be honest, after so long of not knowing where he ends and where I begin, I can’t tell which part of me is still Sarah- as in Sarah that’s totally Sarah if that makes sense, but whatever. I could say that I’ve improved my Chinese by a long shot, but I know WHY I tried so hard in it in the first place, and I could say I’ve become more interested in Maths but that’s… well, because he was good at it too.
Anyway, I came up with this pathetically and laughably short list; Mum’s not pleased with it but whatever- and she says that I’m disgracing my own vocabulary by saying whatever to everything and anything. *sigh*
1. I’m good in English (and I’m trying hard not to think about how I always felt bad that I was and he wasn’t but w…)
2. My left eye has a degree of a 1000 plus but my right eye’s better at half of that. (I told you I was at wit’s end)
3. I’m not fat (but not healthy either but ARGH HELL)
4. I’m able to support myself (for the most part) with 1. Tutoring 2. Being a miser
5. I’m not on drugs (don’t tell me a person can be a drug because I DON’T WANNA HEAR IT!)
6. I don’t smoke (and I remember he doesn’t either, FML)
7. I have nice hair (??) – I think.
8. I’m not gay, but there’s nothing technically wrong with being gay either so I’m not sure if this counts.
9. I’ve been on the Roll of Honours again this semester (but this is expected from my mum so WTF)
10. I’m always there to listen to and help my RP juniors (but I don’t follow my advice, hypocrite)
So I showed her this and she said come up with ten more and I told her if I tried, I’d be invalidating point seven on account of how I’d be ripping my hair out! But it was that or face the wrath of a woman scorned by her daughter, so… PART 2.
1. I can play the piano pretty well (but again, this doesn’t count because I know why I learnt it.)
2. I’m a kickass long distance runner- Cross Country 2005 first position is still mine.
3. I can swim well for a girl (at least I don’t drown easily) but this is subjective. Mum says I look like a dog.
4. I was a good debater back in Bowen (and if you tell me a lawyer is a doctor who kills the societies, fuck off)
5. I have an excellent memory (yes, the infamous singing of the Periodic Table by E.H.)
6. For some reason, I’m very good at opening stubborn jars of peanut butter/jam/ bottles of Coke. Zzz.
7. I’m a light sleeper so it’s not difficult to wake me up and I don’t need an alarm clock.
8. I’ve never gone to jail- although I could change that.
9. I’ve not had an asthma attack for about a month. (But I dislocated my shoulder, so it’s a fair exchange?)
10. She made me say this one- I’m Sarah Leong (yes, she hates the name Sarah Xu even though Xu is her OWN surname, just that she’s 许 not 徐). And that can be a good thing. If I choose to make it as such.
Okay, I admit. It made me feel just a bit better. Notice I didn’t say anything about Chinese dance/ Chinese culture/ Robotics (and I suck at this anyway because my attention span is that bad) because I know deep inside… that’s not really me. It’s me in his shadow. Or something. Whateve… okay shut it.
But I did feel better. Not enough to start dancing to my guitar music (forgot that too), but better as in stop crying and return to the land of the living, for whatever it’s worth. I love him, but I love my family too. I owe them that much- to try. I can’t bear to disappoint anyone else.
Although there’s a side of me that doesn’t give a dam- a darn- either.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Ryan:
It’s been over a year now; and I can’t tell you how many sides of me I’ve felt surfacing, so I won’t even try. A lot of the time I blamed myself, saw myself as the person who plunged that knife right into his flesh. And I can’t tell you how much it hurt either.
Other times, I shrugged off all responsibility, or at least tried to deny that this had ever happened, pretending it was just a bad dream I’d wake up from and get on with my life. A large part of the time was spent wishing that he’d be back, just one more time, and we’d pick up where we’d left off.
I still can’t walk down the stairs without casting a glance at the letterboxes where he waited for me that fateful morning. Maybe I’ll never be able to, to stop that anymore than I can hear his voice echoing in my ears, saying he wanted me as his wife.
In the past three hundred and ninety plus days, I’ve been thinking and not thinking both. I know what role I played, and I accept and acknowledge that I played a part in it; in losing him, in hurting him. And I’m not going to pretend it doesn’t hurt, because much as I want him to be happy and out of danger, I’m still screaming like a spoiled kid having a tantrum at the thought of him being with someone else, someone more sane. I know how much I’ve blamed myself, every single day I’ve been haunted by his ghost in everything.
Like my mum can buy fishballs, and I’ll remember that he never really liked them, and while he was saying that all those years ago, I was sitting beside him at the fountain in the gathering dark, trying to eat barbecue food raw without letting anyone notice.
Or I’ll hear someone playing the piano and I’ll think of the time in the music room when he was playing the electric piano in there. I remember the music room had those huge mirrors on the side too, and I’d remember checking my reflection a thousand times to check, well, if he thought I was pretty. If I thought I looked pretty enough.
Or sometimes just looking at kids playing basketball and I’ll think of how mad I was at Kian Hao for saying that he wasn’t very good at it. Because in my eyes, he’d always been the best. And even if he wasn’t, technically, he was trying his best and that’s what mattered.
He tried his best with me. In fact, he did more than that. He put up with what no one should ever put with, and even then, one the last day, he did his duty. The way he’d promised; he never broke a promise. I wronged him and there’s no getting around that. There are no excuses either because I knew what I was doing and I made my choices. Maybe I wasn’t in the right state of mind, but I still did.
That said, though, it doesn’t mean I’m going to spend the next year like a walking corpse the way I have this entire year. He was human too, and he had his flaws. He wasn’t a perfect person, and I wasn’t too. In the end, he made his choice, as I made mine, and I have to learn to let go of that too- that he too knew what he wanted, and that that’s what he’s doing now.
He’s not the villain, and he’s not the hero, and while I’m the villain in this, I know that there’s more to Sarah than being that. I’ll always wonder what it’d have been like to touch his hair, the same hair that got him so mixed up with Colin to begin with because they looked identical in that respect. I’ll always wonder how our relationship would have gone had everything not transpired; our life together, our kids, in Singapore, or somewhere else. And it’ll always hurt. Always.
But I know also- and will have to constantly remind myself- that there were times when we were full of life, full of love. Times when he’d say something silly and I’d laugh. Times when we’d sit together on the bus journey home after training, exhausted but happy, not speaking, and I’d be content for the silence of being close to this man I loved- no, this man I love.
I still love him more than anything else. No one else will replace him, but time didn’t stop there. No matter how hard it is to accept that he’s gone, time didn’t stop, and it’s not fair to expect it to. A fair is a place where you eat hot dogs and ride the Ferris wheel, and it’s true. Days will pass whether or not I want them to, and I can only acknowledge what I did and live.
If anything ever good came out of this, it’s that I’ve come to know also that a person is capable of giving so much. His life, his blood, his everything. He would have sacrificed his life and dreams and hopes for me, and he didn’t lie either. He loved me, and I will be forever grateful of that. I’ve had a lot of time to escape, but I’m glad I faced up to it now.
This August, university starts. August, the month his life began, the month mine did too. I’m still torn between dancing and running, but I suspect the former will win out. Not because I want to be a duplicate of him- maybe, but also maybe because I want to feel the way he did, that long time ago, when he seemed to fly across the stage without wings, the day I fell in love with him. I am what I remember, and what I did, but I am also what I dream.
His smile will forever stay in my heart, the way his honey brown eyes looked golden in the light, the pattern of freckles on his upper arm. All of these things will remain close, where they matter. But life is going on for both of us, and as much as I want the best for him, I want the best for me too. And I am moving on. Because sooner or later, I have to.
Xu Chen- I never thought of you as Ryan, I always felt that Michael suited you better- I loved you, and I do now. Even now, even next year, whatever comes. Your life waits for you, as does mine, and no matter where we go, no matter how far apart we are, I know what you gave me, and I will always be thankful for that.
Always.
Other times, I shrugged off all responsibility, or at least tried to deny that this had ever happened, pretending it was just a bad dream I’d wake up from and get on with my life. A large part of the time was spent wishing that he’d be back, just one more time, and we’d pick up where we’d left off.
I still can’t walk down the stairs without casting a glance at the letterboxes where he waited for me that fateful morning. Maybe I’ll never be able to, to stop that anymore than I can hear his voice echoing in my ears, saying he wanted me as his wife.
In the past three hundred and ninety plus days, I’ve been thinking and not thinking both. I know what role I played, and I accept and acknowledge that I played a part in it; in losing him, in hurting him. And I’m not going to pretend it doesn’t hurt, because much as I want him to be happy and out of danger, I’m still screaming like a spoiled kid having a tantrum at the thought of him being with someone else, someone more sane. I know how much I’ve blamed myself, every single day I’ve been haunted by his ghost in everything.
Like my mum can buy fishballs, and I’ll remember that he never really liked them, and while he was saying that all those years ago, I was sitting beside him at the fountain in the gathering dark, trying to eat barbecue food raw without letting anyone notice.
Or I’ll hear someone playing the piano and I’ll think of the time in the music room when he was playing the electric piano in there. I remember the music room had those huge mirrors on the side too, and I’d remember checking my reflection a thousand times to check, well, if he thought I was pretty. If I thought I looked pretty enough.
Or sometimes just looking at kids playing basketball and I’ll think of how mad I was at Kian Hao for saying that he wasn’t very good at it. Because in my eyes, he’d always been the best. And even if he wasn’t, technically, he was trying his best and that’s what mattered.
He tried his best with me. In fact, he did more than that. He put up with what no one should ever put with, and even then, one the last day, he did his duty. The way he’d promised; he never broke a promise. I wronged him and there’s no getting around that. There are no excuses either because I knew what I was doing and I made my choices. Maybe I wasn’t in the right state of mind, but I still did.
That said, though, it doesn’t mean I’m going to spend the next year like a walking corpse the way I have this entire year. He was human too, and he had his flaws. He wasn’t a perfect person, and I wasn’t too. In the end, he made his choice, as I made mine, and I have to learn to let go of that too- that he too knew what he wanted, and that that’s what he’s doing now.
He’s not the villain, and he’s not the hero, and while I’m the villain in this, I know that there’s more to Sarah than being that. I’ll always wonder what it’d have been like to touch his hair, the same hair that got him so mixed up with Colin to begin with because they looked identical in that respect. I’ll always wonder how our relationship would have gone had everything not transpired; our life together, our kids, in Singapore, or somewhere else. And it’ll always hurt. Always.
But I know also- and will have to constantly remind myself- that there were times when we were full of life, full of love. Times when he’d say something silly and I’d laugh. Times when we’d sit together on the bus journey home after training, exhausted but happy, not speaking, and I’d be content for the silence of being close to this man I loved- no, this man I love.
I still love him more than anything else. No one else will replace him, but time didn’t stop there. No matter how hard it is to accept that he’s gone, time didn’t stop, and it’s not fair to expect it to. A fair is a place where you eat hot dogs and ride the Ferris wheel, and it’s true. Days will pass whether or not I want them to, and I can only acknowledge what I did and live.
If anything ever good came out of this, it’s that I’ve come to know also that a person is capable of giving so much. His life, his blood, his everything. He would have sacrificed his life and dreams and hopes for me, and he didn’t lie either. He loved me, and I will be forever grateful of that. I’ve had a lot of time to escape, but I’m glad I faced up to it now.
This August, university starts. August, the month his life began, the month mine did too. I’m still torn between dancing and running, but I suspect the former will win out. Not because I want to be a duplicate of him- maybe, but also maybe because I want to feel the way he did, that long time ago, when he seemed to fly across the stage without wings, the day I fell in love with him. I am what I remember, and what I did, but I am also what I dream.
His smile will forever stay in my heart, the way his honey brown eyes looked golden in the light, the pattern of freckles on his upper arm. All of these things will remain close, where they matter. But life is going on for both of us, and as much as I want the best for him, I want the best for me too. And I am moving on. Because sooner or later, I have to.
Xu Chen- I never thought of you as Ryan, I always felt that Michael suited you better- I loved you, and I do now. Even now, even next year, whatever comes. Your life waits for you, as does mine, and no matter where we go, no matter how far apart we are, I know what you gave me, and I will always be thankful for that.
Always.
Friday, March 26, 2010
Clearing the air.
"You woman enough to get that baby into you, you woman enough to get it out.'' - my mum.
I realize that my last post might have come across as elitist, but that’s missing the point by a mile and the Boston Marathon to boot. It’s about one six-syllabled word that has fourteen letters and takes a lifetime to master- “ACCOUNTABILITY”’ with a capital A as that.
It’s all about being mature enough to lie in the bed you made. You can be a road sweeper, but if you’re perfectly content with where you stand, steadfast in duty and cheerful in deed, then you have my utmost respect because I’d want to reach that sort of self-actualization someday rather than spend eons chasing every possible mountain, never satisfied.
The person who makes me tick is the one who wants to rise above his station, but fails, and subsequently blames everyone but himself for his downfall.
Uneccessary? Yes. Pathetic? Even more so. I’ve seen ostriches who show more of their sand-buried heads, thanks.
I’ll never be a good counsellor because I don’t believe in soft approaches. I give you the truth and I give it to you as hard as a slap in the face. Yes, my apathy and lack of sensitivity is a weakness of mine, but before you go on berating me, ponder on this. If you’re a male, your platoon sergeant isn’t going to be much nicer to you when you finally do enlist in National Service.
Girls, you may escape that ordeal (I think we shouldn’t but that’s another post for another time) but life is going to throw us all curveballs at one point of time or another and you might as well learn to roll with the punches now. Stop being a flower raised in a perfectly shielded little hothouse or the heat in the kitchen’s going to fry you even before you step into a fifty metre radius of it.
Grow up, little girl, grow up. How old are you? Twenty? Twenty one? Stop suckling away at your mama’s titties, cut the damn umbilical cord and say, “Yes, it was my mistake. And I’ll accept it and move on from here.’’
You want my respect, goddamn earn it. Or you can go back to burying your head back in a nursing bra.
"When life stabs you in the gut with a serrated knife, you have two choices. Plunge it back in deeper and die, or yank it out, wash it, and hang it up to dry.'' - my mum.
I realize that my last post might have come across as elitist, but that’s missing the point by a mile and the Boston Marathon to boot. It’s about one six-syllabled word that has fourteen letters and takes a lifetime to master- “ACCOUNTABILITY”’ with a capital A as that.
It’s all about being mature enough to lie in the bed you made. You can be a road sweeper, but if you’re perfectly content with where you stand, steadfast in duty and cheerful in deed, then you have my utmost respect because I’d want to reach that sort of self-actualization someday rather than spend eons chasing every possible mountain, never satisfied.
The person who makes me tick is the one who wants to rise above his station, but fails, and subsequently blames everyone but himself for his downfall.
Uneccessary? Yes. Pathetic? Even more so. I’ve seen ostriches who show more of their sand-buried heads, thanks.
I’ll never be a good counsellor because I don’t believe in soft approaches. I give you the truth and I give it to you as hard as a slap in the face. Yes, my apathy and lack of sensitivity is a weakness of mine, but before you go on berating me, ponder on this. If you’re a male, your platoon sergeant isn’t going to be much nicer to you when you finally do enlist in National Service.
Girls, you may escape that ordeal (I think we shouldn’t but that’s another post for another time) but life is going to throw us all curveballs at one point of time or another and you might as well learn to roll with the punches now. Stop being a flower raised in a perfectly shielded little hothouse or the heat in the kitchen’s going to fry you even before you step into a fifty metre radius of it.
Grow up, little girl, grow up. How old are you? Twenty? Twenty one? Stop suckling away at your mama’s titties, cut the damn umbilical cord and say, “Yes, it was my mistake. And I’ll accept it and move on from here.’’
You want my respect, goddamn earn it. Or you can go back to burying your head back in a nursing bra.
"When life stabs you in the gut with a serrated knife, you have two choices. Plunge it back in deeper and die, or yank it out, wash it, and hang it up to dry.'' - my mum.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Continuation of post below.
With regards to my last post- some have asked me, why am I so intent on harping on the matter at hand instead of exhorting the person in question to get a move on since time and tide waits for no yadda yadda yadda.
Well, here’s how I see it. In order for a wound to heal, you’ve gotta drain the scum and pus out of it. The underside of something is never pretty, but what’s necessary isn’t always roses and rainbows and eternal sunshine.
In order to let go, we need to embrace something one last time before loosening our grip. That is to say, get out of denial. To do otherwise, without reflection or subsequent correction, would only set you up for more failure yet to come, in much the same way. Don’t blame your mum, or your dad, or whatever cockeyed reason you can throw together in the pot of sorry excuses.
In fact, I’m not even sure if finances are a problem. If you’re really that determined to study, get a scholarship, take up a bursary, whatever the financial assistance schemes there are. Some may slip through the cracks eventually, but it’s not impossible; I’m definitely not well to do, at all.
I remember being six and losing a particular competition. I can’t really remember what for, I think it was something about music since I’d just started learning the piano then, and I was really upset. I fled to my mum for solace and asked her why I was so lousy- she bent over, with a secretive look on her face, and put her lips ever so gently to my ear while I wiggled in anticipation of the secret formula to success.
“BECAUSE YOU’RE JUST NOT GOOD ENOUGH!’’ Yes, she yelled.
Needless to say, that gave me a shock and my dad was cross about it- the delivery, that is, not the essence, because it was true. Harsh, but spot on, impeccably so. If you’re good, you’ll be good. It’ll show. If you’re not, no amount of waffling or pretence will make you look the wee bit better. That’s just how it works.
My mum asked me last night if I were happy with my results. She had only one question. “Can you accept it?’’
That, loosely translated, means- can I accept whatever consequences have resulted? It’s not the failure that’s the problem. It’s failing to see the failure that is.
I’m so sick of the old- engineers were gifted from birth, doctors were born with silver spoons- fuck that fuck that fuck that along with whatever doughnut hole is willing to accommodate you, I say! That’s SO not true and you know it, you’re saying that just to make yourself feel a bit better for falling short!
Look back and tell me whether or not there were things you could have done differently.
The things we don’t do are often as bad as those we did do. Were there not times when you could have spoken up in class but didn’t? Were there classes you could’ve attended but chose to skip because there was one pore on your skin without hair sticking out of it? I’m doing that right now and you’d do well to follow, thanks!
Until and unless you can find yourself totally blameless, shut up and sit down; stop moaning about how- “Oh that person is naturally gifted etc etc etc.’’ So what. Some people are naturally smarter. But you don’t need an IQ of 19990 to get into a university. We’re not talking about Einstein incarnates. We’re talking about raw power, about effort, about commitment and devotion to stay there even when the going gets tough and the tornado buffets you.
You failed. Admit it. You’re a failure. Say it with me. Now get on with life before you stay that way for the rest of that pathetic existence.
*spits*
Well, here’s how I see it. In order for a wound to heal, you’ve gotta drain the scum and pus out of it. The underside of something is never pretty, but what’s necessary isn’t always roses and rainbows and eternal sunshine.
In order to let go, we need to embrace something one last time before loosening our grip. That is to say, get out of denial. To do otherwise, without reflection or subsequent correction, would only set you up for more failure yet to come, in much the same way. Don’t blame your mum, or your dad, or whatever cockeyed reason you can throw together in the pot of sorry excuses.
In fact, I’m not even sure if finances are a problem. If you’re really that determined to study, get a scholarship, take up a bursary, whatever the financial assistance schemes there are. Some may slip through the cracks eventually, but it’s not impossible; I’m definitely not well to do, at all.
I remember being six and losing a particular competition. I can’t really remember what for, I think it was something about music since I’d just started learning the piano then, and I was really upset. I fled to my mum for solace and asked her why I was so lousy- she bent over, with a secretive look on her face, and put her lips ever so gently to my ear while I wiggled in anticipation of the secret formula to success.
“BECAUSE YOU’RE JUST NOT GOOD ENOUGH!’’ Yes, she yelled.
Needless to say, that gave me a shock and my dad was cross about it- the delivery, that is, not the essence, because it was true. Harsh, but spot on, impeccably so. If you’re good, you’ll be good. It’ll show. If you’re not, no amount of waffling or pretence will make you look the wee bit better. That’s just how it works.
My mum asked me last night if I were happy with my results. She had only one question. “Can you accept it?’’
That, loosely translated, means- can I accept whatever consequences have resulted? It’s not the failure that’s the problem. It’s failing to see the failure that is.
I’m so sick of the old- engineers were gifted from birth, doctors were born with silver spoons- fuck that fuck that fuck that along with whatever doughnut hole is willing to accommodate you, I say! That’s SO not true and you know it, you’re saying that just to make yourself feel a bit better for falling short!
Look back and tell me whether or not there were things you could have done differently.
The things we don’t do are often as bad as those we did do. Were there not times when you could have spoken up in class but didn’t? Were there classes you could’ve attended but chose to skip because there was one pore on your skin without hair sticking out of it? I’m doing that right now and you’d do well to follow, thanks!
Until and unless you can find yourself totally blameless, shut up and sit down; stop moaning about how- “Oh that person is naturally gifted etc etc etc.’’ So what. Some people are naturally smarter. But you don’t need an IQ of 19990 to get into a university. We’re not talking about Einstein incarnates. We’re talking about raw power, about effort, about commitment and devotion to stay there even when the going gets tough and the tornado buffets you.
You failed. Admit it. You’re a failure. Say it with me. Now get on with life before you stay that way for the rest of that pathetic existence.
*spits*
SERVES YOU RIGHT~~~~
“Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful. Hate me because your boyfriend thinks so.’’
I read this quote somewhere and I’ve come across few truer words. After heaven knows how many years of an escapist mentality, I’m a firm subscriber to believing in reaping and correspondingly sowing whatever you put in to begin with.
Don’t come up with rubbish excuses that you were sick, the system is unfair, that the planets are an inch out of alignment because I don’t want to hear it, and I don’t think many people- employers and university representatives being chief on the list- would relish hearing it too.
Admit that you didn’t put in enough effort and that’s the end of the story. Yes, I acknowledge that luck has a role, I admit that fate smiles and frowns on others with differing frequencies; I believe that one can be in the right place at the right time and vice versa- but that’s no excuse to sit around bumming and expecting rubies to cascade in meteor showers right into that overfed lap that’s never been straightened into a standing position for the last ten decades.
Yes, you, I’m talking about you and you know damn well who you are. I’m glad you have to go through year four- I’m fucking glad. Nothing can make me happier because you’re getting your just desserts- suck on that! It’s none of my business, perhaps? Well, scratch that. It was my business when you dumped all the work on me in our module; when you ran off gallivanting heaven knows where with your boyfriend and subsequently claimed my work as your own.
Hello, just because I don’t stamp a copyright insignia all over everything I churn out doesn’t give you the liberty to take as much as you please. Ever heard of manners? Oh wait, you need a brain to do that…
You were a free loader, a burden to the team, and when the team got dragged down, who got blamed? Me! You smacked your butt and wiggled it away, content to leave everything to “Sarah-because-she’ll-be-the-bloody-sucker’’ who does everything and anything.
Last night, when I found out you have to repeat a year, I actually laughed. Yes, I laughed, and I banged my fists on my table in celebration. The gods are just.
So maybe I need to get off my high horse and stop being superior- but I’ll tell you this, while I’m not the best in the world and will never be, I’m better than you by a long shot and anyone with a functioning brain can see it. Which means you can’t, but I digress. You plant melons, don’t expect to see cherries sprouting out of the ground; that is a fact.
I know some people get cancer and I know some strike the lottery, but if that were the norm, then by god, just give up studying and go wait for the heavens to dispense manna, why don’t you? Great, I shouldn’t say that lest I inspire you to further glory.
You act like your life is so tough- what, because your boyfriend didn’t buy you a diamond ring? Oh, come on. Are you for real? Like, really? Really really? Get a life lah. I once made a mistake so terrible that it resulted in the person I loved most going clean fucking off the edge and not a day has passed without me being haunted. But after running away for an infinite period of time, I faced up to it- as you should. As you better.
There is no excuse for failure when it’s with regards to something you were in perfect control of. If you didn’t study, admit it. If you ran away from class, admit it. Open that mouth for a reason other than malicious gossip and admit you just didn’t try hard enough. If you can’t get into a particular course, accept the blame. It’s not about failure- although that’s bad enough. It’s about continuing on your merry way and thinking you did nothing wrong.
If you can’t get into university, admit you screwed up, then pick up the pieces an shake a leg because time isn’t waiting for you. Rather than moan that Sarah got onto honor roll, sarah this, sarah that. I’m as much a human as you are.
Ugh!
I read this quote somewhere and I’ve come across few truer words. After heaven knows how many years of an escapist mentality, I’m a firm subscriber to believing in reaping and correspondingly sowing whatever you put in to begin with.
Don’t come up with rubbish excuses that you were sick, the system is unfair, that the planets are an inch out of alignment because I don’t want to hear it, and I don’t think many people- employers and university representatives being chief on the list- would relish hearing it too.
Admit that you didn’t put in enough effort and that’s the end of the story. Yes, I acknowledge that luck has a role, I admit that fate smiles and frowns on others with differing frequencies; I believe that one can be in the right place at the right time and vice versa- but that’s no excuse to sit around bumming and expecting rubies to cascade in meteor showers right into that overfed lap that’s never been straightened into a standing position for the last ten decades.
Yes, you, I’m talking about you and you know damn well who you are. I’m glad you have to go through year four- I’m fucking glad. Nothing can make me happier because you’re getting your just desserts- suck on that! It’s none of my business, perhaps? Well, scratch that. It was my business when you dumped all the work on me in our module; when you ran off gallivanting heaven knows where with your boyfriend and subsequently claimed my work as your own.
Hello, just because I don’t stamp a copyright insignia all over everything I churn out doesn’t give you the liberty to take as much as you please. Ever heard of manners? Oh wait, you need a brain to do that…
You were a free loader, a burden to the team, and when the team got dragged down, who got blamed? Me! You smacked your butt and wiggled it away, content to leave everything to “Sarah-because-she’ll-be-the-bloody-sucker’’ who does everything and anything.
Last night, when I found out you have to repeat a year, I actually laughed. Yes, I laughed, and I banged my fists on my table in celebration. The gods are just.
So maybe I need to get off my high horse and stop being superior- but I’ll tell you this, while I’m not the best in the world and will never be, I’m better than you by a long shot and anyone with a functioning brain can see it. Which means you can’t, but I digress. You plant melons, don’t expect to see cherries sprouting out of the ground; that is a fact.
I know some people get cancer and I know some strike the lottery, but if that were the norm, then by god, just give up studying and go wait for the heavens to dispense manna, why don’t you? Great, I shouldn’t say that lest I inspire you to further glory.
You act like your life is so tough- what, because your boyfriend didn’t buy you a diamond ring? Oh, come on. Are you for real? Like, really? Really really? Get a life lah. I once made a mistake so terrible that it resulted in the person I loved most going clean fucking off the edge and not a day has passed without me being haunted. But after running away for an infinite period of time, I faced up to it- as you should. As you better.
There is no excuse for failure when it’s with regards to something you were in perfect control of. If you didn’t study, admit it. If you ran away from class, admit it. Open that mouth for a reason other than malicious gossip and admit you just didn’t try hard enough. If you can’t get into a particular course, accept the blame. It’s not about failure- although that’s bad enough. It’s about continuing on your merry way and thinking you did nothing wrong.
If you can’t get into university, admit you screwed up, then pick up the pieces an shake a leg because time isn’t waiting for you. Rather than moan that Sarah got onto honor roll, sarah this, sarah that. I’m as much a human as you are.
Ugh!
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Temptation
Have you ever fantasized about killing someone? Actually killing someone?
I’ll probably sound like some emo gothic wannabe with blue hair and so many holes that her bf can fuck every one every day of her life and not get done ever. But yeah, I have.
As in, not literally plunging a knife into someone because that’d invalidate the purpose- the purpose of watching and waiting, if you get the drift.
I read somewhere that guys tend to choose the most instantaneous, explosive methods of suicide, like shooting themselves in the mouth or jumping under a roaring train. Instant gratification, if you know what I mean, no pain, no bother, boom, what’s your beef. Irreversible in every way, and there’s no turning back, which is the point. Ever seen a dog that bites something so hard the teeth remained stubbornly embedded in whatever it was even after the head was yanked away? Guys have a one track masculine mind and it shows.
Women, on the other hand, tend to go for the “softer’’ methods- overdosing, cutting wrists in the bathtub, the whole nine yards and the length of the great wall of China where melodrama is concerned. Slow ways that give time for someone to come save ‘em, because believe me, suicide- or attempting it, is more often than not, a cry for help, albeit an extreme one.
But it isn’t about killing myself, though heaven knows it’s not for lack of trying. I sometimes lie awake and wonder what it’d be like to go for someone’s throat just like that, slow and steady and soft and sweet.
Palpate the skin of her neck- warm, soft, pliable. I can almost hear the throbbing of blood, the whoosh whoosh of lymphatic fluid through the jugular vein and the lymphatic vessels respectively. Pause a moment to palpate the carotid artery, relishing the evenness of the carotid pulse because it ain’t gonna stay that way, to hell with the status quo in the next second.
Feel the sweat collect in the creases of your palms as you raise the knife, the blade rough and rugged. But it’s not a fear-sweat, there’s no nervous anticipation, only a greedy one.
One slash. Just the one, and it need not be violent, just quick, so quick that it surpasses the speed of sound because there’s nothing more than a whispery breeze and the hot trickle of satisfaction goes through you, settling in your belly like hot chocolate on a winter’s day. Perfection.
It spurts, because it’s arterial blood. There’s an annoying gurgling, though, from how the dissected vessels empty their contents into the mediastinium. An annoying crackling too- Hammond’s sign. Air hisses out from the wound- sure sign of a TBI, subcutaneous emphysema, probably transected the entire trachea but who cares. She’s gonna die before cyanosis even begins to set in.
Ignore the rasping and watch. Watch, and dip your hand into the blood that’s sprayed onto your face and hands. It’s not gunmetal metallic in taste, you know. It’s sweet. Thick, and not cloying. Almost like wine, and like all wines, it’s an acquired taste.
Dip your finger in.
Taste.
Repeat.
Feel for the chest. Ever so slightly left of the sternum. Feel it? The heartbeat. Fluttering? Slowing? Or maybe even the rhythmic disturbance of ventricular fibrillation?
There’s a reason why I never wanted to become a doctor. I don’t trust myself.
Iatrogenic damage is so stupidly easy.
Overdose of insulin.
Hyponatremia due to improper calculation of electrolyte enhancing drugs.
Writing morphine sulphate as magnesium sulphate.
Having a piggyback IV with both bags at the same level.
Operate on a person with CJD and then fail to sterilize the equipment.
Inject warfarin instead of heparin.
Fail to tip the head of the table downward when operating on the brain.
Fail to remove jewellery before an operation and use an electrocautery unit.
Reverse the paddles for defibrillation for a person without situs inversus.
Mix precipitating drugs in an I.V.
It can happen. So easy. So simple.
And so tempting.
I’ll probably sound like some emo gothic wannabe with blue hair and so many holes that her bf can fuck every one every day of her life and not get done ever. But yeah, I have.
As in, not literally plunging a knife into someone because that’d invalidate the purpose- the purpose of watching and waiting, if you get the drift.
I read somewhere that guys tend to choose the most instantaneous, explosive methods of suicide, like shooting themselves in the mouth or jumping under a roaring train. Instant gratification, if you know what I mean, no pain, no bother, boom, what’s your beef. Irreversible in every way, and there’s no turning back, which is the point. Ever seen a dog that bites something so hard the teeth remained stubbornly embedded in whatever it was even after the head was yanked away? Guys have a one track masculine mind and it shows.
Women, on the other hand, tend to go for the “softer’’ methods- overdosing, cutting wrists in the bathtub, the whole nine yards and the length of the great wall of China where melodrama is concerned. Slow ways that give time for someone to come save ‘em, because believe me, suicide- or attempting it, is more often than not, a cry for help, albeit an extreme one.
But it isn’t about killing myself, though heaven knows it’s not for lack of trying. I sometimes lie awake and wonder what it’d be like to go for someone’s throat just like that, slow and steady and soft and sweet.
Palpate the skin of her neck- warm, soft, pliable. I can almost hear the throbbing of blood, the whoosh whoosh of lymphatic fluid through the jugular vein and the lymphatic vessels respectively. Pause a moment to palpate the carotid artery, relishing the evenness of the carotid pulse because it ain’t gonna stay that way, to hell with the status quo in the next second.
Feel the sweat collect in the creases of your palms as you raise the knife, the blade rough and rugged. But it’s not a fear-sweat, there’s no nervous anticipation, only a greedy one.
One slash. Just the one, and it need not be violent, just quick, so quick that it surpasses the speed of sound because there’s nothing more than a whispery breeze and the hot trickle of satisfaction goes through you, settling in your belly like hot chocolate on a winter’s day. Perfection.
It spurts, because it’s arterial blood. There’s an annoying gurgling, though, from how the dissected vessels empty their contents into the mediastinium. An annoying crackling too- Hammond’s sign. Air hisses out from the wound- sure sign of a TBI, subcutaneous emphysema, probably transected the entire trachea but who cares. She’s gonna die before cyanosis even begins to set in.
Ignore the rasping and watch. Watch, and dip your hand into the blood that’s sprayed onto your face and hands. It’s not gunmetal metallic in taste, you know. It’s sweet. Thick, and not cloying. Almost like wine, and like all wines, it’s an acquired taste.
Dip your finger in.
Taste.
Repeat.
Feel for the chest. Ever so slightly left of the sternum. Feel it? The heartbeat. Fluttering? Slowing? Or maybe even the rhythmic disturbance of ventricular fibrillation?
There’s a reason why I never wanted to become a doctor. I don’t trust myself.
Iatrogenic damage is so stupidly easy.
Overdose of insulin.
Hyponatremia due to improper calculation of electrolyte enhancing drugs.
Writing morphine sulphate as magnesium sulphate.
Having a piggyback IV with both bags at the same level.
Operate on a person with CJD and then fail to sterilize the equipment.
Inject warfarin instead of heparin.
Fail to tip the head of the table downward when operating on the brain.
Fail to remove jewellery before an operation and use an electrocautery unit.
Reverse the paddles for defibrillation for a person without situs inversus.
Mix precipitating drugs in an I.V.
It can happen. So easy. So simple.
And so tempting.
Untitled
I’ve been far away for far too long, but I can’t even pretend to care so I’m not going to.
To cut a damn long story short, me, the so-called expert, flunked her A levels. Not on account of content, that is, but considering that I’m a poly private candidate, so everyone says, the format of answering is bound to be foreign to me because the first time I actually laid eyes on it was the day of the paper itself.
Honestly, who gives a damn?
Well, I do, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t care.
I just wasted a heck load of money, but I don’t think that’s the point. It’s… well, there’s no gratification, and I guess I’m being hedonistic to fill that void, as stupid and one-dimensional as it sounds. It helps nothing and solves even less, but I’m not perfect, so sue me for being thus.
I’ve been drinking and cutting and smoking a crapload more than usual. Who cares, I’m of age anyway.
And yes, riddled with adolescent angst, but whoever says anything about it can go suck his own balls and choke on them.
Yes, I’m stuck up and self obsessed.
Yes, I’m a fucking whiny bitch who’s the reason why abortion should’ve been legalized.
Yes, I should learn from my parents and practice some form of birth control, but- suck it, you’re stuck with me, like it or not.
I’ll be back when I’m sane, because as you can see, provided you’re neither stupid nor stupid, I’m so not there now.
To cut a damn long story short, me, the so-called expert, flunked her A levels. Not on account of content, that is, but considering that I’m a poly private candidate, so everyone says, the format of answering is bound to be foreign to me because the first time I actually laid eyes on it was the day of the paper itself.
Honestly, who gives a damn?
Well, I do, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t care.
I just wasted a heck load of money, but I don’t think that’s the point. It’s… well, there’s no gratification, and I guess I’m being hedonistic to fill that void, as stupid and one-dimensional as it sounds. It helps nothing and solves even less, but I’m not perfect, so sue me for being thus.
I’ve been drinking and cutting and smoking a crapload more than usual. Who cares, I’m of age anyway.
And yes, riddled with adolescent angst, but whoever says anything about it can go suck his own balls and choke on them.
Yes, I’m stuck up and self obsessed.
Yes, I’m a fucking whiny bitch who’s the reason why abortion should’ve been legalized.
Yes, I should learn from my parents and practice some form of birth control, but- suck it, you’re stuck with me, like it or not.
I’ll be back when I’m sane, because as you can see, provided you’re neither stupid nor stupid, I’m so not there now.
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