Wednesday 10 December 2014

The (non) instruction manual for living

We are going to track back for a bit to year 2008, the year of the Global Financial Crisis, otherwise known as the GFC. It was also the year that I hit one of the lowest points in my life – if not the lowest point to date. Of course when it was happening, it didn’t feel like it was a low point, it just felt like life, and I was living, and struggling and trying to do the best that I could. But now, in retrospect, yes, it was a low point and fuck, how did I survive that? I did not know, and I still don’t know.

That was the year that I asked so many questions – so many fucking questions that I could not, and still can not, fucking answer. I attributed this to this phenomenon called the quarter life crisis. I mean, when you were young, and you were supposed to live life that was fulfilling and worthwhile, without actually knowing what it looked like, let alone felt like, it was pretty impossible not to get a little depressed. What is this thing called a full, enriching life? And how the fuck do you know when you’ve got one? Navigating your twenties is one ugly beast, because you feel like life, where you are right now, is extremely fucking hard. But you are not allowed to say it as such. You are supposed to make it appear effortless, darling.

In the year 2008, against all odds, and without managing to figure things out, I survived relatively intact. One thing that is for sure though, even when you manage to figure things out, hold down a job and get a house and a life, all of these could be taken away from you in the blink of an eye, because of things that are beyond your control. Even when you have done everything within your power to weather the bad times, it is rare for anyone to escape unscathed. There would be some effects; some of these are deep and lasting, and invisible to the naked eye. So I hated adulthood; growing old is one motherfucking bitch.

But I have never told anyone this, until now.

In fact, I have joined the popular wisdom of getting older: that life gets better. I like to think that this is because I have a terrible memory, but truth is that, I suppress the terrible times, to the point that if I could, I would erase them from my memory. Selective recalling masked as positive thinking. I am all in for being positive and all that jazz, and I remain a big fan until today. And I also believe that it doesn’t hurt to remember the terrible times, even if they only serve as a reminder of how far we’ve become.

The truth about living is that life doesn’t always get better, and it continuously and perpetually takes a lot of hard work. You don’t always have everything figured out, but it doesn’t give you the excuse to not show up, because living is in showing up. You show up every single day even when you feel so tired and you look at the mirror and notice shit, I not only feel old, I also look old. And I feel fat. Shit, am I fat? When did all of these happen?

There is a deep satisfaction in showing up because it often carries with it an element of connection, an element of struggle, and more often than not, it involves other people. There is a deep satisfaction when you demonstrate (through your actions) a willingness to take on someone’s cause as your own, especially when you haven’t found out what your cause is. There is a deep satisfaction in knowing that in showing up, you are actually doing something, no matter how small, that contributes something to lives of the people around us.

There is no instruction manual for living, quite unfortunately. My one and only rule is this thing called flow – there has got to be a flow, you have to stay in motion. Because the alternative, i.e being stagnant, inaction, is never a valid option. Showing up may appear trivial, but the impact on the people that we are interacting with everyday as a result of us showing up is truly profound. Look out for the smile that results from something that you’ve done. You may not find this often, but there is at least one smile amongst all the hustle and bustle of live.

That one smile is never an isolated effect; believe me when I say this, because of two things. First, the multiplier effect, according to which, this one smile will result in a lot more one-smile-s, which will then result in a lot more more one-smile-s. Or in other words, a smile (or happiness) is contagious. Ever had a stranger smile at you and said somewhat randomly, have a good day? And then you end up having a good day? Yeah, something like that. So, smile, and wish someone a good day, even when that person is not a stranger.

Two, even when the outcome that we look for is a smile, there is almost always something else, and these things are often invisible to the naked eye, or often referred to as ‘I am happy when I’ve contributed to your happiness’. Your happiness in this case is another effect of you showing up.

So then, is this the secret to a good life?

Yes and no. This is because it is rare for two variables to perfectly influence each other. In this case, while it is (somewhat) undisputed that the rate of us showing up is positively correlated with our general well being, there is almost always something else that contributes to this relationship. Or that, even when you’ve successfully identified (albeit only statistically) the relationship between two variables, it is very rarely that this correlation is 100%; there is always something else that contributes to the outcome. Sometimes, this ‘something else’ is a combination of insignificant, therefore seemingly irrelevant causes, so we just tend to ignore them. Because we are much better off concentrating on changing the one thing that we believe is going to result in the outcome that we want.  Because limited resources. Because prioritizing. Because laziness.

I know I am guilty of the last one, which is why I still struggle to make sense of things. I have even more questions today about life than I did one year ago. I still get frustrated on a regular basis because I can’t think my way through these things. Because it makes me feel like I am not smart enough. Like I am dumb, or so blind that I can’t even see these answers that I’ve been told can be found inside me.

Maybe, just maybe, this is one of those things that I can’t think my way through. Maybe, what this really means is that I need to just stop trying to make sense of things right now. Maybe, one day, it will all be made clear to me. Maybe I would be able to see things that have been there all along. Or maybe not. Or maybe, it doesn’t matter. Because life still goes on as long as I show up, open my heart and appreciate the things that make me grateful to be alive. Or in other words, give my mind a break, live life right now with all of my heart, and celebrate the little moments that contribute to a much bigger sum.

Happy birthday to me.


Monday 1 December 2014

A note on crashing an MBA class

One Wednesday evening, I found myself crashing a dear friend's MBA class.

I don't have a master's degree, so I don't know what to expect, other than I am going to be entertained for the next few hours of my life. I get that this is not the kind of entertainment most people would go for, but it is for me.

What I got was way more than entertainment; I found out a few interesting things about being human, in the form of really informative graphs that really could've been drawn better (another story another time). There were lessons about how to manage resources (which is what a good MBA program is focused on). There was a lesson about how to manage yourself. More specifically, how to manage your feelings.

(To most people that were in that room at the same time, the take away is very likely not to be the above; it certainly was not worded nor presented as such. And that's okay, because understandably different things would resonate differently to different people, or differently to the same people in different times of their lives.)

As a society, we are obsessed with happiness. Like really, really obsessed. Obsessed like all that we ever want in this life is to be happy kind of obsessed. I know because I have said this once upon a time. And the irony is not lost on me that it was during the time that I was most miserable that I said that every single fucking day. I was chasing happiness, without knowing how, and most importantly why.

After years of futile search and extreme exhaustion that manifested in the form of what I labelled a quarter life crisis, I delved into the topic a bit further. There was a very good chance that I was wrong, and perhaps, I should stop whatever it was I was doing because, well, it was clearly not working.

I said that my take away from that 3.5 hours entertainment was how to manage my feelings because of this one sentence: you cannot be happy; you can be happy about something. And that something better be something you can bloody identify. When I wake up in the morning feeling happy, what I really want to say is I am happy that I had a good night sleep, I wake up feeling rested and ready to start my day. When I say that I want to be happy, what I really want to say is I want to be happy with my choices in life.

Being able to identify specifically what you are happy with is part of being in touch with your feelings. I think this is a very important step towards being able to manage your feelings. I also think that a lot of times, when we discuss how to manage our feelings, most of the time the discussion is skewed towards suppressing the bad and accentuating the good. There is nothing wrong with accentuating the good, I am a subscriber. But constantly suppressing the bad is dangerous and can be detrimental to one's health. Because I do not believe that the good is meant to cancel the bad, the two are meant to exist side by side as part of this thing we call our feelings. It is very possible that you feel good about something and at the same time feel bad about something else. And this is not a bad thing either, it is just what it is.

Upon reflection, I think, the same principle applies for all of the feelings that we have: the good and the bad. We are happy about something, we are annoyed about something, we are excited about something and we are bored about something. Yet somehow, the reason behind our feelings are often left out in our sentences. One of the things that we constantly feel is this thing called inconvenience - like, for example, the rain and how we need to walk out of the house with umbrellas that would then get destroyed by the wind. Or that because of the rain, we could not go running our usual track. Or that the broken treadmill in the gym plus the rain mean we have to resort to the bike or the rowing machine, or whatever monstrous machines that we have to endure for the next 20 minutes or so. And most of the time, we summarise all of these with "ugh, so annoying."

It really doesn't hurt to identify the source of the feeling; in fact, I think it can help us sort out our feelings better. And perhaps, if we get to understand why we feel a certain way, then we would be more open to pause for one moment and feel the feeling, no matter how uncomfortable it is. Because I think, being able to feel a range of your feelings is a part of managing it, and being able to manage this well is a part of growing up.

We are not skilled in articulating our feelings, or even, identifying our feelings accurately, i.e why we feel a certain way, let alone managing them. When we feel an emotion that's of an uncomfortable nature, we tend to shut it off, or ignore it, because (1) we think it is wrong to feel that way and (2) in some twisted way, we believe that ignoring it will make it go away. We forget that to see the rainbow, we have to live through the rain.

We are not bad people, even when we do not feel perfectly content about life 24/7. We think we should be excited, giddy, positive all the time. And this is because, well, a lot of people are uncomfortable when we share some form of painful emotion/experience. I don't blame them, really, so most of the time I don't share these things. When I do share them, I get some judgment - which adds to my pain. Very rarely I would get an ear that would listen without judgment. The worst judgment of all: "wow, you are really negative." Yes, I was. I am sorry that I made you feel uncomfortable; but I sure learn my lesson of not sharing private moments with you. [This is a terrible response on my part, I know. I pick this because this is easier for me than trying to connect on a deeper level with this person. This sounds like a cop out, because, well, it is.]

Why we need to share the good and the bad - especially the bad? Connection on a deeper level. Deep connection that most people shy away from. Including me. Because it takes a lot of time and energy and I only have so much of those.

But it is through deep connections that we find meaning. Finding meaning does not automatically make us happy; we are happy about having deep connections, hopefully with those we love: when we get to share their deepest, most intimate thoughts and feelings, and for that moment in time, we let them know that we love them, and we act on that love.

We may not be able to change what we feel, but we have options on how to respond to those feelings. So, choose wisely.


Every day I make decisions about how I choose to live my life, consciously or not.  These decisions become the building blocks of my life. And when I put off making a decision about something, usually because of paralysis by analysis, I still essentially make a decision: that of indecision, and that's when I feel stuck. Stop thinking, start feeling and go with the flow.  

Friday 21 November 2014

Otherwise known as the things that forced me to grow up

In life we keep coming back to those people whose presence in our lives left a footprint or two. We may not realise it at the time, but in becoming a part of our lives, they were teaching us something. These are some of those lessons.

**
On identifying true colours

But there was something about him. He was the guy that everybody wants to be near. I was somewhat sure I could not keep up. He was intoxicatingly attractive in his own way. We dived into this thing together. I saw similarities between us and this created an artificial sense of security on my part. I ignored the rest.

I am sure there were good moments, but these quickly faded. I don’t visit them very often and they dissolve into the background. In the foreground was the after math of the break up. I was no stranger to break-ups. A person’s character is most obvious in how they deal with a break up, almost similar to how they manage to find a parking spot when there was none to be found. Or if they decide to tag along on one of your shopping trips. He was used to shortcuts; it was if he was entitled to such convenience. This preference for shortcuts was one of the many red flags that I ignored and came back to punch me straight on my face, nearly broke my nose and left me bleeding.

**
On knowing oneself

He was destined to save the world – literally. He was no superhero, but he might as well have been one. I don’t think he goes around with cape, but if he does, it would be a green one. This was a man who singlehandedly goes for what he wanted, and it stung that I wasn’t one of those things.

Overtime, it became clear that it was the best thing that ever happened to us. What he wanted was and still is everything I didn’t want. I didn’t know myself then, and it scares me that he knew me so well. We made this crazy pact to get together if we were still single at a certain time. I wasn’t single and neither was he. It’s all good, my friend. Everything is like they are supposed to be. He is still saving the world, and is bloody good at that.

**
On physical attraction

He had a certain aura about him, primarily because he was so bloody handsome. Those eyes, those eyebrows and gawd, he was easily the tallest person that I had ever dated. It was pure, primal attraction on my part; and as I subsequently found out, physical attraction was an untamable beast. Therefore it was rather ironic that physically, our compatibility never tested, let alone eventuated. It was, however, the source of many terrible decisions that could have and should have been avoided.

Looking back, I am fascinated to no end – what is it about physical attraction that made you willing to overlook everything else? Like that one time when he told you that he was (ironically) physically intimate with another girl, which ‘didn’t mean anything’. Physical attraction cannot and should not be the single determining factor in this thing called compatibility in a relationship. Its importance is often overrated, although it doesn't mean that its subscribers are shallow. What it does mean is that their language of love involves physical touch.

**
On bragging

He was (and still is) the son of a rich man who flaunted his wealth on a regular basis, starting with his choice of car, which was his thanks to his parents' generosity. I used to think that this is a function of the rather shallow environment that he grew up in, or rather, operated in, but some years later, I discovered that old habits die hard. We were in a club, amongst all places, with some friends, some of whom he had just met, and there he was, bragging about his latest conquests - cars, houses and other equally materialistic pursuits.

What he didn't know (and may never find out in this life time) was the number of people who were repulsed by his actions. Instead of talking to people and getting to know them better, he was busy establishing status - that somehow, because of his acquisition of the things that displays success (which combined together screams success), he was better than the rest of us. On the other hand, I couldn't care less. So what you're rich? That doesn't (and didn't) impress me much.

On that note, so what you're educated? That doesn't impress me much.

What impresses me? Your character, your attitude, how you treat other people (with kindness), how you treat yourself (with compassion), and that you act with integrity, uphold honesty and genuinely embrace vulnerability.

Wednesday 19 November 2014

All I want for my birthday...

I am going to be one year older soon.

And in line with keeping with tradition, I am writing a birthday wish list. I am a firm believer in telling people what you want because this increases the chance of you actually getting what you want as it takes the guess work out of the equation, and subsequently allows the other person to concentrate their efforts on getting you what you want. This, of course, does not gel well with some people. In fact, in a recent discussion I found myself in when it comes to birthday gifts, to some people, giving a wish list took away the meaning of gifting – you know the whole, I see this thing, think about you and then actually give it to you. I guess viewed this way, I am just a terrible person when it comes to gifting. Or perhaps, I just don’t know people that well to be able to give them with an object that I deem to be something they may derive a lot of enjoyment of.

But I am all in for open and transparent communication that’s often borderline inappropriate, so here we go. Before we launch into this year’s birthday list, let’s see what happened to last year’s wish list.

Running without pain. While I ran for most of this year without much pain, there were definitely moments whereby running was painful. This stays on this year’s list while I work out what is the most optimum way for me to run. My personal best for this year is 5km in 26:30. It happened just once and I haven’t had a repeat performance ever since. If I get to beat this time next year, that would be fucking awesome.

A dog. Oh gawd, I want a dog. Since forever. This is also not possible given our living situation. So this is put on hold indefinitely. It hurts my chest writing this (then again, I am currently battling a throat/chest infection).

A huge kick-ass mirror. Don’t know happened with this one because actually, found a good candidate for the apartment and then don’t know what happened, didn’t end up purchasing. Hm. Perhaps this is a good sign that this should not have been on the list.
(but I still kind of want the mirror…)

This year’s birthday wish list goes like this: all of the above plus the following (in no particular order of importance)

Fried chicken. Holy fuck, I abstained from fried chicken for a whole month and have not been missing it since then like I thought I would. I have not had fried chicken in what seems like forever and I find myself not thinking about it as often as I had been in the past. While this break up is definitely unintended, it is much welcome by my arteries and my heart, but somehow my throat responded by getting an infection (see above). That said, I want some fried chicken. It’s my birthday and I will eat fried chicken if I want to. If I die, I will die on a high, which is infinitely better in my books rather than living a mediocre, fried-chicken-less life.

Clothes that fit. I tagged along a dear friend to his tailor yesterday, and got to witness a lesson on fit. Clothes that fit is like so fucking important that I can even begin to tell you why that’s the case. Yes, I know that these days my fit standard is somewhat on the poor end of the scale, with all those oversized shirts – what can I say, it’s hot outside. Yet the real reason is that my body shape is changing, quite possibly due to my exercise routine. On this note, while I am all in for being healthy (it is after all the most important element of an enjoyable life), this whole business of changing shapes is getting annoying. Because as much as I like going shopping and dressing myself, this is also a very expensive process and my bank account needs to be kept happy.

But those things, really, are not that important. Because if I were to be completely honest, I already have all that I want. I am happy with the decisions that I make in my life, I am blessed with good health and I enjoy the company of the finest people in this life – people, whom I feel, love me without having to mouth those words.

I am very very lucky.

And I actually look forward to getting older, and hopefully, wiser.

Thursday 16 October 2014

Reflections after one year of marriage

We celebrated our one-year wedding anniversary.

Every time I think about our wedding day, and now, our anniversary, I always tell myself that this time, it’s going to be different; different in the sense that I am actually going to remember this day in the years to come. I am even going to go to lengths to celebrate it. Damn, if there is one thing that I can be good at in this life, then this would be it: remembering our wedding anniversary. So far, my success rate is 100%. Ask me again next year to see if the number stays the same.

Throughout our dating life, I have a terrible history of remembering our dating anniversary. This would make for a funny story if not for the fact that the said date is actually in my diary and every single year, without fail, I make a promise to myself to remember it. So far, the success rate is big fat zero. The only consolation I take is that my other half forgets it too, so every year, it’s like this is why we are still together (and this is also one of the very many reasons why we are still married).

That was until I discover that apparently remembering anniversaries is a task for the females of the relationship. So, if the male forgets, it’s okay, because, you know, male. But females, well. I swear sometimes I am not a female. That came out wrong. Gah.

What's more relevant (and perhaps, also important) is that there is always room for improvement. While this is perhaps a little too early for me to say, the secret to remembering anniversaries – easy: pick an easy date to remember. This is why our wedding anniversary is infinitely easier to remember as supposed to our dating anniversary. As I have always said, when you have the option to set up something for yourself, design it well. Choose a good date for your wedding. It will save you a lifetime of headache and guilt. (The irony of this whole situation is that we didn’t exactly choose our wedding date – it was chosen for us in accordance with the alignment of the moon and the stars, and in the process we got lucky that it happened to be an easy date to remember. This is a sign that some things in life are just a meant-to-be.)

I started writing this post wanting to write about love, because well, that’s what weddings are all about, if you strip off the flowers, the cake and everything else. It is a celebration of love. I also discovered that it is difficult to write about love – it is simple yet complex at the same time, it is liberating and constricting all at once. The intensity of this emotion is very difficult to distill into words. Or maybe, I just don’t know enough words or how to string them together.

Sometime during the course of our first year of marriage, I managed to convince my other half that it was worthwhile doing the language of love test, if only as a confirmation of what I thought his language of love was. And being newlyweds, of course it was easy to convince him that this was something that would make me happy (ha!).  Not that I didn’t get any resistance, mind you, because that test was (and maybe still is) somewhat rather repetitive and whilst he was doing it, I got a few threats of quitting. The validation I got was not limited to the confirmation of what his language of love was, it was, more importantly, his gesture of doing things that I asked, that I deemed important, even when he hardly saw any value in doing so. Oh, and of course, never quit, guys, even when the task at hand is seemingly so pointless to you. It may mean the world to someone else. What’s a few minutes of your time in exchange for a lifetime of happiness? Do I hear fantastic investment? Amen. (We love cheese.)

When we got married, we made a promise to each other that we would love each other forever. There were other words that were spoken, but essentially, that’s what it is. The key word is forever. To promise to love someone forever is a really big deal, at least in my life. I have never even promised my parents that I would love them forever (sorry Dad, Mom).  And besides, in all honesty, these days, I don’t promise anyone anything anymore, and I never asked for their promises in return. I think promises, just like honesty, are expensive; I am not sure I can afford them.

Because as I got older, the more I realise that keeping a promise is never easy. Even with the best of intentions, shit happens and when you fail to keep your promise, the trust withdrawal can be oh so crippling. I should know because, well, you know, life. So I make a rule for myself that I would only make promises I know I can keep primarily to keep myself happy. Girl has priorities, okay.

A promise to love someone sounds very arbitrary at best. Sometimes, you think you are loving this person so much until it hurts your bones, but that person do not feel the same way, and then, you’re pretty much fucked. Sometimes, you think you are doing so much in an effort to love this person, and instead of making this person feel special and loved, you end up pushing him/her away. Unintentionally, of course, but it happens.

Perhaps, the promise should read: I promise to love you the way you want to be loved.  But this is assuming that that person knows what sort of love he/she wants. That’s the easy bit What if this changes overtime? What are you going to do about your promise to love them forever?

Truth is that, it is rare for anyone to be able to work out what anyone else wants in the long-term sense, because, obviously, people change. Everything (and everyone) is constantly temporary. I want you to love me this way today: by eating fried chicken with me. Tomorrow, I want you to love me this way: by eating anything other than fried chicken with me so that my arteries are not clogged before I turn 34.

Just because you are married does not mean you’ve got this whole love thing all worked out. In fact, quite the opposite – you discover that this is so big and so deep it is actually beyond your comprehension (if you’re willing to admit it). How the fuck do you get a grasp on something that is so infinitely incomprehensible? Where the fuck do you start?

This whole love thing is overwhelmingly … overwhelming.

At its most basic level, I am thankful that despite all the privileges of our lives, we take pleasure in the small and simple pleasures. We don’t strive to be happy all the time, but we strive to be happy about the lives that we live.  We take time to appreciate each other, even when we constantly forget anniversaries. We don’t wait for big moments. We don’t strive to create big moments. Our small moments become one big moment. The things that we do for each other every single day are the ones that bring color into the big picture.  

I obviously don’t have this whole love thing figured out, but it doesn’t stop me from loving you.
Happy anniversary, le husb. I love you way more than fried chicken. And pork belly.

Sunday 5 October 2014

On home ownership

One of the things that have been discussed ad nauseam lately is the renting versus buying your home. You all know the drill: option one is to save for that downpayment of your home and then spend the next twenty or thirty years paying the mortgage, while enjoying this thing called home ownership. Option two is to rent your home and invest your excess cash into some form of investment (most likely tied to the stock market) and then hope that by the end of the thirty years, you would have benefitted from the arrangement one way or the other.

No, I am not going to do the numbers, or present them here for you. This is because these sort of comparative analyses often depend on the assumptions behind the model and if you are really clever, you can spin it whichever way you want to. This is not to say that these models are useless; rather, we must be critical of the information that's presented to us. Do not blindly believe everything you see. Question those assumptions, change them, see if the analysis still makes sense. You can forecast into the future however you want to, with varying degrees of conservativeness, and guess what - you can never will them to reality. Or maybe you can, when you get lucky.

And from time to time, we do get lucky, and yet when this happens, we think we were so smart to have foreseen this seemingly inevitable reality happening. Actually, no. There are so many things that are beyond our control that just happen to work for us. Of course it helps that we are prepared to seize the opportunity when it first appears. We even strategise on what we would do if and when those opportunities happen.

Getting back to the numbers, I think at the end of the day, they would be pretty much the same, i.e. neither is better than the other, especially when you take into account risks profiles, time horizons, tax concessions, liquidity, time value of money... your NPV in both scenarios are likely to be close together. So really, in my opinion, this is not a decision that one should make based on numbers alone. There a lot of things in life that we do not assess by numbers, so why is it the case that our living arrangement is a decision that we make based on numbers alone? Or at least, a decision that heavily skews towards what the numbers say.

I am going to say this: cash flow wise, depending on where you live, renting is almost always more forgiving towards your bank account than buying. More often than not, you will have less cash outflow as a renter than as a buyer. So if your decision is purely based on cash flow, then this is where you stop considering all the other factors that could be relevant on this issue. And it's ok to make this decision purely based on cash flow alone. I work with money on a daily basis, so I understand where you are coming from.

However, just because you are part of the number-focused party does not mean that everyone else should subscribe to the same school of thought. Because to those who can afford it, the intangible benefits of owning your own home is something that money can't buy - the fact that they can buy it with money is part of the intangible benefits so to speak.

From this perspective, it is somewhat irrational, particularly if you think that having numbers to back you up rationalise your perspective. However, just because they are seemingly irrational does not mean they are useless. I am talking about things like the trade off between stability v flexibility, high maintenance (and its associated freedom to do whatever you fucking want) vs low maintenance (and the hassle of obtaining permission to do the smallest things), and things of similar vein. And guess what - a lot of us are actually irrational people who like to rationalise our options and decisions - and using numbers to do this can be very very dangerous.

I belong to the buy-your-home camp. I am currently paying down the mortgage to my apartment. This decision costs me at least $10k more than renting (approximately $1k per month). And no, I don't think about this as an investment; I regard it as simply buying comfort. Yes, I get that you can buy comfort some other way, this is just how I buy my comfort.

That brings me to my next point: make this decision based on the lifestyle that you deem suitable for you, not for someone else. This is perhaps the hardest thing to figure out because while most of us probably know what we want, it takes quite a lot of guts to (1) admit it and (2) make sure that your actions actually align with it. Plus there is the fear factor - the fear of making the wrong decision, especially on something so... big.

Look, if it works for you, it works for you. If it doesn't, then you need to change it. Of course it always helps to have a buffer. As I have always said, one of the ways you can prepare for life is with a strong budget. The interest rate can raise two times its current rate, and you can ride it through with your budget. Seriously, it's not that hard. It just requires you to live within your means.

Sunday 21 September 2014

irritating truths on understanding the opposite sex

both men and women can be difficult to understand.

1. if a man sees his partner (who is a woman) with another man, then presumably he would be ahem, jealous. even when it is just a little bit. but he likes to act cool and says that its ok when it really is not okay. when the situation is reversed and the woman says that it is not alright (because she is jealous even when she doesnt want to admit it - just like men), she is regarded as insecure :(

jealousy is a hormonal reaction and is an uncomfortable feeling. it sucks to the core, even when it is just a little bit. it is after all one of the seven lethal sins :(

2. if a woman cries often then she is sensitive. when a man cries often, then he is errr... [insert whatever you want]. is it just me or is it really RARE for men to be crying in front of another person. when a woman does not cry, then she is insensitive. when a man does not cry, then he is err... normal?

crying is an individual preference. it is also tiring - at least for me. so i hate crying and i hate being around people who are crying. and that had just earned me the label of insensitive. oh well.

3. if a woman calls her partner and he does not answer - he is busy. if a man calls and his partner does not answer, then he freaks out. if a woman calls her partner often, then she is caring. if a man calls his partner often then he is a control freak.

calling is an individual preference. some like it, others don't.

4. this is an extension of 3. if a woman talks a lot, she is just being herself. if a man talks a lot, then he is talkatively talkative. if a woman gossips a lot, then she is just being a typical woman. if a man gossips a lot, he must be gay (or anything along those lines).

talking can be tiring, especially when they are on unnecessary topics. gossips are more often than not hilarious and hopelessly inaccurate. don't glamorise it.

5. in an argument between a man and a woman, if the man chooses to leave, he is just being himself - he retreats to his cave. if the woman choose to leave, then she doesn't care :( if a woman insists on talking things through, she is just being herself. if a man insists on talking things through, he is being pushy.

some people - like yours truly - prefer to retreat to their caves. please just let me be. sometimes, problems can't be solved by talking immediately. sometimes, we need to take a breather. it doesn't mean that i won't come back, it just means i need to detach myself for a while. when i am ready, i will come back to you. if you would still have me.

6. if a guy does x, then he is interested in the girl. if a girl does x, then she is a door mat. bah.

hey, girl has needs. at least five times a week, and one of those has to be on the weekend.

7. if a girl shows excessive pda (public display of affection), she is a slut. if a guy shows excessive pda, he is insecure. remedy: dont show pda. haHA.

8. at the end of the day, everyone is afraid of becoming emotionally irrelevant.

(wrote this back in 2009. not much has changed since then.)

Thursday 21 August 2014

On my mind

in no particular order of importance

Money. I like money, I like having money. Money enables me to do things that I would otherwise not be able to do. Money brings comfort, like warm shelter, blankets, internet connection, umbrella (especially when it rains), socks and boots (for warmth in winter), fried chicken, etc. Without money, all of these comfortable necessities would have to be eliminated. And I am spoilt for comfort. So for that reason alone, I willingly work for money.

Work. I like working - I feel like I am at my best when I am working. I am efficient, I am alert, I am aware and I am doing the best that I can every moment of every second that I am at work. I like waking up and dressing up on the morning, because I want to look my best for the day. I like investing time and money in my physical appearance. It makes me feel better about life. Sort of, you know.

Beauty. This is such a sensitive topic of conversation. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, I get that. I have a weakness for beautiful things. I can't help it. I am superficial. Beauty is important, a lot more important than I previously thought - admittedly, growing up, I did not realise how important it is, until of course, after about a few decades of living, I realise how much bias there is towards beautiful people - they get treated better, they get all the good stuff, they get away with a lot of shit. And yes it is so fucking superficial, but that is the way it is. I don't think I am alone in liking beautiful things: people like beautiful things, people love beautiful people. Otherwise, how can make up and clothes and shoes and handbags become multi million dollars industries.

Choosing between beauty or brain - I don't know, because I don't know what it feels to be ridiculously beautiful, nor do I know what it feels to be ridiculously smart. I think right now I have a little bit of both, but if I were to choose only one, I am not sure which one I would choose. I don't know if I prefer to be someone so breathtakingly beautiful or someone who is super smart.

Happiness is largely illusionary. If you think you are happy, then you are happy. If you don't think you are happy, then you are not happy. So think it like you mean it - and then it happens. Happiness is not about the total absence of sadness. It is about believing that the life that you have right now is the best life that you have thus far. And that life keeps getting better everyday, even when it is not immediately obvious to you.

Feelings are illogical. Just because you feel something doesn't necessarily mean it's true. When you feel unwanted, it does not necessarily mean that the other person really doesn't want you. Feelings are illogical. Reasons cannot trump feelings sometimes, it's part of the deal of being human. You don't get to choose what you feel, really. When you suppress your feelings, that's like ... dangerous. Because really, when you feel something, what you can do is exactly that, feel it. Stop everything for just one moment, and feel it. Feel it seeping through your bones, both the good and the bad. Because to be able to feel is part of being alive.

But if you tell me that you feel unwanted by me, then the least that I can do is to acknowledge that feeling and sincerely apologise for making you feel that way. I always want to justify to myself that if I never intended to do so then the fact that it was unintentional would make it somewhat acceptable. Truth is that, it does not. Whether I intended to do so or not is irrelevant because the end result is what it is. The least that I could do is to acknowledge your feelings and take responsibility for the part I played in it.

If you don't tell me your feelings, don't expect me to know them. I am not psychic, yet.

Love. There are some people in my life that I love a lot. And some of these people are difficult to love. And for some of these people, they are perpetually difficult to love. I learn that love doesn't need a reason. Because no matter how difficult it is to love them, I would still love them anyway, no matter what happens. And there are no words that can describe this. And that's okay.

Honesty. Honesty is expensive. Don't expect it from cheap people. - Warren Buffet

one day, we can remember the pain, the reason we cried and who caused us pain, without feeling the pain. we will eventually come to the realisation that the key to being free is not revenge, but letting things unfold in their own way, in their own time. after all, what matters is not the first, nor is it the last chapter of our lives - rather how well we ran the race, each and every step of the way, especially how we get up after we fall. so, smile, laugh, forgive, believe, and love ridiculously all over again.

Friday 27 June 2014

Where expectation and reality collide

'should be, could be, would be - those phrases do not exist in my vocabulary. The fact is, the way it is is the way it is...'

Just a short note today which is pretty much my impression on someone that I recently met, through some serendipitous circumstances (always make room for serendipity, guys! You’ll never know what’s waiting for you on the other side.) and a reconciliation of my thoughts on marriage.

One of the many lessons that I learn is, if I can put a label on it, about detachment. Or perhaps, even that constitutes an inaccurate description. It is about not being caught up in the outcome of things. In life we have dreams and aspirations and for some of us who are lucky enough to know what these are and are actively taking steps so that we could be closer to them, it is easy to forget that the process is just as important as the destination. In our minds, we have this image of success that constitutes us achieving a particular outcome. And we often forget to understand that things are going to happen that are outside our control, and the only thing we can do about these is to accept them and move on.

It is always tempting to try to control life so that everything happens the way we want it to be, after all, having this image of our dreams can be a powerful tool to influence our behaviours and direct our actions to manipulate life into giving us what we want. Yet life does not always work this way. When we get so attached to what we desperately want to happen, which is the reason why we do what we do, well, we are not exactly living life the way we should be.

It has taken me a very long time to understand this. When I put forth an analytical view of my life and everything that’s in it, and then I project different outcomes through some sort of scenario analysis, there is never any guarantee that these intended outcomes will follow the executed course of action.  This is because change is a constant, things are going to change, people are going to change, and that includes us, if we are lucky.

What this really means is that one day, we may feel one way about something, and tomorrow, we may feel differently about the same thing. I really really like consuming fried chicken these days, but there is always that possibility that tomorrow I may stop liking it altogether. I am relatively young and relatively healthy right now, and I know that consuming fried chicken is not the best thing I can do for my body, so in a way, I sort of anticipate that the day will come that I will cease liking fried chicken consumption. And why not? Why should I allow my current self to determine my food consumption pattern for the rest of my life?

This same logic applies to everything else, to any kind of relationships. I am going to apply this to the most important relationship in my life, being my marriage.

I am married to the most wonderful man in my life. I wanted to marry him (want to stay married to him) and I am in love with him. Before I married him, this thought did cross my mind: what if I stop feeling this way about him? What if we both don’t feel love towards each other at some point? What if this and what if that – the list of what if’s are endless. This is what you get if you have an analytical mind like mine.

The answer is that I don’t know. All that I know is that at that point in time (and at this point in time), I have every intention of loving him for the rest of my life, as I am sure he to me. This is perhaps the only thing that I can be certain of because everything else is yet to happen. This is working for the time being, and it seems to be working fine. We have the common goal of making it work, so we promise to evolve with whatever change that comes our way.

The outcome of this well-meaning intention can be anything, really. We, or I should say, I, take comfort in giving this my best shot, while being open-minded about what the outcome would be. I can only hope that we both change in directions that are mostly compatible with each other and most beneficial for us as individuals. I want my husband to be able to do whatever he wants to do, so that he can continue to move in the direction that makes his heart sings, and I hope he wants the same for me.

The very same logic applies to all kinds of relationships. In the beginning, two people seemingly serendipitous-ly bumped into each other, got talking and started being friends. As they live their lives, they grow as individuals, as every human being would; they change with time. If they are lucky they change for the better; if they are really really lucky, they change each other for the better, and still remain friends for years to come. However, sometimes, the alternative happens: they grow apart, and no matter how hard they work on the friendship, despite their best intentions, it is just not happening. This is neither good nor bad. The fact is that, the way it is is the way it is. Thus we detach ourselves to the outcome of the relationship, or our expectation of the outcome, or the idea of how the friendship should be, and instead appreciate the friendship for what it really is: a friendship.

Relax, and just live.



Saturday 21 June 2014

On running and a crisis of mortality

This is going to be one of those posts that you get after a few weeks of hiatus. As some of you have cleverly pointed out, there is a lag between the first draft and the publishing of the posts on this blog. So, while most of the time the first draft is written close to the actual events happening, the time of publishing puts everything out of whack. Just bear this simple fact in mind when you are reading okay.

The good news to most of you is that I am still alive, still breathing, still living, and yes, still running. The last bit is, to me, a rather odd question that people ask. Yes, I am in and out of various injuries, but I don't tell you about most of them, so there is no way that you know them because I haven't told you. So the conversation goes like this.

Q: Do you still run?
Me: Yep.

And then silence.

I don't know what to make out of that, to be honest, so most of the time I just don't answer the question altogether. I mean, it is no coincidence that the people that I asked these questions often are not people who run on a regular basis. Yes, I notice these things - I see trends and patterns when others don't.

The question is almost as annoying as people who say they are busy, and I am one of these annoying people. I am so sorry. I don't mean any disrespect when I say that, most of the time, it is merely a statement of fact. I was told the other day that there is a fine line of being honest and being rude. I have a feeling that I have often blurred this line far too many times.

These days, running is something that I do for fun, I derive this irrationally odd pleasure out of it. I get excited at the idea of a run, get excited during the start of the run, feel a lot of pain during the run, and then this pleasurable tiredness at the end. It is addictive. If I could run everyday, I totally would. I run often enough to keep myself entertained, but no where near what I did during this time last year, when I was training for the City2Surf.

I admit to one frustration, and that's my left shin. That is the one point that I feel is very weak due to the recurring shin splints in the past few months. On the grand scheme of things that could go wrong when one runs so much, I get that this is a very minor issue, but an issue nonetheless. I would not say I have found a cure, but I do find changing shoes very helpful. I am currently running with a pair of ASIC's and am seriously considering switching back to Nike's.

Last night before I fell asleep I had a crisis of mortality.

I am not dying. I don't have a chronic illness, at least not yet diagnosed that I know of. I do not know what it feels like to be dying. All that I experienced, mostly self-induced, was a crisis of mortality mostly in the form of what would happen if I die.

I would not delude myself; the world will not be less for my cessation of existence. There will definitely be no more writing, no more random thoughts published in this blog (at least not mine), and perhaps slowly, this blog (and Project RumnRaisin) will just wither into cyberspace. I don't think the office would miss me, but my friends and loved ones would, and the latter are the ones who have to live with the associated agony.

And I would not be around to soothe them off their pain, in fact, my passing would probably be the sole reason for it. Is it even possible to do something for them to at least alleviate this impending pain while I still can? Would all the memories that we have shared and created be good enough to keep strong during the times that they need them the most.

If I have the choice, I would prefer to die in not too much pain. And preferably surrounded by people I love, after leaving them with the knowledge of what they mean to me. This sounds clichéd and somewhat, well, predictably saintly. Right now though, at the time of writing, that is the only thing that I could think about. Just as well, because this is the one thing that feels right to me.

If I can leave them with some comfort to help them live in peace with the time they have remaining, then I guess that would be my going-away present.

Sunday 25 May 2014

It may have just been a moment for you

In 2008, just after I graduated and begun my days as a doctor, I had the fortunate opportunity to spend some time in the United States of America with my cousin's family. Also in 2008, I started getting really close to this friend that I met during one of the brief working stint I had with a company in down town Sydney. She invited me over her place and I gladly went over, and ended up hanging out with her family on a very regular basis. She pretty much regarded me as part of the family: we celebrate our birthdays every year together ever since.

If any of my previous posts were any indication of my life to date, you would have deduced correctly that I never had much of a family life. Life works in a rather mysterious way. I find it rather ironic that other people's families tend to 'adopt' me; they are so so kind, far more than words can ever describe. If I was ever angry at God for depriving me of some sort of loving familial connection, then He more than makes up for it through all of the wonderful people in my life. I am talking about the people who cut up fruits for me - like a lot of fruits, the kinds that are difficult to cut, like pineapples, jackfruits and durian.

Last week these two mothers passed away.

***

I am currently in a painful state of mind; no matter what it is I think about, it always reverts to the events in 2008. A lot of good things happened in 2008, and equally painful things happened at the same time. I am not going to lie, it was perhaps one of the most difficult years I've ever had to go through to date. These terrible ones, I block in my mind so that I don't think about them constantly.

I want to analyse grief, because that is my coping mechanism - analysing everything I could get my hands on. This emotion is nothing like any other emotions that have ever come my way. I have failed, I have loss, but not to this degree. In fact, if I could make a comparison (which I really shouldn't), this makes everything else falls pale in comparison. This pain is unpleasant and uncomfortable, and I want to short-circuit my grieving process so that I can stop feeling so debilitated. I can't.

Dare I even say that I am scared of my own emotions, of not being able to control them, of being controlled by them, to the extent that I start showing them physically? I have been avoiding people's eyes a lot more these days because I do not want them to notice the sadness in mine, but there are those who still notice because they care. I have been avoiding talking about this in real life because I know I would not be able to control the flow of tears despite not wanting to cry about this any more. But there are those who still care, there are those who are pained when they see me in pain. There are still a lot of good things in this life.

It crossed my mind, on how differently it would be if these two events did not happen round about the same time. Would I have felt differently, and if yes, how differently. I guess I will never know the answer to that. In one corner of my mind, I can't stop thinking of why these happened at the same time. There must be a reason, and I wonder what that reason is.

Some time ago, I whined to a friend about something (which I can't remember), and she said that it is a test - we get tested on the things in life to ensure that we have learned from them, and then we can advance to the next round. What is this lesson that I am supposed to learn?

I don't want to sort to any of the clichés there is, not withstanding that none comes up to my mind right now. There are two words that do - good enough. Being a perfectionist, I spend the majority of my life overlooking how powerful these concepts can be. I would very much like to be the best, and I often forget that I am good enough.

Once upon a time, I was good enough.

Thank you for your love.

“It may have just been a moment for you, but it changed every single one that followed for me.” – I Wrote This for You (Flourish in Progress

Tuesday 20 May 2014

She and I: the writing of

I would like to begin by saying thank you – thank you so so much to all of you who bothered reading She and I and then sharing your thoughts with me. This was something I was not expecting at all, so this has taken me by surprise, and makes me all the more happy that I decided to write that piece.

It was not an easy exercise, it was hard, it was difficult like it was the most difficult thing there was. I wanted to write a piece about my step mother for a year before it finally happened. I locked myself down for the whole weekend and managed to hit publish on Sunday afternoon. So you can imagine how it was rather awkward this morning when I was randomly asked by a familiar stranger: how was your mothers’ day – because I don’t know if she was under the impression that I was a mother (I am not) or that she knew about what really happened during the mother’s day weekend (the writing of She and I). I very nearly blurted out “have you read my blog” but didn’t because, I don’t know, it would make the conversation more awkward?

I think it is rather presumptuous of our society to assume that every person in this planet looks forward to mothers’ day, simply because that assumption conveniently disregards the painful fact that there are people in this planet who do not get on well with their mothers and do the mothers’ day thing out of obligation. If we can all write about all of our experiences, both the good and the bad, then hopefully we can all learn from each other, most importantly, learning from ourselves, about ourselves, what makes us click as individuals. I make a decision, a long time ago, to only publish pieces on this blog that are of a positive nature. I do write about painful stuff, and I do not want anyone in this planet to ever see those, so I just burn them straight away. (Actually, it is more like delete.)

It goes without saying that I have lost count of the drafts that I had written prior to the weekend of writing She and I. But let me just say this: the end result as you see it is nothing like the prior drafts. I don’t wish to ever publish them, and I don’t see them as a waste either; rather, I see them as the necessary steps into creating the final piece, the whole process counts because I get to know myself better. For the longest time I struggle to write it for I always ended up comparing the two mothers that I have, despite my strong refusal to do so a priori. I understand that the concept of relativity can be powerful like that, which is all the more reason for me not to fall into that particular ‘trap’ because my step mother is a remarkable woman to me independent of how my mother is. I do not believe that it is fair to compare the two women in their capacities as mothers because their roles are fundamentally different, and neither one of them can replace the other.

I acknowledge that there are people who do not get on well with their step-mothers (and step parents), and I do not wish to trivialise this issue at all. All that I want to say (and I hope this comes across well in the original piece) is that my step mother means a lot to me; to her, I am good enough. The concept of good enough was a foreign concept to me until I met her, because I am more the perfectionist, which makes me somewhat rather negative because I tend to focus on the things for improvement, which I want to improve on, to fix, to make better, just because I think I can. Truth of the matter is that, it is not about whether I can fix it or not, it is about focusing on what I do already have, right here in front of me, all the good stuff, so that I can start appreciating them, and giving thanks for how lucky I am. If there is any lesson that I can learn in terms of how to live, then this would be it. Because oddly enough, it is when we give that we actually receive.

When the going gets tough as they often do, I try to be this person that my step mother thinks I am. It is not about being remarkable, nor extra ordinary, just simply good enough. Because I don't have to be perfect to be good enough. And when you're good enough, well, you're good enough, for love.

Sunday 11 May 2014

She and I

She and I met through fate. Her presence in my life is a constant reminder to believe that things happen for a reason, and this reason is a good reason, even when it is not always obvious to me at the time. On our very first meeting, our worlds did not collide; I was too sceptical for that. I don't think I liked her straight away. This is not to say that she is not immediately likeable, because she is, but more that I was not easily relate-able. What can I say - I am like that. But I had to admit that I was intrigued by her. My curiosity got the better of me, as it always does, and perhaps to a certain degree, it was desperation, on my part, for something, anything that could be ... better.  When you are pushed against an invisible wall, and you feel like you are slowly and surely being crushed, the helplessness makes you want out, just like that. It wasn't apparent to me at the time, but she ended up being my way out.

Our worlds merge, slowly. In the first few days of spending time with each other, we bonded through food. Obviously nothing has changed over the years: I wanted to eat a lot of things, I was rather incapable of feeding myself, so she kindly fed me (as in provided food for me, as opposed to spoon-feeding me). That became my first impression of her: that she was a giving person. Over the years, I witness an increasing willingness on her part to invest in this relationship where there is no guarantee of positive return: she continues to give, sincerely.

I got to know her and she got to know me. Prior to meeting me (as I later found out), she had heard a lot of things about me, mostly unpleasant, unfortunately, because what can I say, people are like that. Or perhaps, I should have put it as, I was famous like that, but I doubt that I was. I did little to undo that initial knowledge and I am also pretty sure that the first impression I gave her only served to provide evidentiary support of those things people said. Le sigh. I wasn't out to impress her. But I was aching to know if this person was willing to know me despite my shortcomings, my flaws and my weaknesses – and boy, there were (and still are) plenty. Besides, if this thing were to be something that I wanted ever so terribly (and would never admit to in a thousand years) then it only made sense to me that whatever it is that we were about to establish was built on the foundation of trust. Trust is not given freely, my friend, it is earned over time, through hard work and a lot of effort, with constant sprinklings of this thing called love.

The underlying characteristic of a lot of my relationships is that we are separated by distance, the Pacific Ocean to be precise. Needless to say, the physical moments that we shared are limited, and subsequently, physical proximity did (and still does) make everything better. Yet most of the time, it is non-physical. These other moments are equally as compelling, that moment when you close your eyes and you listen to the person's voice on the other end of the line. The moment whereby you know that you have to have this difficult conversation - and we have had a lot of difficult conversations over the years. She finds time for me and in the process made me feel not just important, but more importantly, wanted. I didn't even realise I had all of these issues until I had the opportunity to experience the healing through her kindness.

Because she listens, she teaches me that the mere act of listening can change someone's life for the better. It is almost ironic that the communication that changes people is the ones that involve very little words. A TED talk is almost always inspiring; but when you truly listen, at least for that moment in time, you can make someone feel heard and accepted. She empathises with me; and by doing so, she manages to influence my thoughts and emotions in a positive way. Her simple act of listening is so powerful.  She is a great communicator, she is honest and she is transparent.

She is the person who has shown me how to live. She doesn't have to love me but I feel that she does, constantly, all the time. And as a result, I feel as if I belong. And if anyone of you out there has ever felt the opposite, i.e. not belonged, then you would understand how important it is to feel this way, if only for one moment in time. Because in that moment, everything makes sense, that everything happens as they are supposed to, and that everything is going to be alright.

It was, and still is, a simultaneously emotionally exhausting and fulfilling journey, and has been, by far, one of the most rewarding things I have done in my life. I am so glad that I met her, that I had the chance to establish and grow this relationship with her. She is the one thing that changed my life. Without her, I would not be the person that I am today. She has been my rock, my strength, my counsel.

She is my step mother.

Preamble:

This mothers’ day, I would like to write something about a special someone that has largely been left out on the mothers’ day celebrations: the step mothers.

My parents' divorce still remains, to this day, a subject that is taboo to discuss in the dinner table, although to be completely honest, it depends on who is at the dinner table and what is being eaten, and more importantly, where the dinner is taking place. This is the norm in my family - we just do not talk about the things that are hurtful like this, we do not engage in these kinds of interactions. I personally feel I am somewhat stunted in this department as a result, and for the longest time, I harboured a personal anger that I wasn't able to attribute to anything. When you have been deprived of a family connection that you so much yearned for, it is only normal that you become fucked-up as a result, even when you would not want to admit to it in a thousand years. It is not about a personal denial, or about blaming your parents; it is just a deep refusal to accept that this is what you've got; this is what you've been given, because you were so desperate for something else.

I have always viewed myself as someone who is incredibly lucky, I don't know how I got so lucky, but I realise that in I have been blessed in a lot of ways that I can't even begin to describe. When I think about the moments that change my life, or specifically, the people that change my life, I would list my step mother as the top person on that list.

I had the idea of writing this during last year’s mothers’ day. This is one of those things that I have always wanted to write, and have never been able to, for a myriad of reasons mostly rooted in my fear of other people's reaction. Granted by taking this risk, I acknowledge that there is an impending possibility that unfavourable reactions may occur. All I can say is, to be sceptical of a meaningful step-mother-step-daughter relationship is to entirely misunderstand and undermine the power of love.

Let yourself be known and love with your whole heart, even though there is no guarantee that you’ll be accepted. -fiftycoffees.com

Thursday 8 May 2014

Everybody deserves clean water

 “It's a funny thing about the modern world. You hear girls in the toilets of clubs saying, "Yeah, he fucked off and left me. He didn't love me. He just couldn't deal with love. He was too fucked up to know how to love me." Now, how did that happen? What was it about this unlovable century that convinced us we were, despite everything, eminently lovable as a people, as a species? What made us think that anyone who fails to love us is damaged, lacking, malfunctioning in some way? And particularly if they replace us with a god, or a weeping madonna, or the face of Christ in a ciabatta roll---then we call them crazy. Deluded. Regressive. We are so convinced of the goodness of ourselves, and the goodness of our love, we cannot bear to believe that there might be something more worthy of love than us, more worthy of worship. Greeting cards routinely tell us everybody deserves love. No. Everybody deserves clean water. Not everybody deserves love all the time.” - Zadie Smith

And the opposite version:

It's a funny thing about the modern world. You hear men everywhere saying, "Yeah, she fucked off and left me. She didn't love me. She just couldn't deal with love. She was too fucked up to know how to love me." Now, how did that happen? What was it about this unlovable century that convinced us we were, despite everything, eminently lovable as people, as a species? What made us think that anyone who fails to love us is damaged, lacking, malfunctioning in some way? And particularly if they replace us with a blog, a seemingly rich guy or god forbid, a 'bad' boy who can fuck them like there's no tomorrow---then we call them crazy. Deluded. Regressive. We are so convinced of the goodness of ourselves, and the goodness of our love, we cannot bear to believe that there might be something easier to love than us, something easier to develop. Hollywood, Disney and greeting cards routinely tell us everybody deserves love. No. Everybody deserves clean water. And good sex, yeah, that's pretty high on the list. 

Thursday 1 May 2014

I am done with eating: I want to eat dessert first

I am adapting to a new life, one that started a few weeks ago (at the time of writing). In this relatively new life, I have been cramming more things into my schedule. This is something that I would not recommend under any circumstances, so the mere fact that I did it to myself is somewhat rather baffling to me. The biggest take away from all of these is that time is a precious commodity, but I have not been valuing it like so. Perhaps because I take pleasure in doing something productive with my time. The resultant effect is that I am always running out of time, and I hate running out of time because I feel like I am always rushing. I hate rushing because it takes enjoyment out of whatever it is I am doing. I am not busy. I am just constantly tired and flat out and hungry. Ok, perhaps hungry is not so much attributed to this, since I am hungry all the time, irrespective of how much food I eat. Seriously. I am starting to give up on this whole eating thing. Whether I eat or I don't eat, I am still hungry. No more. I am done.

KIDDING. I love eating. Given that I am often short on time, I just wish that I get to eat what I want to eat when I want it. Every time we go out to a restaurant, I always wish we would just order dessert and skip everything else. Because that's what I really want to eat. But because of some societal acceptability reasons, I have to go through the whole entree and main sequence, before I can get to dessert. This is such a waste of time and not to mention, stomach space. By the time I get the chance to order dessert, I would be so full that I would not feel like eating dessert. It's like, the moment has been lost, the appetite is gone. Because of this, I rarely eat dessert these days. But I love it nonetheless. Perhaps a lot more now than I've ever done before. I have no self control when dessert is around.

Why we put dessert as the last course is one of the things that baffles me to no end. Who decided that the order of things should be entree, main and then dessert. Why can't dessert be first, for once? At least for the people with sweet tooth. Seriously. If we allow ourselves the chance to eat dessert first, then perhaps the world wouldn't be so fat. 

For this reason, sometimes I find it easier to sit down and eat meals with people I actually like. Because the chance of me eating the food I like with these people are higher. It's not so much that we like the same things, but it's more that we are more tolerant of what each other likes. In my younger days, I agreed to a quick catch up with some old acquaintances, with one of them insisting that we ate Thai food. I am allergic to coconut, they ordered curry. It was one of the worst tortures of my life. Never again.

Why is it so hard to just stay true to ourselves, pick one course of action and then leave it to other people to accept that? Especially if our chosen course of action somewhat deviates from societal expectations, like eating dessert first. Or like you gotta get married once you reach a certain age, and once you're married, you have to have children; or something that's more prevalent in Asian society: you have to earn this much money, do this kind of job, amass this much wealth - never mind that it is actually good enough that you do an honest, legit job for a living, or that you are doing something remarkable like saving the world from itself and/or fighting poverty (or at least try to). 

Why do we have to keep on apologising for wanting to do something that is outside of this 'norm'? 
 
We know that we should just life life; make no apology and just bloody own it: this is your life. This is a concept that sounds so simple on paper yet rather difficult to implement in life. How many times do we make decisions because someone else wants us to make that decision? How many times do we do things that we otherwise would not have done just to keep someone (we may or may not love) happy? How often do we do things for this thing called "image", or as some people would put it, "what would other people thing?". Why do we place so much importance on what others think? It is so self-absorbed to assume that others think that much about you, because chance is that they don't. How much do you think about others? You think about yourself all the time because it is human tendency to think about oneself, which is why we are taught to be selfless, you see, as there is a good chance that it doesn't come naturally (yet it can be learned). 

Because sometimes, all that I ever wanted, is to eat dessert first. And it kills me that I can't.

***
I am on Twitter, instagram and another blog. This is probably why I perpetually feel like I am always running out of time.

Thursday 24 April 2014

I like happy babies. And happy kids.


One of my good friends have just had a kid, as in the baby was born like today (at the time of writing). Most of my friends are with a child or two. Me, as another friend put it, I am in no hurry.

Yes, I did say previously that there is no point of being married if you don't procreate, as in, if one day I were to get married, then that is because I wanted to procreate. Turns out that my desires to procreate are like... err... non-existent right now, thus I don't see why I should even consider procreation in the absence of such desires. The worst thing one can do in life is to be a reluctant parent. Or I should have said, one of the worst things I could do in my life is to be a reluctant parent. Biological clock issues asides, an equally important issue is whether one wishes to be a parent or not.

Get this: whenever I come across as a cute photo or a video of a friend's cute baby, it always makes me smile. Without fail, every time. And yes, sometimes, I watch them more than once, in succession. I can't help it, it's cute, it makes smile, sometimes laugh, it makes me feel good, without me actually having to do anything substantial. Happy babies make you happy. Happy babies almost make me want to have a kid. Almost.

Of course these are also true: (1) happy babies are not happy all the time and (2) not all babies are happy. Some babies are happier than others, and some babies are more high maintenance than others (they are all high maintenance). Let's not go down to estimates, numbers and percentages as to what makes up happy babies versus non-happy babies, because that's not the point. The point is this: I only like happy babies.

It is obvious that happy babies are attractive, just like happy people are attractive - you know, happiness is contagious and all that jazz. So if I get to pick the sort of kid that I may end up with, then yeah, okay, I shall give it further consideration. Of course it doesn't work this way. I know that. And people derive this rather odd pleasure of telling me things that I already know just because I am putting forward an impossible alternative. Then again, it is only impossible until it's done. I don't wish to discuss this further, by the way, for fear that I may be labelled as playing God or anything along those lines. Or that designer babies are less of babies than their naturally designed counterparts. Whatever.

What makes babies happy? How much of it is nurture vs nature? I would like to think that happy babies are healthy babies, you know, the ones who are fed on a regular basis, poop on a regular basis (trust me, this is important) and sleep on a regular basis. I hate feeling hungry and I hate being constipated and I am always cranky whenever I don't get enough sleep. So I have a very low expectation of a happy life: if I am fed, have poo-ed and slept enough, then I am happy. [All of these plus a great husband, great friends and other great stuff make for a great life, to me. Other great stuff includes great shoes.]

Those are the physical stuff. The non-physicals are: independence, self-reliance and a good heart; plus a healthy sense of balance. I don't like babies who cling so desperately to their mothers, for example, I like the ones who are comfortable being around people (fair enough if they cry they run to mommy). I like babies who come over for cuddles occasionally, but spend most of their waking hours happily playing away on their own. And if they can share their toys, that would be even better. Wishful thinking? Probably. One can hope.

I am generally pretty honest about my stance on this matter, although this is the first time I have ever written this, ever. There are people who love kids, like all kids. I am not one of those people. If I see a kid who doesn't want to eat, you can bet your money that I will not be spending any time or effort to convince the kid to eat. This is to be differentiated from feeding kids who want to eat, which I have done a few times, thanks to having nephews and nieces. Actually, that's a lie. If they don't want to eat and they're supposed to eat, I ask the mum to change the food, and this usually solves the issue. There is no point forcing the kid to eat something they don't like. Seriously. Too much effort. I opt for the solution that requires less effort for me (okay, perhaps not so much the mum).

Side note: when I was looking for a title for this piece, I wanted to write "I like happy babies. And happy kids. And happy people" before I stopped myself just in time and deleted the last three words. Because I don't really want to write why I like happy people and because it infers that I dislike the opposite. I think, if we were to be honest with ourselves, and we get to pick our moods and the moods of the people in our lives, we all opt for the ones who are happy, who are positive. But life is not like that, we can't be happy all the time and we learn to offer support for our friends when they are not happy, in the hope that they would feel better. Anyway, if you want to comment, you gotta do so via Twitter (it's free!). For less heavy stuff, head over to Project Rum n Raisin, and instagram for some drool-fest.

Thursday 17 April 2014

... in which I conclude that I am superficial

[At the time of writing] I ate too much yesterday. April is definitely the month whereby people I love is celebrating their birthdays so I've been busy taking them out for food. When I go out to eat, I have a tendency to pick the place that serves huge servings of food, because I am one of those people who are perpetually hungry. Post eating, talking and laughing, it would be a given that we left feeling stuffed to the brim, and ... happy. That was bound to happen. We were hungry, we ate, we talked, we laughed, of course we were happy.

But this is not a post about how to be happy, there is a plethora of materials out there on the topic. Whilst I consider myself happy in general and often find myself in the company of some really happy people out there, I do not believe that by simply being happy makes us experts in happiness. I do not know how exactly it all started, you know, all those people claiming to be happiness gurus because they have written somewhere "how to be happy" as if it is one secret of life that you have to discover before you can be actually happy. It doesn't work like that. Happiness is not something you can easily throw your money to in exchange for an ever-lasting version. But perhaps, you can keep on purchasing temporary high-es and you can fool yourself into thinking that you are perpetually happy.

Happiness is a good feeling, and in a life whereby we are all conditioned to feel, given the choice, of course we all want to feel good most of the time. Of course we are all searching for happiness, or chasing happiness or whatever verb you like to choose - we all like to think that we are working extremely hard in the manifestations of our happiness. And for some of us, that thought alone is enough to sustain our happiness; that at least, we are doing something about it.

In their quest for happiness, the people I love are seriously considering finding that other someone to, you know, spend their lives with on a regular basis. This is no easy feat, as some of us may attest to. Yet it is definitely rewarding, so it is definitely worth doing. I was a non-believer previously and neatly scoffed when someone told me that being with someone [who is the right person] is better than being alone. Love can be so painful for those who do not believe. If you were to ask me how I find the right person, the answer is that I don't know; just because I have found someone whom I think is the right person doesn't mean that I know how to find the right person for others. It doesn't give me any expertise or authority on the subject. It only gives me experience, and perspective. I do not know what the formula for success is. I do not know how the universe decides to align all those factors for that union to happen. I do not know what I have done to deserve such good fortune. All I know is that I am very, very lucky.

Nonetheless, this journey of finding the right person is so personal to each individual that it is dangerous trying to generalise one person's perspective, experience and failures. I get that there are general characteristics that are exhibited by the different sexes in this planet, and that said, every person needs to be comprehended based on his/her own individuality. So, first and foremost, get to know this person that you want to be close with. Second, and this often happens as a secondary effect, you would get to know yourself a little bit better.

Case in point is this - I have always known that I am attracted to beautiful people, I mean, who isn't? And while I like to think that I am not that superficial, I am well aware that I can be perceived as someone who is. I can't help the fact that I am friends with beautiful people, because well, okay, my friends are beautiful, at least in my eyes (and that is all that matters to me, as in I don't really care about what other people think about us). Over the years, I have copped quite a mouthful from a number of people who said something along the lines of: are you only friends with beautiful people?

Honestly, is it so wrong that the answer to that question is a yes? I regard my friends are beautiful because they are good people, they are kind, loving, understanding and their presence always makes me feel better. Which is also why they are my friends. The fact that they are physically attractive is just an icing on the cake. I don't know what it is, I always find that people with good hearts tend to be somewhat physically attractive too. Perhaps it is true that inner beauty does shine through. As for the fact that we invest a lot of time into our physical appearance, that is just a hobby.

Physical appearance is a rather odd thing. It can be so offensive without any intention from the part of the individual to do so. I admit that when I every time I go out of the house, I would dress myself in a way that shows respect to the people I am about to meet. As in, I would not go out in my pjs. As in, I would put something decent on so as not to accidentally offend someone in the process. [Side note: whenever I wear my shorts, I always offend a stranger or two, mostly women. Bitch, seriously.]

Like it or not, physical appearance is the first point of judgment. When we are physically attracted to someone (a stranger), we want to get to know them.This is particularly true when you are in the journey of finding a potential life partner; this trend of lack of initial physical attraction is a deal breaker for a lot of people. I get that physically attractive guys have the ability to make their opposite counterparts weak at their knees, so they get an advantage purely thanks to their good genes (and healthy eating and exercise habits). Yet I would like to think that just because a guy is physically attractive, does not automatically make him attractive to me because well, you know people say beauty fades and all that?

So, superficial as I may come across, perhaps I don't place that much of an importance to physical attraction after all. Or perhaps I do, and I am in deep, deep denial. This makes me think about early days of dating with (then) le boyf (now husb). Basically I am shit at remembering a lot of things about my relationship (I suffer from the rosy introspection bias). I almost resorted to asking le husb about this whole physical attraction thing. But then, given that I would be the one asking the question, then I would have thought that he would say yes. I mean, uh, okay, there is always that possibility that he doesn't say yes, and if that were to happen, then I am pretty sure that I would feel really really shit. I can't help it, okay. I am shallow like that.

What I am trying to say is this: I get that physical attraction is a big part of the whole attraction thing, but surely, it is not the only thing that sustains the attraction? Let's face it, we are all edging one second closer to death, and that pretty much means we are subjected to this thing called aging. Last I check, aging is not exactly physically-enhancing. So why do we place so much emphasis on physical attraction.

AND, what does that mean to people who are not physically attractive? Gawd, don't give me this thing about how everyone is beautiful in their own way. There are some people who are not physically attractive and that is a statement of fact, not just on my part but on everyone's part. After all, for every person that you find good looking, you would find at least another one who is not.

Anyone want to help me reconcile this? Other than to tell me that I am completely, totally and abso-fuckin-lutely superficial? I'll be on Twitter. If you don't want to, that's okay, because there is instagram and my other blog, in which I engage in a whole lot more superficial stuff. 

Thursday 10 April 2014

The fourth date milestone

I am the last person in this planet who is remotely qualified to comment on relationships because I can never keep a straight face when stumbling upon relationship advice columns.

Currently, I am exposed to a variety of relationship issues simply due to the fact that I have a good mix of people in my life who are attached with kids, who are not attached but with kids, who are attached with a kid on the way, who are attached with no kids, who are not attached and want to be attached, and who are not attached and do not want to be attached. Each have their own sets of relationship problems, but today I want to talk about the last two groups.

The last two groups of people are the ones who are often the most confused when it comes to relationships. This is not so much because they do not know what they want, they do, and they have articulated it over and over and over again. The confusion stems from the fact that they just do not know how to read other person's behaviour.

There is this universal understanding that by the time it's the fourth date, you have a pretty good feel as to whether you want to be with this person (as in taking it to the next level) or not. I mean, what is the point in asking someone out so many times if you are not even attracted to them, right. So whether you make it to your fifth date is really the key here.

Because in the fifth date, supposedly, you have the are-we-taking-this-to-the-next-level kind of talk, after which you would discover whether you two are in the same page (or not) and then hopefully sort things out from there accordingly.

All of these sounds so juvenile, doesn't it? It is like who has that talk in this day and age? Answer: everyone who is single, apparently*. Because we cannot assume anything any more, and nothing is inferred any more: just because we've been hanging out does not mean we are an item because we never had the agreement, you got it? But it doesn't mean we have to abstain from fucking.

If I can put a word to summarise this, then that would be this: painful. For the most part, I do sympathise with all the singletons out there who want to be attached, who went on 4 dates and subsequently found that the person they had been dating is not interested in them, for reasons that are often related to something that they can control. And because of this, I am of view that if you've found love, well, you are lucky.

And if you haven't, go find out as soon as possible. Don't wait till the fourth date, it's a waste of time. You're either in or you're out. 

*I asked my then-boyfriend (now husband) if we had this talk, and he said yes. And ever since, I have been wracking my brain trying to recall that particular moment. I can only hope that it was a civil conversation. I mean, it must be, right, given that it's not that memorable. Surely, if it was like during one of our fights, then I would have remembered it? I have given up on trying to recall both that conversation and when it happened.

As always, on Twitter for chats, instagram for drool-fest and other random musings on my other blog.

Wednesday 26 March 2014

On money, again

The other day I wrote a post on the money's code of silence. Since then, I couldn't stop thinking about it.

I will not aspire to something so ambitious as cracking this code because (1) I don't know how to, and (2) I don't really want to speculate, you know, for various undisclosed reasons that are primarily directed at my desire to avoid misunderstanding. There has been a few times whereby I was incapable of writing in a way that is understood in the way that I intend it to be. I would love to say that other people have an uncanny ability of taking what I said a little bit too literally during the most unfortunate moments. But it is mostly attributed to me not being bothered enough to explain myself, let alone my meanings. I feel so grown up; ten years ago, that sentence would never have crossed my mind.

Money is a fascinating medium: it can be so much more than its purchasing power alone. Money can change the dynamics of your relationships with people, money changes how people look at you, treat you, befriend you, money makes people behave differently, choose differently, live differently. People may even love you for your money, or stop loving you for your lack of money. It is a sad, harsh reality of life. I am tempted to run a social experiment whereby I declare myself a lottery winner and see how many people 'suddenly' want to catch up with me. I have not won the lottery yet, and given that I have written about this experiment here, chance of me running it is like pretty much zero.

It is not about my refusal to spend my money or even share it; it is about how others simply expect me to spend my money on them. This is something I find incredibly annoying: what makes you feel so entitled to other people's money. If I have to pay for the pleasure of your company, that is a fact that I prefer to know upfront, thankyouverymuch. Even when I had the desire to spend money on these people, their sense of entitlement usually puts me off. Seriously. Have we forgotten what it is to be courteous, or not even that, how about just being... socially acceptable?
 
Thankfully, these days I am no longer fronted by this issue on a regular basis. People I call my friends are those people who have been raised well and they would never, under any circumstance, demand that I spend my money on them. And if I do spend my money on them, because I am nice like that, they have the courtesy to accept and then return the favour. The last bit is something they don't have to do, but they always do, and this is something that is independent of how much money they make (or at least my estimates). 

Because of what I see in my friends, I like to go on living life, and observing other people's lives and coming to the conclusion that who we are (and more importantly, who we are not) has nothing to do with the size of our bank balances, savings account and investments. The older I get, the more I realise that, whether that is true or not, I am not so sure anymore.

I get judged on my monetary decisions on a very regular basis, by friends and strangers alike (case in point: buying lunch). If I were to be completely honest with you, I have also been on the other end of this judgment stick: I am guilty of judging people's spending habit. And when I say people, what I really mean is my friends, not so much some random stranger. (Although there was this one time whereby I got a compliment on the necklace I was wearing, which was like some random necklace I bought at a flea market, which was unlikely to be vintage, only to hear the same person calling me fake because in her opinion, those stones are not real turquoise. Bitch, seriously? After being affronted by something so unexpected, I cannot not judge.)

Because I don't care about what some random strangers are buying - it is their prerogative. However, if you are my friend and you have gone shopping with me, chance is that I have judged you based on what you buy. Lest you think that this is a bad thing, let me kindly remind you that I am not the sort of person who would let you make a bad choice. Seriously. If something makes your bum looks big, and I love you enough, I will tell you. I may even choose something more flattering for you. You're welcome.

Okay, yes, we can go shopping together! You can contact me via Twitter, @drbelles. You've worked out what Twitter is by now, yes? You can find a more superficial side of me in my other blog, and snippets of my life on instagram. You may even get a glimpse of the fake turquoise necklace!