Silence

It was September 12, 2015 that I decided to disappear and live a life of a recluse. I didn’t want to take a shower but decided to because I desperately wanted to brush my teeth. I had this unspeakable paranoia that if I don’t brush my teeth for a day, they will all be gone the next day. Sitting on the toilet bowl and emptying the little of which I’ve consumed the day before, I found out that the bathroom felt safer than my bedroom. It’s where I smoke and clean myself.

“Since you’re taking a shower anyway, why don’t you make sure you clean every inch of your body real clean?”

I have a habit of buying and keeping toiletries as and when I visit Watson’s. I always have a fear of running out of toiletries. Even when I do have a lot of travel sized ones, I still feel safer with the full sized version. I am worried about having no shampoo, no shower gel, no toothbrush and no facial foam. Funny thing is, I never worried about running out of toothpaste. My youngest sister was the one who worries about that so she always has it covered. I guess I take this for granted.

*

How could one who live in the light of day comprehend the depths of night?

*

I had to put away the Haruki Murakami book that I was reading. Once again, I fear that if I ran out of his books to read, I’ll be lost again in the depressed funk that I’m very familiar with and start crying. I made myself noodles and coffee for breakfast this morning. When I was still hungry, I had three crackers and felt bad for having nothing nutritional but carbohydrates.

*

“Hey, are you OK?”

“No.”

“OK.”

The phone ranged and exchanged were three short sentences that lies a whole lot of underlying meaning beneath. The display of concern at the beginning, followed by something which the asker didn’t want to hear, followed by something which the respondent didn’t want to hear. What’s the point of checking in on someone when you know you are incapable of doing anything if she’s not OK? Don’t anyone realize it makes people feel more helpless than she already is?

*
I can’t talk today. Or rather, I’m tired of talking and I have nothing I want to have a control of anymore. Things are not expressed don’t exist. If we strictly abide by the learning of this, reality will crumple. Kingdoms will fall and the government will cease to exist. It’s as simple as that.

“If you don’t say it, how will anyone know it?”

“It exists within me and I know it.”

“Bullshit.”

Goodbye Kitteh.

Everyone damn girl I see;

they look like they will make you happy.

They look like your dream girl...

one of them must be. 

Everyone, anyone

but me.

When Is Too Much Too Much?

I've been sitting alone pondering about the failures I've had in life and asked if I'm indeed as what they have labeled me to be - not strong enough. If I take away the self blaming element of this entire career saga that I've been going through, I realized it isn't me who's flawed. It's the work and elitism system here in Singapore that is. Having been out and about MNCs and SMEs, I noticed the huge jaw dropping difference in both. MNCs care a great deal about employee welfare, SMEs only care about the business. And when you only care about your business, guess what, you shall forever remain as an SME.

I've been down in the rut recently questioning myself once again what is the matter with me. I ran a barrage of questions I had with my friends who worked or work in creative agencies in hope to determine if I've being fairly treated at work. The answer they gave was no. I'm on the client side and rightfully speaking, it shouldn't be as taxing as it is on the agency side. Yet my friends from agencies can tell me, that they think it's too much.

No more self reproach. For I've taken far too much medication to calm myself when I wake in the middle of my sleep to weep like a child. I haven't been sleeping well that's to say. No, I haven't been sleeping at all without the aid of my medication. I'm most probably labelled as flawed and weak in the eyes of workaholics and control freaks. But in all honesty, I don't give a damn. This is my life after all.

Paying Dues

The saying, "You'll never know what you got till it's gone" is real.

Long time ago, I had the luxury of what people consider surreal of knocking off on time every day, granted Public Holidays and all weekends off, and not having to work when you're on sick leave, on paid holiday and after-hours. These days I find myself trying to comprehend what's going on in my life. It seems, the further I dive into social media, the more I lose the luxury of me-time. I'm always on call it seems. Emails and whatsapp messages just keep coming in no matter where you are and what time it is.

It seems Singaporeans hardly have an idea on what work/life balance is. And fortunately, I was with John Wiley & Sons for a good two years that clearly showed me what it really should be. We were discouraged to work after-hours, on weekends and public holidays. When we're sick, we be sick. We recuperate and get well, get ample rest so that we could return to work asap. If you're sick and replying emails, your boss in the UK is going to question whether you're really sick. If you have to work after-hours and on weekends, it shows you're unproductive during your usual working hours. That was their culture for you. I didn't mention that we too received an additional half day off before every ethnical holiday in Singapore because people in the UK/US understand that when Malays and Indians get to enjoy half day off prior CNY and Xmas, then Chinese too should enjoy half day off before their new year. Make sense?

The irony is, no Singapore company I've worked in practises this even though the country prides itself highly on celebrating multi-racial, multi-religion.

Singaporeans have a warped idea of the entire paragraph I wrote above. If you are sick, you should be replying emails and texts. If you don't work after-hours and on weekends, you're lazy. That's something I cannot seem to understand. Such cynical thinking it is isn't it?

I miss my life back then in the publishing industry. Where authors, professors and doctors were a better bunch of people to deal with. Not to mention, the perks that John Wiley spoilt me with have now been deeply etched into me. It has raised the bar to this high that no company (except for Google) could top. 

Where I would walk into the office not worrying about politics, plugged in to my music as I worked throughout the morning, in an environment where it's conducive, quiet and peaceful. I miss the two hour lunches my colleagues and I take every day, just sitting at the pantry, talking about ideas, politics instead of gossiping about people. I miss knocking off at 5:30pm and walking down to the lobby to see the black Mazda waiting for me. 

I've finally learnt that fame and prestige isn't what I'm after, after all. I want to be careless but be recognized as an academist, someone who's into books and literature. I don't wish to write ostentatious press releases nor fancy copies. I don't enjoy the limelight of the social media world because it's so pressurizing to have to deal with the internet crowd. If you've been in social media for a while, you would totally get what I mean. Some people just have venomous tongue and there are people born evil.