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," truly resonates with me.

Not long ago, I enjoyed the surreal luxury of leaving work on time every day, with public holidays and weekends off, and not having to work during sick leave, on paid holidays, or after hours. Now, I find myself grappling with the chaos of modern life. The deeper I dive into social media, the more I lose the precious "me-time" I once had. It feels like I’m always on call—emails and WhatsApp messages flood in no matter where I am or what time it is.

It seems many Singaporeans struggle to grasp the concept of work-life balance. I was fortunate to spend two years at John Wiley & Sons, where I learned what true balance looks like. We were actively discouraged from working after hours, on weekends, and during public holidays. When we were sick, we were expected to focus on recuperating, not replying to emails. If you were working after hours, it raised questions about your productivity during the day. This was their culture.

Additionally, we were granted an extra half day off before every major holiday, recognizing the diverse cultural landscape in Singapore. The UK and US teams understood that when Malays and Indians enjoyed a half day off before CNY and Christmas, the Chinese deserved the same before their New Year. It made sense.

Ironically, I haven’t encountered this kind of understanding in any Singaporean company I’ve worked for, despite the nation’s pride in its multiculturalism.

There’s a misguided belief among some Singaporeans that if you’re sick, you should still be answering emails and texts. If you don’t work after hours or on weekends, you’re seen as lazy. I find this cynical mindset baffling.

I miss my life in the publishing industry, where authors, professors, and doctors were a more pleasant group to work with. The perks that John Wiley offered have set a standard that few companies—except perhaps Google—can match.

I fondly recall walking into the office free from political tension, headphones in, working in a peaceful, conducive environment. I miss the two-hour lunches with colleagues, sharing ideas and discussing politics instead of gossip. I long for the simple pleasure of finishing work at 5:30 PM and walking to the lobby to see my black Mazda waiting for me.

I've come to realize that fame and prestige aren't what I seek. I want to be carefree, yet recognized as an academic—someone who loves books and literature. I’m not interested in writing ostentatious press releases or fancy copy. The spotlight of social media feels overwhelming, and dealing with the online crowd can be stressful. If you’ve spent time on social media, you know exactly what I mean—some people seem to revel in negativity, and there are those who thrive on being cruel.