CHRYSALIS

It is April Fool's Day in Singapore. I have been taking setamol, serratiopeptidase as well as amoxicillin, three times a day, for the past, I dunno what, four days? I think they're working but I have also had a lot of time by myself, being delirious and thinking incessantly, because idle hands (and brains) are the devil's workshop, as if the devil doesn't already reside in me when I'm at 100% health capacity - I kid, I don't believe in the devil. I don't fall sick often, but when I do, it feels like the end of the world, because when my system shuts down, it shuts the hell down. You know how caterpillars turn into butterflies and they don't actually quite know why they're spinning cocoons around themselves and turning themselves into jelly, and they don't even know that their end goal is to become butterflies? Yeah, imma coerce myself into believing this sickness is my chrysalis stage. Is this part of my delirium? Possibly, probably, yeah-huh. I've been taking my antibiotics and I think it's those pills that are upsetting my digestive system/stomach and making me churn and nauseous every time I eat, but if I don't eat, my sister says I won't have the energy to get better, so you tell me. For some reason, all this time to myself/by myself has made me realise how much of a mess of contradictions my mind and I are: I wonder if everybody is like this - I know I am possibly an average of many people I know, so yeah, I would assume most people are a mess, a mass of contradictions. I watched Netflix's The World's Most Extraordinary Homes, and at first, just like anyone watching the show, I of course thought, damn, I also want to build an extraordinary house somewhere in the Santa Monica canyons of CA, or in the gorgeous lush canopies of New Zealand, or in the Catskill Mountains of NY. Then I realised, all the people on the show, all the home owners are white people, they are Caucasian - regardless of which region of the world the episode is filmed in, they are white. Then I think, I cannot possibly allow myself to live in such luxuries whilst developing countries are still called developing countries instead of "countries struggling to recover from being ruthlessly pillaged and systematically destabilised" - I mean, white people make up only 20% of the world population, but from the North to the South, the East to the West of this planet, the richest of them, and the ones with the most ludicrously luxurious, beautiful, extraordinary of homes are still white. Why? Why do I date white men, four out of five of whom will tell me that the biggest problem they see in the world is income/wealth inequality, and yet continue to spend their money on visiting a new country every time, with a misplaced belief that visiting more countries means what, that you're one step closer to reaching nirvana? That they are somehow more worldly-wise? What is the point of recognising a problem that is almost unanimous with everyone else's worst/most urgent problem in the world, then closing both eyes to it? What have you done, that was not inherently for yourself? These questions, they are questions I ask myself because I know I'm a mess of contradictions, but I still find myself attracted to people who have never known it about themselves, nor seemed to ask themselves the same. My sister says I am more irritable because I am sick, and it is possibly true, I haven't been eating nor sleeping properly, and I just want to eat and sleep. Butterfly or not, please let me just be well enough to eat and sleep again.

PRAYER CIRCLE

Let us form a prayer circle for my health no I’m kidding prayers don’t do anything I’m just popping pills like it ain’t no thang. Also chugging water. Also binge-sleeping. Nothing seems to help, so. Just letting y’all know if I die, I would like everyone to share the funniest stories they know about me and not cry at all. Yes, I’m being dramatic. Life is an adventure and the most adventurous of times may happen in sickness, I honestly don’t know what has been going on in my brain.

SICK, SICK, SICK

I keep having intense headaches and fluctuating fevers that probably means the infection is putting up a hell of a fight, but the dramatic bitch in me is convinced that I have a brain tumour, especially 'cos I dreamt last night that I had a brain tumour, but since when have my dreams ever been right?

BUTTERFLIES AND HURRICANES

Me being me, I went through my Facebook posts and came across the one I'd written when I'd just found out I was pregnant and had had a miscarriage. It was initially only visible to people I knew were trustworthy, but after my mum found out, I made it public like my other posts. The way my mother found out was she opened a bill that I'd gotten from the hospital, one marked private and confidential and addressed to me, legally an adult at 26, a bill that I'd stored away in my own drawer, so yes, if anyone asks why I have trust issues, I would say, you can't trust anyone.

This is what it says:

If you had been following my Instagram stories, it might have caused you dismay at my levels of anguish, as some of you asked me what was wrong. I could not answer because I was only just beginning to comprehend things and my family had just experienced the passing of a loved one, so I did not want to cause them more stress and worry, and I still don't want to now. However, the storm has come to pass, somewhat, I guess, and it's time to talk about it, because I don't want to pretend it didn't happen.

A week ago, I suspected I was pregnant and eventually confirmed it with test kits and at the clinic. I told Joey first, of course, and I told him my gut instinct, which was that I wanted to keep it. I let him know that he was not obligated to be involved because it was unplanned, but the baby was mine and I wanted it. Joey understood and although he felt guilty as it was not in his life plan, he did not try to change my mind as he respected that I am an adult and am capable of making my own personal decisions.

I talked to a few of my closest, most trusted friends. Most of them advised me not to keep it, because I am not financially stable, nor is having a baby at this age part of my (travel-the-world, settle-somewhere-else) life plan. They don't want me to bring a life into this world and give it an instant disadvantage against its peers.

I understood their perspectives but at the same time, once upon a time, /I/ was this kid, and I felt so much for it, so much more than anyone else could. My mother also conceived me as an "accident", she struggled for many years, and I never lived quite as comfortably as many of my Singaporean friends I know. And yet, and yet, she managed, we managed, and I managed to have lived quite the fulfilling 26 years of my life so far.

I don't deny the tough times, of turmoil, of financial battles between my parents, of my mum only badmouthing my father, of being too distracted by family sagas to have focused on my studies, of not having a family income strong enough to see me through to university. I also don't deny I love my mum all the more for it, for having struggled for me, and I have received love from my mum and from endless, countless people in my life, people who tried to help and push me forward in any way they could and knew best.

If I had raised this child, they might and probably would have experienced similar struggles, but I would have wanted to impart the knowledge that I'd myself received. I would have wanted them to learn that money and status may make things easier, but they certainly don't make things better. I have travelled, maybe not as luxuriously as some, but fairly extensively.

When my friends asked for my favourite experiences anywhere, I would invariably answer about the people I'd met. I met this guy who had the most amazing library of books and DVDs, I had a kindred soul sister in a lodge at Lake Tahoe, I met your father and we went on dates in the canyons, we got called out for public drunken-kissing one night, with my hands in his back pockets, because he always kept me warm in this world too cold for me.

("Joey, I need to pee." "Sarah, go pee in the bushes." "No...." "Why not?" "'Cos I'm a girl!" "So?" "Joey!" "Yes?" "I need to pee!" "....."

This back-and-forth happened multiple times, after you grasped my hand tight and held me up steady, crossing roads and navigating barriers.)

Your father was an adamant engineering genius but most nights, he would let me pick a movie, even the most frivolous ones, and after feeding me dinner, he would watch it to the end while I fell asleep in his arms. Maybe one of those nights, you had already been conceived.

I wanted my baby to know that regardless of educational or monetary status, the most important thing in life would be the people they knew and the relationships they would go on to forge. I wanted him or her to know that you could make anyone feel anything based on the person they were and the things they said, not with the money in their bank accounts or the things they owned.

When I travelled across LA, I met a few single dads who also had children being raised by their mothers in other states or countries. I was awed by their love, their ways of parenting through Facetime, reading aloud storybooks and discussing morals and themes, and I hoped Joey would do the same. I wanted my child to know that even if his or her parents weren't together, they could and would still have a decent and fulfilling life, because I wanted them to and I would make it work. I loved their father, he was a simple, honest, patient, hardworking man, I always felt safe with him and I liked many things about him. If my baby could have any of our character traits based on our genes (besides being really cute), they would turn out a good person and rather likeable, with any luck.

A select few of my friends, as well as my cousin and sister, said they would stick by me regardless my decision, meaning they were prepared to co-parent my child with me. My best friend Han called dibs on being godmother, and my sister Lyssa already planned to buy tiny baby shoes for my baby.

The funny thing is, I think my subconscious knew I had conceived long before I was physically aware. When I arrived back in Singapore, I was playing with my cousins' kids at Nabilah's wedding and my cousins asked when my turn to have a baby was. I offhandedly answered "in 9 months' time" afterwhich they smiled and teased "oooh! You just got back from the US! Must be someone there, was it Joey!" I sniggered and walked away but some part of me must have known it was true.

Unfortunately, since last weekend, I was bleeding thick, heavy clots and the clinic that confirmed my pregnancy referred me to the hospital's Accidents & Emergencies. They drew my blood, prodded up my vagina to do an ultrasound of my womb, but could not find my pregnancy sac. I suffered a miscarriage and am no longer pregnant.

I read that the sex of a foetus is determined at the point of fertilisation. Please don't try to console me with scientific facts that it had not developed a heartbeat or limbs or a conscience. It was already a girl or a boy, as far as I am concerned, it was a life growing inside me, it was a person I already loved, and I have lost him or her.

I am exhausted from the physical, emotional, mental trauma. I would like to be given space to cope with this. Please don't ask me if I'm okay. Please don't ask my best friends or sister if I'm okay. I'm not okay now, but I will be. I just want to sleep till 2017, and I will talk to any of you when I'm ready to talk to anyone. At the moment, I can't, don't and won't.

PS. If anyone has any connections to my family, please do not tell them, especially my mum. I may talk to them about this when I'm ready.

PPS. Please use contraceptives if you're not ready to have a baby. This goes to both men and ladies.

Thank you for your time. So Much Love from Sarah Mei Lyana.

Many things have changed since then. For one, I don't believe in God, nor the afterlife, so if such a thing happened to me again and I wasn't ready, I wouldn't be as attached to the baby, and abortion would surely be more of a viable option.

I also don't see Joey as having either a halo nor a pitchfork. He was a decentish guy, he housed me and we did lots of fun things together and we were friends, but he never signed up for a baby, and obviously, neither did I. I romanticised him too much, but it has eventually all faded away to reality. Of course, he was a dickhead for not wearing protection and then not being responsible for the aftermath but I guess worse things have happened. I now see that perhaps if I'd had that baby, I would and could have eventually cut Joey off from being a parent, because he was a dickhead, and the other person in my life who is always a dickhead is my biological dad, who remains a dickhead to this day, at the age of forty-six.

I think most importantly, though, especially after having gone through the miscarriage and the one and a half years of all sorts of mental and physical handicaps I've had since then, and the support systems I've come to rely on, and those that began to disintegrate, I've realised just how important parenthood is. I would not have been as good or as equipped a parent to a child if I didn't know what I know now, and that is at twenty-six years old, or even beyond, a child may and would still need their parent's support, and for their parent(s) to be in their corner, instead of against them, and if I ever, ever had an adoptive kid, I would make sure that I truly loved them unconditionally.

TRIGGER

I figured it out. The last time I was properly, full-blown sick, it was in LA. I had an ear infection and everybody from Abbot Kinney to Hollywood seemed to be worried about me, because I wasn't an American citizen and therefore nobody knew how much it would cost for me to see a doctor. I eventually ended up seeing one near Amoeba Records, not sure why.

 

My hosts were all trying to make me feel better, they made all sorts of health drinks, and let me sleep in their bedrooms while they took the couch, although as a couchsurfer, the norm is for guests to take the couch.

 When I first met Joey, I was still recovering. I remember one of the first things I texted him was whether I could crash at his place 'cos I wasn't feeling well, and he said "you're funny" and he also told me that their house was more of a party house, but I was welcome to try and rest.

As I got better, I also fell for him, but I left LA unknowingly pregnant and headed towards the nastiest part of my life. I saw the doctor today, and I have a throat infection, which caused a fever as well as headache and body aches.

I would think perhaps being sick is a reminder of being in LA. The good thing about this is apparently I was never really physically ill in 2017. The other thing is perhaps I can never fall sick for the rest of my life, or I can now be aware that when I'm sick, the delirium cannot be trusted, and I will not find myself in another mess just because I am sick, because I'm not always sleeping with strangers. I'm not even sleeping with anyone.

Imma go take my antibiotics, lozenges and other medicine, and crash. I hope you all feel better than I do. I feel like a right mess, both in my mind and body.

BACK

I am not feeling very mentally nor physically well. My head is burning up and so are the backs of my eyelids and my brain is throbbing and my back hurts but I’m shivering cold and I don’t know why. I feel like I’ve been running into too many things that remind me of Joey and I’ve been suppressing myself from thinking or feeling anything and I don’t know where my pills are, the ones that numb my anxiety and thoughts. I was in the cab home from work ‘cos I had no energy to take the train and my co-workers made me take a cab for fear I would faint, and I really wanted to fling myself out the door while we were on the highway, but I know I can’t do that to my mum. I’m in pain. Can someone, anyone who reads this, please check on me tomorrow? I need help. I don’t know why this is happening.

TRANSITORY

The scars under my arms are from the endoscopic thoracic sympathectomy surgery I underwent, to remove the sweat glands in my palms, because I used to have palmar hyperhidrosis which means I used to perspire incessantly from my palms, they perspired extensively and all the time. I would wet exam papers, other people’s hands, gadgets, I spoiled my laptop keyboard because the sweat would pool up. There are some stories that, whenever I tell someone who is only transitory in my life, I wonder when I will be able to stop. I wonder when I will stop meeting another new man who will ask me why I have scars under my arms.

SUCI DALAM DEBU

Since last night, I've been singing Suci Dalam Debu to myself and thinking about the lyrics. Malay is a rather romantic language and when you think about the lyrics in English, it sounds so cringey and strange, even funny, but in Malay they sound very natural and romantic.

I love the song and I tried to translate it into English as best as I could. The music video is super cringey though, it's from decades ago but most Malays will see it when they go for karaoke sessions, it's a staple 'cos it's such a good song.

Like, hear me sing about my real and unabashed love!!!!!

Also, this reminds me of someone who used to be my best friend, who was very interested in linguistics and is a teacher, and she used to share things like how language shapes people. People who grew up speaking the Malay language are possibly more inclined to be more romantic, because look at our language and words??? We don't even have the word fuck in Malay.


engkau bagai air yang jernih
di dalam bekas yang berdebu
zahirnya kotoran itu terlihat
kesucian terlindung jua

cinta bukan hanya di mata
cinta hadir di dalam jiwa
biarlah salah di mata mereka
biar perbezaan terlihat antara kita

ku harapkan kau kan terima
walau dipandang hina
namun hakikat cinta kita
kita yang rasa

suatu hari nanti
pasti kan bercahaya
pintu akan terbuka
kita langkah bersama

di situ kita lihat
bersinarlah hakikat
debu jadi permata
hina jadi mulia

bukan khayalan yang aku berikan
tapi keyakinan yang nyata
kerana cinta lautan berapi
pasti akan ku renang jua

you are like pure water
in a dusty container
even though the dirt can be seen
your purity still remains

love is not only in sight
love is in the soul
let this be wrong in their eyes
let the differences between us be seen

I hope you will accept
even if this love is sneered at
the truth of our love is
felt between us

one day
there will be light
the doors will open
we'll walk through together

there we will see
the truth will shine through
dust becomes diamonds
shame becomes blessing

it's not a fantasy that I am providing
but the truth
love may cause oceans to burn up
I would still swim, regardless

I have no clue why I am already awake at 9am, it is my off day but my body sort of works by clockwork/likes routine. Yesterday was a full day of bridesmaid duties, but now I am done! I'm gonna go for a full body massage today, thank freaking god of massages.

MEESEEKS

All I need is to keep awake for the rest of March. Last night, I went for a barbecue with the work fam. It was great but I have a sleep debt that might put the US national debt to shame lol no I’m keedz I’m just delirious from lack of sleep. I have had such a good, good, good week though, and my heart is so full. Thank you. :3 eeeeeeee less than three heart hahahahaha I’m talking nonsense, it has been nice and the wedding! The wedding! Ah. One day I hope to see my laptop again to embed Instagram posts but I haven’t been home enough to see my laptop at all. I’ve been out and about and perhaps, very likely in love.

UNICORN

We had a hen’s night for my cousin. I don’t have my laptop at the moment so I can’t embed the Instagram post right now but will include it when I’m home from work later. It was a lovely night, and I already shed tears. My cousins, one of whom is the bride and one of them another bridesmaid, were discussing how they would probably cry if they looked at me on the day and see me crying. I have a reputation for crying at every wedding we’ve had in the family so far. Considering the cousin who is getting married is my first best friend in life — we’ve gone to the zoo in matching overalls, we went through first crushes, we saw each other develop our own quirks and personalities, I really wonder whether I should even bother putting on makeup on Sunday. My face is going to be a right mess.

'COS I LIKE YOU

isn't it? isn't it? isn't it?
isn't it? isn't it? isn't it delicate?


This is my new favourite ever Taylor Swift music video. My sister Melyssa and I are very confused, we were like "damn it she might have all the shit problematic politics but we still suckers for her music and videos" we are suckers I tell ya, suckaz.

I love this video, though, I'm sure Taylor would love to be invisible sometimes, and so do I. Is this the new Taylor Swift music video I will emulate? Who even knows anymore?

I wonder if perhaps she also has BPD. I mean, you must have some pretty intense emotions to have written all those songs about people. You know, at the time I posted the Shake It Off cover video, a lot of people were telling me that I do remind them of Taylor Swift, which if you think about it, isn't such a good thing: she's a dramatic, self-entitled prick, who always makes things about herself.....

.....I am the Singaporean Taylor Swift, aren't I? Sighsies. Maybe she really does have BPD, I mean, we can't control our condition, okay!

Speaking of being invisible, I am going to be really candid in this post. I like attention, but I suppose I cannot control the sort of attention I get. Ever since I broke up with my first real serious boyfriend, a decade ago, I already knew there would be a problem writing about my relationships and love with men.

The girls he dated after me were all... quite preoccupied with finding out everything that had happened with him and I, even like, years after we actually dated. Also, the guys I dated would also be preoccupied in finding out the same thing.

So sometimes, when I'm dating or when I'm trying to get over someone, you can see their name like 40, 70, hundreds of times on this single page, and you wonder, is this girl really over him? I think I also make it difficult by writing it down, because yes, everyone probably gets reminded of their exes and their dates by hearing certain songs, or walking past certain places, but then the moment passes, and the link is broken, but I cement those moments by writing about them, and making them a thing.

I also use the word love very frequently, so it sets a lot of people on edge. I don't know what I'm trying to say, or I know, but I don't know how to say it. If someone's name is not in this post, then I am very much over them.

If you know all of the things, all of these things that everyone else does, and you know all of the things I've tangled myself in, and gotten other people tangled in, and you like me, you must like me for me?

we can't make any promises now, can we babe?
but you can make me a drink

IN THE END, IT’S HIM AND I

It’s March 17. I used to have a best friend who was born on this date. She is now 28. I now have three best friends that I’ve fallen out with/grown apart from. I hope it ends at three. It is about nine days to my first best friend in life getting married. I cannot wait, a little because I’m quite nervous as I am preparing for her hen’s night, and also will be by her side on her wedding day, but mostly because I’m so glad that her big day is finally here. I’m so happy for her, and you can bet your bottom dollar I will be in tears at some point of time on that day. I gotta set my makeup really well.

DOES NOT COMPUTE

Yesterday I told a colleague/friend from work that I’d seen her boyfriend on Tinder. I was next to her, sent her the screenshot for verification, and told her that I could see his Facebook friends on that account and her Facebook account was one of them, so it was definitely his legit account.

I thought that was it, but later that night I saw a guy friend of mine, whose girlfriend’s Instagram still has nice #couplegoals posts of themselves, on Tinder. And you know you can tell what people are on Tinder for: sometimes, just for a little benefit of the doubt, they could be networking or looking for friends or whatever, but you know when someone’s trying to pull, or get laid. You just know.

I am very tired. My father was not a faithful person (who knows if he is now), and I’ve gotten into my fair share of things — remember when I liked a man so much, I truly liked the person he was and trusted him because we had such an intellectual connection, until I found out he was cheating on his fiancée with me?

Maybe it is just my fault for believing in love and for trusting that other people believe in the same thing, or to expect men to be faithful. Who knows. I wish someone trustworthy would earn my trust again. People are such trash.

ZAYN AND GIGI

Zayn and Gigi are no longer together so we can all pack up now, pack our bags and go, because love is not real and nothing lasts and I am out. There is no such thing as love. I repeat: love does not exist! I’m going to only chase money ‘cos money is real.

Edit: today Stephen Hawking died and one of the things he said was “remember to look up at the stars and not down at your feet” and I needed that, look up at the stars look up at the stars look at the stars they are shining for us and we are shining of them

DEFECTOR

Asian-born Asian female friend: how is it dating white guys? Are there racial dynamics that come into play?
Me: talks non-stop about race, thinly-cloaked misogyny, class, power, social economics, etc

*five days later*

Me: still talking

Same friend: do they have bigger dicks?
Me, smiling from ear to ear: well, can’t say I’ve ever been disappointed

And there you have it, my friends, the best and worst human being in the world, Sarah Mei Lyana, A.K.A. ME

LITTLE TALKS

though the truth may vary this ship will carry our bodies safe to shore

A couple of months ago, I was in that weird funk, and I felt really poorly about myself. I wanted to be happy, really, all I want is to be happy, I don’t care about being happier than anyone else, I don’t care about this goddamn thing and making people think I’m happy, I just want to be happy, for my own sake. I told Aqilah it’s so hard because sometimes I think my happiness is directly tied up with a lot of other people’s happiness, and I don’t want to make them unhappy, but I don’t want to live to make someone else happy, either, you know. Aqilah turns fifteen this year, but she is very mature, she is the third sister in the household I live in, and everyone we know can tell she’s wise beyond her age. So she says, at her grand fetal age of fifteen years, she tells me “you don’t have to care about someone else’s happiness, not everyone can be happy at the same time. Imagine if Trump got his way and was happy because everything happens the way he wants, do you think you would be happy about it?” Then I realised, girrrrrrl, I know nothing about life and my sisters are the bomb. I cannot equate anyone else’s happiness with my own.

MICK AND RORTY

Today was a good day, I had VeganBurg with Han. It is a Monday and it was a good day, so imma go out on a limb and say this week will be a good week. My period app reminded me that my period will be here in three days, and therefore there is a low chance of me getting pregnant but the scientific truth is of course there is 0% chance of me getting pregnant because I don’t fulfill the basic criteria for getting pregnant. Very good, self. Very good indeed! Today I also watched Cosmos and it was about how the land on Earth all used to be one giant supercontinent, named Pangaea. To be honest, I really wish my family members would watch Cosmos, perhaps they might be a little enlightened. They don’t exactly watch the most educational of things, though. Sighzzzzz. I’m out. Have a lovely week ahead, my loves!

NIGHTMARE

I have a new nightmare that when I’m in the cage being lowered to see the sharks in the water, the chain somehow breaks and the cage sinks and the sharks follow it/me down in the sea and I’m fucking drowning and that would be the worst way to die and I keep picturing it in my head and I most definitely have to do this thing by the end of this year or I will make it into an even gorier Final Destination scenario and the pit in my stomach will never end.

SIERRA LEONE

One time, I was in an Uber in LA, and the driver made conversation ‘cos he knew I wasn’t from there (or not — I mean, they make conversation with everyone over there, so whatever) and he asked what my name was so I told him Sarah Lyana. He said “oooh that sounds like Sierra Leone, you know what that means?” I said I didn’t, so he told me it means mountain lion. Dyou know that another name for mountain lion is cougar? It is no wonder I like younger boys. Geeeeez.

One of my very favourite books is We Should All Be Feminists by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, it is pretty much a transcript of her TED talk of the same title. Please either read the book (it is a way short one, I bought it at the airport to read during a flight but finished it in 20 minutes before I even boarded) or watch the clip.


This is one of my very favourite quotes by her:

Of course I am not worried about intimidating men. The type of man who will be intimidated by me is exactly the type of man I have no interest in.

I loooooove it. Every day I try to remind myself, don’t fold into yourself, Sarah, don’t tone down, don’t bend, don’t make yourself smaller to fit into the space that a man will allow you. Don’t, not anymore. I am not worried anymore. The type of men who are turned off by me, is the type of men I am not interested in.

STACY’S MOM

I once had a colleague whom I was rather pally with, but in a pally way, because he was attached and I knew he was attached. I mean, sure, I could look at his face without wanting to vomit and sure, I laughed at his jokes, but then I did that with all my friends, male or female, attached or single. Whenever his girlfriend came around to our workplace, though, she would never smile at me nor even actually talk to me, and I did not know why, I tried to be polite and cordial. Then I found out that colleague of mine had cheated on her previously, and then I realised, what the fuck, couldn’t be me, I would never be able to continue being with someone who has cheated on me because, what the hell is the point, if I’m always going to be looking over his shoulder? My Lord, and that lack of trust, and the misdirected angst and distrust, I mean, I had never done anything wrong, it was him who had cheated. Other women are not the problem. If your man is loyal, it doesn’t matter what woman is in front of him, not even Alicia Vikander. Well, not unless you and your man have that Friends-inspired arrangement where you each get a free pass if you saw a celebrity and slept with them once. But I ain’t no celebrity, and I don’t know any couple who have that arrangement, anyway. Geez. Could. Not. Be. Me.

Anyway, today was their wedding day, as I saw from Instagram. That’s why I’m talking about it. Couldn’t be me. And I am so glad for that. I just wish all women knew men ain’t shit and that women deserve better.

SOME DAYS I WISH THAT I WASN’T MYSELF

Second ep, Hate That You Know Me by Bleachers was used in the soundtrack. I looked up the lyrics and see that Carly Rae Jepsen sang on it with them.

sometimes I hate that you know me so well
some days I wish that I wasn’t myself

It’s a very boppy song though, can’t get me down. Ahhhh how I miss... I miss. It’s a happy Friday night/Saturday morning. Still love, and still miss. We’ll see, we’ll see. Kinda want to text now but like, it’s 2.49am here so like, you know, do I miss him or do I miss him? Hehheh *waggly eyebrows* naw I don’t want him to think I’m incorrigible. I don’t want to text because I’m incorrigible, although I pretty much am.

HEDGE FUNDS

I just watched the first episode of the third and final season of Love and I squealed in cringey laughter for half the time. There was Japanese porn and masturbating, drones and fireworks and whoever wrote the script for this episode wins all the points. I die. The show is produced by Judd Apatow, I don’t know who that is and I’m gonna play my “I live in Singapore and certain parts of the media don’t trickle down to me” card although the truth is just that I don’t know lots of things, I’m not knowledgeable. But Mickey is played by Gillian Jacobs from Community, and who doesn’t love Gillian Jacobs and Community, amirite? Of course, only while Dan Harmon was the showrunner bc after that it pretty much went down the drain and nobody watched Community anymore. Love definitely ties with Black Mirror for my favourite Netflix series. I hate that it’s ending. Also I have decided that my future husband has to watch Love in its entirety and enjoy it as much as I do. I’m decidedly very sure that I have a future husband even though all current signs point otherwise but you know, I’m an 8, so I’m sure I’ll get a husband someday, if I don’t keep imposing new criteria like watching a billion TV shows and reading twenty thousand books.

NON SEQUITUR

The third and final season of Love is out on Netflix today (not just yet because it’s not Mar 9 in LA yet) and tomorrow is my off day so you know what I’ll be doing. Binge-watching Love, filling in apps. Perhaps exercising a bit, though that is rather unlikely given that I’m not inclined to exercise unless it is good for my core like sex but I don’t currently have a sexual partner, so binge-watching Love it shall be. Bye bitches.

INTERNATIONAL WOMEN’S DAY

If you are a woman, congratulations. You’ve been fighting a battle since birth, whether it’s to prove that you have as much brains as you are beautiful, or that you should wear whatever you want to wear and it does not mean anything about your worth or values, or that you have the right to dress up and love makeup and fashion without being shallow, or that only yes means yes, and at no point of a man thinking you are acting coy does it make it the truth nor justify him acting on his assumptions that you are acting coy, or that you can feel horny and initiate and pursue sex without feeling any shame for it, or that you absolutely don’t like or want children, or that you definitely want children and to stay at home and take care of them, or that you can do anything a man can do, just as well as they can. Keep fighting those battles, and if a man ever says anything like “why is there no men’s day as an equivalent to women’s day”, drop that man. If he doesn’t recognise that you have been constantly fighting your own battles as a woman and every day is pretty much Men’s Day nor recognise his privilege at being a man, drop him. Men ain’t shit. You’ve got this, girl.

1955

I watched an interview of Lin-Manuel Miranda on Oprah, and it was about Lin bringing Hamilton: The Musical to Puerto Rico at the start of 2019, in which he will be reprising his role of Alexander Hamilton (!!!!! if anyone gets me a ticket to this my soul is yours - just the musical ticket is fine, I'll settle airfare HAHAHAHA).

No but anyway, Lin talked about how when he was younger, he was always feeling a little out of place when he would spend one month out of a year back in Puerto Rico because he would always be a little gringo-ish (white man) for them, but back in the US, he was always the Latino/person of colour.

He then said that is what makes a good writer, if you always feel a little out of place, and something in my brain went ding ding ding (!!!!!!!!).

When I was in the US, they wouldn't believe I was Asian, because I spoke English very well, but they knew I wasn't from there, either, because I have an accent (I have been told it sounds closest to Indian, although I don't have Indian blood). And here in Singapore, nobody shares my ummmm, my vehement passion for "I will do what I want". I swear, everyone here cares about someone else's feelings and lives by those things rather than pursuing what they want.

So yeah, perhaps that is why I write.

Today there was a book fair at the mall where I work, and book fairs are the legitimate worst. I will never be able to walk past one without getting something, ergh, I HATE THEM. I judge books by their covers, though, so I took one that immediately caught my eye, by virtue of being neon pink.

It matches my new graphic tote bag. You know, some of my colleagues hate the colour pink, so they tell me not to wear so much pink, and I'm like, wow, way to go, for people who are supposedly supportive of marginalised communities, y'all are waaaaay open-minded and accepting. ;)

The first page of the book rather assures me that this is a read I will enjoy, it's an excerpt that the writer chose:

Was it Laurie Anderson who said that VR would never look real until they learned how to put some dirt in it? Singapore's airport, the Changi Airtropolis, seemed to possess no more resolution than some early VPL world. There was no dirt whatsoever; no muss, no furred fractal edge to things. Outside, the organic, florid as ever in the tropics, had been gardened into brilliant greens, and all-too-perfect examples of itself. Only the clouds were feathered with chaos — weird columnar structures towering above the Strait of China.
The cab driver warned me about littering. He asked where I was from.
He asked if it was clean there. "Singapore very clean city." One of those annoying Japanese-style mechanical bells cut in as he exceeded the speed limit, just to remind us both that he was doing it. There seemed to be golf courses on either side of the freeway....
"You come for golf?"
"No."
"Business?"
"Pleasure."
He sucked his teeth. He had his doubts about that one.

— William Gibson, "Disneyland with the Death Penalty", Wired, 1993

ROOM FOR TWO

In the past hour or so, I have been feeling at ease. Suddenly, the knowledge that everything is going to end, that the sun will run out of fuel, that humankind will cease to exist, that everything is meaningless, makes me feel much better. One day a couple of years down the road a Sarah will look back and wonder why I used to feel so much stress when there isn’t any need to. Whether I stay in Singapore, or move to the US, or move anywhere else, whatever happens, it really doesn’t bother me, lol. I don’t know how long this will last, until Trump enacts a ridiculous nationalistic Neo-Nazi policy? Until the next shooting that forces students to think about how to stay alive instead of how to do geometry? Until another big-scale sex scandal happens, forcing people to display their blatant disregard for feminist and gender equality issues? Until my mum inevitably polices what I wear? I dunno, we’ll see. My sister Melyssa was trying to show me a video of a dog who had had snow boots on his hind legs, causing him to walk an entire round on only his front paws, but before she could even find the video, she kept laughing uncontrollably. Life is alright. Even if it isn’t, even if it’s better than alright, or worse than alright, it’s still alright, because it will end. So it all works out to being alright. I wanted to see Dua Lipa but her tickets for Singapore are sold out, and I’m not paying more money to a scalper, so that’s alright. I mean, I like her songs enough on Spotify. Is this what it means to be a mentally-balanced adult? Maybe. We just have to see how long this lasts. What is going to set me off? I think tomorrow if Julien texts, I will let him know I don’t really want to date him anymore. I need a lot of attention (even text/online) and he doesn’t really give me much, lololol. It’s alright if you’re judging me for that, I am at least aware of my own boundaries and what I’m willing to settle for. That’s what dating is for.

HOLD UP

Today a friend asked whether Adam had nudes of me, and I was like, ehhhh yes, and I have his too, some smoking ones awwww yeah hehehe but of course we have stopped but yknow, whatever. But anyway so I asked why, and she said her boyfriend has hers, and he told her if they break up they wouldn’t be secret and he would upload their videos onto porn sites, but then he also told her he’s only with her for the sex, and I’m like, wait a damn second. The closest I’ve gotten to such manipulation by a man I dated is probably Daniel Grayson, who cheated on his fiancée with me, while I was completely unaware. I mean, everyone else has been, I dunno, stupid and young and foolish fuckbois. Like, as much as I want to be angry at Joey, what we did was a rookie mistake, we both knew I wasn’t on birth control and neither of us actually took much precaution, I didn’t see rubber that entire month hahahaha. I mean, I did get pissed because his crisis management was quite non-existent, but it’s also not his fault I come from a conservative background and my family made me feel miserable for nothing. What I’m saying is a lot of people I dated could have handled things much better, but most of them didn’t have any malicious intent, when you come right down to it. But emotional blackmail is a completely notha level. Abusers have premeditated motives and intention, and if he says shit like that, this guy is bad news. I just read an article of batterer’s intervention, so they were a circle of abusers who were asked whether they started abusing their partners immediately: they all said no, because if they did, then she would immediately leave — they would wait over a year and calculated an optimum of two years to hook her in and give her reasons to stay, before they started abusing her. This shit is real, these people are cold, calculating and manipulative. They are not drunkards, and it is not out of their control, these people have a malicious intent to hurt and anyway what I’m saying is sometimes we all need all the support we can get and I hope my friend has the strength to separate herself from the toxicity soon.

RAGS TO BITCHES

What is a rags-to-riches story, if not a token for the rich to justify that you can make it if you wanted to, if you were not lazy, even if the odds are against you, for the rich to continue to be complicit to a system that perpetuates a rich-poor divide. Rags-to-riches stories provide reassurance to both the rich and the poor, and sadly, for very different reasons. If you are a rags to riches story personified, please be aware and don’t let yourself be a token statistic, that the reason your story exists is that there are the rich, and then the poor.

TWO TICKETS TO IRON MAIDEN, BABY

Will I always think Teenage Dirtbag is relevant even well past my teenhood? Possibly.

I met my cousin Syafiqah and her husband Ziff at Superloco Customs House for some Mexican food. We shared the fish taco, beef quesadilla, ceviche and a squid dish (I forgot what it was). They're both in the advertising industry, and Ziff does art directing in Saatchi, telling me about their fast track program. They both gave me tips on my portfolio.

The conversation got to the #metoo movement, and Ziff talked about how almost a decade back in Singapore, an ECD at one of the big firms (Ogilvy I think), Robert Gaxiola, had been playing with multiple women, and then those women banded together to write a blog that named and shamed him. Sounds like something I would definitely be in on. I wanted to read it but it has been taken down!

We talked about Aziz Ansari and the Weinstein controversy, and it is always very interesting for me to see the views of other women as well as of men, because geez, do they differ. We were also wondering whether in Singapore, the law recognises that marital rape exists and Syafiqah used her phone to Google "husband rape wife Singapore" at which point Ziff exclaimed "why would you do that to your algorithm?!" because you know, now Google thinks perhaps it is an issue she's facing lolol.

They asked what I wanted to achieve with my novel, like what I want people to compare it to, and I instantly said Black Mirror. I know what I want in the novel, an alternative reality that does not exist, but I want people who read it to feel like it does exist, like it's real. I don't want to write and people to feel like I'm trying to create something that's not already there, it has to exist in the minds of my audience.

You know how when some writers write, the characters feel like they jump out of the page, like you're barely reading words off a page, but you imagine it happening somewhere, even if the technology currently does not exist: I want to craft a world like that - like how Black Mirror is pretty much happening, even though it doesn't, not technically. I don't have the ability to do that, not yet, so I'm reading works that engage that craft, until I do.

Ziff recommended a book about writing/storytelling (not sure which, perhaps both?) called Invisible Ink, so I have to go get that sometime soon.

We moved on to P.S. Cafe at One Fullerton and had yums dessert.

I had the ginger and earl grey pudding, served with ice-cream. Ziff had something chocolatey, and Syafiqah had her favourite sticky toffee pudding, but after tasting mine, she said maybe she would change to the ginger as her new staple. I loved mine, hehe.

At P.S. Cafe, we talked about children and how they can be the devil's spawn, sometimes regardless of how much their parents try. I said that having a diverse group of friends would perhaps help in envisioning the spectrum of people your child could turn out to be, but they were very shocked at this idea. Apparently even if you accept certain people as friends, you would still not want your children to turn out like them. This I found intriguing, try this exercise - if you have friends, people whom you actively choose to socialise with, that you would not want as your children, it means you are not ready for children.

I think it is very amusing, though, because I would think I am that friend people would not want to have as their child, I am insubordinate and I have a mind of my own, and I dunno, I question everything and hate accepting the status quo.

On the way back, Kak Syafiqah talked about how she had silently primed and conditioned Ziff to tweak his toilet-roll-changing habits, and was now trying to get him to tweak his eating habits, to like eggplant and squid ink and all that, and she says she's a little psycho, because she applied and applies behavioural conditioning to her husband after having read about it.

Then I realised, we are all a little psycho and to admit the areas in which you're psycho to other people, those are the best social circles, because it means you're giving the other party an aspect to judge yourself by, and more often than not, you don't get judged because the gesture is reciprocated by the other party making you privy to certain information as well.

We talked about tattoos, because Syafiqah's sister has several, and she is one of the few (maybe three, in a family of twenty-five cousins?) people in our family that has them, so I knew Syafiqah wouldn't quite judge me, although I could tell that she doesn't exactly approve, either.

It was a great Monday, and a great way to start the week. Have a really nice March, y'all.

Today I heard a song from La La Land, and I thought about two of my favourite places, Griffith Observatory and Yosemite, which I visited in winter, and had the most brilliant white snow/nature experience with my best friend at, and I think, I wish I didn't have to hustle so much to decide between going back to my favourite places, and to settle on something more crucial for my life path, because I am but part of the proletariat.

But that's a first world problem, and I can live with it. Hustle hustle hustle.

ETA CARINAE

My body is feeling all sorts of fucked up and I need a massage, stat. I slept till 2.30pm today and I’m still tired and sleepy so you know what that means: I’m old. I watched a little of Cosmos today and Neil deGrasse Tyson, who is the presenter, said nothing lasts forever, even the stars die, and I know this because we are made up of stardust and I think why the hell do I even try so hard? I will eventually be stardust — I might as well move to I dunno, Borneo and live in the wild. Sounds like a plan.