THERE IS A LIGHT THAT NEVER GOES OUT

For at least the last half of my life, my favorite number has been 28. It's a so-called auspicious number to the Chinese, I think, but for many years running, it was also my register number in class, and I felt an affinity with it. Before I turned 25 and experienced the rollercoaster that the past three years have been, I thought that when I turned 28, it would be the best year of my life. I would be happy, and I would have figured out love, and my career, and all those things that are supposed to make a life fulfilling. I am now twenty-eight years old, it's been ten months since I turned this age, as my birthday is coming up in May. Unsurprisingly, because life can rarely be planned or turn out as expected, this has not been the happiest of years. However, even though I can't be said to be completely happy, there is something about this past year that has satisfied me. With my father, I learnt to let go. I used to always have the expectations that he would eventually become a better dad, but all those expectations ever did was disappoint me. It tires me out to have contact with him, so I have slowly been setting up my boundaries. Sometimes you have friends that you can only spend time with in small doses, and sometimes you can't help if your parent turns out to be one of those people. Setting up boundaries is healthy, regardless who the other person is in your life. My mother is a religious person, and I am not. Just yesterday, while I was throwing up in the bathroom, she made comments about the shorts I was wearing, she said "how can I show you my concern when you keep doing these things." In the past year, I learnt not to allow my mother's expectations to color my impression of myself. I started wearing what I wanted, I got the tattoo I'd been wanting for a long time, I lived mostly the way I wanted to live. Then there was one. This man had the biggest butterfly effect in my life. After he'd fucked up the trajectory of my life, he wanted to move on, and assumed I was ready to move on. When I was 27, I was still holding on to a lot of anger. I thought, if I'm not happy, why should this man, who fucked up my life, be allowed to be happy? So I did things out of anger and spite, but then I turned 28, and I resolved my issues with my own parents that contributed to my sense of self. I realized, as they say, that just because this man was not allowed to be happy, did not at all contribute to my own happiness. I finally knew I had to apologize for what I did, and so I did. Yesterday, the man and I finally apologized to each other for what we'd each done, and we even ended on a neutral note, by hoping we each could get past the negativity. It means so much to me, knowing that we had finally come to a point where we could wish each other well. It has been a tough year in my life, but I did everything the best way I could, and I am proud of myself. Also, on an unrelated note, Irene texted me about my love for Shark Tank, and she told me Chris Sacca is a douche who engaged in sexist behavior, so I went to read up on it, and got led to this.

NAUSEA

Today was a dramatic day and the day I've felt the worst in at least a year. So if you follow me on Instagram you'd know I've been doing babysitting to supplement my income. My current baby is the daughter of a businesswoman who's working in Singapore this week, so I've been taking care of the baby in hotels. Today I either got food poisoning or stomach flu and was feeling nauseated. While this was physically happening, I somehow had started the big conversation that I'd been working up the courage for. I've been feeling uneasy because I knew I did some things wrong as well, and indeed he said he had gotten quite angry. We had as civil a conversation as we could have had, though, I think. I might have fucked up his life just as he fucked up mine, but in different ways. I felt guilty and guilt is the absolute worst feeling because this time, you can't even victimize yourself. We sort of thrashed some things out, after two years ish, while I felt more and more nauseated. So then I was carrying the baby in the fancy hotel lobby to pick up a delivery, when I started throwing up. The hotel staff noticed immediately, they held the baby and entertained her, while giving me medicinal oils to sniff and asked if I needed medical attention. I eventually left because I thought I would be feeling better after having vomitted, but then from the hotel to the train station, I kept throwing up. Along the way, after having thrown up on the steps in front of a shopping mall, I was completely out of energy and I lay in front of my pile of sick, waiting till I felt better. Two white girls from the nearby international school, UWCSEA, asked if I was okay, and helped me to the nearest restroom where I again alternated between having the runs and throwing up. Another lady in another cubicle asked if I was okay and whether she could call me a cab. I cabbed home without incident, fortunately, but after having showered and cleaned myself up, I just woke up and threw up all the water I'd just drunk to hydrate myself. I was literally swimming in my own sick, and my sisters and mother have been helping to clean it and myself up. I have never been so fawned over while being sick, from the hotel staff to strangers on the street, to my own family. My stomach hurts because there is nothing left to heave and regurgitate, and I don't even get to see my kid tomorrow. This is one of the worst times I've felt. It's so strange, after years and years, I still feel terrible because I care for this man and all we've done is fuck shit up. My icon for today's mood app is the most depressed one. I'm doing the best I can. I'm doing the best I can.