mish-mash

I went walking in our salubrious neighbourhood, by myself after dinner on a Saturday night. The moon was a mass of yellow strolling through clouds and trees. Out of the giant windows of the river-front mansions couples families parties lit up the street. Everything looked and smelled and sounded nice. And for the first time in a very long time, I didn't wish that something would happen, or that someone would do something, or that I could.

Something... big, I guess, happened yesterday. Maybe that contributed. No, of course it did. But I like to think that I've also been making my own way out of the Dumpster. Slowly. Lucky for all, I am not prone to introspection in writing. Save to say that, how humbling, being believed in.

If greatness comes hand-in-hand with a robust sense of self-worth, I'm not sure how far I'll get in life. One cannot be self-aware and not filled with self-doubt, the same way that one cannot be worldly and not a bit dysthymic. Somewhere along the way, early on, I forgot how determinative Determination is and how pointless it is to do anything half-arsed.

Most of my acquaintances, blood relations included, do not doubt my ability to do anything, for I give them no reason to. But if I sometimes do twice as well as everyone else, it's only because I always try four times as hard.

Then there are the select few who, knowing the frequency with which I fuck up and the ease with which I am given to feeling defeated, wait patiently yet confidently at the end of each tunnel with candy & blue wine, happy-hour cocktails, offers of fashion advice, and more. Thankyou: you know who you are.

Cheers too, to my meditating philosophising boss-to-be, a stranger who's taking an astounding chance on me. He looked past my mediocre grades and into my profoundly cynical hence well-equipped-for-the-job, soul.

today has been okay

As I wobbled towards lab this morning, hugging an ice bucket that hugged pig lung, through the courtyard with the smoking nurses, the smell of after-rain hovering over that of flowers, it was Moment of Advanced Disorientation (MAD) #37. MAD is one who understands not how one's gotten to where one is. <= Not grammatical, sure, but effective.

I had had high hopes. To like what I do if not doing what I love. To like who I am if not loved by those I love. To have dreams and passions. To be the daughter that my family needs. To be nowhere I don't want to be. ... How our plans fail us. Or rather, how I am hindered by conceit.

To the ones who worry and are owed an explanation: I am not to be pitied or encouraged, for I have been guilty of unspeakable spite.

purge

Youth is indeed wasted on the young. All the good in the world waiting to be done, we opted instead for yet another EtOH-drenched night out, Tight-arse Tuesday style.

Some stories were told for the first time. Others revisited for the umpteenth. Resolution is over-rated and ought not be made an end in itself. One must endeavour as often as possible to say a thing just so that it can be heard, even if only by the speaker. Still reeling from the weight of the revelations, or the weight off, but no regrets whatsoever.

Father has returned at last from his adventures abroad, though not before being detained for a thorough Customs clearance which took over an hour. Who can blame Customs, if you could've seen his get-up: leaving aside the assorted canisters of tea leaf in a gigantic plastic bag, the cowboy hat - Hawaiian shirt - leather jacket - baggy pants - lone-travelling middle-aged Asian male combo was enough to turn a few cautious eyes.

yesterday all my troubles

Wore all black to mourn the passing of timetable-less days. 1 dodgy family business abroad + 2 fauna species on the hit-list + 3 exams 'round the corner = 6 insane weeks to come.

Took preliminary steps toward turning what was once someone else's lab space into my next dungeon. There's a window but, to remind me that outside, day and night just keep on rollin' by.

Detoured on the way home to Find '30 along the river, at nightfall. A small indulgence which has overtaken semi-napping-in-car (whilst car stationary) and composing-incoherent-dribble as Preferred Me-Time. I'd say more about the breathtaking simplicity of Being-Not-Doing etc if I could come up with anything remotely original.