This is Life - Fatherless Towns

I want to see this series, especially this episode.

http://edition.cnn.com/videos/tv/2015/10/19/this-is-life-lisa-ling-season-2-fatherless-towns-clip-1.cnn/video/playlists/this-is-life-with-lisa-ling/

http://edition.cnn.com/videos/tv/2015/10/19/fatherless-towns-richmond-prison-lisa-ling-orig.cnn/video/playlists/this-is-life-with-lisa-ling/

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0eS-9HD3E5k

A Boat Adrift

Last night, I prayed. Or simply conversed with the Almighty. What does almighty mean and what can or will it do? Perhaps, it, they, he, she... listens. And that's all we need. To send our thoughts and intentions out. To set them outside ourselves so we can move on and not let life pass us by.

So I have been working long and hard, and not very wisely, for a good part of my life. In the industry I toil in, in my country, there is little respect and little money. Integrity is also another questionable trait. I have left to seek out hope in another land and it was promising. I had a taste of it but did not have the means and opportunities to stay on. So I returned. Returned to being a gypsy, pretty much. I feel like a tiny boat adrift in the ocean. Looking for a shore to anchor to and maybe finally relax.

In that foreign land, I made a few friends and one of them kept me in the loop of what they are working on. There were always possibilities for me to be involved but every past project fell through, raising my hopes then breaking my heart each time. I had cancelled smaller projects here for the sake of these empty promises, only to find out that they weren't happening, and it would be too late to get my other projects back. A bird in hand is worth two in a bush, they say. But the bird in hand is a weary painful journey as well, while the two in the bush makes for a real leap. After all these tiresome years, an opportunity I have been counting on, holding hope out for and wishing for seems to finally show some concrete potential. From my little boat, this land seems rather far away and is beautiful and noticeable especially with its beautiful tall tower. It would somehow validate my years of slaving and rescue me from being lost or adrift once again. I feel that I can do so much on my part to get there, but there are other factors I cannot control. What if they won't let me drop my harmless little anchor there? Or what if they do but won't grant me access to the tower or have any peace? What if the tower crumbles when I finally get there?

Another opportunity appeared recently, not the kind that would make me jump for joy, but one that seems stable, simple and familiar. But also feels like a step back, which is not a big issue for me. I have always said that nothing is beneath me and my ego is a silly thing to fight. I feel though, that the agent involved might be taking advantage of us so I am still in two minds. That makes me think of an island with a farm I know how to nurture but do not own. I am grateful for the option but do I want to go back there? I have seen that island before and I have to wonder if it would be wisdom or a dead end.

Finally, there is the knowledge that I love writing and have started on a few stories. I see this as an island with a few coconut trees. I have enough to survive but it could be hard to provide for my loved ones, and I am not ready to shy away from my responsibilities or ask for crowdfunding or handouts. It's interesting to hear some people talk about this at a Halloween party recently, how some people are blatantly asking for money for any old damned reason, from going to art school to renovating their home. I knew of a pair of siblings who started a campaign to fund a parent's funeral. People supported above and beyond their requests. I thought that was very kind and said a lot about the givers. One of the people at the party said the siblings received a lot of flak for it though since both were working and weren't poor to begin with. I checked their crowdfunding page and they thanked everyone, saying they would post a detailed report how they were going to use the extra funds. That was two years ago and I could not find the report. Perhaps they paid for outstanding medical bills, or donated the extra to another charity or the hospice their parent was in. Perhaps they didn't. Not my business anyway. But I never want to owe anyone or explain why I need money. I want to work and get paid, without telling you what I am going to use my hard earned money for. Is that so hard to ask for? Apparently so in my work. Hahahaha... Anyway, if I choose this island, I know I would be happy but I would feel like a selfish, irresponsible and vain jerk. So no. Not yet anyway.

So these three are within my view, but who knows what else lies beyond the horizon. I might not want anything else anyway. I hope the foreign land is what I am destined for, a place where they have been waiting for me, expecting my arrival. I am going to start rowing over, slowly but surely. I think I have been inching closer to it every day, just because I really do want it and because of, and besides, the now empty promises of many yesterdays. Isn't it about time it took a turn for the better? I think so. And I smile at that. Finally...

I think the ideal would be for me to reach that land with the tower, ala Oz's Emerald city, and establish a respectable standing there. It might take time and effort but it would be nothing compared to what I have given up thus far. Then I can visit that coconut island as much as I like. And I can even visit the island with the farm and do a day or two as a guest.

And if I should ever be set adrift in the ocean again in my little boat, it would be because I want to have my little breaks and enjoy the sunset. Not because I have nowhere to call home.

My Secret Blog

I have long called this my secret blog. And yes, in so many ways, it is. Oh well, of course it damned well is in one way. A secret is a secret in just one way. It isn't shared.

This also prevents me from self-censorship (although I naturally remain somewhat vague in case someone I know stumbles upon it). I enjoy looking back at old posts from a few years back to laugh at how I used to think. Sometimes, it can be funny or nostalgic though. Sometimes, I am glad I have grown thus far. And sometimes... I miss myself. My old happy, idealistic and carefree self. Where did this person go?

In a world where so many people are publicly displaying their lives, airing their grievances on social media and posting endless streams of photos of themselves, or otherwise known as selfies, it seems to me that a little privacy is a precious and guarded treasure. Somehow, I know I like anchoring myself and my identity to my inner voice. So I avoid sharing too much, knowing it can be dissected and criticised by others. That does not bother me as much as when I meet them and they start giving me unsolicited advice. There are times when whatever I am going through is really a non issue. And there are times when what I am feeling is very difficult and anyone else's take on it is simply... unacceptable, or even appears to be insensitive, arrogant or flippant.

Still waters run deep, some say. Some also say, "I can't figure you out." Well, I'm not for you to figure out. I am not a math problem, a quiz, or a puzzle. I'm heart and soul and evolving every second. I will be different tomorrow and no one else can keep up with who I am. Some days, I rediscover who I am by accident. I never try to define myself because it is vain, futile and pointless to me. It also seems to stem from insecurity and a need to be accepted by using terms and descriptions coined by other human beings. So there. My secret blog knows just about enough and who I really am and will be... is what I will someday realise, gladly and with ease.

What Now?

I don't enjoy life anymore. Maybe I never really did.

I don't like wallowing in self-pity (if that's what it appears to be). So I never complain out loud, especially to anyone outside a very tiny circle of confidence. However, recently, I lost it. The end, for me, is near. Very near. I can feel it. And I welcome it.

This is a wretched world. A world where goodness comes to die. The more kindness born in this world, the more evil gets to consume and laugh about it. I tried focusing on just the good. It doesn't work. It's too hard. I've been beaten down so many times. And though I can get up, again and again, why should I? What's the point anymore?

People I care about die silently. Did they get what they needed or wanted in life? Did they say goodbye to everyone they love? Will we ever meet again?

People who owe me money show off their expensive rendezvous or meals. I've cried enough because of them. Perhaps if I died prematurely, they would feel guilty (if they could even feel for others at all) and finally balance the accounts fairly with my family.

There are more to write about but I couldn't muster up the energy to. Perhaps some people don't really deserve any mention. Such as the vain and selfie-sh. They're nice people usually and outwardly but their world revolves around them and they're never fully real, to me. Well, everyone's world does revolve around themselves in one way or another... but when it comes down to a certain level of superficiality, there's something unattractive and pitiable about them. Something two dimensional and incomplete. (But do forgive my momentarily judgemental comments.)

My secret blog here also revolves around me, or my points of view. I often think I'm not worth anything while alive. So I almost never share my opinions publicly. It'll just be a waste of space, breath, consciousness, and cyberspace... if I posted it online somewhere, such as here. (Ooh I'd feel like such a hypocrite if someone were to read this. Stop reading now, stranger, and forget I ever existed because I don't matter and never will).

This quiet place, this secret blog, is my refuge. A safe place to think, cry, reflect and stop myself from really ending it all, and too suddenly. Maybe it'll even help me plan a proper time to end it someday. So many times when I really want to end it, I don't think about this place. Because coming here means a part of me doesn't really want to leave. With that revelation, my absence from this blog means I had felt very ready to leave for a long time. Well, am I changing my mind now?

Suicide is not an attractive option or act to me. But the end result would be more liberating and more honest than any other solution in this God forsaken world. So if a disease or accident doesn't take me in time, I might get sick of life enough to end it myself. Perhaps this whole life is purgatory. I don't care what's right or wrong anymore. Life has become nothing but suffering. Who wouldn't want to wrap it all up and move on?

If a friend were to chance upon this now, they would ask, "but your life seems perfect, doesn't it?" Sure it does. Everyone else has a perfect life, don't they? I'm sure a lot of people with seemingly perfect lives go through some kind of pain and struggle too. Some are strong and I admire their resilience. Some vent about it all day, and I hope it helps them purge those unpleasantness. Some, like me, can't handle life anymore and we've given up.

There is someone in my life now for whom I feel responsible. That's the only thing preventing me from calling it a wrap. For the longest time, I've had a list of songs I wanted at my funeral. Because the only thing guaranteed in life is death. I know it is still on its way but at times, I think it's too slow for me. Then there are times I worry it comes for the one I love too soon. I worry if this lovely soul had yet to do everything that brings joy and satisfaction. I worry if this kind gentle being would be in any pain or discomfort, and what follows next. I worry, self-centredly about my own heartache resulting from this separation and loss.

This soul makes me stay on in an otherwise blackened and dreary life. It's amazing to think someone could actually love me and want me around. Yet I feel so sorry for this person, and anyone else who loves me. I have nothing to give anymore. I am barren and broken. I'm like an old car with punctured tires and shattered windows. My engine almost can't start up anymore. My headlights dim out the moment they are turned on. There is no hope. Yet some people won't give up on me. Actually just one, who tries to clean the dust and rust off me. If a few others knew how worthless I feel, they would join that little party too. But they should live good happy lives without worrying about me. I would never want to burden them.

Love is everything, some say. If that were true, then would it be right to say that love is beautiful, truthful and faithful? And that it's also ugly, deceptive and unreliable? Is it eternal and temporal at the same time? Is it constantly fresh or constantly expiring? Is it easy and difficult all at once? Could its generosity be selfish too? And could its pleasure bring about pain as well?

Love makes me want to stay on because leaving would most definitely hurt the ones I love. Yet love makes me want to leave because staying could end up hurting the ones I love. With that slight gamble in mind, I think I'll stay. For now.

That Time...

So last night, I decided to pop one in just to feel clean.

For some reason, it seemed a lot more watery this time round. Was it weeping as well? Yup. It has been a sad month but I'm still grateful for the many practical blessings and jobs.

As expected, it was a little uncomfortable trying to push it in but I woke up this morning feeling rather good, with one less worry on my mind. And bed.

Melancholia

It's hilarious when people tell me I'm always cheerful. People do see what they choose to see. I don't even bother to correct these harmless folks who just don't (want to) know me. Their ears would most likely choose what they want to hear as well.

I've felt slighted, betrayed and failed a lot recently. By myself and by others. I have a lot to be grateful for and I am. But life should be lived by those who have the vigour and ambition for it. I don't. I am just wasting space, depriving more deserving living souls of air and resources.

It feels like all my life, I have been on the worse end of any stick. It doesn't motivate me. It doesn't enrage me. I have simply given up. Why fight in a world where justice isn't the natural order of things? After all, I am just a tiny speck in the gigantic universe. Who cares what I need or want, whether I laugh, cry, live, or die? No one. Not even God, I bet.

I believe God has more important things to worry about. More important galaxies and realms to visit. Earth is most likely NOT the centre of the universe. Our universe is probably not the centre of all universes. And each little human being is probably just as unnecessary as a germ on a fly's wing.

Am I bitter? Perhaps. Am I beaten? Maybe so. Am I depressed? I guess. Do I care? No. Little failures now push me over the edge. I don't really react very visibly though, because just before I do, I remember it's easier to just give up and step outside my own worthless life. Wait for it all to end. Because it all has to someday.

I watched Lars von Trier's beautiful film, Melancholia. I fully understood how validating the end of the world felt when it came. How satisfying and purposeful it was. I admit that I had hoped for the world to prophetically end in 2012. Every listless cell within me would make sense if it did. Everything was winding down to this demise, so suddenly my sadness wasn't pointless after all. I was very disappointed when I woke up alive on December 23rd 2012. I had nothing to live for. Except that I wasn't devoid of affection. I wish I had no one loving me. Then I would truly go in peace, without responsibility or guilt. I have no reason, no will, no wish, to live.

Life, to me, is nothing but a tiresome journey that will ultimately end in death. Yes. The only thing life guarantees is death. The good news and bad news is that everything passes. I'm done. Really. I don't want to struggle anymore. I don't see the point. It's not worth it.

But the ones who love me make it seem worth it. I know deep down and in every fiber of my being that it isn't, that this life is just a horrible temporary illusion to steal away innocence, rape all sense of hope, and burn solid virtues to mere ashes. But I can't tell them so. Even if I explain it to them, they wouldn't fully understand or empathise. Honestly, I am very glad for those who have reason, purpose and joy in their lives. Hard to believe but I used to myself, at some point long ago and too far gone to remember. I always enjoy immensely the sound of genuine happy and benevolent laughter. I smile for those who have youth, health, hope, accomplishments and good fortune on their side. Let these blessed souls enjoy this world without my "negativity". Oh and don't get me started on the labels humans love to throw around.

I once wanted to volunteer with a suicide hotline. I realise now that I would have helped some callers who really felt the way I did, and still do, but not the cause for which I would be volunteering. I believe I understand a few reasons why suicide is a great option. It's never the only option but for a few sincere contemplating souls in pain, it is the best one when one feels that nothing good or worthwhile is left in this, or their, world. When anything, ANYTHING at all, is better than this struggle (and someone, who doesn't empathise, trying to get them to see things in a different and positive light will simply strengthen their beliefs that no one cares how they feel, or that others want to judge or control them, etc. Who are they to judge when they cannot understand?).

For now, I allow my wretched struggle to go on, for those who actually love me. They are truly my only reasons to live, and I will try to do what's right by them. That includes no sudden suicide, despite having considering it carefully as an option. This isn't sacrifice. Nothing selfish, nothing noble, nothing tragic, nothing to be read between the lines. It's only a choice I have made. Not that it should matter to anyone else. My burning tears and loud, heavy, primal sighs seem to bring some comfort. Yet each day alive in this incarnation deepens the gaping hole of melancholy within my brain, gut, heart and soul.

Thank God, if God has the time, for my secret blog. I do feel better now. Don't try to understand or fix me. I never wanted healing. Nothing matters to me anymore. I just want it all to end so I can finally experience some real peace and joy. Death comes to all men. I am going to settle some necessities for my loved ones by early next year. And then I will smile and wait impatiently.

Food Wasted On Me

After a week of not eating, chewing has become a real chore. It's exhausting and pointless. Especially when you're not the least bit hungry or appetised by any thoughts of food. Even when I felt a tiny bit of hunger, the first few seconds of chewing would take a toll on my jaw muscles and I would rather stop eating than to tire my mouth out.

Argh! A week of fever (devoid of meds and drugs, and food) has changed me somewhat. I am no longer a foodie. Though I never really was; I hated to waste food but I was never fussy with flavours. I could eat something that everyone hated the taste of or even doubted the freshness of, just because I hated to waste it. I am constantly reminded of my starving days so I would eat it gratefully, knowing that this could save a life. If only I could get the food to those who need it most at the time. It irks me when people throw perfectly good nutrition away. Just because it doesn't taste good or fresh anymore, or simply cos "I won't eat the same thing twice a day".

Of course, I am no judge or authority but my opinions are simple. Count your blessings and stop being so spoilt and stubborn, I'd say. Exchange places with a starving mother in a war torn country and let's see you complain that the milk expired yesterday or that you think the chicken is bland. Seriously?

Anyhow, I was happy to leave a tiny carbon footprint over the week. Less food and gas were utilised on my insignificant existence. I was not even hungry. It was awesome actually, to know I can still exist and stay alive with so little resources. I don't see why I shouldn't win Survivor. I don't think it was ideal for my health but who the hell am I to deserve more than an innocent starving refugee struggling in the cold? Eating extravagantly almost feels like I am laughing in their faces. That's probably just me. But I feel sick wasting food knowing this. :(

That said, I am going to try to eat again (how frivolous and wasteful!), despite the fact it's so damn tiring and not even appreciated by my lousy taste buds and tummy now. I sincerely wish I could give the food I am encouraged to eat to a poor family. It is precisely because I treasure food and hate wasting it that I honestly don't want any of it right now. It's wasted on my dead taste buds and lack of appetite. All food does to me now is fill me with guilt, shame and self-disgust.

Now I feel guilty for not wanting precious food but I would feel more sinful forcing myself to eat when my body obviously doesn't want or need it. Argggghhhh!

Independence & Guilt

I never like to write anything personal here. It's my secret blog. Like a diary. But since no one will find it (me thinks), here's something rather personal and historical.

The last number of days saw me bravely (and stubbornly) battling a fever. I didn't want to consume any chemicals as I believed it was best to remain drug-free and get my body's immune system to kick in and do its job. Practice makes perfect and I wasn't gonna let it off so easily and just bringing in outside help, which, in fact, is no help at all.

Drugs aren't all bad as most of us know by now. But the drugs that employ lots of chemicals or have been processed greatly make me wonder what side effects they may be whispering about in the lab. I understand that medicine usually doesn't heal (unless it's antibiotics or a specific treatment, etc; & I'm no expert), but just suppresses or alleviates symptoms.

I wished out loud to a friend yesterday, "I wish cigarettes wouldn't smell so foul. Wish they would smell like nothing." (No offence to smokers. Some of the people I love dearly are smokers. It's the tobacco companies I cannot respect.) Then I realised we would be breathing in endless wispy clouds of second hand smoke because our noses can't detect it.

That, to me, is sort of similar to denying your symptoms with prescription drugs but not healing your illness. I also never like the idea of being dependent on anything. Though many people seem ok with that.

I always imagine an apocalyptic future where survival of the fittest will be the norm. So I do not take bottled vitamins, moisturise, or pamper myself with small luxuries (like meals that cost above S$3, taking a bus when I could easily walk a couple of stops). It's probably silly of me but I think a painful experience thanks to... gee, I actually forgot his name... made me resilient, independent, & most importantly, taught me how to say NO.

This... feller... needed money and asked me for S$50,000. Seriously? Who has that kind of money? I actually asked my parents if they would be willing to help and they said the story sounded fishy (sister in jail for credit card late payments, he needed money to bail her out), so needless to say they didn't and added a word of advice that I shouldn't try to help either. I only had about S$4,000, which I felt was a lot, and since he promised to return everything in two weeks, I lent him all of it, wishing his family well.

I don't think I need to tell anyone how that story ended. Unwilling to hear "I told you so, stupid girl", I kept it from my family. I put acting and emceeing on hold because I couldn't wait 3 months to be paid. I would starve to death and my landlady would kick me out. I hated begging for my own hard-earned money in vain.

For 8 months or so, I worked a day job in a cosmetics shop & at Hyatt at night. Hyatt was my wisest move as I was only spending money on cheap food (not even water, which I would drink from taps) & rent, & could no longer find other ways to save. Besides late night rides home, Hyatt kindly supplied me dinner & packed supper, which I would take home to eat for lunch the next day. Good thing I never was a breakfast eater. That would blow my budget. It was this period that I stopped snacking. It was a waste of money that didn't keep me full.

What I loved most was that I learnt how independent I could be, & that it's my right (& anyone's f**king right) to say "no". What I loathed most was that I could have been spending time with my wonderful father just before he died instead of slaving in a cosmetic shop for $5/hour.

The boss of that shop came to see me the next morning, to collect the keys. That's all. I didn't expect him to care actually and now looking back, he wasn't very customer oriented. He would also rather throw away old testers (which were still good to use) than give them to the staff if we wanted them. I once asked, & he said, "sure, take it. $5."

At the time, a friend also convinced me to buy some multilevel membership and I was against it simply cos I didn't have the money and I refused to borrow, after seeing how lending has affected me. Someone else I was with at the time thought it was worthwhile and shared it with me. It was a classic mistake of course (I will never go out asking people to buy something I think they should do their own research on first, & I sucked at networking, still do). That friend who sold tje useless membership to us recently apologised to me after many years, and I had actually forgotten about it. I wonder why I didn't get upset with him. Did I feel friendship was such a rare commodity I was willing to compromise that much? He's well to do now. It must have helped him somehow.

I don't know how this post went from a stubborn me not taking any drugs to my painful past. I think my time lying in bed under a sponged cloth soaked in apple cider vinegar gave me time to reflect. Sounds a little similar to the cloth soaked in vinegar that the Jewish soldiers gave to Jesus (I am certainly NOT Jesus!!).

I know deep down I have forgiven... what's his name. Or I would still have his name on my mind and will try to track him down & shame him. If he believes in Allah as he claims to, I hope he will learn in his own time. I hope no one else gets tricked though.

Nothing can bring my dad back. So in fact, forgiving him is irrelevant. I know that at the end of the day I have no one to blame but myself. My gullibility, my stubbornness, my assertion of independence, my arrogance thinking I had to and can get myself out of my self-made mess. Why didn't I just allow myself to be a helpless child of my loving father who needed me so? Oh, if only I could go back in time.

I suppose I couldn't bear to burden him since he was already so ill and dying. And I was never close to my mom, who I was certain would only judge and chastise me. Hence, my renting outside of my home.

All is past now. I cry for my father and my guilt beckons still. But I know everyday is a new day. Someday, perhaps, I might forgive myself.