Valentine’s Day Confessions

I don’t remember the first time I liked a boy, but I remember the first time a boy liked me.

He was my classmate in my last year of primary school. Everyone knew but me. I was the only one left clueless, and when I found out, revolted.

When asked why, from friends, he said it was because I was “smart and pretty.”

Thanks to him, my self-confidence actually heightened. I entered secondary school where another guy from another class liked me. It was a fun texting-only puppy love friendship where we talked about songs and life, and I was mad at him for skipping assembly and he told me it was cute. I asked him why he liked me. “Your smile,” he said. “Not my eyes?” I asked. “Yes your eyes, but your smile lights up the room.”

Racism

Hung out with someone I might be doing business with. Last year we were in a regional group discussion to empower our youths and had a good first session. I was the only token Malay girl, three Malay guys and one Indian guy. The other 7 were Chinese. The leader was a Chinese guy, the co-leader a Malay.

I grew up in Singapore, and in school I was the only Malay girl in class too. Nothing new. When I was in America my roommates were Mexican and the other a white-married-Iranian lady. So what is race? Nothing! To me, at least.

When I learnt about racial segregation my head thinks “Old people and their old ways. Us young, global-minded people will change that.” I’m so optimistic about that. We’ve travelled the world! One colour is not better than the other! Right?

Until I’m not included in the follow-up of this regional, youth empowering group, I asked why. I know I gave good input, because the Indian guy exclaimed “Here we are looking for answers when you know about them!” and another Chinese participant approached me and said “I want to invite you to our event. I WILL call you.”

The co-leader explained that it’s actually a race thing, why I was left out. That the leader was only interested in building ‘his race’. Even the token Malay guys were left out even though we were supposed to be a team.

“Your mind is different, it’s great, but some people can’t take it,” said the co-leader, who invited me to join the discussion in the first place because he knew I could offer something else.

I see. Oh well, I told myself. I don’t know the full truth anyway. It’s all right.

But…

I really do not know anything about my race’s culture because I really do not think it’s something I care about. I was at Old Town White Coffee and the server gave me chopsticks to eat my noodles with. I then realised that while I knew how to use these, do they know how to use hands to eat? I know how to use a fork and a spoon too. Do YOU KNOW HOW TO USE YOUR HANDS TO EAT?

I finally see what people are fighting for. Race superiority. Undying. Continuous living. Culture. Forever.

But it makes no sense. It really is not something I can digest. It’s not like a blade cuts different skin colour differently.

Am I supposed to wait for my children’s generation to see people realise that no race is better than the other? My child is a Persian yet he befriends the kucing kampungs no problem. Oh come on, I thought y’all have degrees and Master’s Degrees and some going to PhD and becoming doctors, wanderlust, travellers, influencers, you guys are better than this!

Oh well.

Tween Love-Making, Teenage Story Resurfaced and Desires

One of the most disturbing things I’ve seen on the internet a few months or weeks ago was a boy on top of a girl, and the next video the girl on her knees while doing something to the same boy who was then lying down.

While I was fifteen at a chalet party, we all had gathered and the boys turned on some adult video on someone’s laptop. It looked painful, and I was more concerned over being caught because they were using MY mobile data. I walked out of the room to hang out with the others about one or two minutes after the video, and didn’t care much about it anymore. When I was 10 I had accidentally clicked on a bait that downloaded lots of nude pictures into my computer. My dad was about to have lunch when I told him about it and he got up to have them deleted. Before that I had come across the profile of a girl from Singapore named “Amirah” who also posed in her birthday suit and I told my mom about it. After that I didn’t really care anymore.

But this time it was different.

A Stranger Got Sick

Some time ago I was at a surau at my prayer mat to pray when I instinctively turned around to find a young teenage girl looking down at her pool of stomach contents. I watched her mom roll her eyes at her and left her just like that. My mother was a perfectionist woman who gave me that look whenever I did something wrong as a child too. The look that only heightened fear and diminished any sense of real confidence in a person. I did not want the cycle to go on.

Immediately I abandoned my praying intentions and rushed to the alone girl with my bag. I’m known as Doraemon in my family, so my bag has everything. Lots and lots of tissues I offered her and even helped her push the spew away from other people who were there to pray. We covered it with tissues. She looked confused, alone, and I can probably tell, sad.

“Are you having a headache?” I asked.

She nodded solemnly, and I offered her a mint. I happened to have a paper bag and I opened it up and taught her to scoop up her vomit (using the lots and lots of tissues) into the bag.

Her mother returned with a cleaner and pointed it to the cleaner, and she brought her daughter to the washing area where she gave her daughter another lecture. I think she briefly thanked me (or didn’t, I remember the girl saying thank you quietly though). They left, and the cleaner mopped the floor. The girl and I had picked up 90% of the gag.

There I was, about to pray, but went to clean up a stranger’s vomit instead.

I Don’t Remember

I honestly don’t remember the last time I felt really sad or mad.

I know I won’t be anymore, because I understand where my feelings are coming from.

That’s my plan. To share what I know with more people. Have psychological freedom.

Your psyche, your mind, everything you see, whatever that happens to you, actually comes from your psychology.

The body you have is the result of what you eat, and what you eat depends on your “mood” or “feelings”. What you see, the circumstances and how you perceive or interpret it too is based on your psychology.

I know I am psychologically free.

It really is a blissful feeling.

I’ve had days where I contemplated jumping off my apartment window. I remember sitting on the edge, door locked, and calculating the risks. Just a few years ago I believed everybody hated me and that I didn’t ask to be born in this world. I lived through days waiting to die. And died on the inside while living in the outside world. Everybody else “in the world” seemed to support how I felt about myself.

Not anymore. 99% of whomever I come across are very helpful, are so very lovely to me. The 1% I understand where they’re coming from and I don’t take offense/take anything personally when they’re not being nice to me.

It’s not saying I don’t have problems. I still don’t live in abundance luxury and haven’t bought new clothes in three months. I think about that Subway sandwich and sometimes they do look expensive. From time to time I wonder if I’m able to do this or that. I still doubt myself. What I can do and what I cannot.

But they don’t rob bliss off me. They cannot.

They can pinch a bit of bliss, but I know it’s a pinch and I can slap its hand off my bliss. It’s as easy as that.

I want you to know how I know what to do, and so I am holding a short workshop to share with you what I’ve been searching seventeen years for.

Connection Workshop

I’m going to let this post sit like this unedited, as it captures/captured my raw thoughts in the moment. Thanks and hope to see you at my workshop 🙂

The Purpose of Life is to be A Nobody

Somehow I just can’t connect to medium.com but I found this wonderfully-written, profound article on Quartz while searching for my book online. It has original links to Design Luck. I have subscribed to Design Luck’s newsletter, but I don’t know what other articles there are. But this one just made me go wow wow wow wow.

Note that I don’t have the permission to repost this article yet, so I am saying it here that I did not write The Purpose of Life is to be A Nobody. I just find that it’s so spot-on to what A Nobody means to me when I wrote A Nobody’s Observations that I want the whole article in my blog. It feels so glorious to know I’m not the only one who now knows what A Nobody means.

When I titled my book A Nobody’s Observations, I did intend “A Nobody” to have multiple layers of meanings to it. I write everything this way, actually. In a way there’s no one exact meaning when you read my posts. You read it according to how you’re seeing things at the moment. Sort of like a writer’s play with the readers. The next moment, when perhaps you understand a little bit more, you see another meaning to it. But really, I love The Purpose of Life is to be A Nobody.

People have told me they don’t understand how I’m so “chill” or “don’t care” about many things. I literally approach CEOs the same way I’ve approached my security guards. I don’t look at an older person as someone I need to highly respect, neither do I care to look at credentials before I want to trust somebody. It’s all because I know I am a Nobody. …and that everybody else is a Nobody as well, thinking they’re somebodies.

I don’t understand what the writer meant in #3 because I don’t associate “struggle” with “defining self”, but it’s fine nonetheless. I believe in Resilience though, that everybody is resilient… I understand now.