From San Diego to New York

You know what?

I’m going to miss you. Who am I going to share hot cocoa/oatmeal/almond milk with in the middle of the night? Who will I serenade on a rooftop with cheesecake and birthday celebrations? Who is going to call me at 2am asking me to pick her up because she was scared her tipsy self wouldn’t make it back home? Who can I turn to for the best advice ever given to me in life?

One night, I walked around with music blasting in my ears, with nowhere to go. I called you, and even though you were busy and stressed, you paused and heard me out with my petty woes. You reassured me that things will work out, and I believed you.

Who can I turn to to talk about old friends and home, when now I’m left alone in a foreign land? And you know what? I’m going to miss you.

Our story is kind of unusual, even funny, if you think about it. We hardly ever hang out, occasionally bumping into each other in public places, making empty promises to meet each more often. We have catch up sessions, like highschool friends over summer break, because that’s how little we got together. But at least we did that. Thank you.

We were never that close, yet I feel a connection to you that didn’t need the strong intimacy of close friendship. It’s the strength of sharing where we grew up, and the ties we still have to our home and families on the other side of the world. We were never that close, but sometimes that was an advantage. We were fresh eyes to old problems of each other, and I can say for my part, you gave me insight to the issue that would have been invisible to those standing too close.

Today, 22/8/14, I told you a story from my childhood that made you laugh so hard you disappeared below the table. Your laugh is still ranked in my top three of most hilarious laughs. I could practically feel my ears burn as other people turned their heads to look at my friend, who was expelling high pitch squeaks and breathing harder than a 100m sprinter. Today marks the last day I will see you in a long, long time.

There are many more things I want to know about you, and I know in the future I will have many things I want to tell you. I want to hear that ridiculous laugh and voice, telling me that you are real. And you know what? I’m already missing you. I wish you all the best for your fresh new start, and to let me know if you ever need anyone to talk to. Because I sure know who I’m calling if my roommate is annoying me.

                                                                                                                                       J

p.s. I know how much you love quotes, and I don’t think I will be able to find a quote you don’t already know, so I’m going to share a little song with you:

“Just because we're growing up, it doesn't mean we've had enough

When times are hard we'll smile and say we're not afraid of anything.”
- Wild, Royal Teeth

Turn A Page

When I got home, I was met with those cold, angry eyes. I was yelled at, but I patted my dog and smiled like it didn’t bother me. I steeled myself, and returned the most unconcerned look I could muster. The angry yelling and accusations continued.

I stalked away in the middle of the rant, into the bathroom, and stuffed the right sleeve of my shirt into my mouth and screamed. A silent, hollow scream. I bit hard on the shirt, but let go and cupped my hands over my face instead. I paced over the tiles, telling myself to stop, shaking my head back and forth like an impatient lion shaking his mane. I splashed water into my face, slapping my palms hard on my eyelids, as if the impact could somehow force the tears back into my eyes.

It lasted less than a minute. I wiped my face with my shirt, flushed the unused toilet, and went out.

The piercing voice telling me how ungrateful and selfish I was continued when I was back outside, a recording stuck on repeat. Effortlessly, I glare back with the eyes she once described as “full of hatred”. I don’t deny it. I would write down exactly what was said, but truthfully, I don’t remember. It doesn’t matter to me, and enduring this is worth everything that happened today.

So Easily Replaced

When I was growing up, second chances didn’t pop up very often.

That day, when I was four, I managed to convince my father that I could fly the kite by myself, but let go of it. The kite flew higher and higher up until it was just a blue dot in the sky, like an accidental splodge on a painting. Well, that kite’s not coming back, and daddy’s not buying another one. In fact, he was probably pretty relieved that he doesn’t have to fly kites with his dumb daughter anymore.

 That day, when I was six and at the beach, where my mother bought me an ice cream but I dropped it. Well, tough, because mummy’s not going to buy another one. If I didn’t cherish that first cone, I probably would have dropped the second cone too.

 That day, when I was much older, I watched a friend cry in front of me, but didn’t know what to do, and instead just patted her back, holding back my own tears. Throughout that night, and many other similar nights, I lay in my bed and pictured countless scenarios that I could have carried out instead of just standing there, trying not to cry.

I was kind of silly as a preteen, and perhaps I still act like a twelve-year-old from time to time. Due to something that happened a while ago, I used to think what it would be like if I died. They weren’t suicidal thoughts; I was just merely curious as to how the world would continue without me. When you’re small, the world revolved around you, so obviously, if you died, that world would stop. I imagined my mother and father crying, lamenting that they should have never divorced. I imagined my teachers crying, saying they’ll never meet such a student like me ever again. I imagined my friends crying, reading out nice eulogies they wrote for me at my funeral. I imagined myself seeing all this, as a ghost just floating above everyone’s heads. Strangely enough, I felt chuffed. I really should have felt loved, but as an egotistical child, I didn’t really appreciate that. I just felt that weird sense of pride that I had power over such a number of individuals.  

As I got older, I laughed at my own younger self’s thoughts. So naïve and innocent back then, when the world still orbited around me. I re-evaluated my heroic death scenario that left scores grieving, and came up with something that I didn’t expect at all.

No one’s going to give a fuck.

I was watching a psychology lecture online, and the professor described an experiment on happiness. He said that some scientists conducted a survey, asking the subjects how happy they are currently in life. Then, after significant events such as accidents leading to paraplegia/quadriplegia, or winning the lottery, they conducted the survey again. In a span of roughly three or four years, or even less, the subjects’ happiness level returns to what it was before the event. I was pretty doubtful, because happiness is not a very quantifiable matter, and it is purely subjective, but the results are still astounding. A positive experience, such as winning the lottery might make you happier for some time, but that happiness doesn’t last. A negative experience, such as a crippling accident might make you depressed, but that depression doesn’t last either. We humans are just that adaptable and accepting of our fates.

So let’s go back to dying that imaginary tragic death. There is an initial impact that will hit like an earthquake, shattering those who are close to me. Everyone deals with being hurt differently, but I would expect some tears and sobs for possibly a few days. As the minutes, days, weeks go by, that pain will ebb, as those who are grieving accepts that I’m simply not there anymore, and nothing will change that. Speaking of dying, I’ve always wanted to die while saving someone. Too many movies on my part, but it’s better than Bryce’s preference of dying by running into a giant, spinning fan. Anyway.

In less than a year, life will resume as normal for everyone who knew me, because the world revolves around everyone. And like a fond memory, I might fleet across your minds one day, out of the blue. But just like that, I’m gone again as quickly as I came into your mind.

So I guess it’s not entirely true that no one would give a fuck. It’d be very upsetting if that was the case, which would only happened if I was an orphan and everyone hated me. Sure, people would throw out a few fucks, and depending on how close our relationships were, some would throw more than others. However, everything comes to an end, and the memory of me would be replaced by more pressing issues going on in other people’s lives.

Wow, I’m tired, and I forgot why I was writing and what I was trying to get across. If you read this far, kudos to you because there is no conclusion. I can say something generic such as “Cherish every moment.” “Love people.” “Live life to the fullest.” Blah blah blah, but seriously, I’m empty. 

Distortion

There are two classes of year four children. They are due for a routine medical checkup conducted in the school every year, and that included an injection. The nurse performing the procedure told the first class that the injection wouldn't hurt one bit. Well, she lied. It was a domino effect; the kids started crying one after the other, due to the pain of the injection as well as the fear induced into their minds when they watched the others cry.

The second class was a different story. The nurse told them that the injection would be like a small ant bite, but the pain would disappear almost immediately. No one cried in that class after the medical was over. The teacher asked the children of the second class: "Wow, none of you cried? Wasn't the injection painful?"

A little girl replied: "Crying wouldn't make it hurt any less."

Both the lies and the truths hurt. In this case, the lie seems to hurt more, because when the truth was uncovered, tears fell. When confronted with the truth from the very beginning, one can at least prepare for the pain that was to come. But look harder. Both the lie and the truth hurt equally, and crying wouldn't make it hurt any less.

I’m not going to deny anything. I love lying. It’s a defense mechanism. I can hide behind that wall, and cartwheel and dance all I want behind it. Do you ever feel that sense of rage when you realize that you've been lied to? Or when you've been deliberately mislead? I certainly know it. It’s hypocritical of me to say it, but I hate being lied to. But at least I understand why. There is always a reason why.

You don’t tell that one friend that she is fat. Firstly, because it’s not nice. Secondly, although it’s the truth, you don’t want to hurt her. Unless, of course, you’re just joking, but even then don’t joke about fatness with fat people. It’s like pouring gasoline on something that’s already on fire. I’m going off topic, sorry. But really, don't compare that one fluffy friend to a bear preparing for hibernation.

And you know, I’m usually pretty good at handling these kinds of things, but lately I feel like I’ve been losing my touch. There are a lot of things that can’t be lied about, but it can at least be expressed in a different way. Usually, if I had something negative to say, I would just express disinterest, hoping the conversation would just move on. For example:

“Do you like this song?”
“Wow, if this song had a face, it would be the ugliest face I have ever seen.”

Is what I would like to say, but I would maintain the peace by saying:

“It’s alright.” Or “Hey, I’m hungry, let’s go eat.”

No harm done. The wall is set, and I can think what I like behind it without hurting anyone’s opinions or feelings. Sometimes it’s hard to maintain this wall. There are too many bricks in it, and if I forget, the brick falls and the wall crumbles. But if I protect that wall, no one gets hurt.

I'm not saying it's necessary to lie all the time. Just on sensitive subjects. 

Like I’ve said, I’ve gotten pretty bad at handling these lies. You want the truth? Okay, I guess a little dose of reality wouldn’t hurt you that much… Tears. Sadness. Bitterness. No, I was wrong. Suddenly honesty isn’t the best virtue anymore. Wait, is that how the saying goes? Wisdom is the best virtue? I can’t remember, whatever. Suddenly, telling the truth is a fully loaded gun, whereas telling a lie is a game of Russian roulette. I should’ve just lied instead of dealing with you dealing with the truth. Why do you want the truth so badly when I could so easily protect you from that? There is a reason to why I lie. To why anyone lies.

That reason, ironically enough, is not wanting to cause pain. If the lie is not protected, it would create the sharpest shrapnel of glass in the heart.

It’s an art. Lying is an art. To perfectly disguise it as the truth, and to maintain that disguise for as long as necessary. The fabrications also have to be believable, and it's the whole game not to reveal what's under the layers of deceit.

So I’m sorry. I apologize for not being the most trustworthy person when you want me to be the one to rely on. I’m sorry for not always saying all the right things when I drop my guard. All I ask is for you to trust me on your own terms. Because lying is an art, and I'm going to try my damnedest to perfect that trade.

But who knows, I could be lying about all this. 

Food

Dedicated to William, who is hungry.

On Tuesday, I've invited some friends over to bake. We baked a white chocolate cheesecake. Well, when I say "we", I really meant the two boys, because us girls were just chatting and watching them do all the work. Talk about role reversal. The cake was really easy to bake though, and we didn't make nearly as big of a mess as we did last time! Success.

We were meant to celebrate Sheng's birthday with the cake, but we only remembered after we ate half the cake. Or rather, a quarter of the cake.

 (Jason trying to be seductive)

Err... Happy Birthday, Sheng!

The cake was delicious.

See, William's favourite cake is a cheesecake, so I'm going to attempt to bake this thing at his house. I can almost guarantee a failed cake, seeing as separating eggs is the only thing I'm good at in baking a cake. Mum says I can't even whisk things properly in a bowl. Sigh.

Going along with the theme of food, this burger is one of the three best burgers I've had in my life. The perfectly toasted buns with sesame seeds scattered uniformly across the top. The chicken was juicy and tender and seasoned beautifully. Light, lemony sauce slathered across the skin of the chicken, with just a hint of mustard. There is a crisp piece of lettuce in between the bun and the chicken that just added a fantastic texture to the tongue. The presentation of the burger was perfected with a giant knife holding all the amazing components together. Finally, a nice cup of ice lemon tea to wash it all down. 

They should get me to write the descriptions for their food on the menu.

I've run out of food stuff. Here's the last one. Phil's BBQ! The best ribs I've ever tasted. Every morsel of meat was doused with barbeque sauce, and the pork just melts in the mouth. A side salad only slightly lightening the feeling of guilt for my cholesterol levels and clogged arteries. A large serving of fries loaded all the guilt back on. Focus was nice enough to share his beer with me, which complimented the meal tremendously. 

I'm hungry now. Thanks, William.