End of the Affair. - Copyright @ Poet 2013

It's been ages since I wrote stories. It's been so long since I have flexed my creative muscle and hence, I'm deciding to write a story based on a random set of words given to me. I'm totally looking forward to this. 

Cigarette smoke curled upwards towards the ceiling of the taxi. No one said a word. She inhaled in heavily and sighed, her breath scattering the ashes that she carelessly tapped onto the dashboard.

"You do know that you're going to have to pay for the burn marks, right?"

"Yeah. Whatever." She took another drag on the cigarette and then wound down the window a tad before flicking the smouldering remains into the storm outside. The rain lashed unrelentingly against the perspex, its staccato beats like popcorn popping on a stove.

"You don't have to do this."

"I have to." She hesitated. "I must."

She leaned her head against the coolness of the window, wishing it was so easy to just step out. Get soaked in the rain. Knock on the door and give the letter to the maid who she was sure will open it. And then disappear.

"What would you do?" she asked.

"Who, me?" The man turned to look at her, jaws chewing energetically on a puck of tobacco which he spat into an empty beer can with gusto. "I wouldn't even bother with that sort of shit."

"But would you just leave like that? Without saying a word?"

"Look, lady," he grunted, working the puck a little longer and enjoying the taste. "If I was looking to leave my husband, I would just go. If he sounded as bad as you said he was, turning up at his front door with a letter explaining it all might get you a bullet in your brain. I'd rather save him the hassle and the mess by just disappearing."

A pause. "He is my husband, after all."

"Yup. He also beats you when he's drunk and it looks like you're hiding more than just your hair under that shawl you're wearing."

She flinched at those words, as bad as the bruises behind her ear when her husband had choked her and smashed her head against the wall in one of his alcohol-fueled rages.

"What about loyalty?"

"What about it?"

She chuckled quietly to herself. "You know, when we first got married, I promised to be with him, through thick and thin, for rich or for poor. And now, I'm getting ready to break that vow. I've cheated on him with a man who's nothing like him and you know what? It feels good. Samuel loves me. He takes care of me." A sigh escaped her lips.

"I need another cigarette. Damn, I'm out."

The man tossed his pack into her lap and with practised ease, she tapped one out, flipped it between her lips and lit it with a lighter.

"Lady, I've never been married so I wouldn't know. Call me a romantic, but I don't see nothing wrong about leaving a man who thinks he's married a punching bag."

"It never was like that, initially. Daryl was sweet and kind, the kind of boy that all the girls wanted. But then work was tough and he started drinking to take the stress off and sometimes, he would come home and dinner wasn't ready..." Her voice trailed off as it cracked a little. She dabbed at her eyes quickly.

His tone was gentle. "We all make mistakes. And it's okay. What's important is that you do something about it. And don't do it again. Obviously."

She looked at him, her eyes wide and shiny with tears. "There's some mistakes that can't be taken back, though." Her hand rested on her stomach and she smiled a sad smile.

His eyes widened. "Oh."

They sat in silence again. She, inhaling deeply from her cigarette and him, sitting in the driver's seat, fingers drumming on the steering wheel. He scratched the back of his neck. "So, uh...how many months along are you?"

"3."

"Have you told him?"

"No."

"Who's the father?"

"I don't know."

"Ah."

She took out the letter from her jacket pocket, envelope crumpled and a little torn. She unfolded the letter and read through it, lips moving silently as she mouthed the words.

"Did you mention that you're pregnant?"

"No. It would be better if he didn't know."

She made to crumple it up and he put his hand over hers. "Tell you what. Leave it in the mailbox. If it helps you sleep at night, do that. And then I'll drive you wherever you wanna go."

She smiled at him; this big, rough man in corduroy pants and a thick fur jacket.

"Okay."

The door opened quickly and she stuffed the letter in the letterbox slot before rushing back again. Her shawl had been blown asunder by the wind and her red curls were scattered across her shoulders, damp with rain. She slammed the door shut and blew into her cold hands.

He started the engine and warm air from the conditioning ducts poured out into the car, mingling with the scent of stale tobacco.

"What's the plan, Miss?"

"Well, I'll probably go to my friend's place. She lives in a small town a few hours from here."

"Oh? Is that so? Well, I'm from there myself so I'll just drive you there, eh?"

"But...I probably don't have the money to pay you, sir..."

"Ah, no worries about that. I'll need to drop by and see my old man, anyway."

As the taxi drove off into the distance, car lights blinking through the night, the letter, half stuffed in the slot, slipped out and landed on the wet grass, ink smudging slowly with the raindrops.

Self-loathing.

I'm in a self loathing mood again.

I don't really know why I get into these moods. I like to blame it on introversion. It's kinda cheating and saying that I am depressed because my inherent nature makes it so but I think it has a huge part to play in this kind of see-sawing mood that I get myself into.

It happens after every single dance night. Every single dance party. I have a good time somewhere and then I come home, unknowingly mad at myself that I had a good time. Am I restricting myself from having a good time? Is it a bad thing that I want to have a good time but yet, I'm inwardly sabotaging myself? And why on earth would I voluntarily do that to myself? Set myself up for failure?

I dance and dance and have an amazing time and then I hate myself for it.

Time and again, I wonder whether it's worth pursuing this. Maybe they are better off without me. Maybe they would be doing better if I wasn't in the picture.

I wonder, sometimes, about my self-arrogance. I tell myself all the time that I'm an integral part of a team, that I'm part of something bigger than myself. And that's something I tell myself everyday. I wonder if what I really am afraid of is the fact that the words I tell myself on a daily basis is actually a lie. A big fat comforting lie. I want to hear that I am wanted. Needed. Validated. And yet, at the end of the day, I'm cringing because deep down inside, there's a part of me that believes that I'm lying to myself and that it isn't true.

What part of lying do I not understand? Funny, 'cos I lie all the time.

It's too late for thoughts like these. It's too late to want to think about things like these.

It's all or nothing, I tell myself. I keep telling myself that I'm this kind of guy. I am either all in or I am so far out of your universe. I don't play in halves. I'm either in or out and that's that.

But I know that if I pull away, I'm gonna miss it. And yet, if I continue to stay in the game, there'll be repeated moping posts on the blog. What the hell right?

Sigh. Never mind...

Keep the Faith.

I guess this is an apt description, after all.

Recently, I've been making my foray back into church again. Attended a friend's church and then went to a big mega church here in Merlion City.

Church is okay. Same old same old. The usual "Sing praises to the usual deities, Praise be His Name" kinda thing. What was interesting was the differences between the traditions of my friend's church (totally old school, men sit on one side of the room, ladies on the other, etc.) and the mega church where they had panoramic cameras, live broadcasts all over the country, US, and internet broadcasts. People jumped, raised their hands in spiritual abandon, and clapped loudly when the pastor came on stage.

Yeah. Same old same old.

And coming to the usual source of contention - my job. Oh, what do I do with you?

What DO you do with a job? Do you work for the salary? Do you follow your passion and then miraculously, everything falls into place a la one of those movies where everything will be all right once you follow your heart? Or is it the daily grind where you postpone and you learn to delay instant gratification for the one thing that you know will come to you...or you hope will come to you if you put things off long enough.

I wish I could have a decent, solid, hours long conversation over a hot beverage with someone about my job. I want to spill all and sundry about everything I hate about my workplace. About how I don't think I was meant to be a physiotherapist to begin with. Maybe this blog is the best place to do it. For some reason, even though I keep complaining about it, it seems like it's brand new. I can always come back to this same topic on the blog and it never bores the crap out of me. I hate being that person who whines continuously about my job and I know I'm too much of a coward to back out so quickly. I kinda like my financial stability.

I used to have a friend - this person - who would bore me to tears and technically make me a little depressed after I talked with him on the phone. He would continually whine about his job and how much it sucks and how much he hated his dad who made him stay at home with the family and he didn't want to do that anymore and how he doesn't earn enough and that he can't find a girlfriend and the world sucks ad nauseum. I really don't wanna be like him.

I met up with a friend of mine from 4 years back - awesome woman who had a brain AVM - had a bleed and nearly died - ending up surviving with stroke symptoms all down the left side, decreased sensation, no movement in the left hand but she's so positive and happy that it scares me. I always thought that if I had a stroke or something that left me permanently disabled, I would have committed suicide. But she's content, she's telling me that there's a purpose in her life if she was to have made it back from the brink of death.

She asked me a question repeatedly last night, "Are you living the life you want?"

I paused for a moment, smiled at her, and said, "Yes and no."

When asked to justify why I said what I said, I told her, "Yes, because my dream of teaching dancing has finally come true. No, because I'm still doing something I don't really enjoy and I'm doing it just for the sake of the money." And then she spoke a truth that I probably knew deep down all along but I never chose to acknowledge it.

"When I was able to work, all I thought about was money. On-call, being able to bill the hospital $140 for 10 minutes of work, yeah, why not. But now I'm in this wheelchair, I'm not able to work, it doesn't matter anymore."

She's found God as well in the process. She says that God has been good to her. When she first woke up from the coma she was in, she asked her parents for her Bible. A friend of hers had given it to her and she had put it in her room, without looking at it. Now, all she wanted to do was read it. And she found Him. Didn't get to hear the full story as she said that it would probably take forever but wow. Just wow. Isn't it?

Sometimes, hearing these things just make you believe in Him a little more than a mega church or a traditional white chapel.

And her words still ring in my ears, "Are you living the life you want? Really?"

Jie jie, you are awesome. So good to see you and I hope to see you again when our paths meet. 

Worth v2.0

It's one of those times again.

For some reason, after dance parties or any major dance events that get me all hyped up and excited, the emotional crash afterwards really don't seem to be worth it.

I taught a class today. It was quick, witty (so I thought), and I had heaps of fun. I went for supper afterwards with the usual crew and we had our laughs. And then after that, I came home.

And sitting in the taxi on the ride back, a thought came into mind.

"Maybe all of this isn't worth it."

Maybe if I was to invest my heart and soul into this, it would get torn up, chewed out and spat back in my face. Am I willing to take that risk? To be honest, I'm not sure what I am afraid of. What scares me? If you were to ask me that question, I actually cannot give you an answer at all. This is the hardest I have ever worked for ANYTHING, and yet, I cannot tell you if I am fully dedicated to it.

Dance is going great for me. Got my fattest "paycheck" this week from a combination of the workshop that I taught on the weekend as well as class tonight. I've come up with a dance routine that can potentially become the best choreography I've done in a long while. So many things that I'm looking into. But yet, I'm holding back.

A proverb I used to hold on to quite dearly quoted, "He who hesitates is lost."

This particular phrase got me doing so many things that I would never ever do. Salsa dancing. An impromptu trip to a city for a dance weekend. Buying my $1000 tailsuit. Packing up my life and travelling halfway across the world for a girl I loved and wanted to have a real relationship with.

Starting Ceroc Merlion City.

So many things have happened this year and I remembered bitching previously about how when I was all ready to leave, this happened. All the excitement and commitment into a dance business occurred and I had to make this impromptu decision to stay. When the immigration papers come through for the Girlfriend and myself, I have to decide whether we stay or go. On to our new lives? Do I decide to put down roots here and end up here for good? Is this destiny? What if it isn't? What is right and what is wrong?

Is happiness the benchmark? The end by which all means is acceptable?

*****

I found a piece of myself from 2010 on the Internet the other night. It was an impromptu Google search and a hastily typed in URL which, surprisingly enough, existed. I read the one and only entry that I had written on that particular blog and I remembered the social dance event that we were practising for that morning. It was a chilly morning and the winds had picked up after the rain had stopped. I remembered not thinking about the French Lady when I woke up that morning and that made me smile. I wasn't emotionally drawn to her that much anymore. Every small victory counts, I guess.

My blog always had the title of "Chapter Life - Prologue" as a nod to the fact that I felt that my life has yet to truly begin. And I was not sure when it would. What would I be doing when the moment finally struck, when lightning zapped me from head to toe and I could comfortably write on the blog, "My life has begun."?

On this particular blog, my new blog title was Chapter Life. That's it. Finito. Nothing more than that.

Because for me, this was where my life started. I buzz cut my hair. I got contact lenses from a friend of mine who started up an optometrist shop. I got heavily involved with salsa and earned a 2nd place medal dancing cuban salsa in the National Champs. I was so proud of myself. This was my life. My own choosing. My destiny is shaped by my hands.

And now, I'm here. Has Life begun afresh? Is there now Life - Chapter 2? Is dance going to take over the next decade? Am I going to see the realisation of a dream that took nearly a decade to come into existence?

I don't know, really. But at least at the end of the day, I still know that this destiny is mine to make.

*****

I'm probably a closet voyeur. Yes, Sociologist, I know. Sometimes, I want to put my blog out there, splay it wide like a naked, de-feathered chicken for the world to see. And yet, I am fearful for the fact that I will be criticised. My thoughts torn asunder. My deepest darkest secrets, defaced into oblivion. So I keep typing in the dark, the glow of the keys keeping this blog a secret, only known to a handful that I know will bear this to the depths of a grave.

*****

Once upon a time, my love asked me if I was ashamed of her. She did not exist in my social online world. No mention of her has ever been made, no inkling of her being in my life was ever recorded. Am I ashamed? I don't think so. But the alternative to splay myself like a bloody chicken is for me, not an option.

One day, I won't have to hide in the dark. I may be able to blog publicly. I may be able to share my thoughts and dreams to the world and let the love of my life come into the light.

One day. One day.

Uncertainty.

How do you ever know if what you're doing is the right thing? How do you know that you want this, you really really want this and this leap that you're going to make into the chasm is not going to be one that you're going to want to backpedal out of 10 seconds into the free fall?

How are you really sure?

Clairvoyants then will tell you seek their advice, look into their crystal balls, watch the ways the tarot cards fall, follow deeply ingrained lines in your palms, and drink and read tea leaves. Whatever.

The more faithful will ask of you to seek the will of the Almighty, to ask for his blessing or his condemnation upon an ideal that is not part and parcel of the life that you were not meant to lead.

But it's fuzzy. So fuzzy.

Like radio static. You never quite get to the end of it. You never quite catch the last word.

You never do.

Losing Control, Weird Dreams, and a fascination with the dark.

Walk the line.

I've been having this particular recurring dream, ever since I graduated, started working, and moved all over the world.

It's always me, in school. Doesn't really matter where I am. I could be in university, or high school. Strangely enough, I never dream about this in primary school or kindergarten. Huh.

It always starts off with a nagging, knowing feeling inside my skull, telling me that something is wrong. I'm not getting it. I'm not getting the hint. I'm not cued in. I'm not focused. Something lingers at the edge of the periphery of my brain and I'll be damned if I could figure out what it is.

I'm usually sitting down on one of the school benches either at the canteen or one of those that's scattered around the university. Sometimes, a classroom. Or lab. Or practicals. Or something. I'm busy and I'm on my own.

And then someone will come up to me. Sometimes, it's not even someone I know. I've read somewhere that everyone you see in your dream somewhere in real life but no, I don't recognise these people. But I greet them as though I know who they are. Cordially. Not really close friends or anything.

Then, the bombshell drops. "Hey, Paul, you all set for the anatomy test?"

HUH?

What test?

Oh, you know, the one that the lecturer mentioned two weeks ago.

The panic sets in.

There's always variations. It can be biochem, physiology, additional maths (calculus and stats, for you non-Malaysian folks), biology, physics, or something absolutely stupid. The key thing is that I'm unprepared for it. Life throws me a curveball and I get sucker punched by it. Sometimes, it's not even a subject I'm that bad at. Yeah, I wasn't the best student in school or anything but I actually passed those subjects with a decent grade. Funny.

I wake up. Sometimes a bit sweaty. And I wonder to myself, "I've passed this. I've passed all this so long ago. It's been years. Why do I still dream about it?"

Is it a failure thing? A fear of failing again?

Its the devastating, gut-wrenching feeling of having to go through something again. Of the disappointment that just drags you through the day. The constant feeling of needing to study again. Because you cannot. Really cannot. Afford to fail.

Gee, I'm glad it's raining

Some dream analysts have attempted to decode this odd dream phenomenon and they mention that it could be a feeling that I'm not achieving as much as I want to or used to. Hence, the dream of not achieving or failing. I don't know. I can't say. I'm not sure.

For me, it feels like a control issue. Some will say that the fear of falling off a cliff/high place is the dream about control and not having it. For me, I think it's the mental control that I'm losing control. I have no control over what is going to be happening to me regarding said test and it scares the heck out of me. I wonder if it might signify a future assignment/role/challenge of some sort that I am supposed to be facing.

I don't particularly like this feeling. Who would? The feeling that you cannot do anything that would even remotely make a difference. That you are trapped. Stuck. Control does not exist. Not here. Not in this moment.

Talisman.

I wear this bracelet on my right wrist. My watch sits on my left. And my brother's hei matau drapes itself around my neck. One, a reminder that time waits for no man and that a failure to act means a loss for a lifetime. Another, a reminder that I alone can control my fate and that I am responsible for the forseeable future. The last one, a reminder of strength and perseverance through the toughest times, that creativity and innovation is not only required but lauded, and a fact that a brother's love and dedication above all will result in a necklace to die for.

* * * * * 

I have a theory.

I have a theory that introverts are usually night owls. We crave the darkness not because that we're emo hippie beings but we live fully and truly in the darkness of the night. I remembered once writing a story for a competition that never got anywhere but I wrote the words, "I was bathed in sunlight that I could not care for. How I wished for the sun to die." Funny that.

In Aotearoa, the sun is something that everyone looks forward to. Even when the sun becomes slightly hotter than usual and everyone's pretty much stark naked looking for the coolest spot in the house, we all look for the sun. The sun is the healing balm in the midst of winter. It's the one thing that can possibly cure SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder.) But sometimes, the quiet steadfastness of the moon is what we look to. The world is painted in different shades of grey and black and the pearly vagueness of moonshine is what coats our lives in a bleak, yet certain future.

I've always told people that I am a night owl. I don't function too well during the day. Yeah, sure, I'm alive somehow. Maybe the coffee kicks in and I remain awake enough to perform my duties efficiently. But night time is where my fingers dash across the keyboard, seeking release. Night time is where I used to gaze at the moon and I wonder about my future. Night time is where I used to dance with myself, practising spins, hands flying through the air, dancing with a phantom of a partner, perfecting music in my head.

There's something about working at night. The solitude where the world slumbers and you alone hold the key, the secret to something no one else will ever understand because they're drifting off to lalaland and you're conscious. It's like you're part of a lucid dream. And as you end the night, you draw your curtains shut - to block out the sun - and you hibernate within the cocoon of your daylight comas.

That's me. I'm out.

Hindsight.

There’s a phrase somewhere that says that hindsight is a wonderful thing. Of course it is. Anything and everything looks better upon reflection.

I posted on Facebook the other day, “I’ll miss you when I go.” Thankfully, there has  not been too many speculations on that post just yet. But I think…no. I know that I will miss this place when I leave.

Merlion City is one of those places that I always thought of as far away, as distant as New York or London. Paris. Moscow. One of those places that I never thought I would be in. But here I am and I’ve been here for 2.5 years. And possibly longer.

Is it possible to love a place and hate it at the same time? What do I hate about S’pore?

I’ve lived away from family for more than 4 years now. I’ve always wanted to seek my own independence, my own time, my own freedom. And perhaps, I got it. I moved first to WangaVegas, had a whale of a time, and then it was on as far away from the cold as I could possibly get. And what better place than to come to the Equator? Merlion City was a distant jewel, like Dubai. Hm. Dubai. Might be a good spot. Heh.

I love it. I love the food. I love the heat. I love the fact that I could rock to the beach and it’s actually blisteringly hot. There’s such a thing as a tan. Pools are cool and not heated. I can jump straight into corrupted Singlish/Manglish whenever I wish and I feel like I belong. Am I really that much of a third culture kid? Possibly? Maybe? No? Whatever.

I think though, as times go by, and especially when work is such a big part of everyday life, things start to grind on you. Work for example. Little mistakes. Things that just get in your grill. I mean, work takes up 33% of your daily life. You spend at least 8 hours at work and the rest of it is either sleeping or eating or taking a shower or commuting. What’s the point of spending a third of your life at something you hate? Honestly?

I was discussing with Dory this very matter. What I would have done differently, giving me another 3 years, or even 5 years. Would I have signed that contract for Wangas? Would I have decided to abandon everything and come to Singapore? All over again? What would have happened?

I may have stayed in Wangas for another year. Easy. I had the salsa crowd. The rueda spirit. I was a “dance teacher” then. Hated my job though. Maybe Palmy would have been easier on me. My friend was there. I guessed we could have ended up competing a lot more and getting better. I could possibly have trained to become a ceroc instructor then. But then again, I never really thought that Palmy would have been a good destination for me, either. Too many cold winters. (Obviously, HEAT is a BIG issue.)

I like it here. Ceroc Merlion City here feels good. I like the crowd. I like the enthusiasm. I like what we’ve got going on here. I like being the pioneer to something bigger than myself. Something that I might possibly leave as a legacy. Don’t want it to be something I just leave behind though. I still miss the Wangas crowd sometimes and I know that they miss me. Dancing was good there, though, not as big or as good as I would like it to be.

I just wished that things could have happened sooner. A lot sooner. Then the regrets won’t be so late at this point in time.

My dearest darling you,

To quote the infamous line from the Joker, "You complete me."

Yes, you.

Today, you turn 27. Today, of all days, 1 hour and 35 minutes after I came out into this world kicking and screaming, it was your turn. You yelled blue murder and your mum cuddled your bloodied body next to hers. 

Quite a picture, isn't it? And here we are. 8 years after I met you at Youth Convention, where I shook hands with you and hated your group of friends for taking away MY group of friends.

It was not a relationship that came easily to mind. No one would ever think that we would get together. A long distance relationship, over time, over many thousands of miles, and somehow, over the last 8 years, we kept it up. Crazy, huh? 

But we have changed. We certainly have.

Oh, we were so naive, both you and I. We were head over heels in love, falling all over each other, saving every single text message and email as though it held the life giving fluid in our veins. (On that note, I wonder why we always referred to it as veins. Maybe because arteries don't sound as romantic. Oh well.) Every goodbye was painful, every hello - a sunrise in a winter trodden world. In between though, there were tears. There were breakups. There were the awkward occurrences where we would talk again. Hesitantly. Not sure if this was the ground to tread this time. Not sure if it was worth it. But we gave it a shot. Again. 

And here we are. 

Sometimes, I wonder why you put up with me. I'm frustrating. Messy. Arrogant to a fault. Careless. Cynical. Sarcastic. Caustic tongued. I speak my mind. I live inside my mind and shell, talking to myself and then blurting out stuff you have never heard of and wonder where it came from. I'm incredibly dirty-minded and sometimes, I'm sure you ponder how much of a pervert I am. I have the fascination with video games and make believe characters that makes you shake your head and mutter, "Boys." I don't always watch your rom-coms with you. We disagree on our different passions. You head to the girlie stores while I am found wandering wide-eyed amongst the newest fangled gadgets and computers. 

So different. And yet, by some miracle (or probably just pure stubbornness), we're here.

I like how we've changed, both you and I. I like how, nowadays, we sit and we discuss things. Adult things. Like rent. Yes, I see you rolling your eyes at me. Or things like getting me to mop the floor today. Or planning exercise programmes to help us both lose some weight. How, back in the day, I would say something and you'd sulk about it for ages and vice versa. Now, we kinda just brush it off and consider it a done deal.

It's been an adventure with you, my love. It really has been. Having you in my world has changed what I thought my life would normally be. It's been great. 

So, darling, I want to say thank you. For putting up with my nonsense, the mess, the FAIL jokes, the occasional snapped remark after a day at work, the hardships that we both have been through. I hope that by hook or by crook, I'll be able to write another post next year for you, celebrating you, and the amazing woman that you are. 

I love you, Michelle.

Love,

Me.

I Made it thru’ the Rain – Barry Manilow

We dreamers have our ways
Of facing rainy days
And somehow we survive

It has been quite a few days since I posted here. Probably because I’m now hiding in my diary quite a bit. Is that a bad thing?

Previously, I used to think that it would be cool that my thoughts were privy to the people around me. Of course, not everyone around but enough people that I care about and with whom I would share my thoughts with. But it is starting to get a bit more difficult. Maybe it is an introvert thing. Too much sharing = too little privacy.

This was a compression t shirt that I picked out for a bit of motivation. A Reebok shirt with a Crossfit themed “No Excuses” etched into the sleeve, it made me want a tattoo all the more. Heh. But methinks that my 21 minute a day workout is starting to take effect, eh?

We keep the feelings warm
Protected from the storm
Until our time arrives

 
And in an insane moment of wanting to be fit, I made probably smartest fitness choice of my life – I bought a a pair of gymnastic rings. It also allows me to do my TRX exercises and revise them and heck, the stability required to use them is a pain in the proverbial.

Cleaning up my nutrition recently definitely helps – eating less rice and more protein and veges along with Noah’s arkload of water has had people asking me if I have lost weight. The above picture is what I eat on my cheat day. Yes. Cheat day. A day where my nutritional values go to hell and I am allowed to eat whatever the
!@$#$ I want. I obviously love  my cheat days.

Then one day the sun appears
And we come shining through those lonely years

The above bracelet reads: “Invictus: I am the Master of my Fate, I am the Captain of my Soul.”

I made it through the rain
I kept my world protected
I make it through the rain
I kept my point of view
I made it through the rain
And found myself respected
By the others who got rained on too and made it through

It was taken from a poem of the same name, Invictus, and serves as a daily reminder for me that no matter where I am in Life or what Life decides to throw at me and as much as the Big Guy up there keeps me safe and trouble free, I am ultimately in possession of what happens to my life right now. And hence, I need to make sure that I take the steps to make it happen. Coincidentally, the great Winston Churchill quoted this same exact line in a speech during WWII where the Brits were having their asses handed to them by Germany.

So in the spirit of taking matters in my own hands, I go through literal sweat oceans whenever I exercise. It is definitely a psychological effect, sweating what seems to be the equivalent of a 1.5 litre bottle of water, that I feel slimmer after all the lactic acid burn although there is no evidence showing that more sweat = more weight loss. Unfortunately. And I am aware that it’s not a reputable source so shut up.

For the heck of it and also for the fact that I insanely signed up for a marathon (as in 42.195km, mind you), I joined a “fun” 10km run and dragged the Girlfriend into it. After early morning workouts where we are both left half dead at the fitness corner, she was able to finish the run with a glorious time of 1:30 hours. Not bad for someone who’d never run more than a 5k in her life, eh?

And to prove we managed to actually do it, here’s the related photo with her and her finisher medal. (That flashy thing around her neck with the repeated 2XU branding on it. Me, I’m not wearing the finisher medal but I rarely end up that red without a lot of physical exertion. Trust me on this one.

 
Pardon the poor shot.

This is a picture taken on the same day as the run where, as a treat for both of us for doing such a good job in running that torturous 10k. There’s a secret video of the Girlfriend somewhere repeatedly and breathlessly stating, “No more run” as we came to the finish line. She is soooo cute.

So to celebrate this achievement, we went to watch Le Noir, former Cirque du Soleil performers who portray the “intimate, dark, naughty side of Cirque.” I like. +)

 
That’s the photo blogpost for the last time I didn’t blog until now. Keeping quite busy and there’s quite a lot of things to think about and consider.

*****

On a completely different note, I have paid for and am getting my certification as a Ceroc UK Beginner’s teacher. The course starts tomorrow and requires two whole days of training for me, plus another 3 days of training after work with an intense video examination which will be sent to the UK HQ for dissection before they decide that I am good enough to be one of them.

I had a training session with the girls yesterday who are also looking to become instructors. In a way, I pity them, as they had to learn to lead and also learn to narrate and teach whilst dancing the moves, etc. They’re doing all right, though, but it comes to a serious realization that I might need to “hold the fort” so to speak, for the most bit. Out of all of them, I turn out to be the one with the most dancing/teaching experience so I’m hoping I will be up to the task.

It keeps me interested and this is something that I have always wanted to do for a long time but I have never had the chance or had enough interest to go ahead and complete. 

They say that on your deathbed, you never regret the things you have done [That, I can say, is a lie. There are things I regret already.] but you regret the things that you have never done/had a chance to do. Living it up and beyond? Maybe? Who knows.

The Road Not Taken/On the Rocky Road to Fitness (see what I did there?)

This is not going to be a Robert Frost regurgitation post.

13/3/13

My feet hurt, I'm tired and I'm hungry.

Maybe fast days aren't particularly good for me. I get moderately cranky, and after waiting for 1 hour for taxis (and get turned by by 5 in the process [a slight improvement from 9 taxis from the other day]), I'm at the stage where I'm saying to myself, "Ugh. Stuff it. I'm going home."

I'm currently doing research at NUS with a final year student and I am getting to meet all different kinds of people. Students, mainly, quite a number who are non-Merlion City citizens and one question I always ask them is, "So, what is your major? Why did you choose X?"

Oh, it reminds me so much of what I once was. 

A few of them proudly proclaim their majors - Biophysics, Life Sciences, and then proceed to astound me with what they are studying. Research, DNA stretching to understand how protein folds so that once this is plain for the world to see, how they can unravel the DNA of the Human Immunodeficiency Virus. Wow. How do you explain having a part in curing one of the most infamous medical conditions in the known world today?

One student I talked to is a BioEngineering student whose final year research project entails growing ligament cells - tissue engineering - and they currently practise using pig ligaments as human trials have been unsuccessful so far. By manipulating bone marrow stem cells, they will one day be able to engineer ligament tissue that will change entire perspectives of ligament repair surgery! Imagine the implications of being able to use your own cells to grow tissue that fit YOU. 

And then you get the few who obviously entered University at the behest of parents or friends, thinking that it is the right thing to do, to go and get a degree. I talked to this girl by the name of Melanie. Cute, young thing, obviously her first time away from home and her first year in Merlion City. 

"How do you like it?" I asked.

Slightly raised shoulders. Hand lifted, palm parallel to the floor, fingers splayed, wiggled side to side in the expression of, "It's okay." But her eyes said it all.

"Stress right?"

"Yeah." It was not a sentence meant to agree with my query. It was a death sentence.

"What are you studying?" 

"Accounting."

"Oh, wow. That's a tough subject. What made you choose it?"

She hemmed and hawed but in so many words (Or lack of it), she could not express to me why she had chosen that major. Maybe it was a major that supposedly put food on the table. I have heard that a lot. I use it a lot myself. Maybe her friends were studying that so for companionship, she chose it. 

I wanted so bad to grab her by her shoulders and shake her. 

"Don't make the mistakes I did! I'm stuck in this company with no future and yet I stay because it offers me a hefty paycheck! Pursue your dreams, live your passions, find something that will make you open your eyes wide every morning without a need for coffee or stimulants! Don't be like me, dragging my feet to work everyday, looking for something more!"

But all I said was, "If you could pick something to study, what would it be?"

She thought for a moment and as she was called to the research room, I heard her say softly, under her breath, maybe not meant for my ears but hers alone, "Something else."

I hear ya, sister. I hear ya. 

*****

Anyone else aware of the fact that Google Reader is going under? I'm needing to relocate all my feeds somewhere else and especially for those people, (ahem, Sociologist, ahem) who track via Google Reader, you might find this useful reading.

*****

So I'm attempting to get myself into some semblance of shape this year (yes, I have procrastinated for far too long and let myself go worse than a pregnant lady. No offence to pregnant ladies everywhere, I know your cravings for durians and mojitos during non-durian season is totally understandable. Plus, alcohol is not good for baby you) and reading up (as I do) on ways to try and lose a few pounds (hopefully, more than just a few) as well as bulking as much as required. I'm taking protein shakes with packets that scream, "MUTANT MASS! - LEAVE HUMANITY BEHIND!" and all that jazz, waking up at ungodly hours to bust out exercise routines/regimes, drinking cups of green tea in order to boost metabolism and hopefully stimulate fat cell apoptosis enough so that I can look something like this.

(courtesy of Muscle & Fitness)

Friggin' scorpion.

Today, so far, I have ingested two cups of green tea, enough water to start the Flood that Noah was building the Ark for, and soon, I'll be chowing down on my "mutant dose" of a protein shake.

Good times, eh?

As per Tim Ferriss's recommendation about thermal loads and how we need to stimulate brown adipose tissue, I also have an ice pack sitting on the back of my neck. It is not exactly uncomfortable but my skin tends to sting after a bit.

On a positive note, my clothes have started dropping off me a little. And I've managed to maintain consistent workouts for a full 4 weeks! Oh my! 

Lucky

I always tell people I'm lucky.

I tell them, "I'm born under a lucky star" or that "When I was born, the stars aligned in the sky and then I'm just been showered upon with luck ever since." For the religious types, I use the oft quoted phrase, "I'm blessed."

But I guess, indeed, I am. 

Yeah, sure I'm a bit disgruntled with where I am in life. I'm still looking for more options out there regarding my career, my lifestyle, where I want to be. I have my sights set on high lofty goals which I am too chicken to do anything about so that's probably why I still have something to blog about. 

But I'm getting to that stage of my life where the damn cursed wanderlust is kicking in again. And perhaps its more than just that, you know? 

Last night, whilst chilling with the Girlfriend during dinner, I found myself in the mood to not do much at all with my current situation. Preferably, I would have liked to have submitted my resignation letter to my current employer and call it a day. However, my common sense of self-preservation decides to deny me that small self satisfactory action by reminding me that there still needs to be a roof over my head and food on my table. A starving tiger cannot be a plump tiger, right?

But you know how sometimes, there must be something more to the current life that you're living in? I 

I really cannot say that I am unsatisfied. 

I'm living in an awesome room, the Girlfriend is a dream come true (save the little squabbles about my levels of hygiene), I have a job that pays me double of what I would usually get working in a normal company/hospital with my level of experience. 

I guess I have to count my blessings more often. 

But you know, I do not think it is as simple as a matter of waking up and thanking the Almighty for the wonderful things. Call me ungrateful, because that is what I probably am. Ingrate. Meh.

Day's coming to an end though. But I'm finding myself being pushed towards the more teeter-y side of the chessboard.

Tootles.

Empty.

My head remains empty.

Every morning when I wake up, it takes me so much just to drag myself out of bed and to get ready for work.

The Girlfriend chatters away happily in the morning, talking about work or attempts to wake me up by poking me in various bodily regions. I'm still drowsy regardless.

It takes a lot out of the mind, I feel.

Things are moving, albeit slowly, and I feel like I'm only getting in the way.

Like today, for example.

Its a quiet day today.

I've got two patients to see because one of my initial consults cancelled this morning. So I'm suddenly freed up to do a lot more stuff. But I don't feel like doing anything.

So I'm doing little bits and pieces here and there, a bit of paperwork, a bit of video editing, and that's it. Keeps me busy.

Dear heavens, you can imagine how I'm longing for the weekend.