Thursday, 27 August 2015

Miserable Little Slob


I reckon one of our biggest fears is of not mattering.  If we're not special, mediocre, just a meaningless face in the crowd, then we've lost our sense of purpose.  If we don't have something to identify us as better comparatively to others, then what's our self identity?  We look to things like good grades, invitations to parties and beauty to give ourselves a sense of self worth - when in reality what we are is made up of more than any of this subjective 'evidence'.  Sometimes I think that it's better to be talked about in a bad way than to not be thought about at all, or is that a breach of the universally deserved self respect?

It's been one of those weeks for me, and it's only Thursday.  After handing in the assignment I've been putting my life on hold for, it finally hit me how out of order everything is.  I pride myself on my health and organisation, but once that's taken away I feel a flood of low self-esteem.

My food addict problem has gotten worse in the last two weeks.  With such an unreasonably weak willpower, I've been eating everything I can get my hands on.  There was a plate of cupcakes sitting in the classroom last week, and when I asked who it was for the lovely baker said we could eat them.  Nobody took one, and seeing as I was on a "healthy diet" since that morning, I didn't too.  Five minutes later they were still there and I was still staring at them, and finally I couldn't take it and I had to eat one.

The same goes for the chocolate in the cupboard, the bowls of popcorn I've been popping for every movie, the peanut m&ms at work, the TimTams in the morning, the halves of those ginormous canteen cookies, all the extra food sitting around at lunch; I ate it all despite telling myself not to.  The thing is though, I feel so sick afterwards.  If I overeat my carbs or have chocolate my stomach becomes uncomfortable all day long.  I know this will happen yet I still eat, and every day I stop being healthy is another day where the bloating and the discomfort gets worse.

My fitness has definitely disappeared, and I only realised this last week when I found that I couldn't swim very fast at all, and I was tired.  I can no longer do those leg lifts I used to find so easy.  Sit ups have become less rhythmic and more sporadic and achy.  I gave up on an arm exercise for the first time today.  I can't do nearly as many burpees as I used to.  I haven't jogged in quite a few months.  My body is rejecting everything I do, and that's one aspect of me lost.

I say I'll sleep enough, and I've trained myself to want to sleep enough, but I don't.  Every morning I feel like I'm fine, but the tiredness always hits without a fail.  Fatigue makes me inarticulate, a downer, and I hate that feeling.  A day is not fully spent if you're tired while living it.  If you can't think straight then what's the point of being there?

I tell myself I want to write and play the piano.  I always think I'm deep enough to create - which is probably a personal self-promoting mechanism; but in reality all I want to do is lie on the couch and watch movies.  I want a nice big bowl of junk food that I know will make me sick.  My skin will break out, I'll feel like an oily mess, and I'll regret it but that's all I want to do, because I'm a lazy slob like that.

I wish grades and school didn't matter, and I wish I could act like it doesn't, but I know that next year will be a nightmare and assignments really will count towards something, so I can't stop now.  I can't be a burnout no matter how unmotivated I feel.  It's probably not in my nature to adopt that state of mind anyway.  Grades are one of my self-illusions.  I tell myself I'm better because I'm an above average student, but having good grades isn't a reflection of how much you matter at all.

Having a strong body is a true self-esteem booster, but with that gone I feel so weak.  All this junk food and exercise talk could be mistaken for vanity, but sometimes it's a matter of feeling healthy that makes you feel alive.

So today I'll wallow on the couch with the television on.  I'll eat junk food, but hopefully a controlled amount.  I'll feed my cravings.

But tomorrow, when I regret tonight, I promise you I'll get my life in order.  I'll clean my room, clean the sink, go for my first jog in months, do everything I've been meaning to do but have procrastinated to the point of oblivion, and I'll put my mind in the right place.

Love,
M

Saturday, 22 August 2015

What's the Point



My life is a routine of classes and assessments and the same people every day.  It's a continuity of trying to keep my priorities in the right place and aiming for the next good result, before starting all over again.

When asking people what they've been doing, it's always the same reply.  "Oh, you know, I went to school today..." and that's it.  That's it every single day because that's all we really do.  6 years of our primary school lives were centred around education, and we're living through 6 more of high school before shipping off to another 5 or more years of education in university.

"At least our subjects have variety," someone said to me yesterday when I was complaining about how unnecessarily repetitive the school life is, "When we get older we're going to be doing the same of the same thing all day every day in our jobs."  Now how miserable does that life sound?

They say do what you love and you'll never have to work a day, but what if you don't know what you love?  Everyone's aim is to be successful, and ultimately that does mean to be happy - but when you don't have a passion or a specific dream, sometimes success can simply mean being rich and famous. Being swayed by the realism of probability, I'd rule being famous out since that's predominantly dictated by chance; so I guess that leaves the aim of being rich.

Observing the people around me there seems to be two ways of almost definitely obtaining that: either work your way up to becoming the partner of some huge financial advisor corporation, as all my supposedly 'successful' relatives seem to have done; or become a doctor as the majority of private school girls' parents have done.  So in a world full of lifestyle options, I've narrowed it down to two careers, both of which I can't say I'm passionate about but will probably end up doing one of them.

In some ways, being a doctor does sound like a fulfilling life commitment.  The idea of saving other people's lives shows that you're actually doing something with your's, something more worthwhile than making money out of money.  So I want to be a doctor then?

Living in a family of this culture, being a teacher, a magazine editor, a personal trainer, an actress or anything of the sort is looked down upon.  I know my parents would support anything I do, but I also know they wouldn't be proud of a lot of the society-worthy professions out there.  I know the snobbier halves of my family would look down upon my career choice and myself as a person, unless the success factor of being rich and famous swept in.  They would become bitchy school-girls at dinner parties, talking about that girl who had so much hope but ended up throwing it all away.  It would be somewhat of a mild scandal.  That wouldn't be enough to stop me from doing what I want though, if I knew what I wanted.  This is just the culture that's ingrained itself in my head.

My biggest fear is of becoming a workaholic.  A lot of these doctor parents, or any of the people we consider rich, seem to be working 24/7.  My friends who have doctors as parents all take the bus or walk home.  They talk of their parents being 'called in' at random times because that's simply how the medical industry works.  You can't choose when people get sick.  My second aunty, my only relative in the medical field, is career obsessed, and I don't want that to be my life priority when I'm older.

But I'm afraid that the way I'm going, career is already my life priority.  School is effectively my career at the moment, and that's all I'm forcing myself to care about.  When there's important assessments, all aspects of social life get cut out.  I make less of an effort because I'm too busy spending the extra 8 hours a weekend per assignment.  I tell myself not to care about trivial things like life, but I do, and it's healthy.  Maybe my lack of brain commitment to my outside-career life is a good thing, because good grades are a tangible sign of success, but are they really all there is?

And I'm working so hard that when the time comes to pick a career, when that final overall percentile comes in, I couldn't bear to throw it away on anything less than the most prestigious profession available to me.  This profession may not be my life's calling, it may not be what I love, but if I don't choose it then what's the point of all this work I've put in?

The other day I was watching Good Will Hunting and Skylar says, "Private school, Harvard, and now Med. School.  I actually figured out that by the end of it, my brain will be worth a quarter of a million dollars."  And what's the point?

Love,
M

Monday, 17 August 2015

A Better Mind


It's funny how the trivial things can mean so much; what people say can dictate our perception; common culture can make up too much of what we are; we become dependent on all things materialistic, all things considered normal, and sometimes that's okay, no matter how pathetic it may feel.

...

Sometimes I feel like it's okay to step into the background and let someone else lead.  Being part of the group is enough.  These situations become a bit of a pity party, because I wonder why I'm okay with this.  How can I let myself slip into the background and become just another person there?  It's like I put way too much pressure on my interactions with people I'm not close to, like it's not good enough to just be there, but I have to be the centre of the there too.  I used to think that being loved and strong and looked up to was how to have a better mind, but I was wrong.  Speaking when something feels like it should be said is enough.  There's no need to be that loud person at the centre when that's just not you.

...

Yesterday they had another conversation about drinking.  I asked a 'group question' as an experiment; "So group question you guys!" I yelled, which received a few teasing insults from the guys and eventual curiosity.  "How old were you when you started drinking?"  They went around the room answering my question, treating alcohol like some kind of sign of superiority or whatever.  "Oh man you totally started drinking at like 13.  We all know it." one guy said to another, who started laughing.  "Nah man, more like 12."  The last person to answer coughed and said softly, "I haven't yet." which received a pathetic "aw" from the girl next to me.  And the thing is, I bought into this topic, enough to have asked the question in the first place.

They had been talking about a farewell party I'd ditched the week before, and one girl was talking about how I'd missed out on so much.  "This was the first party where I drank alcohol that wasn't vodka." she said proudly.  That was when this guy outwardly assumed that I'd never drunk before because I'm Asian.  "Excuse me!?  What's that supposed to mean?" I said, before confirming that yes, I'd never drunk before, to which they said I was so cute.  Later on we relayed the same conversation with different people, to which this girl said, "You don't drink?  That's good!"  It was the first opposite viewpoint I'd heard all day, even though she followed with a joking, "But if you wanted to you could come over and..."  To the racist Asian comment she also said, "Dude, don't take that.  Seriously, you should just go and kick him in the balls." even though 'him' was sitting right behind her.  Sometimes I think having a better mind involves being more strong-minded, and not taking all these opinions too seriously.  My biggest fear is of being a pushover.

...

If you read my last post you'd know that this little blog here became a little more exposed last week, and that made me an overthinking wreck.  The other day, after it had blown over but I was still dwelling, a friend said to me, "I loved it!  You're writing what you want and if people don't like it they can deal!"  I'm starting to wonder why I was so worried about people reading all the tiniest little posts on here after the initial wee bit of drama had blown over.  Why do I care what they think about what I've written?  In some ways it's flattering that people I know are interested enough to read my words.  Part of having a better mind is becoming more confident with being over-exposed.

...

After 4 years at an all girls school it feels a little too different around guys.  I feel like I'm not as funny as other girls, I'm not as comfortable, I never know the right thing to say - that's what I feel like sometimes anyway.  And the guys from our brother school make me feel plain awkward, possibly because they've spent 4 years at an all boys school themselves.

The other day I was talking to this girl about it, and her reply was, "Who cares if you are anyway?"  And that's the thing; I feel so abnormal sometimes, but who cares if I am?  How I feel is the way it is, and I shouldn't feel obliged to change it based on my perception of normal.

...

My religion and philosophy teacher, on two of his off-topic tangents has said twice that there are three factors that affect a better mind: food, physical activity and sleep; and I'm planning on ticking all three boxes.

Love,
M

Wednesday, 12 August 2015

Anybody I Know Personally...

If you're not reading this, that's great.

I feel like I'm Dan from Gossip Girl, and I hate Dan from Gossip Girl.  You know that part where he writes a book about all his friends and they get really mad at him?  Well, I feel like that's happening to me, except less upper east side TV drama, and more me overthinking everything in my own mind.

If I've offended or hurt you in any way, I'm really sorry.  I can't imagine what reading something seemingly based on yourself must feel like, because we all get a little sensitive when we hear anything about ourselves.  Just know that this is a blog of the negative.  I rarely ever write anything on here unless I've had a bad day or am feeling frustrated, which is why reading this may make you think I'm really sad and pessimistic or something.  Keep in mind that I also have so many positive opinions, but most of them simply aren't featured on here.

I know the wise thing to do now would be to delete this blog and start a new one, without telling anyone what it's called, but I really don't feel like doing that.  I love all the commenters and readers I already have, and I'm not prepared to start on a clean slate.  I also have the feeling it wouldn't be too hard for someone to find out again.

I will, however, be more generic about everything I write.  That means no more targeting specific people, and no more obvious possibly insulting references.  As one of my wise friends (who I'm not sure has completely forgiven me) said, "just know that some things are better kept to ourselves."

Yesterday felt a bit like an interrogation, which is understandable.  I'd much rather people find out what I think from my face, rather than reading stuff behind my back.  I was asked whether I felt bad about writing what I've written before people had read it, or after.  I'm not sure what I answered - I may have possibly avoided the question or stumbled through some kind of half-understandable response.  To be honest, I didn't think anyone would read any of this, and no I didn't feel bad when I wrote it.  A lot of the stuff I write are simply rants in the moment, and everyone has opinions and long trains of thought; I just happen to write mine out here.  And I know people have said it's a public site and how could I not see this coming, but I truly didn't think anyone I know really read any of this.

So I guess my answer is that I really did only feel bad after people read the stuff on here, because some of it really is offensive and I don't like the fact that I've possibly hurt any of you or that any of these hyped up thoughts have even entered your mind.  Some things aren't meant to be seen for a reason, and I didn't think any of this would ever be shared.  This blog was completely innocent before it became all too real for you.

If you're under the impression that this blog is just a place where I bitch about people, you're completely wrong.  If you've read my posts, you'll know that this blog is literally all about me, and there's probably only two posts (one that's now deleted) in here that are directly about anyone anyway; and I'm sorry about that.  From what I've heard, I feel like a lot of you only read this to look for stuff about yourselves, which is fair enough, and I just don't want you to get the wrong impression about what I'm writing about here.

I know this is really unfair of me, but I'd seriously appreciate it if you'd stop reading this blog - or if you're really that curious at least read it at home, not in front of people in the middle of school; and please don't tell anyone else this thing exists.  If they ask what my blog's called, just tell them to ask me.  You have no idea how self-conscious and irritated it makes you feel when an entire group of people are all just crowded around a laptop, looking at your blog right in front of you, when you'd told them just a minute ago to stop looking at it.

I'm not really sure why some of you continued to read it or told others it existed when I made it pretty clear I didn't want anyone reading it, but I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume I just didn't make the message clear enough.  I know our lives are somewhat boring (including mine, which is why I don't get why you're reading this blog), but I'm sure there's loads of more entertaining things to watch or read aloud to everyone, so let's just not do that again.

If there's one thing I've learned from the unnecessary drama created by this, it's that a small incident can feel so huge in my mind.  I'm not sure if it's my imagination, but quite a few people are treating me differently, whether it's that they're being more distant or wanting to talk about this topic with me more than they usually talked to me before in the first place.  To be fair, I've also been bringing up the topic quite a bit, because it's still stuck here in the back of my mind knowing that people are reading these posts.  Over the last few days I've gotten over 300 page views from Australia, and that's quite a few more than usual.

I feel like people are really bad at talking face to face, because of the lack of real confrontations from both a pissed off me and any surprised readers.  I know that I explain things much less eloquently in person, and I'm way too scared to tell some people how annoyed I am, but I'd much rather talk it out face to face than have something discussed behind my back.

Some people are also treating this complication like it's funny or just another piece of drama.  I guess I would too, if I weren't the cause of it.

So if you know me personally (including any relatives my mum has blabbed to, and my mum) I'd really appreciate it if you didn't read this blog.  And if you do, at least read it discretely.  In some ways, it's daunting knowing that people I know may be reading what I'm writing, but maybe that could also be a more honest display of myself.  Just keep in mind, if you ever think you're reading something about you, what I'm writing will be based on people in general and what you're thinking probably has more to do with your own self reflection.

And always remember, if you want to know what I'm thinking you can always ask :)

Love,
M

Monday, 3 August 2015

People I Sort of Know

It's taken a period of growing up to come to the realisation that other people are complicated.  Everyone is so beautifully complex, with an outer reputation and physical exterior, and their own thoughts on that image buried deep inside.  They're just like me.  They lie to themselves.  They must care.


She's always got a seemingly intellectual book with her.  Last I checked it was the original Peter Pan.  Today it's Jane Eyre.  Her hollow looking face is resting in her hands, her pale skin contrasting against her dark hair and the black frames of her glasses.  Her eyes are looking up at the teacher, but I can't tell whether she's listening to his droning voice, or is simply day dreaming.

To everyone else she's invisible.  It's easy for them to forget she exists.  I've never heard her yell.  On the rare occasion that she speaks, her voice is so quiet.  Sometimes she'll give off a small laugh with someone she knows well.  She's so innocently kind, but maybe that's what happens when you rarely say anything at all.

I wonder if she minds what they think of her, if she's content with being unknown or being seen as shy.  Does she ever wish she could join in when she fades into the background while her friends are talking, or is she deliberately not contributing because she doesn't see the point?  Does she care about any of those stereo-typical teen things, like formals and parties and friends, or does she genuinely love being separate from it all?  If she does, I admire her for that.


She's laughing.  It's a dorky laugh, but I can tell she's genuinely happy.  She yells something with her slight lisp, rocking back and forth, resuming her laughter.  What should be contagious happiness is contained within her table, because no one around the room cares to hear the obvious bout of hilarity coming from them.

The last time I talked to her she loved cats, Pokemon and tic-tacs.  She used to be unhesitant to say hello to me, but now she'll sit in silence and watch.  I remember the time I showed her a quote stating that of sleep, a social life and good grades, one must always be sacrificed; and she confidently said that she had all three, only to take back the social life a moment later.

I don't know whether she likes being who she is.  What's going through her head?  Is she more focused on her reputation, or her relationship with her friends?  Does she ever crave to be the centre of the group, because sometimes those people who seem content with playing an insignificant role really just want to be recognised.  Sometimes I think she's unhappy, but in that moment right there, she seemed like the happiest person in the room.


She just rocked up on the day.  Her hair was braided, her heels were low and she had a thick black parka over her comfortable slightly bohemian looking dress.  Her entire character screamed that she would work in the hyped up overly well-dressed crowd, no matter what.  It had been two weeks of school and hearing nothing from her, and she was back.

She was sitting alone on the steps, watching the swelling crowd of people krumping.  She didn't have her phone out, she didn't pretend she was with anyone.  She was just there.  She made all the foreshadowing angst people felt seem meaningless.  She seemed so utterly content and unafraid.

I wonder whether in her mind she's trained herself to do this; if every time a doubtful peer-pressuring thought of conformity enters her brain she pushes it out; if it's all an act of repulsion.  I wonder if she cares, or if she's a hell of a good actress.  Or maybe her thoughts are simply centred somewhere else.  I wonder where she learned to have the courage to dance alone in a crowded room, or where she learned to act like she does.

...

I wonder if anyone's ever observed me in a beautifully complex moment.  What would one of those moments look like?

Love,
M