No matter how many new shows crop up which revolve around single career women, they’ll never replace SATC. The SATC movies were a little disappointing, but those first few episodes of the series were a gem. I’ve just watched an episode from Season 2 titled “The Chicken Dance”, which left a deep impression on me… about commitments.

Carrie had just revived her relationship with the perennially commitment-phobic Mr Big. She’d made some remarkable breakthroughs, with him providing her a permanent pink toothbrush head at his place and then agreeing to go with her to a wedding. Carrie was previously asked to do a poem reading at said wedding, which Mr Big said he wouldn’t miss for the world. Unfortunately on the day of the wedding, an uneasy-looking Mr Big refused to sign the gift card together with Carrie, and he also left halfway through Carrie’s poem on account of a business call. This was Carrie’s poem:

His hello was the end of her endings
Her laugh was their first step down the aisle
His hand would be hers to hold forever
His forever was as simple as her smile
He said she was what was missing
She said instantly she knew
She was a question to be answered
And his answer was “I do”

The poem was such a huge contrast to Carrie’s relationship with Mr Big, which was shadowed with tug-o-wars of commitment. He just wanted to simply be, she wanted something more stable. He didn’t want any fuss or definition, she needed the reassurance. Simplicity was absent from them, there was no clear path of “you’re with me, let’s do things together, I’m your boyfriend and maybe someday we’ll get married.”

Unfortunately, recently I was on the wrong end of a similar commitment tug-of-war. There were talks of not being sure where each party will be in a few years’ time, in which case a commitment now will only complicate matters. There were suggestions that whatever has been going on was good enough, no declaration / definition needed. In fact, “Does it matter? You know how I feel.”

I was left confused and with the question – if the party felt for me, why couldn’t the party commit?

No matter how modernly independent I declare myself to be, deep down inside I still wish for a simple, traditional love life. Stability. Routine. Predictability.

I went overseas for a while then, to clear my head. When over there, I started tearing up in front of a painting because it reminded me of the party. Heck, everything reminded me of the party. At night, tucked into my anonymous hotel bed, I’d rationalize and say to myself, “Maybe I don’t want commitment either.” But in the end I knew it was my worse half’s way of trying to convince me to let the party back into my life. Regardless of whether I want commitment right now, I’d still like it if the party wants to be with me wholly and fully.

Looking back, I think the party knows that he has an issue with commitment. Just like Mr Big, he tries to work on it. But sometimes, like Mr Big, a white pouffy wedding might just scare him right off again, I know the party wants to only make small step by small step. I am quite touched that the party really tried.

Whatever happens next, I made a promise to keep it within the knowledge of the involved parties only. Things are still being worked out, commitments still being feared.

Anyway, SATC fans, do not read the book. It doesn’t have the same ending as the HBO series.

Let’s start with the obvious – I’ve changed jobs. I’m no longer doing economic research for what used to be one of the biggest banks globally by market cap. I think it’s still one of the biggest banks by bailout size though, but in any case I don’t follow their updates anymore. I’m still in a bank, though a much smaller one at that, but the most important thing is…

I am working my dream job!

Which is proving less of a dream now and more of a reality with its blacks and whites and greys. Lots of grey areas actually. But it’s still pretty amazing that I’m now living it instead of wistfully writing about it in this blog. That job is FX sales by the by… I sell plain vanilla FX as well as the more structured products, pricing FX hedging ideas using options.

So one reason why I haven’t visited you, my dear diary, is because I have less to write now and more to live. At least in one area of my life, I am (for now) satisfied. Another reason is because I’m always tired after work and tend to crash really early – as early as 9 PM. Weekends are now spent either sleeping in or catching up with friends, after which I hardly have the energy to string two sentences together.

The tinier updates:

- I just got back from a department offsite in HK and am now nursing a sore throat
- Signed up for a 10km run this Sunday, for which I haven’t sufficiently trained so think am gonna walk 3/4 of the way
- I now own 3 pairs of Loubies despite my rantings on materialism
- How I Met Your Mother, Glee and Gossip Girl are my constant weekend companions

So hello, old friend… Hope to see you again soon!

Singaporeans seriously need to find something better to complain about. I guess this is the drought season in between the F1 hype and before Christmas (hmm, let’s see, then, Singaporeans will talk about the Christmas displays near Tanglin and complain about foreign construction workers squirting water at girls).

Seriously people, it’s no big deal! Haze = slightly cloudy weather = just stay bloody well indoors. Haze gets you sick? So many other things can make you sick. Scolding Indonesia on forums and complaining that they aren’t complying to agreements dated way-back-when as if you’re the Prime Minister is so… so… so… Singaporean.

Indo has much bigger problems to deal with than one tiny forest fire in Sumatra. We have poverty, sub-standard living conditions, unpaved roads. Do you really think Indo will bother about a tiny island’s complaint when it has over 17,000  islands under its own territory to take care of? Please. You really don’t know how blessed you are as a country / city-state. Stop being such ball-less pussies and just suck it.

And for that mrbrown to actually make it into a whole song and dance, inciting more reaction and whatnot. How puerile. Please, don’t use international matters to create more blog traffic. Just sing another song about ERP, “every road pay hur hur”. Fuckineejits.

I’ve been raised by my father the King for many purposes,
the first of which is to take over his kingdom one day
I hope, one day far far away -
I hide this fear of responsibility deep inside me.

The second of which is to learn of the seven languages,
including the language of the swordfight.
I dare say I am the best fighter in this kingdom,
The kingdom I am to take over, one day far away.

The third of which is to protect my mother the Queen,
frail as she is as she gave birth to triplets,
my two brothers they died as infants,
and that is why my purposes are multiplied.

The last of which is to marry the sleeping princess.
My father said her kingdom’s riches would be mine,
my mother said her beauty and her soul would be mine.
P.S. They had not seen her, nor her kingdom, for themselves.

So here I am, cutting brambles which grew over a long-forgotten castle
While my second cousin removed took over my ride and game
While my squire feasts his eyes on the mermaids down the road
While my entire court, really, drinks tea and eats supper.

This girl, they say, I must kiss -
With lips I used to kiss Penelope and Amalia -
Both of whom just found out about each other and about the sleeping princess,
And then they left me. Damn girls.

Father, mother, ’tis my duty to please you,
so here I am climbing over crumbling walls
dreading kissing a hundred-year old gal (what breath!)
while slaying the dragon in the way (two strokes and a half, I do believe this beats my record).

Finally, I step on long dark hair
which had grown over a hundred years.
In a room which stank of mildew
But she smells like roses and she looks, well, like a princess.

Well, she is fair enough to be a wife.
I hope she cooks and cleans and does the chores.
I certainly won’t mind her next to me at night.
Here it goes. The kiss to seal my fate (and hers, I suppose).

…

She did not wake.
And I watch as maggots crawl out of her ears.
And the smell of roses were funeral flowers.
Blimey, I think I’m at the wrong castle.

hello dear, how are you?
how am i? could be better
but generally fine, it’s nothing much
what’s wrong you say?
nothing at all! (what gave it away?
do i look pale? but i always look pale.
my eyes, downcast? gray? lightless?)

hi mum. how’s dad.
oh that? …
i don’t want to talk about it.

hey, sorry i couldn’t pick up, it was my mum.
you know how it is.
you should be honored.
i’m about to tell you something
it’s bad, real bad-
feel the gut and the wrench and the stab
in the back.
feel sorry for me.

it’s so easy to share the good news.
exciting to share the ugliness
as long as it’s other people’s
but my bad news is mine alone
thank you for taking on a piece of it.

1. That.
2. 1-week leave!
3. These:

But apparently Paul the octopus knows everything, so, nyehhh…

1. Money doesn’t buy you happiness.

2. Material things don’t make you feel content.

3. A good-paying job will always be not enough as long as you hate it.

Even 8 months bonus feels like cat piss when your mental well-being is put to the test every single day, when your Xxxx sprays spit at you. I chose not to go for IBD jobs for a reason – to not have to go through the shit that IBD Analysts are put through. So why am I overworked, underpaid (relative to the amount of work that I do), and most importantly – so unhappy?

Please, please don’t ever sit on your laurels and ‘go with the flow’. If you think you can do better, then stop whatever you are doing and seize the day. If you want to act but can’t even put up a decent poker face, go to acting school. If you want to dance, go for it and be embarrassed in the first few dance lessons – it will get better, you will improve. If you want to be a trader – start taking risks. This is me telling myself: quit the job you hate and beg, lie, cheat, steal for the one you love. Trade salary for passion – it will be the smartest thing anyone has ever done, and I am proud and jealous to know at least 2 people who have been brave enough to face the music.

Passion is the most important thing. Being able to afford (on credit) branded things does not satisfy a person. I will never, ever trade the companionship of a loved one for a pair of Louboutins. Louboutins will not give you lasting contentment even if they lie next to you in bed – although you will probably sleep better with the calming scent of pig skin red sole.

800-dollar dresses are still dresses that go out of style, that you grow out of after 6 months of stress-eating. Material things don’t last, just as flirt-of-the-days don’t — they are just there to distract you from the black hole, the soul-sucking job.

I can’t believe I hate my job so much now that I have to blog about it and risk the consequences, but I don’t care any more – I hate my job and I will do anything and everything to do what I really want to do. No matter how long it takes, no matter the financial consequences. I would rather wear the same clothes every day for the rest of the year because I can’t afford new ones from This Fashion (or ASOS, since exchange rate is quite favorable at the mo) than to feel miserable being a slave to Xxxx.