hello, how are you?
how am i? perfectly fine
ignore these tear-stained cheeks will you
ignore the tremble in my voice
i am perfectly perfection
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.
Hoping and praying that some good things will come by August, such as…
2. 1-week leave!
But it is powerful. It makes or breaks people and decides between life or death, a win or a loss, success or failure. Having hope is easy, keeping it burning is harder.
But apparently Paul the octopus knows everything, so, nyehhh…
It’s taken two long years of disillusioned work for Xxxx, one year of mostly singlehood, half a bed’s worth mountain of clothes, four stacks of new unread paperbacks and 3 branded shoe boxes to realize this, but I finally get it.
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.
I’m down with the flu today. Been sniffling since yesterday and I guess a late night game at MTP after 14 hours of work doesn’t help. So am skiving off of CFA study schedule tonight to fully concentrate on a date with Glee, Gossip Girl, and many episodes of 30 Rock. And also getting lots of rest, of course.
I never realised how disgusting I was/am whenever I’m sick. At work crumpled used tissue paper scattered around my desk like confetti, and my perpetual need to drink something hot saw a tower of Babylon made of stacks of empty hot Milo cups from the vending machine.
Also, I tried to open a packet of Kong Guan biscuits (fake Oreos), but wrenched the plastic too hard that the biscuits flew out and hit me in the forehead, to the amusement of my desk neighbour.
Lowest point of my illuminated career in Xxx, I tell ya.
Seriously tired of blowing my nose on tissues, am gonna take meds and then drink Teh Botol (comfort drink). And yet, despite my mounting amount of clothes at the bottom of bed, sea of crumped tissue paper and CFA notes in the periphery I cannot help but be drawn to the new shoes / accessories page at ASOS. Curses!
Eh I discovered the below note under my draft posts… It’s dated back to 2008 I think. Wonder when and if I’ll ever feel this kind of emoness over a guy again.
I miss him.
8 hours of time difference is really cruel. My night is his day, and during the day he has to go to school which leaves us with maybe an hour of decent talk time.
I miss him physically being there. Touching his muscled arms and toned abs, wishing I have a flat tummy too…
I miss shopping with him. I miss hugging each other tightly and trying to walk at the same time.
I miss playing with his hair, flicking up the ends and messing with his parting.