I was sitting at my computer, painting a comic when the numbers flipped to 00:00. I eagerly checked my phone for the next half an hour. Well, two wishes so far.
I have to remind myself that humans are very good at making patterns out of repeated events and objects, like astrology. Those stars form a shield shape. These seasons are better for crop growth. Nobody likes me because nobody messaged me. Stuff like that-
I’m joking! Some people like me. I just demand that everyone else did too.
Last year, at this time, I was at Bar Bar Black Sheep with a Sprite in hand, sitting with a couple of friends, a day before The Golden Record 2.0. For reference, it was the one where I had to do 3 monologues.
And nary a moment too soon before my 25th, I had to learn that you can’t lead a horse who feels like the victim of everything, because victimhood is the water it thinks it needs.
Technically… She’s still the same person as she was before. She lashes a little more. But she’s not gonna ever meet the ideal that you set out for her. That’s unfair.
So, I got a new therapist. She’s not very good at English, but it’s what you get for 40 dollars per session.
I spent half of the first session telling her the same old story. I got sad in JC. Didn’t seek help in NS because I don’t Keng. The usual.
Then, the top-up: Oh! The other doctor didn’t think I was that sad after all… I guess she’s right. I still am anxious though.
She pulled out an Iceberg diagram. (what the fuck, I thought, how many metaphors did therapists ever need? Turns out Freud pioneered the Iceberg Diagram, so I guess he gets a free pass)
Basically, you start by examining your conscious thoughts. I want ice cream. I want sex.
Then, you look at your feelings about them. I’m a greedy baby. I’m a dumb horny fuck.
Then, you ask yourself: why do I have these prejudices? Ice cream is bad for me. I’m fat. Being horny is bad. You are defective.
And so on. Believe me, it actually helps.
The worst part is that the Singaporean mental health stigma is being lifted slightly like a veil of an ugly bride and my sessions are thus a month apart every time because she’s busy. Not fun.
It’s haze season. I haven’t been able to run for a week or so. The last I tried, I managed 2.5km before running out of breath. Did you know that your lungs remove dust through the use of mucus, which ends up going to your mouth to get ingested or spat out?
I went to a climate change rally today with a 1.5l plastic bottle of water. I wasn’t making a particular statement. I once tried to go a month without using plastics, and failed right as I tore open my first coffee satchet.
My family has controlled the cockroach situation, I think. I don’t see the roaches any more. It’s probably because the rest of the family keeps stepping on them in the middle of the night.
Ping has been advocating the idea of living with honesty, compassion and courage to me. “Like a broken record,” he says.
This means admitting your faults. This means telling others about your needs.
I told a friend that I was interested in her. She took it well, out of shock and rejected me when I nervously asked for a firm answer. She had to go to her next gig, so she got on the train. She didn’t text me after.
Now. When you are presented with a golden sabre of “living with honesty”, it appears to be a sword that can cut all things.
It’s hard to wield. But, it solves many problems. No more complications. A clean cut. No will you won’t yous. Just a good old “do you feel the same?”
By theory, it should be easy to handle the aftermath.
“No, I do not”, well, that sucks, but I still love our friendship, life goes on.
Of course, it creates problems too, and that’s where your next issue arises.
You have to be secure. And that’s where a lot of this theory requires a solid foundation of non-overthinking.
At the ripe old age of twenty five, I am faced with rejection.
It is simple to make it part of a pattern. Patterns explain everything. You are ugly. You are incapable of being loved. You have fucked up. This is why you are dry, a quarter into a century.
With the golden sabre, you then realise that you need to know how to miss yourself before you can swing it anywhere you want.
If you wanna be honest, then you damn well be sure that you don’t overthink what a non-reply means. You damn well be ready to accept this being the end.
Anyway, she replied a day later. She saw me as just a friend. Just a friend, at the ripe old age of 25. She said she loved me that way.
Somehow, the thing that hurts more is the potential of losing a friend. There’s bargaining. “I was only interested! She’s overreacting.”
And then comes Tanha (thanks ping), which millennials and Buddhists both agree is thirst. (less memetically, desire)
Desires cause suffering, only because there is a huge need for what you desire to come NOW. I want her back, NOW. I want to meet the ideal you, NOW. I don’t want to lose you forever, and I need you to reassure me NOW.
Thing is, you can’t hurry the Now. The Now just… Exists. Same concept as being present.
She doesn’t like you that way. You are twenty five. Your boss is dissatisfied with your work because he said so. These are facts.
What you have to do is then to detangle the assumptions from the facts. She hates me. I am too old. I am lazy.
Those are things you can fix. I am terrified that she will never text me back. That is a thought. Why am I terrified? Etc.
With enough labeling, you can find an answer to your despair, if you catch it early.
I’ve been crying a lot recently.
It’s weird to admit it. Masculinity. But yes. From realisations that I have been wishing for an ideal, to feeling maligned, to understanding that I’ve been treated worse by someone I thought would give me love. I think it’s a good thing to cry.
Release the pent up energy. Hot, angry tears.
Face your emotions. Don’t hide behind music and other things. Just be.
Just begin to be.
At the ripe young age of 25.
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