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I woke up one morning and daydreamed about walking down cobblestone paths in Europe again and just beaming as I imagined all my friends envying my Big Bad Eurotrip where I’d finally get to find myself and go on a magnificent journey of the soul! And other white girl things.  Brought up my SEP application on my phone and a tiny corner whispered the word REJECTED which felt like a flick to the nuts. Odd that they didn’t message me about it, but now all I want is to know how to ask the administrator “why not me”, but in a way that doesn’t sound like I’m crying/raging through my keyboard. 

I’d really, really wanted to go for it and I wasn’t kidding when I thought I’d finally get to live an alternate life and possibly reassemble the nuts and bolts of my mind into something coherent and self respecting. Experiences, bad and good, the ones that I long for. I’m okayish about it now, just that there’s gonna be other avenues I’ll have to explore to quench this. 

Met up with Sean yesterday, where we talked bunk (when did we ever start talking anyway? Who started it?) and hit the deep subjects like “does confidence need to be backed up by something quantifiable?” 

I was firmly in the camp of how confidence can and should be brought out of thin air, while confidence from working out or winning competitions is shaky and shouldn’t be relied upon.

Sean believed the opposite, and as such two men who didn’t know what they were talking about tried to convince the other. 

I believe that there’s no one honest-to-God answer (yeah sitting on the fence is really doing well for my ass), that all solutions work fine and that I should really practice what I preach.

A couple of hours ago, a friend posted a screenshot on our (pretty dry) exclusive BMT WhatsApp chat. 

It was a screenshot of a Facebook status, and it told of a friend of ours who had passed away peacefully in his sleep. It might’ve had been cancer. I vaguely remembered that he may have had leukemia. 

Of course, being a decent human being, I was mildly shocked (surprised has a rather indifferent tone to it) and started thinking about his ties to me whilst contemplating my own mortality. 

I remember having a single long talk with him about his interests and what he wanted for the future. Mom said she remembered him. Sickly. Skinny before? Crazy collection of Pokemon cards. 

My eyes glazed over as I tallied my achievements so far, and my mind automatically switched tracks away from such thoughts. 

A while later, I saw Andrea’s post on Instagram of an uncharacteristic photoshoot she got and I was immediately thrown back to wondering what I was doing with my life. 

Reservist a week ago… Went alright. RT twice this week so far. Cancelled the one I was supposed to go for today. Earned supposedly 300 after 2 gigs with a robotics company. Finally earning my own allowance? Went on national news in the background of an interview pushing a fucking trolley. That’s a story. Waiting for SEP. I don’t know if I want it. Losing sight of diet control. 

I’d want to stick to the saying that social media is fabricated and filtered stories, but a huge part of me wants to live those for the world to see and heart and like, which in retrospect is really unhealthy. 

I’ll sleep it off. As usual. 

Back in my unit in NS (a time I reminisce pretty regularly as the “best me there was”) we used to have an officer called Trevor. He was pretty cute in the blur-ish way, and ORDed earlier than anyone else we knew upon being drafted to that unit.

He used to say some pretty odd things which I termed as “Trevorisms” and had written on the back of my notebook.

Just treat it like some… heated laser shit.

-When talking about the SOG Knife

Turn-about. [thinks] About… turn?

-When getting us to march to the cookhouse

Laps & Joints. [mutters to himself] Lap-joints…

– When giving a training seminar

4-coils! Similar to a single coil, but 4

-When talking about concertina wire

You could lose your life, or even worse, your leg- wait they’re equally bad

– When talking about safety

If not enough, you all serve the consequences.

– Ditto

Concertina wire helps you not get your gloves caught on the wire.

– Concertina wire again.

…the smaller of the variety one

– Comparing… sizes.

Your national-day-long national day holiday.

– Before the holiday

Not like the old days when you crushed your fingers to OOC (out-of-course)

– When giving a pep talk

You need the staircase to go in or… you just fall in.

– When talking about entering the operations trench

Bless his heart.

“Alright, everyone. Five minutes and we’ll get on to the next section of the meeting.”

I stood up and stretched, joints crackling awake. 

“Shao, your socks are filthy.”

I glanced at Shawn and picked at the beige spots on my socks, ascertaining that they were in fact not parts of my socks stretching and showing my skin under the purple. 

“Well, I… Haven’t washed them yet. ”

“The FUCK? How often do you wash them?” 

“I can’t re-”

 “You’re supposed to wash them every day! DUDE!”

—

“I haven’t donated blood in some time either.” 

Jurong East via Woodlands, arriving: 3 minutes. 

“Well,” she paused. “Wait. You’re on medication, right? You’re not supposed to donate blood on medication anyway.”

“Well,” I paused. “I haven’t been taking the medicine regularly either-” 

“Fucking hell, Shao.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “You’re supposed to take them regularly to feel better-”  

“I am feeling betterish… ”

“-So now I have remind you about three… No, four things:” Her fingers formed a list. “One, to go running-” 

“I do that a lot now, you already know this-”

“Two, take your fucking medicine.”

“It clashes with the beer.”

“God, Shao. Three, cut down on the alcohol.”

“It clashes with the medicine…?”

“Kan ni na, how do you expect to feel better if you don’t? Every time I message you you’re either drunk or talking about the other time you were drunk.”

I felt myself grin apologetically with my nervous teeth clenched. 

“And four, wash your bloody socks- God, never mind. I shouldn’t mom you around. None of my business.”

“Wait, are you being sarcastic?”

A smirk. “Glad you could see that. Just take care of yourself.”

—

Now, I just tell myself if I can wash a pair of socks in the shower every day, it’ll get better. All of it.

Every night, I sit on the floor of my shower to scrub the black away. 

God, I’m so alone. 

Zhi Ting’s wedding tomorrow. 

Watched Normal 5 hours ago. Andrea had to skip out on me, citing that she was too bogged down with work. 

Ended up watching a play that ultimately made me feel shitty (in a good way) and leaving with nobody to discuss it with. I sat with Huzir Sulaiman(!!) and his wife(?) Passed the flowers Zenda requested to Faith Ng(!!!)  after the show, which she accepted with an apologetic, awkward “oh” before skipping off to talk to Huzir Sulaiman. The ride home was lonely and I felt like a puddle. 

I have to wake up at 730 but my computer is rendering things. Please hurry. There is an idiot beetle flying around my room and smashing into everything. 

I’m getting what it means to love yourself; I’m not getting a reply I was looking for and I’ve decided that it’s not necessary to obtain approval when life goes on and on and on regardless. 

I’m simultaneously lamenting my subpar assets and resolving to improve whatever I have. While work piles on. 

Lonely night, though. 

That gif’s pretty much taboo. 

Golden Record’s ended. Election’s passed. Rejected all of my nominations. Andrea told me it was good that I knew what I wanted, and I smiled a little. 

I can feel the assignments creeping up and this week’s the perfect time to complete them. Have a little self-respect. Have a little discipline. 

Woke up to learn that I’d scored absolutely pathetically for Security Midterms. 

Fucked up my lines out of anxiety yesterday. 

It’s all an excuse. Your migraine and stresses will end right here and after this production, you will have to pull your shit together. You aren’t born a genius. You need to do something about it. 

I will. I will.