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“Tell me more about how you’re doing using this… ‘dark room’ analogy.” 
I swallowed my saliva and licked my dry lips. 

“Well I… W-What I see, okay… is a dark room.

Uh, no, a desert. A dark, dark desert under a starless, moonless sky. Everyone else sees open plains under a cool blue sky, but all I get are dunes and a cardboard brown. 

But in this vast darkness, she’s like a light.
Cliched, I know.”

I felt my voice raw tremble from exhaustion, but continued.

“In a time where nothing, be it running, walking or even desperate crawling appears to move me an inch towards anything at all… the light is all I have to work towards. It’s the only yardstick of progress and success. 

I can make out a faint silhouette of a mountain in the distance, the Ultimate Goal of life, getting a good job and being rich and everything society wants and all that. Everyone else can see the very top of their own monolithic mountains- my friend wants to live a life having made a positive environmentql impact and I could never fathom being at that level- and I get only a vague ‘I guess I’ll think about it’ and a dead-gray everything else. 

And I guess that’s why – I’m creating the imagery as I go – maybe that’s why I’m so afraid of losing the light; the only thing I have seen clearly for the longest time. ”

“Well,” He said in a voice that sounded like folded arms, “Is there maybe your own light you could follow? In your imagery everyone has their own, correct?”

I paused to ponder his blatant cannibalisation of my metaphor. 

“I’ve had a light before. 

I’m hoping that only when I manage to catch the light will I be able to reignite whatever passion for life bullshit I had a while back that went out. But it’s escaping.” 

A lump formed in my throat.

“It is dimming and floating away and becoming Sisyphean to chase after and my feet are caught in quicksand once more.

And God… God forbid what would happen to me if my light goes out completely.” 

Don’t call it angst, I’m 22.

In all my nervousness I wrote everything below on a Word document while sitting in front of 45 people in a practice studio before the very second play I had acted in my entire life.

Image credit of Christer! Don’t SUE me

(more…)

Every time I let my guard down, it all returns; the damn dog, the cold trickling through my heart and the headholding all a volley of emotions and the lack thereof. 

I used to cure the melancholy in various ways like long walks and too-much-alcohol and now it seems like planning to fuck up University is next on the list. 

I felt so defeated yesterday as the throng of noisy people shattered my solitude as they joined me in the conference room; I excused myself and slouched outside to the sofa where I melted into the sofa and ended up telling her too damn much. 

I’d like to grab the management office staff, the professors, tutors, Stage crew and everyone who had even a sliver of hope in my ability by their lapels.  I’d like to yell “it’s too damn much”, spit flying everywhere. I’m tired again, just when I’d forgotten what it was like to be tired. 

Everyone looks just so tired nowadays, a few particularly striking: Limshan with her shoulders a creaking arch, that McDonald’s delivery person, wordless and trying to force a smile and Mom and Dad, a weary couple with lines on their faces traced by stress from dad’s injury (he’s almost completely well, though) and the vastness of the effort they put in for the move to Queenstown. 
—

Things that I have to do:

CV for Steph by tomorrow. 

CS2105, CS2106, CS3214 LAB. 

CS2106 Quiz. 

All tutorials. 

Line memorising; 75% in 2 weeks

Jesus Christ. 

–

As an aside..  

I share a room with my parents, which I am admittedly ashamed of but not sorry for. We share air conditioning, I’d rather sleep in comfort than keep up a facade of independence. Mom’s often curled up in the cold and dad’s shirtless and spreadeagled and I’m just inbetween, warm in my 22 year-oldness. 

The past week left me a shivering pile of anxiety. Tutorials left undone, being unprepared for labs and sleeping at ridiculous times. 
Last night, I joined the Stage gang (just Mike, Chris and Sue) to watch Lone Journeys, some abstract play with white uniforms, yelling and anachronistic storytelling which I didn’t really understand. We all left the theatre feeling mellow and bummed out… until Sue dragged us to SAM@8Q to participate in the Zentai festival thing. 

Zentai is basically the “art” of wearing a skintight bodysuit (complete with mask, which I described to Sue as “BDSM without the DSM”) and just… doing your thing, albeit with a literal mask of anonymity that obscures and accentuates all your features. 

There was something about it that screamed societal suicide which seemed apparent upon entering the preparation area; pardon my judgement, but the participants were mostly middle-aged menchildren who seemed in it for the kink and not the quirk. Did I mention the packages? Oh god, the clearly defined packages.
Aside from the Malay instrumental ensemble, I was the only normally dressed person in the room (my pot belly  and severe phobia of garish costumes doesn’t mesh well with lycra anyway) and I stood patiently till my friends returned as amorphous,  humanoid and muffled aliens. 

I followed the bunch of rubbery dolls as their photographer and the public reacted with either fear (naturally) or inquisitivity, once even forming a cypher for Mike and Chris to breakdance in the middle of a captivated audience, which I found a wonderful spark of human interaction. 

They paraded around the art museum, taking photos, improvising theatrical things and generally being blind but amusing to the public (with occasional calls of “SHAOO” for photo opportunities) 

We finished at 1 and proceeded to the Night Festival to mingle amongst an ebbing crowd. 

Today, I had my very first scriptread to roaring laughter and… 

I’m gonna act! My grades are so going to tank. 

Shimin’s malfunctioning disability alarm echoes into my window, the volume’s low enough to etch itself into my imagination but shrill enough to pierce into my conscious. 
Bro left for Sweden and isn’t going to be back until six months later. 

Dad’s hand was in bad shape. Mom and I were just talking about how he should’ve had quit before it got to him. I’m worried for dad, of course, but I don’t know if mom’s able to cope bro being away and dad’s injury. 

I’m tired all the time from being fat and getting bombarded by everything and everyone. 

I ran last night, against the track’s friction and the injustice. Third day of school and I’m done with all this. 

My brother and I sat quietly at the back of the van, with the ambient rumble compounding my uneasiness. I leant against the luggage, idly tweaking the Pokemon GO map. 
“Do you remember,” I raised meekly, “The sense of dread when before an exercise? Like when the sky’s all dark and you’re waiting and…” I looked over to see if he was listening. 

He wordlessly raised his eyebrows at me, which I took as a sign to continue. 

“Um, and you’re waiting; you know that a tough road lies ahead but there’s nothing you can do about it? ”

“Then go exercise more, I guess.” 

“What- I just ran yesterday. I mean, no, not that kind of exercise.  I mean, exercise exercise, the army kind.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, like it’s tough and all and you’re-” He raised his finger at me and answered his lit phone. My eyes drifted for a few seconds before he motioned me to continue. 

I continued, “And you’re just waiting for time to pass.” 

“So? What do you mean by this?”

“I’m feeling like that now, I guess.” I felt anxiety fill my veins and struggled to control my voice. 

“I don’t get it. Are you going for an exercise soon? ”

God damn. 

“No, like, you’re going away and stuff. It’s gonna be five months in Sweden…That’s a long time.” 

“What? ” He scoffed impatiently.” It’s nothing much, I’ll come back anyway. I don’t get the problem.”

–

At the gate, I gave him a hug and forgot about his attitude and everything I detested about him; his friends all giggled as he exaggerated his waves at them; a girl from his friend circle wistfully pressed her hand to the glass as he walked into the transit area, out of sight. 

So much has happened. 

A baby bird died in my hands during lunch yesterday. 

CS2010 has ended at last. 

Dad might change jobs. 

Orbital. BBQ. Check-in duty for RVRC. 

OWeek being cancelled. (don’t really give a shit tho) 

—

When I was walking towards the park, I heard a yell from the opposite side of the road. A Malay woman was gesturing wildly to me and asked me “is that girl okay? is she crying?” I turned and noticed the girl I had walked past clutching a plastic bag of clothes and shuffling quietly in the opposite direction. 

I nodded expressively and caught up with the teenager, asking pensive “are you alright”s, only to receive a cold, quiet” please leave me alone”. 

I never knew what happened in the end. I hope she’s okay.

Twas the entirety of RVRC’s freshman orientation camp. I entered, claiming it “wasn’t my thing” and shivering in anxiety and that 12 flights of stairs I’d climbed. 

Several late nights, emotional turmoil and bungling of special term assignments and I’m exhausted, but I’ve gained the respect and love of several juniors and they have mine. 

That’s a picture of some place in Scotland that I took using Chuan’s GoPro. Unrelated to this post, but it’s a nice photo anyway. 

I’ve been biting my nails a lot recently, sometimes it strikes the cuticle and my fingers sting from the corners where nails meet skin. 

I’ve been slipping tremendously in Computing, my arrogance in CS1010 led to only a B, and now I’m struggling to make any sense out of CS2010’s heaps and trees and graphs. I’m below average at this point, which is a stark contrast with the confidence I had in doing well for this module. It’s really hard to come up with the willpower to study during the holidays, and perhaps that’s a terrible weak point of mine right now. 

I try to keep my relationship with the CEng gang cursory right now; their arrogance and “No, but”s are getting too annoying and remind me too much of what I dislike about myself.