In addition to annoying people rudely existing (like the stubborn trace of a smelly fart), the past week has been so melodramatic! It's like someone picked a really poorly scripted Korean drama and decided that it would be funny to have me live it. Most of you already know how melodramatic I am, right? The only instance where I don't exaggerate is probably where sadistic psychological trauma inflicted by law school is involved, mainly because it's difficult to blog when you're asphyxiating underneath all that work.
Just so you get a feel of how ridiculously distressing last week was: It is probably equivalent to eleventeen billion years of law school. I'm shocked to still be alive! Although I wish my butt died... But more on that later.
So... The story began when my father bought home a bowl of prawn noodles for my mother. But it was the wrong prawn noodles. There is that one stall that my mother likes, and that is the correct prawn noodles; all other prawn noodles are merely poor imitations of the correct one, and are wrong, and therefore not really prawn noodles. Work with me, people; it makes sense when you suspend logic a bit in your head and, like, you know, embrace the wildest possibilities. My poor father had wanted to try a new stall for a change, and so by a temporary lapse of judgement, brought home the wrong prawn noodles.
The following conversation transpired between them:
"This is not prawn noodles." "It's prawn noodles." "It's NOT PRAWN NOODLES!" "Try, try. It's a new stall." "What new stall, you know I always like that prawn noodles, why must you buy the wrong one? You just want to make me upset right?" "..." "I'M NOT EATING IT!" "Okay, you're not eating it right? I'LL THROW IT AWAY."
Thus all hell descended upon my life. My father left the house, presumably disposed of the rejected noodles, and then stayed out for the rest of the night. My mother began yelling at me, because apparently it helps the situation. I learnt many years ago never to question her logic, because her brand of logic is very unique and undeniably correct, every single time. The moment you even begin to formulate an argument, you are wrong. But I had a headache that day, which apparently caused the disappearance of the filter in my head because I told her frankly that I had a headache. God, I feel so stupid admitting it now. You'd think that over two decades of living with her would've taught me better. But I said, "I have a headache."
"What."
"I have, a headache."
"WHAAAAAAAAAAAATTTTTTTTTTTTT?!!?!??! I AM GIVING YOU A HEADACHE, IS THAT IT? YOU DON'T WANT TO LISTEN TO YOUR MOTHER ANYMORE??!!?!??! OK FINE, I'LL NEVER TALK TO YOU AGA--"
Technically correct, but anyway I denied it because I didn't want to die: "Wait, wait. Wait! No, I want to listen to you but I really have a headache right now. I've had it since early this morning. It's just... You sound very loud right now--" and then I quickly added, "--because of my headache."
And in a remarkable demonstration of rational thinking, she replied, "I SOUND VERY LOUD BECAUSE I AM VERY LOUD RIGHT NOW! I'M LOUD BECAUSE I'M ANGRY AND UPSET!"
She went on to explain in detail why she was upset, analyzing every single detail of the childish conversation that she had with my father, and concluding of course that he was wrong. But I stopped listening because a part of me kind of committed suicide. By harakiri.
My mother then began to talk about divorce with renewed passion, which always scares me because there is something like an insane-o-meter in my head, and talk of divorce always puts it squarely in the red danger zone. I know from experience that when she gets to this point, there's no stopping the insanity. She asked me whom I wanted to live with after the divorce, forcing me to choose between her and my father. I hesitated a little too long, and in response to my defiant silence ('defiant', because I thought that by maintaining silence I could forcibly extricate myself from the drama... WRONG!), my mother bellowed, "YOU DON'T WANT TO LIVE WITH ME?"
"No, I just need time to think about it."
"The fact that you need time to think shows that you do not want to live with me!"
"But I don't want to not live with you either!"
"BUT YOU DON'T WANT TO NOT NOT LIVE WITH ME EITHER. HOW MANY YEARS HAVE I TAKEN CARE OF YOU?? NO FILIAL PIETY AT ALL. FINE, IF THAT'S THE WAY YOU THINK, I WON'T TALK TO YOU EVER AGAIN. DON'T CALL ME OR TALK TO ME, I DON'T WANT TO EVER HEAR YOU AGAIN!"
Exiting my room, she slammed my door, and then slammed her door shut, locking everyone else out of her room.
Life has taught me to pick my battles wisely, and so I picked one against my penholder, whose name is Dead Fred:
Dead Fred has worked with me on numerous occasions in anger management therapy. However, I was so upset this time around that stabbing him did not suffice. I looked around my room for soft things and began hitting them to release all the pent-up frustration within me. I thought that the head of my bed was soft, and unfortunately it was only deceptively so; when my fist connected with it, I immediately assumed that I'd fractured my hand, and I began to Google for tips on how to diagnose and treat a fracture. (See the benefits of hypochondria?) In any case, the pain persuaded me very convincingly to stop hitting things and to focus, instead, on seeking inner calm.
My mother, however, assumed that I had been hitting things in an attempt to convey anger towards her, and in response, she began banging the wall. And then there was silence. But not for long, because apparently my neighbors had had enough of all the noise, and decided to join in the party by banging on the wall too. In response to my neighbor's wall banging, my mother replied with more than sufficient loud thuds against the wall, which provoked yet another response in kind from my very mature neighbor. This continued until my neighbor gave up. (Smart dude realized he wasn't going to win.) Exhausted from the drama and hurting from my own stupidity, I decided to sleep.
I escaped into the unconscious for about two hours, after which I was woken up by my mother's yelling. She scolded me for locking my door because she wanted to hang some clothes to dry in my room, and so for the remainder of the night, I couldn't close my door. She began yelling every few minutes random things or, even worse, random sounds; the shrieking would ring out in the night and then die down as suddenly as it'd started. Because I am a wimp, I cowered under the sheets for the rest of the night and
(OMG! My new pair of jeans just returned from the tailor -- I had to have the length altered -- and I love them to death! I'm going to wrap my story up; it's getting way too long for my attention span.)
So the next morning I apologized very profusely to my mother and earnestly lied that I would love to live with her forever and ever, and begged for her forgiveness. So we patched things up. She was still mad at my father, though, and for around two days she wouldn't speak with him at all... Which is preferable to yelling. At this point I am willing to starve with the Ethiopians because at least it means no prawn noodles to trigger any ridiculous arguments... Does the drama never end?
Nope it does not, and later, my mother developed mysterious back pains; we had to send her to the doctor and then to the hospital for x-rays and health check-ups... Now she's temporarily bed-ridden and groggy, and therefore unable to pick fights with anyone. I also looked up the painkiller she was prescribed and apparently it also helps relief symptoms of depression (though it is rarely prescribed for that reason), which I am sure had a major part to play in her outburst. So God bless you, Doctor Who Treated My Mom. God bless you and your children and your children's children, because I love you.
On to happier things!
My new pair of jeans and new denim skirt just arrived! (Photo credit: Metropark)
Sadly, apparently girls who wear Rock Revival denim do not have buttocks. The skirt fits well but I wish I'd ordered the jeans a size up because they're too tight to contain all of my behind! I'm just going to wait for them to stretch because exchanging it is too much of a hassle... and the jeans shall motivate me to lose weight!
I also aim to lose my butt. It's so huge, it needs its own blog. My behind can incorporate its own company and as a separate legal personality be capable of suing, being sued, contracting and holding property in its own name. It begs to be noticed. I go, like, "Butt, shut up and go away." And my posterior is all, "I LIVE." Seriously, it has a mind of its own. My booty? Is probably going to get married before I do and raise a brood of tiny little booties, form a booty civilization and take over China because trust me, IT REALLY NEEDS ALL THAT LAND.
----
Update:
Neptune, after reading this entry: "I will marry you before your butt gets married!"
Me: "...It's too late, my butt is getting married already!"
I just wanted to write you a short note because I suspect we may have overlooked something extremely important about you: You are a domestic canine stuck in a hamster's body. Here are the reasons why I have come to that conclusion:
1. I've taught you tricks like lying down belly-up, walking on your hind legs and turning a full circle to beg for food, and I'd honestly thought that all hamsters were as amenable to training as you... until I heard from a friend who'd kept over 50 hamsters.
2. You bury food under heaps of bedding and wood shavings.
3. You like your belly rubbed.
4. You love meat more than vegetables, and your current favorite snack is tiny dried shrimp.
5. You are a creature of habit, and you chill out on your training wheel everyday from 9PM to 10PM. Every single time you are on that wheel, you face the television, which is opposite the main door of our apartment. However, every single time our family returns to the house from a day out, no matter what time of the day or night it is, we find you on the wheel, awake and waiting for us, facing the door... as if guarding the house.
I suspect that you're smarter than many people give your species credit for, and sometimes I think you run my life because you are so skilled in the art of emotional manipulation: You know that standing on your hind legs gets you food, and you know that biting the bars of your cage generates noise that will grab my attention, and so you bite the cage bars whenever you're hungry, want to play, or want the coconut juice that I'm drinking. You've brought nothing but effortless joy into my life... And so I walk over to your rattling cage and offer you a piece of coconut, which you snatch from my fingers.
Sometimes I'm overwhelmed and confused by how complicated life is and how convoluted people can be... And then I sit with you for a while, and all becomes right with the world.
This is amazing! It seemed like just a moment ago that I was complaining about February... And now we're already 2/3 through March! I feel like I'm being cheated of time by some imaginary higher being who undoubtedly lacks a functioning conscience. Hate you, Imaginary Higher Being!
I haven't been blogging because I've been busy with Neptune, busy with school work, and now incapacitated by the virus that my brother brought home from the army. That thing is NASTY! My entire family is coughing and sneezing away, and I have to wear a mask over my nose and mouth while taking care of Maki, because the last thing I want is for her to catch the virus. This entry might be a little more weird and crankier than usual and it's because my everywhere hurts, especially the head.
Anyway... Now to fill you guys in on the past two weeks.
March 4, 2009: I deviously ask Neptune for her birthday wish. As I'd expected, she replied that she wanted most of all to see me. I know it sounds egoistic, but it is really because we are co-dependent and needy, and at every point in our long-distance relationship, we acknowledge that our first and foremost inclination lies towards eliminating our geographical separation. Don't worry if you don't understand this. I didn't, either; I comprehended and embraced the concept of personal space until I met Neptune. So it's Neptune's fault.
What I didn't expect, though, was this next part of Neptune's reply: "I want my birthday to be the happiest day of your life... That would make me happy. And it would be the best birthday ever." You have no idea how guilty I felt at that point; I wanted so badly to scream, I AM FLYING OVER IN 24 HOURS AND YOU HAVE NO IDEA! But it was supposed to be a birthday surprise, and I'd planned it and kept it a secret from her for a few months... I wasn't going to slip up right at that last moment. So I frowned at her sadly and replied, "I know babe, I know. Don't worry. We'll see each other soon... I promise."
March 5, 2009: I leave Singapore in the morning, and 21 hours later, I find myself in America, at Neptune's doorstep. I hear her phone alarm go off and I pat myself on the shoulder for my strategic half-lie. You have no idea how difficult it is to wake her up for anything other than video games and food. It's 11AM and Neptune would usually be asleep, but I'd given her the impression that a huge chocolatey treat was on the way (only partially untrue), so I was sure she'd try her best to be awake for the delivery. I have a lot of faith in her love for chocolatey food, and you should too.
I knock. She opens the door, rubbing her eyes sleepily.
I have this annoying thing in my head that is like a constant running commentary, and it was blaring at that moment that maybe, you know, maybe it might be a bad idea to open the door without first looking through the peep hole for a random person who knocked? I know this because I'd covered the peep hole with my hand, and I was expecting her to hesitate after noticing that the view had been obstructed, so when she opened the door immediately I knew she hadn't bothered to check.
But I push aside the nagging and wait for her to realize.
"No way." She recognizes my face, but all the logic she is mustering in her head rejects the fact that despite our time zones being 16 hours apart, I am, at this very moment, right at her doorstep. "Oh my god. No. Noooo. Oh my god... Oh. My. God!"
Later, I showed her a video of her reaction and she told me that she was so shocked, she didn't even notice that I'd been filming the whole thing.
March 6, 2009: We celebrate her 21st birthday by driving up to Vancouver, Canada, and spending the weekend there with her sister and brother-in-law. We eat a LOT of good food there. Neptune loses maybe one pound. I gain ten thousand. Life is so unfair.
March 13, 2009: Our second Friday the 13th this year! Neptune's hairdresser gave her a disastrously boring reverse bob. Whatever that is, and I don't care if it's trendy or not; people with bobs and reverse ones do not get to cuddle with me, and that's final. God I'm so shallow! So I took a pair of scissors to Neptune's hair and sliced away at the bob. Now her hair looks funky, fashion-forward and fabulous (and this sentence sounds so gay).
See what I mean now? I'm talented in all the ways that I will never need. Unless... Maybe one day I'll set up a pro bono service to provide the less fortunate with free legal representation... WITH A COMPLIMENTARY HAIRCUT. And it will be called the Smiley Society; the rooms will smell like rainbows, sunshine and love, and we'd provide legal advice alongside advice on the best hairstyle to complement your face shape. Or maybe my ability to somehow produce a decent haircut would one day help me win over the judge(s) in court. "Your Honor, may I approach the bench to trim your fringe? I think side-swept bangs would be a good look for you." "Why, I've been thinking about a pick-me-up haircut all week! Your client wins; case closed. Court adjourned till after my haircut." WHO KNOWS.
Anyway... I'm sleepy now so I'll have to wrap this up (I think it's the stupid medicine). I'm back in Singapore now; I thought I wouldn't cry when I had to leave Neptune again because we'd done it so many times before, but it still hurts so much, like it does every single time. This was the best fortnight of my life ever, hands down, and even though I am now two thousand dollars poorer, it bought me some extra happiness with Neptune. Though temporary, it was worth every cent and so much more: I would give up all my material belongings for her... even (though extremely reluctantly) my Louis Vuitton. All the money I spent was such a small price to pay for the most priceless two weeks of my entire life.
Last Friday, when it was still February, I looked at this pile of work and I decided to stop procrastinating. We all have that one moment in our lives, that one turning point where we are bestowed sudden enlightenment and the abrupt ability to view the world through fragile and momentary clarity. We could examine our lives through different eyes and say, "It is time for change." In that one magical moment, great people are born.
Unfortunately, that was not my moment, and as I contemplated the despair of two more years of law school, I sighed and dived right into the knee-deep pile of work -- with my head at the bottom of the pile and only the lower half of my legs sticking out, flailing about in a desperate attempt to divorce themselves from the rest of my contemptibly homework-surrounded cadaver.
When I finally surfaced for air, the sun had already traveled around the earth five times without warning. And the calendar had suddenly become incomprehensible to me. March does not make sense. I reject March. Were we not in a different month just one torture ago?!
This afternoon, the first time I got more than three hours sleep per twenty-four hours of sad existence, I dreamt that I burnt down the law school campus. Something tells me that my subconscious mind is trying to make a statement.
I was then charged in court for public buffoonery and destruction of government property under some Anti-Insurgency Act (which by the way does not exist in real life). And then suddenly I met President Obama (???), who said to me, "Don't let the odds defy you. DEFY THE ODDS!" It sounds stupid now, but I think my subconscious found it wildly inspirational. And suddenly I had an American flag in my right hand??? I was filled with a burst of patriotism, so I waved the flag very eagerly.
Suddenly I was transported to the court room, where I challenged the charges against me. Somehow I possessed an understanding of constitutional law, and I argued that the arrest and charges were a violation of basic human rights and, further, that law school was an infringement of the fundamental freedom to live.
Then I woke up.
The school campus still seems intact though, so it's all good. I've met all the deadlines that I need to meet so far, and for now I can kick back and enjoy the sumptuous fruits of my labor... which shall be unveiled in just two days. Watch this space!
It's raining noodles! Hallelujah! And the noodles shall inherit the earth!
If you know me, pretend you don't. If you don't know me, don't pretend you do.
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