university student, first year

life science, med-student-wannabe

living away from home

trying to pay tuition and residence fees to take the burden off his mother (who is a single parent, may/not be suffering an emotional disorder since the divorce)

works a part-time job as a bus driver

Her:

university student, first year

just want to roll by with passing grades

parents are overseas, earning big money in the Chinese entertainment industry (or real estate)

alone in an apartment overlooking the most luxurious downtown streets

has an elaborate wardrobe

switches between identities as a hobby

has acquaintances from various groups (punk rock scene, Asian karaoke group, origami club etc) but no one knows who she is

afraid of getting too close

self-sufficient, or believes she is / pretends to be

does not eat but drinks like crazy

expert at make up; minimum 7 layers

pretty on the outside but just a plain girl with the powder removed

Story:

first meeting -

he is working the night shift, driving from suburbs to downtown

bus is empty

she is in her punk/goth get up. tries to scrape by without a ticket (just to fulfill her character role).

heated argument for fifteen minutes but he lets her on for whatever reason

second meeting -

downtown supermarket, Thursday before easter weekend

he buys a half-priced cake to bring home to his mother, whose birthday is coming up

she buys an elaborate cake

at the cashier, she realises she forgot her credit card

he offered to pay

she was in her fashionista get up

she tells him fake name #1: edene

third meeting -

some obscure life science lecture hall

small class

last class of the year

she comes and sits in the only available seat next to him

casual get up, make up?

he noticed something on her that he’s seen before; realized that she looks strangely familiar

she chats to her “life sci” group about how screwed she is for her test, etc etc etc

“oh <sally>, where were you? we see you like once in a blue moon”

“I’ve been skipping these lectures ’cause I thought they’d be easy, right? ’cause you know those 3rd year courses I’m taking, they’re burying me alive and I don’t have time for anything else. I thought this would be a bird course but WHO KNEW…” etc

coincidentally he knows some people in her group, get involved in the chat

learns more about <sally> from her friend’s pov, but he knows that she’s not who she says she is

intrigued, asks her out to find out more about her…

umm…

the observer problem

plot?

she is the victim

No hon, it’s all about the money. That’s all there is, isn’t it? We all want the biggest houses, the best clothes, the most expensive cars. Five days a week we go to work so we can stash up all the money we can so we can buy the next new thing, and we tell ourselves that it’s going to make us a little bit more happier than yesterday. Does it? Why are we always unhappy? Why are we always unsatisfied? Why is nothing ever good enough? Why is there always this “next new thing”?

And the adults. They are always preaching what’s “right”. As if they know how to achieve the “best life”. But the truth is, they don’t know the truth about life; they might think they know but they’re just fooling themselves. They’re as lost as anyone.

The saddest thing? When we grow up, we’ll be just like them. That’s how the world rolls.

Whenever I stumble upon this thought, I don’t want to live.

Well, the truth is I haven’t written anything in the past half a year (with the exception of bio, chem, and physics notes, which are neither original nor in full sentences with appropriate grammar) and – let’s be honest to ourselves here – my writing as of now sucks. Period.

And because of that I’m afraid to write. Because I’m afraid of doing anything I suck at.

It’s not like there’s anyone who’s reading what I write here (except for a few here and there who manage to somehow stumble onto this obscure little blog [which I'm thankful for]), just like how there’s no one watching when I do whatever else I do. It’s just that I’m afraid of not living up to my own standards for myself.

But that’s just human nature, right? We stick to our comfort zones. We are confined by it. We must be constantly reassured that what we’re doing is good, is right. We need to be able to think back on our actions at the end of the day and tell ourselves “yes, I am a good person, I have done this, this, and this, and I will continue doing these things tomorrow, the day after and for as long as I live.”

Maybe that’s just my nature. I can speak from my own perspective standing in my own little niche in a well-to-do, middle-income family living in a 4-bedroom house with enough money to provide for ourselves and afford the occasional luxury. Who am I to advocate for the rest of the world?

But for what it’s worth, I believe that all humans long for comfort, long for an identity they can accept, long to find their own comfortable little place in the world. I believe that we do this because we’re all lost and alone in the world, not sure who put us here and what we’re meant to do. Who we really are. At birth, we’re like empty vessels that need to be filled. But what to fill it with? That’s the question.

Do you believe? I believe.

Ha ha, “lose my touch”. I am an egomaniac, I really am.

I was running this morning and it was really cold (and still is) despite how sunny it seemed. And I thought of something from sociology class a week again or so.

Gibbens coined the term “Reflexive Projection of Self”. In the society of today, people feel obligated to put themselves under the microscope in an attempt to develop a sense of who they are. People are no longer restrained by culture, by tradition, by family history. We have access to all cultures, unrestrained by our geography or time period. In essence, we can be who we want to be. We are free.

We are like a blank slate onto which we and only we can choose to write whatever we wish. We are an empty vessel waiting to be filled. We are free. Or are we really?

In an attempt to find ourselves, to project ourselves, we seek material culture, garnish ourselves with brand-name clothing, furiously browse the internet for music that can allow us to scream to the world at the top of our lung and let everyone know exactly WHO we are. And yet at night we lie in bed with this soreness in our chest. This emptiness.

The truth is, we don’t know who we are.

Human beings are lacking creatures. That is why we need people to tell us what to wear, what is cool, who to be. We tell ourselves to look for our own unique identity, but in reality we are driven anxious by it. We don’t know who we are. What we’re here to do. And in that, we’re not so unique after all.

Did I mention how cold it is outside today?

Anyway. Empty, that’s how I feel right now. I feel like I’ve been trying to fill this big gaping hole in my chest ever since… I don’t know. The second semester of last year I was trying to fill it with God and food, the summer – blogging and the writing forum, and since the beginning of this semester I turned to books again and then there was Nanowrimo and there was the pre-summative rush and scholarship applications and even more books and now that all that is being torn away from me I just feel like I have absolutely nothing to do. I sat in front of the computer for 15 minutes trying to find something to do and just nothing came to mind. I realized that I’m completely at loss for a hobby; there wasn’t anything I want to do anymore. Not even eating.

I feel like I have so much time on my hands and it’s just so horrible. I want it all to end. I want Monday January 5 to be here so bad.

When I tell her about something that troubles me, she laughs and says “well, what can we do about that?”

I know she’s nervous and that’s how she copes with it, by reassuring herself in this twisted way that it’s either not happening or just a sick joke. Or she’s trying to show me that it’s not a big deal. But it doesn’t work. And it hurts.

I guess she is, in a way, distancing herself from the source of stress. It’s her way of escaping, just like how she just constantly dives out of the real world by going on the Internet or immersing herself in her Korean dramas.

It makes me really uncomfortable. I mean, am I that bad? Am I that bad that she wants to escape from me and all the problems I have? It’s like, as soon as she gets home and goes through the hassle of cooking dinner and eating dinner she can’t wait to speed upstairs and go on the Internet. She wants to get as far away from us all as soon as possible.

And I can’t believe I’m thinking like this. Can’t a person have their own hobby? Can’t I just let them do what they want and love without turning into a personal thing? What kind of monster am I?

I hate myself.

Why can’t I just let them enjoy their drama? Their daily fill of Chinese news and gossip? Why do I have to guilt them into paying attention to me and my need?

I’m supposed to be a teenager. I’m supposed to be out there with friends all day. I’m supposed to go to the mall or karaoke or downtown to deal drugs and never come home at night. They’re supposed to be begging me to stop growing up so quickly.

But why is it the other way around? Why am I so damn pathetic?

I have no friends, none at all. And I’m never going to make any friends. The only people I have are my parents and that’s only because they’re my parents. If they were anyone else they’d freak and back away.

I wish I could just kill myself and end this nightmare.

And don’t call it teenage hormones. Hormones, what hormones? I obviously don’t have any. I don’t have my period, I don’t have boobs, I don’t have a butt, I don’t have any hormones.

And God do I wish that it was just hormones. Then it’ll all be over once I reach the magical age of 18 or 19 or something and I can get on with my happy life.

Before I always could reassure myself with something like “oh, it’ll get better when I grow up”, “it’s just an age thing”.

But how is it going to get better? Sure, it might be better, but I’d probably be 30 pounds heavier, sitting on the couch munching on chocolate chip cookies, trying to desperately convince myself that I’m happy while I eat my way to obesity. Is that better?

So either I’m skinny and miserable or fat and… well, still miserable but living in the illusion that I’m not. Which is worse?

I don’t want to grow up. Time, I’m so afraid of it.

When I grow up I’ll have to stop leaning on my parents, stop expecting them to bend over backwards for me. But can I do that? What if I move away from home for university? Am I going to lock myself in my dorm all day, a nervous wreck, starving myself into an eating disorder? It’s not going to get better, it’s not. I’m never going to be able to start making friends, I’m never going to be able to stand up all by myself. I’ll just skydive or be my parents’ kid forever.

Or I’m going to be fat.

I hate my damn life. I wish that my parents never thought of giving birth to me. I wish that they’d never met, that my dad decided to be a surgeon instead of a computer programmer and didn’t meet the friend that introduced him to my mom in university. Then they’d be living different, separate lives with different children who aren’t a wreck like me. And they wouldn’t have to worry about me ’cause I wouldn’t exist. And I wouldn’t have to worry either. I wouldn’t have to spend every waking minute of my life being miserable and making their lives hell.

I just want to mysteriously disappear, completely erased so that no one will think of me or worry about me or remember anything about me. If God could grant this one miracle I will believe him.

You’d think that I’d be jumping up and down screaming for joy – I’d think so too – but I’ve been depressed all week. It’s kind of weird – complicated, really. I’m happy in this really evil, twisted way that I have a chance to be skinnier than her, which had been my secret goal (even to myself) throughout my entire dieting journey. But I’m also scared. Scared to death.

Of what? You ask.

I’m scared that she’ll become one of the other female friends I have, one of those kinda-skinny girls that I always have to check up on, spend minutes each day looking at their legs just to see if they’ve gotten skinnier or fatter and how they compare to me and how they will compare to me in the future. And most importantly, I’m scared that she’ll think of me that way too.

And our friendship will just disintegrate into this web of lies and on-the-surface assurances of each other’s skinniness (a la Georgia).

You know, this friend of mine, I’ve always thought of her as the permanent friend, you know, the one who’ll always be there no matter how you try to shake her off. But now I realize that I’ve been taking her for granted, and that she’ll slip away from me if I don’t do anything. She might be fine with that – she has plenty of IB friends to go to sleepovers with and whatever. But I can’t.

And being with her always inspired some sort of faith in me. She reminds me of the goodness that the human race is capable of. She has always been skinny, so skinny that I never thought that I’d compare, so out-of-reach. And because of that there never really was this feminine-jealousy thing between us. It’s always been me with my good fashion sense and her with her skinniness. We were on par with each other. We were equal. There had never been any inferiority; sure, there had been way back when I was in junior high and she was rotating between boyfriends-in-waiting, but this past year there hadn’t.

I felt like I was able to trust her because I thought that weight was something that didn’t matter to her. Of course it wouldn’t matter; she’d been skinny all her life, she never had to worry about her weight, and because of that, she’d been less critical of other’s weight and appearances. She was easy to talk to, and I know that, if she told me that something looked nice on me, that I didn’t really need to lose more weight, I could trust her.

But if everything changes, if she does gain significant weight, then this whole weight issue is going to raise a wall between us. And I’ll collapse because I really have no one else to depend on.

(There you go, I just pretty much reached the word-limit of an English literary essay I have to write this weekend. Funny how much easier it is to just ramble on about what comes to mind.)

And moreover, she’s going to be bitter that all throughout the whole thing, I just shook my head and said “you look fine.”

She’d be miserable if she keeps on going like this. And I’d be miserable.

And so, I need to help her. And NO, I am not going off my diet.

Yes, I realize that I kinda alternated between tenses every other sentence. It’s because I’m unsure of which to use. She’s gaining weight, but she’s not that fat yet and who knows what’s going to happen? But if she keeps on eating and sleeping the way she does it IS going to happen. AND she’s still skinnier than me, but by a small margin. So yeah, it’s one of those borderline times when you just don’t know.