Not good enough.

These three words ring incessantly in my head, tug my heartstrings when I mouth it and work up those tear ducts yet again.

Perhaps I fooled myself yet again. thinking all is lost, I'm not that bad. I knew I was never the cream of the crop, I mean, how could I be right? I never excelled in academia, I never gotten that straight As. In fact, I work so hard to get a B+ that most people complain about. I was never selected for special projects and I have nothing, I mean NOTHING that I can say I got that's unique and special. Other than being stupid.

I wish I could complain about the long applications, I wish I could complain about the uncomfortable formal attire, I wish I could complain about the spam of emails. I wish I was good enough.

I think I'm just not. People probably expect me to get an ordinary boring admin desk-bound job, get married, have kids then be a housewife.

As simple as that. People don't expect much from me.

Dear God

I know that You heard my prayer yesterday. I could feel it.

Please God, whatever it is, just give them the peace, give him the peace and give everyone the peace in our hearts.

We need this peace amidst the anxiety and worry.

Amen

It's exactly a month till I leave Seattle and I'm not exactly looking forward to it. I know I have alot going for me back home but this life, THE life which I never knew I wanted just takes every inch of my heart, pulling my heart strings till I yearn for Seattle more than I yearn for home.

Life has been great, I've started to appreciate baseball, I basked in the sun, I drank gallons of coffee and I trod to school in light, happy steps.

It's all going to change soon, isn't it?

And I still don't want it to, no matter how many times I lie to myself how much I want to go home.

Have you ever been so fat that people make fun of you? Have you ever hated yourself, wishing sometimes that you weren't born into this world? Has the thought of trading souls with the devil just to look good cross your mind? It all did for me.

It's funny how some people scorn with disdain at anorexia or bulimia, it's funny how they think it's the stupidest thing anyone could do to hurt themselves. What they don't know is the pain of everything a person has to go through, the struggle of self-hate and worthlessness of one's own body.

Watching the film ' To be Fat Like Me' made me revisit those memories, those haunting memories. People you love, people who love you telling you in your face how fat you were, making snide remarks about weight gain or flabby thighs. Even the well-meaning remarks like "maybe you should exercise more' or " try to eat more healthy food" never failed to feel like daggers, stabbing the measly enough self-esteem in me.

With all the pain and pressure, whether self-inflicted or not, how could anyone wonder why wouldn't anyone end up with an eating disorder. The pain of hiding that eating disorder would seem far less severe that going through the taunting or any comments related to weight. Hearing words like " Oh you look thinner now" felt better than winning a lottery and the feeling of fitting into smaller size clothing? Priceless.

All that obsession stemmed from the unwillingness to feel the pain of being sneered and jeered. Is it still as funny now? Is it still that unbelievable that one would resort to methods of harming the body just to lose weight?

Think again people. I am over this phase now and yet it pains me so much that the haunting memories can leave me distraught. The next time you poke fun at someone being overweight or fat, realise what you have done.

Sometimes, that damage can never be undone.

I don't want the Singaporean dream. That's all I know.

I hate to admit it, but the feeling of being 'old' sets in when scenarios around me just had to prove it. It doesn't even have to be extreme situations, even random moments when you realise, 'oh crap, I'm not young anymore.'

Of course I don't mean wrinkles ( but heck, I've already started on anti-aging products) or white hair, saggy skin or aching bones. It's like a state-of-mind, of what's acceptable or what's not.

When I was a younger, daikon, spring onions or any sort of onions were definite no-nos. I would meticulously pick them out or stubbornly refuse to allow them any contact with my body. Yet recently, I find myself craving for them, appreciating the wonderful complex taste of these 'awful' veggies.

Take the two door cinema club concert for example, preteens and teens were moshing together, and it was helluva discomfort. Probably my worst experience at a concert though the music was good. The thought of staying at home blasting the music while sipping a cup of tea comforted me, yet jolted me back to reality. My oh my, sounds comforting to someone awfully old.

And then playing the album now with the lyrics ' We're not kids you know" blasting in the background. Obviously I'm not a kid, I probably haven't used that term to my parents since, 18? Yet when the fans around me during the concert sang along, it felt as if the feeling resonated in their hearts. All I could think of was " Pffft. duh?"

Did I mention how I find it comforting to have seniors and post graduates in my class, even though the classes are definitely much harder this semester. Enough of freshies already, annoying little gits.

I was thinking on the way back from school one day, when was the happiest time of my life.

So many happy incidents of course, but a period which was truly memorable? A period where I felt so carefree and happy, being away from it all, being in a place where there was no politics, no anger, no unhappiness and where life was just simple and fun.

Then I realised it was the AME period in Chiang Mai.

Sleeping in sleeping bags on the floor, showering in a toilet where flooding was perpetual, seeing huge lizards (sometimes frogs) and without the internet for 2 weeks.

Yet I was so happy, I didn't need my comfy bed or 2000 threadcount bedsheets. I didn't need a gorgeous shower and I didn't need high speed internet.

I always wondered, how come I was so happy then, even happier than now when I'm in Seattle, with my own apartment, with a relatively high speed internet and a nice bathroom.

I still haven't figured why. But all I know is that suddenly I miss those times. Every new person met was a brother or sister.

Maybe, the older one becomes, the harder it is to be happy. Or maybe my eyes have become clouded, that only shiny new things would be able to catch my attention.

Whatever it is, I have decided. During my graduation trip, I probably would take a month off to go back there again. Things would be different, but we'll see.

Maybe right now, I just need to be away from it all.

invisible

A thought could be a scary thing. A thought infiltrating that volatile mind, unleashing a thousand of different scenarios in your head. The self-fulfilling prophecy, or in this case the self-fulfilling thought. Things go awry, tears flowing down, bridges broken.

And there you stand alone, far from everyone else. Breaking down, unseen and unnoticed.

All from a single thought. Scary isn't it? How a thought can be.

Musings of a (lonely) girl in America

One thing I think I have definitely learnt while being here is to be, well, alone. For the independent, free-spirited people out there, how difficult can that be, right?

Well, let's just say that it felt weird to be eating alone, walking to and from school alone, travelling alone. Ever since the boyfriend became part of my life, doing things alone just seemed.. well there was never a time for it. So long walk to school? He walked with me. Coming home after dates? Check he sent me home. Eating at random timings? He would eat with me, or if not there would be tons of people around.

Being in NTU and being in hall for about 3 years, I can safely say that I do know a decent number of people. To the point of walking around school and not seeing a familiar face would seem VERY weird. But right here in UW, it's the complete opposite. Seeing a familiar face makes me happy, because, well, it hardly happens.

Before this trip, the thought of being alone repulsed me. It scared me into believing that when you're alone, you look like some sort of a social pariah who just wouldn't fit in. Then I thought again, when was the last time I was alone? Maybe it occurred so long ago that I probably forgot how it felt like to be alone.

Well, the sense of independence is starting to creep in. It's not that big a difference but I feel it. I feel this sense of, "hey look! I'm not scared anymore and I am the independent free woman!"feeling. Grocery shopping alone, eating alone, taking flights alone, it made me spend time with myself. To get to know myself better and sit down and reflect through things.

I'm glad I'm here. Much as I miss home, I think I am growing up.

I know that this is slow, but I've only started to read about the tiger mom and have taken an interest to the issue. To be frank, whatever portrayed in there does seem scary and unreasonable, but I know somehow it isn't what it was made out to be. Why so? Because I think I had a similar childhood.

I remember, since as long as I could remember, my mom would prepare the assessment books for me to complete while she was at work since my grandma took care of me. I had two cousins living with my grandparents then and we were playmates for most of the day. Well, not most, because they did not have the work which I had to complete. I remember dreading Barney because I knew that when the show ended, my mom would be back to pick me up. And I remember dreading the punishment I had to go through when I failed to complete the work. I got caned.

When I reached primary school, my mom would continuously drill me, preparing worksheets and assessment books, cutting out newspaper clips to increase my vocabulary as well as cloze passage skills. I remember the different coloured files which contained the different exercises. I remember heuristics, fabian lye and preston books. I remembered that getting bad grades ( meaning below 91) would mean getting a scolding and being called a failure.

Then came the piano lessons, I remembered Ms Mah, my piano teacher would assign a grade, ranging from A to E for every piano lesson. Anything below a B was unacceptable, and it would result in caning. Even preparation for piano exams, while my parents were at work, they prepared a timesheet for us to fill in to complete the quota of 3 hours of practice. I remember the testing of scales and arpeggios and having to repeat each one whenever it was not perfect. I remembered the terror of each piano lesson, having known that I had not practiced enough. I remember wanting to give up and mom's response was " No you can't, you have to finish your grade 8, whether you like it or not."

Sounds like a terror right? I used to think so, perhaps until now. You see, behind every action, no matter how tough or harsh it was , there was love. Yes, I got caned. But mom would cry everytime she caned us because it hurt her so much. Yes, I got bad results and a bad track record for handing in homework, but mom did the most unthinkable. She left her high paying jobs just to stay at home to monitor me. Because I'm worth more than that. And the piano lessons? Well, I managed to achieve a grade 8 at age 14. And I'm glad she never let me quit, because whatever learnt and put in would have gone to waste. She never let me ' play for fun' because it's true, piano is not fun until you get all the techniques right, because only then you'll be able to easily master songs you like. Being called a failure for not doing well? Well I was. Every child will take that opportunity to skive and I think my mom knew that being lazy was inherent in me, if not for her pushing, I don't know if I would be where I am today.

Mom always told me that it was easy being the nicest mom and giving in to everything I wanted, not pushing me or trying to make me better than what I was. But she did not choose that route, because it would only mean resting on my laurels and being easily satisfied. Every step I took, she took that with me. And I think she worked so much harder for me than I did for myself.

And for that, I thank you mom. I think I never realised how much you have done for me until now.

So hello monday blues and goodbye happy CNY week. So yes, I am official 22 now and I still won't admit it ( at least not to the treadmill or cross trainer, I still key in 21). But regardless of the change in age I experienced over the past week, I have to say that my week was nothing my awesome.

How not to love my friends back in Singapore, the crazy one in UK and the awesome ones here. Thank you all for making my birthday memorable. But the most memorable thing happened was when my cutest parents started singing happy birthday over the video cam and pictorial evidence right here.

Aren't they cute? I miss them so much.

So anyway, I loved the well-wishes, the celebratory dinner and the cupcakes. Thank you Velda, Sarah and Tong!

So, now to serious thoughts. Before I embarked on this exchange programme, I asked myself what I really wanted to get out this. At that time, I told myself I wanted to meet as many people as I could. And that was what I really set out to do.

Now I am about a month into this exchange programme here and counting the number of foreign friends I've made? Probably 3 or 4. How many keepers as friends? Probably none. And I know it as well, friends are friends when they treat you like you are worth it. Party people and people you have fun with aren't really friends especially when all they do is to get drunk and do drugs. So much for networking. Of course let's not forget the Pinkertons. Some people just want to be friends because we're exotic looking and we're Asians.

I'm glad I met awesome people like Anthea and Wang Hao, the people who go all out for us to show that we matter. And because of that, they matter too. I am not ruling out the possibility of making nice real friends who are foreigners, because that's possible too and I'm all out for it. Until then, these people are really acquaintances for now.

Things are getting easier to adjust too and today Benson came over to visit. It kinda reminded me of my time in Hall 12, a place where I learnt to be an adult and my first form of independence by staying away from home. It was the best times in my life and there are many things about it which I would never forget.

I know that when I get back, things would be very different. I wouldn't even be living in the hostel anymore and would have to commute daily from school and plan my timetables to make sure everything's perfect. There would be no room to crash when I'm feeling sleepy, no late night suppers or random talking sessions, no more hall activities to look forward to, no more friends who will randomly knock on each other doors, no more dodo :(

Well, it's part and parcel of growing up, as I always tell myself. I know that I cannot expect myself to be in the same situation again and again after years and I have been greatly blessed to be able to be in the dorm for 3 years. Also, with this Seattle trip and all the awesome friends I have made as well as the awesome ones I kept throughout these years, I am thankful.

Yet there this sad lingering feeling of not going back to what I am so used to. Maybe I'm not sad, maybe I'm just scared because the world is going to be so different. Heck, I am going to turn 22 soon and somehow these thoughts scare me. The going out to the society to work and start calculating my finances. Things are going to change whether I like it or not. The years in the university have taught me many things but it has also made me so comfortable that I do not want it to change.

Random rants and thought. Please pardon me if you find me incoherent.

The whole day was spent with the friends from church and in church as well. Somehow, church feels different yet the same, but messages from God rings through.

Well, since we share the same love and are binded by the same love, it is not difficult talking and hanging out with the Christian friends here.

Major plans, NBA game, portland shopping, the works.

Well I'm excited. I had stuff in my head to write about, but when it comes down to writing it, suddenly everything dissipates.

It's 6th Jan right here in Seattle, so let me start this post by wishing Amisha a HAPPY BIRTHDAY. Yes you're 22 already but so what, it's such a small number if we're going to live till we're 100! So enjoy your birthday and no throwing of tantrums okay!

So yes, back to Seattle. It has been nothing but fantastic to me so far. Taking it all the new sights, the whole university district where apartments and shops are filled with college students. Learning from a whole new perspective and learning to be independent. So far, it has been awesome and I think that is also because I have the nicest housemates ever.

Yet, then again, I still think of home alot. I know I'm supposed to be embracing this whole new life, but every little bit of thing reminds me of home. It has been better and I don't crave for my bak chor mee as much as I did before so hopefully things would be better. And now, I even appreciate my time alone.

Looks like I am going to board the ship of the adventures abroad, AHOY here I come!