worlds upon words is a very old blog started in 2003.
Am in the midst of inserting archival and categorical tag links to the current blog, but my html skills are experimental to say the least, so it will take a while.
So in the meantime...
If you are having problems navigating worlds upon words, this page should help you read my words from 2003 to about May 2011. You should see the links on the right side bar.
Thank you for reading ~ 8 years' worth of worlds upon words.
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Sunday, May 1, 2011
#sgelections PAP, you are missing the point
I am sick of the words 'track record', are you?
This term being repeatedly used as a trump card by the incumbent party's members further cements the fact that they are truly missing the point.
So, what is the point exactly?
The PAP does indeed have a track record - a cleaned up Singapore River, HDB flats, tuberculosis control, making spitting in public illegal, transitioning Singapore's economy from primary to tertiary industries, et cetera. Note that these examples really are, firstly, true - just pick up any history book - secondly, they are facts in history, that is, the past.
If the PAP continues to advocate that its track record in the past is the basis for our future, it is nakedly acknowledging that Singapore as a society has not evolved as a civilisation since the time of our independence from the British. Which is saying that Singapore has not truly developed, a huge political leadership failure! The implication of what they have been touting, is that as long as we have our basic needs met, we are satisfied, and should be, (or else). That may be true for the poorest of the poor: food to eat, shelter and safety, these are the basic needs of any human being, cf. Abraham Maslow. Before you can talk about intrinsic needs of a human being such as self-esteem, we really do need shelter, be it HDB flats or the what-have-you sheltered walkways.
But harping on and on about having provided the basics as their track record only reflects how archaic and uncivilised the minds of the PAPies are. I refer you to Emile Durkheim, The Division of Labour in Society, 1893 (emphases mine) -
In layman's terms, "Who cares about upgrading?!" is the very essence of this sociological thought, and this extract alone should be read in accompaniment with the rest of Durkheim's writings to gain a full picture of what I am about to say. We have evolved as a society, which means that now what we need apart from food and shelter, and 'upgrading', are 'complex satisfactions': Political freedom, not a mock sense of democracy. Solidarity - a feeling of kinship and community. I could go on, but let's just stick to these two examples.
You have probably heard enough from opposition party members about how the PAP wayangs and kelongs through the GRC system and suchlike. I shan't elaborate more, but I will refer you to an extract from NSP's Ken Sun's book, "Concerns for Political Balance" which quotes Dr Lawrence Britt in his article, "Fascism Anyone". According to Sun's book, Britt listed several critical features of Fascism:
I think you can make your own conclusions as to how fascist, or democratic, Singapore's political regime is from what Sun has written. (I would advise that you research on the history of Fascism on your own too; triangulate your research from multiple sources.)
What I do want to pitch in on is the need for Singaporeans to feel a sense of connectedness to one another. As Durkheim has expounded also in his sociological theory, population growth that is too rapid leads a society towards a disintegration of its persona, essentially degrading the solidarity of its people. As I have written before, nobody is propagating a supremacist regime of completely disallowing population growth through foreign immigration to our country. But the toll it takes on the social structure of our nation is apparent, valid, and relevant. When the PAP fails to address this issue, it fails to fulfill the human need to feel a sense of belonging. Yes, I am referencing Maslow again, because really, who hasn't read his theory of the hierarchy of needs? Yet the PAP seems stuck on merely wanting to fulfill the lowest rungs of this hierarchy of needs and banging on about its track record of already doing so. It really makes me wonder how well-read my majority representatives of state truly are, if they do not even exhibit basic academic knowledge of psychology, sociology and management schools of thought.
I am no academic, I only got a third class honours grade, and I had to dig up Durkheim to read again because I only scraped through first year sociology. But if I can write this, and the PAP can't even make one layman reference to the more intrinsic needs of Singapore as a civilisation, then really, the party has missed the point so greatly that there may never be any way back.
This term being repeatedly used as a trump card by the incumbent party's members further cements the fact that they are truly missing the point.
So, what is the point exactly?
The PAP does indeed have a track record - a cleaned up Singapore River, HDB flats, tuberculosis control, making spitting in public illegal, transitioning Singapore's economy from primary to tertiary industries, et cetera. Note that these examples really are, firstly, true - just pick up any history book - secondly, they are facts in history, that is, the past.
If the PAP continues to advocate that its track record in the past is the basis for our future, it is nakedly acknowledging that Singapore as a society has not evolved as a civilisation since the time of our independence from the British. Which is saying that Singapore has not truly developed, a huge political leadership failure! The implication of what they have been touting, is that as long as we have our basic needs met, we are satisfied, and should be, (or else). That may be true for the poorest of the poor: food to eat, shelter and safety, these are the basic needs of any human being, cf. Abraham Maslow. Before you can talk about intrinsic needs of a human being such as self-esteem, we really do need shelter, be it HDB flats or the what-have-you sheltered walkways.
But harping on and on about having provided the basics as their track record only reflects how archaic and uncivilised the minds of the PAPies are. I refer you to Emile Durkheim, The Division of Labour in Society, 1893 (emphases mine) -
This does not mean that civilization has no use, but that it is not the services that it renders that make it progress. It develops because it cannot fail to develop. Once effectuated, this development is found to be generally useful, or, at least, it is utilized. It responds to needs formed at the same time because they depend upon the same causes. But this is an adjustment after the fact. Yet, we must notice that the good it renders in this direction is not a positive enrichment, a growth in our stock of happiness, but only repairs the losses that it has itself caused. It is because this superactivity of general life fatigues and weakens our nervous system that it needs reparations proportionate to its expenditures, that is to say, more varied and complex satisfactions. In that, we see even better how false it is to make civilization the function of the division of labor; it is only a consequence of it. It can explain neither the existence nor the progress of the division of labor, since it has, of itself, no intrinsic or absolute value, but, on the contrary, has a reason for existing only in so far as the division of labor is itself found necessary.
In layman's terms, "Who cares about upgrading?!" is the very essence of this sociological thought, and this extract alone should be read in accompaniment with the rest of Durkheim's writings to gain a full picture of what I am about to say. We have evolved as a society, which means that now what we need apart from food and shelter, and 'upgrading', are 'complex satisfactions': Political freedom, not a mock sense of democracy. Solidarity - a feeling of kinship and community. I could go on, but let's just stick to these two examples.
You have probably heard enough from opposition party members about how the PAP wayangs and kelongs through the GRC system and suchlike. I shan't elaborate more, but I will refer you to an extract from NSP's Ken Sun's book, "Concerns for Political Balance" which quotes Dr Lawrence Britt in his article, "Fascism Anyone". According to Sun's book, Britt listed several critical features of Fascism:
... Disdain for human rights: people are persuaded that it is all right to ignore certain human rights such as imprisonment without trial, long incarcerations of prisoners, etc... Cronyism and corruption: important state institutions are often governed by friends, relatives and associates who appoint or support one another, without much accountability and transparency. Unfair elections: common use of threats, and legislation to control or influence the voters. Other tactics include boundary gerrymandering, smear campaigns, character assassinations, hounding of opposition candidates, media manipulation and lawsuits.
I think you can make your own conclusions as to how fascist, or democratic, Singapore's political regime is from what Sun has written. (I would advise that you research on the history of Fascism on your own too; triangulate your research from multiple sources.)
What I do want to pitch in on is the need for Singaporeans to feel a sense of connectedness to one another. As Durkheim has expounded also in his sociological theory, population growth that is too rapid leads a society towards a disintegration of its persona, essentially degrading the solidarity of its people. As I have written before, nobody is propagating a supremacist regime of completely disallowing population growth through foreign immigration to our country. But the toll it takes on the social structure of our nation is apparent, valid, and relevant. When the PAP fails to address this issue, it fails to fulfill the human need to feel a sense of belonging. Yes, I am referencing Maslow again, because really, who hasn't read his theory of the hierarchy of needs? Yet the PAP seems stuck on merely wanting to fulfill the lowest rungs of this hierarchy of needs and banging on about its track record of already doing so. It really makes me wonder how well-read my majority representatives of state truly are, if they do not even exhibit basic academic knowledge of psychology, sociology and management schools of thought.
I am no academic, I only got a third class honours grade, and I had to dig up Durkheim to read again because I only scraped through first year sociology. But if I can write this, and the PAP can't even make one layman reference to the more intrinsic needs of Singapore as a civilisation, then really, the party has missed the point so greatly that there may never be any way back.
Friday, April 29, 2011
#sgelections My parents brought me up this way.
Today I am not ashamed to say I am anti-PAP, nor am I afraid to do so regardless of where I am declaring this. As I have been saying a lot recently, I am just a kucing kurap 3-room flat resident and am no threat to anyone. If declaring my political alliance and disagreements is illegal, saying I am anti-PAP would merely be a petty crime. That is also why I firmly stand on planting the opposing party's flag at my corridor window on the very night I bought one.
That flag represents my household's vote - officially on paper, my mom and myself are the owners and family unit members of this flat. My dad is a Malaysian, I have no siblings, and I only have a common law husband. When I called my mom to tell her she had to come back to Singapore to vote this May 7, she said, "Come back just vote for the opposition will do." That's my folks for you. If we could have voted every year there were elections in Singapore, it would always be a cross in the opposition party's check box. My dad has told me before, and I paraphrase, that PAP sucks. He did not elaborate much further than that. My dad is a river-runs-deep kind of guy.
The audacity with which I proclaim my anti-PAP sentiments today would have been a big problem in the past, so I never heard my parents outright declare their disdain for the ruling government too often when I was growing up; I shut up for a long while myself too, only proseletysing the need to rage against the machine in private circles, in somewhat hushed tones. Well, if you know me in person, you know I can't really do hushed tones, but you get the drift.
Even in the early noughties, it would have been quite a silly thing to declare on the internet your hatred for the ruling party - the blogosphere was small and blogs were the bread and butter of online citizen journalists. With the proliferation of social media today I doubt any one will knock on your door to send you to jail just because you tweeted with a hashtag that states an opposition party's name or have become a fan of an opposition party's Facebook page.
This levels the playing field, so now I am about to delve into how my parents helped turn me against the Lee regime from early childhood.
You know by now I was that girl who went up on stage to deliver flowers to Tan Chee Kien at an opposition rally when I was around nine years old. That night itself was my first experience in rally-chasing. In my parents' car, we drove round from location to location and I remember thinking to myself, 'Finally!' when we arrived at the rally I was supposed to do my job at.
As time unfolded, so did more stories from my parents about their political affiliations and the forces behind them.
My dad is a Malaysian, and when he first arrived in Singapore in the early seventies, he worked for the Singapore police. After that, he and my mom, aspiring entrepreneurs with a kid in tow, tried countless times to apply for some form of residency for him to remain in Singapore with his Singaporean wife, Singaporean daughter and to build a Singaporean registered company.
They went to meet the MP in their ward. They wrote letters of appeal, they hired lawyers to write the same. My mom was chided by the PAP MP she met to discuss this, told off with a "Who asked you to marry a Malaysian?" and sent away from the Meet-the-People's session. No can do, didn't work, my dad had to leave the country. For good.
So my mom had to raise me on her own. I didn't know that till much later. I had depression even as a child, so I really don't have a full-strung chain of memories.
My mom and dad are renegades, so eventually they found a way to beat the system. It involved something illegal, and I will share it here only because it happened more than twenty years ago - I reckon it would be too late now to consider it a chargeable offence. My mom couldn't possibly run a business and raise a little girl on her own while knowing her husband was suffering and lonely in nearby JB, so she drove over with me in tow, and smuggled my dad back to Singapore. I was an accessory, told to smile and chat to the customs officer as we passed the gantry with my dad in the trunk. My dad stayed in Singapore to provide for his family - us - for five years, illegally.
My mom would only tell you this story in person when she is adequately inebriated, so that was how I found out about it myself too. When I did know about it at last - no, I didn't know at the time during the actual smuggling - I pieced together the reasons for my parent's disagreement with Singapore's ruling party.
Their MP didn't listen, and not only that, he provided no solution to my parents' very real problem in protecting their livelihood and family unit. The government declined my dad's countless applications and appeals for a permit to stay in Singapore, no matter that he worked for the very same government before, no matter that his family needed protection from separation and a means of living.They were tossed aside like garbage, literally, and my dad had to be reunited with us clandestinely.
My mom herself, she was more of an ardent PAP supporter to begin at first. Because she witnessed firsthand the advent of HDB flats - respite from the horrid longhouse conditions she grew up in. But after seeing what my dad had to go through at the hands of the same government that built the houses, she had her Hillary Clinton moment and switched sides. It was a gradual switch, my mom isn't easily convinced. Other clinchers included the cruel way she was instructed to have very few children and thereafter see the policy change in front of her when Singapore's birth rate declined too far. I don't know if she had to do drastic things like an abortion when she was young, which would be very much in line with the population policy advocated at the time. But having to go through two very different kinds of instructions where life is concerned, will be traumatising for any young woman.
Then came the financial hardship. My mom's family is wealthy, but being female, the family business she helped build did not give her any share of the profits. So it was just her and my dad, building a business on their own together. It was hard, because not too long after, the 1987 recession occurred.
Today we hear opposition parties talk about financial assistance for the poor and marginalised of society. For us when I was growing up, the only means my parents could turn to for financial assistance was by going into debt. We were the poor and marginalised, and we definitely did not get any help at all by the ruling party's government.
I pieced all of my experiences, recollections and retelling of my parents' stories, and now it has become our family's identity to be pro-opposition. For the marginalised like we were, the opposition parties were our only hope for change.
With that kind of a political upbringing, it isn't too difficult for me to be left-wing. Combine that with my constant desire to help the voiceless, the poorest of the poor, those without basic care. Combine that with the well of empathy in me that overflows into tears for the lonely. Combine that with my destiny to be in the business of making a difference in this world. It really is no wonder that I am a renegade replica of my parents.
Karl Marx was right, the marginalised population produces the political change necessary to overthrow the ruling power. The PAP marginalised my parents throughout their adulthood spent in this country. Thanks to that, May 7, the opposition party gets our votes.
That flag represents my household's vote - officially on paper, my mom and myself are the owners and family unit members of this flat. My dad is a Malaysian, I have no siblings, and I only have a common law husband. When I called my mom to tell her she had to come back to Singapore to vote this May 7, she said, "Come back just vote for the opposition will do." That's my folks for you. If we could have voted every year there were elections in Singapore, it would always be a cross in the opposition party's check box. My dad has told me before, and I paraphrase, that PAP sucks. He did not elaborate much further than that. My dad is a river-runs-deep kind of guy.
The audacity with which I proclaim my anti-PAP sentiments today would have been a big problem in the past, so I never heard my parents outright declare their disdain for the ruling government too often when I was growing up; I shut up for a long while myself too, only proseletysing the need to rage against the machine in private circles, in somewhat hushed tones. Well, if you know me in person, you know I can't really do hushed tones, but you get the drift.
Even in the early noughties, it would have been quite a silly thing to declare on the internet your hatred for the ruling party - the blogosphere was small and blogs were the bread and butter of online citizen journalists. With the proliferation of social media today I doubt any one will knock on your door to send you to jail just because you tweeted with a hashtag that states an opposition party's name or have become a fan of an opposition party's Facebook page.
This levels the playing field, so now I am about to delve into how my parents helped turn me against the Lee regime from early childhood.
You know by now I was that girl who went up on stage to deliver flowers to Tan Chee Kien at an opposition rally when I was around nine years old. That night itself was my first experience in rally-chasing. In my parents' car, we drove round from location to location and I remember thinking to myself, 'Finally!' when we arrived at the rally I was supposed to do my job at.
As time unfolded, so did more stories from my parents about their political affiliations and the forces behind them.
My dad is a Malaysian, and when he first arrived in Singapore in the early seventies, he worked for the Singapore police. After that, he and my mom, aspiring entrepreneurs with a kid in tow, tried countless times to apply for some form of residency for him to remain in Singapore with his Singaporean wife, Singaporean daughter and to build a Singaporean registered company.
They went to meet the MP in their ward. They wrote letters of appeal, they hired lawyers to write the same. My mom was chided by the PAP MP she met to discuss this, told off with a "Who asked you to marry a Malaysian?" and sent away from the Meet-the-People's session. No can do, didn't work, my dad had to leave the country. For good.
So my mom had to raise me on her own. I didn't know that till much later. I had depression even as a child, so I really don't have a full-strung chain of memories.
My mom and dad are renegades, so eventually they found a way to beat the system. It involved something illegal, and I will share it here only because it happened more than twenty years ago - I reckon it would be too late now to consider it a chargeable offence. My mom couldn't possibly run a business and raise a little girl on her own while knowing her husband was suffering and lonely in nearby JB, so she drove over with me in tow, and smuggled my dad back to Singapore. I was an accessory, told to smile and chat to the customs officer as we passed the gantry with my dad in the trunk. My dad stayed in Singapore to provide for his family - us - for five years, illegally.
My mom would only tell you this story in person when she is adequately inebriated, so that was how I found out about it myself too. When I did know about it at last - no, I didn't know at the time during the actual smuggling - I pieced together the reasons for my parent's disagreement with Singapore's ruling party.
Their MP didn't listen, and not only that, he provided no solution to my parents' very real problem in protecting their livelihood and family unit. The government declined my dad's countless applications and appeals for a permit to stay in Singapore, no matter that he worked for the very same government before, no matter that his family needed protection from separation and a means of living.They were tossed aside like garbage, literally, and my dad had to be reunited with us clandestinely.
My mom herself, she was more of an ardent PAP supporter to begin at first. Because she witnessed firsthand the advent of HDB flats - respite from the horrid longhouse conditions she grew up in. But after seeing what my dad had to go through at the hands of the same government that built the houses, she had her Hillary Clinton moment and switched sides. It was a gradual switch, my mom isn't easily convinced. Other clinchers included the cruel way she was instructed to have very few children and thereafter see the policy change in front of her when Singapore's birth rate declined too far. I don't know if she had to do drastic things like an abortion when she was young, which would be very much in line with the population policy advocated at the time. But having to go through two very different kinds of instructions where life is concerned, will be traumatising for any young woman.
Then came the financial hardship. My mom's family is wealthy, but being female, the family business she helped build did not give her any share of the profits. So it was just her and my dad, building a business on their own together. It was hard, because not too long after, the 1987 recession occurred.
Today we hear opposition parties talk about financial assistance for the poor and marginalised of society. For us when I was growing up, the only means my parents could turn to for financial assistance was by going into debt. We were the poor and marginalised, and we definitely did not get any help at all by the ruling party's government.
I pieced all of my experiences, recollections and retelling of my parents' stories, and now it has become our family's identity to be pro-opposition. For the marginalised like we were, the opposition parties were our only hope for change.
With that kind of a political upbringing, it isn't too difficult for me to be left-wing. Combine that with my constant desire to help the voiceless, the poorest of the poor, those without basic care. Combine that with the well of empathy in me that overflows into tears for the lonely. Combine that with my destiny to be in the business of making a difference in this world. It really is no wonder that I am a renegade replica of my parents.
Karl Marx was right, the marginalised population produces the political change necessary to overthrow the ruling power. The PAP marginalised my parents throughout their adulthood spent in this country. Thanks to that, May 7, the opposition party gets our votes.
#sgelections Against FT influx = Being a Supremacist?
It has been said in the recent run-up to the elections that "Singaporeans feel like foreigners in our own country," with 36% of the population being foreign talents, affectionately also known as foreign trash. Of course, no one calls them trash publicly, we aren't neo-Nazis, right? But in the tethering fabric of what is left of Singaporean solidarity, calling foreign talents, foreign trash, endears us to one another more. Because we really feel like they are marring our country with their smells.
We also hate that FTs are given more opportunities in schools over true-bred Singaporeans. We hate that their cultures stain ours and deconstruct it to the point we feel alienated. We hate that they are given the privilege of citizenship in a blink of an eye, when not too long ago, it was near-impossible to become a foreign 'talent'. Yes, to that last reference I am citing the case of my father's mission-in-vain to become a Singaporean PR, nay, even a work permit would have sufficed, after serving in the Singapore Police Force, marrying my Singaporean mother locally, and having me, in this country, during the 80s.
But are we being supremacists in wanting to rid ourselves of the negativity that FTs have brought onto our island country? In wanting to 'give Singaporeans priority' in education and employment? Isn't that being somewhat Neo-Nazi and Bumiputera?
We aren't suggesting ethnic cleansing of any sort that involves degrading into some form of genocide of all FTs in Singapore. (Actually, I believe there are some out there would want that, social genocide at the very least). We want after all simply a true democracy that is relevant to this time and age. It makes sense because we are a moderate country without extremists anymore. By the way, if you are wondering where the radical Communists have gone, I hear some of them are still up north near Thailand. Anyway, no, we aren't degenerating into wanting to flush out the impure citizens that have already infiltrated our trains and supermarkets.
But even without genocidal thoughts, it may be misconstrued that wanting fewer FTs in our own country counts as being supremacist, like the Nazis and Neo-Nazis. I think I speak for all those who are against the influx of FTs, that it is not their arrival per se that makes us feel a lack in Singaporean-ness. It is the process in which they are integrated and the pace at which we are opening our doors to them coming in. We aren't being supremacist, we just feel that we need a little justice.
Look at other cosmopolitan cities, like say, New York City. The city loves itself for being cosmopolitan to the point they can get any kind of cuisine in the city and meet people from different nationalities all the time. It actually makes their city feel special. It makes New Yorkers - American - even, because they are the land of the free that opened its doors till today to all who want a better life.
So why don't we feel that way here in Singapore? Why do we feel an injustice with the current level of foreigner-to-local ratio?
I learned before in business school - human resource management - about procedural justice. Sometimes it is not the decision that is made that makes people feel unjustly treated, it is the way the decision was made. The process itself, not the end-result. Kind of how it is when you watch your team play your favourite sport - did they play well? If so, it was a good game to watch, even if your team lost in the end. NB. this rule does not apply to gamblers.
I am going to make a crude analogy to further explain our indignation against the current level of FTs living in Singapore, please skip this paragraph if you may get offended. If Singapore was a prostitute, we have opened our legs too wide, and too freely to FTs, inviting them to come and fuck us and get free memberships for life to do so. High class escorts serve one client a night, whereas comfort women during the Japanese Occupation were repeatedly abused to service the soldiers sexually with no breaks in between. Which kind of sexual servant are we, Singapore?
In order to become a cosmopolitan city that Singaporeans would be really proud and connected living in, we need to change the process and slow down the pace a little on inviting other nationalities to become part of us. How that should be done - you have heard and will hear more during the upcoming opposition party rallies in their promises.
We are not being supremacists. We just want our team to play well, and be a high-class social escort. We do feel Singaporean when we walk down, say, Katong, and find so many different cuisines available, from local to exotic. We do want to be the iconic Singapore Girl that smiles at tourists and newcomers to our island showing them how to get from point A to B. We just don't want to feel outnumbered and trumped unjustly. This feeling is not one of being supremacist. It is simply wanting to see justice in how well and how quickly FTs enter our land.
We also hate that FTs are given more opportunities in schools over true-bred Singaporeans. We hate that their cultures stain ours and deconstruct it to the point we feel alienated. We hate that they are given the privilege of citizenship in a blink of an eye, when not too long ago, it was near-impossible to become a foreign 'talent'. Yes, to that last reference I am citing the case of my father's mission-in-vain to become a Singaporean PR, nay, even a work permit would have sufficed, after serving in the Singapore Police Force, marrying my Singaporean mother locally, and having me, in this country, during the 80s.
But are we being supremacists in wanting to rid ourselves of the negativity that FTs have brought onto our island country? In wanting to 'give Singaporeans priority' in education and employment? Isn't that being somewhat Neo-Nazi and Bumiputera?
We aren't suggesting ethnic cleansing of any sort that involves degrading into some form of genocide of all FTs in Singapore. (Actually, I believe there are some out there would want that, social genocide at the very least). We want after all simply a true democracy that is relevant to this time and age. It makes sense because we are a moderate country without extremists anymore. By the way, if you are wondering where the radical Communists have gone, I hear some of them are still up north near Thailand. Anyway, no, we aren't degenerating into wanting to flush out the impure citizens that have already infiltrated our trains and supermarkets.
But even without genocidal thoughts, it may be misconstrued that wanting fewer FTs in our own country counts as being supremacist, like the Nazis and Neo-Nazis. I think I speak for all those who are against the influx of FTs, that it is not their arrival per se that makes us feel a lack in Singaporean-ness. It is the process in which they are integrated and the pace at which we are opening our doors to them coming in. We aren't being supremacist, we just feel that we need a little justice.
Look at other cosmopolitan cities, like say, New York City. The city loves itself for being cosmopolitan to the point they can get any kind of cuisine in the city and meet people from different nationalities all the time. It actually makes their city feel special. It makes New Yorkers - American - even, because they are the land of the free that opened its doors till today to all who want a better life.
So why don't we feel that way here in Singapore? Why do we feel an injustice with the current level of foreigner-to-local ratio?
I learned before in business school - human resource management - about procedural justice. Sometimes it is not the decision that is made that makes people feel unjustly treated, it is the way the decision was made. The process itself, not the end-result. Kind of how it is when you watch your team play your favourite sport - did they play well? If so, it was a good game to watch, even if your team lost in the end. NB. this rule does not apply to gamblers.
I am going to make a crude analogy to further explain our indignation against the current level of FTs living in Singapore, please skip this paragraph if you may get offended. If Singapore was a prostitute, we have opened our legs too wide, and too freely to FTs, inviting them to come and fuck us and get free memberships for life to do so. High class escorts serve one client a night, whereas comfort women during the Japanese Occupation were repeatedly abused to service the soldiers sexually with no breaks in between. Which kind of sexual servant are we, Singapore?
In order to become a cosmopolitan city that Singaporeans would be really proud and connected living in, we need to change the process and slow down the pace a little on inviting other nationalities to become part of us. How that should be done - you have heard and will hear more during the upcoming opposition party rallies in their promises.
We are not being supremacists. We just want our team to play well, and be a high-class social escort. We do feel Singaporean when we walk down, say, Katong, and find so many different cuisines available, from local to exotic. We do want to be the iconic Singapore Girl that smiles at tourists and newcomers to our island showing them how to get from point A to B. We just don't want to feel outnumbered and trumped unjustly. This feeling is not one of being supremacist. It is simply wanting to see justice in how well and how quickly FTs enter our land.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
sabbatical thoughts
I took a sabbatical off teaching for the week because I had a not-too-good depressive episode on Monday. I don't know if I will be well again next week to resume my paying work, but this arrangement will have to do for now.
I feel helpless... The work I do - teaching - is something I have been doing for over a decade and I truly like being with teenagers. And being able to say things like, "I hate maths too, but we can be good at it!" which makes me click just right with their sentiment. I feel even more discouraged because after I declared my sabbatical, my mood lifted, which meant that my depression relapsed-within-a-relapse because of enjoyable work commitments.
I did always suspect I was allergic to work because I so often fall ill when overworked, but truly, I love working. I am a workaholic in remission. That's because I always find career choices to make that are in line with my destiny, my skills and my passions, one or all of the above. True, work is a way to make money to survive and live my life but it is so much more than that. It is fulfillment. I love achieving days where I work from morning till midnight.
This week, I spend time instead on the stuff I need to do to run my cat rescue group, and in just taking things easy and on the down-low. To remember the words of my loved ones that I should take things easy and that they are on my side.
But the thing is, I already work very little. I don't teach enough to make a living, truly. I am totally dependent on rental income and J's income. I don't have money of my own most of the time and my bank account even closed off because moths had gathered in it. They say tuition teachers earn a lot but I can't do even half of what a full-time tutor does to earn shitloads of money, and so am nowhere near sustainable income-wise.
Depression is this debilitating. It takes away things, it makes things temporally impossible for you to do, and on bad days it would good enough if you can get out of bed to go to the loo. Blankets are a necessity for hiding under in a panic attack or to cry uncontrollably. We pop a lot of pills that make things normal, without them we are a train wreck on the ledge of a building wanting to jump off because the pain is so bad we just need it to go away.
Things improve, then they retro-spiral into the darkness that is symptoms of depressions again, then they improve, repeat ad infinitum. It will end one day, but during the years I have depressive episodes I don't remember what happens and time gaps land in my memory.
Will this end one day? Yes. Depression can go into full remission. No cure, just remission, like cancer. But it does happen. Just that for this week, I will remain in furlough to recharge for fighting the war against the disease that threatens me in some way, every day.
I feel helpless... The work I do - teaching - is something I have been doing for over a decade and I truly like being with teenagers. And being able to say things like, "I hate maths too, but we can be good at it!" which makes me click just right with their sentiment. I feel even more discouraged because after I declared my sabbatical, my mood lifted, which meant that my depression relapsed-within-a-relapse because of enjoyable work commitments.
I did always suspect I was allergic to work because I so often fall ill when overworked, but truly, I love working. I am a workaholic in remission. That's because I always find career choices to make that are in line with my destiny, my skills and my passions, one or all of the above. True, work is a way to make money to survive and live my life but it is so much more than that. It is fulfillment. I love achieving days where I work from morning till midnight.
This week, I spend time instead on the stuff I need to do to run my cat rescue group, and in just taking things easy and on the down-low. To remember the words of my loved ones that I should take things easy and that they are on my side.
But the thing is, I already work very little. I don't teach enough to make a living, truly. I am totally dependent on rental income and J's income. I don't have money of my own most of the time and my bank account even closed off because moths had gathered in it. They say tuition teachers earn a lot but I can't do even half of what a full-time tutor does to earn shitloads of money, and so am nowhere near sustainable income-wise.
Depression is this debilitating. It takes away things, it makes things temporally impossible for you to do, and on bad days it would good enough if you can get out of bed to go to the loo. Blankets are a necessity for hiding under in a panic attack or to cry uncontrollably. We pop a lot of pills that make things normal, without them we are a train wreck on the ledge of a building wanting to jump off because the pain is so bad we just need it to go away.
Things improve, then they retro-spiral into the darkness that is symptoms of depressions again, then they improve, repeat ad infinitum. It will end one day, but during the years I have depressive episodes I don't remember what happens and time gaps land in my memory.
Will this end one day? Yes. Depression can go into full remission. No cure, just remission, like cancer. But it does happen. Just that for this week, I will remain in furlough to recharge for fighting the war against the disease that threatens me in some way, every day.
Friday, April 15, 2011
once again, time to write about -
I seldom write about politics so it wasn't hard to try and find anything on this 8 year old blog that was vaguely political in content. I found two posts. One was the post I got quoted on Today from. The other is on Marxism. Those two are all there are on the topic of politics.
I guess the Marxist post still resonates with me because re-reading it inspired me to write this post, here, now. I see Marx as a sociologist more so as than the founder of Communism so I have no qualms about publicly writing that I agree with Marx.
Where I stand exactly on this - agreement - is what I shall clarify tonight.
There are books that are Communist-angled that have truly inspired me: Doris Lessing's The Golden Notebook. Che Guevera's The Motorcycle Diaries. Even Tash Aw's The Harmony Silk Factory is somewhat uplifting. I love the ideology that drives social change even if it is Marx-derived and therefore dangerous to admit so.
Recently SDA's Chiam See Tong (once again, I am not related to him) made a declaration to participate in this year's elections because even though it is hard for him at his age, he says that it is more truly difficult for the people who are suffering in today's Singapore and it is for them that he is continuing to campaign. His declaration made me shed a tear. This is what should inspire political ambition. The sight of masses of humanity in need in your own nation - or in Che Guevera's case, continent - is what should trigger the need for a revolution.
Hence I support the ideals behind Communists such as Che Guevera because of the fact that the ideology, the ambition, and the cause were all because of the masses whose lives could be made far better.
But I disagree with Communism in practice. In reality, Communism as an administrative system does not work, as we can see in so many countries today. Imagery of bespectacled citizens being executed or exiled from their countries because they are educated does not sit with me at all and conjures up tears. Capitalism is still necessary and is in my opinion not the polar opposite of Communism such that they cannot co-exist in the same system. How else will we have food to eat? I am Protestant and believe in the Protestant work-ethic too, so no way am I against capitalism because I believe in Karl Marx's theory.
A new ideology needs to come up from another mind in present times that will be as brilliant as Marx was in his time, one that will be relevant to today's social structures, today's literacy levels, and one that can co-exist with capitalism without unfair power imbalances. If you ever write a thesis on such an theory, let me know.
Marx essentially said that the regular man (the peasant, the proletariat) will eventually 'wake up idea' and a revolution will definitely take place for a complete paradigm shift in the balance of power. But today, we are educated enough to have woken up our ideas so to speak. The problem today is not about realising that the bourgeoisie have intrinsic power over the people, because we already realise that. We have realised, and we are upset about it.
This emotional response breeds two kinds of behaviour in our society. One is nonchalance, where we admit that the ruling party simply has too much power shrouded in elitism - untouchable - then we sigh and shrug and just go on with our daily lives. The other response is to support left-centre ideology parties that have actually good plans in place to better our fellow man's welfare in this country simply because we want to fight the bourgeois elite ruling party.
As for those partisans contesting the ruling party, the real challenge is still Marxist in nature. To what extent have we woken up our ideas that the ruling party has too much power? What the opposition parties need to do is to realign the ideas that need to be 'woken up'. Ideas that will inspire them to change and want change and want your party to be the one to change the face of Singapore. Sylvia Lim of WP is doing a good job of that.
Obviously, a revolution Egyptian 2011 style is not going to take place because in Singapore, participation in anything remotely like that is going to be suicide in this country. But when the proletariat masses finally awaken and realise that, 'Hey, ruling party buys our votes with monetary gains, do I want my kids to be materialistic Singaporeans and nothing else?' a revolution of another kind will come into play. It will be slow, it will be small at first, but eventually, the tide will turn, and as it has been written - the Tipping Point will emerge to change the face of our political climate and therefore our societal power balances.
No revolution involved that involves guerrillas fighting in jungles or masses gathering with banners shouting for so-and-so to resign. But still a revolution is needed, and will happen. And that thought is Marxist is nature, because his pyramid imagery of society always turns over.
And that's that. Now you know where I stand on Marxism in relation to today's political climate in my own country. Sounds like a lot armchair-theorising about a very real and practical issue at hand, but Marxist ideology drives a lot of admirable politicians and change-makers whether they realise it or not. If you ever were moved to change something somewhere in society because you came face-to-face with a marginalised member of society in suffering - you have had a Che Guevera moment. Go buy a tee-shirt with his face on it, he looks better than Karl Marx.
I guess the Marxist post still resonates with me because re-reading it inspired me to write this post, here, now. I see Marx as a sociologist more so as than the founder of Communism so I have no qualms about publicly writing that I agree with Marx.
Where I stand exactly on this - agreement - is what I shall clarify tonight.
There are books that are Communist-angled that have truly inspired me: Doris Lessing's The Golden Notebook. Che Guevera's The Motorcycle Diaries. Even Tash Aw's The Harmony Silk Factory is somewhat uplifting. I love the ideology that drives social change even if it is Marx-derived and therefore dangerous to admit so.
Recently SDA's Chiam See Tong (once again, I am not related to him) made a declaration to participate in this year's elections because even though it is hard for him at his age, he says that it is more truly difficult for the people who are suffering in today's Singapore and it is for them that he is continuing to campaign. His declaration made me shed a tear. This is what should inspire political ambition. The sight of masses of humanity in need in your own nation - or in Che Guevera's case, continent - is what should trigger the need for a revolution.
Hence I support the ideals behind Communists such as Che Guevera because of the fact that the ideology, the ambition, and the cause were all because of the masses whose lives could be made far better.
But I disagree with Communism in practice. In reality, Communism as an administrative system does not work, as we can see in so many countries today. Imagery of bespectacled citizens being executed or exiled from their countries because they are educated does not sit with me at all and conjures up tears. Capitalism is still necessary and is in my opinion not the polar opposite of Communism such that they cannot co-exist in the same system. How else will we have food to eat? I am Protestant and believe in the Protestant work-ethic too, so no way am I against capitalism because I believe in Karl Marx's theory.
A new ideology needs to come up from another mind in present times that will be as brilliant as Marx was in his time, one that will be relevant to today's social structures, today's literacy levels, and one that can co-exist with capitalism without unfair power imbalances. If you ever write a thesis on such an theory, let me know.
Marx essentially said that the regular man (the peasant, the proletariat) will eventually 'wake up idea' and a revolution will definitely take place for a complete paradigm shift in the balance of power. But today, we are educated enough to have woken up our ideas so to speak. The problem today is not about realising that the bourgeoisie have intrinsic power over the people, because we already realise that. We have realised, and we are upset about it.
This emotional response breeds two kinds of behaviour in our society. One is nonchalance, where we admit that the ruling party simply has too much power shrouded in elitism - untouchable - then we sigh and shrug and just go on with our daily lives. The other response is to support left-centre ideology parties that have actually good plans in place to better our fellow man's welfare in this country simply because we want to fight the bourgeois elite ruling party.
As for those partisans contesting the ruling party, the real challenge is still Marxist in nature. To what extent have we woken up our ideas that the ruling party has too much power? What the opposition parties need to do is to realign the ideas that need to be 'woken up'. Ideas that will inspire them to change and want change and want your party to be the one to change the face of Singapore. Sylvia Lim of WP is doing a good job of that.
Obviously, a revolution Egyptian 2011 style is not going to take place because in Singapore, participation in anything remotely like that is going to be suicide in this country. But when the proletariat masses finally awaken and realise that, 'Hey, ruling party buys our votes with monetary gains, do I want my kids to be materialistic Singaporeans and nothing else?' a revolution of another kind will come into play. It will be slow, it will be small at first, but eventually, the tide will turn, and as it has been written - the Tipping Point will emerge to change the face of our political climate and therefore our societal power balances.
No revolution involved that involves guerrillas fighting in jungles or masses gathering with banners shouting for so-and-so to resign. But still a revolution is needed, and will happen. And that thought is Marxist is nature, because his pyramid imagery of society always turns over.
And that's that. Now you know where I stand on Marxism in relation to today's political climate in my own country. Sounds like a lot armchair-theorising about a very real and practical issue at hand, but Marxist ideology drives a lot of admirable politicians and change-makers whether they realise it or not. If you ever were moved to change something somewhere in society because you came face-to-face with a marginalised member of society in suffering - you have had a Che Guevera moment. Go buy a tee-shirt with his face on it, he looks better than Karl Marx.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
when I feel like this, I only know how to write cryptic words, and vice versa
-
you silence me
render me glass-eyed
tether me, immobile
a lost cause, even
nature is at wit's end,
you take away everything.
-
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Psychosomatic Sicknesses | Psycho till Sick, Sick till Psycho
It was 1996 and I was seventeen.
Also, it was the year I first ever had a doctor in front of me figuratively scratching his head, because he couldn't diagnose the sickness I brought with me to him, finding no other reason for a stomach ailment I had than that of 'stress'. He had nothing to prescribe me for it, because he couldn't figure out what was wrong with me.
The situation preceding that doctor's diagnosis was very kindly and loving. Two of my classmates at the time were very concerned that I had been having chronic stomachaches daily for two weeks, triggered by simple actions like bending down to sit at a chair, or eating fried egg. They did an intervention and dragged me to a doctor near their old school in Lorong Ah Soo, convincing me I simply had to get some help for it.
I remember that doctor somewhat: my friends said he was a Christian doctor, and he had stacks of 'Our Daily Bread' devotionals in his clinic. He didn't have charismatic bedside manners and wasn't an outstanding doctor in any particular way, and him finally saying in a baffled manner that my stomachache was 'due to stress' definitely did not make me want to see him again in a loyal fashion - as I did and still do, other doctors I have met later in life. I supposed he did keep me in his prayers, as did my two intervening friends, because the stomachache eventually went away. I avoided egg for a long time after, though - just in case.
But the trend started - many sicknesses after, many doctors saying the words 'due to stress' or similar. I now know that such sicknesses are 'psychosomatic' in nature, to give the whole issue a proper term. Being thirty two years old this year, it has been sixteen years of having psychosomatic sicknesses. All the freaking time.
Psychosomatic sicknesses affect me so badly not because they kill me, but because I always end up being so frequently sick it kills my productivity. The more stressful the environment I am in - work, school and so on - the more frequently I fall ill. Some are serious ailments, like developing adult asthma, or gastric problems, necessitating hospital visits or rushes to the emergency room. Some are irritating, like chronic eczema, or rhinitis. Usually it is just frequent flu', colds, coughs, headaches, giddiness and such.
Before I knew for sure they were psychosomatic illnesses, I tried every darn thing to 'take care of my health' as my irritated bosses kept saying to me whenever I had to take yet another MC. Nothing worked, but I sure did contribute a hell lot to the health-care industry in terms of buying supplements.
Eventually, I just explained it in simple terms to the people I worked with: When I am stressed, I fall sick. That's just me.
Ah, then the final revelation eventually came to me. I have clinical depression, and psychosomatic sicknesses are part of the deal! It took a while for that causal conclusion to sink in and thoroughly educate me. It started with regular doctors revealing the term 'psychosomatic' to me more often, and prescribing me anxiety medication and sedatives alongside treating stupid minor ailments.
By the time my second and still ongoing major depressive episode kicked in a few years ago, I became more concerned with getting treatment for depression itself - it is much more life-threatening than the sum of all the irritating sicknesses like gastritis and allergies. Years on, still getting treatment for depression, still not able to push the disease into entire remission, still not able to do a lot of things normal people can do. Am still trying, am still bleeding money into getting better.
Meanwhile, I still get psychosomatic sicknesses.
For the past few days, it has been terrible nausea that came with actual puking. Everything I puked was undigested, so definitely some incongruence in my gastric system somewhere.
Well, this bout of sickness may not be purely psychosomatic because I have been having side effects from my new antidepressant (works wonders for depression but): gastric problems, giddiness, severe headaches. I prescribed myself a dosage reduction and the headaches became slightly more bearable, the giddiness went away.
Whatever the cause, I am so sick of being sick. Psychosomatic, or caused by psychiatric medication, I am thoroughly fed up with being sick almost all the time for the past sixteen years. Right now, I am typing this in the middle of the night because I am too sick to fall asleep. I have just puked, and my head hurts. I feel like shit, and I wanna puke some more but there is nothing left to puke. My stomach keeps churning. Medication for it? If could afford any, have consumed them and finished them or puked them out - rinse and repeat - the pain and suffering continues.
And what makes it worse? I am too poor to be sick, and am poor because I am sick.
Also, it was the year I first ever had a doctor in front of me figuratively scratching his head, because he couldn't diagnose the sickness I brought with me to him, finding no other reason for a stomach ailment I had than that of 'stress'. He had nothing to prescribe me for it, because he couldn't figure out what was wrong with me.
The situation preceding that doctor's diagnosis was very kindly and loving. Two of my classmates at the time were very concerned that I had been having chronic stomachaches daily for two weeks, triggered by simple actions like bending down to sit at a chair, or eating fried egg. They did an intervention and dragged me to a doctor near their old school in Lorong Ah Soo, convincing me I simply had to get some help for it.
I remember that doctor somewhat: my friends said he was a Christian doctor, and he had stacks of 'Our Daily Bread' devotionals in his clinic. He didn't have charismatic bedside manners and wasn't an outstanding doctor in any particular way, and him finally saying in a baffled manner that my stomachache was 'due to stress' definitely did not make me want to see him again in a loyal fashion - as I did and still do, other doctors I have met later in life. I supposed he did keep me in his prayers, as did my two intervening friends, because the stomachache eventually went away. I avoided egg for a long time after, though - just in case.
But the trend started - many sicknesses after, many doctors saying the words 'due to stress' or similar. I now know that such sicknesses are 'psychosomatic' in nature, to give the whole issue a proper term. Being thirty two years old this year, it has been sixteen years of having psychosomatic sicknesses. All the freaking time.
Psychosomatic sicknesses affect me so badly not because they kill me, but because I always end up being so frequently sick it kills my productivity. The more stressful the environment I am in - work, school and so on - the more frequently I fall ill. Some are serious ailments, like developing adult asthma, or gastric problems, necessitating hospital visits or rushes to the emergency room. Some are irritating, like chronic eczema, or rhinitis. Usually it is just frequent flu', colds, coughs, headaches, giddiness and such.
Before I knew for sure they were psychosomatic illnesses, I tried every darn thing to 'take care of my health' as my irritated bosses kept saying to me whenever I had to take yet another MC. Nothing worked, but I sure did contribute a hell lot to the health-care industry in terms of buying supplements.
Eventually, I just explained it in simple terms to the people I worked with: When I am stressed, I fall sick. That's just me.
Ah, then the final revelation eventually came to me. I have clinical depression, and psychosomatic sicknesses are part of the deal! It took a while for that causal conclusion to sink in and thoroughly educate me. It started with regular doctors revealing the term 'psychosomatic' to me more often, and prescribing me anxiety medication and sedatives alongside treating stupid minor ailments.
By the time my second and still ongoing major depressive episode kicked in a few years ago, I became more concerned with getting treatment for depression itself - it is much more life-threatening than the sum of all the irritating sicknesses like gastritis and allergies. Years on, still getting treatment for depression, still not able to push the disease into entire remission, still not able to do a lot of things normal people can do. Am still trying, am still bleeding money into getting better.
Meanwhile, I still get psychosomatic sicknesses.
For the past few days, it has been terrible nausea that came with actual puking. Everything I puked was undigested, so definitely some incongruence in my gastric system somewhere.
Well, this bout of sickness may not be purely psychosomatic because I have been having side effects from my new antidepressant (works wonders for depression but): gastric problems, giddiness, severe headaches. I prescribed myself a dosage reduction and the headaches became slightly more bearable, the giddiness went away.
Whatever the cause, I am so sick of being sick. Psychosomatic, or caused by psychiatric medication, I am thoroughly fed up with being sick almost all the time for the past sixteen years. Right now, I am typing this in the middle of the night because I am too sick to fall asleep. I have just puked, and my head hurts. I feel like shit, and I wanna puke some more but there is nothing left to puke. My stomach keeps churning. Medication for it? If could afford any, have consumed them and finished them or puked them out - rinse and repeat - the pain and suffering continues.
And what makes it worse? I am too poor to be sick, and am poor because I am sick.
Monday, February 21, 2011
my own unusual wishlist
Every now and then I post wishlists on our cat rescue blog to call for donations-in-kind. Then I realise, there are lots of human things I really need myself but am too poor or busy to buy or both. So here they are, just for fun:
And those are just the tangible, human things. Anyway, cash inflow expected this and next week so, after paying some debts, should have some left to buy some of these things. And maybe won't need the candle for the bathroom because J might finally fix the bathroom light.
- A block candle for our bathroom. The starter on the lamp has broken and J hasn't found time to fix it. It has been about 2 weeks or so of showering in semi-darkness with nothing but an LED candle to help illuminate some.
- Tealight candles. For my room's and kitchen's aromatherapy burners. Have been using my stash to light the bathroom because of said reason above. Have now run out.
- Antibacterial hand soap. I am paranoid about hand washing and we are running out of it and no cash to buy since it's not an absolute survival necessity.
- Tissue paper. Also no money to buy and it's not a do-or-die necessity either. 2 boxes left around the house. Really makes me save paper.
- Panadol and antihistamines because I eat them too often and don't always have them in stock at home at the rate I consume them.
- Restock on coffee and tea in house because there ain't no more.
- Headphones to plug into my netbook for music and tv shows and drown out weird noises from outside the house and also not disturb J when he is asleep.
- Earphones for my phone so I can be less phobic by spamming music when I am out of the house.
- New specs or at least get my old ones fixed (not sure how much that would cost me).
And those are just the tangible, human things. Anyway, cash inflow expected this and next week so, after paying some debts, should have some left to buy some of these things. And maybe won't need the candle for the bathroom because J might finally fix the bathroom light.
Monday, February 14, 2011
dilemma about a space
Our spare room, currently occupied by two tenants, is going to be empty soon, which is a good thing - mostly.
When our tenants confirmed they were moving out we smiled a bit. Our first response was, "Cat boarding!" because in the line of our work we meet cat owners that need a hotel to board their cats on holidays and they simply have to go elsewhere because we can't do it for them for lack of space. With a spare room, we can. Cat boarding is also in line with the social enterprise direction we are intending to grow along as a cat rescue. It is the only way I can finally move towards cat rescue as a full-time job, officially, because it will bring me income.
Right now, of course, I am already doing cat rescue full-time, and my unrelated but paying freelance jobs are just part-time. Well, full-time is a misnomer when it comes to me, because I can't really work that much, still. I still can't do a lot of things normal people can. I still get panic attacks albeit now less frequently (last one was on Saturday). I still fall sick with psychosomatic rubbish often; I have been having a headache for the past 3-4 weeks now and even as I am writing this. From the small pool of resources within myself to do anything occupational, almost all of it goes towards my cat rescue work. It isn't enough of course to count as much, but J does it with me, I am not alone. So, despite how weak I am, it is safe to define that I really am doing cat rescue full-time, just simply unpaid at the moment.
I could of course, abandon the cat boarding idea for the spare room, and think of my original idea before this pair of tenants came along: which was to make it my classroom to teach my students in. It has great light, the air-con is cooler. The hard part is prospecting for more students. Doable, I guess. The only problem is, what kind of student-load can I take on before I fall too sick again and need to be forced into a sabbatical and let everyone down? I need to take on 2-3 more students to replace the loss of rental income. I am not sure I can handle that without breaking down. And if my doctor tells me once again I need to work only on alternate days and not every day, I pretty much have to let go of the idea of more students to love and teach. A dedicated teaching room is too big an investment on a brittle person like myself.
We do relish the idea of having the whole flat to ourselves when our tenants leave. We can use the room to store the rescue cats' supplies, and finally clear up the cat-related clutter in the foster lounge (living room), make space to foster more rescue cats if possible. I also look forward eagerly to our electricity bills coming down with less humans in the house. And a cleaner toilet (current tenants don't really upkeep the bathroom), dedicated to cat-related uses like cleaning and baths. In any case, for the spare room, storing foster cats' stuff and boarding cats for owners on holidays are both synergistic uses that work together.
Yet at the back of our minds we worry about the loss of regular rental income. Sure, cat boarding income will be about the same as our current rental income. But it won't be regular, and thus will take some getting used to. And, considering how poor we are now no thanks to my inability to work more and my crazy-high medical bills, this will be a tough one to ride out.
The good thing is, while it is a fluctuating source of income, it has the potential to bring us much more than from simply renting out a room at a fixed rate monthly. There will be a teething period, there will be down times. But the financial potential is great. It is synergistic with our goals in our volunteer work. It is easier for me to do than teaching because I can go on furlough anytime if I break down.
But our financial drought will become worse before it gets better. If this is the route to take, we will have to survive it no matter what until we start on a financial trajectory.
When our tenants confirmed they were moving out we smiled a bit. Our first response was, "Cat boarding!" because in the line of our work we meet cat owners that need a hotel to board their cats on holidays and they simply have to go elsewhere because we can't do it for them for lack of space. With a spare room, we can. Cat boarding is also in line with the social enterprise direction we are intending to grow along as a cat rescue. It is the only way I can finally move towards cat rescue as a full-time job, officially, because it will bring me income.
Right now, of course, I am already doing cat rescue full-time, and my unrelated but paying freelance jobs are just part-time. Well, full-time is a misnomer when it comes to me, because I can't really work that much, still. I still can't do a lot of things normal people can. I still get panic attacks albeit now less frequently (last one was on Saturday). I still fall sick with psychosomatic rubbish often; I have been having a headache for the past 3-4 weeks now and even as I am writing this. From the small pool of resources within myself to do anything occupational, almost all of it goes towards my cat rescue work. It isn't enough of course to count as much, but J does it with me, I am not alone. So, despite how weak I am, it is safe to define that I really am doing cat rescue full-time, just simply unpaid at the moment.
I could of course, abandon the cat boarding idea for the spare room, and think of my original idea before this pair of tenants came along: which was to make it my classroom to teach my students in. It has great light, the air-con is cooler. The hard part is prospecting for more students. Doable, I guess. The only problem is, what kind of student-load can I take on before I fall too sick again and need to be forced into a sabbatical and let everyone down? I need to take on 2-3 more students to replace the loss of rental income. I am not sure I can handle that without breaking down. And if my doctor tells me once again I need to work only on alternate days and not every day, I pretty much have to let go of the idea of more students to love and teach. A dedicated teaching room is too big an investment on a brittle person like myself.
We do relish the idea of having the whole flat to ourselves when our tenants leave. We can use the room to store the rescue cats' supplies, and finally clear up the cat-related clutter in the foster lounge (living room), make space to foster more rescue cats if possible. I also look forward eagerly to our electricity bills coming down with less humans in the house. And a cleaner toilet (current tenants don't really upkeep the bathroom), dedicated to cat-related uses like cleaning and baths. In any case, for the spare room, storing foster cats' stuff and boarding cats for owners on holidays are both synergistic uses that work together.
Yet at the back of our minds we worry about the loss of regular rental income. Sure, cat boarding income will be about the same as our current rental income. But it won't be regular, and thus will take some getting used to. And, considering how poor we are now no thanks to my inability to work more and my crazy-high medical bills, this will be a tough one to ride out.
The good thing is, while it is a fluctuating source of income, it has the potential to bring us much more than from simply renting out a room at a fixed rate monthly. There will be a teething period, there will be down times. But the financial potential is great. It is synergistic with our goals in our volunteer work. It is easier for me to do than teaching because I can go on furlough anytime if I break down.
But our financial drought will become worse before it gets better. If this is the route to take, we will have to survive it no matter what until we start on a financial trajectory.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
an email to my doctor
I didn't manage to go further into the recent spat I had with my mother over my not making a passport and thus not going to Malaysia to see them over the new year.
I told my mother that I was too stressed out to go make a new passport. I explained to her that it has too many steps for me to handle. I said that that just for this year, I wanted to stay in Singapore.
She attacked me verbally by saying that:
1. I am abandoning them, my ONLY family in this world and all I have.
2. I am purposely not recovering and purposely being sick.
3. That Andy is not supporting me at all financially because we live so frugally, when in fact he pays all the bills, even the cost of my medication and visits to you. That it is thus better that I be alone without an other half.
4. I am 32 years old and at this age I should be financially independent, why am I still needing financial help from them (she asked if I needed money to help pay the bills, I said okay, and that was her response to mine).
5. That my doctor - i.e. you - is lousy because I am still sick after so long and that I should stop seeing you.
6. When she dies she will not acknowledge me as her daughter.
What she said was very hurtful and I couldn't get through to her. The phone reception broke up and she didn't call me since to take back what she said. My dad tried to call me right after but I didn't want to answer because I was fearful that he would take her side and scold me even further. I couldn't take the emotional attack any further and I just opted out of it.
It is now the first day of the new year and I am not sure if I should call them to apologise to them for hurting me. I have always apologised to people who hurt me because it is my fault that others hurt me. But cognitively I know this to be an unhealthy pattern and thinking.
I don't think that they understand the extent of my disease and I have no idea how to explain it to them. If I try they would probably just keep perpetuating their point that I am 'purposely' being sick and 'purposely' not recovering.
I don't know how to deal with this. If I call them to apologise now then at least it would smooth things over. But if I completely shun them this new year they would probably hate me for much longer time.
I told my mother that I was too stressed out to go make a new passport. I explained to her that it has too many steps for me to handle. I said that that just for this year, I wanted to stay in Singapore.
She attacked me verbally by saying that:
1. I am abandoning them, my ONLY family in this world and all I have.
2. I am purposely not recovering and purposely being sick.
3. That Andy is not supporting me at all financially because we live so frugally, when in fact he pays all the bills, even the cost of my medication and visits to you. That it is thus better that I be alone without an other half.
4. I am 32 years old and at this age I should be financially independent, why am I still needing financial help from them (she asked if I needed money to help pay the bills, I said okay, and that was her response to mine).
5. That my doctor - i.e. you - is lousy because I am still sick after so long and that I should stop seeing you.
6. When she dies she will not acknowledge me as her daughter.
What she said was very hurtful and I couldn't get through to her. The phone reception broke up and she didn't call me since to take back what she said. My dad tried to call me right after but I didn't want to answer because I was fearful that he would take her side and scold me even further. I couldn't take the emotional attack any further and I just opted out of it.
It is now the first day of the new year and I am not sure if I should call them to apologise to them for hurting me. I have always apologised to people who hurt me because it is my fault that others hurt me. But cognitively I know this to be an unhealthy pattern and thinking.
I don't think that they understand the extent of my disease and I have no idea how to explain it to them. If I try they would probably just keep perpetuating their point that I am 'purposely' being sick and 'purposely' not recovering.
I don't know how to deal with this. If I call them to apologise now then at least it would smooth things over. But if I completely shun them this new year they would probably hate me for much longer time.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Updates on lil' me in a nutshell
Most of the stuff that happened between my last post and now are recorded in my tweets.
I have been experiencing the changes that Valdoxan, the new anti-depressant I am now on, has brought on. Some are good. Some are not so. The reason why I am on new meds is because, believe it or not, I began to relapse within this years-long relapse. How sick can one be anyway?
Valdoxan has been increasing my appetite. This causes gastric problems to resurface in me because now I eat in the day and for all gastritis sufferers, eating outside of normal times causes gastric pain. I can eat meals throughout the day and have painful gastric symptoms even then.
Valdoxan has subtly increased my energy level. To the naked eye and outsider, I don't do much more. But I have resumed my teaching after a sabbatical that both myself and my students wanted to take. To J, I reply emails faster - something so subtle only someone who loves me like J does will realise. I still can't do a lot of things because the energy level is not yet normal for me. Unfortunately, I also still have bouts of extreme sleepiness in the day. I reckon this is because I still need to adjust my sleeping medication - lorazepam or melatonin or both and how much of? Taking too little - I can't sleep, since I am now off Remeron. Taking too much and I get sleepy the whole day after I wake up.
Valdoxan claims to not need adjunct anti-anxiety medication but I take more Xanax now than before. So, that claim is rubbish. Am supposed to be on a new adjunct medication come February. (Adjunct medications are mood-stabilisers, sometimes they aren't even real antidepressants.) Meanwhile, I suffer the random frequent panic attacks, and still get paranoid phobias about doing a lot of things. A bit more so than before I got off the Lexapro+Remeron cocktail. But I have been stepping out of the house just that bit more. Progress to me. Though it ain't enough for my parents.
I had a major falling out with my parents. The Chinese New Year sucks. As J says, "I hate Chinese New Year." I feel too stressed out to go through the entire process of making a new passport since my beloved 10-year-old one expired last year. So I explained that I won't be going to visit them this CNY to my parents. Needless to say, my mom backlashed at me, accusing me of abandoning them, accusing me on 'purposely still being sick' and thus unable to go make a passport.
Yes I know I have been sick and in this relapse for years. You think I wanna be sick? I am trying so, so hard to recover, but every small step that is deemed minute by the world is so big a step for me, I can't take that many steps. To you, being able to get out of the house and run errands in the neighbourhood is nothing. To me it is a big leap.
At least I haven't been so randomly sad for a while now that I have begun taking Valdoxan. Yes I am still inherently sad. But it doesn't tsunami that much now. I take that as normalcy. I don't think I will ever be happy as a norm. I am 32 this year and that's 32 years of being sad every day of my life. If it doesn't impede my ability to do basic functions I am glad enough. Glad enough to not be stuck crying in a corner for no reason or cowering under the blanket. Glad enough to not want to die so badly. Overwhelming sadness kills everything and very nearly me. I am alive and able to do things like go to the bathroom or eat - I am glad enough.
I do have guilt for being still sick and not being able to push this particular episode of depression into remission. I am so so sorry for crying for no reason. I am so so sorry for being sick. I am really sorry.
I have been experiencing the changes that Valdoxan, the new anti-depressant I am now on, has brought on. Some are good. Some are not so. The reason why I am on new meds is because, believe it or not, I began to relapse within this years-long relapse. How sick can one be anyway?
Valdoxan has been increasing my appetite. This causes gastric problems to resurface in me because now I eat in the day and for all gastritis sufferers, eating outside of normal times causes gastric pain. I can eat meals throughout the day and have painful gastric symptoms even then.
Valdoxan has subtly increased my energy level. To the naked eye and outsider, I don't do much more. But I have resumed my teaching after a sabbatical that both myself and my students wanted to take. To J, I reply emails faster - something so subtle only someone who loves me like J does will realise. I still can't do a lot of things because the energy level is not yet normal for me. Unfortunately, I also still have bouts of extreme sleepiness in the day. I reckon this is because I still need to adjust my sleeping medication - lorazepam or melatonin or both and how much of? Taking too little - I can't sleep, since I am now off Remeron. Taking too much and I get sleepy the whole day after I wake up.
Valdoxan claims to not need adjunct anti-anxiety medication but I take more Xanax now than before. So, that claim is rubbish. Am supposed to be on a new adjunct medication come February. (Adjunct medications are mood-stabilisers, sometimes they aren't even real antidepressants.) Meanwhile, I suffer the random frequent panic attacks, and still get paranoid phobias about doing a lot of things. A bit more so than before I got off the Lexapro+Remeron cocktail. But I have been stepping out of the house just that bit more. Progress to me. Though it ain't enough for my parents.
I had a major falling out with my parents. The Chinese New Year sucks. As J says, "I hate Chinese New Year." I feel too stressed out to go through the entire process of making a new passport since my beloved 10-year-old one expired last year. So I explained that I won't be going to visit them this CNY to my parents. Needless to say, my mom backlashed at me, accusing me of abandoning them, accusing me on 'purposely still being sick' and thus unable to go make a passport.
Yes I know I have been sick and in this relapse for years. You think I wanna be sick? I am trying so, so hard to recover, but every small step that is deemed minute by the world is so big a step for me, I can't take that many steps. To you, being able to get out of the house and run errands in the neighbourhood is nothing. To me it is a big leap.
At least I haven't been so randomly sad for a while now that I have begun taking Valdoxan. Yes I am still inherently sad. But it doesn't tsunami that much now. I take that as normalcy. I don't think I will ever be happy as a norm. I am 32 this year and that's 32 years of being sad every day of my life. If it doesn't impede my ability to do basic functions I am glad enough. Glad enough to not be stuck crying in a corner for no reason or cowering under the blanket. Glad enough to not want to die so badly. Overwhelming sadness kills everything and very nearly me. I am alive and able to do things like go to the bathroom or eat - I am glad enough.
I do have guilt for being still sick and not being able to push this particular episode of depression into remission. I am so so sorry for crying for no reason. I am so so sorry for being sick. I am really sorry.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Black Glass
Beyond night;
dark as hell is
overlaid shadows
infinite ocean
It cuts me.
So deep, I bleed
Remorse, unending
tears - the burden
As black is glass
My hands quiver
with every shard
and splinter spite
So rampant, trite
Widespread
a daily affair
no one listens anymore
like cancer
it spreads
it goes into remission
it relapses
Shards and shards
of black glass, broken
and pounded into every
heartbeat
It is far better to die
alone with this pain
than to leave broken glass
for others to sweep.
-
dark as hell is
overlaid shadows
infinite ocean
It cuts me.
So deep, I bleed
Remorse, unending
tears - the burden
As black is glass
My hands quiver
with every shard
and splinter spite
So rampant, trite
Widespread
a daily affair
no one listens anymore
like cancer
it spreads
it goes into remission
it relapses
Shards and shards
of black glass, broken
and pounded into every
heartbeat
It is far better to die
alone with this pain
than to leave broken glass
for others to sweep.
-
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
freelancing
I freelance not by choice, but because of its perks and allowances. Being sick means I can't do full-time work that requires clocking in - because then most days of a weak I would need to rest at home and take emergency medication; fourteen days of MC would fit a month, not a year. Or I would take long term sabbaticals never to return. Even as a freelancer, my doctor told me I have to try to work only alternate days. I tried to do more, and my system broke down so to speak, and I fell even sicker.
Now, I seemed to have regressed even further. Simple tasks like taking a shower, cleaning the house, is so difficult for me. I can't even do these things, how am I supposed to have lessons with my students in my home? Thankfully, they chose to take sabbaticals too - for the exams, and then for the holidays. Usually I would press them to have lessons in the holidays, my practice for the ten over years I have been teaching. But this year, no. Usually spending time with my teenage students energises me, for I love working with teenagers. But now the thought of anything social in the first place is driving me anxious.
Yes this seems like a regression in my depression, and it is, plain and simple. I didn't realise it at first, but now I do. Instead of moving forward and being able to do more of my paying freelance work, I can't find the strength to do it anymore, when it comes to teaching. When the school year starts, of course, I will have to teach again, because all the academic problems my students face will rear their heads fiercely. And maybe during the last week of December I will invite my students to come over for a pre-school-year lesson - yes, I will do that. But for now till then, I really want some more respite.
How can work be so difficult for an individual? I thought I was getting better. But as always, it is one step forward two steps back. I feel the working class guilt, the protestant work ethic, kicking in and telling me that I should do more paying work. I know I should, but wherefrom should I find the strength and health to?
I have tried working through the pain, sickness, depressive episodes and anxiety attacks. When I do that, basically all those attempts are half-fucked because I keep on, in gaming terms, afk-ing out. I tried. And people around me have to make allowances for me when I am semi-catatonic and very obviously unable to work. Imagine working with someone who is half faint, unable to talk, unable to move, or all of the above. Thankfully, it's freelance, so I can come and go. But I leave debris behind.
Work that doesn't require much strength from me regarding washing up and cleaning, would be my copywriting work. But that comes in less steadily than teaching. I enjoy it because I can do it unwashed and never have to step out of the house (unless necessary to meet). With my ad out in the web I get calls for quotes, and I have a regular entreprise using my services, but I am not actively seeking for more prospects as the salesperson in me should. Simply because I don't have the energy to, literally. Like I said, I have regressed. Doing simple, menial tasks already take all the energy out of me lately. I need to move on from this regression to move up.
I know I will move on, out, up from this recent regression in being unable to do many simple daily tasks like a regular person can - easily. That said, I know I will always have to be a freelancer because I never know when I will suffer a blip in my recovery and need to time out. No boss is going to understand this unless I work for myself.
And yes, this is the price of clinical depression on the economy.
In any case, writing about this has helped me. I will keep on going on. I will put up more ads for my copywriting services. I will schedule a last-week-of-December lesson week for my students. I will keep on doing things in small steps towards recovery, so they can become big steps. Even though I might have to do this for a long time, I will keep on doing it - getting better.
Years on, years to come? Maybe. So please understand us.
Now, I seemed to have regressed even further. Simple tasks like taking a shower, cleaning the house, is so difficult for me. I can't even do these things, how am I supposed to have lessons with my students in my home? Thankfully, they chose to take sabbaticals too - for the exams, and then for the holidays. Usually I would press them to have lessons in the holidays, my practice for the ten over years I have been teaching. But this year, no. Usually spending time with my teenage students energises me, for I love working with teenagers. But now the thought of anything social in the first place is driving me anxious.
Yes this seems like a regression in my depression, and it is, plain and simple. I didn't realise it at first, but now I do. Instead of moving forward and being able to do more of my paying freelance work, I can't find the strength to do it anymore, when it comes to teaching. When the school year starts, of course, I will have to teach again, because all the academic problems my students face will rear their heads fiercely. And maybe during the last week of December I will invite my students to come over for a pre-school-year lesson - yes, I will do that. But for now till then, I really want some more respite.
How can work be so difficult for an individual? I thought I was getting better. But as always, it is one step forward two steps back. I feel the working class guilt, the protestant work ethic, kicking in and telling me that I should do more paying work. I know I should, but wherefrom should I find the strength and health to?
I have tried working through the pain, sickness, depressive episodes and anxiety attacks. When I do that, basically all those attempts are half-fucked because I keep on, in gaming terms, afk-ing out. I tried. And people around me have to make allowances for me when I am semi-catatonic and very obviously unable to work. Imagine working with someone who is half faint, unable to talk, unable to move, or all of the above. Thankfully, it's freelance, so I can come and go. But I leave debris behind.
Work that doesn't require much strength from me regarding washing up and cleaning, would be my copywriting work. But that comes in less steadily than teaching. I enjoy it because I can do it unwashed and never have to step out of the house (unless necessary to meet). With my ad out in the web I get calls for quotes, and I have a regular entreprise using my services, but I am not actively seeking for more prospects as the salesperson in me should. Simply because I don't have the energy to, literally. Like I said, I have regressed. Doing simple, menial tasks already take all the energy out of me lately. I need to move on from this regression to move up.
I know I will move on, out, up from this recent regression in being unable to do many simple daily tasks like a regular person can - easily. That said, I know I will always have to be a freelancer because I never know when I will suffer a blip in my recovery and need to time out. No boss is going to understand this unless I work for myself.
And yes, this is the price of clinical depression on the economy.
In any case, writing about this has helped me. I will keep on going on. I will put up more ads for my copywriting services. I will schedule a last-week-of-December lesson week for my students. I will keep on doing things in small steps towards recovery, so they can become big steps. Even though I might have to do this for a long time, I will keep on doing it - getting better.
Years on, years to come? Maybe. So please understand us.
Monday, December 6, 2010
Today I went to IMH for the first time
And it was a terrible experience I will not repeat unless dire necessity dictates.
The service is as bad at Tan Tock Seng hospital.
Their waiting area beds are so small my anxiety went up even higher because I felt so claustrophobic - they refused to put the side barriers down even, saying I will fall down; I had to secretly lower it myself.
There are no tissues on the waiting area bedsides. What the fuck? Isn't this a psychiatric hospital?
The doctor was curt and mean and had poor bedside manners.
And they fucking had no Valium injection to give me which was what I needed and what my regular doctor asked me to ask for because he and his colleagues were offsite. What kind of psychiatric medical centre has NO VALIUM? They have valium injections at regular hospitals (like Eastshore) for crying out loud. And IMH doesn't have it? I had to settle for a lorazepam jab, which worked as well, but doesn't give the same kind of peace and tranquil and immediate sedation as Valium. I don't have Valium at home. I have lorazepam, though an injection is still better.
They wanted to ward me. For fuck? I just need a jab, and maybe some rest? The doctor gave in and let me go immediately.
Terrible terrible experience. No wonder those who go to IMH for treatment usually get worse not better. At least I am somewhat better than before I started seeing my psychiatrist, even if after years of treatment I am still sick.
First time I went to a hospital for psychiatric emergency. Last time I will step into IMH. Even if I ever need to be warded am definitely not going there. There are psychiatric wards in other hospitals. No thank you WH.
As you can see I am still in the throes of agitation, irritability and anger. This was how my day started, escalating into a full-blown panic attack and symptoms of paranoia so bad like I never had before. I didn't dare to close my eyes because I kept believing, for real, that I would die if I sleep. I couldn't talk properly. I couldn't walk and had to crawl to the medicine box to get my medication. Every single sound that emanated from outside seemed incredibly loud and sent me into a frenzy. I was in physical pain. I was aching. And for now the worst is over thanks to the jab I had to go through a lot of suffering to get.
I will need to take a lot of medication tonight because the rage and irritation is still on. Seeing my real doctor tomorrow for my monthly appointment.
The service is as bad at Tan Tock Seng hospital.
Their waiting area beds are so small my anxiety went up even higher because I felt so claustrophobic - they refused to put the side barriers down even, saying I will fall down; I had to secretly lower it myself.
There are no tissues on the waiting area bedsides. What the fuck? Isn't this a psychiatric hospital?
The doctor was curt and mean and had poor bedside manners.
And they fucking had no Valium injection to give me which was what I needed and what my regular doctor asked me to ask for because he and his colleagues were offsite. What kind of psychiatric medical centre has NO VALIUM? They have valium injections at regular hospitals (like Eastshore) for crying out loud. And IMH doesn't have it? I had to settle for a lorazepam jab, which worked as well, but doesn't give the same kind of peace and tranquil and immediate sedation as Valium. I don't have Valium at home. I have lorazepam, though an injection is still better.
They wanted to ward me. For fuck? I just need a jab, and maybe some rest? The doctor gave in and let me go immediately.
Terrible terrible experience. No wonder those who go to IMH for treatment usually get worse not better. At least I am somewhat better than before I started seeing my psychiatrist, even if after years of treatment I am still sick.
First time I went to a hospital for psychiatric emergency. Last time I will step into IMH. Even if I ever need to be warded am definitely not going there. There are psychiatric wards in other hospitals. No thank you WH.
As you can see I am still in the throes of agitation, irritability and anger. This was how my day started, escalating into a full-blown panic attack and symptoms of paranoia so bad like I never had before. I didn't dare to close my eyes because I kept believing, for real, that I would die if I sleep. I couldn't talk properly. I couldn't walk and had to crawl to the medicine box to get my medication. Every single sound that emanated from outside seemed incredibly loud and sent me into a frenzy. I was in physical pain. I was aching. And for now the worst is over thanks to the jab I had to go through a lot of suffering to get.
I will need to take a lot of medication tonight because the rage and irritation is still on. Seeing my real doctor tomorrow for my monthly appointment.
Monday, November 29, 2010
pain and death
pain envelopes me
like a miasma
it starts in my core
and permeates throughout
I think of death
as my only escape
from pain or
religious treatment of it
my heart is gripped
in a net of splintered shards
piercing, shattering
until I no longer breathe
my body flails in lack
of verve, energy; I am
absolutely nothing
but sickness
tears soak my pillow
my lifelight struggles to flicker
I medicate to present myself sane to you
but I am already going.
I can't fight this alone.
like a miasma
it starts in my core
and permeates throughout
I think of death
as my only escape
from pain or
religious treatment of it
my heart is gripped
in a net of splintered shards
piercing, shattering
until I no longer breathe
my body flails in lack
of verve, energy; I am
absolutely nothing
but sickness
tears soak my pillow
my lifelight struggles to flicker
I medicate to present myself sane to you
but I am already going.
I can't fight this alone.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
how close I was to alcoholism
Since I started working or even before, I have relied on drinking regularly to help me cope with stress. I am predisposed to stress a lot more than normal people because of my psychological makeup so the stress occurred on a high, frequent level. I ended up drinking a lot.
Eventually I took to drinking alone at home after work to cope every day or every other day.
When my second bout of severe depression occurred, I drank to cope. And I started to become really drunk very often because I was already on antidepressant medication by then. When I tried to kill myself, I relished one can of Guinness Draught with the crazy amount of pills I swallowed. I survived but continued drinking. I chipped a tooth while drunk. I lost sobriety so much I endangered myself...
So instead of drinking I started smoking. I needed something to cope and alcohol was seriously becoming a danger to myself.
Today, I still enjoy the occasional drink. I can drink much better now, drunkenness is a rare occasion because I have become acclimatised to my large amount of medication.
Now when I want to drink at inappropriate moments like in the middle of the afternoon I smoke instead. It is the only vice I can turn to in safety knowing I won't be putting myself in direct harm's way. And no one has to clean my vomit, blood and tears when I am drunk anymore.
I could say more, but it is too painful to recollect via words. I just wanted to write this because, right now, I really really want a beer. But I shall smoke instead. Because I need to be sober.
Eventually I took to drinking alone at home after work to cope every day or every other day.
When my second bout of severe depression occurred, I drank to cope. And I started to become really drunk very often because I was already on antidepressant medication by then. When I tried to kill myself, I relished one can of Guinness Draught with the crazy amount of pills I swallowed. I survived but continued drinking. I chipped a tooth while drunk. I lost sobriety so much I endangered myself...
So instead of drinking I started smoking. I needed something to cope and alcohol was seriously becoming a danger to myself.
Today, I still enjoy the occasional drink. I can drink much better now, drunkenness is a rare occasion because I have become acclimatised to my large amount of medication.
Now when I want to drink at inappropriate moments like in the middle of the afternoon I smoke instead. It is the only vice I can turn to in safety knowing I won't be putting myself in direct harm's way. And no one has to clean my vomit, blood and tears when I am drunk anymore.
I could say more, but it is too painful to recollect via words. I just wanted to write this because, right now, I really really want a beer. But I shall smoke instead. Because I need to be sober.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
31
I shouldn't have lived past this day. I wanted to be immortalised at thirty, with all the dreams untold and half-met. But for three people in my life, my parents and J, I resisted the urge to walk to the field across my home and drown myself in an overdose of pills that would kill me.
Instead, here I am. Alive.
I am grateful but sad to be alive. Living is painful torture. Living to me is going through each day debating the decision to live or die, overcoming constant lethargy and exhaustion, blighted with some sort of psychosomatic pain, allergy or ache, fighting the onslaught of feeling like I'm having a heart attack or a wave of extreme, fundamental sadness.
Every day, I fight this.
Still, I stayed alive. My cocktail of medication pleads sanity and rationale into me. I am still here, largely because of the thousands of dollars J and my parents have spent on my treatment. I am alive because God saved me. I am alive.
I write this with tears streaming down my face into my pillow. It is so painful to be alive but my life is no longer my own. I can only med-up and wait for the chemicals in my brain to re-balance. Meanwhile, sleep is the closest to not living I can find some respite in.
Instead, here I am. Alive.
I am grateful but sad to be alive. Living is painful torture. Living to me is going through each day debating the decision to live or die, overcoming constant lethargy and exhaustion, blighted with some sort of psychosomatic pain, allergy or ache, fighting the onslaught of feeling like I'm having a heart attack or a wave of extreme, fundamental sadness.
Every day, I fight this.
Still, I stayed alive. My cocktail of medication pleads sanity and rationale into me. I am still here, largely because of the thousands of dollars J and my parents have spent on my treatment. I am alive because God saved me. I am alive.
I write this with tears streaming down my face into my pillow. It is so painful to be alive but my life is no longer my own. I can only med-up and wait for the chemicals in my brain to re-balance. Meanwhile, sleep is the closest to not living I can find some respite in.
Saturday, November 13, 2010
avoidance
I either do things well or not at all. Sounds like a good thing, except that it isn't. It means I avoid doing things if I don't feel up to it, which is often, because of my consistent lethargy, bouts of low mood, and fear of failure among other reasons. So I avoid most things when I feel overwhelmed. I end up pressuring myself when I eventually do get to doing something. Or retreat into complete isolation when I can't do it all, rather than just doing it arbitrarily or a little bit here and there.
Like this morning, I woke to a noisy, messy, dirty house. They say young children are like alarm clocks, literally waking you up to their playing around the kitchen in the morning with pots and pans. Well cats are the same, their toys are just different. I woke up to find the kitchen strewn with bits of tissue paper. And of course, empty bowls of food. And of course, mess and a dirty floor too. It never ends. I don't get angry in this situation, I assess whether to clean up now, later or avoid it altogether.
I tried avoidance first. So I retreat back to bed. I lay and finish reading a book, I think about how I want to sleep again, to avoid having to deal with the mess. I have by this time refilled the bowls of food, but I really don't want to deal with the mess in the kitchen.
I went back to bed and wanted to avoid it.
Avoidance is a manifestation of the fight or flight response. Avoidance is flight. It is an admission of failure and basically just running away to avoid further failure.
I sleep to avoid things. I sleep all day, all night if I could. Waking up is always some form of torture. Waking up daily means to me, 'face the failure again, bitch.'
Eventually, after a bout of retreat and isolation and curling up in bed, I had a second cup of coffee and cleaned the kitchen floor. I still have the rest of the house to clean. I still have more feeding to do. I still have to iron J's shirt.
Avoidance is my coping mechanism. Apart from retreating under the covers, I also avoid the rest of the world by not answering my phone or replying messages and emails or tweeting or stepping out of the house when I just don't feel up to it. Not feeling up to it is a very common phenomenon with me, so I avoid the world very often.
Today, avoidance helped me recharge and to finally up and get going to my chores. I have always needed rest before work, not the other way around as most people deem appropriate. It helped me today. But it probably isn't a healthy and responsible way of dealing with things. In short it is a faulty coping mechanism. Yet for now, this is how I cope.
I feel guilty for coping this way. I am sorry for it.
Like this morning, I woke to a noisy, messy, dirty house. They say young children are like alarm clocks, literally waking you up to their playing around the kitchen in the morning with pots and pans. Well cats are the same, their toys are just different. I woke up to find the kitchen strewn with bits of tissue paper. And of course, empty bowls of food. And of course, mess and a dirty floor too. It never ends. I don't get angry in this situation, I assess whether to clean up now, later or avoid it altogether.
I tried avoidance first. So I retreat back to bed. I lay and finish reading a book, I think about how I want to sleep again, to avoid having to deal with the mess. I have by this time refilled the bowls of food, but I really don't want to deal with the mess in the kitchen.
I went back to bed and wanted to avoid it.
Avoidance is a manifestation of the fight or flight response. Avoidance is flight. It is an admission of failure and basically just running away to avoid further failure.
I sleep to avoid things. I sleep all day, all night if I could. Waking up is always some form of torture. Waking up daily means to me, 'face the failure again, bitch.'
Eventually, after a bout of retreat and isolation and curling up in bed, I had a second cup of coffee and cleaned the kitchen floor. I still have the rest of the house to clean. I still have more feeding to do. I still have to iron J's shirt.
Avoidance is my coping mechanism. Apart from retreating under the covers, I also avoid the rest of the world by not answering my phone or replying messages and emails or tweeting or stepping out of the house when I just don't feel up to it. Not feeling up to it is a very common phenomenon with me, so I avoid the world very often.
Today, avoidance helped me recharge and to finally up and get going to my chores. I have always needed rest before work, not the other way around as most people deem appropriate. It helped me today. But it probably isn't a healthy and responsible way of dealing with things. In short it is a faulty coping mechanism. Yet for now, this is how I cope.
I feel guilty for coping this way. I am sorry for it.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Foursquare in a blog post
I tried to hop on the Foursquare bandwagon but found it rather troublesome. So I will here report where I usually go and so not have to 'check in' on this application.
Love Kuching Foster Home (@ 305 Ubi Ave 1)
The entire list of Ubi coffeeshops
Kampung Ubi Shop and Save
Mount Elizabeth Medical Centre
Parkway Parade
There! Foursquare in a blog post!
Love Kuching Foster Home (@ 305 Ubi Ave 1)
The entire list of Ubi coffeeshops
Kampung Ubi Shop and Save
Mount Elizabeth Medical Centre
Parkway Parade
There! Foursquare in a blog post!
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