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vegas luckyI have 200,866 miles on my frequent flyer programme. 39,133 miles more, and I’ll be able to book on a round-the-world ticket on business class! I can’t think of anything else in the immediate horizon of my life that can potentially thrill me more than the prospect of that stupendous free-flight redemption.
don't askSomebody shoot me please!
downEach time I plan an entry to this blog I force myself to think happy thoughts. It appears to me that all desires to write creatively simply do not thrive on positivity. During the period where my blog entry was dry and minimal I was busy having the time of my life. Now as each night I crawl back into my nest licking the wounds of the day in the cold comfort of solitude, I type out my misery and post it to the void hoping that someone out there actually reads this and for that split second of their life feel sympathetic towards my sorry self.
“I do not envy your position at all,” she said as I poured out woes of my employment to a new found friend. I told her more. I unleased all my recent thoughts on Ben, how resentful I feel towards him for having so little courage. A flood gate opens and I yabbered on and on and tried the patience of a person whom prior to this evening knew little of my private life. I managed to hold myself when I thought about the disappointment I faced since returning from Egypt. “We’ve got to have faith you know. It’s so hard; it’s like having an endless stream of bad dates then you find yourself hitting the jackpot with this dude only to find it an anticlimax,”
Tomorrow there will be a new guy in my life. He is young, driven, well groomed and attractive. Much as I would like to say that I was describing a new love, he is in fact a new employee. I’m placing all my hopes on this young fellow that perhaps in months to come he’ll have the guts to take on my position giving me finally the opportunity to plan a good long escape to the arms of this wonderful world. I don’t want to be stuck to this stupid lousy job no more. I want to leave; I want to see more parts of this beautiful planet; I want to fall in love with new people. So tonight I go to bed in hope and only time can demonstrate what other anticlimax there is in-stall for me.
I felt a rush of something
It could be precious it could be nothing
But it brought me back to the living
And my heart begins desiring
He was a stranger in passing
There was no time it was not promising
But I gave in when I wasn't guarding
He was beautiful when he was smiling
I felt a rush of something
As I stood there I watched him leaving
I resent myself for yearning
In the end it was just disappointing
I was first introduced to the idea of a 'rip' in Chile. Apparently there are certain ocean currents that can drag an entity suddenly and fiercely hundreds of metres away from the shore into the deep water.
Thank goodness I have never experienced this frightening phenomenon in my lifetime though I feel that a similar word should be created to define a more abstract form of a 'rip'. For example, I was caught in a mental 'rip' when my sanity departs me in a manner and speed that my physical being could never had anticipated.
The melody of Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto No 2 had been floating at the back of my mind lately. I really only like the first movement because it is the most melancholic bit of the entire composition and depicts my current state of mind to such perfection.
This morning I turned on the radio and not long after I heard that familiar bell-like tolls on the piano. Was it my imagination or ABC Classic FM had so kindly give in to my secret desire to indulge in self-pity?
Apparently Rachmaninoff composed this piece towards the end of his depression years. That would explain the gloomy overture of the concerto that ends in a somewhat triumphal orchestration. I wonder the intention of such a progression was but a simple documentation of his recovery, or in an abstract sense an encouragement to all fellow wretched beings that if you hang on long enough something victorias could await at the end.
"How was your day?" He asked
“Bad,” was my reply.
“Bad?” He sounded genuinely shocked, “Your day was bad?”
“Yes, very bad in fact,” I wrote an email earlier the day telling my boss exactly what I thought of him, “but you don’t want to know”
It surprised me that he found my reaction unusual. In a Thai boxing class, surely there are plenty of deeply frustrated souls trying to punch the light out of their invisible enemy. At least that was the big part of why I was there.
The torture began 6pm 15th May 2008. I had not felt this challenged since 11th July 1993. That faithful day, nearly 15 years ago was the first day I started training for martial arts under a sadistic Martial Arts instructor. Then my instructor said that he intends to push us to the limit of our physical tolerance and only the worthy ones shall last the full term. Being the rebellious (and stupid) teenage I was, when someone tells me that there is something I can’t do, I will rise above it and show him that I most certainly can do better. I lasted 4 years.
But yesterday, I can feel all the oldness in my body screaming for an early retirement. The only drive that motivated me through the 1 hour of agony was when thoughts of my miserable life takes over, my feeble arm that swing one last shot after another into the infinite brace pads of my training partner. “Just one more punch, you can do it,” howlers young and beautiful Katie.
The pain, oh the pain of morning after. I waddled to work and have trouble reaching for my tea mug. Part of me wondered if there was any chance for me to get my money back (now I know why they make you sign up for a 12 months membership), but on the other hand, this might be my shot to become that million dollar baby.
irritatedThe best way to get over a relationship is to plunge into a new one. In my case the best way to get over post-travel depression is to plan for the next trip.
I flipped through the world altas and wondered where I should go next. After going through the many regions I've yet to set foot on I settled on Kazakhstan since it sounds the most foreign in my mind.
Unfortunately Kazakhstan visa does not appear to be easy to obtain and given the schedule for the rest of this year it seems highly unlikely I'll be able to make the time to get the visa.
Too bad then. I need to think of something else now.
He is not a quiet person by any means. Shy perhaps but I certainly wouldn’t describe him as a man of few words. Having said that, in the first night that I met him the only word I remember him utter was his name when everyone was introducing themselves. Admittedly I didn’t find notice much about him then except that he smokes and drinks a lot, and plays professionally in a game I never could appreciate. I found his blog amidst his website fill with images of his youthful life and he writes all but 4 words there, “Nothing much to say.”
Then and now was in fact only under 2 weeks difference, but the reality of what happened seems no longer relevant to my existence today. This fixation I have now, this reluctance to let go of a strange and foreign memory, I can’t decide whether it is as a result of an obsessive compulsion or simply a desperate attempt to reject merging back into this infinite hole of routine life.
Rachmaninov is back, and it is not a good thing. When I first fall in love with Sergei I thought that was some world class cliché – lonely girl newly emerging in the big bad world feeling uncomprehended listens to some loony Russian dude hammering away senselessly at the piano. Not forgetting that the piano concerto number 3 is the theme song for the angst and wretched, in listening to a good round of a 45 minutes worth of desperation each morning I felt the slightest shiver that perhaps someone in this world, albeit dead and long decayed may understand the intense ennui I felt.
When he was 24 he drinks himself silly and bashes people up in a field. When I was 24 I listened to Rachmaninov. I think we are the perfect match.
I am turning into an alcoholic. There is something paradoxical about this statement since people don’t consciously become alcoholics, just as one doesn’t deliberately become lunatic. Yet I am addicted to the idea of escaping into a world of spinning walls, heavy heads and that in getting drunk there is a remote possibility that life as I know it can be momentarily forgotten.
He said, “I have a habit of eavesdropping on conversations as no one normally talks to me.” I laughed. In that magical moment in my eyes he turned from a young punk to prince charming. I said “I find obsessing about you such a wonderful past time as it is so much more interesting than my miserable life.” He didn’t laugh, but I suspect that’s only because I never had the chance to say these words to him. It is but a mere shred of my imagination as I continue to fantasise about all farfetched opportunities in a life that could be based on this life that is not to be.
I’m tired of a challenging existence. I want an easy and comfortable life. Bring on the fine food, perpetual holidays, great mates and eternal sunshine.
Wait I’ve changed my mind. I’m tired of this meaningless life. I want to live a fruitful and rewarding existence. Bring on salvation to poor starving people, unwavering ethics and peace to all living creatures of planet earth.
Maybe I’m really tired of fighting alone. I want someone to understand my cause. Bring me my soul mates and bring on comprehension to those who fail to appreciate my struggle.
Ultimately I just want to give up and let go. I have tried and I had failed. I have tried and I had failed. I have tried I had failed yet again. I have tried and more failure waits. I keep trying and I keep failing. I try harder and I fail even harder. I try and try then I fail and fail. I stubbornly preserve and success still evades me. I sincerely wish to try one more time but right now my fear of failure had ripped apart all conviction.
d'ohIt was a fabulous holiday. Spending time in Europe made me realise what a small time person I've turned into. Spending time in Turkey and Egypt had made me remembered why I am working. Meeting new interesting people made me realised that there is life outside 630 Church Street, Richmond.
But I've returned back to this small pond to be a small fish. While the holiday had been great I've never lost sight of my work here in Melbourne and good lord the type of crap that had been accumulated in my absence. Now that I have returned, there will be blood!
on fireI've turned into a BITCH.
Or maybe I have always been one, it's just hidden in a younger self with no cares, responsibilities or commitment and without stress my bitch found no excuse to manifest itself.
I watched his face turn from entertained to fear. Obviously my humourous nature had not failed to lower his guard but once he irritated me I turned from Jolly the Clown to the Bitch that Barks, Bite and Bludgers you to Bloody Bits. It wasn't even his fault - I was irritated with another person but since he was talking so happily I decided that when I'm not happy neither should you be.
This morning I saw an interview with Madonna. She's approaching 50 this year, still more beautiful than I am, 2 decades her junior. For a moment I thought my life was over. I'm heading to the dreaded age soon, soon to be a walking Bridget Jones cliche with no sight of her happy ending. Then I think of Madonna who had done much more and looks much better than me - I guess it's all a matter of determination and never-say-die!
caffeinatedI'm obssessed, I'm stuck to the idea, I am stubborn I simply refuse to let it go. God damn all those who don't lead life my way and damn you all who wouldn't give me what I want! I can't stop thinking of it. I need what I want and I want it now!
energeticMy first dive trip in Victoria, Australia. Two months ago I did a couple of dives in Byron Bay, NSW. On both occasions I realised how incompetent a diver I am. Underwater I seem to loose control of my body and get thrown around by the elements. It's embarrassing. I'm clumsy on land and now I realised I'm clumsy underwater too.
Diving in temperate water is far more stressful than on tropical water. The good news is, however, when one is battling with the 20kg worth of equipments I'm not having to fight off mossies trying to take advantage of my temporary distraction.
sadBen came back and left within a month again. This time, he didn't leave for a holiday but left me for good.
It had been a challenging time. I was moving into a new house, work was challenging and Ben's departure was adrupt, callous and cold. I tried every cliche trick in the book and not only did he not change his mind I only succeeded in driving him away further. It's perhaps not safe to be publishing such intimate thoughts online but I almost feel that life cannot get much worse at this stage. Except that I know once I've said it out loud it will definately worsen.
In the end I don't even know if having Ben back is a good or bad thing. Most of it is not for me to decide anyway, so I take this opportunity to mope in melanchony. What is life when it is always mundane or pleasent? Sadness is but part of life and I might as well make the best of it to milk some creativity from the depression.
