Category: being

I have to come to realise that I can be quite a resentful person. Small things would piss me off and I’m too cowardly to even say it. Though I find it easy to forgive because I wasn’t forgiven for my mistakes when I needed them the most.

A drunk stranger told me I’m too smart for my own good. That one day I’ll be face-to-face with a barrel with my finger on the trigger. One cannot linger. Embarrassed at 24, I am unable to let go of resentment. I am walking on the path of a spiral, moving with time, yet that doesn’t negate the fact that my feet have arrived in the same spot from the past. I feel like I’ve hit a wall that I can’t even see.

When you play games do you seek out boundaries of the world? Prodding at invisible walls wishing there was something more? For you, who tries to pay attention to things that avoid it by design? I do, to desperately seek out a reward, a sick salvation. The problem is, I can’t seem to find anything yet. In the end, a spiral path is still a well-taken one.

Many are familiar with resentment as it turns into spite. I am unfortunate enough that spite can never fuel me, no matter how hard I try to make it work. Envious, to see others being able to burn a bright flame from oil doused onto them. A flicker in the dark is always attractive. I turn to gratefulness as a motivating factor, but on the other side of the coin, what then also makes me move is guilt. Truly, what guilt wields is self-destruction to a soul!

I can no longer deliver a fatal bite for I have ground my canines down to flat nubs. But I am good at chewing, and chewing, and chewing, until anything rough turns to wet muck, transformed into pieces that I swallow. Yes, what the mouth does is transform the state of everything that passes through it. Does anyone stop to think how it would feel to chew yourself down? Does anyone stop to think about something else?

Most of my life, I was praised for being easy. An easy baby to care for, an easy student in class, an easy daughter, an easy chat, an easy partner (at times). I wish it was easy for me to not be.

Bah, but this is all so boring and annoying coming from someone who’s well-fed & sheltered. It’s disgusting, really. No one likes to save the self-pitied.

Formication is a sense of touch hallucination that feels like bugs in, on or under your skin.

I lay on the marble floor, belly down, to feel my flesh pinch on top of its cool, hard surface. There is the tickle of air currents that flow around me. The sensation traces my limbs like a wave. Who does it meet when it crashes?

Ants crawl on top of me. I’ve not seen an ant in ages. The tiny, black ones; ones that taste sweet when they drown in water, or perhaps it was because the water itself was sweet. It doesn’t matter, I drank it anyways. They stray from their path, lost, having to reckon with the fact that I might…swipe them off without even looking. Right now, I feel lonely.

I’ve been back home for a week, and I’m forced to face a phenomenon that has bothered me growing up in Malaysia: living in the peripheries. I’m to assume being an adult is understanding that everyone’s main priority is their job, filling whatever space around them with it. I find my way around the gaps, in whatever’s left. It is childish and selfish to ask for more attention, when the reason of them working this hard is for you, and the reason you’re feeling this way is because you’re not working. Well, that’s projection, because I only feel bothered by the people I want to spend time with, the people that matter to me. And they are all extremely busy.

Don’t be mistaken, I am also a perpetrator of this, guilty as charged. Being so busy that people don’t approach because they only think of me as busy. (That’s not true, please ask your local introvert – me – to hang out.) Nobody’s asking because I’ve made it hard to ask. Though sometimes I wonder if it’s a response to the people around me being busy… what are we even being busy about? The ants know their reason.

Our ceiling fan disrupts the stagnant air for me because I can’t feel the outdoor breeze. I hear the whirring but I can’t see the spin, it makes me dizzy. Did you know that when you crush an odorous house ant, it secretes a distress pheromone? People describe it akin to “piss”, “blue cheese”, or “coconut”, but to me they smell like marker pen ink when you first open the cap. I confess that I enjoy the scent. Am I an ant? I feel the floor tiles grow slightly warmer, thermodynamics doing its thing.

It’s only natural for people to care for their own lives, as much as I have agency in mine. What I’m actually bothered about is change. Change, as I’ve learned the hard way, distresses me a lot, as much as I lie, as much as I seem put together. Preparing for it is the only way I know how to soften the blow. But how much can you wane off the impact of moving countries in your formative young adult years? I’ll tell you a secret: I cried for 5 out of 7 days in the past week, not because I was sad, but because the change was too big for me to handle. Overstimulating, lack of routine, not knowing where the spoons are, disorientated, feeling like a stranger where people expect you to feel at home, lost.

Even the local food that I’ve been very much looking forward to has been causing me gastrointestinal issues and runs to the bathroom. I’d like to imagine that would make even a seasoned hardened heart, cry.

The stressors of change have been compounded by the fact that I’m pseudo-moving out from the house I grew up in Malaysia, and into my partner’s house. Which I’m extremely grateful for, every waking and sleeping moment. This is truly a blessing, I feel so happy, yet my brain still recognises it as a change. On its own, I’m able to process the complex emotions as a regulating adult, but overall all together? There is guilt.

Alerted by the fall of their peers, ants crawl on top of me, probably smelling like whatever piss pheromones they’ve secreted on me. I let them only because in a wicked way, I miss them. Isn’t it weird that you can live in the UK and not have ants swarm your exposed Gregg’s donut after 10 minutes on the countertop? I grew up learning how to avoid these ants – that were everywhere around me – and now I can’t see a shell of them. I pinch myself in the elbow, where I felt traces of a bug. Only to find myself come up empty. There was no ant, all I did was pinch myself.

Despite what’s been written, I’m not doomer about it. Oppositional feelings can exist simultaneously. There have been pillars in this life transition: my family (and however much stress they cause me), my partner (who is starting a new stage in his life too), friends who text me to check in on me (despite having their own lives), a new cat (my aunt’s), my 嫲嫲’s home-cooked food (that my stomach is calmed by). All of them welcoming me back into routine, by being in their own.

It’s all part of the process. One day I’ll have hotpot with my friends at an ungodly hour and I’ll forgive it all. As someone who’s very much impacted by their quality & quantity of sleep, the heinous jet lag doesn’t help stabilise me. So… still laying on the floor, I take a nap, feeling the ants – real and imaginary.

⋆˙⟡☆ ˗ˏˋ ☆ ˎˊ˗  ☆⟡˙⋆

Tangential notes on having an occasional itch under my skin from my are.na channel:

⋆˙⟡☆ ˗ˏˋ ☆ ˎˊ˗  ☆⟡˙⋆

And a note to self, for there is no escaping effort:

⋆˙⟡☆⟡˙⋆

is it okay to be 24 and cry at every intense feeling

is it okay to be 23 and believe you can make a life for yourself

is it okay to be 22 and still reach for a blade

is it okay to be 21 and hold on to hope

is it okay to be 20 and hold resentment to heart

is it okay to be 19 and suffer in silence

is it okay to be 18 and feel like nothing’s real

is it okay to be 17 and overwork because it’s the only way you know how to run from a feeling

is it okay to be 16 and cry yourself to sleep because nobody actually thinks about you

is it okay to be 15 and fall in love

is it okay to be 14 and feel so lonely and self-critical

is it okay to be 13 and believe that you can do this

is it okay to be 12 and feel like you can’t

is it okay to be 11 and think you’re better off somewhere else

is it okay to be 10 and feel happy

is it okay to be 9 and have friends

is it okay to be 8 and don’t remember

is it okay to be 7 and don’t remember

is it okay to be 6 and don’t remember

is it okay to be 5 and don’t remember

is it okay to be 4 and don’t remember

is it okay to be 3 and don’t remember

is it okay to be 2 and don’t remember

is it okay to be 1 and don’t remember

is it okay to be 0 and be given life

thoughts on sadness, dying, creating happiness

The other night I found myself repeating a memory from 4 years ago, rolling it in my mind until I ended up hacking my guts out from the intense sobbing. There was something in me that I had to get out. Yet, all I could muster was a mediocre wail.

In it, I remember being woken up fully alert, how the sun had yet to emerge and the sky washed with a deep cerulean. I remember the exact texture of your silk nightgown, and how your voice sounded. I remember the night before I cried myself to sleep for reasons that felt extremely banal when crouched in front of you. Because I love you, and you’re supposed to love me back. Which was when I realised I never properly processed what had happened. Truly, it seemed like it never happened, the day went ahead as it was planned to. A hazy figment of my sleeping mind until its edges formed tangible, a glass marble lodged in my throat. A pressure that makes me want to puke so my only wish is for it to shatter into smaller pieces. Perhaps then I can swallow the shards.

The timing of this has not evaded me, with only 3 months left in the UK before I return home. 3 years ago I left Malaysia with emotional immediacy – that is to say being close to family was a constant trigger and I was always crying, thinking that dying in a foreign land could be my release. What happens to a body away from its origin?

In some ways, parts of me did die, and to my surprise, made new parts of myself from that emptiness. One night in Manchester I woke up sweating from a dream – cold night and bleeding out, dead in a foreign land. Scrambling for an anchor, it left me terrified. Not the death itself, but the location of where it happens. I recently learned that Abdul Razak died in London while seeking medical treatment. ^[1] His desire to spend his final moments in Malaysia was denied by a plane ride that would’ve been detrimental. ^[2] What image of Malaysia formed in his last thoughts? Perhaps one without me in it, without all ethnicities thriving and unafraid. ^[3] It would be rude to suggest that Malaysia did not want to receive his last living thoughts. It would be terrifying to think it could happen to me. Without knowing, it seems that I’ve internalised “Negaraku, tanah tumpahnya darahku.” (My motherland, the land where my blood spills). Some days I envy people who can get away.

⋆˙⟡☆ ˗ˏˋ ☆ ˎˊ˗  ☆⟡˙⋆

Now, that begs the answer of the question I’ve increasingly received:

how do you feel about it?

There are important distinctions to how this question has been asked, and they all warrant different answers:

( 1 )

How do you feel about moving back?

When the past isn’t desirable, the thought of returning sounds scary…and perhaps insurmountable. But moving back actually just means moving along a cone spiral, doesn’t it? You’re somewhere close, as if nothing’s changed, but not quite.

( 2 )

How do you feel about moving home?

Tiring. I’ve got to clean up 20 years of my life!!! also moving-ish!!!! So I’ve got space for new life.

( 3 )

How do you feel about Leaving?

What else is there to feel but grief, gratitude, and guilt? I’m preparing a farewell. I will miss everyone.

⋆˙⟡☆ ˗ˏˋ ☆ ˎˊ˗  ☆⟡˙⋆

Amidst all that, the question I’m asking myself is:

how should I feel about moving forward?

I’m terrified. To start thinking about my relationship with home, is to first start thinking about my relationship with my home country: Malaysia (not China, as most would joke…I think I can muster up a laugh). I feel so embarrassed that I’ve been to more UK cities than Malaysian ones. The other day I had my first cekodok and I couldn’t even spell it. When strangers label my kind as pendatang, any minute error feels like a tragedy. When strangers doubt my right to love, I learn to not feel like digging a hole and die.

I’m excited. To be able to re-explore Malaysia, for she too has changed. To hibernate, and figure out what I want to do and what I’m able to do. To meet new people that are wiser than me, and old friends who have also lived lives between the distance we hold. I’ve been manufacturing excitement by watching Malaysia holiday vlogs on YouTube, small town videos and kia kia videos on Instagram. Believing that maybe this country loves me back.

Fear and excitement have always been on both sides of the same coin. But actually, at the end of it all, I think I might be due for a long nap…

I started this year with the intention to write a reflection every month. I found myself to have failed – it takes too much energy to routinely tap into a reflective energy, and too much to wind down. A month isn’t a long time; a month launches you into the next. However, I do find the idea of compounding a year’s worth of living into a single post somehow more palatable. The end of a year is a comfortable time to weave a basket of memories.

☆*:.。. Jump to .。.:*☆
JAN • FEB • MAR • APR • MAY • JUN • JUL • AUG • SEPT • OCT • NOV • DEC

january

Living

• Bedridden with a high fever (~40ºC) that didn’t ease up after 4 days. Called 111 and they told me to sleep, said they’ll check on me after 5 hours, they didn’t. Had a pit stop at A&E and they told me it’ll be fine. Lovely start to the new year.
• Visited Sharon at Colch, which I wrote more about here.

creatiNG/COMMUNITY

• I continued going to Sketch & Café sessions, which is always lovely. There’s no pressure to perform and no need to reintroduce yourself – the lines one makes on paper make one legible.

february

Living

• Got really lonely, which made my constitution weak. Went to TCM to get some expensive meds (where I didn’t feel cared for in a way that mattered) and cried on the bench outside Manchester Library.
• Another Chinese New Year away from home, which is always a tricky paradox in the feelings department. On the bright side, Chinatown Manchester had loads of festivities: young kids singing in a choir out-of-tune, playing pop-pops that went for £1 a box, sounds of cymbals in rhythm with a lion dance’s steps.

creatiNG/COMMUNITY

• My work got exhibited in Affleck’s Micro-gallery exhibition, produced and curated by HappeninginMCR. It’s a digital print of a gouache painting depicting plushies from my final year of university.
• Following from that, I joined HIM as a graphic designer! One of the cases where I’m grateful that I sent a cold email, with a simple ask.
• Made a little flip book as Min’s gift for our anniversary. Had a major fun time making, thinking, figuring out where to print and bind (Ryman’s…).
• Managed to get a fresh grad graphic design role in-house in the UK, which has been challenging as an international graduate.

march

Living

• Balik Bristol, macam kampung di UK.
• Following a flash of curiosity, I found out that great-great-family members from my Dad’s side come from a town in China named Sunyi (信宜市). With the knowledge that sunyi in Malay means quiet/solitude/empty in a melancholic and sombre way, it made me feel like something clicked. Yet, I haven’t been able to put that something into words.

creatiNG/COMMUNITY

• Designed my first trophy at day job, super cool stuff. Love physical objects and media. It makes you humble as a designer, having to take into account costs, material, size, how it feels in your hand.
• Facilitated a RISO workshop at Underbank Studios – courtesy of Heather. I’m grateful for the opportunity. It didn’t occur to me that I would have enough knowledge on risography to facilitate a workshop on it, but I did. Despite hiccups from an old riso machine, it went well. An intimate session, but it made me connect with people better.
• Travelled down to Bristol to table at Zinezilla with Claire and Suelyn! My first time tabling with this trio – it was an energising time. Very busy day with a lot of creative energy bouncing around. The Zinezilla team’s enthusiasm was contagious. Mostly, I’m glad it gave me the chance to meet dear friends, doing what I enjoy.

april

creatiNG/COMMUNITY

• Had a half-table at Derbyshire Zine Festival’s debut! Organised by Charlie from Derbyshire Zine Library.

may

creatiNG/COMMUNITY

• Went to a couple networking/event launches as part of the HappeninginMCR team.
• Completed an editorial design short course offered by RCA London, a gift to myself. The wrap-up project was to conceptualise and design a magazine. With ongoing cultural conversation revolving around collecting/trinketing, it inspired me to do one about collecting and gathering – titled “savekeeping”. [planing to write a post on the course & projects]

june

creatiNG/COMMUNITY

• Attended Birmingham Design Festival under Don’t Panic alongside the creative team. Two first times that I appreciate through a lens of wonder: attending a design festival and going on a business trip. I did fall flat on tarmac and scraped my knee in public. Also took the opportunity to meet up with Ellie, Kei, and Emily.

july

creatiNG/COMMUNITY

• HappeninginMCR launched their first Life Drawing session in collaboration with Portico Library. Tying into the Portico’s folklore exhibition, life models incorporated sound and music to portray a folklore narrative of their choosing.

august

creatiNG/COMMUNITY

• Celebrated the 2nd anniversary of HappeninginMCR!! The team of 5 did fresco painting at Jasper’s painting class, held at Saan1. Kan gifted us champagne and I accidentally dipped my painting brush into it….
• Tabled at Multitudes Zine Fest, where Jasmine was co-organising. Location lended itself to busy footfall (Sacha’s on a weekend), which brought in so many lovely interactions and conversations. I also had a box that asked the public to answer a question: What are you grateful for?

september

creatiNG/COMMUNITY

• Facilitated a second workshop at Underbank Studios, introducing an element of collage to riso printing.
• Third and last Life Drawing session for this leg.
• Attended Magazine Street. Stuck on a train for 8 hours on this day as the route North to Edinburgh was interrupted by a fell tree. Felt crazy.

october

LIVING

• Went back to Malaysia for two weeks. Had a lot of thoughts about it. harhar

creatiNG/COMMUNITY

• Was invited to a casual artist hangout at an old condominium in the heart of KL, abode of a forward-thinking Malaysian artist. Clearly another instalment of placing myself in social positions that are outside my own depth. The general group was so much older and so much wiser in terms of their creative career and in Malaysia’s art scene, I knew I was given a great opportunity to just absorb. People have returned, people want to leave; in the end, everyone’s just making (it) work.

november

LIVING

• Min got called to the Bar 🙂 “I hereby publish you as Barrister”. The whole ceremony I was enchanted by the use of “publish”. I found it so interesting to be “published” into being, from years of preparation and to continue living from that point of publishing onwards. It was a line of transformation. Made me think: how could the publishing of books/texts exist to be continuously transformed? How can I be published?

creatiNG/COMMUNITY

• What happened in November….

december

Living

• Started working F&B again, this time at a Malaysian restaurant. It helps that I enjoy serving in hospitality, that my experiences so far haven’t crossed the line of traumatic.
• I have been once again, plagued by the Thought of Two Choices. I have to believe that life shape-shifts and morphs into what ever decisions made, there is no “alternate route” and “what-ifs”. I might be limited by the thought that there are only two paths.

CReating/COMMUNITY

• Spontaneously tabled at Fly-by Fair with Charlie, organised by Caterpillar Press. Weather was shite so it was a little quiet. This gave me some time to have a proper chat with Charlie.
• Made another short interactive reading piece – this time, about KL (what a surprise!). Used Super Videotome, which during this project, I’ve come to enjoy writing in.

Instagram has been making me feel sick recently. I have a 15-minute screen limit and I keep hitting “15 more minutes” again and again. Scrolling through my feed, I get nauseous. It sits in the pits of my stomach and I want to vomit. I’m desperately seeking for something that the platform can’t provide.

Growing up, I would get home from school and open Facebook to 99+ notifications. None of them bots or notifications of things I don’t care about. Almost all of them were from online community interactions – comments, chats; caring, clumsy. The occasional poke here and there. Oh look, my aunt posted a blurry family photo in a Meitu frame. I go through them and each click brings me closer to someone across the seas. It felt good knowing they see me too. …I miss my white Sony VAIO E-series running cracked Photoshop with a bloated battery (I know).

There’s also the whiplash and the envy. I miss my friends. I catch up with their lives through the occasional story and photo dump post. They’re busy, I’m busy. Reaching out shouldn’t feel as heavy as this. I miss them so much, but it doesn’t really matter if they miss me or not. Sometimes I wonder if I like the idea of having someone to miss more. It’s pathetic, to think about it that way. I see my friends happy, I see an ad, I see a genocide, I see an ad. I want to throw up. 

Facebook circa 2012 saw my carefree postings as a young teen – after-school thoughts, age-appropriate swears, opinions on anime – and I would get responses back, equally as carefree. Now I can’t even post without thinking about its life after me…without me. Going private isn’t an idea I want to entertain. Some call it pride.

More than anything, I’m ashamed of myself. It’s easier to make connections on the internet now than ever, but why do I feel more disconnected from everyone else? Sometimes it feels like shouting into a void. It’s the lack of intentionality that I also fall trap to… I struggle to leave comments on public posts, never interact in a Discord server, and lurk on various subreddits. Despite the veneer of anonymity, is anyone else also more anxious online than IRL? Please tell me this performance doesn’t come easy for you too.

I think I’m using social media (aka Instagram) wrong. I know I’m projecting unrealistic expectations based on a simpler time. With the platform, it seems like a bad habit turned second-nature. It shouldn’t be this deep, but my head is soft and pressure leaves spots. I will wake up 3 months later and this won’t matter anymore.