The Highly Sensitive Person

Over the years, I have noticed things about myself that have baffled and confused me. 

A simple situation such as a conversation with an authoritative figure, or a prayer meeting would cause my heart to beat faster, my skin to feel tight and pressure to build up in my head. Whenever I travel with friends or when friends come to visit me for longer than a day or two, I wind up getting very irritable, tired and sensitive. Being in situations wherein I am surrounded by people that I do not know and trust can give me a tension headache. I need more time in bed than the average person. I get deeply affected by other people's moods and emotions. I am intolerant of pain and barely tolerant of hunger. My moods and level of alertness are strongly affected by light, sound and temperature. I am often anxious, tension filled and highly susceptible to stress. I often get pushed to the point where I need spend days in bed, windows drawn, alone. During periods of stress, I cannot even bring myself to acknowledge my roommate's presence.

I used to toy with the idea that perhaps I was depressed, or had an anxiety disorder. However, I knew that my self-diagnosis was wrong. Today, I was reading up about Introverts (which I also decided that I was), when I chanced upon the highly sensitive trait, also known as high sensory-processing sensitivity. Everything fell into place. 

I now know why I am, how I am.

I am a Highly Sensitive Person. A HSP is highly aroused by new or prolonged stimulation, strongly reactive to external stimuli like noise and light, susceptible to stress-related and psychosomatic illnesses. HSPs are more easily overwhelmed. They are deeply affected by other people's moods and emotions and more aware of subtleties. They are highly intuitive, able to concentrate deeply, right brained and less liner than non-HSPs; they are highly conscientious and excellent at spotting and avoiding errors.

According to Dr. Elaine Aron who pioneered research on HSPs, 'HSPs have an uncommonly sensitive nervous system. Sensitivity is an inherited trait, that tends to be a disadvantage only at high levels of stimulation. Everything is magnified for HSPs. What is moderately arousing for most people is highly arousing for the HSP, and what is highly arousing for others is off the charts for the HSPs, who reach a shutdown point once they attain a certain arousal level.'

For me personally, the most enlightening feature of HSPs, is that HSPs process information differently from non-HSPs; HSPs process information more deeply. I have always been accused of 'thinking too much', 'being in my head', 'worrying too much' and 'overanalysing'. My roommate even has a nickname for me called '多多' because she thinks that I think too much. I have always felt criticised and shamed for thinking the way I do. Now, I know that it is natural for me to analyse and ponder. It is how my brain is wired. I go inwards. 

I could go on and on about what I have learned. For tonight though, suffice to say, I feel like I understand myself a little bit better.

To Stand and Stare

William Henry Davies - Leisure

What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.

No time to stand beneath the boughs
And stare as long as sheep or cows.

No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.

No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night.

No time to turn at Beauty's glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance.

No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began.

A poor life this is if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.

Stress

I woke up today with the most ferocious tension headache. I worry that the stress is starting to overwhelm my body. My body feels like a wound up spring, coiled tight, vibrating from the tension. This needs to go. 

Uncertain Evils

A little poetry for an anxious time.

From John Milton's Cormus -

Peace, Brother; be not over-exquisite
To cast the fashion of uncertain evils:
For grant they be so, while they rest unknown,
What need a man forestall his date of grief,
And run to meet what he would most avoid?

I am an idiot

I was not kind in the past 24 hours.

On my 23rd birthday, I spent quite a bit of time reflecting upon the upheavals and dramatic changes of my 22nd year. I felt that I had reached a new level of maturity, and I was glad.

Yesterday night, when a boy told me that he liked me, I realised that in so many ways, I am still an incredible idiot. Here is how it went...

"You know that I like you right?"
"huh? what? what? huh? I don't know what you are talking about! mmmmmm hahah what? haha what? ummmm...."
"I like you"
"Are you being weird cause its late, and we just spent the last 6 hours working on that paper? The night makes people weeeeiiirrrrdddd.... yeeeesssssssss"
"No, I am not being weird."
"hrummmm, mmmm, yeah, hahahahha.... K. I gotta go."

To be honest, my cognitive resources were spent from working on that paper. It was 2.15am, and we were exhausted. I went home, hit the shower, and then realised that I just called someone weird for saying that he liked me. I was disrespectful, facetious and unkind. I resolved to be better.

Today, when we were walking back from class, it happened again.

"Today, I asked our professor to share tips on how to use psychology persuasion tactics to get someone to date you."
"Haha! What? What?"
"He said to first ask her... "Will you marry me?""
"Whoa! hahaha....hahhaa....hahaha...."
"Then, ask her.... "Would you go out with me?" That's the sales technique of low-balling right there."
"Hahaha! Um. Great application of in-class theories! I wonder if our professor is great with women. What do you think?"
"Will you go out with me?"
"Um... um... haha... wow. um... no... no... I like you. You are awesome but um... you are not Christian."
"I was raised catholic, I go to a catholic school." (Sidenote: Did not know Georgetown was a catholic school)
"It's not about the religion... it's not about the religion... It's about you loving God. Do you love God? Wow. That is a really weird sounding question, see... christian to non-christian... it's hard. I am just at a really good place in my life with God right now and I don't want to jeopardise it."
"I will become Christian."
"What? No! NO!"
"What? You don't want me to become Christian?"
"No! No... I want you... God wants you to become Christian! For you! Not for me... um... but... it's not... it's not..."
"Is Christianity really the reason?"
"Yes. Yes. But."
"Then I will become Christian."
"Okay. There are two reasons. The first, as weird as it may sound, is true. I will not date non-christians. The second is that you are leaving soon."
"Do you want something long-term?"
"No. no... I just don't want to become emotionally attached to someone and have them leave my life in two months or so. It's painful.
"Okay."
"But we should hang out though! Yeah! Go to taipo market! Buy some vegetables! You can help me identify what kale looks like!"
"You don't know what kale looks like?"
"Um. I know what American kale looks like. I am sure chinese kale looks different."
"Yeah."
"Okay I gotta go prepare for my speech"
"Alright. Bye."
"If you want to come to church, I go every sunday!"

Somewhere around the entry of kale into our conversation, I actually looked into his eyes, and they looked really sad. :( I'm sad. I feel like I could have handled everything so much better. Yes, I was taken aback by his declaration, but I behaved like an idiot. I was not kind, I did not try to address his feelings, or even really think about him. I was just anxious and trying to get out of the situation unscathed. I wasn't even completely honest with him - I left out the part where I don't want to go out with him, because I just don't feel for him.

I don't understand why is it that after so many years, I still cannot handle direct declarations which require my response. It has been a deeply humbling experience. I don't really know how to make this better, or even make him feel better. Ahhh! Any suggestions?

Uncovering my "Grund"

From Milan Kundera's Immortality -

"In all languages derived from Latin, the word "reason" (ratio, raison, ragione) has a double meaning: first, it designates the ability to think, and only second, the cause. Therefore reason in the sense of a cause is always understood as something rational. A reason the rationality of which is not transparent would seem to be incapable of causing an effect. But in German, a reason in the sense of a cause is called Grund, a word having nothing to do with the Latin ratio and originally meaning "soil" and later "basis". From the viewpoint of the Latin ratio, the girl's behavior sitting down on a highway, seems absurd, inappropriate, irrational, and yet it has its reason, its basis, its ground, Grund. Such a Grund is inscribed deep in all of us, it is the ever-present cause of our actions, it is the soil from which our fate grows."

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I spent the last 2 weeks manically flinging myself from one decision to another. Grasping at any possible reason to justify my latest fixation. I was caught up in a spiral of anxiety, self-doubt and longing. Most of my nights cumulated in me either sprawled on my bed overwhelmed, or crying helplessly in front of the computer, all whilst cramming abnormal psychology diagnostic criteria into my head. I bounced from professors' offices, to bewildered friends, and to my loving parents, desperately seeking validation and guidance. With each conversation, I felt myself steered in a different direction. My mind was crippled with self-doubt fostered by my persistent insecurities, and opinions given by a multitude of people.

My spirit was breaking. One conversation in particular dealt a huge blow. Last friday, I had a 2 hour consultation with my thesis professor. When I consulted him about a possible PhD, he looked me straight in the eye, and told me that I was at the emotional maturity of my peers, and that I need more time to develop. Decoded - it means you are average, please reconsider your attempt to join the best. His words hurt. The only thing that kept me together was the knowledge that he was a man who has never seen any of my work and had previously only had one conversation with me. I am deeply humbled by the realisation that I am not ready. Hurt feelings aside, he had a point - if I want to be in that 5% that gets into a clinical psychology PhD program, I need to take more time to get properly prepared. I believe that I have the ability, now I just need to get in shape.

Coming out of that emotional whirlpool, I must confess that I have lost faith in my ability to discern the desires of my heart. I don't know where I want to go, I only know what I want to do. Even within the category of what I want to do, I am unable to truly pinpoint my research interest. After deciding on, and later abandoning a whole spectrum of possible paths, I realised that I can come up with a dozen great sounding reasons for any decision. Rationality is not going to help me choose, it is just going to justify a whole host of ever increasing possibilities.

Inspired by Kundera, I decided to abandon the rational approach and delve within my consciousness for something more basic, grounded, in his words - the soil from which my fate grows. I used intrinsic joy and the instances when my mind lit up - as ropes to draw me into my history and my future. Following the subtle tugs of the ropes, I am starting to listen to myself.

I have learnt that I am a consistent human being that is often lost in my mind's temporal fixations. The grand themes of my life have remained unchanged, and I rejoice that I am starting to uncover them. So far, I have come to two realisations.

1) I love the mind. Thoughts, feelings and behavior, they all stem from it. I love the biology of the brain. The marvel of how the decision of whether to fire or not fire - of approximately 100 billion neurons with 1000 connections with other neurons - leads to potential states numbering approximately 10 to the millionth power. Those connections, they make up our consciousness. I love brain anatomy; I think it stems from my love of jargon and big words.

2) I yearn to belong to the world. I love Singapore; I love with it a passion that burns brighter each time I return. Singapore is so beautiful, it is so efficient and special. There really is no where else on earth like Singapore. As much as I love it though, I have always been more at peace with being an anonymous stranger on a foreign street than a Singaporean, in Singapore. Perhaps I will settle in Singapore one day, but for now, I want to be out there. I have lived in 3 major asian cities; Singapore, Shanghai and Hong Kong. I think its time to move out of Asia.

My desires intimidate me. However, I take comfort in the saying below.

I am an open book, ask me anything.

Homo Hystericus

From Milan Kundera's Immortality -

"It is part of the definition of feeling that it is born in us without our will, often against our will. As soon as we want to feel (decide to feel, just as Don quixote decided to love Dulcinea), feeing is no longer feeling but an imitation of feeling, a show of feeling. This is commonly called hysteria. That's why homo sentimentalis (a person who has raised feeling to a value) is in reality identical to homo hystericus.

This is not to say that a person who imitates feeling does not feel. An actor playing the role of old King Lear stands on the stage and faces the audience full of the real sadness of betrayal, but that sadness evaporates the moment the performance is over. That is why homo sentimentalis shames us with his great feelings only to amaze us a moment later with his inexplicable indifference."

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My church back home is a mega church. Coloured lights, a 3D screen, a choir of backup singers and an arsenal of musical instruments accompany worship and praise. People speak in tongues, cry, raise their hands up to God and kneel in supplication. The air is charged with yearning, the prayers and the beats driving the energy up towards an undefined peak. At 7pm sharp, the pastor signals the musicians to stop playing, says a closing prayer and the lights come on. In the seconds it takes for our pupils to constrict and dilate, normalcy is restored.

I always feel a tinge of betrayal at 7pm on Saturday nights back home. The ability for hysteria, or religious fervor to be controlled with such precision makes me doubt the authenticity of it. It frustrates me to watch my neighbours put down their arms, wipe the tears off their face, and then offer suggestions about dinner. Borrowing Kundera's words, their great emotionality during worship shames my lack thereof, and the abrupt shift into indifference amazes me.

Kundera in the above passage has captured perfectly the ambiguity of feeling. Feeling, based on its etiology, when coloured by the force of will, changes in its composition. I do believe that for a large percentage of us, the religious fervor ignited in us during worship and praise is real. I believe that in our brains; dopamine, serotonin, norepinephrine and a whole host of other neurotransmitters are firing at rates different from baseline levels. The feelings that we experience in church are real. They exist.

We go into church every Saturday or Sunday wanting to feel God’s presence. We pray at night, begging him to respond to us. Our worship leaders, our pastors, and spiritual authority want us to be touched by the Holy Spirit. We want to feel Him. There is so much desire to feel, such yearning, that it changes the substance of feeling into hysteria; the act of conscious want modifies irrevocably, the original feeling. I would not go so far to call the emotion, which arises in our bodies at the appropriate times during church - a show. It is though, an imitation; a lackluster substitute for the substance that arises in us, untouched by our will – pure feeling.

I do believe in the existence of pure feeling in worship and praise. I know that it is almost unchristian to call the desire to feel God's presence a pollutant of true feeling. However, the human desire to feel spritual fervour has a different etiology from the desire to be in God's presence. Wanting to feel a sense of transcendence is different from surrendering to god and the emotions that follow. I admit that it is difficult to draw the distinction. The intense desire to feel God's presence can easily be misdirected into a desire to feel hysteria as a means of satisfaction or cognitive dissonance. I just want pure feeling. I want to be able to remove from my emotions - my will, and the will of others. I want to squash my desire to feel for the sake of feeling. Perhaps then pure feeling ignited by God, will burst forth from my heart. 

Ironically, in this elevation of pure feeling, I am raising feeling to a value, which would make me a member of the homo hystericus.

- On a side note, I wonder what this would mean for cognitive restructuring in psychology. Everything about cognitive psychology involves reaching into our thoughts (which lead to feelings) and manipulating them to become more positive, or reinforcing. I cannot deny its good treatment outcomes. However, as anecdotal evidence form someone that practices cognitive restructuring a lot, I do feel that my manipulated emotions are similar to hysteria. There is forced quality to it, that when pushed to become real, crosses that boundary into oversaturation. I would think that for someone suffering as a result of negative cognitions, even hysteria would be better for their functioning than the genuine authentic feelings dragging them down. 

Over

I think it's finally over.

It has happened a couple of times before. My mind is often only one realisation away from being able to let go of someone. It's like jumping off a cliff and landing in the ocean; one minute it's dry and hot, and the next, it's wet, salty and chaotic.

It happened for me today. I was walking past these awesome shiny walls and checking out my profile when a phrase popped into my head. "He makes me feel safe." It was an answer to a question that a friend had posed to me a month or two back, asking about why I was into him. The answer still stands. I had felt safe, protected and cared for. He was like this huge and mighty harbor, and as long as I was in it, I was safe. I had perceived him as this strong, kind and passionate force.

He doesn't protect me anymore. I don't feel safe. Instead, I am scared. I am scared of his backlash; I am scared of his volatility. I am scared because taking care of me is no longer his priority, and it means that all that power he possessed can now be turned against me. He is someone that can belittle me and push me around on a whim. He has no respect for me and little compassion. He does not make me feel safe.

I have no interest in the present him.

Intimacy and Kundera

The intimacy that Kundera creates between reader and character is so poignant it is almost perverse.

---------------------------------------------------

"Agnes recalled that once as a child, she was dazzled by the thought that God sees her and that he was seeing her all the time. That was perhaps the first time that she experienced the pleasure, the strange delight that people feel when they are being watched, watched against their will, watched in intimate moments, violated by the looks to which they were exposed. Her mother, who was a believer told her 'God sees you', and this is how she wanted to teach her to stop lying, biting her nails and picking her nose, but something else happened: precisely at those times when she was indulging her bad habits, or during physically intimate moments, Agnes imagined God and performed for his benefit."

- Immortality by Milan Kundera

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A Lifelong Marathon

A lifelong marathon.

I am someone that is intrinsically motivated by self-discipline. I love it. I get off on it. I want to see it in me, and I savor it in other people. My obsession with it probably stems from the fact that I am a lazy, floppy and chronically sleepy person.

Today as I was doing my bible reading, I looked at the date that I had scribbled on the top right hand corner of my notebook and saw 8/10/2012. I then proceeded to flip backwards to see how many consecutive days of bible reading have I managed thus far. 21 days. A little bubble of self-satisfaction was starting to emerge in me, when the phrase "A lifelong marathon" popped into my head, and squashed it. I made it 21 days. I have tens of thousands to go.

For tens of thousands of days to come, I would have to make the right choices to engage in good, healthy and godly behavior such as working, running, eating right, sleeping well, going to church and being nice. Just the thought of it is enough to make me want to crawl back under my covers. However, there is a little glimmer of light on the horizon. All of these things take a conscious effort to maintain right now, but our brains are much too clever to put us through such arduous pain for long.

- Automaticity is the result of learning, repetition and practice. It is the ability to do things without occupying the higher functioning of our mind. It is the miraculous stage when self-control turns into habit. -

I believe that we are all running a lifelong marathon. It takes conscious effort, self-discipline and self-love to continue running. There is no reward without struggle. No fit body without exercise, no knowledge gained without studying and no growth in god without first knowing his word. However it does get easier as we go along. With learning, repetition and practice, making the right choices become habitual and less effort is expended on struggling between choices. Getting good at something brings a sense of fulfillment and self-efficacy which reinforces the behavior.

Maybe a few hundred more days would get me there. ;)

P.S.

I came across this phrase in my cousin's fitness blog the other day. To credit him a little, here is the link to his page. http://www.edwinchew.com/readmore.php?id=106

Love Vs. 爱

One of my favourite passages from A Concise Chinese-English Dictionary for Lovers by Xiaolu Guo

"Love," this English word: like other English words it has tense. "Loved" or "will love" or "have-loved." All these specific tenses mean Love is time-limited thing. Not infinite. It only exist in particular period of time. In Chinese, Love is 爱(ai). It has no tense. No past and future. Love in Chinese means a being, a situation, a circumstance. Love is existence, holding past and future.

Anlene

I have been obsessed with the idea that I have not been getting proper nutrition lately. Milk is too expensive and I just cannot afford to buy fresh milk that is going to get stolen from the communal dorm fridge.

The 20s are extremely important for building up the body's resilience towards diseases that are sure to come. Therefore, after much worrying about osteoporosis in my future, I stumbled across the best solution to getting a cheap source of calcium in my diet.

Voila! Powdered Milk! Anlene and I are going to keep me healthy!

Stupidity

I am a mess.

At least I feel like I am. Ask any of my closest friends and they would tell you that I am someone that appears to have it all figured out, a person that is together in the most self-possessed sense of the word - Together.

I have proof to refute them. Let me brandish the proof like a self-mocking, triumphant flag.

I missed the deadlines for the scholarships to Oxford. 

Cognitive Control

I think I have cognitively controlled my self-esteem into a funk.

I really like this boy that is neurotic, deeply passionate, manipulative, controlling, magnetic, vulnerable and beautifully spiritual. In one of his short-lived but intense periods of passion, I was drawn into his world.

His passion for me has been extinguished.

I want to be close to him again. I want to be special in his life. I want to know why. I want to take care of him. I want to be there for him.

It is a drastic drop into insignificance.

As a sane, pragmatic and self-loving individual, I have been trying to take measures to protect myself. My chosen method of coping has been cognitive control. I try to kill all hope within and suppress wishful thoughts. When I want to walk towards him, I tell myself that he does not want me anymore. When he takes the seat beside me, I tell myself that it is because of the person on the other side. When he says that he does not care about my feelings, I take it literally. When he only sees me in a group, I tell myself that it is because he is keeping a distance from me. When he spends time with the girl I was a rebound from, I tell myself that it is because she is more spiritual, pure, innocent and more lovable than me.

I need to stop this. I wanted to write my thoughts out so that I may realise how absolutely disgusting and self-defeating they are. So he isn't into me anymore. Well, I sincerely think that it is his loss. I refuse to be a martyr. I refuse to even be in the same competition as a teenager. I am a strong, intelligent, loving, supportive and beautiful young woman. I am growing in my faith every day, I have found, and am immersed in study that makes me excited for life. God loves me. I am his daughter.

Now, I just have to work on believing all the above when I am standing in front of him.

Cookie Cutter Christian

I want to be a Cookie Cutter Christian.

When I was 13 going on 14, I had a crush on a girl named Jasmine. She was soft-spoken, kind, and a badminton player. Jasmine wasn't particularly pretty, but there was something about her that made me deeply desire her attention and admiration. Jasmine was the first person to invite me to a church event. It was an outreach by the beach on the other side of the island. I remember that I felt awkward, and in my eagerness to prove myself to Jasmine, made several false starts in a running game.

Jasmine's basic info on FB consists only of one line: Religious Views - Christian.

Jasmine could be viewed as my teenage dabble in homosexuality, or she could be seen as the first in my pattern of cookie cutter christians.

While other girls went through their phases of being attracted to bad boys, I was drawn irresistibly to the good ones. The ones that shone with a loving gentleness, the ones in whose lives god is inextricable. I put on a pedestal the ones who grew up in loving Christian families and were conditioned from a very young age with premium christian values. They knew how to speak Christian-nese, they knew what was right and wrong, they knew without a doubt that god exists. Their worlds were painted black and white, their moralities taught to them and they knew everyone at church. The attraction wasn't exactly romantic, it was admiration with a power differential.

I have a theory about my admiration. I do not possess naivete or an easy smile. Happiness, ease and contentment do not come easily to me. I am over analytical, morally ambiguous and a sensualist. Even as a child, I was hypercritical, anxious and negative. All these aside, there has always been in me a longing for good, for lightness. I became and stayed a Christian because of the heart wrenching goodness of god. Salvation, eternal life... these are concepts that I am deeply grateful for, but have never quite resonated in me. I believe that it is the contrast that draws me to these cookie cutter types. They have what I do not and because of that, I desire intensely their approval.

The problem with my attraction is that the closer I get to these cookie cutter types, the more the proximity highlights my darkness relative to their light and my moral ambiguity in contrast to their black and white worlds. I begin to feel overly critical, I start to resent my moderate christian line, I start to panic as to why I don't seem to want the right things, or say the right things, or possess the right values. I don't even listen to the proper music or read the right books! Being in church is difficult.

I want to be a cookie cutter christian. I wish I was conditioned when my mind was malleable and impressionable to believe that god exists. I wish sunday school taught me Christian-nese and told me exactly what to do and what not to do. I wish I was conditioned to want and seek happiness, to embrace positivity and love. I wish I was less analytical, less critical and more accepting. I wish my world was clearly split into black and white for me by a spiritual youth group leader. I wish I was Cookie Cutter Christian enough.

Yes. It is obvious that I struggle with feelings of inadequacy that should not have a place in the heart of a child of God. I want to be more loving, I want to possess a spirit of gentleness and servitude. I want to love god and his people more. I know that there are other non cookie cutter ways to go about it, but sometimes I just wish things were easier, that I would not have to struggle so much with my faith. I want to be there already. However, we all have our unique challenges in God. I believe that the God that placed me in a non-christian household, that gave me my critical mind and slightly neurotic personality did so with complete control and divine intent. I trust in the one purely good entity. I long for a different path, but I know that it is not my road to take.

I want to be a cookie cutter christian, but I do not want to become one.

Hypomania

I thought I was mentally unwell last week. I gave myself the diagnosis of Hypomania.

I had boundless energy, a constant grin on my face, reduced need for sleep, and confidence to surmount all obstacles. I talked to strangers, was quickly irritated and accomplished a large amount of tasks in a short period of time. I felt good, strong, and slightly unhinged.

Today I learnt that periods of Hypomania are a result of excessive dopamine secretions in the brain. Dopamine floods the system and results in increased feelings of pleasure and action seeking to attain rewards. Hypomaniac episodes last 4-6 days and are normally followed by depressed periods due to depleted stores of dopamine in the brain.

As it stands, I don't think I have Hypomania, it was a misdiagnosis. I attribute my elevated mood to the sense of newness and freshness each new school year brings. I attribute my reduced need for sleep to excitement, my confidence to past experience. I attribute my crazed sense of purpose, my commitment to filling up every minute of the day, my increased reliance on god and my increased sociability to a defense mechanism - protecting my brain against thoughts that would undermine my self worth and thoughts that would wipe the smile from my face.

An organized and packed schedule helps. Watch me turn the anger and the self-doubt into something that would shine brighter than the sun.

Iatrogenic

Word of the day: Iatrogenic
Induced in a patient by a physician's activity, manner, or therapy.

An example of Iatrogenic in a sentence would be -

"A common concern among physicians is that asking about the presence of self-injury will have an iatrogenic effect by giving individuals the idea to engage in such behavior when they would otherwise not have thought to do so." (This concern has been proven invalid by recent research)

I Deserve Better

There is a boy whose face makes my world go quiet.

He has a look in his eyes - it's gentle, tender, tentative, and apprehensive. Sometimes I get to see it. At times I get a little panicky, a little anxious, a little sad when he won't meet my gaze. I can memorise the line of his jaw - narrow, defined and hard. I often encounter his jaw as I attempt to quiet my world, chin pointed away.

My fingertips have imprinted upon them the feel of his ribs, his bone and muscle. Instinctively, they want to touch him, to hold him. Touching him is always a mistake. Contact with him hollows me out.

I cry in front of him, and he does not take me in his arms. I tell him that I want to end things and he does not shed a tear. He sees me when it is convenient, when I fit into his schedule. His time is a gift, and I am to be grateful. He doesn't need me, he doesn't want me, everyone else in his life has the same ability to make him happy. He is happy, with or without me.

I am tired of trying to make a dent in his life, tired of trying to get him to look at me instead of turning away. Tired of trying to figure out if its me - that I just cannot inspire him to love me, or is it that he has no capacity to love me the way I need to be loved. I'm tired of testing the weight of my presence in his world. I'm tired of trying to see if I can affect his emotions, tired of realising how ineffectual I am. I am tired of pretending that I do not love him as much as I do. I am tired of pretending that I do not want to see him 5 days a week, I am tired of protecting myself from someone who can and will hurt me. I am tired of trying to become someone that he would love more. I know that I am bigger and stronger, I am better than the reflection of me in his eyes.

My mouth is puckered with bitterness. I am going to savour it. I will remember it. I will nurse it and feed it. My bitterness will be my armor - with it, I will build a wall to keep him out.

I deserve better.

I deserve someone that makes my world erupt with laughter. Someone that would look at me. Someone that would hold me when I cry, someone that I can delight with my presence and hurt with my absence. I deserve better.

Living

Ivan Klíma's Love and Garbage has some of the most piercing and soulful writing that I have had the privilege to encounter. 

"What used to fascinate me most about literature at one time was that fantasy knows no frontiers, that it is as infinite as the universe into which we may fall. I used to think that this was what fascinated me and attracted me in Kafka. For him a human would be randomly transformed into an animal and an animal into a human, dream seemed to be reality for him and, simultaneously, reality was a dream. From his books there spoke a mystery which excited me.

Later I was to understand that there is nothing more mysterious, nothing more fantastic than life itself. Whoever exalts himself above it, whoever isn't content with horrors already reached and passions already experienced, must sooner or later reveal himself as a false diver who, out of fear of what he might discover in the depths, descends no further than into a solidly built basement.

Kafka too, did not portray anything but the reality of his own life. He presented himself as an animal, or he lay down on his bed in his cleverly constructed murdering machine to punish himself for his guilt. He felt guilty about his inability to love, or at least to love the way he wanted to. He was unable to get close to his father or come together with a women. He knew that in his longing for honesty he resembled a flier and his life a flight under an infinite sky, where a flier is always lonely and longs in vain for human contact. The longer he flies the more his soul is weighed down by guilt and forced toward the ground. The flier can jettison his soul and continue his flight without it - or crash. He crashed, but for a moment at least he managed to rise from the ashes in order, second by second, movement by movement, to describe his fall."

Writing Stories

"At that time I believed that anything I saw or heard would come in useful for some story. But I have known for a long time now that I am unlikely ever to find any events other than those I experience myself. A man cannot gain control over some else's life, and even if he could he would not invent a new story. There are nearly fifty thousand million people living in the world and every one of them believes that his life is good for at least one story. This thought is enough to make your head spin. If a writer emerged, or better still, was produced, who was obsessed enough to record fifty thousand million stories, and to then cross out all they had in common, how much do you suppose would be left? Scarcely a sentence from each story, from each human fate, a moment like a drop in the ocean, an unrepeatable experience of apprehension or of a meeting, an instant of insight or pain - but who could identify that drop, who could separate it from the flood of the ocean? And why should new stories have to be invented?"

-- From Love and Garbage by Ivan Klíma.

Self-love

"He had learned from the first Book of Zoroaster, that Self-love is like a Bladder full blown, which when once prick'd, discharges a kind of petty tempest."
--- From Zadig/Or, The Book of Fate by Voltaire

Self-love, Conceit, Narcissism, Egotism, Pride, I have an excess of it all, whatever its form, however it clothes itself. If one could build a self-concept upon love of the identity itself, I have probably already done so. I, not surprisingly, have an incredible relationship with my ego. Many have tried to pry us apart to little avail; my mother, the church, god and my various setbacks being the most prominent assailants. The beast though, is like a hardy Mesquite tree, its roots spread far and reach deep, ensuring sustenance even in the most arid of conditions.

It is a greedy, hardy creature. To safeguard itself, it has erected wall upon wall around the softer parts of me, denying connection in the name of protection. In preventing risk and harm, it also keeps out reward and reciprocation. The beast is petty indeed, look at it clutching its little possessions to its chest, building a fortress, terrified of intruders, for fear that it might just have to share.

Aphotic Rendezvous

I found this quote on dictionary.com

"I sat curled up on the sofa, trapped in the dream from which I had begun to awaken, but still lost in the reminiscence of our aphotic rendezvous."
-- Žakalin Nežić, Goodbye Serbia

Firstly, I feel like I have to read Goodbye Serbia now. Secondly, I cannot help but wonder how an "aphotic rendezvous" would feel. Better yet, I wonder if I have already experienced the likes of it.

On a side note, there was a line on Gossip Girl the other day that had me chuckling. (I know... Gossip Girl... forgive my simple pleasures)

Diana: "I am a woman who has lived, of course I have secrets."

Parting with Dignity

One would think that after all the partings that I have had to participate in, I would be way better at managing them now. I have a set of rules that allow me to keep a dignified face when saying goodbye. (At least I am deluded enough to imagine I can keep to them.)

1) Never grasp at straws, or if another analogy is preferred, do not indulge in the last breath before death. (Extra time is useless, it just prolongs what is inevitably going to happen.)

2) Always acknowledge to the other person that you might see each other again, whilst silently repeating to yourself that the world is small, but it isn't that small. (Kill all hope.)

3) Try to stay away from parting situations near transportation. It always feels too final and desperate. Always say goodbye several hours before, so that you can experience all the building anxiety safely away from the person that is leaving. (Do not build on what is already unpleasant.)

Identity Foreclosed

James Marcia, a developmental psychologist came up with a theory called the Identity Status Theory.

In it, he claims that there are 4 identity statuses of psychological identity development. These are determined largely by the choices and commitments made regarding certain personal and social traits.

Identity achieved: Refers to when one has gone through crisis and made a commitment to their final decision/identity.
Identity foreclosed: Refers to when one has not gone through any crisis, but made a commitment to their final decision/identity.
Moratorium: Refers to a state of crisis where the individual has not committed to anything as yet.
Identity Diffused: Refers to a lack of crisis and lack of commitment to any form of decision/identity.

I feel like most of the decisions that I have made about my life are made by commitment without crisis. I fear the crisis and the struggle so much, that I tend to reject moratorium and instead make a commitment to the nearest and most feasible possibility to alleviate my uncomfortable state of mind.

Using the apt phrasing of someone I know - I make decisions based on convenience. It is convenient for me to pursue a path in clinical psychology, it was convenient for me to take the STB scholarship instead of researching and applying for more alternatives. It was convenient for me to only date people that would eventually be on another continent. (no mess) It is convenient for me to stay on at City Harvest, despite my objections.

This is all very out of character for me because I have been someone that prided myself on always being in crisis, thinking hard and caring about the decisions that I eventually make. Now, I am starting to realise that I only struggle for the shortest of times, then, without coming to any resolutions about anything, decide on commitment. When there is an easy way out, I take it... and then convince myself and everyone around me that I have thought long and hard about it.

Foreclosure is not a stable identity stage because resolution without crisis, is all too easily challenged with a few piercing thoughts and doubts.

I am terrified though, of never getting out of moratorium. There just seem to be some decisions in life that one can never find a satisfying answer for.

Fire Alarms

My building's fire alarm system has been acting out. Every time the fire alarm goes off, I find myself having the same thought process.

"I wonder if this time its real, maybe I should at least get out of bed/my chair to check it out. Mmmm... do I smell smoke? I don't smell smoke. I don't hear people panicking... I wonder if today is the day I die due to my laziness."

I blame the incessant fire drills that us Singaporean kids were subjected to. Instead of conditioning us with regards to what to do during a fire, they conditioned us to believe that the fire alarm is not a signal of fire, but instead of a set of annoying procedures to follow.

The beauty of relatable literature

I was browsing through some of my Kindle clippings, looking for a particularly good paragraph that I found the other day, when I had a moment of abashed self awareness.

I realised that there was this common thread running through most of the passages that struck me with their beauty and/or truth. They were all related to the most ruminated on and rehashed issues of a young adult's life - the prioritizing of ambition or love, the fulfillment of life's potential, the search for a home and what it means. I don't think these passages have helped me come to any sort of reconciliation or revelation. However, there is a wry kind of sweetness that fills my heart when I think about my participation in this communal cognitive rite of passage.
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That was her trouble then - She dreamed of a greater kind of love than the kind displayed in the library. But she was also filled with a nameless ambition that had nothing to do with love. What exactly did she want? It was an ambition that wouldn't let her compete for or seek the same things others sought.
- Cutting for Stone by Abraham Verghese


The intellect of man is forced to choose
perfection of the life, or of the work, 
And if it take the second must refuse
A heavenly mansion, raging in the dark.
When all that story's finished, what's the news?
In luck or out the toil has left its mark:
That old perplexity an empty purse,
Or the day's vanity, the night's remorse.
- The Choice by Yeats


Droll thing life is, that mysterious arrangement of merciless logic for a futile purpose. The most you can hope from it is some knowledge of yourself that comes too late, a crop of unextinguishable regrets.
- Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad


I wished to know the meaning of things. I am the meaning. I wished to find a warrant for being. I need no warrant for being, and no word of sanction upon my being. I am the warrant and sanction... It is my mind which thinks, and the judgment of my mind is the only searchlight that can find the truth... Many words have been granted me, and some are wise, and some are false, but only three are holy: "I will it!" Whatever road I take, the guiding star is within me... I know not if this earth on which I stand on is but a speck of dust lost in eternity. I know not and I care not.
- Anthem by Ayn Rand

Wasn't that the definition of home? Not where you are from, but where you are wanted?

- Cutting for Stone by Abraham Verghese

This one is not from a book, but a movie, nevertheless, I think it fits in here. From Garden State -
Andrew: You know that point in your life when you realize the house you grew up in isn't really your home anymore? All of a sudden even though you have some place where you put your shit, that idea of home is gone.
Sam: I still feel at home in my house.
Andrew: You'll see one day when you move out it just sort of happens one day and it's gone. You feel like you can never get it back. It's like you feel homesick for a place that doesn't even exist. Maybe it's like this rite of passage, you know. You won't ever have this feeling again until you create a new idea of home for yourself, you know, for your kids, for the family you start, it's like a cycle or something. I don't know, but I miss the idea of it, you know. Maybe that's all family really is. A group of people that miss the same imaginary place.
Sam: Maybe

The wind in Shanghai

I don't think I can ever fully articulate the kind of connection that I have with Shanghai. It is as if it made a slit in the skin between my ribs, slid in there, and is now living comfortably with the rest of my viscera. Once in a while, when it is afraid that I would forget its existence, it prods at my insides, jostling them, so as to stir up the old dust.

My memories of Shanghai have haunted me in so many different ways that I am starting to lose count. They have appeared in the form of my favorite streets, in a palpable tingle of the memory of a hug, in the image of someone's brown and orange gloves, in the glistening grains of fried rice nestled within a styrofoam box, and most recently, the chilly wind of the Shanghai night.

- I would be standing on the main passage in wanda facing guoding lu, flanked on one side by burger king and the other by that shop that sold the leather belts and shoes. Behind me, the glass protrusion that signaled an escalator down into the mall. Always, it is night and there is a chill. The tone of the night feels like autumn, but I'm sure it is spring. Sometimes I'm standing with G, and it is the night M texted me about getting into Med school. I remember that night, there was something heady in the air. Other times, I am just standing there alone, looking out into guoding lu. The wind, it always blows.

Bullsh**

Contradictions. Of late, within the personal domain, I have been excusing inconsistencies in myself and the people around me with the two words "human nature". I do understand and accept that human beings are mostly irrational and unpredictable creatures.  After all, who better than a psychology student to point out the fallibility of human reasoning. This particular trait is not conscious or intentional on our part. Our minds are just masters of wrongful attribution, memory tweaking and delusion. These actually help us maintain our self-esteems and decent mental health.

I however, am starting to get fed up with such ridiculousness. As we get older, it just seems as if everything can be explained away by admitting human fallibility, it has actually become the mature and scientific point of view. Inconsistencies in speech and thought now seem to be fully excusable and understandable. Honestly, it drives me crazy. Inconsistencies in people make me mad. Consistency should be a trait that we should strive for. The existence of consistency makes us accountable to at least a semblance of reason. It makes a person more predictable and dependable. If we all get to change our minds and our actions whenever we want, there would be absolute chaos. No one can be trusted to keep to their word, every comment or sentence that comes out of our minds would only hold for that particular second and situation.

I know I am catastrophizing here... but I kinda just want to hear something that someone says about their personal life and trust that it is not going to be bullshit in a month or two.

Becoming genuine

I am always trying to reach my ideal self. In an ideal world, Alison would...

1) Be more spiritual

2) Be more disciplined (With regards to my academics, responsibilities and  jogging)

3) Be more kind and in touch with other people

4) Be hotter - body wise (Yes it is an overlap with the ideal self)

5) Have a resume that would melt potential employers and future school admission officers hearts.

I try to get to my ideal self by forcing myself to do things that I don't particularly enjoy. I thought that if I did it for long enough, I would be able to cultivate the habit and eventually enjoy it. Slowly, everything became duty and obligation... not to anyone else or any organization, but to my ideal self.

I think after my episode of severe burnout a month ago, I had to reach deeper within myself than I normally would. I have been trying to figure out what truly brings me enjoyment, not some far-fetched notion of future happiness, but pleasure in the here and now.

I am now in the process of re-examining my relationships, and I guess I am realizing that if I have to write the names of some people on a list to remember to keep in contact with them, maybe it is saying something about my feelings toward them. If I am cringing as I write another cover letter about the person that I supposedly am, or the activities that I supposedly like, or the values that I supposedly hold, maybe that is saying something about who I want to be as well.

I won't deny that it is very difficult for me to accept and even endorse my own feelings and needs, especially when concerning my professional ideal self. However it is time I try be a little more genuine. After all, I do believe that if I am doing something that I really like, I would excel at it.

Camps

I've been forced to go to 2 camps in the past 6 months. Honestly, that is too much for a normal human being of my age. I spent 4 years of my life digging holes in the ground and collecting sticks for fire. Nowadays, I just want to sleep in a real bed. But no, they want me to sleep on the ground, to pee in the bushes, to learn about leadership and teamwork. Don't get me wrong, I love nature... it is the communal aspect of camp that scares me the most. They keep wanting me to TALK to SHARE to OPEN UP. The most recent camp even forced me to write a reflection paper on what I have learnt. So here goes... watch me transform what I hate most about camp, into something to be advocated for.

Talk

Walking and talking, that is what we did. Sitting and talking, cooking and talking, helping and talking, that is what we did. For two days, we talked, and we talked, and we talked. We talked about school, about dreams, about our disappointments and our triumphs. We talked at the base of the hill, mid way up the hill and at the peak of the hill. There were many attempts by both instructors and uBuddies alike, to relate our climbing of a physical hill to the metaphorical journey of ups and downs that life is. I see the connection in the talking. On the hill as in life, we are constantly talking, constantly striving to confirm our identity in other people’s affirmations, constantly striving to build the social connections that are so fundamental to our mental health. So we talk.

From all the talking, different identities, personalities across the spectrum start taking shape. The more we talk, the more detail gets etched into our sketch in other people’s minds. We start filling out, becoming multi-dimensional, our bodies swelling with words. Through talking, we exist, we become real.

When we talk, we gain new understanding into our experiences, our hurts, and our carefully nursed wounds. Talking helps us re-organize the information in our minds. Talking opens closed doors and creates a path for revival. When we talk and others listen, it feels undeniably good.

Therein lies the secret behind a caring campus – the power of talking. Talking is therapeutic, and it establishes connections with others. So, uBuddies talk. We talk to reach out, to help, to change. We talk to the school body via e-mails, we talk via signboards, and we talk with mouths, our hands and our hearts. Most importantly, uBuddies listen to other people talk, because we know the power behind speech. So we talk.

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My duplicity and ability to conform never cease to amaze me.

Rose Tinted Glasses in Middlemarch

In Middlemarch by George Eliot

"His efforts at exact courtesy and formal tenderness had no defect for her. She filled up all blanks with unmanifested perfections, interpreting him as she interpreted the works of Providence, and accounting for seeming discords by her own deafness to the higher harmonies. And there are many blanks left in the weeks of courtship, which a loving faith fills with happy assurance."

I have honestly never seen such a comprehensive and hilariously mocking description of the phenomenon of wearing rose tinted glasses when looking upon one's preferred person.

Moving

I've lost it. It took two weeks for me to feel ready enough to re-read it. I've lost it. I've lost that folded over piece of paper; that powerful piece of paper. Its existence made me sorry, and the loss of it took away my first good day this semester.

I was just starting to feel operationally ready again when it decided to disappear, vanish, go poof.

I find that I am unable to look forward to what is to come. It can be said that I have currently lost sight of my ikigai and my ability to enjoy life as it is.

For now though, I know what keeps me moving. The act of reading seems to be sufficient to keep me out of bed.

Transit

There is something inherently muddled about travel. The crossing from day to night in an unnatural amount of time, the awake but unfocused mind and the push and pull of vague emotions.

My sense of restlessness and loss is always heightened when I travel alone which; I guess is the only way I travel now. If I were to try conjure up a reason, I would attribute it to the futility of mindless purpose that characterizes traveling. Traveling is always about getting from one point to another. A to B to C to D. The reading, the eating, the thinking, the aimless wandering, the drifting from chair to chair, the waiting for gate after gate to open, all of it driven by lackluster wants, all of it meaningless. The entire process is like a bare and ghastly version of life. The exception is that in transit, one cannot pretend that any of the filler activities undertaken have real purpose.

In transit as in life, we are constantly preoccupying ourselves with petty distractions and drivel, waiting for the next step, striving for the next goal. Meanwhile though, we are caught, stuck behind gates which open only to lead us to another impasse.

I fear that I am not really moving anywhere.