A Typical Long Weekend

Wait, let me correct that. Having a long weekend is NOT typical. But as the stars have aligned and resulted in the fortuitous coincidence of public holidays on weekends, we've had 2 this term.

I have observed that since my long year (and then some) of depression has somewhat ended (touch wood), I am done with rebound relationships and friendships. There is no longer this desperate urge in me to be out with somebody so I don't have to be home alone.

As such, my typical long weekend is divided into 3 parts. It might surprise you that these 3 parts are divided into the 3 days.

Day 1: Continuous streaming of movies on Funshion to occupy my every waking hour. This can range from anywhere between 8-12 hours of movies. And as a night cap - The Vampire Diaries.

Day 2: The obligatory routines of church or errands, family time so to speak. Dinner with my aunt and uncle, a walk in the park which does nothing to firm up my body that is fighting a losing battle against sagging and cellulite.

Day 3: The final scramble. The epic battle between the holiday mood I've induced upon myself from Day 1 activities and the endless work I have as a result of the procrastination. BSF, 20 odd sets of readings, things I vow to get smarter on to become the best dentist I can be but which usually lose out to Insta-fun. The pressure gets worse and worse as the unproductive hours tick away and finally it is time to sleep and worry about it another day because it is now too late to do anything and I will be very grouchy if I go to school on less than 6 hours of R.E.M.

-----
Confessing every thought and emotion that bothers me seems to validate my right to think and feel them.

If I Could

I would disconnect my heart from my brain and erase all the files.

My first problem: I'm selfish and self-absorbed with irrational ideals and expectations and an incapability of truly loving another person.

My second problem: I don't know how to be different.

To Remember Or Not

I wish I did more things in life that I could write diary entries on. When I was a kid, I wrote pages and pages on vacations and the new places I saw. Sometimes, I still have this urge to record journal-style the holiday locations I visit because all those fun memories are bound to be forgotten quickly. You only appreciate what might have been forgotten when you look back on those entries and think, 'I totally forgot this happened!' It's all in the details.

Nowadays, Facebook photo albums have served the purpose of an archive for me. It's not the same though, sometimes it captures the activity but not the mood or the exact situation. The next time I go somewhere, I will be more diligent with a photo and written journal. I just hate starting because once I get into it, I really get into it. I start writing every minute detail and I cannot stop. And the vacation gets ruined because I sit there all night recording the events of the day.

-----
I never really understood how people would go into a depression kind of funk on anniversaries of lost ones. I used to think, shouldn't everyday feel the same? If you're sad then everyday should be sad. If you're fine then why would the anniversary matter?

Now I get it. I don't get the logic of it but I get it because it happens to me too. Every other day you're totally fine. But you're only fine because you've chosen to not look back on it, not because you're really okay with it. In the death of a relationship, which I also consider as losing a loved one, each anniversary brings back the pain of the memory.

It seems irrational to fear a particular date. But the anniversary signifies the event. And for me, the anniversary signifies the relationship. And when the anniversary of whichever event comes along, it reminds me of repressed things. It brings back old hurts. It brings on new hurts when I realize I'm the only one affected by the anniversary. As I said, irrational.

chicken baby I (thanks for explore), a photo by fotogamie on Flickr.

Now would be a good time to start mustering up some enthusiasm for school resuming tomorrow.

Sweep

Whenever I'm home, I figure I should pitch in with the house chores more since I only contribute about 4 times a year. Today, I've washed and hung the clothes to dry, cleared the yard of the scattering of poop bombs and swept the yard.

As I was sweeping the floor with the old traditional rattan broom, it struck me how much taller I am now since the last time I used it, probably a decade ago. Felt like the Hunchback of Notredame, bending over. The sideways sweeping motion reminded me suddenly of back in primary school when we had class duty rosters. Every week, someone was in charge of sweeping the floors, emptying the bins, cleaning the blackboard or wiping the windowpanes. I always tried to wrangle the bin-emptying task since it was minimal effort.

Back to sweeping: I remember how we had Kemahiran Hidup or Home Economics teaching us the best angle to hold a broom and how to use a dustpan. Except it's so much more difficult now when I'm bent double to reach the broom. Was our old maid really that short?

After today's efforts which continue to ruin my neck, I am very grateful to Benjamin Franklin for discovering electricity. It was him, right?

K-k-k-ing's S-s-s-peech

It is so painful watching Colin Firth stammering and stuttering on the TV screen. Feeling so sad for the poor bugger. Before the whole hype about the movie, I thought, really? An entire movie on speech therapy?

It's a really nice change to see Helena Bonham Carter as a normal person instead of raving mad Bella Lestrange or Queen of Hearts. And I couldn't place Geoffrey Rush either except as 'that Pirates of the Caribbean' guy. Davy Jones, Captain Barbosa, blah blah, no recollection.

So what makes a good actor? Being a chameleon I suppose. The ability to not just act, but become the character, to convince you that they're really who they portray on screen. Some movie stars are so overexposed by the glitz and fame that they become merely famous personalities. Or they've played a particular character for so long (cough, Twilight, cough, Harry Potter, cough) that it's impossible to separate the person from who they play.

Which is why the movie's so great. Firstly, these actors are insanely convincing. Secondly, it's a delightfully fresh plot. Thirdly, it's British humour at its subtlest. What would we do without that stiff upper lip.

heart-shaped bokeh♥, a photo by ~♥ Mademoiselle 5oo5a ♥~ www.5oo5a.com on Flickr.

Mom and Dad must surely be the most amazing, selfless parents in the world.

I heart them.

FYI, heart can officially be used that way now according to the liberally inclusive Oxford Dictionary.

I honestly don't get why some people are so tactless as to keep bringing up subjects I consider taboo. I try not to take it personally, I mean obviously nobody would remember or continue to be affected. Even if they understood. I'd probably do the same in that position. I guess you had to be there to know how much I don't want to talk about some things.

But I realize that if this is part of the plan to get better, then I'll endure it. It has to stop bothering me some day.

And for a pick me up, let's all listen to Yeah 3x by Chris Brown. WoOtwOoT