stupidity of olivia

stupidity of oliviaShare Today at 23:59 | Edit Note | Delete Sigh...on nights...watching You've got mail. Xmas eve. Wishing I am Meg Ryan. How can you be 40 odd years old and still be so DAMN cute! The world is not fair! I just love the way her lips turn down wards when she smiles but the corners of her mouth turns upwards. It's so damn cute! You know I still hope I will own a bookshop one day. Damn it, I might just shut the whole shop down so I can read all the books myself! May be I'll meet my Tom Hanks there too?! Oh fuck this Hollywood schmooze. I'd probably just end up with a shop like on Blackbooks. Wahahaha... For now, the closest I'll come to is a Meg hair cut :-( For the record, by the way, I think Nicole Kidman is the prettiest actress nowadays. Although I think Irene Jacob and Juliet Binoche are the most elegant. Of course, NO ONE comes close to Audrey Hepburn, EVER! Made it to church tonight. Finally! I just don't have that enthusiasm to church any more. ALthough I think I"m still very certain that God exists. I find no better reason for life than Christ. However, I also cannot shake that Seneca philosophy because the world is not fair, it isn't "good". Eexpect the worst, lest you be disappointment by expectations. Met a professor for brunch the other day. Given that we've never actually met before, we got on rather well. But he said something that impressed on my memory. Although I doubt he remembers saying it, although I suspect he doesn't even remember me now. Anyway, he said "there is so much to do, so much to see". I wish I can have the same enthusiasm about life. May be it's because he lives in New York. May be it's that sense of action that city life has, that fuels his optomism. You know, for a while, I even considered doing USMLE because of that. Ah, the stupidity of Olivia.

consolation of philosophy

Reading the "consolations of philosphy" by Alain de Botton at the moment. Only read the first few chapters. It was talking about Socrates would rather be executed, than to relent on his views. Part of De Botton's argument is that philosophy helps you to hold your believes, because, philosophy advocates for constant questioning. Therefore if you held onto believes which withstood rigorous questioning and refutations, you know the grounds those believes are held, therefore, you can be certain within yourself, that you are right. While it is a very noble concept, I recall also the social experiment where subjects were shown black lines of varying lengths. After seeing numerous other "subjects" wrongly identify the shortest line, true subjects would follow the trend, despite it being clearly the false choice. This is a fascinating social phenemenon with much implications to psychiatry as well. There are certain advantages to having a need to conform. I would speculate that as we develop a sense of identity, need to belong and conform helps to steer us away from extremes. This is, of course, only a good thing, if you believe in moderation and that the world is full of grey rather than black and white. It is, however, entirely possible that I have, in Socrates' eyes, compromised on the truth by saying this. While I would say that I am Christian, I would like to think that I have no doubt I would get to heaven when I die, I am, with many points of the Christian believes, uncertain that I fully agree. Issues like suicide, abortion, are obviously controversial. However, I am somewhat adverse to the idea of using "the will" to overcome "instinct". I don't think I can truly clarify what I mean about this. It's just a general feeling that there is a part of me, which I still own as part of me, that does not WANT to "be good". It that is instinctual, if that "wish to rebel" is part of human nature, why is that "bad"? I suppose the argument is that those instincts are the footprints of sin in human lives. May be I'm just giving myself excuses, rationalising that these instincts are acceptable. Or may be I'm already becoming hypofrontal, and losing my higher executive reasoning functions. On the ward that I'm working in, there are quite a few patients with dementia, particularly the frontal type. This type of dementia, people retain a lot of their memory function, but the inhibitions, planning, sequencing, judgement abilities are lost. So you have these very eloquent young-old (it also tend to be younger in onset, so like in the 60s), immaculately dressed, but live in squalor, drive erratically, spend all their pensions, because of the illness. You are trying to tell them what's wrong, but that part of the brain for insight is lost, and they stare at you with this incredulous look, while putting to you all the great activities and gatherings they still do, when in fact, their relationships have fallen apart, in debt and have no home to go back to. I cannot see, how continuation of life, in those circumstances, is respectful to life. Having said all that, I have to admit I have much to learn. Having said that I now understood the randomness/ meaningless nature of the exam process, I am still proud. Having got full marks in the interviewing part of my exam, I was almost expecting to get the prize of best registrar for the year. I went to the prize giving party. I was disappointed. The prize is actually given to based on both the writtens and the clinicals. I only scraped pass the writtens. Examining this feeling, I realised how greed and that sense of "never enough" have infected my spirit. When I didn't know the exam result, I was just hoping I would pass. When I found out I passed, got the marks back, I wanted the prize. To an extent, that need "to be the best" is good in order to utilise all your potential but it's a relentless grind that, if you are not careful, will squash you. Similarly, even though I say I don't expect people to read the dribble I write, I still feel very flattered if people respond. On that note, i shall shut up.

it's a worry

Exams over, surely I should be carefree, skipping along every day to the tune of "Oh happy days!". But that is rather far from reality. May be it's just human nature that I'm never satisfied. I am not a "worrier" as such but the following are my current worries... 1) I have to do the discharge summary for 6 people, who, in total, have spent more time in hospital THAN i HAVE LIVED thus far! 2) I think Barack obama is hot 3) The Simpson's is just not funny anymore 4) I find myself stupidly grining whenever I think of the reasons I go to Northshore on Fridays (ok, very private joke this one) 5) I like black jelly beans 6) I find myself mouthing the lyrics of Britney at the gym, no I wasn't talking to voices! ok ok, I know it looks like it... 7) I still harbour fantasies of marrying colin firth - at MY age, I would be lucky to get married full stop! 8) I have this tendency to wash my ipod, water my laptop and explode legumes in the microwave 9) I sometimes can't do the 3 item short term recall on the MMSE, a screening test for dementia 10) I still can't play 3 card freecell - damn it, I will admit, I don't even win every game when it's just 1 card freecell!

upsize me

I am SO sick of all these reality tv shows like Biggest Loser, Downsize me. Now they even have one for people's pets! How ridiculous is that?! They are merely thinly disguised crash diets. The most stupid segment they have a plate of "bad foods" like beer, chips, pies, wave them in front of the person, then ask them if they would fall for the temptation. If they say they won't eat it, they get a prize. Yes, I am certain that person will never ever put another piece of chocolate cake in her mouth. In fact, why don't we just ban donuts, pies and all foods with an ounce of fat in?! And they have the obligatory "weigh in" that I wouldn't be suprised if they force their contestants to purge with diuretics and laxatives, to make their miraculous hweight loss, that much more "impressive". All of this just reinforces the complete lie that "I'll be happy when I am thin". Obviously, business would like us to believe that...in fact, I wouldn't be suprised if the dieting industry is still booming despite the doom and gloom of this economic disaster. Is the concept of "love your body" so heretical? If you respect yourself from the start, you will use your body as it's intended, won't you? If these programmes are truly about "health", I challenge them to make an Upsize me version, for all those young girls out there starving themselves to be "healthy".

perfect score

What a week! I passed my clinical exam and received my scores mid week. Considering that I threw away my exam number before I left Melbourne, because I was SO SURE that I had failed again, the marks was astounding. I was 1 of 6 people between Australia and NZ who scored full marks in the interview. I suppose, most people would feel elation, may be sense of accomplishment. And don't get me wrong, I am, to all intents and purposes bragging about it, otherwise I wouldn't be writing it on here. But I also had this incredible sense of annoyance... WHAT THE HELL kind of stupid exam process is this?!It occurred to me that exams are such a FARCE! It is so RANDOM! I suppose I've been a person who relied heavily on external sources of validation, to tell me what kind of a person I am. So exams have mattered a lot to me. My reputation has mattered a lot to me. I can only say that I think God made SURE that I lose that incredibly flawed logic, before I got this exam. Apostle Paul said that we need to see ourselves "in the middle" (i don't know the exact verse) and I think this is also what I needed to learn. Was I that bad 2 years ago at what I do, that I deserved a score of 11/50? Am I this perfect now that I deserve a perfect score? This exam cannot, and should not, give me reassurance about my abilities as a psychiatrist, at all. What I do treasure, out of this whole farcicle of a process, was that people see what sort of person you are, what kind of doctor you make, from how you do on a day to day basis. I am truly grateful to each and every one of the friends and ALL of my family, who stood by me, through the two failures. A few months ago, I had a "run in" with a consultant. I called her because I needed her to do an assessment but she essentially refused. And there were a series of events which meant that a complaint was made. At the review, I wasn't there (I wasn't told about it) so the consultant tried to put the blame on me. However, even though I wasn't there, and the consultant tried to blame me for "not conveying the urgency for the assessment", the team involved, and the other registrar involved, all supported me. In spite of what the consultant said. The other registrar even offered to meet with the consultant with me, so I don't get bulldozed over (which I have a tendency to, with my stupidly submissive nature). And that experience, I would argue, was better than passing the exam. Given the superficial, appearance driven society today, I am grateful, and hopeful, that there are still, at least SOME people, who sees people by their actions, not by words. I do feel an overwhelming sense of responsibility now, not because I passed the exam, but more because of the way I passed it. It is also really sobering that, I still feel SOOOOO uncomfortable being me. I knew that passing exams, doing well, won't make me like who I am, judging by what I've said thus far, I shouldn't. But I suppose in some small way, I was still harbouring some hope that I would at least I would feel more comfortable in my own skin. But no, all the flaws and inadequacies that I know is me, are still...here. I know it's ll part of the process in learning that God values me because He is God, and that I am me - with selfishness, narcissism and all. Just before the exam, my eczema (skin condition) got really bad and I'm still not fully recovered from it yet. But I felt that this was God wanting me to let go of the other thing that keeps me from true freedom - my appearance. I was VERY fortunate that my face didn't get affected. But the papules are still here. My GP reassured me that they would eventually go away. But the whole experience was FRIGHTENING. And I was reminded the value of God who sees me for who I am, BUT still loves me. I make no apologies to non Christians who might come across this (actually, I know that nobody actually reads this, so this is just "in case). but this is what I believe and who I am :-)

apprentice to jedi

Finally, the apprentice is going to make jedi, shrink wannabe is going to be a shrink to be... Results actually came out on Friday but I threw away my number so I haven't been able to check til now. I was so sure I had failed the exam that I threw away all traces of the exam including the examinee number. I just didn't want to know. Well, I knew I would want to know but I didn't care. In shrink speak, it's called displacement - expressing the anger at the college / at myself, to the name badge and the paper work. But I couldn't help myself but look at the number. So it was imprinted in my memory. So on Friday, when I checked (again after much avoidance before hand) and saw the "successful", I had no way of verifying that it was me, and I had no proof apart from my own memory, that I remembered right. It's funny but the GP at where I work said, that's rather childish! And I have to agree. I thought, well, ok, I'll find out on Monday. But NO! The whole entire college seems to be on holiday because of the Melbourne Cup! So I haven't been able to check until today. And thank God I didn't remember wrong! So the relief of the exam was somewhat attenuated. It is only "relief" rather than elation. I remember when I passed my writtens, I was so excited that I rang my brother when it's midnight for them and I was on cloud 9 for ages. But now, 2 failed exams later, it's a relief. One of the consultants said to me, it's a good experience for me to learn to face my fears. I have to say, yes, it is true. I think the most precious thing I learn was the importance of seeing "the person". For someone who have always relied on external validation for self esteem, these 2 years have been an eye opener. I wouldn't say that I've learnt to only value my family and friends so much more. The mother I can never speak to telling me not to worry about exam results, do my best, and she is always there. And friends who remain my friends throughout. But perhaps even more moving for me, are the consultants who I kept helping out with practices, who kept believing that I would make a good psychiatrist, colleagues who reassured me they know I am a good doctor with or without the exam. I don't know how or why they feel this way, but I can only say that I am grateful and I consider them blessings from God. So, on the day America elected their first black president, Olivia found out she passed her clinical exams to be a psychiatrist.

People are only kind

Been over a month since I last wrote. This forum to purge my thoughts, few there may be. 4 weeks and so much had changed, but more have stayed the same. Stubbornly stagnant. I've sat my exams. The point of my existence once again lost. It was, to all intents and purposes, a complete disaster. Initially, ignorance was bliss. Stepping out of the exam room, I thought, that wasn't too bad. I felt I understood the patient. It made sense to me why he became depressed at that stage of his life. However, it eventually dawned on me, the cardinal mistake that I've made - under estimate risk. My tendency to minimise along with the patient, who was already minimising, plus mistaking the antidepressant he was taking (Deptran is Doxepine but I thought it was desipramine, both tricyclics and therefore have similar side effect profiles...but still!) would certainly have sealed my fate. I don't need to wait till this Friday but already know my sentence to be a lifelong registrar. So I decided to take the plunge and enter into the unknown MOSSland. Here, at least I feel wanted. Between CARE team or out west. Reducing my carbon footprint is appealing. I would have considered working out west, if I had some time doing North team - wouldn't mind some eye candy to lighten up my day :-) I've skipped the country twice and returned. Related to the exams of course. It's striking how similar the two countries are - Australia and New Zealand. It's depressing. In fact, even made one or two new friends, suprisingly enough, especially for a recluse like me. I have to say, good old God had His hand in this. He probably gathered that I can't handle defeat alone so organised these two little angels into my life - Stella and Sumsum. Since I've almost intentionally cut myself off from my more successful classmates, I thought I better accept these graceful gifts from above... ALso finished reading a Booker - Man Booker prize winner that is, The Shipping News. Getting 1 closer to my goal of reading all the Booker prize winners. I didn't like this one much. It is beautifullryywritten nonetheless. It mourns the death of small town life for industrial globalised village that is the world. I suppose I never saw the appeal of small town life. I did, however, feel for the protagonist - Quoyle. Even his name was awkward, so his story and his life. Door mat to his wife, door mat to his daughters, and no better to his boss. May be my self pity found some solace in his defeateed spirit. I've also been disfigured - by eczema and cellulitis which is still...incredibly annoyingly itchy. In the process, learnt that shrink wannabes, are not dermatologists and should leave such consultations, to actual professionals. I looked up various internet sites, comparing my lesions to photos, bought a few concoctions, which, in the end, exacerbated rather than cure. Photos tells all :-( So now at least the redness is gone, but the papular itchy lesions persists although the GP assures me it would resolve. I've also cleaned up my friends list - deleting those that I've never met. May be I am ruthless. For all I know, they may not even exist! Strange as the world of cyber networking is. "People are only kind because life is so dirty you can't afford to have any enemies". Finally, I'm watching my favourite dvd - Power of Art, documentary by BBC. Hmm, the next trip may well need to be an art history tour of Italy...

nights

it's a weird feeling, wide awake, but so empty in the thoughts that feelings seem to echo inside. serves me right for not sleeping. i guess that's the shrink speak "poverty of thought" feels like. sometimes i wish i could feel as intensely as the patients i see, enough to make them want to kill themselves. i can't imagine feeling that way for anyone, may be for somethings. funny how i still base my self view on transient things that i know, don't define anyone. yet i don't think people are all that much better, any more trustworthy or reliable. but there doesn't seem to be a choice. people need people. i think, in so many ways, that's a sad predicament of being... hmm, don't even know if this make sense...

free

I often wish I could be something else. If I had talent, I would love to be a writer. I can legitimately shut myself in a room and day dream as much as I want. I can live in whatever world my imagination can bring me. In researching the book, I can visit all sorts of dodgey places without feeling guilty. I can even have a swim in the mermaid tank...haa haa! Hmm, may be not, don't want to catch any weird skin diseases, who knows how often they wash that tank. Words are so powerful yet delicately delicious! And no calories! Very useful considering my ever expanding waistline nowadays! Otherwise, I wouldn't mind being a movie critic either. Spending my day alone with reels and reels of movies, being taken to parts of the world I have never heard of, be immersed in the lives of people brought up with opposing values and completely different mold. No one to annoy me. No one to feel inferior to. Just me and imagination. Considering how today's practice went, I shouldn't be thinking like this. At least Master was kind and encouraging. But everything is still my fault, I'm still...a basket case. "Yes it's good, yes it's good, it's good to be free".

judgement day

Sitting at Dunk and thinking what a miserable day. I also happened to have chosen a place without wifi. Oh well, anyway, may be I’ll try again tomorrow, have to go to a Starbucks next time. Today got some junk mail from facebook calling to write about “freedom” and what it means. The Oasis lyric, “it’s good, yes, it’s good to be free”. Other people say “freedom is just another word for having nothing to lose”. What can you say, I suppose they are both true. Sitting alone in the café, I feel free but at the same time, looking around me, families, couples talking on a Saturday afternoon. And I feel disconnected, detached. I wonder if this is how the detached feeling in PTSD feels like. It’s such an egocentric concept – freedom. I suppose it means you have the right to do whatever you want. On the other hand, does that mean that no one cares about what you do? Doesn’t that just reflect the contradictory message we have in society nowadays? Heard a song by the Pussy Cat Dolls, a.k.a. sticks who can’t sing, contorting their bodies in little more than rags saying “when I grow up, I want to be famous, I want to drive nice cars, I want to be in movies" and so on. What can I say…I can’t even defend myself because that is, I have to confess, some of the doctrine that I have fallen into as well. I looked around the gym – several stick like figures sweating their little bodies out, while another tall, slim, ultratoned woman walked in bra top and hot pants. All heads turned, regardless of sex, including my own. And I remember the lyric, do you know who you are losing (weight) for? And I wonder, would we ever be free from being judged on appearance? Then I wondered, what if we get there? What if we get to the point when people do take the time to know you and then make the decision that you are too stupid, too unsophisticated, then they dislike you. Is that any better? Do people allow others to be less intelligent than others, less funny than the next person. If that is not allowed, is it that different from people disliking someone for being fat or ugly? Is it possible for people to be free from judgement? What would that look like in society? I am not saying that people who violate the rights of others should not be judged negatively. But that would be mixing morals and discrimination. I guess I wonder, if people are accepted for being who they are, all of their flaws and imperfections, whether people would be happier. I suppose this reflects my own competitive attitude that has driven me to withdraw from people. I need to get a sense of self adequacy somehow. Yet every where I look, I am “not good enough”. So it seems like I have withdrawn from contact, to avoid that sense of inferiority. Gosh I do ramble. I think the café owner will be mad at me sitting here for so long having only ordered a drink. Better go.

Haiku?

Crisp fragile thoughts of you Dance and stirs the air Falls on my unquiet mind

wallowing in my own imagination

Can you tell someone is thinking about you? Look at the sky above you It’s like the air is spell bound by you Velvet soft and glow exudes from you Eternally waiting for you

if

If I was a pair of glasses Can I sit in your shirt pocket So I can listen to your every heartbeat If I was a fountain pen Would you hold me with your hand So I can record your every word in my heart If I was a phone Would you hold me next to your ear So I can feel your every breath But I’m not your glasses, pen or even phone I’m not even the ring around your finger Now I don’t get to see you anymore I guess how I feel you will never know So I’ll just stand here behind you If you ever turn around to look You will find someone ready To write your every word To listen to your voice To stay in your heart

vegetables of mass dwstruction

Last night I discovered the power of a pumpkin in a microwave. Actually, it's not really a pumpkin. I think it's some sort of squash of sorts. Pumpkins tends to soften when you heat it in the microwave and they don't make spectacular orange graffiti in microwaves as the hard skin squashes. The stuff inside the squash is quite stringy, kind of noodle like. Many strands therefore were not actually amenable to my attempt at cleaning up. Therefore I think I shall be tasting nuked squash in much of my diet from now until eternity. It's very much like how radiation hangs around after nuclear bombs explode... True to my compatriot dictators, I shall therefore consider expanding my arsenal of vegetables of mass destruction to also eggplant, and possibly capsicums. Of course, if anyone was to inspect my kitchen, they would also find evidence of egg explosion testings as well as coffee and milk eruptions. OliLand is also dangerous because of the existence of the washing machine swamper known to cause floods at unpredictable times. This is, however, a natural phenomenon, due largely to a very rapid build up of towels and clothing from the people's frequenting the gym far too often. This is uniquely combined with a condition known as "clogged sink hole in the sinky/ laundry tub thing" . However, flooding has now been controlled due to the use of "water level control" technology and also regular inspection by the weapons inspector to ensure clear passage of the sink. Given the level of dangerousness of OliLand, thank goodness I have no oil in my house. Otherwise, George Bush might decide to inspect my home and invade! (Wow, I think I'm going insane, I don't know if any of the above made any sense at all...someone might need to apply for the Mental Health Act to have me sectioned!)

superficial discontent

Gosh where has the weekend gone? Everything leaves a carbon footprint except for weekends, so it seems. This week I kept asking myself, why I never want what I have, always envy of others, wanting to be someone else. Lord knows I have so much to be thankful for. To a certain extent, it’s useful to have something to strive for, yet when the goal post is not only out of reach, but seem to be in another playing field altogether! I have had a crush on every boss I had except for the one that asked me out. It struck me that sometimes I don’t like the people that find me interesting because they remind me of me! How will I ever get to be somewhere that I want to be? I want to be everyone else other than me. This is surely a curse. That is why I like the gym, that’s why I like swimming, these are times that give me legitimate reason to day dream. But surely it’s time to grow out of this teenage idealisation of life. This is a time of generativity and building of intimate relationship, so Erikson says. Failing this means falling into stagnation and isolation. I like to think that I only need to do my own best. But I do mind. I just make it like Holden Caulfield, stand off and be cynical, yet underneath, long to belong somehow. People say don’t worry about where other people are, what others get up to, no point in comparing. Make your own way, live your own life. But when everyone is different, are they not all the same? Why is it such a sun to conform anyway? I’ve come to conclude that there needs to be a high degree of sophisticated understanding and acceptance to age. I guess that’s why people say suicide is the coward’s way out. But where do people gain the wisdom? At the age of 31, I am “stepp'd in so far, that, should I wade no more, returning were as tedious as go o'er”.

night dreamer

Two nights in a row, having to try to convince people that they should live instead of topping themselves. You can see though, that they are just angry – angry at the boyfriend who is now with a “new bitch” and this other man…well, he just needs to toughen up! Spent hours trying to convince him to go, instead of me having to section him. Argued with me that his life SHOULD be peaceful, happy. WHO SAID?! Face it, life is not fair. Life is sad. BUT don’t despair, it’s not forever! He said he’s so torn between living and dying. He shouldn’t have to live with such torment. I replied that people are always making choices. He remarked that I looked like I “got it together”. Little did he know on the way there, I was day…well, night dreaming about my new cunning plan to continue contact with my boss (who is officially single!!) even though I’m changing jobs… that’s why I could refrain from hitting him on the head telling him to toughen up….anyway, I digress. But I replied that I don’t particularly like getting up at 3 in the morning to listen to sad stories (not in those exact words but in essence) but we make choices for goals. He is a father of FIVE for crying out loud! Anyway, I won’t go on, but I felt such a fake, saying all these “validating things” that I don’t really believe in, when all I really want to do is say “look, it’s your choice, you don’t have to be able to get out of this on your own, but you have to let me help, if not, then good night!” Anyway, I am clearly rather good at pretending because he stayed. I suppose I’ve also been reflecting on the fact that some of my more junior colleagues have managed to past the exam which I have failed twice, and have to face again in October. It’s pretty damning evidence against my professional abilities. In spite of that, my boss (who unfortunately is quite unaware of my immature crush) and many others provide me with boosts such as “the best always takes three goes” and “I will wait for you” (although, well, I really don’t think Dr Suave meant that, he is after all, Dr Suave), did soften the blow. And I reflected on where I am going with life. What can I say, I like what I do. I hate the nights and the on calls but, on a day to day basis, it’s what I want to do. (although for the next 6 months, it may be less pleasurable to go to work, because of the lack of soothing eye confectionary). I am, even if I don’t pass the exam, satisfied with the nature of my work. I can only be thankful for having the opportunity to do it  I suppose it’s just that I owe God to pass this thing, because I can do more, being a consultant. Saw Nigella Lawson again on TV. Yeap, if I was a guy, I would develop an erotomanic delusion about her, then DON”T treat me! She is GORGEOUS. Oxford graduate. Graceful. Individual. @#$%%^* beauty in every sense of the word. Exuding warmth and motherly security…even now, as a girl…if I met her in person…I might… HAAAAAAAAAA. Yep, I’m fully aware of who might be reading this, and I take full responsibility for the entire passage above! SO THERE!

on aging

I wondered what is it about being old that makes it so unacceptable. People speak of the disinterest in thrill seeking as a loss. The physical deterioration can understandably be frightening. Yet discernment, acceptance, wisdom about life, can’t be gained without the passage of time. It is as if happiness is solely defined by being young, thin, good looking, and perhaps rich. Any deviation is negative and detrimental to your social standing. Even if you are happy with the difference, others are obligated to beat you into submission and make sure you are not accepted. It is as if there is no possible way of obtaining pleasure anymore, once we admit that we are old. When we are unwilling or unable to party all night and go bungy jumping, it is disclosed with reluctance and regret. As if we are ashamed of allowing the defeat, allow age conquer us. But why should it be a loss? Why can the change not be seen as gaining in maturity? There are activities which do not involve death defying feats and substances which are not mind altering, that brings pleasure. It seems to me, the widening of experience is an advantage. I guess getting older, things take longer to do. “Good things take time”. Taking pleasures in daily life - soaking up the warmth of the sun on the balcony, feeling the touch of gentle breeze pass my skin, horridly boring? Yet these are everyday part of life as well. I sometimes wonder what life may look like, if we take the time to take note of our senses and surroundings. May be today’s society is not willing to spend “time” anymore. It’s ironic that technology is aimed to make daily living easier, to free up time yet people are increasingly frugal to spend time for any body else, other than themselves. The caring and inclusion of the aged requires precisely that. People are more at ease at talking about death than at aging. Yet it is this stage of life that is lengthening. I wonder how people will cope. I wonder how I will cope.

How can I be worthwhile

There are days like this when I feel “I can’t live like this”. The point of continued existence in a place that doesn’t sees you. No one notices if you are here or not. The world carries on turning whether I am here or not. And there is no reason for things to be different. Yet it does beg the question, why am I here. For sure God made me. God loves me for who I am. There is no one else like me. Yet the problem is, there is nothing about me that makes me special. Obviously, it reflects a fundamental neediness about me, a need for external validation, to give me a reason for being. Surely as a Christian, God should be enough. But it’s not. And that is a scary realisation. Who else can be sufficient if even God is not enough? Therein lays the problem. There is the narcissistic survival instinct that thinks I am intelligent, pretty girl with a respectable job and good people skills, surely people would like me. There are several problems in that statement alone. “Girl”. At the ripe old age of 30, despite deceivingly young appearance, psychologically I seem stuck at this age of wanting to be looked after. My infatuation with my consultant is a subconscious need for a father figure. My obsession with exercise and body size probably reflects a subconscious unwillingness to grow up. I still make girlish faces. I pout and poke my tongue out like a kid. I screw up my face when I see something yucky! I fear that I would end up like one of my patients, unable to accept my own mortality, ordinariness, yet without the courage to do anything about it. I’ve come to the conclusion that I need a fundamental belief that I am worthwhile for some reason. Only then I will find comfort in knowing that God has a purpose for me and only me. Faith is a complex concept. It is because God is unseen that it requires faith to believe. I don’t particularly need faith to believe that my computer exists, given I’m typing on it right now. But how do people develop that sense of worthiness? I suppose that’s why people seek intimate relationships – someone that sees me as special, and would only feel that way about me. Yet people are such unreliable creatures – changing their minds all the time. No relationship guarantees the unconditional acceptance that I need, except God. Yet without experiencing it in life, I don’t know what it should feel like with God. Without having the certainty of God, I have no esteem. How can I love others when I don’t know if I am worth it? I am not special but I cannot accept being ordinary. How does one live with that?

mariah carey, jugs and knockers

Just saw Mariah Carey on C4. She was prancing around in precious little, twisting about in awkward angles, cleavage … actually, I almost think it’s better described as plates of Jello stuck to a bit of shirt, where the shirt was worn as a dress. Sigh, what has happened to the once soulful songstress who hit notes which only dogs could hear?! I used to like her songs. I had nothing against the soppy love songs and syrupy lyrics she used to write. But now, her videos resemble a corny, low budget, bad porn movie (NOT that I have actually seen any…). Is that what happens to women close to 40, clinging onto youth by a bra strap?! What kills me is her facial expression, presumably to appear provocatively sexy. The result was more like a very cheap hooker on K Road (again, not that I have actually hired one before) trying to get some business. What happened to aging gracefully?! I suppose no one would even consider me sane when I say that I think Helen Mirren is beautiful. Not to mention Nigella Lawson. In the age when stick insects with 2 jugs stuck in the midriff region regarded as beautiful, I can only confess that I am a bit of a radical in this department. It’s INFURIATING how people keep advocating for tolerance of differences, celebrating individuality, yet we have SUCH narrow allowance for acceptable appearance! I am by no means a feminist. I like a man who is strong, decisive and in control, much like my current boss, in fact. He’s tall, wise, dependable, knowledgeable yet sensitive (paused to wipe saliva off…). I feel safe in his presence. I freely admit that I like being protected. What I do protest, is the rigid fixation on youth, objectivification of women into warm blooded sex toys. Having talented singers like MC reducing herself to 2 jugs and an ass, is Shakespearian tragedy material. Hmm, I wonder why I am so looking forward to Thursday’s comedy show with people from work…wa hahahaha.

the art of not travelling

While on holiday, I read the book by Alain De Botton “the Art of Travel”. It seemed like he was not a fan of travelling. He quoted various travellers and philosophers like Charles Baudelaire, who was less interested in travelling than in the apparatus of travel, and Edward Hopper's paintings of hotels, roadside eateries, gas stations and so forth. It was interesting to read it while travelling. “For the traveller, most objects don't come affixed with the question that will generate the excitement they deserve. There is usually nothing fixed to them at all, or if there is it tends to be the wrong thing.” I agreed with him that often, the anticipation of travel was better than the actual place. It is almost as if the anticipation is the actual utopic destination of travel. We are somehow blind to the mundane details of travel. We see the palm trees and white beaches but not the pressing heat and flies. We somehow forget that some mundane daily rituals still need to occur when on holiday. At various tourist sites, we are inundated with facts like, “the church was built in 1412 with marble stone…”, which, has little meaning and will be forgotten within the next 10 steps. Facts like that have little meaning to the traveller and therefore add little to the travelling experience. De Botton then spoke of a visit to Provence after seeing Van Gogh’s paintings of the region. His tour visited various places resembling Van Gogh’s paintings. This allowed visitors to experience those places in different ways – the quiet cafes and cobbled streets brightly lit by gas lamps. He highlighted the importance of art in opening up perspectives and exaggerating various aspects of situations and objects, to illustrate the artist’s perceptions. In painting and writing, details are noted and better understanding of the observed ensues. This understanding of detail will then lead to further appreciation of the object. Indeed, you cannot draw or describe an orchid without studying it closely. The most thought provoking part of the book for me, was the last part. If travel is to enrich experience, it would surely make sense to pay similar expectation of wonder in our daily surroundings, to serve the same purpose. De Botton mentioned Xavier de Maistre who undertook a journey around his bedroom and published an account of what he had seen in Journey around My Bedroom; this was followed by a sequel Nocturnal Expedition around My Bedroom. I loved the conclusion he made "the pleasure we derive from journeys is perhaps dependent more on the mindset with which we travel than on the destination we travel to".

life coach to myself

People ask me how my holiday in Borneo went. I keep saying, hesitantly, “challenging”. It’s everything I thought I would never tolerate – no own room, sharing toilets, sticky and dirt…It was good in the sense that I realised I could do what I didn’t think I could. If I don’t think of it as a holiday, but as a test of my tolerance and limits, a sense of accomplishment ensues. While coming down from Mt Kinabalu, my legs were wobblier than Jello! In the end, I was partly carried off the mountain, oh the shame! On the hike from Camp 5 to Mulu, there were so many times I just wanted to stop and give up. I knew that there was no choice but to keep going. There were days that were dripping humidity. Yet I still had to slap on layers of sunscreen and insect repellent making my already sticky skin gooey- stickier! The obvious question would be, “why am I doing this”. A calm deep voice replies, “you chose it”. Who can I blame? Who is going to pity me, when I choose a holiday of torture? May be that is why I was so determined to reframe it as a challenge and come out happy with my choice. I suppose it made me think again that there are times when we need help and then there are times when we just have to persevere on. I sometimes wonder what I have missed out on, by giving up, because I thought I couldn’t. At the same time, I wondered if I persist in certain things when I should have acknowledged that it was beyond me. Although it did occur to me that the times when I had help, if I was given enough time, I would eventually get there. So may be, if I want something, keeping at it, would get me there. So what is it that makes me give up? The other girl on the tour is a policewoman. She is like fitness reincarnated! I suppose in seeing her, I thought “I should get there by now, she did!” Not accounting for the fact that she is taller, better prepared and used to this type of adventure than myself. The lesson, therefore, may be that if I set myself a goal, keep my eyes on it. That entails not looking at other people on the track but keeping the finish line in sight. Naturally, I am thinking of exams. I might well take longer than some to pass the exam (and to be fair, there are many who are taking much longer than me), but if that is what I want, I need to persevere. The end will be in sight. This reads like a life coach motivating spiel huh! Oh well, I can be my own life coach then  Alright, off to the … haa haa…and comedy festival 

from nigella to borneo to samoa

Haven’t blogged for ages. It took me a while to motivate myself to do this again. It’s weird how people so often find it so hard to do the things that are supposed to be good for them. The need for instant gratification wins over me every time. Nigella Lawson is on TV. I think she is one of the sexiest women alive! I love her accent. She is so elegant and womanly. I love her accent. She gives me this warm fuzzy feeling that I just want to lie on her bosoms and fall into a light afternoon nap. She is what I hope my mother to be. Even her name is cool – Nigella. Apparently her parents were expecting and hoping for a boy, so much so that when it turned out to be a ‘her”, they showed their disappointment by her name. Parents can be so cruel some times. That is precisely why I prefer not to have any children. Her cooking is as warm and full as her. She has no inhibitions. She cooks decadent chocolate cakes. She uses her hands to bite into pieces of pork crackling. The smile of satisfaction has none of the inhibitions of other women. I wish I was her! Anyway, I digress. There are so many things on my mind I want to write about. I haven’t even written about my “Survivor” holiday in Borneo! I will do that later. I went to watch the play “Where we once belonged” last night. It visited my favourite topic – culture and identity. It started off with the Samoan mythical explanations of how the world came into being, then Samoa, then Samoans. It zoomed down into the Samoan way of life, from the beginning to now. I thought it was somewhat cliché towards the end, where much of adolescence was centred on sex and infidelity. Nonetheless it very nicely reflected the loss of tradition as generations strive for what men call “progress”. It’s interesting how it echoed what I thought about on my Borneo trip. It seems universal that man always wants to “have more”, and “have it easier”. Some times we term it progress, and then at some stage, it becomes ambitions, until somewhere down the line, it becomes greed. It seems too easy to loose sight of the cost as we progress down this continuum of desire. So the play portrayed the daily life of a family through the ages. The invasion of western influences creeps into the lives of each generation. The casualties are the spirit of community, the uniqueness of being Samoan, grounded by myths and legends. The most memorable scene for me was at the school. The American teacher asked for the pupils to talk about what each saw on their way to school. The response was “what for” because they would all be saying the same thing! There is no “I”, “I” is always “we”. People might criticise the old ways, its inability to tolerate differences. I think the play is lamenting the loss of camaraderie and relationships in the pursuit of a “better life”. I think of the Iban people whom I stayed with in Borneo. There is no concept of bedrooms. Each family sleep together on the floor. Extended families live on the same longhouse. Each evening they sit in the communal veranda area, chatting and drinking tea. I wondered how “progress” would encroach on their way of life. Would progress mean that each family would want their own space and own house? Would it mean families would “give their children space” and build bedrooms? It seems so ironic to me, that communication is designed to connect people. Yet text messages eliminate the need to talk to people. The internet removes the need to go to the neighbourhood grocer. To be fair, it did occur to me, that the daily needs are so hard that it allows very little time for anything else. It is easy to just let one day merge into another. By the time the family had been fed, washing done, house cleaned, it’s time to sleep. I suppose that was how the desire for technology started, to free up time for leisure and art. According to Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, only when needs are met for survival, would one “rise up” to the need to be spiritually fulfilled and content. I do wonder, however, how true it actually is. If the person had not thought about the reason to carry on living, there would not be a need to survive in the first place. Even in primitive times, there were legends, spiritual rituals developed to explain life. So “lack of progress” does not necessarily mean an absence of philosophical pursuits. So is “progress” truly that much of a necessity? Or may be I just need to loosen up and go to the comedy festival instead 

diary of a glass of red wine

She didn't really like me. So I sat there, watching. The three of them. To my Italian eyes, they all look similar. They are fairly well dressed. I wouldn't say that they were bad looking at all. My redness swirled around the glass and settled. They talked about the usual - life, work, death and men. It was like an old record, turning round and round again playing the same old tune. The single one moaned about being single, another moaned about the foreign lover being foreign, and the one with a partner complained he was too needy. I wondered why couldn't they ever be happy? Is it really that hard to be human? Do they have nothing to talk about other than complaints? The most annoying thing is, they don't seem to do anything about it! OK ok, to be fair, one of them did say she was going to write a letter to her boss to complain. I mean, why can't they accept the way things are and be content? Wrinkles are a natural. Boobs sag! There will always be people better, prettier, wittier. It's life! Yet, I know I'm red and I don't try to make myself any other colour. I know that meat brings out the best in me. I don't try to force myself to go with fish! People need to find like minded people and spend time together. It's just like wines are meant to be drunk. Different people will like different wines. It's not fair to compare a Savignon Blanc with a Muscat. But if a red doesn't leave the cellar because it is in a seafood restaurant, it surely needs to go to a steak house instead. It's pointless just sitting on the shelf, hoping someone would read your label. She just sits and writes dribble online. And I'm the one without the cerebral activity?! She lifted the glass. A part of me disappeared in between her lips. I felt her eye brows gathered, the most slightest of a wince. I suppose, out of politeness, she smiled to her companions. Doesn't like red wine, no wonder she can't find a man! She needs a sophisticated man to teach her what is important in life! Sigh... at least she didn't pretend that she liked me, but offered me to her companions instead.

A diminutive octogenarian visits her husband every day. He is blind. He is deaf. He is severely demented. He does not recognise her. At best, he introduces her as “an old friend”. At his worst, he hits her because she is poisoning him. She walks backwards. Both of her hands hold onto his, guiding him to the toilet, the dinning room, to his bed. As I watch her, I wonder, “what do you see in him?” If relationships are based on one personality connecting with another, is this a freak of nature? I assume the past that they shared, is like a pair of x ray vision glasses. It pierces through the mask of dementia to reveal the good soul. They are expensive nowadays. The price of “self” had rocketed and there is no sign of the market slowing down. The reserve bank of religion tries to raise the interest rates on sex, drugs and morals but it doesn’t work. Perhaps there is more awareness of the subprime crisis on commitment now. I liquidised the investment on relationships to the hedged fund of a career. The assets of self esteem from the hedge fund of a career are subject to a huge performance fee paid for by time and effort. I tried several managed fund of good upright Christian boys. They sought my meagre self as money worthwhile to pursue for business. So I put down my assets for them to manage. I understand it has been known as a safe and profitable investment strategy that often yields fruitful lifelong relationships. However, I find it strangely unsatisfying. At my own cost, I pulled out of these early. Finally, for one as reclusive as me, I retreated to the ultra conservative term investment of the internet. I gathered that I would not find a reasonable return of a soul mate but I suppose at least I won’t run into a loss. Although, I guess, subconsciously, I am still hoping for some sort of return… Now, if anyone understands what I’ve just written here, I salute you and will happily throw you a drink, even if it is just on facebook J

dribbling thoughts

A young professional enters the Viaduct. Loud pulsating music accompanied by taut slim bodies on the dance floor. Fountains of beer, liquor release the tension of the working week. His male pheromones mix with the sweat scented curves of a particular leggy blonde. Touch becomes the language of the lonely. The universal expression of the crowd swallows the couple. At the other end of the city, a young man sits on the edge of the bridge. He stands. The voices continue their endless pursuit. He has no where to hide. His neighbours spread vicious rumours of him being a paedophile. He can hear them, even now, miles away from the neighbourhood. Street signs warn pedestrians that he is on leave from the hospital. Doctors tell him he’s getting better. Nurses tell him to stop drug seeking. He does not speak the language of this world. He jumps. In 2 bedroom brick unit, a woman turns on the computer. She logs onto “trademe”. She types “for sale, baby’s boots, never worn*”. In the trendy suburb of Mount Eden, a group of young Christians sits around a café. They talk and laugh. Each speak of their experience of what God had done in their lives this week. Many mini sermons are exchanged but no one actually heard. Words are exchanged but no feelings shared. All superficialities of care conveyed but do any of them actually know each other? He stretches out his wrinkled sun kissed hand, searching for the strangely unfamiliar chubby arm of a likely foreigner. Muffled sounds of a foreign tongue drift into his deaf ears. He follows the guide of the hand and stands up. He does not know where he is, not that it matters very much to him anyway. He has been fed strangely tasteless mush which stopped his stomach growling. He sometimes descends into an whirlwind of fear, for he cannot find the life he had led amongst his memories anymore. In a time where aging is forbidden, he is now obsolete. Each event is unrelated linked only by the neuronal activity of a particular psychiatric registrar. It is strange how invisible sodium ions jumping in, potassium flowing out of a piece of fatty membrane, generated this passage. Everything has changed. Nothing is different. “Really?” “Really.” Really.

bloody asians!

I have a run of Asians on the ward at the moment. It's interesting as they evoke both different and similar reactions from me as the non Asian patients. There is this Korean man. He overdosed because of money problems. I asked him, as a general screen for dementia and his level of functioning, "so normally, during the day, what do you do?" He replied, "I sit around, go for walks". To clarify if there were risks of self cares associated, I asked, "do you do some housework or cook? Had there been any problems with leaving hot tap on, or the stove on?" He replied, in his high, thin, wiry voice, "Those are women jobs. And my wife hasn't been feeding me properly. She hasn't been doing my laundry either"...ooookkkkkk... I thought, I’m SO glad I’m not a Korean woman! But I am no feminist. So to be fair, I have to write down this one. I can only say this because I am a Chinese person of the female sex. Anyone else making such comments, I am bound to leap up and strangle him/ her, or at least pin them to the wall with my piercing brown slanty little Asian eyes! So, Asian women. Known somatisers - that is, if they were depressed, they were likely to say, "i have a headache" but tell you so many times, YOU would start getting the headache. The following conversation occurred on Friday, between myself and a Chinese woman with a psychotic illness. She is probably also suffering from depression which she expresses by incessant complaints of either heart burn/ rumbling stomach/ loose bowels/ constipation/ going too frequently/ not going enough.. On admission, I wrote up her drug chart. She was on EVERY antiacide EVER made! So I asked her, "Mrs X, you are on an aweful lot of medications for your stomach!" She replied, "I have a really bad stomach problem doctor, none of these medications help". I said "gosh that's an aweful lot of medication to take with no effect, why do you keep taking them?" "I don't doctor. I only take them when I feel I need them, doctor. As you know doctor, us Asians are very sensitive to side effects. I avoid pills as much as possible". "But you have discomfort from your gut everyday!" "Yes doctor, the medicines don't work". "But you don't take them!". "No doctor, please give me something that works..." sigh...if i EVER get that way, PLEASE put me down!

Of suffering. Who knew.

I was at the gym today, as usual, to pursue my sadistic pleasure. In my blurry vision ( I don’t wear my glasses at the gym) I made out the form of an Asian girl. If I was any more short sighted, I might have missed her altogether! She was put new meaning to the adjective “stick figure”! I knew I shouldn’t, but just as boys can’t leave a dead insect alone, I couldn’t help looking. Honestly, if you looked from an angle, you could mistake it for a piece of hair in front of your eye. Don’t get me wrong. I am not making fun of her. Nor am I pitying her. I, for one, would be first to volunteer that my self image and eating habits aren’t entirely related to hunger. It did, however, lead me to think, what drives her. I have blogged (evidently, this is not a word in Microsoft Word) about body image and my views on that before. I won’t repeat myself. Instead, I wondered about pain…and perhaps suffering. To distract myself from staring, I started thinking. I was listening to the BBC yesterday (yes, it’s a fetish of mine). An Anglican bishop was giving a talk on Lent, on giving up pleasures. He said that Christians emphasise the suffering of Jesus too much. There were, afterall, more painful ways of dying in those days. He felt that the Jesus’ mission was to spread the Good News for the living, not for the dead. So He said, Let the dead bury the dead (don’t know which bit of scripture it’s from) to people, which was outrageous to the Jews in those days. The reason for Jesus’ death on the Cross was for the redemption of life. Thus the ultimate important issue is Life not death or suffering. A point he felt, is lost, in today’s pre occupation with explanations for why God allows disasters. I guess he’s trying to say that it’s important to look at life, and live it, not trying to explain it. Bad things happen to good people. Good things happen to bad people. Perhaps Christians have a defensiveness around suffering – why their God, my God (given that I do identify myself as a Christian), allows it to happen. Understanding is important to enable “getting through” but when it becomes an all consuming pursuit, it can be a hindrance. And there has been a lot of talk along this line around me presently…Hmm, I hope no one from my church reads this… Anyway, God meant for all things to be good and beautiful. It is the interference of sin (original sin is often cited here) that it doesn’t work out that way. God therefore chose to atone this by Jesus’ sacrifice. It is along the idea of a judge, wouldn’t simply annul a law, to acquit a murder, even if the murderer is his blood brother. Did God allow it to happen? Apparently so. Did He want it to happen? Doesn’t seem like it, otherwise why bother with the atonement? Could He have stopped it? Probably, if you believe He can do all things as the Bible claims. Why He didn’t stop it? That is the question. At this point, I think it is also important not to loose sight of the ULTIMATE goal – for people to be fulfilled and happy. But because of the problem with sin (original sin and all), it had to be atoned. Hence the Cross and Jesus’ death. But what God truly wants, is for people to be happy – contentment, perhaps is a better word. For I’m certain God does not condone partying all night, take drugs, get #@$%%^. I guess I take a very pragmatic view of things. I, for one, cannot explain suffering, why it happens to good people, why it happens to bad people. I have had shit happen in my life. “shit” – dad having a stroke, the best person I know developing a horrible mental illness, I don’t know if it is “shit” in God’s eyes but it feels like it to me. The way I look at it, it happens to everyone, some more than others. One has no choice about it. One does, however, choose how to react. I hope I’m not sounding self righteous. I have many, MANY weaknesses, skeletons in the Olivia Lee closet is stacked! Granted that understanding “why” it happens helps one to deal with it, I wonder, if the reason it remains an enigma may be the God doesn’t want it to be understood…just now. PERHAPS, if we understood it, we would become complacent. Maybe, not knowing, thus constant questioning, leads to pursuit of improvement, even if, the ultimate eradication of suffering, is not, within human means. Part of the purpose of being human, is getting there… Back to reality. Sweat and heat of the gym floor. I wince at her every movement. I fear she might snap at any moment. Plus the fact that she keeps dropping these silent farts that are quite frankly…lethal. So I went home promptly. PS. The second bit of the title refers to the Eminem song…and yes, as an Asian female, I agree with that line referring to driving :-P

and my mother too

The way my blog doesn’t keep spaces is really annoying. It makes out like I don’t know how to form paragraphs. So I’m typing this in word, wonder if it would make a difference. I had an “exchange” with mum again today, via e mail. I told her I was planning to go to Borneo over Easter for a holiday before I settle down and start studying for the exam in October. She again used the typical Asian woman passive aggressive reply. Essentially, she felt I shouldn’t go, for various reasons I won’t elaborate on. Given that relationship between me and my mum are, at best, icy, this didn’t help. My weekly visit to her place is out of cultural responsibility and not much else. Yet, I know, in my deepest of hearts, that she loves me. I know, in below the deepest buried skeleton of my closet, I love her too. I then wondered what it was that drove us to act with such hostility and passive aggressiveness. Each time we have a “disagreement” (absolute understatement) it inevitably arouse guilt as deep as the Grand Canyon. As I said, I know she is my mother. Perhaps more to the point, how things could change. I came to the conclusion that we are two people, each with our own world view, our own faults and credits. In our own circles, we receive validation for who we are. We may disagree but it does not necessarily mean that one of us is wrong. Afterall, as I previously blogged (evidently this is not a word on Microsoft word…), we are entitled to be ourselves. Implicit in that we each have the right to be respected for who we are. If she believes that she is right, and she can somehow construct the world to agree with her, who am I to dispute? But then I thought, if she is allowed to believe as she wishes, how does this differ from being “delusional” or mental? No, that wasn’t a joke! Well, may be… But seriously, if we lock up people who think differently from ourselves (you can argue that is what a delusion is, belief that other people don’t agree with), my mother say that I am a failure because I haven’t passed my RANZCPsych exam, or that travelling is a waste time and money, walking through her door tomorrow, what makes me sane and her insane? Or vice versa for that matter. I tried to think of reasons for her comments. I can only conclude that she wants me to do well. She knows the importance of career and financial independence. It is because she wants that for me, yet she is not me, she says and acts as she does. Who know? Maybe I would find that I am mistaken for spending so much on travelling. Maybe I should pay more attention to my appearance to find a husband. YET, I am my own person. In being such, I am responsible for the choices I make. Clever roads. Successes. Sadistic acts. Callous views. All. I think I’ve reached some sort of agreement with myself – I’m still allowed to do as I do. I can find no good solution except to say that I will try to see the relationship behind the interactions. It is too much to ask of her to understand me. We are polarities apart EXCEPT for the blood connection. I can agree to disagree with my patients on matters like aliens control their brain. As long as they don’t go exorcising their aliens from their heads, I am happy to discharge them home. I can surely do that with my own mother. God made her my mother. I don’t dare to say that God is wrong! The relationship drove us to be connected, the relationship keeps me to her. Relationships, funny thing isn’t it.

reflections from On Beauty by Zadie Smith

Tonight is the last of the night shift, yay! Over the week, I've managed to finish the Bill Bryson book and this one by Zadie Smith. It was a very enjoyable read. I wondered why it was called "On Beauty". I thought about "beauty" from several angles. Most superficially, beauty as in appearance and size. It was interesting how Smith mentioned each woman's size, the women's own view of beauty, as well as making some comments to what society call beauty. I thought it was intriguing how the African/ black women all had different view on size and beauty according to, if you like, how white they are on the inside. That is, the more ethnically connected, the less that woman was inclined to value being skinny, having big breasts and round bottom, as beautiful. Kiki, the main female character was obese yet constantly being described as being beautiful, even by other women. The beauties in the paintings referred to in the book would be judged as obese by today's society. Yet these paintings are the lifetime works of men, yet more men devote a life time to study. They are valued by today's society, in the millions. How conflicting and incongruous. What is the standard of beauty would society have us believe? There is the idea of "beauty" being innocence. In the story, Levi was taken by the plight of the Haitians and poverty in general. Despite being a middle classed suburbana teenager, he found himself fighting, even, in the end, potentially sacrificing his future, for a people whom, superficially, have nothing in common with. It was purely recognising that those in poverty were made of the same essence as himself. That was sufficient "glue" to stick him to them. He has no other redeeming quality, yet, I thought his naivety beuatiful. How many of us can give up so much, for something so distant. Next I come to the beauty of strength. If I had written this book and called it On Beauty, it would be because of Kiki. Obese. Black. Menopausal. How does a woman, whose belly hangs over the elastics of leggings, that spreads beyond the handles of a seat, be beautiful? By being kind, generous, genuine. She is the mother - to her children, her husband and her friends. In putting the needs of others in front of her own, she is the "looker - after-er". Perhaps it is this reason she forgave her husband's infidelities. Yet a genuine entitlement to being herself led her to both sense and express the betrayal and disappointment she felt. Yes, "entitlement to be yourself". I really liked that expression. One needs to be taught that we are all entitled to be ourselves. It is a God given right. Otherwise He would not have made us the way we are. Because we are allowed to be ourselves, we are allowed to be possessive of the love of our lives, and feel hurt and jealousy. It is something I have yet to learn myself. I live in the shadow of what others deem beautiful. It is the root of my problem. Maybe that is why I know, at least on the intellectual level, that I am not beautiful. The natural question then, would be, how does one feel beautiful? How does one find the entitlement of being onself? From the book, I would suggest "belonging" - the sense of belonging that one is not alone, one is validated by others in that group. Perhaps it only reflects my own lack of belonging that I find the book raises this issue. In many ways, I think the characters in the book are all seeking their belonging, their identity. Clearly family is one place where one can feel accepted. Afterall, blood is thicker than water, so the saying goes. This unspeakable bond sometimes only emerges when the storm of life blows through. But what interested me was Levi's sense of comraderie in suffering in the book. It is perhaps through the lense of youth that the beauty of humanity comes into sharper focus. It leads onto a less prominent idea of beauty - the beauty of justice. I suppose I shouldn't say exactly what happened because it's a bit of climax of the book. How do you fix povery? If a poor man steals to feed his family, regardless, it is scorned by society. Voting for Hilary or Obama, would that fix it? One finds that answer through history, I would have thought. Perhaps social justice is as elusive as beauty, alluring yet unattainable. However, I do not, for one minute, advocate complacency. Much like my theory on suffering, I think perhaps the enigma of it, the unattainability of it, drives us to constantly strive for justice, for beauty. For, perhaps, beauty knows no bounds.

ramblings about DSM IV

It's the weekend again. In fact, the best day of the weekend has mostly gone already! But then again, may be we won't appreciate the weekends so much if the majority of the week are weekdays. Things are more precious when they are rare. It's the problem with being human, taking things for granted, becoming tolerant of luxury. A person in the desert would see a bottle of water as the best drink in the world. People in the developed world have to make up all these fancy drinks and bubbles to make the basic necessity of life, consumable. I am probably the first to be guilty of this. I hate water and have to add various sugars/ tea/ coffee to keep myself hydrated. The exception being at the gym, when thirst drives the foulest liquid taste like honey dew. I met up with a friend last night. I was almost reluctant to do it initially. I was afraid I would have nothingn to say. I hate the feeling of "needing to find something to talk about". I always have this fear, no matter who it is I meet. It's less troublesome with close friends but the few hours prior, I still have this anxiety about me. I can only thank God (literally) that I have friends who pull me out, ask me out. At a certain point, I establish a sense of confidence that the other person actually doesn't mind spending time with me. At that stage, I'm more at ease at asking them out. I notice that I often ask Dr Fruitloop out for movies now. Eventhough he doesn't always "say yes" to the times I suggest, he's always willing. As with Dr Sexy, she's a good friend. I don't think she realises how very few people I actually confide the things I spoke to her about. Conversely, I felt previleged to hear her thoughts and her worries. It's a funny thing, human relationships. What is it that makes one person become best friend with another? One perfectly nice person does not necessarily feel comfortable to confide with another upstanding member of society. I think of The Master. He's known me since I was a house officer. He's seen me fall apart into pool of snot and tears. Yet, our conversation cannot venture beyond jokes and gossip around work. He's uncomfortable even asking me about the most superficial of matters, outside of work. That is why I dread seeing him too often. There is only so much joking around I can manage. I scramble for topics with him. At the gym today, I was so enveloped in my imagination that I really think I should become a Mills and Boon writer! Things I fantasised so far fetched, so melodramatic, it's shameful! I was plotting in my mind, all that I would say to him, in reply to his e mail, which would remain professional, yet also disclose aspects of myself. I thought about psychiatry what I would say about adversity. Anyone can thrive in optomised condition - good upbringing, good parents, good schooling, wealth and so on. It is within adversity and how one reacts or copes, that defines oneself. I suppose the problem with mental illness is that it affects the very character of a person, how a person copes and reacts. It may be relatively easy to say the someone who believes aliens are transmitting messages through his head, is ill. Even then, I'm sure some groups in the middle of nowhere in USA, it's a normal belief! It is merky when it comes to depression and anxiety type disorders, particularly at the milder end. When does "wanting time alone" become social withdrawal and isolation? When does sadness become depression? For DSM purposes, when someone is "functionally impaired" then it is diagnosable. That in itself is such a vague concept. That is "the line" drawn, so to speak. Yet one person undergoing one set of adversity may become severely depressed. Another person with the same circumstances may not, may in fact become more resilient. One's upbringing, one's relationships and supports clearly influence this. So it's not correct to totally externalise mental illness to "sickeness", like one would, with a cold, or the pneumonia. One can see why some people choose not to "draw the line" at all, that mental illness does not exist. They say it's all character weakness and demons. As a psychiatric trainee, and a Christian, I struggle with it at times as well. I think, "the line" is arbitary, but there are clear instances where one is no longer oneself. The threshold, is then, debatable. I'm sure I have over simplified the issue. Indeed, I have not come to any conclusion. In a way, I think "the line" of pathology needs to be personalised, on a person by person case. After all, each person's resources and weaknesses are different. Even their level of functioning is different. Thus an illness which is causing "functional impairment" in a professor, may be inappropriate for a street sweeper. Hmm...

incurable day dreamer

Over the weekend, I had no computer. I felt SO lonely! I didn't have the net to procrastinate so I did manage to do some reading as well as finish the book God Delusion by Richard Dawkins. Yet I still avoid invitations and social gatherings. WHY??? I ask myself. I spend my day between work, gym, computer. I do, however, ask a select group of people to do things. It is always at my discretion. I relish that control I suppose. Obviously, I only want to interact with people that I enjoy the company of. That is not to say that I don't like the company of the gatherings I avoid. It is so weird. I'm not social phobic but I am such an incurable hermit! I can see that when I get old and demented, there is a high probability I would end up in urban legends as the spinster old witch! That's why I need a husband I suppose :-P In fact, the two women I met up with in the weekend told me to give them The List and they will pray for me! HAAA! Well, here it is - tall, dark, handsome but love me to the end of time, humourous and intelligent, someone that would protect me! As you can see, it's pretty much only Prince Charming from Fairytale Land would do (in fact, he probably won't do, he's too pale!). So I too have to live in LaLaLand. Any single guy I meet, that is remotely soothing to the eye, and I have interactions with, I day dream about. So the current one is good with money, a professor, and a real family man :-P I'd hopefully never meet him in person otherwise all the qualities my imagination attributed to him may be spoilt! Ahhhh, I'm a weird incurable hermit!

incredible women

Yeah! Got my computer back! But, it has NOT been fixed. BUT the original problem seem to have gone. MAGIC! Gosh, didn't blog in the weekend because of Dell getting sick :-) and they took 5 #$^%&^* days to get the part, and STILL it hasn't been fixed...so really, I would not recommend Dell ever again! It's so nice to have a holiday today. Slept in until 9. It's such a luxury when I usually get up at 5 in the flipping morning...ok ok, it's self inflicted because of my obsession with going to the gym. I realised that is the only place I can legitimately day dream. I can imagine myself as the lead singer in Muse, fanatically jumping around with the base guitar, with an evil smile singing Apocalypse Please. I go into Narcissistic-Histrionic Land imaging myself as Christina Aguilera or Jennifer Lopez gyrating on the stage or dancing in suggestive moves to certain members of the audience - usually certain people I have a crush on at the time :-P I know, it's embarassing. Surely at the age of 31, I should have migrated out of LalaLand and into the more depressing United Kingdom of Reality. Anyway, that is why I am so obsessed with going to the gym. Met up with another Christian woman in the weekend. It never ceases to amaze me how some people can be so enthusiastic, so full of optomism all the time. I suppose I like her also because she and her friend seem to see my achievements rather than failures. They are in a different field of work also made it less likely I felt competitive in any way. It is also probably no coincidence that they are both generous size so I don't feel threatened. I find it sad that is the probable underlying reason. It just reflects how I still have this need to "step down" on others to feel myself valued. Yet, it was a good experience. One of the woman had lived in Africa, she gave up law to work because of poverty. The other woman studied film. She worked in such colourful places including massage parlours that I realised they are SUCH UNIQUE people! They are experiences that I would most likely NOT be able to survive! As a result, I have a deep sense of respect for them. It strengthened my previous realisation. I want to define myself, and others, by character, rather than awards or appearance. I like it! I can respect them even though, if not because of, our differences. God has different paths for me from them. It does not make them or me, more or less valuable. I'm glad I'm learning this. I'm thankful to God for guiding me this way.

the final insult

Ok. She's finally used it. My mother had used the fact that I failed my fellowship exam as point of insult in an argument. My brother is back from the UK to visit. We stayed home for dinner with mum last night. Mum, as usual, cooked way too much. We told her to stop because, to be frank, her cooking isn't the best, and there was enough to feed 10 for just the 4 of us anyway. So on that, she took offence. Obviously, food symbolised her care and worthiness. When she perceived that we were rejecting it, she got angry. So insults started. "There are PhDs all over the streets, nothing special" to my brother. "I get on so well with others people, it's just you two that have problems with me, it is YOU that are abnormal, YOU". She moves over to my side and said, "try and try and you still fail". I didn't feel like crying. I contemplated whether I felt hurt or not. I came to the conclusion that I must do, in some way. Otherwise I wouldn't be writing now. I always knew this would happen. I knew my mother comes out with comments she believes would hurt the most, when she feels injured. I'm not sure how I feel. I was somewhat suprised that I didn't want to cry. In realising this, I felt proud. I must have some other sense of my worthiness, some other means, that I wasn't fatally wounded. At the same time, I wanted to grasp at what it was, that I found my success in, exactly what it was that I found my value in. By making it conscious, I can conjure it up more easily when it is required. At home, I looked for volunteering travel tours in the hope that I can make some difference. I contemplated what would I do if I don't pass this exam. Would I be happy working as a medical officer rather than a consultant. I wondered if I felt confident in my abilities at work without having the letters FRANZCP behind my name. Perhaps more poignantly, if there was no one to look down on, in comparison to myself, would I still be worth something? I will never be the most beautiful amongst my friends. I do not endeavour to be the thinnest. I am not the most intelligent amongst the people I know. I am not the most altruistic or caring. I am not the most daring nor am I the most sportive. Is identity required to be "the most" in one area or another? If one is unique in the world, one must be "the most" in one form or another. I am, at the very least, "the most" me of all the people in the world! The question would therefore be, is being the most "me" a quality to be proud of? I am who I am. Things I do, though not unique, constitute me, in its combination. This combination, makes me. Therefore if "I" was to be good, this combination of thoughts, feelings, behaviours ought to how I want to be. I need to do because I believe in it, feel because that is how I felt, think because it makes sense to me. I don't need to be "better" than someone else, I just need to be me. In reply to my mother, yes, I accept that I failed my exams twice. I wasn't up to the mark for the exam. I am still single at the age of 31. I don't have good relationships with my parents. These make up part of me, but not all of me. My reaction to these circumstances define me, not these circumstances themselves. My coping is by no means perfect. The "better" I resolve to compare to, is myself, and myself only. In becoming a newer better me, is enough. Therefore I do not need her approval, or anyone elses' recognition. I am answerable to myself. That was why I didn't fall into pieces even if my mother thinks me a failure.

American Gangsters, the movie. I thought the movie was reasonable. I felt something was missing, some sort of "heart". It was well shot and the characters had reasonable depth. It was interesting the parallel and contrast between Denzel Washington and Russell Crowe. Denzel Washington went into so much effort to be aristocratic and "white". It must reflect a kind of inferiority complex. May be it is similar to the "immigrant mentality"concept. It is that ambition and anger which helped him to risk his life to "show 'em". In many ways, it is a useful mechanism to drive one to excel and fulfil one's own potential. Yet, it is so hard to strike a balance, between drive and acceptance - accepting circumstances as they are. He could well have quit the business while he was ahead. He could have avoided going to jail, losing his wife and his wealth. Thinking about it though, may be, it's something he had to go through. I don't know where he is or whether he returned to a life or crime. But that experience, the rapid rise to power then free fall into the absyss of jail, I wonder how it affected him. If he didn't go to jail, would he be the same person? Would it have made him a better person? THe deprivation in his upbringing may have influenced him and gave him the impetus to fight to the top. I would like to think that he would rise above this crisis in adulthood with the same force? It is interesting how power and paranoia goes hand in hand. Personally I have never experienced the joy of power. I seem to only see the associated responsibility. Nonetheless, the need to control underlying, at least part of the human craving for power, may be still another means to disguise one's fear. Fear of what? I suppose fear of adversity of any sort, a survival instinct. Power seem to imply that the person believe in an internal locus of control. Power minimises the need for external validation - because everyone is coerced into agreeing with you. I suppose that is why power is such an attractive thing. Therefore I suppose the search for knowledge is another means to deal with fear of the unknown. Obviously, the more knowledge you have, there is less that is unpredictable. One feels more confident to talk about something if one feels he knows the topic well. This then projects confidence. Why are people so afraid? What are we afraid of? Fear of exclusion. Fear of death. Would we be so concerned about global warming if we are not afraid of our own extinction? Would there still be acts of kindness if we do not fear that we would not be treated with kindness, in our own time of need? Would people believe in God if there is no fear of God? I suppose I've assumed that fear is ultimately a bad emotion. In reality, fear is necessary because it is a survival instinct. It is a balance to be struck. Completely tangential comment, OH MY GOODNESS TV ONE IS SHOWING BOWLS ALL DAY! they surely have no fear about losing ratings!

acts of defiance

I was driving past Newmarket the other day. I was struck by the skeletal nature of the mannequins and the huge poster of a young woman wrapped only by her own skin. I remember watching television some time ago. A programme got their two reporters go on extreme weight loss programme. At the end, both reporters concluded that they would not go on diets because their lives were not to revolve solely around food. One of the woman commented that she did not feel like a woman at that low weight. There were also the programmes to "help" you look younger. I remember one of the goals I set out to do this year, was to define myself. I asked myself, how do I want to be known as? Yesterday I mentioned a few qualities. I thought I would expand on it. I titled this "acts of defiance" because I endeavour not to define myself by current society values. I am unique. There is no one like me on this universe. I am a creation of God. I have no need to be anyone else other than what I was meant to be. Indeed, there is NO POINT in being someone else. Over the last 31 years, I have tried to be someone else. I wanted to be liked. I spent all my time envying others - she has such a skinny frame, she is so much more intelligent, she is so friendly and caring...and I did not see, they were not me! God knows I am not the smartest tool in the shed, nor the prettiest doll on the shelf. I have been a casualty of society's constant pressure to conform. In 2008, I declare an end to this victimisation. I acknowledge my age. In a time where preservation of youth drives nearly the whole economy, I proclaim my respect to age and wisdom. I do not long to return to myself 10 years junior. I value my experiences over the last 31 years. I would not be who I am today with one day less. I will not be ashamed of my status as a single woman. For sure I would like to have a partner but at the same time, I value my independence. I will not spend any more time coveting for my prince charming to come along sweep me off my feet. I will not allow it to prevent me from enjoying the freedom and self determination in being single. The security in knowinig that I am in control is invaluable. While everyone judges on appearance, I will not define myself by my size or my face. I don't want to criticise others for spending time and money on refining their appearance. I would like to actively exclude it from the definition of me. So how would I like to be known? I am not a perfectionist. I don't have the intellectual capabilities of A grades or even B grade person. So I start at "C" and "D" instead: Conscientious in work and study Considerate Calm Dedicated to be who I was made to be Delicate in emotions Definitive in what I stand for in life

twelve years

I went to watch Jacky Cheung's concert this week. It was absolutely brilliant. The effects were great. The costumes were beautiful. Most of all, his voice was absolutely brilliant. He sang for almost 2 1/2 hours! I can still sing along some of his songs. The human brain is just amazing in that way. Songs I haven't thought of for years, the words come to me as if I heard them yesterday. I still remember watching him with my brother the last time he was here. That was twelve years ago. 12 years ago, that was my first concert. I didn't like it. It was loud, there were teenagers screaming through the songs. His voice was hoarse. This time, I looked around and saw very few teeny-bobbies. The sound murdered a few more of my ear cells still but it was a thoroughly entertaining night. I suddenly felt embarassed. I felt like one of those old people out to watch John Rows concert or immitators of Elvis. Jeepers creepers! As I listened, I marvelled at how much he had improved over the last 12 years. His dance moves were smooth and energetic, rhythmic and professional. His voice was thick and warm even when singing without accompaniment. It was as if I was listening to the CD. Of course it leads to some reflection on myself. What have I got to say over these twelve years? I am older, more lines on my face, my joints more worn down, more cynical in my views. I want to define Olivia Lee. I want her to be conscientious. I want her to be non judgemental. I want her to be quietly contemplative. To be angry at the world's definition of her or of women. To be fun and sarcastic, cynical of the world but hopeful of the future. To be irreverantly Olivia Lee.

on the oppression of beauty 1

I wanted to write about "beauty". More accurately, I wanted to write about the "oppression of beauty". People are trialled and judged, every minute of the day, for the way they dress and look. Whether one admits it or not, beautiful people have an easier time than less attractive people. We criticise such judgements as superficial. We say that one should judge by character and substance. Honestly, how many of us can say that we do? Are we just kidding ourselves then? Should we be spend all our time making ourselves beautiful, as dictated by society standards of the time? Is it that bleak? I had brunch with a few other young women the other day. I can only envy their confidence, their vivaciousness and admire the ease they display, in their own skin. I know that when one feels good about oneself, others are attracted too. Yet I am just a hazard to myself. I wish I could be somebody else. I often wonder "what went wrong" in me that led me to be so self loathing. Looking back, I can blame no one but myself for my own demise. My brother and sister had more difficult upbringing but they both turned out successful and happy, even fulfilled. Why am I stuck in this rut of failure? The more I reflect, the more introverted I get, the more isolated and hopeless things are. It's not just about being thin. It's more than a need for success. Fundamentally, it's how one can accept oneself. Christians say, God loves you for who you are. He didn't make you this way for no reason. He didn't allow experiences in your life to occur without a purpose for your good. So what is my purpose? What is my passion? Is there any PERSON that can love me for me? Or am I such a bad case that only God can?

on "better" and things

another weekend gone. so life casually glides pass without me noticing. i endeavour to write my life down for the record. see how long i can keep this new year resolution! i've finished reading "better" by Atul Gawande. a good book. quite inspiring but slightly preachy. i suppose that's americans for you. it talks about doctoring. if you aren't a doctor, i think you might find it a bit narcissistic. you can tell he's really proud of being one. i never really thought of my patients' life hanging on the balance by my decisions. as a shrinkwannabe, it's not truly applicable that way. but i guess thinking about whether to hospitalise someone against their will, whether to inject someone when they fight you, all of that are ethical decisions unique to doctors. i would have thought that each field have their own dilemmas. i'm sure the IT field have to grapple with issues of artificial intelligence, privacy and so on. with the advent of PDAs, cell phones, they are like electronic extensions of oneself! no wonder futurologists predicts that we would be able to download/ backup/ update our souls in the next 20 or 30 years!

goals?

01 January pragmatic goals of 08 1) study and pass the RANZCP 2) organise and start up the power girl cell haahaa 3) trip with voluntary work 4) trip to widen my experience of the world - may be a biblical tour of turkey 5) read a book a month or...bimonthly 6) watch a movie a month 7) write in my blog once a week 8) may be a husband??? ultimately i just want to make the most of me

not my new year resolution

new years. never been one to make resolutions, but, over the years, getting older, one year merges into another, and another, and another. and i feel a sense of despair, "how did this happen, is it going to be just like this for the rest of my life?" "what difference would there be if i die this year or next year...or the year after that?" and i think, i must make this year count. but how? do i, (A) endeavour to do things for myself? (B) try to make a difference in the world by doing voluntary work and all? (C) let it float by because, well, really, it doesn't make any difference anyway. with my spiritual crisis, i've come to a...heritic conclusion that, it is one's choice, to believe in hope, or not. if it helps a person to cope with the inequities and inadequacies of life, then by all means, religion with the hope of ultimate rectification of all wrongs is the answer. if one is satisfied with the possibility of insignificance in the world but fulfilled by the day to day relationships and influences one have on the inner circle that surrounds him, whether God is fictional or not, is largely inconsequential. yes, blasphemy to some but i think it would be narrow minded to disregard the possibility of other views. because, we can't prove, for certain, that GOd exists, that my God is the "real one". and perhaps, it's less of an issue of "real" in the scientific sense, because science will not replace spirituality. not to mention, how one can prove that his God is the same of the next person's, makes this all the more complex issue. one's experience of God is so influenced by one's experience of relationships in the world. for myself, i opt for optomism. i choose to believe in a God. And from the limited amount I know of history and my own reasoning, Jesus, love and ultimate justice with respect for the heart, seem to make sense.

the inheritance of loss

3the inheritance of loss The title itself was appealing - prententiously yet somehow i could relate to it. As i read on, there was more i identified with than i would like to admit. It has three main story lines - Sai and her relationship with her lover, her grandfather and his past, the cook's son in the land of milk and honey that is america. To me, what bound them together, at the core of it, was the issue of identity - particularly identity for migrants, made more obvious to me because i am one myself. In this age of multiculturalism and globalisation, people are uprooted from their culture often enough anyway. Inevitably comes the loss of tradition and circuming to the the mold of Western culture. These characters have a unianimously negative encounter with the West. The irony was within the inherent sense of inferiority in being brown/ indian, harbours also the prejudice against anyone with darker skin - like the shock when Biju saw an African woman behind him on the queue to request an American visa and was successful. Even the oppressed need someone else to look down on, to assure of their own worthiness. Desai describes the poverty so vividly that you step into the mind of what drives Biju, the cook and the judge. You begin to see why materialism was a saviour to their fate. Oppressed by political, economic and caste values on one hand, yet they each view their world with the same stereotyped, unfair judgement. the character i most identified with was the cook's son Biju - gave all he had to go to America, lost his soul and family while in America, left America to return to less than what he already had lost. The loss in belonging to nowhere was heartfelt. The words are beautifully crafted so that you smell the stench of rat ridden Ghandi Cafe, feel the fear during the riots and see the beauty of the Indian/ Pakistani butterfly filled border. It may sound like a bleak novel, but it really is thought provoking. There are much bigger issues i haven't gone into but may be some of you who care to read this, would e mail me your thoughts and no doubt educate me with more insights from your side of the couch. hmm, what am i saying, i don't even know if this would get onto the website...anyway, great book, highly recommended. Olivia

lure of the world

15 December let me make you an offer you can't refuse i'll make you my muse there can be no greater honour than to be offered be my musebe my muse forget your friends forget yourself listen to me listen to them we know what's best you need to be above the rest for there is no way the mob has the only say there is no more runway you cannot runaway you wonder what is the standard what makes the richest, the tallest, the thinnest or the prettiest so you circle the skies looking for the landing you look and hope but the search is never ending because there is no other way to get there you have to pay with a life of fear there is nothing but desert out there so purge yourself in here and take on me be my muse be my muse

11 December dragged from facebook notes can't open my blog so have to do my schppeelll here. half watching Babel on dvd. i suppose communication is not that simple. words get in the way (5 languages in this movie - english, whatever middleeastern language that was, spansh, sign), actions get in the way. systems gets in the way (immigration department deporting the nanny), obviously prejudices gets in the way (the deaf girl). when the helicopter came to take Cate Blanchet away, brad pit tried to pay the person that house them. he wouldn't take it. he insisted. but he still refused. and you notice the conversation between them is blocked out by music. sometimes, i guess, communication don't need words.there was the kids talking to brad pitt on the phone. telling him about their day. words about hermit crabs and school, but it meant so much more, to a father stuck in a foreign country with his wife dying. so many times, i wonder if God is merely a concept, made up by people, as a way to explain life and all its accompanyin shit. mere figment of our imagination. oh sunday night already. where has the weekend gone? i'm protesting to God. didn't even go to church today. well, by the time i woke up, it was 11. of course i could have gotten up early but...i guess i'm protesting. i just want to...well, it's my own fault, indulging in my solitude, wallowing in my own misery. if the way to hear God is to be still, if mysticism leads one closer to spirituality, isn't church the opposite? i can't work this out. but i guess, this is still me giving myself excuses, not to relate. it's most ironic that i work in a profession that analyses relationships - one person's relationship with the world, one's relationship with one self. so it was today - another "people less" day. woke up. finished the book. gym. weekly nutrition from mum. then dad. and now. what has happened to time? I am one weekend older. I haven't grown any wiser. But just more apathetic, more pessimistic, more sarcastic. "I don't care if it hurts. I want to have control. I want a perfect body. I want a perfect soul. I want you to notice, when I'm not around."

catharsis

gosh i've been meaning to write this for so long. it is more a catharsis for myself than anything else.i went to dinner last night, with a girlfriend i didn't even know i had. but after keeping myself under isolation for so long, under the auspices of "enjoying my freedom with my flatmate moving out" which ... turned out to be a prison in disguise... but soltude became more a jealous lover than a friend. i had to make myself agree to the dinner and...well re-join the world. i sat and i thought i saw life, may be it was just passing by. i wondered if i crashed, that second before i die, would i at last regret putting so much time and effort into looks and the superfluous. i had to think about that. i ... still...am not sure. my friend asked me, what would olivia look like, if there was no one else around. i was speechless. to a point, i don't think there would be a point to exist in under those circumstances. i need to be "right". if there is no one to judge that i am "good", there is no point to be. it is sad i know. and OF COURSE i know it is wrong. i know God and all of that. but knowing does not translate to change. i have lost myself to preserve something i didn't need - like living with someone i don't talk to, because of appearance and the superfluous, than hang out with people i get along with. i say i don't tolerate weakness and i am remorseless in breaking relationships. but th other side of it is that i don't tolerate my own shortcomings either. if i could believe in compliments, may be things would be different. "it's lovely working with you" "it's been a pleasure" "i'm so disappointed when they didn't pass you", but words are...just that...words. as long as i didn't create any titanic disasters, one registrar is the same as the next and the other. yet it is strange. the olivia one minute before i found out my exam result, looks, feels and...seems to be...the same as the olivia one minute after. so there is a core of me, that doesn't change. but who is that, what is that? identity seeking is supposed to be an adolescent developmental task. clearly i am still negotiating...how do i value myself? why should i have value? may be there isn't really any point to anything. may be people are just too chickenshit to die...gosh, not words you should hear from an alleged christian huh. i wish i could claim the words below as mine, but they are by leonard cohen. these words speaks for me, like magic - guess that's what good art is, everyone can identify with it somehow. anyway, Everybody knows that the dice are loaded Everybody rolls with their fingers crossed Everybody knows that the war is over Everybody knows the good guys lost Everybody knows the fight was fixed The poor stay poor, the rich get rich Thats how it goesEverybody knows Everybody knows that the boat is leaking Everybody knows that the captain lied Everybody got this broken feeling Like their father or their dog just died Everybody talking to their pockets Everybody wants a box of chocolates And a long stem rose (Leonard Cohen)