Author: perkaraperkara

Hello, blog I never thought I would open again.

3 months down the road, and I have 79 days before I leave for Germany. That is less than three months, a little more than two, and I am scared.

This year has been odd for me. I spent the first 1/3 being miserable and anxious as hell. 2/3 being hopeful and starting a new translation gig, and then, the rest of 1/3 left to do what it is that I need to settle.

Financial wise, my money has been on the low side. But I managed to buy quite a lot of new things, a house included, the deposit for my rental in Germany, a bicycle that I rarely use, and Mac notebook. All tools to make me more adult than I should, but then, I lack most things to actually care. But I have still quite a bit to spend, but need to save that for Germany funds, emergency funds, and whatever debt I have with Mara. To clear the old for the new.

Marriage wise, F has been great with me. I’m not sure if he is happy with himself, but I try to help him in ways that I can. Do I give enough emotional support as I should? Is he lazy or simply unambitious to actually move and crave for more things? I don’t know. I don’t think most people are anyway. But we all try, and I wish that he would remove that pessimism and low opinion of other people he has of others enough to actually make him happy. Grumpiness is a bad thing in this household of ours, but he does not realize it. But I remain happy and unperturbed so far.

Friends, hmmm. I don’t know. I have an anxious feel about these sort of relationships. Mostly because I do not know how to ever acknowledge that I need close friends in my life, and actually show appreciation to them.

I have not been reading at all this year.

 

Tired of everything that has been going on lately, and the numerous mundane conversations around you that speaks not directly to you, I have lost the inner voice that speaks only to myself, about all the the things I hold dear. Observations, if not solidified in permanence (anywhere), will only begin to toll on the mind, and therefore I become duller. Life has been reduced to post-it notes and to-do lists, as I keep track of what’s next, what to apply, what to work on, how much money do I need to sustain myself, who to contact – all matters of practicality. It is myself that I ignore most deeply, and I am sick of it.

Thus comes this bouts of sensitivity that affects our mood – but nevertheless without a name – we reduce it to terms such as PMS, tiredness of the world, hate – all universal but to ignore our inner faculties

 

I spent this year’s Raya in KL &  Singapore, all with F’s family, visiting all his extended families all week long.

I have long known and realized that the family dynamics & climate in his side and mine are drastically different, both in a nucleic way and generational – so I just went into this whole trip trying to be as accepting and curious as possible – albeit a bit reluctant missing my own family’s Raya back in Kelantan and Perak. But an agreement is an agreement, so off the six of us and 20 different bags of goods went to Singapore in a rented car.

His nenek lived alone in of those HDB apartments in Queensway, which was a five minute walk from Ikea. F’s mother grew up with 3 other siblings there in a 2-bedroom apartment, not more than 600 square feet, a wondrous achievement I think. The whole 10-20 blocks around the area were full of old people in wheelchairs or sitting in benches, it looked almost dreamlike. Even the G2000 store down the road is taken care of a charming 60-yr old woman.

But raya was raya, so we went to probably 5-8 different houses in a day all around the various neighbourhoods there whose names I could not remember, and it surprised me how charming an apartment can be. Visiting a house here means sitting in the house and having conversations mostly about hospital visits, the best school for the kids, activities for students and parking fees. So I enjoyed myself in the servings of carbonated drinks, pizza, nutella cakes (tapak kuda thing), potato chips, lontong, and a sad version of lemang – all while trying to access wifi for each house. All in all, it was interesting. And I don’t get those ‘are you pregnant yet’ questions here, so all is good.

It’s different from my own raya definitely, where the whole family would go to the masjid for solat raya, come home and eat lots of food, and then wait for the 20-30 people that would come visit the house. I would be making tea, entertain my younger cousins, say hi occasionally to the visitors (neighbours mostly), go to the kitchen and fix my own keropok lekor or milo if I feel like it, or go out and play with the goats and chickens. In the afternoon my parents and the rest would visit each house on foot, depending on whose home, and chat with the neighbours. It’s a low-key affair, where we would sit in kitchens while I kacau my cousins’ monkey or read their Dr. Slump comics. And then the next day, everything would turn normal and my father would begin do his kebun works, picking up manggis or rambutan and menebas.

I often wonder, these days, after marrying F, the differences between our families. My father, the eldest, had to leave his hometown to study and eventually made a living in KL, while most of his siblings stayed behind – opening photo studios, or a pharmacy agent, a nurse, wholesale distributor. Some of them went to Johor and worked in Singapore working a construction workers, working in KFC, Chatime, RnRs doing odd jobs –  one was chased by alongs and ran back to Kelantan to start a new life.

Contrast this with F’s side, whose grandparents settled in PJ and all their children had a very urban upbringing. I would say they were well off in each their own way, with each children with more opportunities, with maids cooking hari raya dishes for us, or at least had a stable job in a good company. Everyone was more closely knit with each other, celebrating occasions on a monthly basis- such that I became uncomfortable with this newfound social obligations

Whereas for my father, his family’s life is so much removed from ours both in distance and mode of life, that for us, there is not much to relate. It became the burden of my father to maintain relations with his family, us not participating. A few months ago, he went home by bus alone to settle family affairs, somewhat lamenting because we were so ‘busy’ with our own affairs here. Of course, I feel guilty myself, for basically ignoring my cousin studying in Shah Alam.

F asked me what would happen if my father died – would we still maintain contact with the other families. I said, yes, but probably not as close and dutiful as F’s family would.

We do things because we want to, not because we think we have to. Eventually, we have our own lives to live, and to feel stuck or to hold on to something because we feel obligated out of relations, nostalgia, enmity, ‘duty’, friendship, a job, a degree title we hold, or even because of the long time spent on them, is something I deeply disagree with.

Maybe I am selfish this way, but I choose to be happy.

I’ve been writing less and less ever since, forever. It is a thing I struggle with – to actually open up a laptop, have a quiet contemplative time, and begin typing away. Now I shall write the mundane.

But hopefully everything shall change. I should ramp up my efforts to do the things that I like, the pursuit of things that pleases me until the end of the year. Money is dwindling fast yes, but I feel myself deserving to splurge a little after not spending much for the past 2 years of working.

Otherwise, I am in the translation business now. It is something I would like to pursue diligently, if given enough opportunities to seek new jobs and tasks for people. Who needs translators these days? I think Malaysians in general use Malay and English interchangeably very often, thus the need for translation is void. Except when it comes to bad grammar of course.

I’ve been toying with the idea of translating A Room of One’s Own by Virginia Woolf, but have never gotten far – I am too lazy and distracted over little things. But F and I have moved to One City, I am no longer working, plus I have bought a new Macbook, so no excuses this time. We just don’t have internet. And no books.

Maybe I should pop downstairs and see if they have ’em.

 

Today would be my last day at work. I had sought for my boss’ approval for handover yesterday and have said my goodbyes to him. ‘May we cross paths again in the future,’ I said, knowing that it is very likely I will see him around those exhibitions and whatnot. He smiled without saying a word and I got up and left. 

A full ten months then, I have endured. And to not have anything much on my plate for the next two weeks feels liberating. I have grown too accustomed to traffic jams, to the movements of cars and lanes, which particular routes would be more faster, down to the very section of the road. I have become, in the very words of my brother, douchebag driver. But a two hours drive to get across Bangi to PJ has become too often that anything less than a hour’s drive is short and doable. 

Resigning has, become much easier though. No tears were shed, no drama was necessary, unlike the first time I did it. Kak L, my former boss asked why I was crying when I handed her my resignation letter. “It feels a lot like leaving a relationship”. And so a month of crying ensued. 

Here, you hear so much of people resigning that no celebrations or farewells were ever done anymore, except from the hushed hurried exchanges outside the office’s four ealls. Each month, two-three people will leave, another one would join in, and you just wish them their best before too, wish for an escape. ANY job outside would be bearable than this. 

Colleagues come and go, and I know myself to keep them outside of my small circle, but I have grown attached to some, having the same solidarity in getting out. We had a room downstairs, ‘a lab’for the researchers, but mostly it was our hiding place from all the unpleasentries of the third floor. 

But enough. 

Album of the night : Wellness, Last Dinosaurs. 

Last Dinosaurs reminds me of a special period, Sydney in all its lights and apartments and buses and crowd and crossings and watching live music performed a feet away from you. 

All that is gone now, of course. Buried in the far back of my head, folded over by memories of recent happenings. 

I have reason to be optimistic now, after receiving an offer to join a program in Cyberjaya for three months. I’m supposed to learn how to do online freelancing, a growing global industry – and I hoped to do some editing or proofreading or translation even. Equipped with more time than ever, with new fresh faces, a spacious office space, no traffic jams, I am thrilled. 

I know myself to be a lazy person, but nevertheless capable. (Also, ‘never obsessed’, says Pot.) I was always the person that breezes through things, always giving the minimum effort required for a basic understanding – but no more. But I would like to instil discipline within me, and hopefully, all can be worked out. 

I have to say that I am thankful, to have landed upon this at a perfect timing – something semi-flexible, challenges your abilities, interesting enough, growing, guided, and hopefully, pays well. Most importantly, as those DAP democratic socialism brats would say – it provides a safety net. 

F is happy for me, but I can sense his growing dissatisfaction with his job situation. It worries me at times, that I am not doing enough to help him out, or that I complain too much of my own misery, that he cannot focus on his own problems. 

It is a tiring thing to be this person who is constantly worried of what other people think, who makes decisions based on the demands and needs of others, such that your own self is neglected. One can put up a facade of being okay, blunting misery by the consumption of cheap thrills – a night out with friends, marathoning tv series, a preoccupation with X when it actually no longer excites you that much – but to what end?

Anyway, another week of work to endure. 

I miss my lonely hours, and to acquire them again after so many years of living with my family makes me calm again. 

To wake up and feel unbridled by the affair of others and to look forward for the simplicity of living makes me calm. 

Talking to people truthtfully, I feel a bit of relief. I have lived a life full of falseness and denying certain aspects of myself that I was suffering within.

Last week, I finally broke down my ego and chose to seek proper professional help again after so many years of self denial. Yes, I do suffer from depression that come in bouts and moments of self questioning, and it is taking a toll on my surroundings that it is a miracle that I am functioning at all. 

But I do not know, whether this whole process of seeing a psychiatrist again will go through. Hopefully, an appointment shall be made soon. My brother does not know of course, and so does my family. Except F, who has witnessed all my craziness. I could not ask for a better person, yet I feel like I am taking advantage of his kindness. 

Anyway, I am okay. Hopefully, these six months will pass by swiftly, and that I may embark on more travels. To learn more, to serve more, to be more, and myself as the only measure. 

F and I will be moving out of my parents’ soon, into a studio apartment slightly nearer to city (but not so much, really). The past weekend has been spent in trying to fit in all our belongings into the apartment and dusting out the shelves and floors. Tomorrow, the mattress will arrive, and it’s only a matter of time before we both move in to live. 

I have, approximately three weeks till the end of my working days. It scares me, not to be employed in any form, having always some phase or another being thoroughly engaged. But I suppose, there is always blessings in this sort of arrangement. This before Germany, anyway, so I suppose there is always that to look forward to. 

I have thought of several contingency plans; selling spaghetti lunch sets downstairs or working at Starbucks, writing a novel, or engage myself in a new form of learning. But the most important thing is to keep busy. 

I’ve been questioning myself alot lately, wondering what it is that engages me and thoroughly excites me. There is the word worry plastered across my face, and generally an all sombered mood, but I remain ok.

I recognize this as a low point in my life, albeit a temporary one. I’ve been, in one way or another, been handed things to me all too easily and without any sort of strife. The world is not against me in any form, but I alone must fight my battles within my mind. 

Which brings to the question, am I actually depressed or is this merely an excuse I flee to everytime something goes wrong? It’s hard to recognize it, but I do have my bouts of hating the world around me and wanting to die (without the complication and consequences of dying). But what I yearn the most is to disappear and not face the world. 

Being married to F of course, this is impossible. Whatever I do or do not do is tied to him, my moods affect him greatly, and I fear myself trying him too many times. 

I have no subject, things are too ordinary – I have not trained my eyes to see, my heart to feel, my mind to read and comprehend, my ears to listen, and my soul to immerse fully in a situation.

This is where I have arrived; cheap thrills, fast forwarded emotions, the immediate –  no longer the drawn out  elongated sweetness of pure joy.

Where to start?

The little pockets of feeling felt as I drag my feet from one place to another. Some days are okay, some days a little so-so, but then I have not set foot in the office for 5 days now. And then, I’ve counted, exactly 21 days of being an employee, and I look at it as a sense of dread and relief.

Afiqah got married last Friday, and boy I missed her. It seems hard, to patch up our feelings and to face a bit of parting as vows are exchanged and she belongs to another, but ah, sweet old nostalgia. There are so many pictures of us together, from our years in high school to Sydney days and boy, do I miss them. It made me realize how important she is to me and how one day all of this will slowly fade away in the background.

The Sydgong girls, six of us that night, slept in a cramped apartment in Cheras, arranging the mattress and duvets on the floor and talked until each fell asleep. I awoke with the feeling that we were somewhere foreign, glancing out of the window facing other blocks :- here we see an aunty watering her flowers, a cleaner dragging two mattresses across the street, a man at the far corner doing his weird exercise, and of course, other people’s living rooms. Min and I walked down to the main road to buy nasi lemak, and I tell her that it’s a nice feeling.

We are all growing up.

One being married off one month after another. Babies popping up here and there, people working and trying to make a living, boyfriend of ten years appearing at a wedding hesitant whether they are even getting married at all, and your high school or college friends that you say hi on very specific occasions but fail to ‘catch up’ when you say you want to do so.

Truthfully all I want to do in this world is to find meaning in what I do, but am faced with the conflict that I cannot be of service of everyone, being conceited and lazy that I am with talking and laughing and explaining what is in my head. I would like to hide myself, but even then I would like to appear as a certain I, a thing almost achieved but without anything to attach itself to. I would like to write, but write I cannot start because I cannot write in the presence of F looming around me unless he is asleep or not throwing judgement.

Excuses, all of this, but ones I hope to erase.