Understand that this blog is now reserved for my more personal thoughts.
For my translation of stuff please go HERE.
For my reviews/information of anime and Japanese media please go HERE.
And HERE‘s my Twitter, where I post random updates about my work and my life.
May the fun and enjoyment last with you forever.
Probably not. But at least for now I’m back to writing personal posts again.
Looking back it has been two years since my last post, and I’m a little surprised to see that some of my translation posts are still getting traffic. But that’s all there is. As expected, no one is reading my personal life stories, which I’m partly glad about, since there tend to be some ugly stuff among them.
So why am I back? Since the last time I posted, I’ve entered university and am going through the last semester of my second year here. One of the classes I’m taking this time is Creative Non-Fiction Writing, and as my lecturer had suggested, I’ve decided to give blog writing another try. It was fun back when I was younger. The only readership I had were my close friends, and they had fun reading our common experience from my point of view. But not such long-winded blog writing has fallen out of style thanks to the increasingly short attention span people now have, so something like this is pretty unpopular.
To be honest, I have no idea why I’m even writing this. I had a story to share, of course, but all of a sudden I’ve began to fall away from that. See, short attention span. Even writing this much has exhausted me to a certain extent. It’s been so long since I wrote something about myself. I’ve been writing so much about my imaginary characters and their imaginary lives that writing something like this feels strangely surreal.
But back to my point. A revival of this blog seems highly unlikely, since most of my activity has shifted to Tumblr (man, the fandoms that exist there) and Twitter. Most probably this would be my last post on this blog. Of course, there are enough fandom content here for me to let it remain online, but since nothing new will be coming here I doubt I will be getting many new visitors.
I have two personas/aliases on the internet, both for different things. I’m Niji Konohana when I’m a translator, fan-artist or part of fandoms. But I’m Blythe Oblivion when I’m writing stories (fiction or not), doing art for my own stories, and being elsewhere on the internet. Of course, I have more fame as Niji compared to being Blythe, especially since Niji has had more exposure, is older and is known in many fandoms. Blythe is still just a baby, and seeing the kind of content she does, it will take a while before she would even gain much attention. Though, of course, I have to do my part and release more things under her name.
Now, links. If this blog dies, where else can you find me? There are the links on the pinned post of this blog, half of which still work. But here’s the more updated and detailed list.
Translation Blog – http://nijiyoake.tumblr.com/
I cannot believe how active this blog turned out to be. It’s three years old and I have almost a thousand followers, which is faster than the speed my YouTube accounts grew. Of course, both have begun to slow down, but Tumblr is far more interactive, and seeing how I’m on there almost every hour where I’m awake, that’s probably the best place to contact me. Right now I’m translating manga, novels, anisongs, doujin music and doujin novels. Yeah, I’m probably biting more than I can chew.
Fandom Blog – http://usagixusagi.tumblr.com/
Another blog that I didn’t expect to grow. I lend part of it to the fact that I have a good sense of humour, have settled myself into great fandoms, and have a certain reputation as a fan-translator, but it’s still great to see people sharing what I like.
Writing Blog – http://winter-lacrima.tumblr.com/
This blog is still relatively inactive, mostly because I haven’t yet posted much of my original works up there yet. I do reblog some writing related posts once in a while, but I’m not surprised that there isn’t much response yet because I haven’t technically done anything good on it yet.
Music Blog – http://nijimusic.tumblr.com/
This is where I post my favourite doujin tracks, in hopes of promoting them. So far it hasn’t been very successful because I’m quite inactive with it (it’s really hard to maintain, actually), but once in a while I give it some brief updates with my usual musical tastes.
Twitter – https://twitter.com/earthfairys
As unfortunate as it is, my Twitter is filled with so much spam that I don’t enjoy looking at it often, so I only go there when I have little snippets of my life to share, have updates regarding my translations, or just to check for notifications. You can try contacting me there, but chances are it’ll take me a few days to see it.
YouTube Channel – https://www.youtube.com/user/victorialau95
The one that started it all. This is my original YouTube channel, which I’ve recently been focused on posting the translations of doujin music. My most popular posts are Touhou and Vocaloid ones, which are unfortunately fandoms I’m no longer as interested in anymore. But if you agree with my tastes you will enjoy whatever else I upload.
YouTube Channel #2 – https://www.youtube.com/user/KonohanaNiji
Supposedly my backup account, it is now a blog where I risk getting suspended by uploading translations to non-doujin, major-label music. Thanks to Owari no Hoshi, I gained quite a lot of subscribers even when I had left it dormant for about a year. I still have no idea what I’ll be uploading there, but if I come across any nice major songs I will post it there.
because, for the first time in a while, I had a heart-to-heart conversation with my second sister. It concerns many personal events which are important to us at the current moment, and some of it is related to my eldest sister and our current relationship with her.
This isn’t something that I should be posting on the internet, for it’s something that rather personal and close to heart. But without an outlet for these emotions it’s hard to get a grip on things, and honestly I don’t want to let go of this sudden drive to write about it when I still have it.
For the past two months I’ve been considering several topics which I could write about. But my family wasn’t one of it; there’s something about the bunch of people whom you’ve been living with your whole life that makes them quite boring to talk about and be with. However, now that I think about it, there’s actually some queerness to my family that makes being with them so difficult–my parents being the ‘source’ of it.
I know I’m just shifting the blame, but when it comes down to it, your parents are the ones that shape you as you grow up; you inherit their personalities as much as you are influenced by how they treat you and others. For starters, my mother is very hard-headed and very narrow-minded. In fact both my parents are; they are so terribly similar and so irate in the other’s presence it makes me wonder how they were able to stand each other for so long. My parents believe their old-fashioned teachings are law, and most of these old-fashioned ideas always seem to play to our disadvantage. I remember when I was a child, I was banned from going to the arcade because to them, the arcade is where the ‘bad children’ go to. Eventually I found my way around it was to not inform them when I do go there, which started my habit of concealing my activities from them (leading to my current apathy towards them).
Another thing that makes my parents rather irritating at times, is their inability to use technology. My father didn’t know how to use a computer until last year, when it became apparent that the skill was necessary to look at the changes in stock prices. Even now he’s still nervous about using the mouse, and touches the little thing like it’s poisoned. My mother on the other hand, had learned to use the computer years ago as she needed the skill for admin work concerning their private dealings. Recently she’s been hooked to a game on her smartphone, but despite having the machine with her for close to two years now, she still has no idea how to use it and often barges into my room to demand (yes, demand, not ask) that we help her solve her problem. And that’s when I’ve never actually touched her phone before, and when I know naught about it compared to her.
One ridiculous event happened at the beginning of the year: my sister bought a new large-screen HDTV, which we placed in the living room. The old TV, which was slightly smaller and of an older model, was moved into my room. It was a difficult task, for this older TV was VERY heavy, much heavier than the new TV we bought. As we had cable TV, it never occurred to us the need to tune the new TV for local channels, and so neither me nor my sister thought to do it. One fine day, when both of us were away at work, the cable TV failed to work; my parents, who know naught about tuning this new TV and were desperate for entertainment, carried the old TV from my room, all the way back into the living room. (Seeing how heavy that damn thing was, they must have been very desperate.) When I was home I was shocked to see the old TV in the living room.
“Why is it back?”
My parents turned to me, and started pointing fingers. “You didn’t tune the TV! We had nothing to watch!”
“Can’t you tune it yourself?” I asked. Surely they could read the instructions that was on the TV–they aren’t English-illiterate.
“How do you expect us to do it? Can’t you do it for us?”
“Then at least tell me about it–why did you carry the old TV all the way out?”
“We wanted to watch it!”
What amazing logic. They could have watched the TV in my room, waited for either my sister or me to be home, and have their new large TV tuned and ready to be watched in the living room. Unfortunately, because of this sudden movement between the TVs, where neither me nor my sister want to do any more heavy lifting, we decided to shift the lighter, larger, newer TV into my room, where we tuned it just fine for our own enjoyment.
“Don’t tell anyone that the TV in your room is larger than the TV in the living room,” my sister told me when we were done. “It sounds so ‘throw-face’ (i.e. embarrassing).”
Some days later my father came into my room, a little sheepish now that the new TV was tuned. “It’s done?” he asked.
“Yep.”
“It’s pretty nice, right?”
“Yep.” By then I had started to watch movies on the HDTV, which I played from the files on an external hard-drive I connected to it. My parents have come to admire this new TV, which they have seemed so antagonistic towards.
“Aren’t you going to shift it back?” he asked with a small smile.
I stared at him. “YOU’RE the ones that shifted it.”
As though he got the idea, my father left the room without a word.
…The point of my story is, my parents are so inflexible to change that even a new TV seems like a curse to them–they need the old to feel comfortable. Once the new TV began to feel ‘old’, and the old TV ‘older’, they wanted it back,
I kinda side-tracked here, but that’s mainly the problem with my parents.
My sisters and I inherited various of their poor personalities. While my eldest sister and I are the kind that’s head-strong, prideful, yet are afraid of rejection, my second sister inherited my mother’s sharp tongue and prejudice against society. As an example, at my newest job I didn’t want to extend my work because my supervisor didn’t seem to like me; my second sister, upon hearing it, said “Continue to work there! Work as long as possible! Spite that supervisor of yours!”
Yes, what an amazing sister.
So now, here comes the problem in my family.
Everyone in my family, though often foul-mouthed, tactless and/or mean, are frail at heart. We sound like wild baboons, but we are frail and slight internally. My parents do love us, but they never dare to show it. It is part of their old-fashioned mindset that the parents must not show any weakness to their children–and things like praises, prizes and encouragements are seen as weakness as well.
Because of that, indirectly or directly, my parents see it as a must to spoil everything at the worst timings.
Or… it’s just my mom. She has the worst timings possible for the most stupid of things.
A minor example, being her constant nagging that we help her when she runs into a problem with her phone. She often does this in the middle of the night, where we were already going to turn in for the night to prepare for our jobs the next day. She disregards our situation and only focuses on her own, resulting in rather selfish requests which sounds easy enough for us to accomplish, but not so when you consider our situations. Just today she asked that I join her shopping for a basket, when I had planned not to go out today (for it was my ONLY rest day of the week from work) and instead use the time to clear my wardrobe. She was insistent, and certainly unhappy when I turned her down due to my time constrains.
A more major example, and perhaps a rather self-explanatory one regarding my eldest sister’s current relationship with us, is something that happened on my sister’s wedding day. Biggest day of her life, and my mother was (unconsciously?) making trouble. There was all her commotion about her make up and dressing and the like, but another more serious thing that happened was that an old nanny of ours, who was old and had trouble coming to our house, couldn’t make it to the bus that would take us to the church. Because of that the nanny had to take public transport, but because of the inconvenience of the journey my mother asked that the best man drove a car to pick up that nanny and her husband. Sounds easy enough, right? Except that at that moment they were getting ready to walk down the aisle, people were gathering at the chapel, and they were rushing for time because they still had preparations to do. Just take a car, drive, fetch someone, and drive back. If only it was that easy.
At this moment I had some internal turmoil as well. On the day of my sister’s wedding, as unfortunate as it was, it was also one of my most unhappy days. Never have I felt more like a child than any other day in my life. Never have I felt as invisible, as disrespected, as offended as that day. The night before, because my mother invited her sisters to stay with us, my mother forced me to sleep outside in the living room with my older cousin because she was afraid that ‘something might happen to her’. That was a stupid and ridiculous suggestion, as I’ve been sleeping in that living room for more than ten years of my life–no, I’ve been living in this house my WHOLE life, and nothing has happened. What could happen in the night, this ONE night? That was also the last night us three sisters could be together. I was hoping to spend it in my sister’s bedroom, before she was to be sent off tomorrow. And my mother just broke it apart for a stupid fear that came out of nowhere for nothing at all. I don’t think I told anyone, but I cried horribly that night. My cousin was sleeping soundly beside me, and I was weeping into my pillows. I still feel sad thinking about that.
But it was what happened the next day that hit me hard. I was one of the Sisters, who helped the bride. I was the youngest, and I was only given that task because my own sister was the bride. It made sense, yes? Except that every single person there–except my family–totally ignored me. What I said, no one heard. When someone asked for something and I knew the answer, I said it aloud–no one caught it. They couldn’t possibly be deaf to it because it was louder than my natural voice, but the person left as though they never heard it, asking the next person and the next. This happened more than once, where my own existence was so horribly ignored and disregarded. What hit me next was my uselessness–my own sister’s wedding, and all I did was stand around, drink teas, give teas, receive a red packet, and sit around in the car with the bride and the bridesmaid only because they were my sisters. I did nothing else afterwards. I was so desperate to do something then, that when someone asked that I helped with something, I agreed immediately.
The problem that had arisen and needed my help, was that one of the cameramen forgot his equipment at my house. Being the useless person that I was, I was the only one who was free and who was trusted with the key to the house (because I live there, duh). Later, I never thought that I would be so frustrated with this decision of mine. Of course, I did help the cameraman get his equipment, but in exchange I missed seeing my father walk my sister down the aisle. It was a scene I’ve wanted to see for a long time, a memorable scene where my sister would officially belong to another family, a touching scene where a father lets another man take his daughter’s hand, to be cared for, to be loved for. And I was made to miss it for a cameraman’s equipment.
But what hit me later was how unneeded I was in the whole deal. My whole family was sitting in the first row of the chapel: my mother, my father, and my second sister, who was the bridesmaid. I, the last born, the unplanned, the unnecessary, sat at the very last row where no part of the stage was visible to me. I felt so torn, so left behind, that I could have cried if not for the cherry atmosphere inside the church. I could have walked out of there, if I hadn’t told myself that I didn’t want to miss anymore of that important moment. I wanted to witness it as a part of my family, for my family–who knew it would turn out like this?
But enough of that. Let me wipe my tears and continue my original point.
For some reason, perhaps because of how much she dislikes my family, my eldest sister doesn’t like to come home. This has been prevalent even before my niece was born, but it became more obvious now that my parents have the want and urge to go see their daughter and their first grandchild, who both now seem so faraway.
Earlier this month, on a public holiday, my parents intended to visit my sister, believing her to be free. They were as they were, usually: they simply sent her a message, a very sudden one, saying that they want to visit her right then. Of course, it wasn’t just as sudden as that: my mother already informed my sister earlier that morning that she wanted to go over. The reply that came after that, however, took forever to arrive. Perhaps my sister didn’t see it, or she didn’t have time to reply. By the time it did though, my parents, like they always were, thought that that the meeting was set, and was all dressed and ready to leave when my eldest sister sent a text.
“Sorry, we aren’t at home yet.”
All their enthusiasm, gone. They sat down at the sofa in silence, until the dead enthusiasm became frustration, and they began to shout at each other. My second sister, who was still sleeping in the afternoon because of her inhumane work shifts, witnessed the whole deal.
It’s no wonder that my second sister was the first to become irate at my eldest sister. The apathy that she had showed us have been growing since the day she left us, and it’s becoming as though I’ve never had another sister to begin with. In fact, ironically, after her wedding my second sister and I began to share a bed together, in her old room. That made a lot of chance for conversation between us, one such as the one we had tonight. I began to learn more about my family, about the kind of conflicts my parents and my sisters try not to have in front of me because of my neutrality and identity as the ‘youngest’ and also the ‘most ignorant’. And indeed I am, but I still have my feelings.
And so far, I have chills when I think about the kind of relationship my sister has with her husband. They have a kid now, but I have no idea if that would help. My second sister tries her best to do her duty as a sister, so that she can support my eldest sister if the need arises. I am nothing as noble nor as responsible as that, and from my exchanges (or lack of) with my brother-in-law, I can tell that he’s pretty… chauvinistic (is that the word?). I think most men still have the mentality that they are (much much more) superior than women, despite how much double-standards and men-at-head-of-the-family are outdated. Even my parents know that (my father gave up quite a lot of authority to my mother, who had been following his orders for more than half of their relationship together). Surely he does too?
There are actually a lot of incidents that I could talk and complain about, but they are more personal to our family, and without the consent of the involved parties it is not something I would want to post so freely about online. But feel free to judge the emotions and the comments that I’ve written, because that is all me. That is all my feelings, and all my thoughts, translated into words. I’ve shed tears while writing this, and I’ve dried them by now. It’s past 3am, I have work tomorrow, so I need to sleep.
For now, no more. I might write more about this next time, but for now… no more.
and it feels like my entire trip in Taiwan had been a dream. The moment the plane arrived home I still couldn’t really make sense of it, and the moment I stepped into my house it felt as though we had never left it.
But in our hands were luggage and luggage full of our clothes and of things we bought in Taiwan. Yet in days to come the food we bought will dwindle, the clothes we have will blend in, and the shoes we bought will wear down. Eventually the whole trip would feel as though it had never happened, though we know that it has. Nothing has changed. Back to our original lives.
Initially I imagined that I would be surprised to be back home. I missed going back to my usual lazy routine (now that I don’t have a job), and I looked forward to going home. But the moment we arrived home I felt sad that our holiday was over: I was looking so forward to it, to just that one week, and now it’s over. It’s back to stress and pressure and mayhem. Back to finding a job and waiting for the university results and determining my future.
I was disappointed by how easily I fell back to my original life. I had adapted to the streets of Taiwan, which was so filled with Chinese and so run down compared to my home country that it was absolutely foreign for the first three days. But near the end of the trip I had gotten used to their peculiar architecture and road system (where drivers are on the left, and roads on the right), and I imagined myself part of that place. I was in bliss, free from worries and stress, free to do whatever I wanted. And then I was gradually taken back to the real world. I’m back home, back to the life I detest and hate, back to the world I never realised I disliked so much of until I left it.
Suddenly I realise why people love holidays so much–I used to love it to, but after some time of not having a proper holiday, had forgotten why. And now I remember. There’s no stress, no pressure, and you get to experience new things if you allow yourself to. But in our world, which is having race against itself, it is almost impossible to settle your feet and allow yourself to enjoy your life.
Three days have passed since the end of my holiday, and the void inside me has been growing. I dread working, I dread studying, I dread having to worry and think about the future. I want to survive in the present and live in the present.
But the world doesn’t allow me to.
I have yet to actually do an proper resolutions for this year. When my friends asked for it I said I didn’t have any goals, but now I think I want to settle down and write a proper one. For the past few years I’ve never met my goals, but I intend to rebel against that annual tradition this time, lol.
So, firstly it would be to get into university and have fun there. I’ve sent in my applications, but because I have yet to pay the fees, it’s not considered complete yet. There are the interviews as well, and honestly speaking though I like Mass Comm, my interest in Law has been with me for many years, and upon weighing them against the other they balance out perfectly. I can’t choose one above another. So I’m going for both, and see which one prefers me.
After that’s done, there’s my newly found interest in beauty and fashion. I’m a late bloomer as an woman, and I never had interest in such stuff until I was in JC–which is very late. Now I’m desiring make-up and clothes but lack the money and the determination to shop. And I lack the figure and the complexion to make my new interest an easier journey. Which is my next resolution: to slim down (healthily) and to have smooth skin, suited for make-up. The former is definitely much easier, but thanks to the advent of the raining season right now my jogging plan has to be put on hold (and I was hoping to try out a 10km marathon in the future… Damn). Now I’m probably going to train my upper body at home; how about, 50 push ups, 50 sit ups, and 50 squats? I might increase them once I get some muscles.
Then, there’s my writing. I’m only a budding writer, and though I’ve chased that dream for close to a decade now there’s still a lot about story-writing which I don’t know. Characters must drive the plot. Characters must be real and flawed. The setting must be realistic and related to the themes. The developments must be exciting, life-changing, and interesting.
I’m terrible at world-building, to be honest. Though I’ve done a lot of character design and portrayal, world-building is something I’ve done very little of. When I watch shows and read books, I tend to ‘copy’ their setting rather than build my own–and I often do it unconsciously. So when I finally notice it I get a little down, because I don’t seem to know how to build a brand new world by itself.
Regardless, I want to try an finish a novel, at least. There are two novel series which I’m writing right now, and one of them is a story I’ve started since I first decided to become a writer (which was either my last year in primary school, or my first year in secondary school). This story had gone through many changes and edits to finally reach what it is today, and I really want to get it out for people to see. The second one was during my last year in secondary school, where I wanted to write a series of short stories concerning mythical creatures. Because I dedicated it to my friends, the story is about friends. But because the setting is in a completely different world, it’s a little difficult to write about.
Now I’m about a quarter into either one–but only for their first novel. The latter is intended to be a never-ending series, while the former has a proper ending which might end up in a third book–a trilogy, basically. It is the best ending I could think of for a story like that, and it took me some months to figure it out and come to terms with it–I’m unfortunately a big fan of angst, but hurting my own characters hurt me sometimes.
Damn, did I just spoil you? lol
Meanwhile, I’m considering getting a part-time job with going through university. It’s either a scholarship or that. Not too sure if I can handle both, but seeing how others are learning to be independent when at this age, I want to try.
Then, there’s also my hobbies. Of course I want to write better, but I also want to draw better, sing better, translate better, and watch and read more stories.
So, for now that’s my resolutions for the year.
1) Enter university and enjoy life there (and hopefully get a scholarship, or juggle a part-time job)2) Slim down, train up
3) Get good complexion
4) Learn make-up, and learn to dress up
5) Finish the two novels I’m working on, and write better
6) Draw better
7) Sing better; perhaps volunteer more in church
8) Translate better; current list of projects seem fine
9) Self-learn music theory and the piano
10) Don’t let go of opportunities when it’s right before you
11) Don’t do anything that you’ll regret
I think that’s about it. Hopefully this list will make me remember it, and by posting this on the internet I have to answer to the world if I fail to meet any of these goals.
The thing is that my parents want me to study law. And when I told my mother that I couldn’t picture myself becoming a lawyer or handling law related things, she flipped.
So they just came home for lunch, and I needed their point-of-view. I asked them just why is it that they want me to study law.
My mother was still pissed, and so she decided not to talk to me about it. My father, on the other hand, kept saying that law is one of the ‘better’ things to study. “The first is doctor,” he said, “And the next one is law.”
Typical parental mindset. And when I told him that that ranking isn’t exactly true, he started telling me about the salaries and stuff. “No, that’s not true either. People can study law and end up earning shit,” I told him. It was around then that my mother interjected shouting that I can choose whatever I want–with absolute rage of course.
One of the main thing is that I have an aunt on my mother’s side who married a lawyer. And their eldest daughter, my cousin one year older than me, decided to pursue law as well. Some years back I wanted to do the same, but recently my mind was changed thanks to recent events that told me about my weaknesses and my naivety. I wanted to study law because it’s useful and it can help me in life. But as a career? No, it’s not really something I imagine myself doing.
Ultimately I want to be a writer. And working with law is a very time-consuming thing, and I doubt I would be given the freedom to arrive at it. There’s also the problem with memory work, which is something I really lack; law is mostly memory, and talking, and I don’t have talent for both.
Mass Comm is a different thing, however; it’s always progressing and it’s hands-on. Memory work is definitely necessary, but it’s going to be a lot less than what law would demand. And I get to work with the media, which is a world I’ve always wanted to touch and experience.
One of the funniest things I’ve noticed as I went around the different universities are the those who were handling the talk for law, all say the same thing, “Make sure you have the passion for it; law is something you can come back to anytime. We have many people who finished law and ended up someplace else–like an old friend of mine, who decided to become a chef.”
There has been plenty of people out there, way before me, who went head-first into law because of money and fame–and the speakers know it too. Every single law talk I’ve been to they stress upon the importance of knowing what it is you want: that law might not really be the future you’re looking for.
I’ve never been to doctor talks before, so I have no idea how they do it. But there’s bound to be tons of people there too, who think little about the stress of having to handle someone else’s life. There’s all that fame and glory that goes with high-paying jobs, and people forget why that’s actually the case: there’s a huge amount of pressure along with the need for knowledge and wisdom, and there’s a huge amount of responsibility, because someone’s life and hope is in your hands.
I know, more than anyone else, that I cannot live with that stress.
But then, it’s not like that’s always the case. You can be clinical doctors, which are not as severe–but, still as risky. A wrong medication and you’re the one at fault. Lawyers too, don’t always have to deal with criminal cases and the like, but my aunt’s husband once said something when he came for a visit, and this he said aloud to my father and my cousin (the one that wanted to be a lawyer), “As a lawyer, most of the time you’ll be fighting for the guilty party, rather than help defending the victim.” All the glory that is given to lawyers is often misguided, because that’s not always the case; more often than not the innocent ones won’t fight for themselves, but the wrong ones would–because they know they are wrong, they seek to have a loop-hole found for them.
And, let’s not forget the fact that everyone in society is a guilt-ridden person, full of sin. Whoever you fight for would still end up being the bad guy in some way.
So, is law a better choice? …I don’t know. Firstly there’s that fierce competition going on and there are limited places.
But then again, so does Mass Comm; there’s high competition for it too, and worse considering there’s only one university here that offers it.
Secondly, there’s the career path. Since money is part of the scale balancing stress and satisfaction, we can leave it out of the mix. I can’t imagine myself working with law, but I can imagine myself working with the media. Plus, there is also my desire to expand my horizons; I want to see more of the world, and get to know everything in the world.
Thirdly, there’s my biggest and main desire, which everything shall eventually lead up to: becoming a writer. There’s nothing I want more than publishing my own novels and having people read them and talk about them. And my future career needs to support me towards that dream. And I can’t see law doing that for me.
So, my dilemma? I think my mind has been set and made up.
For one thing, I know that it is not easy. There’s all the problem of competition and the like. And then for another thing, there’s the fact that it may directly link to my future career, and though I know that I want to be a writer, I need to find a second option which I can turn to while I work on making my dream come true.
When I got my results I was more than happy, because it was much better than I anticipated. Months before I even got my grades I had prepared myself to retake the exam, and damn am I glad that I don’t have to do that now! I know, almost a certainty, that I wouldn’t have made it if I did, and I’m glad my results weren’t so bad that I have to do so.
Now it’s the problem of the future. As impractical as being a writer is, I’m determined to go through with it because I want to write stories that I want to read (lol). I love creating stories in my head, and I want to share it with people. It took quite a while too, but I managed to convince my parents that I want and will become a writer. I think they probably thought that I hadn’t give this writer thing a serious thought, and thus wanted to get that idea off my head; once I mentioned that it was a dream I’ve had since I was eleven, they went silent almost immediately, and said that ‘Sure, go be a writer. But you need to work as something else in the meantime.’
That I knew, obviously, but having earned their acceptance made me rather happy.
So, now, the only thing in my way is my laziness. And perhaps some writers block as well. And my need to develop a proper style.
I’m back to reading though, thankfully, though recently I’m into watching TV again; which is not too bad as long as I’m not watching Singaporean dramas with their horrible plot and script, and even if I do stumble across a horribly written story I can work my writer charms and critique the damn thing.
On Tumblr I’m following quite a number of writing blogs. It’s scary how many writers there are out there, but it makes me happy that I’m not the only one who’s focused on something as ‘impractical’ as this. But it still makes me scared, nevertheless. Recently I’m having a hard time trying to control a multitude of characters, literary jabs, a logical plot progression and proper story development. There’s a lot going on when making a story, and often when I’m writing I lose control of each character, just writing what comes to mind and thinking afterwards whether that was part of their characteristics or not. And this is perhaps more difficult when I’m writing two stories at the same time; both comedy and mystery, but one is set in fantasy while another is set in real life. Because there’s no need to create a new setting while writing the latter I’m having an easier time with it, but the former requires some complex world building and I’m not too good with that.
While looking through Tumblr I noticed that some writers keep up a weekly blog while writing, in order to take a break and to write down their progress for the week. I think that’s a good idea, and I’m considering doing that as well. But besides writing I’m also doing translations, illustrations, singing, reading, playing games and watching TV. And if I’m to take up a part-time job I’ll have less time for these hobbies; and that makes me kinda sad, in a way. And once I start university I’m going to have even less time, especially if I intend to take up a double degree program: either Mass Comm + Law, or Mass Comm + English. I’m hoping to make it into the former, but I dunno if I can get in; for now I’m counting on God to give me directions, and I hope my ears are listening when He does.
To be honest I’ve never been this sure about what I want, and I know I want to be a writer. I’ve had so many exams in my life, and English and Literature are the two subjects that have never disappoint me (then again, most of my other subjects never disappoint me, but I’ve never really had as much passion for them). When my church were discussing about what God’s gift was, I was very sure that writing was what He had given me; of course, because I’ve never really had a chance to show it in church, most of my church-mates thought that it was singing, since I am part of the choir. I don’t think they are wrong either, since I like practically every single kind of art there is; perhaps He granted me this fascination for the arts to help expand my horizons. And there is also my loath of school, because it somehow cages up my freedom, my creativity and my imagination. I don’t always do well in it because I never really want to try, but when I do try it is because I have something or someone to answer to, and most of the time I’m not in the equation I have in my head. (To be honest, I was more concerned about having to answer to my family if I failed this exam, as the school fees aren’t cheap and there was that expensive tuition for Maths which my sister and my parents worked really hard to pay for. And there was also the realisation that they were doing so much for my sake, just so I could get into university. Somewhere inside me I knew I didn’t want to let them down.)
The future is a mystery. Or a riddle. And we have no hopes of solving or predicting it. So why bother anyway? Of course, just waiting for things to happen is a terrible sin, but this is honestly the first time I’m this concerned about my future, probably because it’s now right in front of me and I’m not in the least even prepared for it.
I think it’s the worst invention made by Man. It’s kinda like nukes: we all know its danger and risk, but we don’t dare to remove it because we won’t know what to do without it.
Whatever the case, I received my results today, and it was a lot better than I expected. I mean, I was the worst student in class with straight Us on all my results, but now I’m here with three As, two Bs, and one C. It’s not a bad result really, since the subjects that I really worked for scored As, though of course the others I didn’t do so well because I didn’t put in all my effort. Honestly I regret not doing so, but I doubt I will be retaking this exam anyway.
With exams, there is the pain of having to study for it. And then finally the pain of having to wait for the result, and deal with its consequence. My happy-go-lucky mood was kinda my downfall really, for most of my time at school. Because I scored badly I figured that was just how it was–I was more stupid than my peers, and I swallowed that fact with a smile on my face.
But that wasn’t really the case, because I scored pretty well for my O levels–much better than most of my class. But my poor results in school showed my classmates and my teachers that I wasn’t really all that smart, or perhaps my genius collapsed when I entered this school. Or, miraculously, my genius was not being recognised in the school, but is recognised by Cambridge; I don’t know, this whole system appears to be a mess to me.
For now, I’m just relieved that my results weren’t as bad as I predicted. There were things I could have done better, and I regret not studying for perhaps 70% of my life at school, which partly explains my horrible results. That can lift my spirits up, but for most of my life I don’t know how it feels to really go forward and work for something. I’m much too afraid of pain, and of failure. So I choose not to go for it at all, so that I won’t be disappointed.
It was either last year or the one prior, where I was having tuition, and my tuition teacher, already tired and fed-up with my horrible attitude, said to me “You’re not serious at all! You’ve never been serious!” And it’s really scary now in retrospect, as that tuition teacher seemed to be able to see through my personality and spot faults which I know I have but have been unable to change. Sometimes that hurts, because I feel helpless; and worse when I realise that people can tell that it is my weakness. Indeed, I have never been serious, and because of that I don’t know how to do so. I don’t know the feeling of going for something with all your might and passion, in hopes of gaining that victory. I don’t know the sensation of having achieved something you’ve worked so hard for. I don’t understand the mind of hardworking individuals that are able to face defeat and continue onwards. And even now they are still foreign to me.
Now that I’ve gotten my results I have new things to worry about, and the foremost of them is how I should plan my future. What should I major in in university? What shall I be when I’m in society? And with this half-assed attitude of mine, how will I survive? And in the face of this pitch-black world, will I even be able to take the first step forward?
I’m scared. I’ve been a little nervous about it, but now my mind is a blank. My whole life has only been education, and though they say it prepares you for society, I feel like all it has done was just cocoon me from it. I know nothing about the world. What am I going to do?
Right now I drown myself in the world of my stories, just to get my mind off things. I think story-writing is the only thing that I’ve felt great passion for, and am actually putting in effort for it. The same goes for drawing and singing, but more so for writing. And I know I’m made for it, just that there are thousands of others out there who are like me, and only around ten to twenty make it to popularity and fame. Can I be part of that minority? Or will I just fade into oblivion, like I’ve never existed before?
which I had with a junior of mine. She’s two years younger but works at the same part-time job as me. As today was my last day at work, my senior colleague was very nice to me and allowed me to spend most of the day slacking. Much of this time I spent with this junior colleague, and we had a lot of heart-to-heart talk with a topic that has been bugging me for most of my life: family.
The junior–let’s just call her Lily–has just had an argument with her second sister, and is currently at a cold war with her mother over an insignificant disagreement. She laments about how she felt different and alienated because of the age gap between her and her three sisters, and tells me how much she hates her family. I could feel her frustration and agony, for I was pretty much in her shoes; there’s at least a decade between me and my sisters, and despite reaching adulthood I still feel different and alienated when I try to be part of their life.
But as the discussion with Lily went on, I realised a very shocking fact: in the face of hatred, we are blinded from the bliss that we have. As a writer this was a fact I liked to discuss about, but it’s another thing when trying to bring it up to someone else when conversing with them: there’s the context of their situation, and how sound it would be to them when you say it. While I told her to reconsider her situation in comparison to other more unfortunate families, I seem to be saying the exact same things back to myself. Sure, I feel alienated and is often treated like air. Sure, no one in my family seems to be able to empathise with me. Sure, I find it hard to talk to them about personal matters because they don’t give me the reaction I’m looking for. But at least I have a complete family that actually helps me when I need it. They support me when I seek refuge, and they assist me when I lose my way.
There are, of course, still the problems regarding my own will against theirs. There’s always the ‘individual vs society’ thing that I’m always afraid of facing, and my family is giving me a taste of how difficult reality is. My parents have huge ambitions about what I should do in the future, because both my sisters are having rather common and typical jobs, despite it being more stable and comfortable for them. While talking to Lily I realised that all her sisters are having financial problems because of their undependable jobs; this is pretty much a huge contrast to my sisters, who are earning stable incomes for themselves and are even able to provide a considerable sum during my days in junior college (and this is while my eldest sister is getting ready for her first-born). My parents never really had any real qualifications, and constantly switched jobs during the period of an unstable economy, seeking better employment wherever they can, because nothing seems to be worthy of their effort. It’s rather ironic now that they can’t see the beauty of stable jobs and incomes, and wish that I could be one of those huge stars earning half a million a month.
For Lily her main problems with her family is how she’s always being confined and controlled by every single member. She is the youngest, and also the most powerless. And is always the one at fault (this I can understand, because I experience it too). I guess that somewhere inside of her she does know how lucky she is, but the lack of freedom makes her lament and curse everyone because of her desire to get out with her friends. While all her friends are free to perm and style their hair, shop to their heart’s desire, and have fun all night long, Lily is forced to remain home most of her time (while dying with boredom), is disallowed from doing anything to her hair nor her face, and still has a strict curfew to adhere to.
It’s strange how much better she makes my family seem to me, for my parents are pretty open regarding what I want to do. I’m a very free-spirited person, and I hate being tied down. But my parents have between themselves a set of unspoken rule, where they lock you at home until you’re fourteen, the age where they mutually agree to give you more space and have more fun outside before returning home. There was, of course, still the curfew, and it remains so even until now, where I’m getting ready to step out into society. They are parents, after all, and it’s their habit to worry. I have to make sure I call home before seven to inform them if I will be late and if I will be having dinner at home. Whenever I have an outing by myself or with my friends I would inform them, and they will see me off with a happy smile and with the words, “Come home early!” When I was younger they used to flip whenever I say I will be late; that made me a little frightful about calling them, because I didn’t want to hear their raging rant. But as I grew older they weren’t as demanding, and allowed me to go out later. Of course, there’s still the danger of having a lone girl walk down the dark streets of night, and they still worry sometime, asking that I take the bus instead of walking home.
My discussion with Lily lead me to say the words “Without love, it cannot be seen.” It’s pretty much a quote from Umineko, which I have loved ever since I understood its intended meaning: if you don’t love something, you cannot see from another perspective. Of course, the opposite is true as well; if you don’t hate something, you cannot see from another perspective. Both love and hate are pretty strong, and they both blind and free us. But sometimes learning to hate is much easier than learning to love, hence the quote. And in this case, it’s really that. We need love to see how much care our family gives us, and how much concern they shower upon us.
There’s the need to realise that we are lucky to have our families with us. One by one Lily and I named friends who have unfortunate family situations, and how much it means to each of them to have a complete family to support them through thick and thin. The most common of the list is having an absentee father, who either died or divorced. There’s also the financial burden of such unfortunate families, and the stress upon its members. There’s someone from our school who lost his father at an early age and had to juggle work and studies through his four years in secondary school–and graduated at the top of his cohort. There are those whose parents suffer from deadly illnesses with no signs of recovery, but speak to us as normally as they always have, hiding the terrifying secret for as long as three years. There are those who worked really hard for recognition, scoring their first A in school, only to return home to a mother who not only failed to believe in their abilities but also beats them up with a bamboo pole for ‘cheating’ in the test. There are those whose parents abuses them, those with fathers who are addicted to gambling and alcohol, and steals his own children’s money just to bet them on losing numbers. In comparison our worries and problems with our families are practically insignificant… and worthless. Those aren’t worries at all, they are just pointless junk! Why are we mopping around for something as stupid as this?
But of course, there’s still the pain which we cannot forget. With the manner that Lily spoke, it seemed as though she wished that she had never been born into this world in the first place. Fortunately she’s not brave enough to kill herself, for she still has things she wants to do. She’s “afraid of death”. As I am. I’m too timid for my own good, and though I want to change that I find it hard sometimes. I’m scared of hurting others, or making others hate me. I can’t stand hate. I want to be loved, and admired, and looked upon. Perhaps that is why the sense of rejection my family gives me pains me so much. I want them to hear my opinions and respond to them. I want them to look at me and wordlessly tell me that I’m in existence, and that I’m not air. But more than once my feelings have been ignored, and whenever I talk to the adults in my family I’m like a voice that’s never heard, like a ghost that seeks to be accepted when it’s so obviously beyond its reach.
This is only a small event, but there was once my brother-in-law was chatting with my tuition teacher. They were discussion about buying movies and torrenting, and then my tuition teacher asked just what torrent is.
“I know torrent!” I said, raising my hand in a moment of hyperness. It was loud and clear enough to be part of their conversation, especially since I stood between both of them. So it’s quite strange, and very hurting afterwards, when the two of them continued the conversation as though I had never spoken at all. I hid my blushing face in the darkness but they probably never saw it, and eventually I just decided to let it go and pretend to be air, like how they were treating me. I thought I should forget about this incident, but no matter how much I tried I never did; it’s as vivid as ever.
But more often than not I don’t feel the rejection I always fear. When I’m with my sister or with my parents, they really listen to me, and reply when necessary. I DO exist. But it still hurts when I tell them that I feel non-existent sometimes and they appear shock; they never realised that they were ignoring me. I don’t know if the hurt comes from the pain of not having others realise your hurt, or that your pain and over-sensitivity had been uncalled for, resulting in relief. But more often than not I know how lucky I really am, and during my discussion with Lily I was trying to make her see that her family wasn’t really all that bad; there are good and bad things, and we need to know that they balance themselves out.
At the end of our discussion Lily finally said to me “I guess I’m really lucky. At least, when I need help all three of my sisters will come and help me; not many people have that, do they?”
I’m glad realisation hit. Because that means taking a step towards maturity. If you can start to think about your own situation a little, and admire yourself for what you have, then you can safely say that you’re mature enough to judge your own bliss. You have to learn to put aside your hate and see using love, otherwise it’ll be difficult to tell if you are really suffering or not.
Who knows? You may be the luckiest and happiest person in the world, but you just don’t know it.
is no point at all. I honestly have no idea why people make such a big deal out of it, as though it’s meant to be a life changing experience or the like. I mean, sure, there may be one or two that ends up becoming super popular by keeping an interesting blog, but that kind of rise to stardom is not something everyone can attain. In case you haven’t noticed, about 99% of those that are actually ‘popular’ are bitches/jerks. They are horrible writers with a horrible personality, and that’s why people like to read their baseless and nonsensical comments on everyday life. I have yet to comprehend it, honestly.
There are a lot of consequences to blog writing that people overlook. Firstly there’s the fact that the internet is practically a public space, and even if you keep something password hidden or private, the fact that it’s on the internet it means it’s out there. Your private life is now out in the open for people to see, and by not being particular of what you write you might sometimes accidentally reveal information that can lead to undesirable consequences. The best example I’ve heard of is how, by just saying that “Oh, my whole family is out and I’m going to take this chance to have some alone time at the beach,” you’re telling the whole world that no one’s at home and informing potential burglars just when they should go break into your house. Of course, this is just one very stupid example, but it does happen. My aunt’s family had it the day my cousin married; the neighbours knew about the wedding, so when they returned home at night to a burglarised house they had their entire neighbourhood to doubt.
This is also part of the reason why I’m not exactly keen on writing about my personal life on the internet. I’m barely as proactive about myself on my Facebook wall as compared to my friends, and most of my shares and whatnot are about anime or manga, things that I like but are not exactly related to my personal life. My sisters don’t feel the threat too, and every time I go onto FB I see their posts complaining about personal life, thinking-too-deeply about everyday things, and looking forward to seeing many likes and comments (and they often do get them, though some are over-the-top).
Initially I have thought of keeping blogs similar to keeping a diary, but there’s a really big difference in that: a blog is public, while a diary is private. There’s the thrill of knowing that people are reading your writing, but then there’s also the threat of not knowing where it’ll end up. Things such as copyright and law might come knocking on your door when you least expect it, and it might even be for the smallest thing ever. Things become a lot more desensitised over the internet, because the web is dead and depart from reality–but that is unfortunately a lie. I mean, when we were young we were told that stealing is wrong; log onto the internet and torrent and downloads are in abundance. It is still stealing, but most of us don’t regard it as that. There are even some that believes that downloading is not in violation of copyrights and the like, but instead in promoting and expanding an existing fanbase. Of course, that is true to a certain extend, but I have seen many people who lament about having to spend money when the download becomes unavailable. I can’t help but cringe at their selfishness, despite myself.
The era of blogging is pretty much near its end, in my opinion. Not many have the patience and attention span to sit down at the same place and type out multiple words to form a post. I’ve noticed how lifeless the WordPress community can feel sometimes, compared to its boom years back where everything was practically WordPress or Blogger. But not it’s Tumblr, because Tumblr supports sharing and liking, things which the lads of this generation have learned to love and embrace. Trying to keep up with this new development WordPress introduces the same system, but it is unfortunately a little too late, and most of the community of people that have grown with WordPress aren’t used to the sharing and following practice; it’s just not suited for it. And it’s not suited for blogs either, which is very much unlike the kind of random yet consistent content that springs up on Tumblr nowadays. People want to share things that they can relate to, and blogs are sometimes a little too personal for others to feel relatable.
I love blogging actually, though I’ve been dead most of the time. There’s an immediate audience before me, and I don’t have to do anything to actually reach out to them; they’ll find me if they like what I’m writing. I have a passion for writing, though a couple of writing blocks aren’t beyond me, but I love to translate my thoughts to words, and go through them for someone else to read. It has been my dream for a long time to become a writer, but I’ve never actually told myself–or anyone else, really–that I AM going to be a writer. It was until recently, with all the horrible things happening to me, that I realise that yes, perhaps writing is what I should do for myself. I like to create stories, create worlds, create characters that live and breathe on their own, and write about their lives. Every moment I’m not thinking about my personal life and hardships I’m thinking about potential novels, and everything I indulge myself in their world I’ll lose myself there, in the border of dreams and reality, and bask in it.
More recently, thanks to my job, I’m back to reading fiction and non-fiction. There’s always this break in time which I have during my break, and with nothing else better to do I fill it up with books and writings. Meanwhile, because I work in a bookshop, the bestsellers frequently catch my attention, and the newly released books would sometimes make me stop in my tracks, just so that I could take a look at its synopsis. This random spark of passion had led to a bad habit where I simply forget my job for those few minutes, and enchants me into buying a couple of books from the shop. And I have yet to regret it.
For me right now, writing like this, blogging is a like a platform for me to go practice more writing. There’s some difference in writing your own feelings and feelings felt by someone else in your head; one is so real any words you write out are a reflection of your very emotions; the other takes more effort, and might sometimes cause over-thinking that not only does no improve its quality, but also ruins it. As I write about my honest feelings like this I often wonder if I happen to be revealing myself a little too much. I’ve mentioned all those problems of privacy and piracy, so this seems like an ironic reflection. Sometimes I find myself putting a little too much of my soul into my writing, and attempt to hold back with disastrous results. Am I too much of an honest being? Perhaps I should learn to write like a liar, and see where that’ll take me. The society likes liars after all.
is so difficult to master that I gave up. But, what the heck, I managed to clear my room in the end.
So, Chinese New Year has come and passed, and life is basically back on track. I’ve neglected this blog for more than a year, but I’ve yet to feel saddened by it. Almost everyday I imagine what I’ll post here, but halfway through it I give up, too bored by my typical life to actually feel the need to jot them down for ghosts to read.
But recently I picked up The Diary of Anne Frank, and was inspired to post again. It’s a shock how well a fifteen-year-old can write! I doubt I could write as well as she could, but looking at her circumstances she was a girl who loved the study–a complete opposite from the lazy me. However my ambitions for writing were ignited again thanks to her diary, and I decided that writing on my blog again was the best way to practice.
Sometimes you can write better when the experience is something that belongs to you, and not someone in your head. I have great imagination–no matter what others say–but sometimes they lack the reality which I’ve seen so little of. Recently shit has happened to me, and I was made to open my eyes to the cruel and harsh society that this world was built upon. But that experience was something I had trouble going through, because this new world was so foreign to me, and yet I had been living in it my whole life.
While I’m not going to go into the details of the shit, I will run through, at least, the one lesson I earned from it: that humans are self-centered. If anyone happens to treat you nicely, the very first reason they do so is because it will benefit them somehow. In the midst of the shit I was sitting in my room, with my mother and my sister telling me to get over it and learn from it. Indeed, I was learning. “Know how to tell people apart,” my sister said. “Treat evil ones with evil, and treat kind ones with kindness.”
Easier said that done. I’m much too blinded by fantasies to be able to tell people apart.
Just yesterday, while at my part-time job, a customer came up to me asking to exchange a calculator that was damaged. Unfortunately for her we were out of stock, and hence I suggested going down to another outlet for an exchange instead. She answered me with modesty and cheerfulness, and I imagined her to be one of the more reasonable customers. I called the outlet, checked and double-checked that the calculator could be exchanged, and the customer left full of smiles. Before she did she passed me the cover to her calculator, and I noticed a faint writing there with her daughter’s name on it. I froze, knowing that goods with something written on them cannot be returned. I wondered if she knew, for that cover was not handed to me beforehand. She left in such a hurry and I was too surprised to say anything.
Today, I received a call from the outlet that I sent her to that she was making a scene there. I was shocked. “What happened?” I asked.
“We cannot make an exchange! The calculator has been bought for more than a month, and it has been written on! She’s making a din here, saying that someone here agreed to make an exchange. Who did you talk to yesterday?”
“A female staff… She said that it was okay.”
“Impossible! We don’t do exchanges like this! How could it be?”
I was so stunned that I couldn’t say a word. But thankfully the person on the other line was very reasonable despite her agitation. Having confirmed that their side did indeed agree to make an exchange she politely ended the call, saying that she’ll try to settle it.
“I’m sorry,” I said. And the call ended.
So yes, people are self-centered, no matter how ‘kind’ they are to you.
Perhaps the only one that wouldn’t take advantage of you is yourself. Friends can take advantage of each other, and so can your family. The whole world is able to betray you at any moment. So the important thing is not to betray yourself.
Another incident that occurred today has got me so puzzled and mad at the same time.
While working, the counter called for assistance. I went.
“This customer here would like to order some folders,” my colleague told me, directing me to an Indian lady. I can remember her vividly: an overly sharp nose, huge lips with bright red lipstick, a large dark face, and small eyes spread too far apart and seem disproportionate to the rest of her face. Like most Asians she had black hair, pretty dry, held up with a clip on the back of her head. And this I’m recounting with my horrible short-term memory: enough proof to show how much my experience with her had remained with me.
Because my colleague had said ‘order’, I imagined the whole dreary procedure of ordering goods for a customer: writing down their name and contact, confirming the item and quantity, writing them down on the reserve booklet, informing the manager/full-time staff, telling the customer to wait patiently for the call when the goods arrive, having to call the customer back when it does, confirming it with the booklet and setting it aside for it to be collected one day. It’s a pretty structured procedure, but there are so many ways for it to go wrong (and most of the time it does) that I’m pretty much tired of it.
But apparently the customer had another idea. I was made to lead her to where we placed our folders, and to show her the different folders that we had. At the beginning it was pretty okay, as I only had to point to her where the things were. But afterwards she got more bossy. “Show me the clip for the files (fasteners).” “Show me where you put your cabinets.”
“What kind of cabinets?”
“The metal kind.”
Our retail store is one that is mainly known for books and stationery. I know, as much as every one else, that a cabinet does not lie in the category of stationery–a type of furniture, perhaps? Thanks to that I was imagining the small key cabinet which we had in sparse quantities, but I knew that wasn’t it. Instead, having already known her lack of vocabulary (for the fasteners), I thought she might be talking about office trays in a metal box.
“Are you looking for the kind with drawers?”
“Ahh yes.”
“The kind with drawers?”
“Yes, yes.”
I brought her to the office trays.
“Nooooooo!! I was asking about cabinets! You know, the metal cabinets?”
You were seriously asking for real cabinets? “…The ones with a door?”
“You know, the cupboards?” She began shaping a rectangle in the air. “Cupboards?”
I was close to laughing. “Oh, we don’t sell those.”
“You don’t sell it!?”
Of course we don’t. But I couldn’t say it like that. “I’m afraid not, Ma’am.”
“Never mind. Show me your paper files.”
And I did.
“Hold this for me,” she said, and she placed her entire shopping in my hands. With her free hands she flipped through the little we had left for paper files, and began walking off to the counter.
“I’ll need to pay for this under my company’s name,” she told me suddenly.
“Oh, okay. Do you make a claim or something?” In my head I was imagining that she could head to her boss with the receipt and get her money back. That’s how I did it.
She stopped in her tracks, a few metres away from the cashiers. She stared at me for some moment, in thought. And then she said, “Can I pay by cheque?”
That was the most unexpected thing I had ever heard. “Sorry?”
“Cheque. Can I pay by cheque?”
To me, the thing ‘cheque’ is only used when there are too many digits in the amount payable, so many in fact that it needs to be written down on paper and transferred by suit-wearing-workers behind tables because it is impossible to have at hand. And this word is now being used in a question, directed at me, in a shop selling cheap office necessities to the most fundamental of incomes.
“Er… I don’t think so?”
“Can you help me check?”
I went to the counter, and asked in Chinese, “Can she pay by cheque?”
The two cashiers exchanged some words and returned to me the reply, “We don’t handle cheques.”
“I’m afraid we don’t take cheques.”
This I said to the Indian lady who stared at me–past me–in silence. Her goods were still in my hands, and she paid them no heed. Instead she stood there thinking, while I waited, knowing full well what’s going to come.
“Okay then, never mind.” And then she walked straight out of the shop, with me standing at the counter like an idiot with the things she picked out still in my hands. I had been made to crawl behind her like her shadow, to serve her one-to-one (a service which we don’t provide), and left abandoned at the counter with another job to do: to put back whatever little things she had taken. And she had made a few rounds around the shop–it ain’t going to be easy.
“She’s gone?” asked the cashier closest to me. I turned to her, with the stuff still in my hands. I made eye contact with some of the customers queuing before her counter as I told her, aloud, “That was one strange customer.” Not the strangest, thankfully, but still strange.
If I had been anymore agitated I would have shouted “That was one unreasonable customer!” and go on complaining to the cashier. But being the nice and cheerful person I was I chose a kinder word. Perhaps I shouldn’t have done that, since nothing would come out of being more tactful. But in my position that was the only complain I could really make.
So, moral of the story? I too am a self-centered bastard, for I complain a lot about others. But I just really hate being taken advantage of–and I will hate myself even more if I’m unaware that people are taking advantage of me, or am aware but does nothing about it. I’ve been much too weak-willed for the entirety of my life, and only recently have I learned how to harden.
I doubt the hardening process will stop, and I’m glad it won’t.
One Normal Life 