of rivers and roads

Because I’d been seeing women I care about along with women I admire share this status in the past few days and thought, well, I don’t think my experiences were particularly bad to justify joining this movement. Except that sitting on it for a day made some unpleasant experiences float up to my conscious mind, so here it is. 

Me too, 

because one Grab driver I had thought it was okay to comment on my clothing. Not just once, but repeatedly ask why I wore such short shorts. And then tried to brush off his behaviour by saying that he was “just saying” it. I had to laugh it off nervously even though it made me uncomfortable like hell. 

Me too,

because I had a guy stalk me along a dark street after I walked a friend who was visiting back to her hotel. It was 9pm and I had walked back at midnight before so I figured it would be fine because it was early. I was walking at the quick pace that I do when I walk on my own and felt that there was someone behind me, so I slowed to allow the person to overtake me, that way I would know that they weren’t deliberately following me. But this person didn’t, and I could see his shadow from the corner of my eye. I had to stop at a traffic light and he came up to me, asking for “a fag”. I didn’t get what he said at first, then I said no, I didn’t have one; to which he then ask for my number. Of course I said no again, and he started verbally harassing me. Why not? I just want your number. Hell do you do. I don’t even know you. Is it because you have a boyfriend? You have a boyfriend? I didn’t at that time and I’m not one to lie, but in that moment, I figured that it was the smartest answer to give. A few terrifying minutes later, he turned off into the street I lived and I walked to a nearby grocery store to throw off my trail. My friends were disgusted and said to go straight to their house if anything like this ever happened again. That night,  I slept in slight terror, where the lingering fear created thoughts that he might figure out where I live. I never told my parents this event in order to not frighten them – but to those people who worship first world countries, this happened in a first world country. 

Me too, 

because I grew up in a society where I was constantly told to “dress properly”, “sit properly”, all of which were said with very well-meaning yet destructive intentions. Because my high school headmistress told an entire school of girls that our appropriate attire was only the pinafore we wore; that even if we had PE as the last lesson, it was completely unacceptable for girls to be seen in t-shirt and shorts outside on the streets. 

Me too, 

because I’d stood in the same room as guy friends who made casual yet inappropriate jokes; a male boss who normalised inappropriate comments of my female colleagues in the excuse that he wasn’t straight – all of which made me uncomfortable yet unable to voice out against them due to the nature of the situations. 

^ image via @ziibiing 

Me too, 

Because when I was a child, I’d always tried to act fun + strong + fast like “the boys”, only learning that it’s been society’s conditioning that made me think that only by being like a boy, could I be those things. Because the people around me likened bad working attitude (being fast to anger, acting immature, etc.) as “like a woman”. Because I’d been told “it would completely ruin your reputation and your career” if I were raped. Because every piece of news that I read about sexual assault never ends with the rapist having his career ruined, but on the contrary, in the likes of Trump and Chris Brown. 

Me too, 

because I try not to be “offensive”, to be the “party pooper” or the one who “can’t take a small joke”. Because I thought my experiences were too small.  Because I ache at all the stories women are sharing and can only hope that men will join in our voices and not with brushing off statements like “not all men”. 

Cliffs of Moher, Ireland (2017) 

I had always wanted to see the Cliffs of Moher. It may seem strange, how we humans can be fascinated by some rocks by the sea, but I believe that it’s the grandeur in it that draws us there.  

However, I was also on a tight budget and so I coaxed myself into thinking it wasn’t necessary. I was going into Belfast, and would be visiting Iceland after that – surely that would be enough? But when I looked up bus tickets from Belfast to Galway, I found that it would only cost around £30. I had to transit in Dublin, but the price tag had me convinced.

It was a mad journey. I woke up at 3am in Malaysia on the 29th of June, took an hour’s flight to KLIA, then boarded another 13+ hour one to London. I stayed in Heathrow Airport for the night before taking the earliest flight to Belfast the next morning. It was 9am when I arrived at my boyfriend’s place to drop my luggages. By 11am, I was at the bus station with some packed food and began another 5 hour bus ride to Galway. 

As you can see from the photos, I made it there in one piece. It was the longest journey I’d ever made so far and I surprised myself by being totally okay with it.

My boyfriend picked me up with his parents in Galway. In the car they’d rented, we visited several Irish towns. I was slightly concerned that when I saw the Cliffs of Moher, they would just be some rocky cliffs and I’d wonder why I had made such a long journey for it, but that never happened. The wind whipped our hair around till our coats were all we could use for identification, but the cliffs stood straight and tall in their unassuming grandeur.

After a full day out, we then headed to an Irish pub for dinner. Till this day, my bf’s mum still swears that Guinness never tastes as good as that in Ireland. 

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Making it through a 3-year long distance relationship

I don’t think about this a lot – perhaps that’s what makes it hard to write about. I’ve had friends ask ‘how do you do it’ and also friends who’ve just out right said ‘I could never do long distance’. I don’t blame them; I used to be one of them, especially after a mad episode. But that’s a story for another time.

We met during our studies abroad. He was doing a proper science degree whereas I majored in film. Despite that, I’d always been fascinated by science (just not enough to want to pursue it in further studies) and I loved how I could talk to him very comfortably about just anything. To be honest, I’d always imagined I’d date an artist, one that would complement me in our works. But I guess life had better plans and I’m honestly not complaining.

We had around two wonderful years spent together in the UK, with our biggest agony being the summer breaks when we went home. We stayed in different states, a five hours drive apart. There was no way that we could meet everyday, so we’d arrange trips, but these were often very short and ended up having just one or two meet-ups throughout the whole 2-3 months summer break. Back then, I thought it was difficult living apart, completely unprepared for what was to come.

I soon came to my final year. He still had three years of uni to go, and the imminent was at the back of my head, yet I pushed it further still with the hope that I might score a job in the same place and stay on. I went for a few interviews, but the results disappointed. I graduated, quit the part-time job I had a month before my student visa expired thinking that the finality of that would push me forward in my job hunt. It didn’t. Then the time came where I knew I ought to book my flight home. I still held onto a thin thread of hope, saying that if I received something in the last minute, I could always just postpone the flight or cancel it. I didn’t.

The hourglass is a cruel thing when you know that the sand running out means leaving the person you do almost everything with. We shared our meals and our days, and the thought of not having that was slightly terrifying. Three years was a long time to be apart and we could become totally different people by the end of it. Would we still be the one for each other? Then there were also the whispered fears of what if you find somebody else?, which were called off as crazy. That dread was unthinkable; there were only both of us for each other.

And then the day came. After spending weeks trying to pack everything I’d accumulated for the last three years into three boxes was my personal nightmare. I’ve always had trouble getting rid of things for the sake of ‘tidiness’; this time, I had to numb myself towards it and threw out or gave away what wasn’t absolutely necessary.

When he said goodbye to me at the airport his eyes were filled with tears. I was surprisingly calm at that moment, saying ‘It’s okay, we’ll see each other again soon.’ I transited at London Heathrow and Changi airport and that was when communicating through messages began again.

In many ways, we’re lucky to be living in this point of time where communication is instant and relatively inexpensive. I cannot imagine attempting long distance through costly international calls, or god forbid, posted letters that each take a month to reach the other. Here, we’ve promised each other to always stay in touch, and that’s what we do.

It’s been two years, and we continue sending photos of our food, random selfies, location updates whenever we’re out, as well as general updates of both big and little events. The eight hour timezone difference wrecked my bedtime, but for the most part, that’s okay.

Starting work in the beginning helped, in the sense that I was too occupied to mope, so there wasn’t much moping done. It was then also nice whenever he ended his classes before I go to bed, allowing us a call before I sleep. We aren’t the type of people who need the amount of assurance brought by skyping everyday, but we do have our once-a-week skype sessions during the weekend. Even then, we’re sometimes so up-to-date that we don’t have much new things to talk about, so we’d just talk a jumble of whatever comes to mind and keep each other company for those two hours. I cannot fathom how some couples actually find the time to skype everyday – surely, we all have things to do? But to each their own.

Nowadays, if someone were to ask me how I do it, I think my most honest question would be: the right person. I know that sounds somewhat ambiguous and not at all helpful, but me, it really is about the right person. I’ve always had trust in him and known that he’s my person. We don’t agree on every single thing – who does? – but we have respect for each other as individual people and hardly play by gender stereotypes which I think is very important. Of course, despite everything, we can never predict what’s to come down the line and so I like to think that I’m okay with that. Whether it really does work out in the end or not, it’s okay. But he came into my life at one of the best points, so I have a good feeling about it.

It also helps that we’re both relatively chill people. We’re okay with the other going out to socialise for work or hanging out with friends, and when we say ‘have fun’, we really do want the other to be happy. Of course, that means we also know better than to fool around, but that sort of trust foundation is what I’ve always wanted and would be a complete pea-brain to sabotage what I have.  

So if you’re embarking on a long distance relationship yourself, I’d say, let go and trust. Communicate often, tell them what you’re up to without prompting, make them feel as much of your everyday life as possible. And take it easy. This is all just temporary and if you make it through, you have a lifetime of togetherness to go – which really seems like a small price to pay. Most importantly, I’ve always seen this as a relationship first before anything else. Long distance is just a label, you’re either in the relationship or not, so act like it.

A pint of butterbeer at Hogsmeade 

Okay, it wasn't actually Hogsmeade... There have been videos shared around Facebook saying there was this bar in London that served butterbeer. Being the Potterhead that I am, I was determined to hunt it down while I was in the city. It turned out to be a bar called The Blind Pig, and the "butterbeer" was actually a cocktail inspired by the Three Broomstick's version. I'd looked the place up on Google maps, but the entrance was quite discreet and I only managed to find it with the help of my sister and cousin.

Several drinks on the menu looked quite tempting, especially the Hunny Pot, but I had to try the Butterbeer that I was there for.    

If you can read the menu in the photos above, you’d be able to see that the alcohol in the Butterbeer is actually scotch and beer. It was a bit strong for me and I fondly recalled the non-alcoholic one I’d had at the Leavesden Studios, but I finished it anyway. I tried some of my cousin’s Hunny Pot and really liked it – I would pick that one if I went back a second time. 

These days have been free to my plans and I’ve spent them reconnecting to the roots of myself. I re-find my passions, take things at my own pace and breathe a lot. 

I still stay up till midnight passes, not always for actual reasons. The first question that people who call in the morning ask is “did you just wake up” and I don’t even get mad. Instead I laugh. 

This life looks easy from the outside. But I just live on less. A lot less. I admire from afar my friends with fixed jobs, benefits and nice places to stay. Sometimes I find myself almost wishing for the same things, wondering if I could’ve gone down the conventional path, studied a degree that was high on society’s priority list, get a ‘steady’ well-paying job at a nine-to-five, spend my life in the office. I feel cheated because I still have to do those things sometimes, except that I get paid much worse, I’m never properly compensated, and my work is constantly being undervalued. It’s a path I’ve chosen, the path of a creative and it’s a struggle. It’s easy to see how my thoughts wander to the concept of the choices my friends had made. But then I think about how that would’ve killed me. I would never have known the joy of taking a course in film, the rollercoaster ride of working in an events company. I do wish I was better valued, but I don’t think I could’ve chosen to do it differently. It would’ve killed everything inside me. 

Now I’m rewatching my favourite music videos. Bleachers released a new song and I’ve been head over heels for it. I looked up Fun. at midnight sharp and rewatched We Are Young and notice details like the lighting and the blocking of the performers, and realise that I really miss being on set. The having to set up kind of set. I don’t even know how to get back into that industry, which is really sad. I know you can say that I haven’t worked hard enough, and maybe I haven’t. But it’s also easier if you’re in a country where the industry exists and rewards are based on merit. 

I did the thing that is every Asian parent’s nightmare: quit my job and went on travels for a month. It was self-funded, savings I’d put aside for two years, and spent time with my boyfriend whom I hadn’t seen for a year. 

I have now returned with a camera full of photos waiting to be edited and stories waiting to be shared. I’m also looking for freelancing jobs here and there to fund myself through these few months. I have been surprisingly calm through all of this, relishing my unbounded time instead of stressing out about getting my next job. How I do it? I live simple. 

A few months ago, I bought myself a pair of flight tickets for a month’s getaway. It sounds rash, but it had calculated decisions within. After two years in a tumultuous environment, I knew that the best thing for myself, my physical and emotional health, was to take a break. I ended up leaving, without concrete plans of what I’d do next, but to me, it was an opportunity for discovery. Here’s the first of my posts from this month’s travels. 

– 

I met Lucy over the summer. She’d come, flown thousands of miles across the globe, to the island that is my hometown for an internship. We find out that she goes to the same university in England as my sister.

Half a year later, I pack my bags and visit my sister at her campus. Lucy and I are ecstatic to meet again – it almost feels unreal. It’s a typically rainy day but still she drives both my sister and I to a nearby beach town. The pier remains statuesque in the gloom.

We wander for a bit, drink some tea in a cafe before heading back to town. 

– 

I feel like it was time I wrote this, even though my eyes feel like I’ve over-strained them in the past week. Maybe I could type with my eyes close, but here it goes.

I can’t remember a time when I’d been more eager to begin a new year. Ending a year usually felt bittersweet; there was usually a thick nostalgia for the time spent, even if restarting sounded nice. But 2016 broke me, and maybe I’m being slightly melodramatic here, but I can’t remember feeling worst for as long a stretch as I have been feeling lately.

Do you believe in love at first sight? I’m not talking about actual love here, but in believing in beginning defining the most part of a particular experience. To reply my own question, I don’t. Not really. But even though I tried to ignore it, the way 2016 began was ominous for the days to come. On the first of January, I boarded a plane after a two week trip around England and Scotland and left everything that I held dear – both the place and the boy I love. Throughout the whole year, I would not see him; something that I both knew and tried to wish away. I distracted myself with work, but instead of being release, work swelled up like a tumour within me. It drained the light and energy from the girl I once knew, the stress feeding the ugly, black mass that grew. It felt like forgetting how to breathe.

Even though I’m a ‘slow living’ kind of person (I came across Kinfolk’s philosophy and thought about how much that resonated with me. Good, healthy and conscious living.), I remember asking, two years ago, for some stories to happen to me. Life after graduation had been stale, with only job application forms as entertainment, and I thought about having adventures, even if it was the big city, bustling drama kind. I might have gotten it, even if it wasn’t in a truly big city. But things grow old, sometimes they grow sour, and there’s still the world to see. I strongly believe in not staying in toxic relationships, whether it’s an environment or a person, and so after days of internal questioning, I decided to let go. 

Now we’ve crossed into a new year. I’m on my last stretch of the old journey, and I’m waiting for my birthday and Chinese New Year to come to properly kickstart my new year. Remnants remain, dark ones manifesting as illness, but I’m trying to refocus. Focus on what you truly want, on what matters. Here’s to a whole new year of 24. 

HangZhou 杭州 - Part I (China 2016)

Here’s the beginning of a little photo series from my trip to HangZhou last week before I start my year-in-review post. I wasn’t planning on doing a year-end review post, but I think I have some things to say and figured that it’d be something to look back on if I do. 

HangZhou was beautiful. It is also now one of my favourite cities in China (I think Beijing comes after it now). We stayed in a hotel by the West Lake – a massive lake with a willow-lined path around it. Not just that, within the lake was also an island in the shape of a 田 because of another 3 smaller lakes that formed within that island. 

One of their specialties was a tea that – translated roughly – was called “dragon’s well tea”. We visited the tea plantations, which was a little paradise in its own right, but were ripped off when we bought some tea there – only finding out that it was actually much cheaper in the city. We could only try looking on the brighter side and hoping that the tea we bought within the plantation is actually fresher than the ones sold in the shops. 

Speaking of tea, I was also a little addicted to bubble tea those few weeks and would exclaim every time we passed a bubble tea store. I ended up drinking 3 cups in 5 days – not very healthy, but with the consolation that I don’t drink it all that often. 

While we were there, we also rented the bicycles that were found on stands all over the city and cycled around the lake. The best part was cycling through a causeway that ran through the lake, with both sides of the lane decked with yellowing willow trees and the most splendid view of the lake. Getting our refund after returning the bicycles on the day we left was, however, a nightmare. We spent two hours running (panickly cycling) around the city looking for a booth that was open to get the refund from our cards as there was something like RMB 200-300 in each of them. (Pro-tip: Go to the booths that are in the busy areas of town or around the lake as they are much more likely to be manned. To be safe, don’t leave it till too late to return the bicycles. Taxi rides aren’t too pricey there (RMB 11 for the first 3 KM), so there’s always that option if your hotel is too far.

Before you tell us we are irrational, think about it. Stability was what your generation could afford. But speak to us about stability again when it was your generation who ruined the stock markets, built capitalism and businesses as king, and blatantly deny climate change while spending more money buying plastic things that never last more than a year. Think about it.

Those things were from your generation. Tell us about stability, getting good pay, a house and a car when it’s your generation who inflated currencies, glorified financial growth, populated the world with disposable goods, blew up the prices of both houses and education and paid minimal salaries. Explain to me again how I need to get a practical job to be able to pay for a car and insurance in order to commute to work and cushion myself from maniacal medical bills that may be needed as a result of the strain from work. 

I’m tired of being a zombie. I practiced being constantly alert when driving before realising that the few idiots in these metal boxes will cause endless torment. But yet. It’s always a but yet. 

How did we get here? I understand that money is important in its ways, that it serves a function, but how did you manage to twist everything so out of proportion. Maybe you’ll be glad when you’ve finally created an environment you cannot live in. Maybe when the bees are extinct, the rivers and seas all filled with oil, that maybe, just maybe, you might realise that you made very, very bad judgements. Because the world doesn’t need us to survive. I thought about how when a body is sick, it works at wiping out the virus that’s causing the sickness. Men is the sickness. The world will continue spinning even after we are gone.