Eyes Wide Open
A lot has happened in the last 6 months since I last blogged.
I had my first pedicure (nice!).
I went to Singapore for some job interviews and decided that it’s not a half bad place to live if you can get 5-dollar margaritas during happy hour.
My mother in London was not heard from for a month, setting off a wave of panic among family and friends. I was just about to file a missing person report when she happily resurfaced with a glowing tan from a seaside holiday.
I split up with my boyfriend whom everyone thought I would marry.
I dated several guys and realized that no matter how smart, funny, nice or good-looking a person is, chemistry is important and inexplicable.
I spent lots of time on my own.
I was convinced that I would end up old and alone, with a house full of dogs (and liquor) to keep me company.
George W. Bush made some public gaffes.
I got a 50% salary raise which I promptly celebrated by ordering knickers online from Victoria’s Secret.
The Victoria’s Secret knickers I ordered were nicked, either by a postman with a fetish or a customs officer who thought they were too lewd.
I ventured into the brave new world of Chinese stir-frying.
I got a tennis coach.
George W. Bush made more public gaffes.
I joined Facebook. Thought it was juvenile at first. Then I realized how much fun poking and throwing sheep can be.
I started swimming again and realized just how free, how calm, how at peace I feel in the water.
My cousin, a 27-year-old doctor and non-smoker, died from lung cancer.
My childhood friend, a 24-year-old physicist, gave birth to a healthy baby boy.
Somehow in my fog of cynicism, I found him and fell in love.
Of course, these things I just told you seem like random, unrelated facts given in jest. But the truth is, it’s a snapshot of the major highs and lows I was going through.
And so the full cycle of life’s emotions repeats itself because it’s destined to. Seek sweet refuge even in the depths of your desolation because you know it’s better than feeling than nothing.
To me, contentment is dangerous. It makes you feel comfortable with your station in life. It lures you into sticking to the same predictable routine. It fools you into thinking that you never need to do more than you’re required to.
Could I be one of those women, I always question myself. Those women whose only concern is how many BodyJam classes they can squeeze into their schedule, who meet their girlfriends in Bangsar every weekend to discuss their next holiday destinations over brunch, who spend their Saturday nights in Velvet holding their cocktail glass with one hand and fingering their salon-styled hair with the other, who regularly blow their paychecks on Anya Hindmarch bags and Marc Jacobs shoes.
Of course, I don’t have anything against this kind of lifestyle and in fact, would buy Marc Jacobs shoes if I could only afford them. But I’m just troubled over whether I could embrace such hedonism with zeal. Yes, I enjoy the finer things in life but surely, there must be some sort of higher purpose? Or else would it not just become a solely self-serving existence?
After all, life is not worth living if you were living only for yourself. It would be like stumbling in the dark because you’re afraid that the harsh daylight would reveal the ugliness around you.
But I want to truly live with my eyes wide open.