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Trigger warning: Contains swearing
As if this sickening city is not crowded enough, the recent opening of the mega-bridge linking Hong Kong with Zhuhai, China has just brought another influx of people into the city and created even more social conflict. I’m trying to avoid the news because I don’t need further reminders of what is causing my misery. Do you have a vulnerable weak spot, subjects or things you don’t talk about because it triggers negative emotions and anxiety? It could be a number, a date, an event, an object, a place or even words. Ordinary words such as Hong Kong, Singapore, Chinese are my trigger words, they evoke a strong repulsive emotion in me that I can’t engage in a friendly exchange of conversation if these topics are involved. Perhaps you would say I’m not being rational and objective. Yes, I agree and precisely why I would disengage myself from related topics because I can’t be rational and objective, there is too much emotions at stake. It reminds me of everything that is wrong in me. It reminds me of how it all went wrong. I’m constantly in a heightened state of arousal because there is too much triggers around my environment – an overdose of people and overwhelming noise within a constrained space. For the record, I am not ok and so long as I live here, I will not be ok but I’m managing it, ranting is a way of managing it. And the reason that triggered this post is I was just ask to translate an article on this very topic I mentioned in my opening sentence. Damnit. This city is fucked up. Cursing, by the way, is also a way of managing.
On this note, I am going to say something I might regret but which I believe is necessary as there is more to gain than lose. This blog wouldn’t exist without my dream. Not only does it serve as a record of my progress (or lack of), it pushes me to work harder, it also helps to keep me disciplined. Starting today, I will restrict myself to one post per week, featuring a cat image and nothing else, until I come up with a research proposal. Now that I’ve said it, I am answerable for my own conduct and I have to set my priorities straight. I will still be reading the posts of others, I just want to make sure the time I spent to generate my blog content will be diverted to my research proposal instead.
Last but not the least, listening to music that speaks to my heart is another way of managing my triggers. Happy listening.
Organs – Of Monsters and Men
“So I take off my face ’cause it reminds me how it all went wrong
And I pull out my tongue ’cause it reminds me how it all went wrong
And I pull out my tongue ’cause it reminds me how it all went wrong
And I cough up my lungs ’cause they remind me how it all went wrong
But I leave in my heart ’cause I don’t want to stay in the dark”
But I leave in my heart ’cause I don’t want to stay in the dark”
What hope is made of
What does hope have in common with food?
We depend on them for survival,
they give us energy to feed our dreams,
and they come with an expiry date.
Except that they don’t sell hope here,
I can’t just replenish it from the grocery store
and I can’t just substitute a jar of hope with a jar of peanut butter.
It is irreplaceable
and has to be made by hand,
from scratch,
by myself,
notwithstanding my lack of culinary skills.
There is no manual,
mostly trial and error,
which makes it all the more tedious.
What is my hope made of then,
even after adding the pile of good things in my life,
there are missing essential ingredients
I’m trying hard to find,
in this place where I inhabit –
the will to live.
But carry on I will,
to make my own hope,
for it’s either DIY or DIE.
And so very often,
I looked back on the past
to look for reasons
and behind every photo you see
is the pain you can’t see
and underneath that pain
I find yearning.
What is your hope made of?
Featured image from http://www.pexels.com
Fantasy
Wouldn’t it be nice to live in a big country
I can travel to small towns
visit remote suburbs
take road trips
explore the countryside
embrace nature
move to a new state
without restrictions
with space to breathe
space to roam
space to live
one that I can call home
Wouldn’t that be nice.
I’m a human because robots can’t tick
Humanity, what have we become?
What does it mean to be a human these days when we have
human-like robots
and robot-like humans operating on auto-pilot mode.
Does saying “I’m not a robot” remind you of the human inside you?
Or do you tick “I’m not a robot” like a robot would,
without further reflections on what it means to be a human?
Or simply, I’m a human because robots can’t tick boxes.
My biggest problem of all is I can’t confirm humanity.
Perhaps insanity, is what we have become.
