Everyone’s posting reflective notes about 2017 on their social media. Happy, bittersweet things that happened in the past year, hopeful things for the new year. I’ve been trying to summon something hopeful for 2018. Perhaps I’ve run out of the spirit to fight for better things. I’ll blame it on the traffic.
Feeling a little lonely, a little blue. I wish I had the power to will myself up off the floor. Get my spine upright and tall. Something happened this week that felt like an obstacle was placed in the straight path I’ve been walking.
I decided to be a little selfish, which only made me feel shitty. Being self-sacrificing would have felt a lot worse, but it would’ve been the good thing to do. Is this why my mother’s such a lamb?
Then it happened again. I feel stuck in a loop and there’s no one I trust to give me that booster shot I need. Shoot me up with dopamine, take the brakes off this steep climb.
And I’m reminded of a time when I was in Polytechnic. Where a girl I called friend said pretty things to my face, and spoke ugly things behind.
I realise that I don’t trust the things people say.
Years of my mother telling me not to have a boyfriend, and telling me that it’s perfectly okay (and probably better) if I don’t get married. Now it seems everyone expects me to and maybe I’ve bought into it. For no reason beyond the fact that we’ve been together for a long time.
There are some days when it doesn’t sound like a bad idea. But there are other days too.
I don’t want a legal contract with another human being to bind us in utilitarian harmony. What I want is an apartment. What I want is to get back to Australia for a month or three. What I want is to live away.
Has my desire to be independent turned into a dependence on someone else?
I clocked 4 straight hours of teaching today!
I was worried the entire week that I wouldn’t be able to last the marathon teaching, but I managed to clock in these hours teaching four different types of classes today. These included classes that I wasn’t confident in like BARE and Slider & Tubing.
I revised the night before, and then again in the morning and I felt that helped tremendously. I hope the students enjoyed the class because contrary to what I thought about attending BARE classes, I quite enjoyed teaching it.
Roller & Ball at 9am happened first. I’m getting a lot more comfortable with Roller & Ball so it’s getting more fun to teach. There was a student who previously came up to me and said that I had improved in my teaching, and thanked me for improving (!) You’re welcome, of course! I hope to keep improving!
Today, she told me that she enjoyed my class so much that it passed super quickly without her realising it. I feel so blessed to have students like that who affirm my teaching. Truly. It’s hard to know if students are enjoying class or not sometimes. Some grunts of pain, some peals of laughter. Maybe a slight increase in class size or having the same familiar faces in a class can signal that but otherwise, it’s not an obvious path of improvement.
Also grateful to have an incredibly encouraging Clifton Sim – who (at most times) drives me to the studio in the morning and then spends an obscene amount of time in the gym on his own to pass time.
Thanks for always pushing me harder and telling me to take up that extra class tomorrow morning to continue harvesting experience. But WHY do I have to wake up early again tomorrow?!
(Shout out to the Honey Lime Tea I bought at Fun Toast that helped me survive the consecutive hours of teaching. What a great decision and a good use of $2.40.)
4 more minutes to the end of A Year in the Life and I’m feeling a bit weird. It’s just weird. The final reveal – the secret last four words Amy-Sherman Palladino has for the series. And this wasn’t a big deal to me earlier this week when I was thinking about it. It’s just four words. It could be utterly mundane and unimportant. It could be predictable and cheesy. It didn’t really matter to me when I was thinking about it before, they’re just words.
But now, so close to the end, I feel a bit jittery and I’ve paused the episode just to think about why I feel this way, and maybe to make the moment last longer. To extend the experience a little bit more. To be completely unenlightened and uninformed.
I have so many comments about these four episodes, and not all of them good, but it’s been tickling my memory center and feeding the nostalgia beast so I’m going to overlook all the odd and exaggerated acting.
Okay. I’ve dragged this out for 10 minutes now. Time to say goodbye.
For most of my life, I’ve been a pretty stoic person. My emotional range went from happy and content to scared and panicked.
Excitement was never a thing I thought I felt.
But I recently learnt that fear and excitement are essentially the same thing.
Fear is usually held with reservations. Excitement is held with anticipation.
Your heart races, you feel butterflies flapping wildly in your gut, your breathing intensifies, you feel a sense of heightened sensitivity as your eyes widen and you limbs quiver with anticipation. Fear or excitement?
It’s both. The only difference between fear and excitement is the way you think about it.
I’ve approached things slightly differently ever since I found out. It has made teaching my first paid teaching gigs less traumatic, even though I still get a little panicky.
Just reframing it as excitement has made it that much more exciting but I don’t know if I’m making sense as I’m typing this out and explaining it, so go read these amazing posts that explain it way better than I can.
That being said, I still struggle with showing excitement in my voice without coming across as being sarcastic. Baby steps.
Time is what keeps everything from happening at once. – Ray Cummings
We are always saying that there isn’t enough time, that life is too short. Hardly anyone ever complains about life being too long, of having too much time.
But we are its creators. We decided to count the number of sunrises and sunsets and we invented watches, clocks, calendars to keep track.
Some people never get to see the next sunrise, some never get to see the next sunset. It’s only when we’re running out that we count and realise that we’ve seen too little, we regret and lament that we never got enough time, that we should’ve gotten more – Please, please god, why me?
We created time. And how much we get depends on us. My only hope is that I would never have to say that I don’t have enough time. There is enough, if we try harder to make our time count, because counting time doesn’t seem to make things better.
I have much to be happy about.
After months of learning and training in Pilates, I’ve finally passed my theory, practical and teaching modules and I’m now a certified instructor.
I’m going to Philippines in October for a friend’s wedding, and Clif and I will be going to one of the world’s most beautiful beaches for a good tan before the wedding.
I’m healthy and everything is good.
But there are some days that are just downs, for no particular reason, and they’re just mellow and slightly grey. My brain gets into itself and things get messy in there.
Today is one of those days.
I remember being so in love with books when I was younger that I’d hide under my blanket covers to read.
Fairytales and Sweet Valley Twins, Enid Blyton and Nancy Drew.
I loved stories about Jessica and Elizabeth Wakefield. Having a twin sister sounded like the best thing ever, a best friend I could depend on.
My brain doesn’t hold many memories of my childhood, but one good memory I have is one of my brother bringing me to the large Borders bookstore at Wheelock and then telling me to pick one book as a Christmas gift.
I was spoilt for choice.
The one I finally picked was Christmas themed, to go along with the spirit of the December season.
I must have read this about twenty times (or more).
You might also be surprised to find out that I still have this book with me.
I realise now that it’s not the coolest thing to talk about, but I was never exposed to Roald Dahl. I think I was probably turned off by the illustration style on the Roald Dahl books, which would have been unappealing to me as a kid.
And as much as I’d like to think I was a bookworm, I was never the Rory Gilmore-type who’d read Moby Dick or Pride and Prejudice.
Trust me, I tried with Anna Karenina.
Wheelock no longer holds a bookstore, and now, I get my books off booksdepository.com.
Latest novels to arrive are the second and third books of Miss Peregine’s Home for Peculiar Children.
A dormant hobby? Did I say that watching vintage bags on eBay would be a dormant hobby? I was wrong. That was a week ago, and a week ago I was young and naive to have thought that watching beautiful things on eBay get sold to other people was an enjoyable, passive activity.
What was I thinking?
I discovered a new impulsiveness. One you would only understand if you’ve ever watched the last 30 minutes of an online auction. It was almost as gripping as an episode of Game of Thrones (Season 2).
All I can say is…as the number on the countdown clock drew nearer, a different kind of fear gripped me – what if I win? And then panic, what if someone outbids me and my bid gets pushed to my maximum bid?
I’m now waiting for the arrival of my new most expensive not-so-new bag.
Even though a sturdy plastic bag could probably do as good a job of holding my wallet and my phone.