oh but if you never try you’ll never know
just what you’re worth
– coldplay; fix you

guess I’m still stuck here and unable to move,
unless you want to take another leap of faith.

but what faith do I have
in this fickle universe of inconstants

(yes, I know that isn’t a noun, but fuck off)


have a little patience

In this short Life
That only lasts an hour
How much — how little — is
Within our power
– Emily Dickenson

like everything else, this too will pass, so rather than thinking of running away, maybe I should give myself some more time.

I’ve basically been whinging to everyone about how much I hate this role, but maybe it’s time to grow up a little and think about how I can’t possibly stay in my own comfort zone all the freaking time. it sucks, but perhaps that’s the challenge of the year, to deal with it in a mature way instead of utilizing the escape route.

while the Dickenson quote is all about how life is short and how we shouldn’t squander our brief time on earth, I think I can see it going the other way around too, since it talks about how much or how little is in our power, and I’d say the way in which I see the situation also constitutes how much power I give it over me.

idk, does that make sense? it sounds logical in my brain, but whether or not that translates into actual words…

just another day ending in y

let there be anarchy and who gives the shit about the various categories and my own vague promises.
(all images yanked from google, duh)

this is soooo gpoy it hurts (also, do we still say gpoy? idk what’s going on anymore internet, give me your dank memes, your rare pepes, your stolen reaction videos yearning to go viral)

work has been so shitty lately that I am completely resigned to the next 10 months being an utter pain the butt, devoid of any real joy in the workplace. my eyes will eventually fall out of my socket since I’ve been rolling them so hard and I’d probably have bitten my tongue off by then to stop myself from making snide remarks.

in fact today’s actually my first day back at work after the lunar new year break because I got strep throat and had a 2 day mc, in which I mostly slept a lot on the couch while marathoning netflix in my dreams.

maybe it’s the post-illness that’s making me so cranky, but not really, since I’ve been irritated with work since nearly after the first month or so.

I’m definitely not well suited to the industry, just based on my temperament and given my lack of interest in details and being meticulous in general, things are doubly annoying. I just want to be left alone in peace to do whatever shit you’ve assigned me – is that so hard to ask? am I really needed in those meetings, can’t someone else be the minutes taker instead, someone who actually has background to the issue at hand…

do you know what sort of thoughts run through my mind? things like hey, if a serial killer were to murder me or if paranormal activity were to occur, or if I got bitten by a poisonous spider, or I’m killed when jaywalking, at least I won’t have to turn up to work anymore. or hey, it’s only 10 more months to go, just as long as an unwanted pregnancy and abortion is now illegal thanks to republican bullshit.

the only response to people who go like, ‘so why don’t you just quit, right?’ also, I realised that I’ve been retail therapy-ing so hard recently because of work shit. also, the only good thing about this job is that it makes me fonder of my weekend jobs. not even joking – cajoling little kids to play bad piano is more fun than all this crap.

I have always believed, somewhere in the back of my head, that it would be nice to live in prison. Of
course I know that prison is not nice at all, but the thought persists nonetheless.

In the book, “The Loner’s Manifesto,” author Anneli Rufus (INT) notes, “When parents on TV shows
punished their kids by ordering them to go to their rooms, I was confused. I loved my room. Being
there behind a locked door was a treat. To me a punishment was being ordered to play Yahtzee with
my cousin Louis. I puzzled over why solitary confinement was considered the worst punishment in

Think of it–no responsibilities, free room and board. You can do anything you please with your
abundant spare time: read, write, create art, design things, study. No one to bother you or interrupt
your work.

I suspect that prison does not present as much suffering for INTPs as it does for other types. Of course,
it depends on the conditions in the particular prison. (source: Anna Moss; The Secret Lives of INTPs)

quick thoughts on work

it’s sad, but I’m only halfway through my second week and I’ve fallen ill. it’s like my body is adjusting to all the work shit all over again since I had such a long hiatus.

01 casual dress code is the best thing ever. seriously. but it also makes me want to go shopping for more shit to wear to work.

02 still goddamn awkward around people despite getting over the whole ‘shy/introverted’ thing. I mean, fake it till you make it, sure, but if you’re not very comfortable with people in general, it shows up, no matter how much I laugh along with their in-jokes and pretend to be outgoing.

03 music is a lifesaver. okay, like this is applicable in all scenarios, but basically music is the main thing that is keeping me awake at work when all I want to be is a zombie. like, I was so relieved to see people using earphones on the third day that I threw all caution to the winds and hit up my Spotify playlists.

04 heeeelllo, procrastination, my old friend, I’ve come to talk with you again. yes, a terrible bad habit but so far, I’ve managed to complete my tasks as quickly as possible (though not without pesky minor errors that could have been caught with some checking) so that I can you know, surf the net, check out reddit, read fic…

05 the cynic in me lives on – I still can’t stand all those inspirational motivational shit that leaders like to sprout. yeah, tell me what to do, give me deadlines and give me the money, but don’t try and inspire me with your words because I’m like the running creek, everything gonna flow right by and I’m too jaded for your ra-ra feel good maxims. it’s all just marketing lingo and neuro-linguistic programming to me.


Hey, if you think I’m that expendable, to the point where you’re not even willing to hire a new person to take over my position, and you’d rather ask the PA to take over my role, well, that’s a giant red flag that you’re waving in my face. Which makes it a good thing that I’m leaving because you guys definitely do not inspire devotion or loyalty.

And fuck, if you guys are that cheap, I don’t know what I was hoping for, and holding out for. Cheapskates, pfft, sure, I don’t do anything important, right? As long as there’s someone running the operations side and not giving you any problems or making you take charge of the operational daily tasks, you don’t care who does it, anyway. We’re just cogs in the machine to you guys, right?

Oh, and I’m sure you guys see me slacking off all the time, and think I don’t actually do anything, to which I need to reply, it’s not that there isn’t anything to do, it’s just that I finish everything really quickly. It takes me half a minute to complete each request because I know everything like the back of my hand, and I know what to look out for.

But hey, I’m sure the PA is just as efficient, no? Especially when she’s going to be covering two other people because you guys are too much of a cheapskate. Just don’t forget that there will be more shit coming down due to the reorganization and changes in other agencies.


light at the end

Sorry to be so cliched and shit, but I feel like a huge burden has been lifted off my shoulders.

You know what, yeah, I’m irresponsible and choosy and have no real ambitions but at least I’m not going to make myself miserable because of work.

Nothing cuts deeper than knowing you’re expendable, a cog in the wheel and so easy to replace, and what do they give you at the end of your stay? Nothing worth my time or my effort. It’s not that I don’t like the place, the people are nice enough, mainly because they know you’re small fry and you don’t hinder them in office politics, they know your stay isn’t permanent anyway, and it’s easy enough to make you want to leave, and you never feel like you’re appreciated or a member of the team. Idk, maybe I expected too much or I put in too much hope when there wasn’t any to begin with.

But hey, I see the end is dawning and with at least a glimpse of that horizon, I don’t need to feel so bad anymore.

Oh yes, glorious unemployment, you’re in my cards.

I just want to make it till the end

Oh yes, these days my emails have become increasingly snippy because of some arseholes. You guys are definitely not getting any preferential treatment, I’m sorry. If I have to hound you 5 million times, and as a last resort, call your boss to just get a hold of you? Dude, who the fuck do you think you are? I wouldn’t even put in this much effort to meet musicians I’m enamoured with.

Also, thanks to restructuring of statboards, I have even more shit to do before I can go. FML.

but where do we go from here

the boss asked me earlier if I planned to renew my work contract with them…
shit. I need to start looking for better jobs, otherwise I’d be stuck in an endless loop again, and then I’ll turn old and decrepit and then just end up vanishing into a cloud of dust.

it’s not that my job sucks – I mean, it has its stressful, frustrating and terribly terribly sucky moments, but some part of me enjoys this agonizing exchange with various agencies. I might mock and get annoyed by how stupid some people are, but ultimately, I like helping them figure things out. I feel accomplished when I have managed to help people.

and I really like it when there are days I’m so free I can read 500k worth of words in a day, just sitting at my computer, scrolling and scrolling and scrolling, stopping once in a while to do some work or look attentive…

but is this all I should be doing with my life? is there nothing else that I can do?
what do I want to do, my boss asked me this, and I found myself not knowing how to reply. I said eventually that I wanted to go into research, I want to read a lot of things, present information, write papers…

staying in school was much easier, there was only one path to take, and now I’m on a cliff.

1000 questions left unanswered

is it strange that other people are more concerned about my future than I am?

remember my crappy old boss? the one who made me press all the phone numbers before handing her the receiver? yeah, she recently came up to me and asked me about what I’m planning to do once my contract is up (which will be in May 2016, if anyone is considering to send jobs my way. universe, I’m sending a SOS to you, if you’re hearing me.)

basically she was like, this current role has no future or development, and you shouldn’t be wasting your time. I think you should go into policy, you’re good at writing things. I hear that they might be hiring people upstairs, and if so, I’ll help you pass your name along and see if they will get back to you and offer you something.

which made me feel kind of bad, because we (as in my fellow coworkers and I) have been dissing her now and then… and here I am, accepting her assistance.

I don’t deserve getting her help for being such a two-faced bitch behind her back, but I also feel strangely detached, like it doesn’t really matter anymore, whether or not I stay on or find some other job.

other adults (not in the office, just older folks in my social circles) have asked me about my plans, my mother asked if I wanted to go back and do my masters or something, and here I am, floundering.

is carving out a career supposed to be so… empty? or is it the fact that I’m not passionate about something? I feel like an unfinished piece of work – like someone was supposed to put a vital ingredient but forgot and now I’m just walking around with a body and lacking a soul?

owning up

When I was a little kid of nine, armed with hand-me-down notebooks and sparkly pens, I told my mother that I wanted to be an author. I wrote crap, basically, stories influenced by whatever I had watched on tv and read in books, a sort of mashed up plagiarism, since I liked Chinese period dramas with all the old school martial arts (with all the fanciful attack names) and Western medieval fantasy books. I illustrated them as well, with really bad renderings of girls with lame flowing hair and really strange looking hands and feet. Even to this day, I can’t draw hands, especially fingers, and drawing realistic feet are still out of my capabilities as well. I usually just tell people, especially my piano kids, that I will only draw stick men. And crappy stick men, at best.

But even as I got older, the days turning hotter, and hotter (never colder because what seasons do we have here, amirite?), I told people that I wanted to write for a living. My mother was still supportive of my choice in career, albeit very doubtful of my ability to actually get there (which she was right to do so, because I’m a twentysomething person who is still a sad sad office monkey with extremely dusty dreams of being a writer).

I sat at the cool kids’ table in primary school, with my no-longer-hand-me-down notebooks, not bullied for being an unapologetic nerd, because I was basically declaring that I liked doing composition homework for fun when I said I was writing stories. The same went for my secondary school days, where friends told me that they wanted to read my published works. By then I had amassed quite a lot of notebooks, with half drawn out plotlines and half developed characters.

It feels like I’m doomed to constantly start and restart everything sporadically, and the cycle continues ad nauseam.

To be honest, I know what was the main problem behind everything. Sure, procrastination was a demon, my lack of urgency was another. But the main thing that probably bogged me down was the fact that I didn’t really have a story to tell. There was nothing that I wanted to really write about, or at least there was no genuine story bursting out of my soul, and I had no real passion that needed to be told to the larger world. I had ideas, sure, cobbled from here and there, like how I was influenced by whatever I had watched or read when I was a child. Even now, I am that child still. The lack of actual story held me back, it didn’t really matter if I had the writing chops or if I wrote like a drunken otter. It didn’t matter because there was nothing to write about. Perhaps I am a hollow person, despite all attempts to seem otherwise.

Another issue was that I found myself drawn into the small gritty details of research. Every time I wanted to write something, I ended up with yet another thing to research about, and while I procrastinate on researching on whatever topic I needed in order to write, the actual process of writing fell even further on the backburner. And once more, I sacrifice another notebook to the futility of achieving a far away goal.

These days, I scarcely dare to dream of writing. Nah, I’m too tired to write, I tell myself, grim-eyed, as though I faced a thousand battles and came through scarred and rugged, when my fingers are hardly callused from typing, when all I have typed are emails to various agencies chasing them for one item or another, or crafting unentertaining tweets to amuse my friends. I end up distracting myself with video games and sitcoms because what else is there in my life currently?

These days, I dream more of getting a less crappy job, something that would put more money in the bank, something that would challenge me more in terms of my intelligence.

And maybe, if I were to describe the job I would want, I would prefer to be an assistant to an actual writer. I want to be the researcher for the writer, to help them find the materials they need to write whatever stories dwelling inside them, to read and find out things about the 15th century vases or learning about amputation techniques in the olden days or the characteristics of blackholes. I like that aspect – learning about all the various different things for the sake of learning about them. There might be no real world applications for some information, but still, they are fascinating to read about. I might not be creative enough to spin my own yarns, but perhaps I can be useful enough to someone else who has the talent and patience to do so.

I don’t know, that’s how I feel as a tired (and isn’t ‘tired’ such a cop-out word?) twentysomething, which is different from when I was an idealistic nine year old, or even a hopeful teen. Maybe I’ll feel something else when I’m in my thirties, or even later.