So many things happened this week, yet I’ve got nothing to blog about leh, life has been … well … mundane, really. Mundane, despite having a colleague come in from HK, despite eating seafood twice in JB, despite the 3 deaths that occured.
I was typing this whole long blog full of boring happenings this week halfway, when I went to read Chris’ blog and her latest entry had a sentence that went something like imagining a life in which nothing mattered and everything was just ‘whatever’. (I’m paraphrasing her, just in case she discovers this and tells me I plagarized her blog). The thing is, she can’t imagine a life like that, and my life is exactly that.
I went to the airport with my mum to send off my grandma’s maid, and we met this young family: dad, mum, 2 kids and grandma, who were doing the same thing. After their maid went in through customs, the older boy started crying ’cause he missed her. My mum made a comment then about how I bawled my eyes out when our maid went back to Ipoh when I was around 4 years old.
I got to thinking about what a big cry-baby I was when I was a kid. I cried over everything, to the point where my mum and brother couldn’t stand it and bullied me to the point of not crying anymore. Since then, crying has always been a sign of weakness or madness or bo-liao-ness in our family. In fact, any sign of emotion is. Sadness is shrugged off, happiness is not celebrated. I realised then, in fact I’ve realised since a long time ago, that I’ve developed this stoicism in almost every circumstance and experience. Passion of any kind, in any situation, seems to be a closed door to me somehow.
I’m bored of feeling bored. How do you learn to feel, to cry, to laugh, again?