i fumble as i muse

Last comes before First

Today is my last day of work, and tomorrow will be my first day of work at another team. I’m doing an internal transfer and generally I feel glad about it because this is something that I want and looking forward to. As prepped by my new manager, ‘This process should be seamless to you. No action required from you at this point. Your current manager and I will handle everything’, and it sure is seamless. So much that it has already been decided on my behalf that I will start the very next day, even if it means 1 working day left for this week on the day that I will be starting. I mean, is it odd or is it just me? Because ideally, you would want to bring someone new in start of week right? It reduces the chances of people wondering for a moment why is there a strange girl at that corner and going oh yeahhhhhh. I’m afraid of awkwardness and awkward is when people forget me over the long weekend. Yeah, there’s a public holiday on Friday which means long weekends! (And also an off day on payroll so….not complaining hee). 

I know that it’s not the most uncommon occurance..people start work immediately, it happens. But having your last day of work and first day of work in a singular week -not to mention back to back- it’s kinda daunting. 

I barely slept 3.5 hours last night therefore am completely uncoordinated the entire day. I kept dropping pens, staring into blank space and my brain simply mistook its identity as a snail. Reason being, I really wanted to have a nice closure and farewell from my current team. Hence, sketching mini versions of my colleagues as cards and packaging candies, at 3 am! On a weekDAY. #badass. 

Well, one could argue that I could have done it over the weekend beforehand but well, I’m just too good at procrastinating.

One more thing about me, I’m also an introvert and occasionally anti-social. That means an influx of conversation topics on the farewell can stress me out a little bit. Not to mention first days of work are generally stressful for anyone. 

On a more positive note, I think I’ll definitely miss the team/ fresh batch into the list of ex-colleagues. Moments are so fleeting! (Ha, reference from my previous post) Work has been rather enjoyable, I don’t hate it (phew! – actually, I love it), and have been doing it everyday since this year started. Just like how one is used to a morning routine, one will feel uneasy and even a sense of loss when forced to change to a completely new routine. 

Anyway! Brand new start, fresh chapter of my life here I come. The pages have been flipped and the last sentences of the current chapter has been penned down. Time to look forward and embrace whatever comes. For better or for worse, one thing is for sure and it’s that I am moving forward and I will grow. 

‘This too shall pass’ 

Moments are so fleeting. Or in an indie translation: ‘This too shall pass’. 

I’m not sure if i’m pro or anti towards the fleetingness of life. I swear, ‘This too shall pass’ is mainly meant for moments when life throws lemons and you know that it will stop sooner or later. Because on a double standard, when life is all rosy, you’ll want to just hoard the roses. During a moment when you wish time stands still, the sobering reminder ‘This too shall pass’, will be the last thing on your mind. Realistically, life only works this way, the theory that everything will come and pass, and roses wilt inevitably. Just as horrible events eventually pass, same goes for beautiful moments which fade away as if they never happened. I guess the only place that moments can live forever, is in your heart where they may be etched. 

Hence everytime I come back to this writing space, I wish I had put in more dedication inscribing my emotions and thoughts. Or anywhere in fact. e.g my futile attempts to write consistently on paper. 

My memory is really bad. For times that I know for a fact that my boyfriend tends to go out of his way to make me smile, I just find it hard to think of specific examples. My mind simply analyzes, summarizes and allocates. Then, that memory becomes a flat nugget of information/biodata. It’s hard for me to recreate an experience in my mind for reminscing because Error 404: Details not found. 

And I really dislike how my own brain is being annoying and trimming off the pretty details. Hence by jotting down, at least more memory might be preserved. A picture is worth a thousand words. But doing it the other way round, by using a thousand words to paint a picture is not as easy breezy. Please don’t be mistaken, I’m no full time poet and am a regular metropolitan human aka selfie/instaworthy food/scenery/cute animals hoarder. Which means sieving through thousands of photos is not easy either. 

Maybe my future self will discover the art of exponential memory (be it physically, or biologically or electronically) which will mean mocking the current me for being so noob. This post might as well be named as ‘Chloe and her Messy Brain’ or ‘How to be Disorganized in Life’. 

As much as I try, this general feeling of life slipping past causes me insecurities and anxiety. I feel that I need to adjust my gearing in perspective before I miss out on anymore. Which beg these questions: Am I leading life looking at the rear view mirror? How much time should one spend documenting their life and actually living it? Should I start taking up memory classes? 


It starts with a dull ache in your chest that intensifies in ebbs and flows. Your mind is drowning in the pain and your heart feels it too. The corner of your lips moves downwards, turning what used to form a smile upside down. As if it cannot be contained, it surfaces up, you start to feel choked. That’s how tears start rolling down and you’ll barely realize it. 


My dad used to send me to school when we newly shifted because it had became a very long journey for me to attend classes. One early morning, we were taking the lift down and someone with a cigarette came in, refusing to stub it out. My dad is also one who smokes but at that moment, he went all rage mode on that middle aged man for the second hand smoke. His vocabulary were, uhm, very protective. And of course that guy hurriedly stubbed it out. My dad can be quite intimidating but rarely to us. Anyway, I recall this because two days ago I bumped into that man who brought the smoke into the lift. That man is still staying here after 8 years but not anymore for my dad. I see my dad here and there on occasions but not on daily basis now. I miss being my dad’s little girl

the bitter, bittersweet and.. the sweeet

Things were so rosy when I last talked about it. The past 5 months feel so short and so long at the same time. 5 months ago was the last time me and Nicholas held each other before he left for UK again. Distance has taken such a toll on us. Words and intentions got warped, misunderstanding only piled up. More often than not, it feels like we’re drowning and also drifting apart. In this weird space of jaded endurance of distance and bated breath for his return, I’m learning just how bittersweet love can be. 

Once I brought up my relationship with my mum, and she jokingly suggested we should just break up since we argue so much. Can’t say it never crossed my mind. But she also added that as long as the arguments decrease from more to less, it’s a better sign than it growing from less to more and more arguments. It’s comforting to hear a decelerating rate is better than an accelerating rate. And decelerating means it needs to starts somewhere high before it goes down right?  

So that’s the bitter part. Bitter can be so unbearable.

Bittersweet are those moments where we reach hard towards each other. When we need to speak out truths especially when it’s hard, to hear each other out when it’s painful. Sometimes it’s hard even just to say something. Times where we need to make apologies that are hard. Times where we hurt, and also the hurt from knowing how much we have hurt the other person in the process.

The sweet part is being reminded of what a great person I have fallen in love with. Fun, is an understatement when I think of what we can do together when he comes back. He feels like home, and him coming back means that I’m also coming home to him. I have already got tickets for musuems, parks, and not excluding our air ticket for Taiwan. (Maybe that’s why we can’t break up,ha.) I almost forgot how much I enjoy talking about anything under the sun with him and simply feeling at ease in each other’s presence.

In hindsight, it’s a great feat that we made it. We haven’t gave up when it was much easier to. And the reward of still having each other, makes all the pain worthwhile. Happy 9 months darling. 


Today is a public holiday which makes yesterday an equivalent of TGIF, am i doing the maths right?
I had intentions to punctuate my work week and start the long weekend with a night out, drinks and all.
I went home first for delicious home cooked dinner, and it ain’t hard to guess that I didn’t want to step out again.
With the work-hard-party-hard plan out of the window, I thought that I could catch up on the things I didn’t manage to get to during the weekdays and simply unwind.

Long story short, I didn’t even manage to get to that. I ended up dozing off on the couch after a nice heavy meal. Before I fell into my 2 hour slumber, I vaguely remembered that I was inching my body position from a sitting position into a lying foetal position while watching Good Mythical Morning on my iPad. No form of resistance while I was in that conducive state. Got a cushion under my head and off I went. All I can say is that it has been a long tiring week. The thing is, I can’t go to sleep without showering, but I also didn’t have enough energy to shower. See the pickle that I was caught in?

It’s currently 2am after sobering up to some newly charged energy sufficient for me to take a shower.
I think I might have just redefined my own TGIF. It involves some food, some shows, some sleep and location is home.
This isn’t the first time too. Once or twice before, my way of celebrating the weekend involves getting a McSpicy meal with some good ol coke and fries, couching with something I like be it books or some shows, and procrastinating shower for way too long.

What is carthasis? 

It’s not just writer’s block. It’s carthasis. Carthasis, is an ugly word. Carthasis is also the process of outpouring from strong, repressed emotions. According to psychoanalytical theories, this emotional release is linked to a need to relief unconscious conflicts citing stress over work related situations which can cause feelings of frustration and tension. I recently learnt of this word from a friend who studied pyschology. She dropped this word in a normal sentence like “Oh, you just really need some carthasis.” like it’s your everyday vocabulary. And after i understood that word, i went ‘yeah yeah! that’s me!!! I need some of that carthasis!’ 

My previous entry here was about prepping mentally for my new job. This current entry is just a continuation of that. I wish there was a more exciting reason why I dont have time to write here, like my life got oh so happening but it’s really just the contrary. For the past 2 months, i was just trying to be the best sponge i can be. Absorbing and learning every single day. It’s fulfilling, challenging and great but.. I have zero energy left when i reach home. I’m not complaining though. I just learnt my human limits. 

All these while, i have been quick to retreat into my comfort zone the moment i reach home. I left my brains in the office and i dont have a single shred of urgency much less be task driven etc etc. Basically from a sponge at work, i transform into a couch potato at home. Since work started, i feel like i dont have an ounce of energy nor motivation in me to do anything productive. Nonetheless my list of personal maintenance aka my sanity, only keeps growing and piling and piling… Things that keep me sane includes reading and writing. I have all these thoughts i want to get out, and all these emotions i want to validate and release. 

This is where carthasis comes in. Carthasis is basically a release for emotions and I’m going to use pooping as an analogy. Imagine if one doesnt poop for a long time, it’s just going to end up really bad, right? With those toxins built up inside, it feels horrible. And that’s how i feel. I feel… emotionally constipated. 


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