Screaming in white space

Hello.

 

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It took me almost a whole year to write this… un-freaking-believable *rolls eyes*

 

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There was this afternoon in March and I was having tea with Apple. After an hour or two, in between topics as I played with the straw in my drink, I casually mentioned “Hey, hm, just thought I probably should bring it up, but for the last couple of months I’ve been feeling very down and I can’t exactly pinpoint why.”

 

I still acted as usual in front of people, so it wasn’t exactly taking a toll in my life. But no matter what I did, I couldn’t lift my spirits. I guess it was also around that time I stopped going to dance class, having difficulty writing… which sounded like something long the lines “stop doing what one used to enjoy”. But I assured her I was pretty sure I wasn’t depressed, because I hadn’t start crying for no apparent reason, having suicidal thoughts, or felt I was slowly driven to insanity… unlike my first year in university. So every now and then, she sends me links or articles related to depression, to which I always try to recall during what conversation recently had I probably over exaggerated my situation. I’ve always been a moody person, just that I’m aware of my shortcomings so I tend to keep it at bay when I’m with people.

 

I didn’t recall that particular conversation again until early this month I told Cass I won’t be meeting her for dinner the next week because I bought a ticket to Seoul over the weekend. She hesitated when she said it seem like I’ve been a bit crazy this year – went travelling thrice this year, when I had always been careful with money. I have been spending excessively – clothes, books that I don’t have time to read, eating out and drinking more often, perhaps, since May. For the last few times when I closed my books for the month (that’s exactly how careful I am with my finances – I need to know exactly how much I’ve spent and where I’ve spent it, with my trusty accounting software…) I got a good scare – how I had to sometimes dip into my savings to get through the month, because a good portion of my paycheck went to the credit card company. Still at least I could pay for everything on time and I was aware of what I was doing.

 

Then the crying spells started again. Funny thing though – when I knew why I was crying I almost never felt the emotion behind it; it was always more like a biological annoyance that I have no control over (rather like me dozing off), and has got me into embarrassing situations (during my appraisal in front of my boss, or when we were visiting my cousin’s grandma during CNY, for instance). When I didn’t “know” what I was crying for, I would, quite literally, feel an ache on my chest and I rarely attempt to stop myself, as if once I’ve drained my “reservoir” everything will be okay. But again, these aching outbursts only happened once in a while when I was on my own, unless there was something that managed to distract me. Seriously this doesn’t happen very often; only once in a while.

 

I don’t exactly know why my mom suggested this (I don’t think I’ve cried in front of her often enough to warrant it, but then maybe I’ve just been exceptionally cranky around her once or twice per week), but she said one of her clients had depression before, and she later realized her ivy-league-graduate daughter was going through the same thing. I painstakingly reassured her I will talk to her client when I feel like I should, but I don’t. Then after telling Tannessa my crying one night in Seoul, she also suggested me to talk to someone, “a professional” she emphasized, to see there was something that could be “fixed”, which somehow irritated the hell out of me. For one thing, I have a hard enough time articulating my thoughts or feelings as it is to do it On Purpose. For another it’s not like something crazily bad has happened to me. No one has bullied me, no one has abused me, I have a job, I make enough to go by, I have great friends, I get along with people – so I have bad days; everyone has them, so I should pretty much do what everyone does – just Deal. What makes me so special or what was so bad that I could not cope? I was and still am very much aware it sounds like me being defensive or being in denial. Yet, this all also sounded like, as to quote Apple, utterly “middle class” –  something someone with loads of free time or extra cash in their hands to seek professional help for. If I can’t work it all out myself, then in a way I’m just incredibly weak.

 

She tried to soothe me, Tannessa , by saying she thought I knew how to cope when things get bad – it’s just I tend to keep it in, and one day it will be too much to contain. I thought back on how I used to cope when I young – I read, I wrote, I danced (in later years)… anything that took my mind off from focusing on the bad (or letting it wander too far). Then I noticed I’m not reading the right books, no longer write on my blog (nothing about recent life, anyway), and went to dance class too occasionally to be of any significance.

 

One of the many reasons I stopped writing on my blog, was because I cannot help feeling self absorbed whilst I wrote. It was also one of the main reasons I left fewer cryptic “statuses” on Facebook – I’m not looking for sympathy, nor seeking for attention. But sometimes muffling your thoughts in a pillow aren’t enough. I need an open space to scream – that’s big enough for me to look from afar and decipher my actions and thoughts with a hint of objectivity. I need to write. I should write.

 

It wasn’t an exaggeration when I said I spent a whole year trying to write this piece. This version was done in a week. In February I wrote ” Major reason to get yourself a blog – free therapy… I have been having mood swings for the longest of time.” Then in July I managed to blurted “So the last…”, then in August I managed ” I failed writing, so Writing failed me”. Each version had a different beginning. None except this one, were longer than two lines.

 

So, I’ll try to resume writing again. At least putting down thoughts that has been plaguing my head for the last couple of months. One reason is to come back to the warm arms of  my free therapist, my blog (maybe “sanctuary” would be a better fit. I am my own free therapist, after all). Another is to simply try to make sense of all that is Jen Mercury.

 

 

Night with Tannessa

So it seems March didn’t happened at all and it’s now April.

*************

Straight after I landed on Hong Kong, I called Tannessa to ask when she would be free for a drink and turned out she was about to call me and ask if I wanted to come join her in LKF. I was famished and desperate for a shower, so she kindly swung by my place with food before we headed out together.

Before we head to this pub she wanted to go, we met up with Adrian and had a drink with him and his friends first. Two things came to mind – One was how different we both were from our company, which I found oddly comforting. The other was a couple of déjà vu moments of how it was like back in school when we could use few words, or even simply glance at each other, to communicate. Because we no longer shared a common environment, it doesn’t happen as often as it used to.

As we settled down in this discreet pub where the art circle hangs out, I told Tannessa about my sudden trip to Singapore, to which she appeared both shocked yet not too surprised all at once (considering my history of doing uncharacteristic things from time to time, her conflicting reaction was completely understandable). As the night continued, I felt such a close bond with her that I hadn’t experienced in a long time – funnily enough it had never occurred to me that the two of us were in fact very similar people. For someone who doesn’t blindly support anyone, I counted on her to help reflect on the things I saw, thought and the choices I’ve made -  and I got her support to such entirety that I knew I was indeed, right.

One of the things I covered was how I have come to realize I tend to seek out people who I subconsciously sense loneliness / abandonedness / <insert as appropiate>; try to make things easier for them as I never want anyone to experience all that if I could help it by giving them what they want emotionally (I empathizes too much for my own good, it does seem)… but I was led to question if I was just hindering others from coping by themselves, that I should mind my own business and stop. Hah to be honest I forgot what she said exactly, but I had the impression that I need not fret about it.

“Do you remember if I was one of the people you’ve seek out; was I alone?” Tannessa asked as we were down with our third drink and the pub was slowly emptied out by the minute. I was suddenly brought back to almost nine years ago; we were on a school bus for some trip and she was there, sitting alone. It was early in the school term and she has yet to let people see her charming self as she kept to herself most of the time. My first impression of her was being this bad but bright student who got caught for wearing mismatch earrings (in my defense I was young, and she didn’t look too friendly back then), slept through class but still did brilliantly (yikes how many friends of mine does that? @@). For some inexplicable reason I decided to leave my own friends, sat with her and that was how it all began. Then I slowly recalled having similar experiences with a couple of people, a lot with me “approaching” them, making initial contact, and that was where I knew if I were any different, I would have missed out so much.

All in all, it was a good week and believe it or not, I’ve got so much out of it that words cannot express.

*************

Apparently if I were to test my drinking limits, I should drink on an empty stomach… because that way it’s cheaper and more efficient.

A dream I had in Paris

2009.06.22

I was in my hotel bed sleeping; dreaming. In this dream, for some inexplicable reason, I needed to delete something to free up the memory in my brain (I choose to associate this with Sherlock Holmes’ idea of how the mind works, instead of relating this with computer science…).

 

All around me were hundreds of replicas of my brothers, Vincent and Steven, at different stages of their lives running round me. Then I had this brilliant idea of leaving one copy of each, and delete the rest. The first I deleted was Vincent when he was around six — the age when he was possessed by the devil. I chased him down, snatched his card, pressed it, and he vanished. Okay, now my next victim.

 

I found Steven in his primary school uniform standing next to me. He was seven years old and unlike now, he was very skinny and easy to get a smile out of. I look down at him and asked him for his card. Without a second thought he just handed it to me, looking up with his head tilted and smiled; just like in a picture of him next to a mean looking teacher during a school picnic. He looked at me so trustingly, utterly oblivious of what I was planning to do… and I found I couldn’t make myself press the card. I gave it back to him, and at the same time knew I didn’t have the heart to delete any more replicas.

 

At this point I woke up, and found that I was crying in my sleep.

 

********

It was our last day in Paris and I was a bit subdue that morning. We were going to the Basilique du Sacré-Cœur (a catholic church in Montmartre), and the rest of the day free to wander wherever we want.

 

It was small and not as majestic compared to the others we’ve seen throughout our Europe trip (I remembered Janette saying half jokingly that she was picking which one to have her future wedding at). It was a very long walk up to the church and after having a brief tour inside, we decided to sit and rest at the back rows of pew. Facing us was a huge mosaic art of Jesus with open arms.

 

I didn’t know what I was actually thinking for the whole morning, except for the vivid imagery of my dream. Janette was just mentioning how this church didn’t make her feel like praying, unlike the other grand ones we’ve visited, when I said I was going to go pray and asked her to wait for me awhile. I went right to the middle of the church, far from Janette but still away from the more devoted prayers at the first twenty rows, knelt down, not exactly sure where to place my elbows but finally got into a comfortable position, and began talking to God.

 

I always saw myself as a Christian but never outwardly presented myself as such (which should be explored in another blog post in the future). I asked God to take care of my brothers and the rest of my family (“I’m on it! But keep asking once in awhile in case I forget.”). I told Him about the dream, wondering why I had it (“Cos you miss them, you idiot girl” God, ladies and gentleman); I asked why I always had this void in me and the hidden coldness of all things around me; I asking why at the very bottom of my heart, I felt pain which I never truly realize I had until I’ve put my life on hold (“There there now…”). For the second time that day I wept silently, secretly but as always, felt absolutely nothing. I looked up at the mosaic Jesus and wondered how many turned to him out of loneliness instead of remorse.

 

I took a deep breath and gave out a small sigh. Double checking that my tears were dry, I stood up and walked back to Janette, saying “let’s go” with a small smile. I decided to send my brothers another postcard, just to let them know what a weird dream I had last night and hoped everything was going on well for them.

 

 

Eccentricity in Venice II

2009.06.18

It was our last night in Venice; Janette and I were desperate to check something online. Fortunately the person we were sharing the room with, a French student, had a laptop with him, so we offered to pay for an hour of the internet to share and he would lend us his computer. We ran downstairs to get the Wi-Fi login, and there was that man again.

“I’m busy. Come back in an hour.” he said, his eyes without leaving his screen. Our new roommate apparently hadn’t really met the hotel management and attempted to reason, only to get the same reply. So we went back to our room and waited; 45 minutes later we went down again, thinking whatever he’s doing, surely he could spare some time to write the combination for us.

“It’s not an hour yet.” he said with a temper.

Tired of walking up and down the flight of stairs again, we decided to wait at the sofa next to the reception. But then we realized we didn’t bring a pen with us (for what I’ve already forgotten; Tannessa’s phone number?), and we were hesitant of disturbing the man again. Without giving much thought I offered to go back to our room again to get one. But when I went down again, it seems the man had already lent them a pen. Anyway I waited for our roommate and Janette to finish before having my go, so I could have some quality time alone.

After the WiFi connection was cut, I got up to return the pen and hit bed. The man was watching a film on YouTube and I stood there watching the loud men in green running around with guns for awhile until he turned to me.

“Thank you for the pen.” I said, handing it back to him “What’s the name of the movie? I might watch it when I’m home.”

“It would bore you young people; only old guys like me enjoy watching World War II movies.” Me ‘Young people’, yes!!

“I like watching different things once in a while,” I said with a shrug. “and you’re not old, just mature.”

He smiled as he said he was a war film buff and thought the movie was just mediocre, so he wrote me a few movie titles I could look up.

“You are a beautiful person” he suddenly said as I was thanking him for the list. Oh… okay. Seeing my skeptical expression he kindly assured me he was telling the truth; that he had met a lot of people during his time. In a fatherly fashion, he asked if I was seeing anyone and I shook my head. “One day someone will see what I see” he said gently. I replied with a wry smile.

“It’s been a pleasure knowing you.” he said and asked me to keep the pen. We shook hands and I went up my room, mystified and pained at the same time.

Eccentricity in Venice I

I kept on hoping I would eventually continue (and finish) writing about my Europe trip more than a year ago. Overly ambitious, I thought I could write what happened every single day of the three weeks. There were a few memories in particular I’ve been waiting to write… but I have come to see I should just jump right into it.

 

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2009.06.19

 

Janette and I arrived at Venice rather late so we were eager to find the motel. Accommodation was expensive when we got around booking rooms and stuff in Venice, so there weren’t a lot of choices left that were within our budget. Luck for us there were road signs for hotels/motels all around, so it wasn’t difficult to find our way. Interestingly just below the names of these signs were stars, which I deduced indicated the hotel ratings. Ours was a “one” so we were starting to fret.

 

When we found our motel, there was already a Chinese couple at the counter. The staff, an old man probably in his mid-sixties with an American accent, didn’t acknowledge our presence so we just sat by meekly and waited for them to finish. From their conversation, I understood they were a couple of newlyweds and the Chinese man was asking the old staff something about their rooms. The old man gave no signs of trying to be pleasant, so pretty soon the Chinese guy was fed up with the service he paid for, and demanded his money back. Naturally the man at the counter had to be sarcastic.

 

“Of Course I will give you a refund.” he said and resumed to whatever he was busy with originally. The Chinese guy waited for awhile.

“Would you give us the money first?” he tentatively asked.

“I’m not giving you any money.” replied the old man as he continued writing without looking up.

“You just said you would!” The Chinese exclaimed.

“I’m not giving you any money.”

The Chinese paused. “I’m not staying here after all this.”

“Feel free to leave.”

The Chinese turned to look at wife, who was tired and clearly upset by this exchange.  He eyed on their luggage. “Give us our keys to our room.”

“Why? You said you were leaving.”

“It’s late and I cannot find another place to stay. Give us our keys.”

“I’m not going to service someone that is this impolite.”

The Chinese paused, obviously couldn’t believe what he was hearing, but ultimately had to admit defeat. “May you please give us the keys to our room?”

The old man, still not looking up. “I’m now busy. After I’m done I’ll give you the keys.”

 

(you see how I can remember all this vividly)

 

Being a fellow Chinese, to witness how the Chinese man was being somehow bullied was particularly painful. It also reminded me how I’ve never got why people expect obviously non-native speakers to be able to speak or understand colloquial English flawlessly. I was indignant and thought if that man thinks he can do that to us, he better think twice.

 

It’s so easy to be bold inside your head.

 

After the couple went upstairs (perhaps kicking themselves for not paying more money for better hospitality), I went to face the man at the counter. As I always do with people or situations that slowly pisses me off, I get extra polite.

 

“Hi, I’ve booked a room and this is the confirmation and our passports.” I said pleasantly as I handed the documents to him.

“Hallo.” he greeted amiably as he stood up. He was tall and tan, and was wearing a casual shirt. “I’m sorry you had to see all that; I have nothing against Chinese but I just don’t understand how someone can be so impolite.” Don’t comment Jennifer.

“I think it was just a big misunderstanding.” I said noncommittally but still pleasant. He scrutinized our passwords through his glasses. He held out mine.

“This is an American passport.” he said with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes it is” I agreed.

“You’re Chinese.” He stated.

“Yea, I was born there.” I said with a nod.

“Jennifer is not a Chinese name.” He again stated.

“I think my parents wanted me to have both a English and Chinese name.”

 

I guess some people might find the questions obnoxious somehow but I guess he could do more worse and I felt it was more like a test. Anyway, after a few more odd questions, he gave us our key and a few instructions and advice around Venice. He was being quite nice to us and courteous, so I guess I had somehow hm, passed.

 

Explain how this is crazy…

It was said that resolutions were made to be broken.

One of my new year resolutions: write weekly.

*********

When I told people what I was planning to do on the very last day of 2010 the responses were rather mixed. Naturally they all asked why – Lillian thought it was romantic; Cass thought it was the sort of crazy I typically do; my mom thought it was scarily insane and was really distressed when she couldn’t convince me not to go; forgot what Apple’s response was but I’m pretty sure she didn’t find it that weird (I wonder what does that say about her); and Tannessa thought it sounded like a suicide story in the making.

What was I up to

Nothing exciting actually; I just went to Dai Mei Duk. the “country side” in the New Territories, which was at least one-and-a-half hour away from Hong Kong Island. People go there to have barbeques (HK style), maybe go fish or row a boat… so to give my trip some meaning, I thought “okay I will go see the last sunset in 2010″. But honestly, honestly I just wanted to go there to see the sea at night time, and it was better if I go during day since I don’t exactly know how to get there on my own. After sunset it’s night, so the story fits my plans perfectly.

Why I just Had to go there

Two years ago at a friend’s birthday, while everyone was having fun at the barbeque and I probably wasn’t in the truest sense (which happens often enough for me to deduce that Jennifer doesn’t know how to have fun), I left the crowds to sit at the docks to get away from the noise… and the unexpected serenity and peace I found there made me promise myself to come back one day.

What drawn me back after so long

The 270-degree view of the ocean and the shimmery lights that highlighted the mountains at the background (being astigmatic makes everything look very pretty at night). The staircase that led right into sea; its surface so smooth that it seems if I were to walk on water and towards the lights, I easily could (hmm turns out Tannessa had a point over there…). It’s all very simple, nothing spectacular, and probably not what most would call “scenery” but I guess that’s why I like it so much. It was just somewhere I could just empty my head, but still conscious to be enjoying the simplicity of existing, if it makes sense…

So how did it go yesterday?

I sat by the docks and read under the sun, oblivious if people around me were staring; I watched the sun set and whilst slowly wait for night to fall, school kids with foul mouths and tiny fishing nets went right in front of me, knelt so close to the edge that I feared if one were to fall in, I would be blamed for not looking after/pushing them. I did however, kindly offered advise when they argued at the top of their lungs about how the tiny fish was dying cos he/she wasn’t willing to go get something to hold the fish and water while shake it in the air. After they left and forgot their fish I had a few minutes of silence and took in the night sea when three teenage girls came over and talked about how low they’ve sunk to please their boyfriends. I then realized I’ve stayed for almost three hours and decided it was time to leave. Not that I didn’t enjoy having a glimpse of young minds today but it was an easy decision when all three of them found out the other two smoked.

Despite not getting my peace I was hoping to experience again I’m very glad I did go. Maybe next time I will go later at night now that I know my way. Although I get why people think it is, but not really comprehending, is why it is “okay” if I do this with other people, but “crazy” if I do it alone.

天氣

你好, 近來好嗎.
除了常常都很累外, 我頗好, 謝謝你.

最近的天氣真的很舒服, 是我最喜歡的那種.
我有告訴你我喜歡冷風吹打著我的感覺麼?
一方面讓我擁有存在感,
另一方面我總是覺得只要體溫下降, 我會變得心如止境.

但今年 (忘記了去年是否也是這樣), 我卻不再享受這種天氣.
我不知道為什麼, 但我總是想起你; 尤其早上, 晚上乘電車時.
兩年了, 早就需要 format 關於你的記憶吧.

張小姐說純粹你是我這方面的最後主角, 所以我才會依然常常想你.
是這樣的話, 我應盡快找你的代替品,
還是, 因為你已不能傷害我, 所以我應繼續利用你, 作為我的”最後主角”?
我只知道若”天氣”已可以令我想你, 那樣我就糟糕了…

我想, 若果經濟狀況許可的話, 我以後乘地鐵好了.

So lately in the office…

Great so I’m writing monthly now? It’s a tad better than writing annually, I guess.

******
It’s not exactly a secret that I am not a fan of my university. As a matter of fact, I’ve somewhat subconsciously steered clear from anything anyone that had to do with those three long years. So unless I ran into them on the streets (which happens more often than one would have thought), I didn’t keep in touch with anyone (maybe one, once in a while).

People from my university; they go work for the government, multinational corporations, or mid-size companies… With so many business in Hong Kong and so few spots in my company, what are the chances of me working with a fellow schoolmate of the same major?

Clearly I’ve underestimated how tiny Hong Kong is; because the company I’m working for, a small digital marketing firm with a total of 13 staff, recently hired two guys from my school; both just graduated from the same degree program as I did, and one of them I actually knew from my former life. Considering that I don’t show up to school half the time, it was a miracle that I recognized all 30 people in my major… or was that 50?

From day one the first guy started in September, I wanted nothing to do with them and was completely uninterested in getting to know him or even to talk to him, which for me is strange because I usually try to make people comfortable, especially in a new environment. I wasn’t hostile but I wasn’t particularly friendly either (imagine my delight when the second guy showed up a few months later). Aware that I was guilty of stereotyping, I gradually tried to at least keep an open mind.

Last week I had the chance to work with one of them… and I was grossly disappointed by how careless and how uncommitted he was. It was so bad that I thought I better have a talk with him as a fellow alumni who want to look out for him, before he gets into trouble.

So taking advantage of him feeling guilty of being the direct cause of me working overtime (and hence he was vulnerable to “attacks”), I asked how he thought about the job, if he had any difficulties, what sort of work he was looking for from the start… etc. I lured the truth out of him about what industry he truly wanted to explore, why he took the job (does everyone here make more than I do???), what he thought of the work (so much attention paid on tiny i.e. trivial details) Then, in a sisterly fashion (making it explicit that my advice was from the perspective of a fellow schoolmate, not a colleague), I advised on how he should see his tasks – yes anyone with a brain can do it, it may seem you’re wasting time, but when you’re starting out, it means doing to most basic tasks and understand why everyone stresses over tiny details so much. Especially when the platform we’re working on is so simple and bounded by the frames of a monitor, those tiny details in comparison aren’t so trivial anymore. (I managed to leave out “if you can’t do something that simple, something that anyone can do, let alone do it well, what does that say about you?”) I continued to babble about how mentality is very important and if he doesn’t change how he sees his work and tasks, he wasn’t going to do well here. Then I offered to help him out if he needed any, which I thought was very generous of me, considering how little I wanted to do with all things HKU.

We arrived at his stop at that point of my speech, so he had a valid reason to escape. I knew I was wasting my time because he apparently was not listening to me at all, and that pissed me off a great deal. I could have guessed that him not taking in what I had to say was the most probable outcome, but I just couldn’t help myself from telling him what I thought and annoyed by me not able to keep my mouth shut. He obviously didn’t appreciated it (I sensed this subliminally) and I came out as a busy-body. Lesson of the day: Grow up and Mind your own business Jennifer…

How do you take your Happiness?

The longer you’ve abandoned something, it gets harder to pick up again.

************

Once when I was on Skype with my brothers, one of them mentioned that he never thought my father was particularly successful. It wasn’t because he wasn’t rich or anything, but because he was never happy. Ultimately what we all want, is to be content and happy in life.

I’ve been asking the people around me the following question over the years:

In truth, this hardly reflect real life. But hypothetically, if the total amount of happiness adds up the same, which type of happiness would you choose?

In Life A, the index is so steady that you might be unable to feel “happy” exactly, unable to truly cherish what you have, because of the lack of contrast. Some would be content (because they don’t feel particularly sad either); some, though having little to complain, doubt if they have fully lived their lives.

In Life B, you experience great bliss and joy, but also colossal sorrow and despair. Problem is, many people don’t necessarily know how to overcome their darkest moments. There’s also another question; what if it is only the extremes that amplify the intrinsic joy/despair; that you aren’t exactly “happier”?

If our own feelings aren’t accurate indicators of “happiness”, nor could truly reflect how happy we should be with our lives, should we be using our brain to evaluate happiness instead?

Forget about contrasts, what about the timing?

We invest our energy, resources (the basics – time and effort) in all sorts of things to satisfy our needs and wants, because in the end of the day it’s happiness that we seek. But like any investment, there are risks. What if the seeds we sow are not what we expect it to be (which is very often)? Some people might be considered as “short sighted” – live for the moment, they say, because you would never know what would happen in the future. Whereas others choose to invest their time into creating a more comfortable future, because what if you manage to live till 90?

With so many factors and choices, the way you choose happiness to be like is actually similar to how you take your coffee – if you always add as much sugar as you want, ending up having health problems (an exaggeration, but bear with me). Or you could go easy on the milk and sugar, but probably making you give up coffee altogether.

So it’s not only different things makes us happy, but how we take happiness is dependant on your taste and it is a decision we have to make. Me, I’m still struggling.

Things my mom and I say to each other.

(on the way to Grandma’s)

Me: I think maybe it’s the bar chair at home, that has me half standing instead of sitting down properly, is the reason why my legs are more tired than usual.

Mom: Well, standing can’t be very good for your legs; it probably puts too much strain on them.

Me: But you always say I sit too often.

Mom: It’s true; you do sit too often.

Me: So what do you want me to do? I can’t sit, can’t stand… and you haven’t taught me how to float on air yet.

***********

(showing mom a short Japanese clip on Facebook, featuring a vending machine of half naked, unconscious, pretty women that men could throw in a coin to have sex with and then abandon in a recycling bin nearby)

Me: I thought it was another insane “creative inventions” Japanese people come up with, and I was so utterly disgusted by it, but then someone pointed out it was an extract from a porno movie.

Mom: How could you have thought this was an idea for a creative invention? It’s so obviously porn!

Me: How do I know… Japanese people come up with weird innovative ideas all the time; I don’t know what’s normal by their standards anymore @@.

Mom: But it’s so obviously porn!

Me: Well obviously I haven’t watched as much pornography as you did, Mom.

Mom: *taken back, then laughs*

************

(in the mall)

Mom: *unthinkingly* Vincent, remember to *blah blah blah*

Me: *pauses, then with utmost seriousness* Hi Mom, my name is Jennifer.

************

Mom: *nagging that I should do this, or do that*

Me: *stares at her*

Mom: What’s wrong?

Me: *still staring at her* How can you be fifty? You look nothing near fifty! I wish I would look like you when I turn fifty @@.

Mom: *stops nagging*

************

(randomly hugging Mom, placing my head on her tummy)

Mom: what’s up Jennifer?

Me: I love you, Mommy.

Mom: I love you too Jennifer.

Me: Hehe.