Nostalgia

Last night, I had my first conversation in Hokkien in a really long time and I experienced a wave of notalgia that warmed my heart. The last time I spoke Hokkien was placement-related and it wasn't just a day to day conversation about anything and everything. I also had char kway teow for dinner which was decent (definitely not the best) but satisfied my cravings for Singaporean food.
Small things like this make me miss Singapore and bring joy to my heart in sunny Aussie.

Endings

The beginning of many endings has commenced. My last group project wrapped up on Thursday. This coming week will mark my last week of university studies, ergo, I'll be sitting for my last lecture submitting my last assignment and having my last student placement. Soon, it'll be my last study break, then it'll be time for my last exam and soon, graduation and so on and so forth. It feels peculiar that all of this is coming to an end. It still doesn't feel like four years. It feels so much shorter than that. And I don't want this to end. I don't want to transition to becoming a working adult, or move back to Singapore and say goodbye to my family and friends and experience reverse culture shock. I want none of it all. I wish I could be a uni student forever. I wish I could live here forever. This is a chapter of my life that I don't want to come to a halt.

52nd Saturday

52 weeks ago
I can still remember very vividly, where I was, what I was doing and what was on my mind on this day. It was just after noon time, when I arrived in the library, ready to continue studying for my exam. Just a few hours before that, I had texted my mum. She asked if I was free to FaceTime that day and I asked her if we could push it back a couple of days, which she agreed readily. For some reason, I just decided to check my phone at the library and I had multiple messages from my mum and my youngest sister, asking me to call right away. I had an idea of what was coming. A big part of me was trying to be calm, trying to downplay the situation, but a tiny part of me knew and was ready to accept that Ah ma was probably not going to live very long, that she was likely taking her last breaths.

June 2018

"Ok. When the time does come that Ah ma passes away, how do you want to be told? Do you want me to call or just to send a text?" my mum asks somberly.

"Call. Don't text." I respond almost immediately, a part of me hating myself for already having such a quick response to the situation that I hate to confront most.

"Yeah, don't text me. Call me," my younger sister says. 

"Ok. So you want me to text you and tell you to call me?" my mum clarifies.

"Yes," we respond unanimously.

52 weeks ago

I hurry downstairs to the lower floor of the library with my earphones on. The ringing sound is annoying me, despite my having heard it countless times over the past 3 years.

"Hello? Mum. What's wrong?" I say, even though I'm pretty sure we both know that I know the answer.

"Hey. She fell asleep about an hour ago, but she hasn't woken up even though we've tried."

"Ah ma, wake up. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up." I say with a gradual crescendo that ascends to a forte with each repetition of "wake up". I repeat myself for what feels like an eternity, each time failing to rouse her, my heart breaks a little bit more.

"I don't think she'll wake." mum says. "We'll keep you updated ok? Is text ok?"

"Yeah," I respond, suddenly at a loss for words.

I return to my seat in the library and tears start to stream down my face. I will myself to stop it. I tell my brain that I need to study for the exam that is in 2 days, that I need to study now and I'll let myself cry when I get home. And so I spend the next 6-7 hours studying in the library, with tears flowing ever so often.

On the walk home, the dam begins to leak and the tears are just flowing slowly and silently and I taste the salty water that my eyes somehow are capable of creating. I try to control it, after all, the last thing I want is for complete strangers to watch me cry. My tears are a restricted access zone, they are not a show for public display. 

It is only when I am back in my house, in my room, with my door closed then does the dam finally break. I let out a sob and suddenly, it just doesn't stop. It goes on and on and it can't stop, won't stop and it doesn't feel like it's enough. No amount of tears can salvage the wounds of my heart. I still can't believe it happened and I wished for it to all be a terrible nightmare that I would eventually wake up from and laugh about.

Writer's block

I have so many ideas in my head but the moment I try to translate them into physical words, they disappear from my grasp. I write drafts, but they don't look right, so I start again. And again. And again. Then I give up and chuck it in the trash because it looks so bad that I don't even want to look at it. For some reason, it's easier to put my thoughts on paper so I think I'll do that. And maybe then I'll translate these words on paper into text.

Fall Apart

“Better not to give in to it. It takes ten times as long to put yourself back together as it does to fall apart.”

-Finnick Odair, Mockingjay

It's so hard. So hard to keep from falling apart, and so hard to pick myself up when I do.

I'm so tired. I'm tired of this sadness that overwhelms me, the stress of uni, of feeling tired and of life. Sometimes I wish this life would end already so that I don't have to carry on anymore. I will not take my own life (because then my parents will have to face the legal and financial implications of such an action), but I can't help wishing someone or something will take it for me.

Am I already in the bad place? Are all these barriers I face works of the demons that are meant to psychologically torture me? 

Purpose

What is the point of all this?
Why do I have to leave my present home for my ex-home - the place that has now been branded as a hell in my head? I'm not emotionally ready to go back and be confronted with the truth every single waking day of my life. To be reminded time and time again that my role in the family has taken a backseat, I am but a house guest. That my role in my friendships has changed. I am the outsider, the alien who doesn't understand everything that everyone is talking about. By people who won't understand how living abroad for 3 years changes you. They expect you to still be the same. But how can one be the same in an ever-changing world?
Why did I sign up for 10 years of hell? 10 years of slavery. I agreed to give away 4 years of my life to live away from home. In merely 3 years it has already led me to grow apart from everyone I used to know. It denied me the opportunity to stay with family when they needed me most. To miss numerous 21st birthdays, a funeral, and soon, to miss a wedding. What do I get in return for these 4 years? An iron-clad agreement to work in a place that will undoubtedly trigger all the sadness I currently carry, being surrounded by dying people for 6 years.
What was I thinking? Why did 19 year old me decide to do this? Oh right...."job stability".
Will I live to regret this?

CNY

This year, I'm celebrating CNY away from home, out of Singapore for the first time in my life. And it dawned on me a few minutes ago that this CNY will be different, not just for me, but for the family back home. For starters, I don't even know if my dad's side is celebrating given my Ah Ma's passing. I didn't realise it until seconds ago, when my family asked me if I'm free to call them. Then I was gonna suggest next Monday and remembered that it's 初一on Tuesday and I figured, 初二would be a better time to call because they don't usually entertain guests on that day and they'd visit the niches of those who had passed. And this time, this includes Ah Ma. And it sucks. And now I'm reminded again that she's gone. I know I will continually be reminded of it but it stings because I don't see it coming when it happens.
I don't want to go back to Singapore. I don't ever want to go back to that conservative city-state filled with racist pricks and judgemental assholes. To have my entire life be scrutinized with a fine-tooth comb by every egoistical person who assumes they have a right to just because. I'm not prepared to go back and assimilate with such a society for 6 fucking years. I'm so done with it.
Is it truly better to have loved and lost, than not to have loved at all? Does that saying apply to living? Is it truly better that I got to have my worldviews broadened in Oz, to have had my Ah Ma in my life and have to leave Oz and have Ah Ma leave me? Would it have been better if I stayed in Singapore to study and not known Ah Ma? Would I have been happier with that ignorance?

Growth

As the end of a year draws close, I feel like it's time to do some reflecting on what's happened thus far. I know it's cliche to do end of year reflections (so many people do it), but it's doubly important to me because my birthday comes 2 days after the start of a new year, so it really is a completely new year to me (in terms of calendar years and age). 

Australia has helped me to grow in ways I couldn't even begin to imagine prior to my arrival. The independence thrust onto me when I flew here is something I'd never have been able to experience had I stayed in Singapore. I learnt to do laundry, cook and clean the house on a regular basis. I dealt with sickness on my own, because no one else is around to nurse me back to health. It was liberating to have the freedom to do what I want. At the same time, it was isolating initially to do everything on my own. 

I never expected the independence I would get in university. In JC, I was constantly being pushed by my teachers to do better. We were handed out homework on an almost daily basis. Teachers wanted us to succeed. We were drilled to remember X, Y and Z. In uni though, it's a completely different story. Lecturers provide the information we need, but there's no pushing of any sorts. They tell us what to do if we want to succeed, but they don't nag. It's a refreshing change, a reminder to me that I'm independent and don't need this pushing. That I'm expected to manage my time without supervision. 

Block placement was an eye-opening experience. I had a taste of what it's like to work full time in my profession of choice in a school setting. I thoroughly enjoyed it and I still want to work with children. It's unfortunate that I have to wait for 6 years before I can pursue the path of paediatric speech pathology, but that's the choice I made 3 years ago. I made new friends and I got a taste of what it's like to be good friends with my housemate. I haven't had that for a while now. E is such an amazing friend and I'm really glad I got to live with her when I was on block placement. I'm thankful that we still keep in touch and I really hope we'll maintain our friendship in years to come.

I've spent more time on music this year and that's something I'm thankful for. I don't know what I'd do if I wasn't able to immerse myself in playing and listening to music. I made some upgrades (bought a USB microphone and downloaded recording software) and I feel more and more proud of my growth as a musician. I even performed in public on 2 occasions!

I didn't do much interstate/city travel within Australia this year, but I did visit some really amazing countries. I went to Tokyo, Busan, Seoul and New York. I really loved all the places I visited. Each place has its quirks and charm and I'd love to return.

Also, special mention to my chicken fam for being my constant in this tumultuous year. With so much happening back home, more than 3000 miles away, it can feel isolating to be away from loved ones. But I found this special family here and I'm thankful for the bonds we share. I'm grateful that I have people here I can depend on. 

New York City

A life changing trip. I'd never travelled beyond the continents of Asia & Oceania, so to visit North America, more specifically, New York City in the US of A was such an exciting prospect for me. I remember being apprehensive and excited simultaneously prior to my visit. I was worried about the firearm situation there and safety. And while on hindsight, NYC was not the safest city I've ever visited (I witnessed a fight break out in the subway station), I was never put in harm's way during my trip there. I never got catcalled or had dodgy people approach me.
I was able to fulfill my childhood dream of travelling to the States, to watch a musical on Broadway (Anastasia, no less), meet a Broadway star I've been fangirling about since forever, see the Statue of Liberty, appreciate artpieces by the masters that I never thought I'd see in my whole lifetime (the whole Van Gogh collection, Picasso, Monet, Rembrandt etc). It feels surreal to think that I was able to even see so much art on a single trip.
There's still more I want to do in New York. One day, I will return for you.

3 Academic Years

So, I've completed my third year of studies. It feels surreal. On one hand, it feels like the year just whizzed past, but on the other hand, I can barely remember what happened during the academic year, especially in the first semester.
With each year in uni, it feels like I'm entering a completely different chapter of my life. Unlike my earlier years in secondary school and JC, I felt like each chapter lasted for 2 years. The past 3 years of my university life have been so vastly different from each other, it feels strange that they all happened consecutively. The first one was a year of exploration and discovery. If I had to summarise it in a single word, I'd say joy. It was a year of frequent, consistent joy. I guess that's how it is with every honeymoon period, be it with a place or person. With everything around me so novel, I was constantly enthralled by the newness of it all.
The second year was, overall, a rather gloomy and oppressing one. It start off with a bang when I embarked on my inaugural solo trip to Japan, a trip of many firsts. My first trip to Japan, my first ever solo trip from start to finish and I got to have such amazing experiences there. Then, I travelled to Taiwan with my sister. It was a The honeymoon ended and I realised not all friends are the same. I put my faith in people who later, unwittingly or intentionally, disappointed me. I lost faith in myself. I began to question my worth and identity, wondering if I was ever "smart". It was a year of emotional turmoil and disappointment. I ended on a good note, with a trip to New Zealand with a childhood friend who reassured me that I had value, that I was worthy of friendship and love.
The third year was a happier year, for the start of it at least. I recalibrated my expectations so that I wouldn't be disappointed. I found people who truly cared for me. But life (or should I say death?) constantly moves in unpredictable ways. I was struck with the misfortune of losing a loved one. I was on edge, anxious for over 5 months, booking multiple last minute flights home, having to reschedule my travel plans at the eleventh hour and feeling the isolation that grief brings with it, which was further exacerbated by being an 8 hour flight away from home. I honestly did not expect any of this to happen this year. It feels like life was trying to hammer into my head how unpredictable it can be by throwing all these curveballs my way. I have absolutely no idea how next year will be, but I'll be here, trying to pave my way through it no matter what.

Block placement

5 weeks. I never thought it'd pass this fast. 5 weeks in this regional town and I've come to cherish my time here. I've learnt so much about working in the school setting, something I won't get to do once I start work. I've met the most amazing people here who are so lovely and sweet. I felt like an adult, just doing work. For the first time in 5 weeks I hardly felt like a uni student because I was working in a clinic and I wasn't fussing about some random assignment or exam.
I guess I'm still trying to put my thoughts together, but for now I'll soak up the atmosphere here.
T-8 hours

Summer

"Why aren't you going back for summer?" says everyone who's going back and can't fathom why I'd choose to spend 3 months of my life in my second home instead of my first.

Is it so unfathomable that I'd prefer to stay in my second home during the summer, my first summer in this place ever? Is it so unthinkable that I'd like to experience a summer Christmas? Because the alternative (returning to my first home) is such an amazing alternative, hey?

There's absolutely nothing I'd like to do more than to walk along the corridor towards my flat. As I take each step towards the front door, and in my left peripheral view, I'll see the plants my Ah ma used to nurture each and every day when she could still manage to step out of the house. Or maybe instead, I'll see the space where my Ah ma used to keep her plants, the plants all withered, dead and discarded when she passed. Then I'll get closer to the door, and even before I pull out my keys, I will see the door to her room. When I enter the house and walk towards my bedroom, I will pass the room she and my ah gong used to live it. Each time I walk past that room, I will be slapped with a reminder of its emptiness, devoid of any life. Each time I leave or enter the house I spent the first 20 years of my life in, I will see that room. I will be confronted with the cold, hard truth of how both my grandparents took their last breaths in that room, 6 years apart from each other and how I was absent when it happened.
I'll sit on the couch and listen to the sounds in this house. My ears will quickly pick up that the only language spoken in this house is now English, in contrast to the smattering of English, Hokkien, Mandarin and occasional Malay they used to be bombarded with each day. They will pick up that the mean sound pressure level isn't as high as it used to be.
My nose will pick up the absence of medical balms and oils in the house. The smell of hong you no longer pervades my nostrils like it used to.
At dinner, there will rarely be porridge present on the table. The amount of food served on the table has decreased. The amount of rice in the rice cooker will also have decreased.
When I leave the house, I will no longer be nagged at to remember my phone, wallet, jumper and ezlink card. Sometimes, I will run down half a storey of stairs, only to have to run back up because I left something in the house. I will knock on the door and it'll take twice as long as it used to get the door open because I have to wait for my sister to come out from our bedroom, which is further away from the front door than Ah ma's room.

It sounds like a terrific way to spend 3 months, doesn't it? That's probably why you can't fathom why I'd choose to pass it up.

Things not to say to someone who is mourning

Ah death. The other half to life. What begins has to end and there's no escaping it.
However, some things we can escape are awkward interactions with people in mourning.
It's not that often that someone around us experiences a tragic loss and that's probably why we don't have these conversations that much. And in many cases, the person experiencing loss is in pain as well and the last thing you'd want is to hurt them with your words. Yet, it happens all the time because of the lack of practice in these situations. So to avoid unintentionally hurting someone you care about, here's some tips on what NOT to say or do to someone who's mourning.
1. "At least" - Don't utter these two words. The connotation behind "at least" is that there is an upside amidst all the tragedy. Don't fucking tell a grieving person what they should be thankful for.
Here's what I think when you say "At least she lived till 80." 
So she technically SHOULDN'T have lived to 80? She should have died at a younger age?
Here's what I think when you say "At least she's not in pain anymore." 
No shit, Sherlock, I never would have thought of that. You're an absolute genius and my mind is absolutely blown.

I don't need rationality because I am swimming in sadness. I don't need you to try and pull me out, I need to be here for a while. This is someone I've known for the past 22 years of my life. This is the woman who was once a heavy smoker, who gave up her cigarettes during my mum's pregnancy so that I wouldn't suffer the consequences of second-hand smoke. You cannot expect me to be unaffected. You cannot expect me to move on in a flash. This is a person whom I've known my entire life. How can you expect me to act like nothing's happened?

2. Don't spin the conversation into something thankful if I'm not ready to hear it. While being thankful and trying to be positive might work in other situations, it feels like a slap in the face when people try to see the positive side of things if I'm not ready to head that direction. I don't need to hear the benefits of my grandma's death. I'm not asking you to write an expository essay detailing the pros and cons of my grandma's demise. Death is a fucking devastating thing. The fact that you're trying to sugarcoat it with rainbows and unicorns just pisses me off. I need to grieve. Telling me the pros of her demise won't help me if I'm not ready to hear it. In fact, it makes me feel like you think that my grandma didn't deserve to live longer. You seem to be saying that every day she had on this earth was unmerited.

3. Don't expect a good response to "my condolences". I honestly never and still don't know how to respond to phrases like "My condolences to your family". I've seen people respond with a thank you and that's what I've been doing but I don't get it. Fine, I get that you are trying to empathize, but I don't need your empathy. I just need my grandma to be alive and well and in front of me. I need my grandma back. I need to see her every Saturday on our scheduled Facetime sessions. I need her to be there to watch me graduate. I need her to say bye when I leave for work in the mornings and say hi when I come back home from work. I don't need your condolences.

4. Don't disrespect others' beliefs about afterlife. Oh my god. If only I could truly express how much this pisses me off. I don't believe in afterlife. So I don't believe I'll ever see my grandma again. And if I mention that to you, if I mention how devastated I am that death is irreversible and that the last time I saw my grandma before she took her last breath was over Facetime and she was unconscious and I never got to say a proper goodbye again, I do NOT need a religious or theological lecture from you. Never have and never will. Please keep your beliefs about afterlife to yourself and just acknowledge my feelings.

At the end of they day, I just want for you to be there. I don't expect you to say anything life changing that will make me feel better because come on, that's not possible. I don't even need you to be there if it's too much. I'm going to cry and I'll need space. But here's one thing I really DON'T need. And that's for you to say something unneccessary that'll make me hurt more. Be quiet if you don't have anything good to say. I honestly really appreciate that way more than a fucking "at least..."

Things I don't tell my mother

The screen flashes and then an image appears and stabilizes the lights.
"Hey. How are you?" I ask.
"Hello! We are alright, how are you?" my mother chirps.
I'm bad. I'm feel terrible. I spent one hour bawling on Saturday and another half an hour crying my eyes out today. In between, I've been falling asleep with tears streaming down my face. 
Instead of saying any of this, I pull my lips up the sides of my cheeks, trying to manage a smile. "I'm alright," I reply.
"How's uni? Anything out of the ordinary happen?" my mother responds.
I've zoned out of lectures or my study sessions. My emotions change so fast, one minute I'm crying till my eyes go crimson  and the next minute I'm laughing so hard my cheeks blush.
"Uni's fine. Nah, not much has happened. How's the fam?" I respond.
"We're alright. Really tired from today, cos we had to wake up early in the morning. Your dad's asleep. Anyway, would you be interested on going on a family trip with us in December? How do you feel about another trip?" my mum asks.
"Hm, I might be busy. I'll have to check back and let you know if I can make it. But if I can't, you guys go ahead," I say calmly.
Also last year I went on what is currently known as the worst trip in my life. I fell out with the so-called friends I went with during the trip, one of those people included my housemate. I contemplated moving out. I cried a lot because I felt so lonely in the aftermath of the chaos. I was petrified at the possibility I had no value as a human because people I thought I trusted actually chose to leave me. Around that point of time, I got dismal grades from uni and cried because I questioned if intelligence was still my thing. Prior to that, intelligence has always been my thing. That was what I was best at in the family. I topped my class during PSLE, I topped my class in JC. So after losing friends and receiving my grades, I was in the process of questioning my value as a human being. 
"Alright. Keep me updated. You look tired. Have you been busy?"
"Yes, I've just had more uni today so it's been tiring."
And I probably look more tired than usual because I've been crying myself to sleep for the past 4 nights and well, I was wailing my heart out two hours before I called you. I'm still grieving. I don't know how to get better. I wanted to call to see your faces and hear your voices and I wanted to talk about how sad I am. I wanted to talk about the pain of losing Ah ma. I wanted to tell you how much I'm hurting. I want to tell you about how guilty I feel. For not being there during her last day. I wanted to tell you about how I just suddenly fall apart and break down, and how hard I try to keep myself from doing that in uni. How tiring it is to do it. I'm emotionally exhausted. I wanted to ask you to tell me how to make it go away. How can I stop crying. But seeing you now, I can't bring myself to say it. How do I tell you these things and not feel guilty about making you worry from far far away? I can't. So I'm swallowing these words, because the last thing you need is another burden on your shoulders. The last thing I want is for you to spend your hard earned money and waste your scarce amount of free time to visit me when you could be spending that money and time relaxing on a vacation that you are in such terrible need of. The past 5 months have been hard for you and dad, of this I am aware. As your oldest daughter, a legal adult, I know better than to make you worry for me. You don't need that. 
"Ok, go get some rest. We'll talk another day?" she advises.
"Yup, ok mum. Bye mum, bye sis." I reply.

3

Today was the third day that I woke up from my sleep and realised that what happened on Saturday was not just a terrible dream, but rather, it is a living nightmare. The past 3 nights, I wish that when I wake up the next morning, I'll realise that the events of 18th August were but a dream. Often, I dream about the most ludicrous yet amazing things happening to me (like going to Shawn Mendes' concert, meeting people that I've always wanted to meet, going to Canada for placement), only to wake up and realise it was fake. That those things didn't happen. Why can't this be the same then? Why can't this terrible, horrible, god-awful event be but a part of a traumatic nightmare?

The dark side of living abroad

It is so easy to flaunt the perks of overseas travel, or living overseas, be it for a few years, or for the bulk of your life. Everyone is so ready to tell you about the craziest adventure they've ever had and how you can do it too! Or tell you stories about how the culture of a land 8 hours away is so vastly different to your own.  And while I acknowledge all these wonderful perks, living overseas is not a bed of roses.
No one tells you about the homesickness. I never thought it would bother me. "I'm a global citizen!" Or so I thought. But ever so often, I will get abruptly hit by a pang of nostalgia when something familiar happens to me. The other day, I was buying some things from the store and the cashier spoke to me in Mandarin. In that split second, I was back home, paying for something, conversing in Mandarin. But that moment was fleeting, it vanished almost as soon as it arrived. The after effects was the emotional realization that I'm not home anymore. Or when you're stressed out with university and you don't have your family around to cheer you on, or listen to you rant.
No one tells you about having to miss out on the celebrations and festivals you grew up with, the things you regard as a yearly tradition. You start to miss out on Mother's Day, Father's Day, birthday parties, Chinese New Year, Mooncake festival.
No one tells you about how the many friends you used to bet your life on will slowly vanish from your life. You begin to grow more and more distant and the person you once knew like the back of your hand, well, that person isn't the same anymore. Neither are you. Both of you have changed and for better or for worse, those changes take its toll on the friendship.
No one tells you about coping with the loss of a loved one from far away. No one tells you about the number of last minute flights your have to book (or the absolutely ludicrous prices of those flights) just to make sure you get to see the person you love before it's their time to leave the earth.  No one tells you about the guilt you carry on your shoulders for not being there during that person's last breath, or how pathetic a video call feels. You don't feel fully there, because to the people on the other side of the screen, you are but a flat, 2 dimensional figure. Sometimes they forget you're on the other line, that you're trying to feel included by making all these calls, but failing miserably. No one tells you about the pain of losing a grandparent while being stuck in a place that is 8 hours away. No one mentions the fact that grief is a knife that stabs on your heart, being slowly twisted when you least expect it. No one tells you how to mourn alone. No one tells you how to cope without family.

Narration

She pull her ID card out of her pocket and taps the reader. Two seconds later, the tempered glass barrier opens and she strides past it. She walks to the lift, presses the up button and taps her left foot while she waits. A lift arrives, but alas, the people in the lift are packed like a can of sardines. A beeping sound emanates from the lift and the door closes. Once again, she presses the button, albeit with more force this time. Another lift arrives, and this time, to her relief, it is empty, save for two people. She steps in and presses the slightly faded '3' button. When it arrives at the 3rd storey, she steps out and is immediately bombarded with the sickly smell of antiseptic lotion, the sounds of people talking, beeps from heart monitor machines, the sight of so many people in different coloured uniforms. She knows the way by heart. Make a right, then a left, then a left, followed by yet another right, then keep walking to the end.
"Ah ma! Li ho bo?" she says, her voice half an octave higher than it usually is when she talks to most people.
"Wo buay soo hock. Ba dor jin tia," her grandma whispers.
"Li oo jiak yo bo? Oo gah lo kun gong bo?" she asks.
"Aiya, ga lokun gong, buay gong sio siang lah. Wo buay ho liao." her grandma whimpers, shaking her head. She closes her eyes and her head slides towards left shoulder.

She rearranges the blankets on the bed, and puts on four more heat packs on her grandma to keep her warm. Then, she pulls out her black laptop from her maroon haversack and begins to do her readings for her next class, which starts at 8am the next day.
When the clock strikes 9, she packs her things, rearranges the bed one last time and whispers in her grandma's ear “晚安。明天，我会来看你。” She treads out of the ward lightly, just as she has for the past 9 nights. A frown slowly forms on her face as she wonders how long she has to do this for. How long it will be before her grandma will be back home, with her and the rest of the family. Encountering the gantry again, she pulls out her ID card yet again, walking past the gates when they open. Her mouth widens into a yawn as she gets on the train home.

Irreversibility

There's no turning back now.
Some decisions, especially the major life ones, can't be undone.
The simple ones are easy to undo, or if wrong, are relatively inconsequential. What to eat for lunch? What time should I meet my friends tomorrow? Should I bring my bottle with me? If you change your mind on the food you order, if you're fast enough, you can get it changed. If you don't bring your bottle and find yourself needing a drink, you can buy a new one. Little harm is done.
But the major life decisions, the ones of great consequence, are those that we can't easily undo. And that scares me. Because I chose one opportunity over the other, I don't know if I chose right. What if I made a mistake? I can't undo it.
Thoughts like these tend to fill my head, especially during exam periods, when I miss being with my family and friends back home. Did I make the right decision to move overseas? Because now, my heart cannot be in the two places that I love at once. Had I never left, I would have never known how it feels like to live overseas and experience a new culture. I would be content with my family and friends and the culture I grew up in. It would also mean I'd lack the insight that I've gained today, something I would regret not having. I'd have never met the friends I have now, the ones I call "fam". The ones I treat like family.
I know now that when I move back home, things will be different and I won't see things the same way again. I may not be content with my life when I go back, and I may never be content with my life for the rest of my life. It's a curse that I've bestowed on myself.

What if: I moved out

A series of stories I will begin to write about my "what if" moments in life. Two roads diverged in the wood and I could only choose one. But...what would have happened if I picked the other? Where would I be? I guess I will never know, but it's always intriguing to imagine.

"It's dinner time!" Jan called out from the kitchen.

"It smells amazing!!!" Trisha said. 

"Let's eat!" Jan said.

The girls tucked into their food, slurping heartily on their chicken curry noodles.

"OMG, the craziest thing happened to me today. So I was queuing for a free Boost, you know how I've been playing that game to get points for ages, yeah so I got a voucher. Anyways, I was queuing to get my free drink. Then this guy nearby is waiting and he keeps looking around and from my side eye, it looks like he's staring at me. Which was weird. Anyway, he suddenly asked me 'Hi, random question, but do you think my hair looks nice?' Like who the hell would ask that to a random stranger? Also, side note, it was eugh..."

"What? That's such a weirdo!"

"Yeah anyway I wasn't gonna diss his hair, cos he was a random stranger so I just said it looked alright. Then he proceeded to ask me 'How would you rate it on a scale of 1-10?' Dude...why the heck would you ask me that?"

"What a weird dude. Did you continue talking to him after that?"

"No, I just said IDK and looked at my phone and walked further away from him. After I got my drink, I left as quickly as possible."

"Now, my turn! I've got amazing news! My mum has decided not to come visit me this holiday, but instead, she'll use the money to pay for a trip for me to go to Melbourne to visit my best friend there!!!"

"That's amazing! Have you guys planned your trip yet?"

"Not yet. Do you have any recommendations? You've been there so many times!"

"Yes! I've got so many recommendations. And no, it's not that many times. I've only been there twice! Wait, I've got a list, let me find it for you."

The girls continued their conversation through the dinner. They laughed, then washed the dishes, all the while with Jan telling the story of how her sister's hair ended up being caught in a fan when she was kid. When they were done, they proceeded to Trisha's room to jam. They spent their time crooning to mainstream pop songs and sang their hearts out.  

Before long, two hours had passed. Jan yawned and said, "It's getting late. I think I'll go to bed now. See you tomorrow! We're still on for Indian food right?"
"Definitely!"

"Night!"

"Good night!"

What if: I became a professional cook

A series of stories I will begin to write about my "what if" moments in life. Two roads diverged in the wood and I could only choose one. But...what would have happened if I picked the other? Where would I be? I guess I will never know, but it's always intriguing to imagine.

"Table 24, 1 steak! And 2 crabs for table 10!"
"Yes, chef!"
She turned to the fridge, grabbed a piece of marinated steak that had been resting on the tray for the past 2 hours and took it out. Then, she proceeded to pour a tablespoon of oil on a frying pan that had been sitting on the fire for a few minutes, waiting to hear the sizzling oil. In a few seconds, the pan began to sizzle and she put the steak in the pan. "Tsssssss!" it hissed. She shook the pan in a circular motion, and took a deep whiff of the satay marinade. Mmmmmm. It still smelt so good, even though she'd been cooking this almost everyday for the past 6 months. She took out the soft shell crabs that had been dipped into batter and gently lowered them into the pot of hot oil. It began to crackle and hiss angrily, as if warning her of the imminent splashes that were soon to happen. Deftly, she covered the pot let it continue to crackle and pop. She whipped out a pair of metal tongs and flipped the steak to the other side, hearing the angry sizzles from the pan as she did it. As it cooked, she began to hear the deep fryer quieten down. There it was! Her cue to open the pan. She did so, and pulled up the tray of fried crabs, leaving them to drain above the fryer. Now, onto the beef. Using the tongs, she put it on the black embellished plate and passed it to the other commis in the kitchen. "Table 24, 1 steak!" Once the plate was out of her hand, she took a large stride towards the fryer, her right arm grabbing a large metal dish and her left end wielding the tongs, as she fished out the fried crabs and put them on the plate. "Table 10, 2 crabs." she shouted.
The orders kept coming. Chickens, crabs, shrimp, she had to cook them all. At last, all the diners were out the door and the kitchen was closed for the day. She rested her hips against the stainless steel counter top and took a long gulp of water from her orange bottle. She enjoyed her day, but she was tired. With 6 day work weeks and being out of her house for 12 hours per day, being a line cook was no easy job. She enjoyed this, or at least, she thought she did. Cooking had always been something that gave her joy and being paid to cook and not have to clean up was pretty much her dream. But the long hours were having its toll on her. She thought back to the conversation she'd just had with her father last night.
"All I'm saying is, you can just submit an application and see how it goes!" he pleaded.
"What I am saying is that I know what the result will be! I know I can get into those courses they offer. But what for? I don't even want to do those courses. I want to be a chef. I'm already getting one step closer. I don't need university to become a chef, " she huffed.
"But you need a degree to prepare you for the workplace!" he exclaimed, as if it were a fact of life.
"Prepare me for what? What workplace do you have in mind? A 9-5, office job? I have said SO many times, I DON'T WANT IT! If I want to continue studying, I'll go to CULINARY SCHOOL!" she nearly shouted.
"Go talk to her," he said to his wife, clearly exhausted from the debate.
"Your dad just wants what's best for you," her mother says gently.
"And I thought you said you didn't care what I did, as long as I was happy," she retorted.

She removed her apron, grabbed her haversack, and began her walk to the train station, tonight, her parents would be home and she silently prayed to the universe that they would be asleep by the time she got back.