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I've been on the edge a bit the past few days - definitely more than irritable, definitely less than understanding. Have to wonder if it's PMS, though that might just be me making silly excuses for my crap behaviour.
I feel very unsettled and bored, like I'm ready to move on to something else but I can't budge because I'm stuck here for two years at least. And if truth be told, I want quite desperately to move out of the house. It gets a bit ridiculous when you're 23, technically working, and not living in Saudi Arabia to have your activities come under constant scrutiny from the parental units. I mean, really.
And when your boyfriend is sick, refuses to see a doctor because he's freaking stubborn (of course, he can feel free to explain to me why he refuses to see a doctor despite falling sick on the average of once per month ever since we got together, and coming up with something better than "it's a nuisance", which makes no sense if you consider the fact that I offered to drive him, anytime), and you can't see him, it makes things worse. Forget the fact that I was looking forward to going out with him after the FMS meeting yesterday. Forget the fact that I'm clingy and needy and whatever. What's most difficult is knowing he's feeling like crap and being utterly unable to do anything about it. After a while, texting him "poor thing" with a sad face and "hugs a million times" stops doing anything for me. I'm sure it does nothing for him too. And he tells me not to worry because it's his problem.
Yeah. Right. Let's see if he doesn't worry if our roles were reversed. The only time I'd be able to sit back and not worry is when I ceased to give a shit about him, which I don't see happening anytime soon, so I'm bloody frustrated and annoyed.
This wouldn't be a problem if we lived together. At least then I'd be able to hold him close to me until he falls asleep. But then again, I question where these instincts are coming from, and it's fucking scary, because if we're really talking about the rest of my life...
Speaking of the rest of my life, Singapore is a puny-ass box and I feel caged and boxed in and stifled and suffocated. I feel like I can't breathe in this country, can't manouvre (fuck how to spell) my body around the contours of its perfectly-aligned four walls without hurting myself. On a superficial level, trying to think of places to go for dinner is perfectly exhausting because everywhere is boring, everywhere is crowded, and sometimes it seems like I've long ran out of options, and am only realising it now. On a deeper level, trying to think of the perfect way out of here is even worse, because there are so many peripheral considerations that are all clamouring to weigh in and make their input. Are they important? Friends, family, memories. Who really cares? But how could you not care about your family? To a lesser extent, how could you not care about your friends?
Living for yourself is a myth. Even as I do things that I want to do that I know will disappoint my parents, trying to justify it to myself by telling myself that I have to live my own life only works to a certain extent. After a while the guilt still makes its presence felt, a nefarious presence like too many tequila shots gone wrong. Throwing up all over the pavement in front of the Grand Copthorne - that's how it feels like sometimes. But I can never really be purged of it; I can only live with it; and I must say it gets harder and harder, instead of easier and easier.
Much as I'm quite desperate not to spend the rest of my life in this country, when I think of leaving my parents behind I get quite close to tears. Ultimately I'm nothing but a sentimental fool, committing the worse crime of sentimentality. I mean, I really need a new laptop, but I'm making no moves towards acquiring one - and I've been using the current one since Year 1, Semester 1 of law school.
I'm not looking forward to work. That is an absolute. When I think of the future I skip past the two years I tell myself to sacrifice and think of me finally getting out of here. I think I might go to America after all - New York, to be more precise. It's what I've always wanted anyway, even if I wanted a different degree back then. But it's still the same place, I suppose.