Gaining And Losing Friends

I know hate is a strong word, but if there's one thing I absolutely hate in this world, is feeling like an option to other people. It doesn't necessarily mean I must be all my friend's number one priority, but it would be nice to at least be one person's number one priority. I guess I might be feeling this way out of loneliness or if other people feel this too, but sometimes, when you're all alone with a bottle of wine, it is possible to wonder what might happen to your circle of friends ten years from now.

I can only speak for the female popularity because most of my friends are female and as girls, we tend to be quite clingy towards our friends. When we have friends whom we can connect with on a deeper level, immediately we like to label them as best friends. And the definition of best friends is that we will, no matter what, stay as the way we are for a very very long time.

It's only after I've moved here that I realised how untrue that is. And although the realisation that some of your friends that you previously considered close are no longer in contact is painful, we still have to accept the fact and get on with life. I've come to learn that at different point of our lives, our number one priority shifts depending on the people we're with. And it is also impossible to designate the number one spot to a single person because each friend caters to a different need of yours. For example, we all have that one friend who's just hilarious and a no-brainer to have at parties. But this friend might not be the right person you want when you need to get some stuff off your chest, which is why you have the listener friend who is full of wisdom and your life saviour in tough situations. All your friends, including you, play a different role in each other's lives.

I'm starting to digress again.

When I was in primary school, I had one friend whom I told everything to. We were literally inseparable. Then, for some reason, we stopped talking after I studied in Singapore. I guess if I stayed we could have been closer. In secondary school, I had loads of close friends. Again, three quarter I don't speak to anymore after I entered college. It's safe to say that thanks to my friends I met in college, I had the best time ever. It lasted about a year, and half of them I don't speak to anymore. I had two close colleagues at work whom I treated like older sisters, occasionally they would check up on me, and the last time I heard one of them is pregnant. Now that I'm in university, I spend most of my time with Lori. We don't do loads but when we do, it's never dull and if it is, we're really comfortable just hanging out and doing nothing special. Our friendship works that way and surprisingly it can only work with her. The dynamic between my other friends is slightly different but nevertheless they're all good company,

What I fear the most is that, ten years from now, inevitably, things will change. And as much as I look forward to that change, I'm not exactly prepared for what might happen to the friends I have now. Will it decrease even more as I grow older? Will I lose contact with half of my friends in the UK because I plan to move somewhere else again? Will I, at the same time, meet newer friends who might become my number one priority?

As I say that, I can hear in my head some of my friends saying "You'll always be my best friend" or "You're overthinking again." Yes, yes in fact I overthink a lot. Mainly because, after experiencing it once, I have this lingering fear that my friends might leave me.

And you might be thinking, yes friends leave, it's all part of life. But do you know what really sucks? This is me sounding rather selfish right now, but all my social skills would have been wasted! I don't want to be investing time and effort in a person when two years later, they might have completely forgotten about my existence. That isn't fair at all, is it? I don't mean to be calculative, and I suppose true friendship means doing something for the other party without expecting something in return. Fair enough, it's not good to expect from others because it only leads to disappointment but if the effort doesn't pay off, then this is no longer a true friendship, it has become a sloppy one-sided friendship, which is not beneficial to anyone.

So I've promised myself that from now on, I shall not label anyone. There shall be no list in my heart designating each spot to a different friend. Because in doing so, I will always be left disappointed if number one stops talking to me or feeling guilty if I replace number one with someone newer I've met. And also, if so-and-so stops talking to me over time, it is never anyone's fault. I need to stop blaming myself for the friends I've lost in the past and stop wronging others because they replaced me with someone else.

Your true friends are people who will check up on you whenever they see that you've tweeted something frustrating. Your true friends are the people who will talk to you despite their hectic schedules because "being busy" is one lame excuse for "I'm no longer interested". Your true friends are the people that you've never doubted because you know in your heart that they're there no matter the circumstances. If there's one thing I've realised with growing up, is that not only do you lose friends, you also begin to recognise and appreciate the real gems out of all the fake ones.

Also, don't cling onto people for the sake of just being friends. If it makes you unhappy, it's alright to head for the door. I mean if we're talking about rankings, the number one spot in your heart should always belong to you and you only. At the end of the day, your happiness matters a billion times more.

crushed.

Hi, today's post won't be about anything special, I just needed a place to vent all my anger and frustration out. (oh god, i've been having so many bad days recently I've pretty much lost count)

* sigh * let's begin.

So ever since my last post, not much has occurred except that my former roommate Lori has moved to her own place now which leaves me living in this place all by myself. It isn't too bad actually, considering I have done this before whenever my dad was overseas for a few months at a go. The occasionally creak does freak me out though but anyway,

Because I've been unsuccessful with job-hunting, I came up with a list of things I wanted to do with my free time this summer. I wanted to use this time to do more things I otherwise never would have tried, for example, attending an acting workshop. To be honest, I've always been passionate about movies and if you know me, my brain is like an Encyclopedia of actors and actresses but it never occurred to me to give acting a try, especially since I've always had bad encounters with drama students or dramatic people in general. So bottomline is, I went for this acting workshop for a week and it was completely, unexpectedly so much more fun than I imagined. We had a showcase at the end of it and it all went superb. In the same week, I got a call for an interview at this call centre I applied for. And I was obviously overjoyed. I mean, that's the first call after 42 job applications. For once, I thought to myself "my life is finally coming together. I'm having fun at this workshop, I've got a nice place, I have an interview next week, all is well with the world." That thought lasted for three days before everything crumbled again.

*sigh*

Before I went for this interview, my mom said to me to be honest with them. As you know, my family values honesty above everything else. And that's what I did. The interview was going great and I asked the lady about leaves and such because I wanted to clarify my concerns before fully committing myself to the job. Based on my last job at the hotel, I wasn't guaranteed any leave because I was only a temporary staff despite working there for eight months. Every leave I took had my pay deducted so I didn't want the same for this. Plus, I go home during Christmas break for just about three weeks before uni starts again. The lady said two weeks was the maximum they allow at any one time and she said it can be worked out if I really needed to go home for three weeks. So I didn't think it was a problem but obviously it was because I failed the interview and didn't get the job. I called my mom after the interview to tell her what happened, and she told me off for telling them about my holiday plans. In her opinion, I should have taken the job and quit right before Christmas break, which in my perspective, is an even worse solution. Anyway, by this time, I was too frustrated to do anything else. I came home, sat down before my laptop, and unknowingly burst into tears because I just couldn't do it anymore.

Even I was surprised by this. Knowing me, I don't cry when I fail. To a certain extent, I get angry at myself and I'm done. But this time, I just couldn't anymore. It felt like the burden on my shoulders got heavier and I was just crushed by all this pressure. I get that this is all part of growing up and learning new things but I don't want to do this anymore. For the first time, I heard myself say I want to give up.

What made all this even worse is that even my parents didn't seem to care that I was upset or disappointed. My mom desperately blamed me for mentioning my holiday plans and my dad, unexpectedly, said that if I can't go home because of my job requirements then I should cancel my plans and not go home at all. I don't mean to shame my parents but this is the situation I have had to deal with. How is it fair that my friends get to spend the whole summer with their friends and family and I have to be scolded for wanting to spend three weeks back home. I get that life is unfair but is it meant to be this unfair??????????

People always say that life is meant to be terrific when you study abroad. People expect my instagram to be filled with pictures with loads of friends all getting drunk at clubs. Well, I'm here bogged down with responsibilities and all I want is to run away to a cave and never come back out. All my friends get to hang out and get drunk and make memories that they can't remember the next day. I want that too, I want all of that and none of this. I don't want my own place, I don't need an apartment, I was completely contented with living in a place that was the size of a storeroom. I WAS FINE WITH ALL THAT. I WAS VERY HAPPY. How can you expect someone as inexperienced as me to know what to do and survive on my own. HOW!!!!!!! URGH.

*sigh*

I don't fish for compliments at all but sometimes it would be pleasing to hear my parents say something nice about what I'm doing. Like well done for coping this much on your own, it must have been difficult on you. You're doing great etc etc. But no. All I keep getting is blame and criticism for not being good enough, for not knowing better.

*sigh*

I'm not the best out there and I really am clueless about a lot of stuff. But I am trying my hardest and honestly, I'm just mentally exhausted and completely crushed.

Can we stop this now, please.

Racial Rant

Two years ago, I was so so so desperate to be considered "white". My whole life up till now, has been a journey of trying to figure out where I fit in and belong. I remember back in primary school, I tried to change my name because I wanted to be ordinary, I wanted to be like everyone else who had a 3-letter Mandarin name, my worst nightmare was having to introduce myself and having them laugh in response to my hideous name. That was when I was 7. When I was 13, I was so obsessed with trying to be "white". I figured if the Chinese-side of me didn't want to fit in, I might as well give the Caucasian-side of me a go at trying to blend in. Even up till college, if anyone immediately recognises me as Chinese, I would feel so offended. It's as if I was just waiting for someone to come up to me and treat me like I'm a "white" person.

Back then, was I really wrong to want that? We live in a world that look up to white people like they're some sort of specially gifted race. White people as a whole have better features than any other race; superficially speaking, they have pretty much won the goddamn lottery. And the fact that we live in a world that's driven by looks and impressions, it makes them seem even more worthy than everyone else. I have lived among Asians my whole life, I've seen how we react when there's a white person in the room. We literally worship them.

Think about it. We dye our hair a lighter shade because we want their chesnut brown hair. We wear coloured contact lenses because we are so sick of our boring dark brown or black eyes. We imitate accents from any American TV show because our own is just too painful to listen to. We invent fake eyelashes because we want longer lashes like them. From fake lashes, to nose jobs, to lip injections. Everything they do, we just follow along.

As an Asian, you'll know that having even just an ounce of white-ness in you, you'll suddenly be considered so much cooler than everyone else. Till this day, an Asian woman in a relationship with a White man is still something worth bragging in any Asian community, but not the other way round. A white person living in Asia is considered an expat while any other racial person living in a pre-dominantly white country is considered an immigrant. Why is that? Why are we so obsessed with white people?

To be entirely honest, one of the many reasons I decided to move to the UK was because I wanted to somewhat regain the caucasian side of me. I thought perhaps living here would change the way I sound, or living here would change the way I behave, maybe living here would once and for all prove that I'm white again. But the second day I arrived, I witnessed this scene that I, till this day, won't be able to forget and has ever since changed my perspective completely on wanting to be white.

I was on my way to school and it was a Friday morning. I had to walk past the back of this building to get to the main road, it's usually pretty quiet and that morning I saw two black persons (one male and female) in what seemed to be a heated discussion. The first thing I thought was how to avoid them, because my immature brain had me thinking that I need to evacuate every time I see a black person. But I couldn't just turn and head the other way, it would have been awkward for them and me. So I went past them and pretended like I wasn't eavesdropping on their conversation. What I assumed as compared to what actually happened were worlds apart. The black guy was upset, angry even, because he was discriminated, and he was complaining about it to his female friend. I remember he said "Why do they treat me this way? So what if I'm black? I'm still a local, I was born in the UK!"

I didn't get to hear the rest of it because I'm not a creep.

And that changed everything for me. I no longer looked at white people with envy like I used to. I no longer had the same respect for them like I used to. I no longer wanted any part of me to be like them.

This racist situation I encountered didn't even stop there. I believe it was two months into living in Salford that I was being catcalled one evening. I was wearing jeans, my coat and a long scarf, like any other normal person would during freaking winter. So I was on my way back, baring in mind this was about 4 in the evening, it wasn't dark but it was slowly starting to. I had my headphones in (thank goodness) and these bunch of guys walked past me, I couldn't tell if they were drunk or just plain stupid, but they whistled at me and said "Konichiwa bitch" repeatedly, REPEATEDLY, until I was further away enough to not hear them. I was frightened, obviously, but I remember feeling more raged with anger because not only was I catcalled, I was fucking insulted for being Asian. It got me thinking, if it was someone else, someone white perhaps, would they have done the same? As a female, it's tough enough to live feeling defenceless especially in situations like these, but to have to feel sorry for being Asian as well? Fucking hell.

A couple of weeks after this incident, my dad came to the UK for a business meeting but took a few days off to see me. When he came, I told him about the situation I saw between the two black people but for some reason, I didn't want to tell him what happened to me because I didn't want him to worry. And after these series of incidents, I came to the conclusion that any white country will always be racist, or at least will have the hardest time learning to tolerate other races because their land was monoracial to begin with. Unlike Malaysia or Singapore, we were always taught, from a very young age, the traditions and customs of other races. We always knew how to accept each other because as a nation, we have always been multiracial. I'm not saying racism doesn't exist in those two countries, it does but it is not as severe, at least that's how I view it from my perspective. But surprisingly when I said this to my father, he tried to disagree with me and said, with no supporting evidence at all, that white people aren't racist.

I've thought about this for quite some time now, I've even spoken to my white friends about it and we agreed that white people can't see racism because they have never experienced it. Have you ever seen a white person being discriminated for being white? White privilege is so obvious that even we're fooled to think that what's white must be what's normal. It's total bullshit. White supremacy is everywhere, especially in Asia, that we've all calmly accepted it to be the way it is. Why are we so embarrassed of being ourselves, why can't we seek to be more diverse instead of just blindly following white traditions, white perspectives and white opinions?

In a time span of less than ten months, I have changed completely from being this white-girl wannabe to just being me, regardless of what I'm made of. My dad will always be my dad and my surname will always be Walker. But truthfully, that doesn't count for anything because I like the fact that my name doesn't correspond to how I look, I like the fact that I'm pretty much Asian inside out, I like the food and the humidity of Malaysia, I won't trade any of that to living in a country that marginalises people based on their race.

Being Proud of Singlish

Hello hello, I don't usually write another blog post in the same week, but something occurred to me recently and I feel this incessant need to pour it out before I forget about it for good.

This is all very much my own opinion so we can agree to disagree if necessary.

I've pretty much lived in Malaysia and Singapore my whole life so in a way, I can say that I know these two countries' cultures very well (and also mainly because there's not much difference) but if you're an outsider who has never been to these places, I doubt you have heard of these term called "Singlish" or "Manglish". What they are basically is English combined with the local languages and forming a slang that everyone uses out of convenience. Just to clarify, schools don't actually teach these slangs, we just somehow know it.

Recently, I've been volunteering at the Manchester International Festival and I've been meeting a whole range of interesting people that say some of the nicest things when I tell them that I'm from Malaysia.

Just today I was speaking to this lady who is studying English but instead of learning about the actual language, part of her coursework was to explore how far English has travelled over the past few centuries and how much the language has evolved. It was a pleasant conversation and all, until she mentioned Singlish and instantly, I was like "Yay you know Singlish! But oh shit that's not good."

There are many reasons as to why I say this because number 1, Singlish, in my opinion, is a disgrace to English itself. I mean, correct me if I'm wrong, but Singlish is mostly broken up English with possibly the worst grammar ever, plus an added expression at the end of each sentence which has no proper explanation for its existence whatsoever. And number 2, I can't possibly be the only one who feels this, but I am so embarrassed when a white friend (or anyone unfamiliar to the language for that matter) has to listen to Singlish and try to decipher what it means. It makes me cringe so much when my brother accidentally says something to my dad in Singlish because my dad usually looks back with utter disappointment that his kids don't take after him. Anyway, it's just extremely unflattering.

But what really surprised me the most was that this lady said that as a country whose native language isn't English, we should be proud that we've managed to put a stamp on it and make Singlish truly unique to call it our own. With English being the international language that everyone all around the world must learn in order to communicate, it's easy to forget or neglect our mother tongue, which could be either Mandarin, Malay or Tamil. And I've seen so many locals in Malaysia and Singapore, who can't speak their mother tongue because they've spent their whole lives under the influence of English and nothing else. It's a shame, really. On one hand, English is a necessity but on the other, we're slowly losing touch with our roots. I remember a time where I was so angry at the fact that English has taken over the world because even my grandparents, who are close to being 90, are trying so hard to learn simple English sentences when we, the younger generation, should in fact be the ones who are learning our native dialect to make communicating with them easier.

I have to say though, even after coming here, I still can't get rid of the Singlish in me and I don't want to either. Whenever I go home or even when I'm chatting to my friends back home, all the la's and leh's just spill out like beans in a beanbag. I mean, even when I'm skyping with my mom, if I speak proper English, she'll do the same, and five minutes into the conversation, we'll both burst into giggles because we can't take each other seriously. Last year during Christmas, I met up with a couple of friends and they asked me how I managed to not get rid of Singlish or why my accent didn't change. And the minute I tried to speak without Singlish, I just couldn't do it at all. It was so odd.

But my point is, I know it's not just me, but a lot of people who leave Singapore or Malaysia to go abroad to some white country to study, will tend to feel embarrassed about their weird and uncommon Singaporean accent and will hence try to imitate other accents to fit in. I've seen it happen so many times especially when my friends or teachers meet my dad on Parent's Day. Honestly, you don't have to do that. Sure, it would be helpful to take out the unnecessary swear words every now and then but there's really nothing to feel embarrassed about. The lady I spoke to was a prime example of how white people can be just as fascinated with Singlish as we are with their thousands of accents.

My dad absolutely hated Singlish but that all changed when he saw Kumar perform and he now thinks Singlish can be equally or if not funnier than just plain old English. You know how comedians always swear just to make a joke funnier? It works the same with Asians, you can't tell a joke unless you include the phrase CCB, which in my grandparent's dialect means smelly vagina.

(But don't ever go up to an elderly in Asia to say that unless you want their whole family coming after you with feather dusters and wooden canes ready to beat the shit out of you)

The Luckiest Person I Know

With all that’s been happening right now, several people have came up to me and told me how lucky I am to have a place of my own. Apparently, the average age to be living in a house of your own is thirty-two and I am not even twenty. When I learned about this scary fact, I can assure you that I didn’t feel good about it at all mainly because I feel like I cheated. 

Yes, half of this entire experience feels like I'm cheating my way up in the world. 

Call me crazy but I actually want to live in rented house, paying the landlord every month with the money that I earned on my own. Call me insane but I don’t enjoy it when people give me expensive gifts. I don’t bask in branded goods like other wealthy kids because although I grew up in a well-to-do family, I was always raised to be prudent. Therefore, when my parents told me that I was going to be living in a brand new apartment, I cringed because this luxury was something that I didn’t deserve.

I am an ordinary person, like everyone else, trying to get a degree to better increase my employability in the future, so that one day, I too can buy a house of my own without feeling guilty whatsoever. There are also billions of other people with the same purpose and what makes me so different from them that I get a house and they don’t?

When I told my parents about how I felt, they coolly replied, “this is not about buying you a place because we think you earned it,” which I think really helped me gain a new perspective.

This isn’t about me because I’m just like everyone else, so when people tell me how lucky I am, I just have to say it’s because of my parents.

With that being the best answer I can give, I don’t like it very much because it makes me sound like a stuck-up. I don’t want to be that person that grows up to be successful because of my parents. Yes, I have always had their financial support but I don’t want that to be the only reason I have what I have. Although their money plays a crucial part in getting me where I am today, I’d like to think that I have worked hard too.

Sometimes I look at the Kardashians and I think, well they’re only famous and rich because of their family, which I now realise is a terrible accusation because I don’t know or see how hard Kendall Jenner has worked to be a stick-thin model. Perhaps her success can be credited to her family, but she deserves credit too for seizing that opportunity by using her family’s wealth.

I guess I could relate to a small extent. Sure, without my parent’s help, I would never dream of being here. But because I know there are opportunities thanks to them, I can take the chance and do something useful with my life. I mean, wouldn’t it be a pity if your parents were millionaires and you just sat at home all day wasting your life away?

And about being lucky, yes I am very lucky indeed and so is everyone else. Just because I am lucky doesn’t mean my life is any better than everyone else's. I’d like to believe that we’re all lucky human beings and we all have luck in different things. I have a great life, but I also lack in other things too, like luck in getting a job. Maybe you don’t have a place of your own, but you have tons of friends. Maybe you only have a few friends but those friendships are irreplaceable and they are the best things that has ever happened to you. See, luck changes for everyone. And what really matters is that you’re able to realise the luck you have and treasure it even more.

I thank my lucky stars everyday that I come from a family that provides me with ample of opportunities. I don’t know how long this chain of luck is going to last, but I’m sure that when it stops, I’ll be ready to work hard enough so that I won’t ever need it again.

Moving In - Part I

It's been a month since I last blogged and it's because I'm currently held up with my new apartment. Sounds posh, doesn't it? Believe me, it's not. In fact, I can confidently say that the past month has probably been the most stressful period of my life so far.

As you might have gathered from my Twitter and Instagram, you would probably know that I'm moving into a place of my own. Sadly, I didn't single-handedly buy the place, my parents did. But before you start to think that I'm one of those kids from MTV that gets a BMW on their birthday, I'm really not. My parents bought that apartment as an investment and to put it simply, I'm sort of renting it from them.

Except instead of moving into a furnished home, this place was pretty much an empty white box and I had the responsibility to turn it into a home.

I have to say, at the beginning of this "project", I felt both excited and lost. Excited because I couldn't wait to have my own place that I can decorate and live in, lost because I had no idea where to begin.

Having only just moved here ten months ago, I was still clueless about many things. Things like how do I pay bills, or how do I set up wifi and where do I buy a TV? But before I get to that, let's start from the very beginning.

Some time in May, a wonderful lady called Paula who was in-charge of the new apartment emailed me to come for an inspection. At the time, I had no idea what I was supposed to do during an inspection. My parents, who guided me along the way, gave me a list of defects to look at. Stuff like scratched walls, loose cupboards etc. Forgetful Kimmy obviously did not bring that list with her and went completely unprepared to this inspection.

What I did end up doing was opening cupboards and looking at empty ceilings and taking pictures. In all honesty, I really did not know what I had to be looking for either, I just pretended to know what I was doing.

Super cute kitchen

The living room with a balcony!!!

My room. Look how tiny that window is. 

I never understood why the second bedroom had a much larger window. 

This is where I'll be if I don't respond to texts, hiding away from life. 

A couple of days later, Paula emailed me to say that I could collect the keys and move in as soon as possible. After hearing this, I was so so so happy because everything was going smoothly... or so I thought. I signed the handover form, got the keys and went up to see my new home. What I saw truly disappointed me because all the defects were unfixed, the door was broken, and for some reason the place was dustier than before.

I didn't really know what that meant or what to do so I left it as it is. My mom found out that the defects were still there and had a go at me for being so careless because what I should have done was to check the place before even signing anything. Once you sign the handover form, any broken items or cracks in the walls will become your responsibility and you'll have to fix it on your own. To think about it now, it seems like common sense but my brain was too slow to figure that out.

I feel like because I'm severely under-qualified to manage my own place, adults kind of take advantage of my innocence and cut corners sometimes. I didn't know any better and almost had to be fixing door knobs on my own if my mom didn't warn me beforehand. I remember receiving a text from her saying that I was too inexperienced to handle these situations in which I angrily replied, "Yes I AM TOO YOUNG. What the hell were you expecting from an eighteen-year old??!!"

In the end, everything was done properly and I got the keys to a defect-free apartment, all thanks to my mother's persistent effort in forcing me to check every inch of every wall. Haha.

The next thing to do after getting the keys was to buy furniture. God, even saying it sounds so mature. Anyway, I thought it was going to be fun. I mean every kid loves IKEA and dreams of having one of the showrooms as their own bedroom. Plus, who doesn't love Swedish meatballs?

It turns out that furniture shopping can be a bit of a nightmare for someone who loves black and wants every piece of furniture she sees. And also, because I have lunch before I shop, I am always too tired and too full of meatballs to properly concentrate. Hahaha.

448 pieces of furniture that I want

Felt so old taking notes in IKEA. Hahah

In the last month, I have been to IKEA five times and stayed up for days trying to figure out colour schemes and what not. The thing about me is that I don't have a specific style or aesthetic because I love everything and anything that is nice. I love prints and glitter and rich colours and black and cereal and Beyonce. Trying to combine all that in one small space is literally hell for any interior designer. At one point, I even had about 7 different sofas on my shopping list because I was so indecisive. My lack of colour coordination was so bad but luckily I had artsy friends who helped out tremendously (thank you Alp and Jolene <3)

And because I'm a student, ALL my furniture was from IKEA and I must admit, the final price came out to be a lot less than what I expected. (IKEA ftw!)

The next day, most of my furniture arrived and the delivery guys had such a hard time moving everything, which I obviously felt bad for but hey they're being paid. One of them even joked that my house was like an IKEA showroom, which I admit is quite true haha. Apparently in the UK, IKEA delivery doesn't assemble the furniture for you, which was another problem because A, I'm not exactly fit and B, I'm terrible with instructions.

This was only half of the furniture. The rest of them were in another room. 

I remember one of the delivery guys, before he left, asked me who the lucky guy was. And I laughed and said, "there's no guy, it's just me doing all this." He sort of looked at me half surprised and half confused because he didn't know if I was being serious. For some reason after he said that, I was really motivated to do it all on my own, just to see if I could. And I thought to myself, if I really could manage all this, I can pretty much do anything.

So after they left, it was just me with all these boxes and a handful of tools and I got cracking.

There's two things I discovered that day which were 1. Assembling IKEA furniture is a piece of cake. Sure, they were bumps along the way, but that was because I didn't read the instructions properly. Pfft. 2. The reason women don't carry furniture is not because we don't have the strength to but because our boobs get in the way. WHY BOOBS WHY.

Coffee table and study table, check.

After assembling the TV bench and the armchair I was sitting on. ⌗Proud

Besides the beds and the wardrobe, I can proudly declare that everything else was done by me with a little help from Lori on the sofa. The point is, I FELT INVINCIBLE and badass and I will not be shy about it. 

I finally went with a dark blue sofa.

Lori being shy.

The living room slowly coming together. 

My bedroom in it's glorious mess, just like my life.

The second bedroom that is filled with boxes at the moment. 

Selfie with my new bedding that I really love. 

Oops. Moving on... 

Anyway, I'll probably upload the final "look" after everything's completed but for now, that's all I have.  I have less than a day left at Bramall before they kick me out and I still need to pack which is why I'm going to stop blogging now and actually get some work done.

So that's all for today's post and if you've read up till here, I'm really thankful that you're interested in my life. And because my place is still a mess right now, I will be writing Part II on another day.

(Also, do excuse my crappy writing, I had no time to properly blog about this so I just wrote it in a rush. )

Ciao for now.

Love,
Kimmy x

End of First Year

This post is rather belated considering my first year ended on the 20th and it's the 30th today but anyway let's get on with it.

I can't properly articulate my emotions right now because I am literally still in denial that the first year of university has ended just like that. For some reason, I have never felt this "shock" with college or secondary school, but for university, it's an interesting revelation. On one hand, I'm glad it's over because here's to the three months of summer that I can do nothing with, but on the other hand, it means two more years of university and I'll be forced out of education and into the adult world. While two years is still a lot of time, that thought of finishing education for good still sits at the back of my mind and from time to time it's quite scary to think about.

This past year has opened my eyes to a lot of things. First of all, I never realised how uncertain I was with myself. Growing up, I have always been very clear about what I wanted, including my career, my dream car, even my dream apartment. I pretty much had everything mapped out and all I needed was money so I could go ahead and pursue them. Even when I faced difficulties in the past, I would cry about it for an hour or so and get on with Plan B. I was very certain with everything. Now, I just don't know anymore. In the past year of living independently, I have cried a lot and I have also pondered a lot. If anything, in the past year, I have doubted myself the most.

If you knew me before, you would know that I don't doubt myself, ever. I am the kind of person who knows what I'm good at and I go at it confidently and ambitiously. So this uncertainty I feel comes as a surprise and to be honest, I absolutely hate feeling incompetent. But in my case, it's so difficult to be confident in what I do.

To begin with, I am in a Creative Writing course for goodness sake. The me last year would never have pictured this, not even in a million years. And what's worse, being in an English course, my future prospects are either teaching or a best-selling novelist, there is literally no in-between. Teaching is a future I want to avoid and a novelist? Are you kidding me? I'm no Stephen King for crying out loud, where in this future do I stand? Do you see why I am constantly worried? In a course of about a hundred people, I am the only Asian and that puts me at a great disadvantage already. Among those hundred people, we all want the same thing but how many out of all of us will eventually become the greatest TV writer ever? I know for sure the possibility of that being me is tiny because miracles don't happen to me. For my whole life, I have only depended on hard work because talent is not something I possess. With that being said, hard work can only carry you far in life to a certain extent. There are thousands of people out there who write their butts off and still don't get noticed. This is ultimately my biggest fear. Unlike engineers and doctors, a career in writing is completely undecided.

If I'm honest, I have been living everyday questioning my purpose and praying like nobody's business that one day all this hard work will pay off. As I've said before, not living the life I imagine is going to be my biggest disappointment and it's something I will never forgive myself for.

As human beings, I feel like we are hard-wired to dwell on the worst case scenario even when the odds are probably in our favour. At this point, the chances of succeeding is bleak but there's a part of me that still wants to believe it's possible. My teacher used to say that taking a leap of faith means believing in something completely intangible. Being passionate means pouring your heart and soul into something while fully acknowledging the worst case scenario. I'd like to think that this is what I'm doing. At the end of the day, if I do become a teacher, I'd like to say that I tried my best pursuing the career of my dreams. After all, a one percent chance is still a higher probability than a zero percent and gambling on that one chance is going to be worth it if I'm willing to bet on myself.

That is my only comfort when I'm upset and when my pillars of support are on the other side of the planet. Living away from my family is, without a doubt, difficult, but it taught me how to stand on my own two feet. I guess in its own way, it's rewarding. But yea, if I could sum up first year in a word, it would be rewarding. Everything that I have learnt in university, from scriptwriting to using theories like feminism and marxism etc, it's been one hell of a school year.

Here's to three months of summer and two more years of assignments and exams. Yay.

Love,
Kimmy