4th Day in Paradise

And I should be feeling awesome.
If not incredibly relaxed,
at the very least filled with excitement
at the potential of what
the following days could bring.

But yep,
you guessed it.
Nope.

The fourth morning,
and there's a sadness in me
that won't go away.
It's more than just one incident or one thing or one person.

It's more than just my own wife
putting down my efforts and suggestions
at how to make a living,
or even just to make a small bit of money first.
I'd accept constructive criticism.
But the answer in the form of a drawn out 'I don't knowwww'
or 'It doesn't feel like it could work'
does not help in any way.

And I keep thinking of the smiling racists in Singapore.
They smile at you,
speak nicely with you,
even hang out with you from time to time.

But behind your back,
and when it comes to the things that really matter
like jobs and education,
you get the short end of the stick because of who you are.

I call them the smiling racists,
because they'll smile warmly,
as they float in their boats, both big and small...
while you're slowly sinking in the water,
hindering - gently, oh ever so gently but firmly - your efforts to remain afloat.

They smile as you and your family sink to the bottom of the ocean.
And then they pat themselves on the back
thinking about what kind, decent human being they are.

Fuck them.
With the internet being what it is,
there are more options now.

I'll find a way,
like I always do.
Because I don't have a choice.

Yesterday I lost my shit
when a dog's snout touched my daughter.
I cursed and screamed and kicked trees,
and would probably have hurt the two idiot women
who didn't pull on the leash fast enough
as they were chatting about whatever inane things people like that chat about.

Thing is,
these things happen.

And I should've been more careful.
But I just lost my temper,
as Jenia took her away.

That was unacceptable.
I mean, what kind of message does that send the baby?

Hell, she might even have thought that I was upset with her.
I wanted to do a reboot,
like you do when you've made a horrible mistake.

And I realized that I need to train myself to avoid shouting and cursing.
Sure it's all fun and jokes,
until you almost lose control,
and the dark side of you comes out.
The baby deserves more than that.

I need to train myself on language,
and on focusing on the solution first.

The anger will subside.
And if action needs to be taken,
I'll take it.
But not out of anger.

Even if there's a chance that
I'd feel more anger later for not doing something about it then,
I could always file it away as a contingency for next time,
the way I do for certain incidents that I've had to just let go,
because they took me by surprise.
File away a template.
Keep it ready.
Just in case.

You can't win every single battle.

It's 8am,
and I'm in the hall and the sun is bright in between two tall buildings outside the window.
The whole room is now filled with a bright, soft glow.
I'd like to think that it's a sign.

There's more things of course.
The fact that I feel left out of conversations
with my wife's side of the family.
The exhaustion that comes with looking after a truly hyperactive baby.
You can't get anything done,
and if you do,
your wife resents you for it,
because she feels like she needed your help with the baby.

I still need to earn money.
I'm still trying to shake off the feeling of
fucking racists not accepting the way I speak,
my command of English.
As if my brown skin is supposed to produce an accent or something.
Or maybe I shouldn't be using some of the slang that 'Westerners' use.

I need to shake that off.
Fuck every single one of them.

Today I'll pick a gym and get my peanut butter.
Yes, I realize that sounds a little funny.

Tomorrow my new routine begins.
There's be plenty of things to be depressed about,
but for now, I've got shit to do.
Let's hope for a productive day.

Well enough of that.

Madness

Of all the shit that's happening right now,
especially just two days before our 10-hour flight,
this had to happen NOW.

Motherfucker.

I've just come to the realization that
my own mother can't be trusted to look after my 2 year-old daughter.

Is it because she's a narcissist?
Plain evil?
Does she want extra money?
I have no idea.
I really don't, but the results are always the same:
She ends up doing the things she wants to do,
even if these things harm others.

She's got a million excuses.
The reasons always change.
But the actions...
the things that she's been expressly forbidden from doing...
she'd do.

Growing up,
she'd randomly take my things
and either move them,
hide them,
or just straight up throw them away.

Once, she even took legal documents for a court case,
and just randomly placed them in a drawer
that nobody would think to look in for them.

I only found out because luckily,
I'd wanted to have a look at them right after she moved them.

At first she denied it,
then admitted moving them.
Couldn't believe my eyes when I saw where she'd placed them.
You'd spend hours looking for those important documents.

Oh yea,
and she had a habit of moving my shit,
then forgetting where she moved them to.
So if I'd taken too long to look for those documents,
I would've been well and truly fucked.

Which almost happened,
when SHE TOOK THE FUCKING DOCUMENTS
OUT OF MY BAG WITHOUT TELLING ME,
and only remembered when we were in court,
and I had to produce those documents.

But all of that pales in comparison
to the line she's crossed multiple times.

My wife has a mild allergy to certain foods,
including stuff that has a lot of protein.

Looks like my daughter has them too.
So we avoid giving her too much protein-heavy foods,
and other types of snacks,
since she's had allergic reactions before in the form of itchy rashes.

I also avoid giving her anything with sugar.
She gets enough of that in natural foods,
and doesn't need the problems that come with it.
There'll be enough of it later down the road.

So we tell my mom the reasons why
certain foods should not be given to our daughter.

Turns out,
she's been giving her those foods on the sly.
Then turns around and wonders why I'm livid.
I get accidentally doing it the first time.
But a second time, secretly in the bedroom?
What the hell is wrong with you?

I'd later find out that she'd continued to do it.

Why? Man, your guess is as good as mine.

Now, I haven't been the perfect son,
hell, far from it.
In fact, it's a source of shame for me that
nearly every conversation I have with my mom
turns into a goddamn argument.

So before our trip and long stay overseas,
I wanted to make amends.
Maybe time away from her would be good.

And just two days away,
my daughter gets a rash on her neck.
Could've been an insect bite, could be an allergic reaction,
and could be an infection like the last time.

And if it's an infection,
we'd need to visit the doctor ASAP and get the medication before the flight.

Here's the fucked up part:
We couldn't just eliminate the allergic thing,
because of my mom's inexplicable desire to feed her the crap she wants to feed her.
It's not like my daughter was even aware of the existence of that crap.
Nope.
SHE FUCKING INTRODUCES IT TO HER.

The rest of the family is mindful.
But for some insane reason, not her.

So I ask her if she'd fed her biscuits.
Denial.
So I ask again (the truth tends to come out after much prodding).
Denial.
OK I try to explain to her that it could be an allergic reaction,
so I need to know exactly what she fed her,
so we'll know what to do.
She cuts me off repeatedly,
alternating between saying it's an insect bite and that she didn't give her any biscuits.

I try to know what she fed her.
Nope.
No biscuits.
What about other foods?
It's an insect bite. And no biscuits.
Over and over again like a broken fucking record.

WHAT ABOUT OTHER FOODS.
And this is when she too begins to raise her voice,
looking to others to support her.

JESUS FUCKING CHRIST.

As usual,
she flat out refuses to answer a basic simple question,
even if it means that treatment for my daughter could be delayed
and she has to suffer for it.

She is two years old.
And my mom is doing what? To prove a fucking point?
Hell, if she were doing it for money or revenge, at least it would make some sense.
But I have no fucking clue.

So there we are,
arguing in front of my daughter,
as I try to get my wife to bring her into the room.

AND STILL I DON'T HAVE THE ANSWER.
She just refuses to answer the question.
Over and over again.

After multiple times,
finally, one by one the answers are dragged out.
Painfully slowly.
At first, she'd answered with 'Not biscuits'.
And then came 'Just bread'.
More prodding.
'Rice'.
'The dish my wife prepared specifically for my daughter'.
'Potato from the food stall near the playground (which she was NOT supposed to fucking do)'
And then finally... 'Eggs'.
She'd had a mild allergic reaction to eggs like, one or two days before,
because she had too much,
and if you add eggs now,
she'd likely get another reaction.

It took a lot of shouting,
and lot threatening,
prodding,
back and forth to get a simple fucking answer.

Even when it involved the well-being of her granddaughter.
If we were already in the air,
and it turns out that she has an infection,
being away from Singapore is a BAD THING,
especially since we're traveling to a place where
not too many people speak English,
including the doctors.

Why hide that?
Hell, why the opposition to the very notion
that she could be having an allergic reaction?
What the fuck?

And even now,
there could've been other foods
she'd given her, including biscuits that she'd had an allergic reaction to before.

That's when it hit me.
She can't be trusted.
She just can't.
Whatever the reasons for her actions,
and no matter how many times she's told of why
certain things should not be done,
the results are always the same:
She does what she wants.
Even when it means her granddaughter suffers.

She can't be trusted to be alone with my child.
I have very little doubt she'll play the victim,
and a different kind of story will make its way
to my relatives.

But I can no longer trust her.
I can't even trust that she will change.
Like back when I was growing up,
she'd always say that she wouldn't do it again.
Then time would pass.
Sometimes a week. Sometimes a month or more.
And she'd do the exact same thing.

But she'd do it only when I wasn't around.

Then came the time when I was in between jobs or something,
because I remember being at home a lot.
At the very least,
she wouldn't move my things when I'm around, right?
Nope.

She waited until I was asleep,
and proceeded to do the exact same thing. AGAIN.

No.
It always ends up escalating.
Always.

I can't take the risk anymore.
I will never allow her to be alone with my daughter for extended periods.
I might go to the bathroom,
or send an email.
And then I'll head back.

Or if we need a sitter,
I'll make sure that someone else is with her throughout the time.

She cannot be trusted to be alone with my daughter.
And it is her doing.
I will never trust her again.
And that is a really fucked up thing to have to say about your own mother.

Well enough of that.

Perpetual Loop

It's 5.47pm,
and the sky is grey.
The trees and buildings and grass look wet and clean and fresh.

Wish I could say the same for myself.
For the past couple of years,
I've tired pretty easily.
And every once in a while, when I don't get enough sleep
- and it seems like I need more than the average person -
I get a crippling headache that lasts for hours.

I don't know what the problem is,
and I can't afford the tests to find out.

A part of me things it's because of my weight,
so that's one of the reasons I'm desperately - fucking desperately! - trying to lose weight.

Maybe the cause of the snoring is also the cause of my perpetual fatigue.

Fortunately, I've been able to land relatively well-paying gigs
that don't require a lot of physical labour and allow me to work from home a lot of the time.

But here's the thing though,
I HAVE to work.

We leave for Korea in about five days,
and I'm unemployed.

I mean sure, we've talked about starting a business,
and even her mom has decided to invest.

I'm worried. Very worried.
And I'm fairly certain she doesn't share my concerns.

No matter how many times I tell her
that I've got a fatigue problem,
no matter how many times I tell her that during the weekday,
during office hours,
I HAVE to fucking work,
it seems like nothing really gets through to her.
Not really.

We've even argued about it a few times.
It's pretty clear that she doesn't think it's so much
as a fatigue problem as it is my being lazy.

And on top of this,
she expects me to help out with the baby constantly throughout the day.

I've explained again and again,
I can't do that,
and work at the same time.

She kind of phases out the multiple times throughout the day
that I help her out.
It's like nothing ever happened.

To her,
even if I'd helped out for many hours on and off
throughout the day,
all she can remember is how I helped out just a little bit,
and all she can focus on is how tired she is looking after the baby.

She says she gets it.
Oh yes, and she gets very emotional about it, too.

She absolutely gets it.
Yep.

And nothing changes.
It might change for a day or two,
but she always reverts.

Always.

She can't put herself in other people's shoes,
not really.

Hell, she can crack a mean-spirited joke
and laugh about it,
but if you throw the same joke - and I mean the exact same one -
she gets upset,
not seeing how it affects other people.
Not really.

And if I were to start a business,
there is no doubt in my mind,
I'd have to dedicate even more time to that,
than I had to for my other previous jobs.
She says she gets it.
She fucking doesn't.
She does not.
Don't think she ever will.

It's like she's been living in bubble,
and now that she's out of it,
can't see the real world for what it is.

We're fucked.
We are well and truly fucked, and I don't know what to do.

She judges me when I'm on the internet watching a video
in between working.
She judges me when I'm resting.

And now that I'm unemployed,
she judges me for that, too.

And still I fucking try.
I'm on my goddamn hands and knees struggling against the fatigue
trying to ensure a good future for both of them,
all the while having her look over my shoulder,
making dismissive fucking comments.

If you ask her though,
she'll say she's supportive.
And then go back to putting me down.

I'll figure something out, I will.
It's hard to tune it out sometimes,
but for the time being,
that's exactly what I have to do.

Oh yea,
and if she were to ever come across this post,
the ONLY thing she'd take away from this,
is how it makes her look.
There will be zero reflection.
She is a fucking saint in her eyes.

And that's the really disappointing thing.

Well enough of that.