Falling Behind

My head feels heavy,
and there's a goddamn weird-ass bruise just above my ass
which makes it hard to sit and get up.

And I need to rush this.
But I felt like I had to write something.
Lately it's been happening again.
The inability to form coherent sentences quickly,
to choose the proper words to articulate my thoughts.
Hell, even little things like proper conjunctions have been giving me issues lately.
And that is worrying as hell.

On the plus side,
I've recently managed to download all my old comics from Photobucket
after maybe 30 minutes (or was it an hour?). This was after those bastards
removed the "Download Album" option in an attempt
to make it harder for you to move your images.

Anyway, I've gotta get going now.
So well, yeah. Enough of that.

New House

Had two phone conversations today that I wish had gone much better.
First was with Fara from Esplanade,
and I wish I hadn't interrupted so many goddamn times
and brought up the loyalty workshop.
I have little doubt she'll think that I was calling simply to sell something.
Well, I did want to sell something,
but I also wanted to see how she was.

One thing I like about this job is that the kind
of people you meet are ones I can actually be friends with.
So Fara, Ramesh, Shane, etc.
So yeah, shouldn't have interrupted,
and shoudn't have tried selling the workshop which I would've known
wouldn't be necessary if I'd just let her speak and simply
asked how things were going over there.

Anyway,
the next conversation was what really prompted me
to start writing again.

I was interviewing a candidate for our soon-to-be-vacant
business development role.

And I actually stumbled.
Simple, grammatically-correct sentences became hard to form.
I wasn't nervous,
and I knew what I wanted to say.
I'd just forgotten the proper way to say it.

This tends to happen when I'm pretty sleepy
and haven't blogged in a while.

And man, there's a lot to blog about.
From my resentment at how my parents (my mom especially)
may have caused me to develop the OCD-like issue with performing prayers,
to neigbourhood preschools and their inability to give a shit about kids who deviate
slightly from what they consider to be "normal" (DIFFERENT KIDS HAVE DIFFERENT PERSONALITIES YOU INCOMPETENT IDIOTS).

But I don't have the energy or the time to handle all of that today.
Within the next couple of days, maybe. Hopefully.

In about 30 minutes, I'll be heading out
to HDB to collect the keys to our first apartment.

I should be happy.
It'll be our first apartment and major purchase.

And I am.
Just... probably not as happy as I should be.

It feels like it's a step back since I'll be moving back into my old neighbourhood.
And more importantly, it's a goddamn HDB apartment.
That means public housing and the restrictions that come with it.
And that's what rubs me the wrong way.

It's PUBLIC HOUSING that costs half a million dollars in
the most expensive city in the world.
AND they put restrictions on what you can do with it, too.
Even if you somehow make a ton of money in the future
and want to buy another property or two after the 5-year
Minimum Occupation Period or MOQ, you can't occupy any of those properties
and lease out your apartment.
Nope.
You've got to sell it.

Oh and by the way,
as part of the MOQ,
if you break up during this period,
the apartment goes back to HDB and they may compensate you
or not.

As I was writing this,
Fara texted me to tell me the gender of Ramesh's baby,
which I wanted to find out.
She'd asked Ramesh and then let me know.
GOD I love dealing with these people man.
Such a refreshing change from the past couple of years.
I think I was dealing mainly with data analyts and others from the BI and mapping departments
and while they weren't hostile or anything,
I never really did become friends with any of my customers.

Well enough of that,
it's time to get outta here.

Anxiety

GOD, just looking at the title I've chosen
reminds me of that goddamn emo phase a long time ago.
But fuck it, I'll leave it up.
I mean, who gives a shit, right?

Writing again after such a long time is
kind of like being back in a gym after a long absence.
It's good that you're back,
you might even feel excited
but at the same time it feels a little intimidating, alien almost.
The whole time your body is telling you that "Hey,
you could just head back and start tomorrow or a few days later!"
Or "Maybe take it easy."

So yeah, kind of like that.

I've recently kind of lost arguments
over racist policies in Singapore.
Mainly because I'd tried to use facts (which were of course in favour),
and when you can't recall them,
it's like trying to cycle without goddamn wheels.

And then it hit me.
Sometimes all you need to do it remember the principle.
Is it OK if a person gets to enjoy certain privileges over another
due to the colour of their skin?
Claiming it's for "the greater good" does nothing
when you and your kids gain better access to jobs
and homes and other services purely due to their ethnicity.

There is no moral argument here.
You want to take the high stand?
Claim it's for the greater good?
How about equalizing the playing field?
Otherwise shut the fuck up about that and admit you're a fucking racist.

Hell you know what?
I'd have more respect for you
if you admitted something like fear
of losing those privileges.
That's something I can emphasise with.
If you'd been living a large bungalow
due to certain policies,
would you want to endorse changes
that could result in your having to live in a smaller house?
How about your kids?

It's unethical, sure.
But understandable.
And it can set the stage for a proper debate.

Oh yeah,
and who decides what "minority" means?
In Singapore, it usually means 'non-Chinese"
or for practical purposes "non-Chinese-looking".
I mean, my grandmother is Chinese, but I look more like an Arab.
So yeah, I typically get assigned the short end of the stick often (though not lately!).

It's all political.
Don't the Chinese Singaporeans who endorse systemic racism
realize that at any time, any "sub-category" of Chinese Singaporeans
could singled out?
I mean, look at the derogatory way they talk about the more recent immigrants from mainland China.
Holy shit.
Sometimes you don't realize you're swimming in your privilege until
the pool becomes filthy and you realize you're trapped.

There's a bunch of other stuff I'd like to rant about,
but I'm getting tired.
And it's only 9.48am. On a goddamn Monday.

Well enough of that.

Finally Back

Not sure what's been up with Blogger the past
couple of days? Weeks?
I hadn't been able to log in at all.
It's working now,
but I should probably try to back up some
of my past stupid posts.

I don't know,
a part of me thinks
that my daughter would
one day be interested in
going through my old posts one day.
Probably not but eh.

Anyway, good to be back.
Baby's calling to me.

Well enough of that.

Running Out of Time

There are so many things I'd like to write about,
that it's hard to know where to begin.

Haven't even finished writing about our
final stay in Busan, and my thoughts on Korea which I'd started on
back when we were still there... IN JANUARY.

Goddammit.

So we've been looking for an apartment,
having lowered our expectations from a freehold or 999-year condo,
to an Executive Condo,
to finally... goddamn motherfucking HDB apartment.

And the ones closest to my daughter's daycare
range from $400K - $700K.
FOR PUBLIC HOUSING.

Now don't get me wrong,
I'm very thankful for the job that I have
along with the highest salary I've ever had.

But man, even at my high salary (compared with both the media and average salaries here)
it's barely enough for a basic HDB apartment, man.

That is crazy.
If I ever lose my job,
that could be it,
there's a strong possibility that we'd end up in poverty or close to it.

I'm 36 now,
and realize that I'm seriously running out of time.
Everything from fitness to working on all the business plans I've got,
to the number of years I have left to earn as much as I do right now.

Hell, I'm so busy nowadays
that I barely have time to hit the gym,
and to contribute to a project with huge potential
that a friend is working on.

And it's main because I can't focus.
These days it's hard.
Even as I write this,
my mind keeps prompting me to watch a video or read an article or listen to music.
I can't fucking focus.
And end up wasting a shit-ton of time.

So I've decided that between now and the 30th of Nov 18,
I'm going to get things in order.

For the next two-three weeks,
I'll get my main work stuff under control.
Quotes and emails and proposals that need to be sent out will be done so promptly.
I'll watch videos only after I've done the major things.

I'll start hitting the gym three times a week,
even if it means having to skip The Littlest Dictator's bedtime.
I have to.
For both of us.

Oh yea and I'll try to read one English book every two weeks,
and a Russian children's book once a day or every two days.

And hopefully once I get a handle of things,
I'll be able to work on the external projects,
including that project my friend's working on.
Might be too late by the time I'm ready,
but even then,
I will at long last be able to work on my other plans.

Well enough of that.

Fuming

It's 10.14am on the work computer,
and I've got a ton of shit to get through,
especially my leave application for our upcoming three-week stay in Korea.

But I'm fuming.
It's been such a long time since
I've been this angry after reading an article.

Usually I try and not let it affect me as much.
There's so much misery in the world,
from Palestine to Syria to Singapore and every place in between.

Maybe it's because I'd been holding it in,
subconsciously pushing it down,
assuming all that shit doesn't really get to me.

But when I read this article about
a ranch in Texas where boys as little as FIVE YEARS OLD
were horribly abused in all kinds of ways,
I started seeing red.
I wish to be in a room with those fucking
brave and honourable adult men and women
who abused those kids.
Let's see how you stack up against me you motherfuckers.
The whole lot of you, you fucking cunts.

Here's the link to the article about the Cal Farley's Ranch:
https://www.theguardian.com/us-news/2017/dec/20/texas-cal-farleys-boys-ranch-stories


And it's still up and running.
Not just that, but thriving!

Regular donations from rich motherfuckers
keep it going.

They've acknowledged
that the abuse had occurred,
but have refused to issue even a simple apology to the victims.

Hell, they're even naming a new dormitory after
one of the abusers.

These were CHILDREN.

Oh and sure,
they claim that the ranch follows best practices now.
Yep.
No abuse is taking place at all.
NO SIR.

Hey hold on a second.
Isn't that what they claimed in the past, too?
From the 1950's all the way to 1990's.

What, are the fine moral upstanding citizens
of Texas going to wait until 50 years later
before acknowledging the abuses happening now?
Because I have little fucking doubt
children are still being tortured there on a daily basis.
Maybe in a more discreet fashion, sure.
Restrict the rapes to late nights,
you know what I mean?
Be more classy about it.

Hell, I wouldn't be surprised
if those wealth motherfucking donors
help themselves to a fine selection of boys
when the fancy strikes them.

Motherfucker.

Well enough of that.

Danger

It's almost 11am,
and as usual I'm struggling
to focus on work
while waiting for a call that could come at any time from a client.

So two days ago,
there was a huge argument at home
between mainly me and my mom, dad, brother.

It started out in the typical stupid
way arguments with them start:
My wife had requested that my mom
help with cleaning that dishes (usually her own)
that tend to fill up the sink and get left there for hours and hours and hours,
making it extremely difficult to cook and clean our daughter's milk bottles.

My wife usually cleans it up for them,
but after five years,
it had gotten to the point where my mom and brother would
just leave their goddamn dishes in there
and not clean up after themselves,
forcing her to clean it for them.
Not so much as a thank-you was given,
This is in addition to the overall mess (mainly caused by my mom) in the kitchen.

And all of the above,
is just a tiny part of the things my mom and brother do,
the way they try and impose themselves on her.
I want to say that they were doing it subconsciously,
but since it's been brought up numerous times,
yea definitely not.
More likely they just couldn't give a shit
so long as it's convenient for them.

But hey, fine.
Back to the argument.
So what sparked it this time?
My mom's comment to a simple request for help
was to tell my wife to either get a maid or not to complain.
Holy fucking shit.

Over the years,
I've realized that speaking with her
won't change anything.
The excuses do change,
but the outcome is always the same.

So instead,
I would've just gladly settled for an admission
and an apology.

She can't even do that.
So we argue.
And I tell my brother to fucking clean up after himself
as he walks by,
then it really went off the rails.

He told me to shut up,
and my dad and mom immediately
began rushing to his defence.
And we're not talking about listening to two sides
and coming to a settlement.

It's basically telling me to shut the hell up.
And even threatening to call the police on me.
Calling me crazy.
It's enough to make you question yourself.
Fortunately this time my wife was there
so she could see for herself.

All those years I'd be alone,
and end up wondering if the problem was me.

You even question your own sanity.
I think I avoided that by starting to break
down incidents to see what happened,
to try and take the emotions out of it.

It almost always begins with their
trying to take something of mine without permission,
to impose on me something that they would like to do.

Same thing here.
It started out with the fucking dishes.
I mean is it really so goddamn hard to clean up after yourselves?

The next morning after I'd left for work,
my mom of course started arguing again with my wife
even after my wife had made it clear she didn't want to talk with her.

As I'm writing this,
I realize that there needs to be so much more written for the sake of context.
The history, the lies my family would tell about me,
the aggravations,
the physical and verbal and mental abuse.

But I don't have much time unfortunately,
so I'll just get to the point.

After that argument,
my wife and my mom kind of made peace (of course,
without resolving the main issue by having her agree to clean up after herself).

My brother came along,
and later my dad.
And together with my mom,
they tried to paint a fake, horrifying picture of me.
Like, if you heard this,
you'd want me to be locked up.

I was this violent,
abusive person.
I had hit him for no reason.
I was the cause of his spinal problem for which he had to get surgery.
According to my brother (and my parents),
I'd beat him up so badly that he needed surgery.

Never mind that he told a completely different story before.
That he'd gotten the surgery when my wife and I were living separately in Pasir Ris.
Never mind the fact that there are no hospital records,
no police reports, nothing.

Never mind the fact that I'm like twice his size,
and if I really wanted to,
I could've destroyed him.
You'd get it if you could see the size difference between us.

Even after all that,
I still wracked my brains.
Did I ever black out or something?
We've fought before as siblings do,
but I've always held back.
Was there a really bad fight where something like this happened?
I mean at the very least I would remember the ambulance, right?
It's not like they'd leave him crumpled on the floor or anything
if it were that serious.

That's the thing about false accusations.
Even after everything,
you still end up second-guessing yourself.

It was a lie.
A disgusting lie that could ruin my life,
and the lives of my wife and daughter.

Even another fucking story
about how I threw a punch for no reason.
Really?
Let's try and take them at their word for a second.
For no reason.
Does that sound realistic?
What kind of image does that paint?
Like they are all constantly huddled in a corner,
trying to avoid the big, violent psychopath when he comes home?

Yes.
For no reason.
If you're going to lie,
lie better, you know?
Think of a story.
People dig stories.

Have I thrown a punch before?
Yep.
BROTHERS FIGHT.
But I've always held back.
And yep,
he has punched me before too.
And kicked me, while they were holding me.
And slapped my face.
Even after all that,
I still held back.

And of course they forget all the shit they did to me,
the beatings up until what, maybe 10 years ago?
Oh they like to bring up the past
as if that's what turned me into the monster that they say I am.

Conveniently sidestepping all the shit they pull today.
Like the fucking mess they create every fucking day
that they expect my wife to clean up after
without so much a motherfucking thank-you.
Like the rudeness that they displayed.
Like the time they keep trying to
touch my daughter the way I'd banned them from doing.
The way they tried (and probably do behind my back)
to feed her sugar despite our telling them not to.
Little things and big things over a period of years.

They even tried to warn my wife that I'd get violent towards her.
As if I'm like my parents,
or their own abusive parents and siblings.

There has got to be a word or phrase for this.
Something like "mob mentality" or "gang mentality".
I think they actually believe it too.
It's like they kept spreading the lies in their own circle
over and over again until it became "truth".

And most people think I exaggerate until
they experience it themselves.
After all the shit that's happened,
at least my wife and my other brother's soon-to-be-ex-wife
understand since they too have experienced the same thing.

The worst part?
We may have to move out and break off contact completely,
which is something I am considering seriously now.

Singapore has around a 99% conviction rate.
Easily "solved" cases contribute towards career advancement for officers and prosecutors.

I'd been accused before
and despite video evidence I was still railroaded into a confession.

But an accusation from a family,
with a few "witnesses"?
I'd get convicted even without proper evidence.
Hell, I can guarantee that if they were asked proper questions,
the lie would be exposed,
but what would it take?
I'd have to be arrested first,
so no money for my wife and daughter.
Then I'd have to have someone post bail.
My wife doesn't have any assets.
I'd also lose my job at this point.

And without a lawyer,
your trial date tends to get delayed time and time again
(not sure if this is still the case, but I've got no reason to believe it's changed).

So what, a trial after one year in jail?
Maybe two? Maybe longer?
All this while, who knows what would happen to my wife?
My mom would love it of course.
To be able to fully control someone.
She's trying to arrange for my incarcerated brother's Indonesian wife
to come to Singapore,
while keeping the fact that her husband's in prison a secret from her parents,
who will be moving to Surabaya from Batam (a goddamn far distance) permanently.

When she's in Singapore,
she will be solely reliant on her for money and accommodation.

And my mom will abuse her,
I just know it.
It'll take time,
but she will get there.
And this time,
the girl won't have a husband around to defend her.

Anyway, conviction or not,
my family is fucked.

And they can throw out this accusation any time.
Hell, my younger brother does interviews
with the media about his company from time to time.
And if he lies to them about me,
my career could be in ruins.
And what am I going to do?
Sue?
Guess who'll go to his defence?
Forget the potential criminal case,
a civil case with "witnesses"?
I'd lose in a heartbeat.

No.
We need to sever contacts with this toxic group.
I don't know what the fuck is wrong with them
or how they got there.
But they are a danger to us.

And I hate this because my daughter
will lose people that she loves.
Her grandmother, grandfather,
uncles and aunts.
She doesn't know yet what they're like.
Maybe it's best that way.

Well enough of that.