The Complete Short Prose

Ugh

nobody@vox.com(Yasmine) — Sun, 20 Apr 2008 00:26:21 +0800

There is such a feeling of dread that sloshes around inside me at the thought of the weekend ending. I will be listening to a nice song, and then when the singer hits a particular note of yearning, I will be reminded of work. Or the reminder could come in the middle of a TV show, for no reason at all. Even while reading a book, I could suddenly think of work if I come across any word that is related to the tasks I have awaiting me in the office.

The dread starts right at the centre of my chest, then throbs its way down to my stomach and my legs. Finally, I feel the dread in the soles of my feet, like a prickle. I have to squeeze my toes to make it go away, but it only travels back up to my chest, hiding in wait until the next reminder of work welcomes it back out again.

Will I ever reach a point in my life where I wouldn't fear Mondays anymore? I don't think so. Throughout my working adult life, it will be the thought of work that haunts me, and after retirement it will be death.

That's Saturday night optimism for you.

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Work and renovations

nobody@vox.com(Yasmine) — Tue, 04 Dec 2007 21:01:44 +0800

Yesterday I came home from dinner running a slight fever. Four days before my trip and I have a slight fever, and my fevers usually last an average of 7 days. So I took a couple of paracetamol pills and went to sleep. I woke up feeling better but still a little off so I took the day off from work.

I didn't go to the doctor. I hope nobody calls me out on my missing MC. But this is basically how little I care about losing my job right now. The other night I had a dream that I was being given another chance to pick Reu.ters. But I'm pretty sure I'd say no again, if I got another chance now. Too much fucking work, man. I need a break. I need a year off to work in a bookstore.

As I told Joon, I'm not so much looking forward to Vietnam because of what Vietnam has to offer as I am looking forward to it because it's not work.

And you know, this given the fact that when I think about it, my job's not too bad. Not when I don't have to work the fucking 5 a.m. shift anyway.

But I can't stop working, because I've been looking through sites about home renovations (yeah, I know) and I really, really don't want to live in a house that looks like the "before" picture. I know, it sounds like serious bourgeois shit but I have always been affected by architecture. I mean, the first time I saw NTU I almost had a nervous breakdown and it was only when I saw the CS building that I calmed down and decided to go there.

So yeah, I hate work but I can't stop working because I need a house with warm wallpaper and bathroom tiles that are my own. Serious bourgeois shit.

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Did you know?

nobody@vox.com(Yasmine) — Wed, 07 Nov 2007 00:40:45 +0800

That The Cookie Museum at the Esplanade serves a cup of tea OR a slice of cake for $15?

It's a Singaporean company, serving food made in Singapore. They think they who ah?

It makes no sense.

I would only pay that much if the food comes with a complementary side dish of crude oil.

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Can you believe this shit

nobody@vox.com(Yasmine) — Sat, 03 Nov 2007 01:24:26 +0800

I've just come home from a media party at Demp.sey Road, and I am exhausted but I just had to note this down for posterity.

Ge.rrie formally introduced me to N, the reporter from the daily broadsheet who has never deigned to even look at me the past 25 times that we've crossed paths (and when I say crossed paths I mean sat in the same room and then huddled together in the same scrum of reporters interviewing a Very Important Person) but who upon first meeting Ge.rrie offered her a ride in his car and then promptly looked her up on Facebook and added her as a Friend.

Tonight, she brought him over and said, "You know Yasmine of course."

I quickly said, "We've met."

He scrunched up his face and squinted his eyes in an expression that was clearly meant to indicate that he was at that very moment ruffling through his internal Rolodex of faces and name cards but was coming up with nothing.

I said, "We've met at several events," and nodded a lot.

I suppose my persistence made him realise that he was not going to get away with pretending that we'd never seen each other before, because then he said, "Oh yeah, but we haven't formally met." And then he held out his hand.

Douchebag.

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Stretched

nobody@vox.com(Yasmine) — Fri, 19 Jan 2007 23:47:51 +0800

Am I the only one who feels like I don't have enough hours in a day?

Oh, that's right, I am. The rest of you are busy gloating about how unemployed or free you are.

The Way We Get By

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"Do you spend more than 50 percent of your day doing joyful things?"

nobody@vox.com(Yasmine) — Thu, 23 Nov 2006 00:50:23 +0800

I'm tired and I'm lonely. I hate always being the one to ask people out. Nobody ever asks me what time I finish work or what I'm doing after. Whether I'm free this day or that. There's never anyone to have dinner with and nothing to eat at home.

My mother's stopped cooking for me. I am no longer a part of anyone's dinner considerations.

How come I don't get cute PR people telling me I have a nice voice and how about we do lunch someday? At this point I don't even care if they're male or female.

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I'm so tired

nobody@vox.com(Yasmine) — Sun, 19 Nov 2006 01:48:03 +0800

No, I'm exhausted. Je suis très très fatiguée. Je veux seulement me coucher à la plage. Comme un calmar mort. J'ai besoin des vacances maintenant. Le travail a été très fatigant. Aujourd'hui j'ai terminé le travail à minuit. Je n'ai pas dîné bon; c'etait un sandwich que j'ai pris deux heures pour manger, parce que j'ai eu quartre articles à écrire en même temps.

J'ai toujours un biscuit que j'ai achêté pour dîner mais je ne l'ai encore mangé. Je n'ai pas eu de temps. Pas de temps pour un biscuit!

J'écris en français parce que je dois pratiquer... je suis très lent quand je parle le français, j'utilise beaucoup le dictionnaire et toujours j'ai peur de parler quand le professeur me parle dans la classe. Je deviens nerveux et je dit toujours les mots faux. Quand il me demande une réponse pour l'exercice, toujours je ne dis rien longtemps, et puis je donne la réponse fausse.

Aussi, quand j'ecris le français et quand je vais à la classe, je sens moins de stress. Je m'occupe avec le langage, donc j'oublie mon travail et ma fatigue. Jusqu'a je dors à l'ordinateur.

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Merde

nobody@vox.com(Yasmine) — Wed, 11 Oct 2006 22:16:25 +0800

The website was processing my payment of $354 for the registration fees of my French course when I accidentally closed the window.

My bank account information says the money has already been deducted, but I'm sure that it will never reach Alliance Francaise, and they'll tell me they never got my payment so I'll either have to pay another $354 or forget about the course, and obviously I'll choose not to attend the course because I'm not about to spend $708 on a French course and I'll be $354 poorer for nothing and in future if I ever need to buy a sofa or a fridge or a microwave oven, I'll realise I can't because I once sent $354 spiralling into cyberspace and I was too stupid to sit still and wait for a receipt.

I hate myself.

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I have a friend

nobody@vox.com(Yasmine) — Fri, 22 Sep 2006 01:37:24 +0800

She's a single mother, unemployed, living with her parents. She lives with and looks after her four-year-old son, Hassan, but he's informally "adopted" by her aunt and uncle, who pay for all his needs and take him along on their vacations.

Today I got an SMS from her: This is what life will be like as long as I'm single. I have to buy clothes according to my aunt's taste. Hassan has three sets of baju kurung for Hari Raya and not one of them matches my baju.

You know that silly tradition some Malay families have of dressing every one of their members in the same colour on Hari Raya. It endures, like... well, like silly traditions.

Anyway in my mind I was thinking, you don't pay for your own baju kurungs, which cost hundreds of dollars, much less your son's, so I don't see why you should whine about whether the colours match, but I didn't want to be mean so I asked her why and all that.

Then at night I got another SMS from her: I like my life now but there are times when I wish I was married -- when I go shopping, when I go NTUC and Hari Raya.

I realised all three involved spending money; basically all she wanted a husband for was disposable cash. I don't think it's ever occurred to her that maybe a husband won't be able to sustain her shopping and Hari Raya needs (she spends as much as her mother does, which is as much as my mother does, which is more than most working women do) on his single income.

I realised also that her worldview was probably greatly influenced by her parents' lifestyles: her mother's a housewife and her father pays for everything. I don't think she realises that if she marries a man who's not, like, 45, his salary probably won't be as big as her father's, a man who's worked for 20 years. I don't think she realises how expensive it is to live in Singapore, especially if you're starting out on your own. I don't think she's ever thought about any of these things.

I mean, my father has said I don't have to work if I don't want to, and frankly, I don't want to. I'd rather stay home and do yoga all day, then make myself intelligent by reading good books and The Economist. But I work anyway because I don't want my boyfriend and future husband to die of starvation. I want to help him pay the bills, even if it means having to spend most of my time listening to anodyne speeches and feeling repressed by the government. I also want to pay my parents back for my education and a lifetime of easy living.

Work tires me out so much I have no energy for exercise even on my days off, and I'm getting flabby, and dumb and ignorant and jejune. All because of the incontrovertible love I have for the people around me. I'm such a fucking martyr, no?

On the other hand, my friend's brother pays for her mobile phone bills, her parents pay for her food, her clothes and her shopping, her aunt and uncle pay for her son's upbringing. She's a princess and she doesn't even realise it.

But you know, I'd still rather be tired, stupid, boring, broke me anyway. We martyrs are arrogant like that.

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You have to dream the dream

nobody@vox.com(Yasmine) — Sat, 26 Aug 2006 00:47:18 +0800

OK so I've got something of an announcement to make, sort of.

I did a very adult thing today: I applied for a HDB flat.

And I was excited about it for most of the day, until I watched Singapore Dreaming, and then I realised that life kind of sucks. I think that's the point of the film, that life sucks, living in an HDB flat sucks, work sucks, being married sucks, being pregnant sucks, being a woman sucks, Singapore sucks and then you die.

The only thing that doesn't suck is Jia Jia Liang Teh. But I was too distraught to take one from the guy giving them out for free at the end of the film.

But anyway you should watch the film, it's quite good.

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