Black wall

So there I sat, gazing vapidly at the artificial wall of brick, located conveniently in the middle of a bustling cafe lined with pseudo earthy decor. Flimsy, painted black, its dimples and divots so subtle, only visible if you allowed the necessary focus. Zoom in to witness the designer’s eye for detail. Its tenant, a doe’s head — also artificial — is cool, hard, vacant, tarnished by the dog-eared poster of a personalisable coffee cup stationed right to its left, like one needs another reminder of how anything can be sold if marketed ‘properly’. Who really needs their face on a takeaway coffee mug, anyway? Who needs two? Are we really that self-obsessed with our own image? Self-promotion is the new religion it seems. #Selfies the latest trending ridiculousness. It is the latest necessary evil it seems — “oh how brilliant I am – look at me, look at me, look at fucking me.”

It does not quite inspire, nor does it sit well with me, this lip service.

The rhubarb, rhubarb of the cafe’s patrons reminds that the world keeps spinning, regardless of one’s disillusion of what the world was meant to be. The world does not seem to care it is losing yet another gentle, caring soul, like many thousands of others before it. Their only wish was to make the world a better place, they all had so much to offer, so much potential to unleash. Once eager, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, now carefully protecting their once free-flowing spring of greatness for fear it will be sucked dry, unable to sustain the next 40 years. The owners now jaded by the selfishness and duplicity of humanity. How dark one’s inner world has become from the rude awakening of a naive dream. The pastel hues that grew to neon brights have diminished to confused greys to consolidate into a midnight black. Does it have to be this way?

No. I refuse.

The new year is here, a sign of yet another new beginning.

They say it takes time to adjust to ‘the real world’, so why do we teach children to be so pure in the first place when we know it won’t prepare them for ‘the real world’ 20 years on? And what a despicable phrase — ‘the real world’, when so much of it is built on false pretenses of confidence and distracting charades of showmanship. What’s ‘real’ in that?

We teach children to be pure, to be kind and compassionate, to value character than riches because fundamentally we know, so many of us know, somehow we have fucked it up royally, with concepts of artificial fame and wasted wealth and short-lived popularity. Superficiality is toxic. It breeds insecurity. There’s that question again — what is real?

It is time to change.

It’s time to take off that mask, the mask we put on for fear of judgement and defensiveness, and we especially need to help those who have sewn it onto their flesh. We can unstitch, we can unhinge, and we can be set free.

Because for every hundred shitty things the world throws at you, being authentic will give you TWO hundred things to smile about. For one there’s less bullshit coming from at least one of us in this bullshit driven world.

Be the change you want to see in the world. Don’t buy in to the bullshit.


點燈,let’s dance

開始明了,做人不需要那麽執著,那麼急躁,人生的路很長,不愉快的事會過去,開心的事要知足。凡事不是絕對的,也不會是死路一條。 人的適應能力其實很強,只要發揮自己的長處, 識隨機改變就ok。 對自己要有信心, 知自己的value! 人就是這樣,社會就是這樣的,不可能由一個人的力量完全改變。 知道自己的角色, 做好自己的本分就夠了,不需要做救世主,亦不可能做救世主。但是如果有人想佔你的好心,樂於助人的性格的便宜, 就偏不讓他佔便宜!

Be the change you want to see in the world but don’t let anyone take advantage of your kindness, consideration and generosity. Speak up for what you think is right or you will let the world destroy you.

It takes two to tango.


Nah, actuaaally…  I’m enjoying this far too much to stop for the day.

Bit of a breakthrough, you see.  And I’ll tell you why.

For many weeks I have wanted to start a blog, and at times came as close (omg) as almost hitting the registration button(!), but somehow a reason not to go ahead came up: a username not ‘cool’ enough, a domain name not memorable enough, not having any groundbreaking worldly knowledge stored in my moderately-sized skull to eloquently dissect on this blog (breathe), the fear of having – and not having – an audience…

I can hear you rolling your eyes.  (Yes, I can; how dare you doubt my powers?)

I am one of the one in five Australians fighting anxiety and depression, a staggering statistic of a mental disorder I have only recently come to realise I have been living with for a while – a tad too long, as many people do.  But it’s not easy, you lose mental control of yourself and become your worst enemy while trying to be your best friend to survive your own personal attacks, ultimately creating a lose-lose cycle of self-sabotage and destruction.  I could write a book personifying Depression, but wow would that be unnerving.  I can already see him hovering over some poor fellow, playing with his borrowed scythe (he and Death are good mates, not so surprisingly) and poking ‘playfully’ at one of his many victims – not too roughly at first… but just you wait… the problem with this bastard is, he is annoyingly persistent – if you let him break you.

So not as invincible as Death as one would think.  There is hope.  Thank fuck.

My lovely psychologist challenged me today to write, despite myself.  Not much, but she continued to up the ante.  I am still coming to terms with the deliberate typo approach.  It does not sit well with me.  She knows it.  She winz.  I gives in.

It was just enough to make me realise:

  • I don’t need a cool user name to write.  Blogs are not temperature based.
  • I actually have an awesome bouncing wireless keyboard that is a delight to the fingers as they skip along the black and white keys.  Sensual.  I am currently stretched out like a cat – max flexibility.  Yay simply pleasures.
  • I have no reason to postpone.  Absolutely none.

Didn’t even have the time to kick myself in the butt to get going; before I knew it I had created an account, and are my fingers on auto-pilot? I think they might just be.  Stop the press, she’s writing again.  Ahar, ahar.

Finally after all this time I have produced what I can say is the most I have written in a while.  I have missed it.  I could dance right now.

I am also coming to realise that … in the end it really doesn’t matter.  It’s a blog, you won’t die.  It’s writing, you did this when you were a kid.  And if it’s crap writing?  Well… you won’t die with that either.

What about you?  Ever felt like you had forgotten how to do something you once loved even when it was second nature to you?  Why do you think that was?  What were you telling yourself?  Were you doing yourself any favours?

Feel free to drop us a line – always up for stimulating conversations.  Don’t take that pun too far, now.

I’ve started a new project.  We’ll see how this baby grows.