Amidst the street noise, the noise inside my head, the anxiety and the constant wondering if I am ever enough, I find solace again in penning down my thoughts. So here I am.
I have been having weird dreams lately. In my dream, I’d be at our old apartment in Singapore, I’d be watching my cousins and I chasing each other around, and grandma yelling at us to stop. In my dream, the furnishing is exactly the same. The number of chairs by the dining table, the curtains and then the den with the exact sewing machine.
Sometimes, I do wonder how my brain does it – remembering something years back so fondly – yet forgetting the simplest and most mundane daily task. Like the other day, I almost let my kettle run without any water in it. Strange.
Anyway, I’d wake up feeling sad even when my dream wasn’t a sad one.
I felt sad for the kid I was, for the lack of parental guidance I had, for the amount of beatings received and for the amount of books I couldn’t read. They are bad for you. You read textbooks, not novels!
I wished I had a happier childhood.
But it is what it is. Maybe I needed that to toughen up. I am tough. I am tough. I am tough!
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