My heart needs a break

It has been an eventful week so far and somehow, I feel the pains of life. Everything is stressing me out and I am losing control. Most notably, myself.

While I can’t elaborate much because of the legality of things, I still don’t want to talk about it. To anyone actually.

I have been having suicidal thoughts, quite persistently, especially this week. Everything wasn’t falling into place and I feel like everything was coming at me, blow after blow, punch after bunch.

But of course, I’m not a man of ego (not that much anyway), but it’s all my fault.

Sadly, I now walk around with heightened anxiety because life wasn’t as predictable anymore.

While I was playing scenarios in my head on how I can just end things easily, I stopped and thought to myself, “the world isn’t going to end if I die. And it certainly won’t take time to move on if I do.”

The thing is, sometimes, you ask for apples and life just gives you oranges.

I realize that you can’t control life, and that all you can really do is make the right decisions so that life does stay on your side.

I used to be able to wake up and look myself into the mirror and ask myself: have I been a good person?

Right now, I don’t know the answer.

What I do know is that I need a little break. A break from everyone. A break from complexities. I just want to be happy and feel free.

But with that comes a price, and as I mentioned, we need to make the right decisions.

Despite the fact that I could indeed drop everything, my heart is telling me to make the right decision: soldier on.

While I still walk around with intense anxiety, I’m just gonna continue with things and prioritize what needs to be done.

And when I get home, all I will do is play Pokémon and head for bed.

The F Word

While most people who choose to reboot their dead blogging career with a happier tone, I for one had to have a negative experience as a motivation to do it.

I despise the F word. No, it’s not fuck (but to a certain extent, I don’t like the word faggot either.)

FAT.

That word is probably the most disgusting word in the English dictionary. Next to the N word, of course.

NUTRITION.

Jokes aside, I really do hate the word FAT. That 3-letter word can tear somebody’s spirit (in this case me) faster than a gayboy rushing to get into the H&M x Versace sale. But I digress.

Today, I was walking around the hellhole that is Causeway Point, when I was approached by this dude. Being nice enough, we exchanged salutations (how formal) and essentially this was what happened.

Random Guy I Don’t Know: Wow! Eh you’re that guy that was doing that show, right?  Wow. You gained weight, haven’t you?

And at that time I was a little stumped, because, I didn’t know how to react. I couldn’t react because this guy just recognized me. I’m always appreciative of people who actually do recognize me and I take the time to have a conversation with them, but this guy was just nasty.

I shrugged and gave a smile even though I wanted to punch him in the fucking face. It’s already bad enough I had to do small talk because I hate small talk but even worse, I had to pretend I was enjoying the small talk.

I eventually just said goodbye and while he was walking away, he said, “eh bro, serious bro. Go exercise lah!”

And I just gave that “fuck you”look while he smiled at me impishly.

First of all, a lot of people call me a “comedian” despite my protests. Okay fine, call me a comedian. However, just because I am a comedian doesn’t give anyone else the right to make fun of how I look or call me names. What? I don’t have feelings?

I don’t even make fun of how other people look. Most I actually do is making fun of what people do and their peculiar, narcissistic habits.

And just because I call myself fat doesn’t give anyone else the green light to call me fat. No, mister. It doesn’t fucking work that way.

I get it, you know. I’m not the fittest person alive and sure as hell I know I’ve gained a little bit too much over the past few years, which brings me to the second point.

Why does looking the way I do define how the fuck you talk to me?

It’s like just because I’m fat, all my other achievements have just gone the drain? I get it, you know.

Don’t judge a book by it’s cover - but books with the tattered corners stay on the shelf. I fucking get it.

But dude I’ve worked my ass off doing my show. I go in and out of the gym every-fucking-day and I sure as hell have cut more than half of what I eat daily. No one chooses to see how hard I work just because I look fat. It’s fucking despicable how the spare tyre around my abs seem to form to amount of respect I get from strangers.

Thirdly, there’s a Malay saying that I feel everyone should learn: Mak kau tak ajar, eh?

It essentially means, and I swear: Your mother never teach ah?

And I don’t mean to bring your mother into this whole argument or blog entry or whatever - but the fact that you showed very little tact for other people’s feelings is a reflection of how your mother acts when she is around company. No shade. No fucking shade.

She’s that one auntie that I avoid during Hari Raya. She always has mean comments about everyone else’s children and feel like it’s okay for her to do that.

Don’t fucking do that, dude. You’re turning into your mother, who’s probably an evil witch.

Last, and hopefully finally, if my fingers stop typing: You are fat too, dude. What the kind of fucked up shit is that?

I’ve had tons of friends who are athletes and fitness models who have never ever called me fat just for the sake of describing me(not to my face at least). The very least is that they’ll bring me to the gym or invite me out for a run.

For you, to be a fat person yourself telling me I need to fucking exercise is out of this fucking world.

And in fact, a lot of people who did actually call me fat with or without the intentions of hurting my feelings are fat themselves! (Kinda like the ACS boys who bully the drama kids and turn out to be gay themselves, but I digress again.)

So you know what?

Take your fucking opinion and shove it up your McDonalds-filled intestines.