Friday, May 30, 2014
I posed this question three years ago, when I was still flighty enough in my destinations and relationships that it seemed a comfortably far off prospect. It wasn't something I planned to deal with for a long time, it was mainly a random topic to keep my blog going between more interesting countries since I wasn't doing much in Singapore apart from browsing library shelves and food court windows.
These days it's less hypothetical, and while still comfortably in the future, the window is narrowing since my child-adoring girlfriend essentially set the deadline of her 30th birthday as her final chance to become a mother, as that's apparently the moment when the female body becomes a shrivelled, desolate husk and the ones who didn't make the time for children amid their various other life commitments are resigned to live out their pointless lives in a shack surrounded by stray cats that pretend to comfort them, but are really just biding their time until the old crone's too weak to fight off their hungry advances any more. That's the gist I got from what she said, anyway. She's nearly 27.
Having kids (or at least a kid) is important to her, especially as her nieces are growing at an upsetting rate and will achieve teenager proportions any decade now, so unless any of her other brothers and sisters decide they want to add to the family's perpetual financial crisis with a litter of their own to satisfy her gigil, she'll have to produce one herself. And apparently, that somehow involves me.
Monday, May 26, 2014
One of my benchmarks for judging how well my life is going at various points is whether my daily life is more interesting and colourful than my dreams are. Dreams certainly won the battle during my unadventurous school years; life scored occasional victories as I discovered adulthood; and when I was travelling a lot and stimulated by pleasant islands and weird racism, consciousness took the biscuit.
It's probably no surprise that since I slowed down and semi-settled in Davao, my waking hours (I said waking) spent churning out repetitive copy, chasing down pests and fixing everybody's financial woes for about a fortnight have been usurped by my slightly more interesting dreams. Only slightly though, as you'd be right in suspecting if you made it through any of my tedious dream journals written last year when I wasn't doing very much either.
Because I'm not doing anything worth writing about when I'm awake, here's yet another collection - more chaotic, unthemed and with mercifully brief plot synopses this time - of various dreams I've had over the last couple of months, and been able to recall and hastily note down in my bedside notepad or desktop Things.txt notepad upon waking.
I haven't looked back on any of these since I wrote them, haven't added details to make them artificially entertaining, and some of the ones written in the dark with closed eyes and a sleepy hand were basically illegible, but I strove for accuracy as you never know when this might come in useful for future psychiatry.
Monday, May 5, 2014
Complaining and curmudgeonly might be my default state, but it's not like I enjoy getting into these stressful situations where I need to exercise that typically British form of release to get through my day.
If I do end up living in the Philippines for the long term, I might eventually become so beaten down that I don't have the energy or willpower to speak out any more and just let the corrupt government, incompetent monopolies and ignorant bystanders stomp my deeply-lined face into the dirt. Or this blog could end up being the longest, most tedious suicide note in history.
Or I could just run away, which is what I'm doing next month. For a little while at least, before I willfully fly back into the inferno again. I'm not philanthropic enough to do everything I can for the people I love, but I'm also not selfish enough to be a true hedonist and just do what's good for me. You know things have got pretty crazy when Thailand is your sanity leave.