Last Saturday was my birthday, marking 29 years of my life. I’ve never really cared/celebrate my birthday and although I welcomed and was happy of all the birthday wishes, the Skype calls, the messages, the voice messages…I still felt that loneliness creeping inside me.

They say, we are born alone, live alone and die alone or something along those lines. And as much as one could argue it’s not ‘technically’  true; we are definitely not born alone by surrounded by doctor and nurses and definitely a mother. We do interact and socialise throughout our lives; it may not be meaningful. It may not be anything special, but we are not truly alone. And as for dying, nobody really can predict that; you can be surrounded by people or alone in bed. Death is not something you can really predict.

Still, the problem is not when or how you are born, how you live or die. It’s the loneliness.

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Oranges Are Nature’s Medicine

I hate oranges. I hate their smell, their taste. I avoid touching them as much as I can, because they makes me nauseous. I don’t know why but they remind me of medicine- some traumatic childhood experience?

But anyway, I was chatting with a new teacher at school that none of my colleagues knows why she is there since we haven’t been told anything except, “this is a new teacher and she will be joining us.” and as we talked about our experiences, me telling her about how I moved from London, changed careers, etc, she very nicely offered me an orange. I nodded, and took it automatically, then lowered my eyes to those three orange wedges covered with white webs.

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The Grass is Always Greener on the Other Side

I was scrolling down my FB feed the other day and realised, I haven’t been posting for quite some time and that FB has basically become a way for me to connect to just a group of people, while keeping track of what the other group was up to. Had they moved? Married? Given birth? Found new jobs, new boyfriends/husbands/wives/girlfriends.

This habit of comparing your life to the life of others offered on social media had made us not live our own life. Not value what we have, what we have accomplished and who we are. Whenever we start comparing our lives to others, we are already losing. We don’t compare the good things about us, but the worst. And the worst always looks bad compared to what “appears” to be the perfect live of others.

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Priscilla, Queen of the Desert

CSC_0407.JPGLast night my childhood cat passed away. She’s been with us for 14 years and it was my dad that found her. As my mum was telling me what happened between sobs, I tried to push back the tears and be the strong one because I knew I was really lucky not being there or being the one that found her.

“We also have to put this into account,”she said between sobs, “That there will come a day when they will be gone.” I looked at Cleo, my cat, sleeping next to me on the sofa and thought, “Not a chance.” I don’t want to be there when she dies. I don’t want to see it and I don’t want to experience it.

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Nationality Is Not An Excuse

My colleague gave me a ride back home today, after a teacher’s training session that finished at 7pm, and I told her how I was followed by a guy Saturday morning after I went grocery shopping. It was one of those female bonding moments where she gasped and looked worried and told me if I was alright….until she ruined it.

Basically, Saturday morning I woke up and went to buy a few things. As I was walking back home, a guy started commenting on how the plastic bags, aren’t really that resistant. Unlike condoms. I comment politely saying that if they weren’t that would be a problem. Then, he asked if I lived nearby and I said no, wished him a good day and walked a few more blocks to make sure I wasn’t followed before I headed back home.

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The Art of Supermarket Shelf Stacking

enhanced-buzz-22774-1423688643-4Of the many things me and my dad share- not being able to let go what we cannot control, overthinking- supermarket shelves stacking is something we have both perfected over the years.

We ignore my mom rolling her eyes and pretending she doesn’t know us as we put that Mentos, where it’s supposed to be and that crackers back with its brothers and sisters. We cannot simply ‘leave it there’, because ‘there’ is not its place. And what annoys me is why someone has decided to leave that chocolate near enough to its right place and not where its supposed to be. So someone has to do it.

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To My Neighbours Who Had Loud Sex All Weekend

I get it. It’s cold outside. Valentine’s day is near. Fifty Shades Darker is coming out soon and the new trailer is giving people all sort -erotic- ideas . I get it. And I also get that I’m single, going through a rough patch and might feel a little bit envious.

But as much as I get all of that and applaud love and sex and the right to be free to express love in any way one wants, I had to mute my Skype call twice so my friend wouldn’t hear the loud moans and pants. I had to go to bed feeling like I was back in college hearing the moaning and screaming. On my first try with DnD last night, I had to try, for some reason, to cover those moans and screams with an awkward cough as I said goodbyes to my friends. No. My brother’s friends to be exact.

I get it. Sex is fun. Sex is relaxing. Everyone should ‘get laid’ every once in a while but everyone else shouldn’t hear it. Literally.

Please and thank you.