The shackles of depression | RIP Robin Williams

I renewed my domain name.
Mainly because I needed something to motivate me to start writing again, and what better motivation than putting money behind something to keep you accountable, right?

This blog was initially started in 2012 because I needed to prove something. Aspects of my life I never wanted to surface had reached beyond the people I trusted, and I needed to express to those people that my past, and what I had done did not define who I was. I refused to be labelled by a single aspect of my life, so I lay it all out for people to make their own judgement.

I want to say that what I write now does not come from a place of having to justify myself.  I am much happier now. I’m in a better place and I’m stronger now than I think I have ever been.

We learn things in life. Our experiences shape us and create what we know to be truth, but some lessons are harder than others. I have learnt that in this life that everyone you love will let you down at some point; even the people you love and trust the most – and when this happens, it will hurt you. It will hurt because it is unexpected, and it will hurt because the pedestal on which you put those people is shattered.

The sad thing is that’s not even the worst part.

The worst part is that you too will hurt everyone you love. It may not be intentional, it may not be malicious, but we as humans can’t always live up to the expectations of others.

The news of Robin Williams’ death today really struck a chord with me. Of course death in itself by anyone is a terrible tragedy, but today was the first time I was truly morose at the death of someone I did not know. I am so grateful I sit on the fringes of my open-plan office so I could shed a few tears on the sly.

Perhaps it hit me so hard because Robin Williams played a large role on-screen during my childhood, but moreso perhaps it is because I can relate to the inner turmoil of a man being so well hidden behind the facade of a smile.

I may not know the struggle of a battle with alcohol and substance dependency, but I do understand depression and the irony of the source of your pain also being the solution for it. I understand that humour and wit are usually the subconscious defence-mechanism used to disguise or distract others from underlying issues and insecurities, and it pains me so, that this man listened to the demons that told him that his life was not worth living anymore.
Not even the laughter he brought, or even the love of his family was enough to conquer the lies that whatever he was suffering could not be overcome.

The shackles of depression are just that. They are shackles. They hold you down and create limitations that make you feel like you are not worthy.

Today, this tragic episode is a great reminder for all of us who are still here, who can still make an impact that our lives are fragile, so be kind and be gentle to one another.

When people hurt you, before retaliating, before burning your bridges remember that you too will hurt somebody one day, and when you do, you will wish from the bottom of your heart that they forgive you.

Remember: Our lives are fragile, so be kind and be gentle to one another, for you never know... sometimes even the most sparkling and radiant of people are in the darkest of places.

Earning tax-free income; It's a hard life!

Life is for living, right? - I never want to be one of those people who looks back on their life and regrets not doing more. I guess that's why this week I decided it would be a good idea to go busking in the City during my lunch break. Partially for the performance practice, but more importantly for the experience; and what an experience it was....

My friend and I had the intention of performing at the Central station tunnel for 1 hour. We had no expectations of anyone giving us any money during this time. It was purely an exercise to help relieve us of the nerves for our upcoming open mic night performance tomorrow (but, more on that later).

We ended up cutting our set short because, frankly, the echoes coming through the tunnel of the Chinese erhu, tribal bongo drum rendition and middle-aged Opera singer were too much for my voice to try and compete with for any longer. We ended up performing for a solid 30 minutes, and in that time we had accrued $13.40 in small change. Yeah, that's right... you know you're on the big money when you're making money during your lunch break rather than spending it. Though, a good portion of this was thanks to some of my friends/work colleagues who were kind enough to walk by and donate some shrapnel.

Our competition:

He's going down next time.... I'll be waiting....

I will never forget the feeling of when we made our first cent. It had barely been 30 seconds of us standing there before an unsuspecting man flicked us 30 cents, like it was nothing, and continued walking. I froze for a second trying to comprehend what had just happened. A stranger just gave me money for my amateur street performance. Little did he know his small act of kindness was the beginning of my rekindled hope for humanity.
We were obviously not homeless or underprivileged in any sense, yet people still found it within their hearts to reach into their pockets and give. Some even sacrificing GOLD coins (for those not from Australia, gold coins are worth either 1 or 2 dollars), I mean, seriously... WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE WHO HAVE GOLD COINS TO THROW AWAY WILLY-NILLY? It amazed me. People's generosity and kindness seem to have disappeared over the years, but then experiences like this make you realise that there is still some good out there.

Some tips for anyone looking to busk is that choosing high traffic locations and song choice are definitely a major contributing factor to your income. We would perform a few of our lesser known favourites with little success, but every time we whipped out 'My Hero' by the Foo Fighters, we would be inundated with an overwhelming monsoon of money.

Felt like:

Was actually like:

Besides the benefit of tax-free income, 30 minutes of singing in the middle of Central station tunnel offered me so much more. It brought back a glimmer of faith in an otherwise hopeless society. It made me believe in goodness and kindness again, and made me want to be a better person because of it.

Our busking permits cost us $12 each, so until we hit the $24 mark in donations, we are yet to break even or make profit. We're thinking of trying a few different locations to compare the ROI on each so I will keep you all posted.

For anyone who is in Sydney, I will be performing 3 songs at an open mic night tomorrow (Monday) at the Hard Rock Cafe in Darling Harbour (level 2, Harbourside). Please come if you can make it, would be so great to see you and perform to more than just an empty room. I should be on around 8:30-9pm.

As always, I will see you back here next Sunday, my friend. If you get a chance, please show your support and like my Facebook page HERE.

High expectations Asian sister

Don't you hate those moments when you realise that you have become what you have always hated?

For those of you who don't know, I have a sister who is quite a lot younger than me. She is 10 years old and nearing the end of grade 5 in school which means she is only a year away from the inevitable social jungle that is high school. With this in mind, we've begun taking into account the different options available to her. Because there is such a huge age gap between us, I've been raising her as if she were my child also, and considering she still looks like she's about 5 years old it's been tough for me to think of my little minion growing up

This is a photo of us in our onesies a few years back, though it is still reflective of the relationship we have today.

After some pondering over the schools in the Blacktown region (for those unfamiliar with Blacktown/Sydney, please see "The Time I Had A Spontaneous Lesbian Threesome" for my brief rundown) I decided that I am going to do everything possible to prevent her from resorting to a local public high school due to the fact that neither teenage pregnancy, drug-addiction or juvenile detention are near the top of my list of priorities for her. 

The most obvious solution for me is to train her up to be a mathematical genius in the span of 4 months so she may qualify for a selective school. I know that teenage rebellion is inevitable no matter what school she attends, but this will at least create a divide between having to put up with frowned-upon behaviour and having to visit the police station with bail money.

In preparation for the selective school tests which will be held early next year I've produced a daily "study regime" for my sister to follow. Whilst I would describe this regime using words such as 'intensive' and 'thorough', others may see it more as 'unfair' or 'torcherous'. Though, for anyone who comes from my area, (and no offence to my friends who have come from public high schools in Blacktown), you would understand why I am so desperate for her to do selective school practice tests, be quizzed her on general knowledge of the world and participate in my small-scale home-dictatorship almost every night.

Although this may not be the most ideal method of showing her that I'm putting her through this ordeal because I know it will benefit her and I only have her best interest at heart, it's hard to break away from what you know. As a child, I too was brought up on authoritarian-like principles when it came to school-work and study. I wasn't allowed to watch my favourite TV show until I had fully recited multiple sets of times tables error-free, and completed my extra homework which I had "volunteered" to do. You'd think that these traumatic experiences would haunt me into making sure no one else would have to live these same experiences or face the same academic pressures, but it's proven to have the opposite effect.
Those methods worked, and I know no other way of implementing study discipline than the Asian nazi way my mother taught me. The apple really doesn't fall far from the tree and I hate to think that the pressure I'm applying on my sister to study and make it into a good school as well as the constant reminder of how disappointed I will be if she doesn't make it is completely identical, if not worse than the pressure I faced and hated as a child.

In other news, Halloween is this week and I went to this year's Halloween party dressed as an old (Australian) favourite.

Mr Squiggle - The man on the moon.

Do you have any similar ethnic parent studying horror stories? Also, if you have any experience on the selective school tests around Sydney, it would be great to hear any advice you might have for my sister.

Please feel free to leave a comment below and like my Facebook page HERE.

If at first you don't succeed, release the scorpions!

I don't know how well you deal with rejection, but as I've previously mentioned in 'Who knew swallowing could taste so good?', I'm a pretty sore-loser. I don't deal with rejection too well, especially if its on something I've actually worked hard on and am proud of.

If I feel that someone has done wrong by me, I have the ability to cut them out of my life and act as if they never existed. In one ruthless motion I can wipe out everything I ever knew about someone if I feel as though they no longer deserve any of my effort. I don't know whether that's a good thing or a bad thing as it is spawn from my own stubbornness, but when the editor of a newspaper rejected a couple of my articles late last year that's what I had set out to do; pretend he never hurt me and cease my readership of the paper as a silent, but justice-serving boycott.

After almost a whole year of successfully shunning the paper, I finally gave in to my desire to persevere, conquer life's obstacles, climb metaphorical mountains, all that stuff... and I submitted another article in to show him I wasn't giving up.
I wrote about something I thought would really touch readers and be a nice, feel-good piece for commuters on their way home. If you have the time, have a read of the article HERE.

I only spent one night on it, but I was really excited about my pilgrimage of determination and endurance and like an idiot, I really thought the editor would be impressed with my positive, never-give-up attitude.

Below is the email "correspondence" that followed from submitting the article. I put correspondence in sarcastic quotation marks because as you will see it was more of a monologue than a dialogue.

Now, I don't normally get "angry". I get upset every now and then, but can usually laugh things off quite easily.

But being shrugged of like this, feeling more neglected than the '9' button on a microwave really fired me up. It made me want to collect all the newspapers at 3pm and set them on fire whilst sandpapering the eyeballs of innocent bystanders. It made me want to breed wasps and scorpions and release them into high traffic locations. I wanted to release an overwhelming blast of volcanic fury which only godzilla could fathom.

.... Not that I would ever do any of that. That's what separates the psychos from the functioning psychos.

Fair enough if he didn't like it, but at least have the decency to let me know where I could improve. The coldness of his response was a clear decider for me to look for writing opportunities elsewhere. Not to mention the typo in his short response was a clear indication of his editing capacity (yes, yes... I know I'm a sore loser who is now hitting below the belt).

What do you think? Am I taking things too personally? Should I keep trying down this avenue?

Leave a comment and let me know your thoughts.

And don't forget to like my Facebook page HERE if you're feeling kind.

'Til next week, friend.

Rejected Article #3 - Underrated Pleasures in Life

It's all too often I turn these pages only to be disheartened by complaint after complaint. Whether it's about the various ways in which the public transport system has failed, or about how Gangnam Style is lyrically flawed; we as people are much too driven by our discontentment that we forget to see the beauty in everyday. The daily commute to work is a prime example of how we are constantly burdened by or avoiding contact with other humans. We put our bags on seats as dividing walls, we wear our earphones as do not disturb signs to the people around us. Our first reaction to a stranger asking for help is to ignore them because we are constantly suspicious. We're losing touch with one another. We're becoming less like humans and more like robots programmed to stare at a screen and seek self-satisfaction before anything else. We're so easy to take, but hesitant to give back.

I used to be okay with being like this too, until one day... it hit me - like being suddenly defibrillated I was struck and brought back to reality. Isn't it funny how the most profound of thoughts can come from the most unexpected of places?

I was having what felt like the worst day ever. My phone had broken, leaving me unable to reach someone to pick me up and when I finally got home I discovered there was a problem with the water system in our neighbourhood causing our home to lose both hot water and all water pressure in our showers for 12 hours. Like an Amish peasant, I found myself collecting cold water from the sink into a bucket and mixing it with boiling water from the kettle. After spending approximately 40 years preparing this makeshift warm shower and "bathing" in what seemed like teaspoons of water barely enough to submerge a small goldfish, I had to ask myself "Is this really my life right now?".

I later drove to McDonald's and ordered myself a meal in hopes to drown my sorrows in discouraged amounts of cholesterol. What I was expecting was a guilty-pleasure snack, but what I found was a sign that maybe there was still hope for my night. I'm one of those pedantic people who makes sure everything is as it should be, so my first instinct when I ordered my 6-pack of nuggets was to count them. 1,2,3,4,5,6.....7? Seven. Seven! They gave me 7 nuggets. I was strangely ecstatic. Most people would tell me this was an accident, a human error which was merely coincidence. I say it was a sign. A message to remind me that you win some, and you lose some. The happiness in my day was restored by the simplicity of a 6-pack of McNuggets. 

So a pay-rise may be overdue, you might be struggling to find time for yourself and you might have to deal with your personal space being invaded once in a while just so someone else can sit down on the train too. But, so what? What about those times you are momentarily happy only to forget it the next minute? When you feel like Cathy Freeman after running to make your train just in time, or when you enter a public toilet cubicle and there ISN'T urine on the seat? Life can still be beautiful if we let it. 

I don't mean to go all Mother Teresa on you, but we really should try to let our trivial problems solve themselves, and learn to appreciate the little things in life, because one day we may look back and realise... they were the big things.

Am I Normal?

I wrote this article for a blog/magazine called Warhol's Children. Just submitted it today, so still waiting to hear feedback, but I figure it could double up as my blog for this week as well - because I'm efficient like that.

So here it is! My take on how to act normal. Enjoy!

After 22 years of life, I have come to realise that maybe... I am not normal.

Normalcy is a funny thing, don't you think? Everyone has their own quirks, their own way of doing things yet we try to suppress these when faced with a situation where we want to impress people or seem competent. It's like there's an unspoken expectation for everyone to behave a certain way or be interested in certain things for the rest of society to approve. Isn't it bizarre that I will feel shame waiting for 10 cents change at a store, make the effort to fake laugh at an acquaintance's lame joke or spend 15 minutes desperately searching for an isolated toilet cubicle in the office because I'm so morbidly embarrassed to do something that in fact everyone does.

After much observation and attempts at replicating normal behaviour at my workplace and other such environments where acting normal is the best and safest option, I've taken the liberty of putting together a list of sure signs to indicate normalcy. This checklist is a great way to ensure that you're blending into the rest of society just fine.

I hate small talk. The thought of wasting my breath on something that I don't really care about sickens me, but the fact of the matter is, normal people love small talk. Especially about the weather. If your favourite topic to start the day with a friend or work colleague is the weather, that's a clear symptom of chronic normalcy. Whether it's about how atrocious the rain is, or how glorious it is to have the sun back, talking about the weather is a normal person's favourite conversation starter. It's neutral and something that everyone can relate to. You can even mix it up with some blatant and ironic sarcasm to really spice things up. "Can you believe the amazing weather we have today?" during a torrential rain storm - normal people eat that shit up!

You know you're normal when your idea of a deeply cultural experience is eating a terriyaki chicken sushi roll. Your choice in food is a definite decider of your normalcy that you will be mercilessly judged on by those around you. Some acceptable normal foods are ham-sandwiches, garden salads, apples and water. The eccentric dishes your mother puts together with obscure foreign ingredients are something you may want to save for when you're home alone if you want to appear a common and normal member of society. 

If you want to be normal, you also need to give the impression that your home is of Harvey Norman catalogue standards. If your home is furnished and decorated similarly to a display home you know you're on the right track. When guests come over, you may want to leave 1 item out of place for when they get there (e.g a book on the couch or a spoon on a table) and apologise profusely for the mess that they've had to witness and how embarrassed you are at how much you've let yourself go. This act of faux humiliation is typically seen from normal people.

Another good indication of your levels of normalcy can be seen through your likes and interests. When you're normal, high on your list of things that entertain you are pictures of cute animals wearing funny hats as well as playing hours upon hours of online games such as Farmville and Bejeweled. These are intense activities which require high levels of concentration and are a display of the cognitive skills you've developed over your lifetime. These games teach you about hand-eye coordination, accuracy, how to harvest virtual crops and other such fundamental life skills. If you want to be really normal, make sure you post your high scores on your Facebook page to make all your friends aware of your accomplishments. These posts can be accompanied with status updates about how it looks like a great day for a walk, or an Instagram photo of a sunset.

So maybe none of the above criteria applies to me. Maybe I am the only person at my work who uses the toilet for it's intended purpose. Maybe I'm not normal after all, but for some reason... I think I'm okay with that.

Thanks for reading, friend.
Leave a comment below and/or Click here to like my Facebook page.

'Til next Sunday!

The bright-side of not having a phone

I'm so annoyed with myself for constantly breaking my promise to write a new entry every Sunday. 

I would have posted last Sunday, but it was a long-weekend, the AFL and NRL grand finals were on, and I had things to do, or as John Lennon put it, "life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans".

Since the last post, it's pretty much been business as usual, with the exception of my phone constantly dying on me to the point where I practically don't have even a phone. I actually just have a block of metal that sits uselessly in my bag, mocking me. I really don't understand why '3' lock me into a 24 month plan when they can't even provide me with a handset that lasts for that time. I honestly don't think I've ever had a phone that hasn't broken down on me before my plan ends. It's completely un-Australian if you ask me.

Though, despite the obvious inconveniences and multiple spanners in the works of organising my life, having a faulty phone does have it's benefits believe it or not. For one, I am now a master of both locating and functioning payphones all around Sydney.... You know payphones, right? Those things we stopped noticing on the street back in 2001? 

FOREVER ALONE.

Well, they still exist, and have helped me find my way home on numerous occassions. Though, thinking back on the state of some of the phones I've had to use, I should probably get tested for AIDS..... again.

(LONG STORY! I will elaborate in a later post if I get enough requests).

Having no phone is like a cross between a permanent scavenger hunt and jumping into a DeLorean and going back in time. I have no idea how generations before could survive or flourish without mobile technology. It's only been a few weeks and I already feel completely disconnected.

Even something as simple as meeting with a friend for dinner after work becomes mission impossible and requires a detailed and intricate instruction manual:

"Hey, I'll meet you at Town Hall station at the ticket booths closest to the Woolworths on the QVB side at 6:50. My train will get there at 6:48. If you're not there, I'll wait for you for 20 minutes. If I still can't find you by 7:08, I'll do one last check around the area and go home if I can't find you. If you get there before me, and I'm not there by 7, you can assume that my train is delayed or I have been kidnapped".

The truth is, I could just go buy a cheap phone to last me until my cap renews (January), but I am way too stubborn and Asian about spending money outside of my allocated monthly budget that I'm choosing to live like a pre-technological Amish peasant for now.

In other exciting news, I'm applying for my busking permit next week along with my best friend, so we can busk on the streets of Sydney (mainly the tunnel at Central station) for fun and maybe if we're lucky even earn some extra tax-free dollars. So I'll be voluntarily roughin' it with the old Chinese man playing the erhu and the Indigenous lady selling home-made Aboriginal coasters and pasta-jewelry. I'm actually really excited about this new adventure and I'll be sure to post about all my busking updates and adventures on Facebook.

Speaking of, I've actually created a silly Facebook page for my blog. It would be really great if you're someone who takes the time to read these every so often if you could show some support through liking the page. I promise I won't be annoying. I'll just be updating on new posts and maybe some funny statuses once or twice a week if I can manage to come up with something.

Facebook fan page: http://www.facebook.com/zerahahablog

I don't want to make it awkward and invite people individually to join the page, so please, if you can spare the time, just join. It would really mean a lot to me and help with gaining audiences.

And lastly, my default Arj Barker update....

This makes me excited.... in the panties.

Note to self: Include tickets to multiple Arj Barker shows in 2013's monthly budgets.