After a day of working at the designer department of Robinsons (Centrepoint), I’ve decided to quit.

I’m not spoilt (unlike what my dad said). It’s just, I can’t do it, all right? I can’t stand standing for seven hours straight, doing absolutely nothing apart from arranging clothes and steam-ironing them (and that’s the only cool bit, learning how to use a steam-iron for the first time) and behaving so ingratiatingly to the uppity customers who expect the world just because they are able to pay a couple of hundreds for a dress. Um, no thank you. I don’t have to serve you, sweetheart, so I didn’t. I just hung about between the racks, making sure the clothes were arranged from the smallest to the largest size, and occasionally text-messaging even though that wasn’t allowed. I’m not gunning for the Employee of the Year, anyway, so.

Right, so once again, I’m jobless. It wouldn’t be such a problem if my story (short or novel-length) proposals worked out. But as it is, they haven’t. So right now, I’m unemployed and broke. Okay, not broke, since I still have my allowance and savings… Wait, did that just make me sound a teensy bit spoilt? Nah.

The weather’s quite a bummer. I mean, I LOVE RAIN, don’t get me wrong. It’s one of Nature’s true beauty, but I can only appreciate it after I’ve gone for my swim. I need to swim!!!! I need to feel the cool water on my skin, hear my regulated breathing, feel the thumping of my heart muffled under the water. I am aching for it, aching to swim.

I had a crying fit again on Friday night. Just thinking about, you know, our purpose on this earth. It’s all so meaningless it’s enough to depress anyone. Because if you think about it, why exactly are we here? Maybe we don’t really have a purpose. Maybe we have as much reason to be on this earth as ants do, or birds. Them birds that go around looking for food and staying away from predators and keeping competitors at bay. Maybe we think we have a reason to be alive – to leave behind a legacy, perhaps, or make the world a better place – but our lives, like everything else, are transient. We stay on this earth for, say, 80 or so years (maybe less?) and then die, just like everything else. Whatever legacy we leave behind – however great – will be forgotten or our achievements will have their importance diminished. For all that we’ve done, the next generation will probably come along and screw everything up again. We always think we’re really smart and just because we’re the most evolved, we must lead more meaningful lives than, say, baboons or flamingoes, but do we really? So what if we earn more money? Or can count? Or own a boat and know how to steer it? In death, all are equal, after all. In death, we’re all reduced to our vessels, stripped of our secrets, possessions, and worldly connections. What does everything matter? And then it made me sad how detached I was, and how I could actually understand why perfectly sane people went crazy just stewing in their own heads.

There. Don’t you feel depressed already?

It’s always in the middle of the night that I think about stuff like this. Nighttime always makes me so emotional – not to mention hopelessly cynical. I cried so hard I had to sit up for half an hour to unblock my nose.

It must be PMS…

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