Camp Nanowrimo 

Find out more here
Okay, so I decided on a whim to do this. Yes, this bum of a writer will finally take on a creative mini project. 

Great news is that you can set your own goals for Camp Nanowrimo, rather than the daunting word count require of the usual Nanowrimo held every November (which I had always failed to achieve on all the years I joined bleh). 

This time, I’m keeping it short and simple. So hopefully I’ll make it this time. 

My project has been christened as Imperfect: A creative project. I’ll share more when July arrives. Meanwhile, I’ll need to put some thought into planning this first. Stay tuned! 

This is me (Re-introduction)

Hello world, it’s been awhile. 

And I’m not the person I used to be. 

I’m perhaps a bit wiser, but also a lot more jaded, humbled and reclusive. And self censoring has become such a reflex action that it’s hard to blog candidly as I used to. Also, having a free WordPress site as opposed to a paid hosting service (a relic of the past) has made me even less disciplined in updating this space. 

But I still harbour this love for words. And I still hope to tell you, in full honesty, all about my life, in the false belief that you will not judge me for it. 

I still bubble beneath the surface with whimsical tales and fantasies of a better home, a softer personality, a bolder outlook and a prettier face. (Not to mention, straighter, tamer hair too). 

Sometimes, I feel like wiping clean the entire archives of this blog and starting over. 

But that would not be a real picture of my journey over time. It would just be that idealistic, perfectionistic part of me wanting everything to be just right. 

However, as my Mum has reminded me countless times, life isn’t perfect and things don’t come to us packed in neat, little boxes. Real life is messy and hard to make sense of. But it is beautiful and it has just as much silver linings as it does its share of dark clouds and overcast skies. 

So maybe I should just trudge forward, and not look back on what I used to write. Let this spot on the Web be a testament of my long, painful journey to write something worthwhile. And in your company, dear strange and unknown reader, I may, someday, find my writing voice as I should. And be courageous enough to tell the tales that I thought were ordinary but were special all along. 

This is me. 

The one who loves being home. Who would rather opt for a book than a movie. A soul that comes alive with music, poetry, fictional tales of epic proportions, and arts and crafts of all sizes and shapes. The hopeless romantic. The emotional one. The dreamer. A simple girl. 

I still want to be here. And I’d like you to know my story. 

To be, or not

Just the other day, I had someone contact me on LinkedIn with a possible freelance gig. And then I think I more or less ruined my chances by responding to the said person’s message with a typo in my reply. Hahaha. How becoming of a writer. 

I never heard from that person afterwards. But of course, who would want to consider hiring a person who can’t spell properly? Except that it wasn’t that I can’t spell, but that I hit the wrong command on my Bluetooth keyboard by accident. 

Alas, but total strangers can only judge you based on first impressions. So this HR personnel/recruiter will probably not ever get round to reading any of the good copy I have penned in the past. 

But perhaps it doesn’t matter to me as much right now. 

Perhaps I’m being lazy. Or maybe I’m realising that I should instead be focussing more attention on spending time with my son (which is why I’m stuck in this situation of needing to peddle my wares as a freelancer in the first place when I could really just be in stable, full time employment doing stuff that I’m confident that I can excel in). 

It’s kind of easy to get restless or to fall back into a familiar rut: To jump at every  work opportunity that comes my way, only to realise, sometimes only in restrospect, that it was a bad idea to begin with. 

I still think more money does not equal more happiness. 

Yet maybe there’ll come a day when I’ll regret not being more prompt in responding to job offers. Or failing to promise clients better service. Trying harder, pushing further for the sake of my career. 

But that day is not today. 

*.    *.    *

Small note: Sooo I’m up early on the pretext of wanting to get on top of my mountain of chores. Hence, I need to sign off now. But I hope to be back soon enough. TTFN.

Lookout point 

The drudgery of day-to-day chores and freelance work commitments got to me a little in the week that was. 

As a result, I didn’t quite feel like blogging as much although I did have plenty to say. I guess it’s for the fear of saying careless things that I will regret publishing later. Well, there’s always the Undo and Delete features, but having been a journo before, I tend to err on the side of caution. 

Anyway, here I am. 

One thought that keeps returning to me recently is this: What could a homebound woman like me have to offer you, my dear reader? Aren’t there a gazillion other more fun and intriguing places to spend your time at on the Internet? Why would you want to be here? Why do I want to take up your time to peruse my nonsense? 

Perhaps I am blogging not so much for you specifically. Maybe this is for me. This is the space I need to say the things I want to say. To be the individual that I should be, even if nobody is reading. 

For  as long as “Writer” is a description that I’d like to attach to my name, I guess I should keep up this blogging discipline. It’s just daunting that everyone else always seems to have intelligent things to say and/or is a subject matter expert in at least one topic or more. 

Me, what do I have? Just a random collection of thoughts, anecdotes and the occasional life hack to share. 

Not a niche in sight. 

But maybe I like it that way. Why be labelled or pigeon holed into a particular genre? I like the freedom of being able to pull out any topic to write about, at any given moment, as though I were pulling that proverbial rabbit from a hat. Maybe you like surprises. Or randomness. If you do, I hope I do not disappoint. 

However, even if this blog amounts to nothing great on the scale of going viral (because what other yardstick of measurement is there on the Web nowadays, eh?), I hope it is the platform on which I build my courage. That boldness to just say things and not think so much about them. 

And maybe once I have finally cleared the backlog of thoughts in my head, hopefully something more meaningful will emerge. 

For now, it’s back to writing boring old business reports and editing longwinded sentences about serious stuff that nobody talks about unless it’s to do with either religion, politics or money. Or perhaps just money. 

Money makes the world go round. Or just words, more or less. 

Journalling: Another year, another attempt

My new journal for 2017. Hopefully.

I stumbled across a Facebook post on my Feed today that piqued my interest. It was about Bullet Journalling. It’s the first time I’m hearing about it. Or well, rather, reading about it. 

I used to be an ardent journal writer back in my teen days, but since turning into a Boring Adult, I have failed time and again at resurrecting this deeply satisfying and extremely therapeutic habit. 

Part of the difficulty is being disciplined enough to write regularly so that whatever I jot down eventually forms a year long tale that makes sense. My journalling has reached a point of being so sporadic that it feels like it is useless to do so at all. 

Hopefully this Bullet Journalling thing will change that. 

And even if it doesn’t, I do so love making lists (and usually end up never being able to cross out much from them… sigh) so perhaps it will serve its purpose as some form of therapy. Which I do sort of need right now given that I feel a combination of depression + boredom + discontentment + aimlessness in my life. 

So here goes. 

Good thing is that the New Year has just begun, so it doesn’t feel so out of place to start this thing right here and now. Teehee. 

Well, I’ll report back later on if anything much comes out of it. Don’t want to have too high expectations. Toodloo!

Rain and cupcakes 

Rainy week it has been. Today is no exception to the ongoing streak. I don’t mind, really, since I love rain. 

Jamie does too, except once the thunder and lightning get too much. I decided to keep the curtains drawn and had some music playing on Spotify to keep him distracted today when it was pouring. But I think it wasn’t as dashyat as yesterday so he didn’t seem to be affected. 

Yesterday, he would have this slight look of terror every time he saw a lightning flash. He can now anticipate that after that comes the thunder. (We had an episode last weekend where our neighbours in the landed homes beneath us had a fireworks party and it absolutely terrified Jamie because it seemed as if it were just outside our balcony. He has been extra nervous about thunder ever since). 

Well, he’s asleep… for now. I am having an early coffee break. Not a common occurrence in this job of mine as Work-At-Home-Mum. I’m eating cupcakes that I baked yesterday. Also while it was raining. There are 2 left. I *should* be leaving one each for Deric and Jamie… but it’s tempting to just have another… No one would know… *rubs hands gleefully* 

On a more serious note, I’m actually feeling a little melancholic today. Perhaps it’s the recent challenges of breastfeeding Jamie at night (he has been having more midnight awakenings, teething perhaps?) and also the mundaneness of chores and work. I don’t even feel I’m perky enough around Jamie (and I have always tried to be since I want to raise him to be a cheerful boy and not melancholic like me). 

I had sketched out a plan to write a book. It’s currently on hold as I manage my workload. My work is sort of on pause mode because I feel I’ve hit a wall for one of my ongoing jobs and am dawdling while waiting for the client to reply me on the issues (I generally do not like to talk about work issues on this blog so that’s all I will say about it). 

Quick lament to say that for some reason lately I seem to have lost the spark for writing. I can still do it, but I find little delight in it. It’s like I’m on autopilot. Muscle memory. Responding on reflex. This is worrying. What should I do about this? 

I still daydream about selling handmade stuff of mine. I tested out a modest little motif for some hairpin design I thought would be good to start off with. I need to work out costing. I can’t because I need to go out to check out the materials. 

I want to do craft projects but there never seems to be the right time. Or I put other things as more of a priority over it and never get round to actually doing anything. I have so many planned and pending projects! I’ve told my husband countless times that I might die buried beneath all the tools and raw materials I’ve purchased for crafting. 

Meanwhile, my ukelele’s only function at the moment is to entertain Jamie. He will frequently exclaim, “Guitar!” and gesture towards our study where the uke and Deric’s guitar and other miscellaneous music instruments we own are stored. Once in awhile, I will relent and take the uke out for him. I still haven’t progressed from learning chords from the C key (in fact, I think I’ve forgotten what F chord is like). 

Sigh. My music interests seem to have dwindled too. Even choosing songs on Spotify to play for myself is such a difficult task. What tunes do I like nowadays? Why can’t I figure it out? 

More rain now and a very loud burst of thunder. My heart nearly stopped worrying Jamie might awaken in fear in his bed. He didn’t. Back to my coffee. Forgive my long post. It’s been awhile since I shared my thoughts. 

Shorter stories next round. I promise. 

 

Inconsistent

Not sure what I was thinking when I decided to start a separate blog about motherhood and its impact on me. I can’t even keep this blog up consistently. I’ve been doing a bit of thinking and perhaps I should just scale down to one solitary blog and keep it that way. 

It’s not for a lack of thoughts that I haven’t been blogging. I guess I just wanted my posts to be brilliant. That whenever I publish something here, it would be a worthwhile being read and not just mad ramblings of a woman marooned at home with her young son. 

But maybe, if that’s what this has to come down to, I should let it be and just type away. The money spent on upkeeping this domain will not be worth it if I keep self censoring myself. I can blame my past as a journalist for the hesitation, but it’s going to do me no good. 

Even the ambition of writing a book someday has dimmed to the point that I think maybe it’s even something I may not pursue. In a way, it’s looking at things in a different light. But at the same time, perhaps it’s a sad thing because I’ve sort of lost my ability to dream and hope for bigger things. 

Regardless, I should write more. As I always say here. I really should.