The funny thing about being a so-called writer is you lose all motivation to write outside work. In this case, the victim here is this poor so-called blog who has been unattended, left to rot with cyber weeds. Perhaps, I need to stipulate a day every week to post just like the mandatory blogging at work. I wonder whether the pressure of deadlines causes compromises on creativity. What am I saying? Of course it does. Maybe I should just hop on the Tumblr wave.

I’ve been spending some time with the girls. I accompanied Xin bebe to an Insead open house a few weeks ago on a (yes you got it) Friday night. It was amazing how stepping into the three quarter filled lecture hall transported me straight back into National University of Stupid. Some things won’t change. There will be foreign students everywhere, speaking up, making their point known. Maybe it was having already spent an entire day restless at work or the fact that it was a mock lecture that rendered me even more restless even though the lecturer was of course miles better than NUS standards. There wasn’t much to fiddle with on my phone, so my old JC pal and I pretended to be involved with each other, resting our heads on each other’s shoulders, the occasional fingers entwining, the whole lesbian shebang.

Suddenly though everything’s picking up speed. Jupes and I had dinner outdoors and discussed pertinent issues, for instance, her upcoming wedding and my longest-engagement-is-it-happening wedding. Today was spent at Jackie’s, with her snarling fat cats and watching her work at sewing machine while I sang along to songs playing on her computer. I realised it wasn’t normal for people to wonder what was going on in other people’s heads, that no one actually wondered about how important music was when it came to finding the person they would fall in love with. The older I get, the more confident I am in expressing what I think, no matter how ridiculous it is, but this doesn’t mean I am more self-assured. Sometimes, something might catch me off guard and I would feel that I do have the upper hand in the situation but then of course, I am always wrong.

I feel like a lost middle child (never mind I never had siblings). My peers are way ahead of me, they talk about houses, marriage, and even its (my slang for children) and ask me when is my turn almost all the time. They have grown up, their minds are full of serious issues and choices that have real consequences. My most serious decisions are whether I should get up for early morning yoga or gym and whether I really should stuff my face with junk food. Or when am I going to lay my hands on a maxi skirt, a cape and a proper cut-out shoulder top. At work, they are busy fighting fires and doing real work. At my desk that I attempt to keep tidy, I rush to make sense of writing, to fit words into spaces and burn the midnight oil to ensure that there is an issue to go to print. My mind is filled with spelling, grammar and other things that seems to be non-consequential.

But yet, I don’t understand the young ones. I don’t fit into their world where they patronise blogshops with wares that aren’t my size. It’s really normal to be a skinny girl for the under 25 set. I have never been conscious of my size until now. Maybe I could have been an anorexic or bulimic if I were part of them. In the same way I don’t understand my peers, I don’t know what the hell they are talking about. I don’t approve of their entitled attitude or how un-humble they are.

Generally, what unsettles me is how no one means what they say and how everyone hides behind a mask. I am always at the losing end because I am trusting. I will believe you if you told me the moon was made of green cheese. In the same way that I will tell you almost exactly what I think and not say what I don’t mean. I feel that I don’t know how to protect myself. And I am scared.