Sunday 18 April 2010
On being "poor" in the new economy
At the same time I discover that the interest rate on the balances in my deposit account is now 0.1% p.a. - that's a total of $0.08/month (not even 10c!) pittance interest for every $1,000 I have with the bank.
I'm bleeding money.
Someone told me that the compounded inflation rate is 12% for the past three years.
At the same time I discover that the interest rate on the balances in my deposit account is now 0.1% p.a. - that's a total of $0.08/month (not even 10c!) pittance interest for every $1,000 I have with the bank.
I'm bleeding money.
On being "fat"
For a start by BMI calculations I am not overweight. But by the freak Asian standards my size is simply unacceptable. Asian women are expected to be physically petite and/or slim with fair flawless skin. Sad to say, I fail brilliantly in those stereotyped expectations.
I am not a fan of pain but I endured over 30 sessions of acupuncture for slimming. To be fair it was a little effective if and when I went for it regularly. For the small positive result I was buying confidence in large amounts of pain money and time. It took a while but my brain finally processed that it was not worth it.
So I picked sports. Bodycombat + yoga -- both of which I absolutely love. And then as I always do, I got overzealous and injured myself. Eager to restart after a short resting period, my injuries got worse and I had to abandon both activities. I was devastated.
So I run. I dislike running but it is the only sport at the moment that I can pack into an irregular working schedule without a lot of hassle. I have ran/jogged/walked three times to date - felt like fainting/vomiting/dying multiple times along the way - and survived. With no injuries. It's a good sign.
I need to lose weight.
For a start by BMI calculations I am not overweight. But by the freak Asian standards my size is simply unacceptable. Asian women are expected to be physically petite and/or slim with fair flawless skin. Sad to say, I fail brilliantly in those stereotyped expectations.
I am not a fan of pain but I endured over 30 sessions of acupuncture for slimming. To be fair it was a little effective if and when I went for it regularly. For the small positive result I was buying confidence in large amounts of pain money and time. It took a while but my brain finally processed that it was not worth it.
So I picked sports. Bodycombat + yoga -- both of which I absolutely love. And then as I always do, I got overzealous and injured myself. Eager to restart after a short resting period, my injuries got worse and I had to abandon both activities. I was devastated.
So I run. I dislike running but it is the only sport at the moment that I can pack into an irregular working schedule without a lot of hassle. I have ran/jogged/walked three times to date - felt like fainting/vomiting/dying multiple times along the way - and survived. With no injuries. It's a good sign.
Untitled
Yet my trains of thoughts run along too fast to capture them in coherent sentences. Cluttered mind. Like a child.
A month ago an intern joined my office; he sits right in front of me. Separated only by his computer and mine. Others find him nerdy; I think he is extremely cute. He is only 21 (even though he looks more mature than his age). Since then I feel old like an owl.
And then in a moment of impulse I cut off my bangs myself. It was a futile virgin attempt, extremely inexperienced, which explained why the end product now hangs zig-zagged just below my brows. I'm convincing myself that it will make a cool statement.
I miss writing. Not for work but aimless writing; the process of pouring crowded thoughts into words. Emptying my mind, and having a sense of calm after doing so.
Yet my trains of thoughts run along too fast to capture them in coherent sentences. Cluttered mind. Like a child.
A month ago an intern joined my office; he sits right in front of me. Separated only by his computer and mine. Others find him nerdy; I think he is extremely cute. He is only 21 (even though he looks more mature than his age). Since then I feel old like an owl.
And then in a moment of impulse I cut off my bangs myself. It was a futile virgin attempt, extremely inexperienced, which explained why the end product now hangs zig-zagged just below my brows. I'm convincing myself that it will make a cool statement.
