Buddhists Do Scratch Their Heads Too

Now after an overly dramatic post, I am speechless. Suddenly, I can't find anything to whine. There must be something wrong.

People have been asking me, real friends and online friends alike, Milktea, what have you been doing now that you're jobless?

To tell you the truth, nothing. I am the kind of citizen a country wouldn't want to have. I am not contributing anything to the society and I am not being helpful to anyone. I'm not paying my taxes and I'm not interacting with people.

In other words, I have disconnected myself to the world for the last few weeks and if I suddenly disappear, this world wouldn't really feel a difference. It's just like losing a strand of hair while taking a shower. I'm that strand of hair who can disappear anytime. That feels bad. Shit.

Every afternoon though, I get to watch a chubby kid outside the house playing. Sometimes, he rides his bike. Other times, he plays with his remote control toy. My mom and I would sit in front of the window and smile at the sight of this cheerful boy. Life to him is so simple.

How I wish I could go back to being his age and be able to find amusement in simple things. How I wish I wouldn't have to worry over finding a boyfriend at 27.

Maybe I need to buy a bike so I can forget about being boyfriendless...

I have a problem. I am turning 27 this year and I still don't have a boyfriend. No, not even a summer fling.

I would have ignored this at least for the past 5 years or so but at this point in time, when the closest word to describe my current state is nothing as in no career, no money, no places to go, no one to talk to and the highlight of my day consists of eating lunch and taking a shower, becoming introspective and overly dramatic ensue and you begin to look for things you don't have just as one would do so desperately searching for that missing pair of dirty white socks with a hole on the toe when the rest are soggy.

It's not that I look like a bird or something but maybe it has something to do with something else. My brother used to call me steamed bun  - that white puffy bread usually served at chinese restaurants. They said that just like steamed buns, my cheeks are pale and so full of meat.

I wished it was my lips that was fuller or my boobs. But can you blame me when I was just a mere little egg floating inside my mother's womb when God created me and what do I know about oversized cheeks when I was too busy swimming and outgrowing my eggness stage? Perhaps god just came back from a dimsum buffet that day and he decided to model me after his favorite side dish - steamed buns. I can't tell.

I need to do something. Maybe I need to buy skimpy clothes to bare my skin so men will stop treating me like I was a fart. Maybe I need to learn cartwheel and perform on the streets. Or maybe I need to learn how to give love to receive love. Maybe.

I remember a friend told me of a story of a girl. The girl used to hang out at poolside, where every afternoon, she gets to watch a family from the same neighborhood swim. As time goes by, she became friends with the family and the mother liked her so much she hooked the girl up with her son (who was then working overseas). To make a long story short, the son and the girl are now happily married. Thanks to the swimming pool.

Maybe I still have a chance. ha!ha!ha!  Now if you shall excuse me, I need to find the pool where I can hang-out.

Worries are like the layers of fats we accumulate over the years. It gets thicker and thicker as we grow older.

I have a gazillion of worries running all simultaneously inside my head. I wish to pluck them all one by one like apples from a tree, eat them, poop them out then flush them all down the drain.

But the kind of worry I'm mulling over is a different calibre, not the pluckable poopable kind but the constipated kind. Sad to say, only time can unveil the answer to my unpoopable worries.

Sorry if this sounds a little bit cryptic. As to my secret mission, it's all related to my worries. They overlap each other like the gray area between black and white. I can only find out the outcome of my secret mission come end of this year.

In the meantime, maybe I need to just forget about it and eat ice cream instead. Ice cream, anyone?

I have a secret mission that is on the verge of failing. I can do two things.

1.) I can twist my neck and attempt to kill myself.
2.) I can act cool, cross my fingers and legs and all other body parts that are cross-able and wish that everything works out fine in the end.

But these two things won't save me really. At the end of the day, it still all depends on God's plan.

If anybody can talk to God now, please tell him that Milktea is going crazy. She doesn't want to fail this time after all the things she gave up and she's threatening to hurt herself in case the secret mission fails.

Also, please tell him that in the last couple of years, milktea has been a good girl. She rarely commits the deadly sins except for gluttony and in fact, she never asks much.

And granted all this is true, wouldn't he agree that maybe... just maybe milktea deserves this secret mission to work? hm?????

PS. In case I don't get back to my regular blogging in the next few days or so, it probably means I went to a therapist to have my neck treated.

I hate waiting. Waiting is the next horrible thing to constipation. Waiting sucks my energy dry and makes me want to just die. (Wow and the last two phrases rhymed?)

When I was 15 years old, my mother implored me to wait outside the school gate every day for the car to pick me up. I obeyed. I didn't hate the school gate because that's where all kids are supposed to wait but I hate the process of waiting in itself. I hate it that I have to stand at a particular place but cannot do anything productive and because I was such a loser, I really didn't have anybody to keep me company. I hate it  particularly when I see the other kids leave before me and I'm left alone feeling unwanted and forgotten.

Please don't tell me that waiting is a fun process if only I learn to find beauty that surrounds me. I've been in the same school for 12 years and I know better.  There were no green grass to smell no butterflies to catch and no fresh air to gasp. There were however vandalisms, trash all over and lots of pollution. It's haunting me, these memories.

As of this moment, I am waiting for something, which I'm not about to reveal what is it yet. Although this kind of waiting is entirely different from what I just ranted. Still, It does not change the fact that I still hate waiting. Urggh!!!!

My mother, brother and I spent mother's day at a Japanese buffet restaurant. Food was great. The variety of sushi rolls was infinite and the sight of it made me all giddy inside.

Remember as a child how excited we were when our parents would bring us to Toys R' Us? That's how I exactly felt when I saw the array of sushi rolls displayed. My eyes kind of sparkled and I almost danced ballet.

I ate dragon roll, california roll, spider roll, salmon skin roll, spicy tuna roll, rock and roll, paper towel roll, drum roll... Alright that wasn't funny. My point is, I ate a lot as in countless rolls and I now feel terribly terribly bad because I committed the sin of gluttony once again.

On hindsight, why is gluttony a sin? People who came up with the concept of buffet restaurant who in turn promote gluttony are actually more sinful, no? And really, I am just a victim here. I'm just a simple girl wanting to celebrate mother's day with my family and here I am, confessing the sin I just committed. Is that fair?

Over the past few days, I realized something though. That is never to go out with a guy and eat at a buffet restaurant unless
1.) He's my brother.
2)  He's my dad.
3.) He's someone I totally don't have any intention to have a relationship with.

Otherwise, probably not. The last thing I want is to scare people away and let them know how sinful I am.

Am I making sense? Or am I just too full?