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Problem is, you can’t just shake off centuries of cultural mindfuckery that tell you that you are nothing but a sandworm without the benevolence and sacrificial love of your parents, who fed your worthless child self and molded you into the acceptable, if not exceptional, adult that you are, and that the only way you can ever hope to repay them is if you take the hopes and dreams your parents had for you and gently but surely stuff them down your brain hole, make them yours, and realize them, or betray your parents and burn in the special place in Chinese Hell for unfilial children while eager
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7:50 a.m. Ah, shit. Am now crotch-to-shlong with a poker-faced blond cyborg in cycling gear so tight I could see inside him. If the train makes an emergency stop I will fall pregnant.
a rugby player physique, but only like a so-so rugby player whose favorite food is tacos),
I figure that you can only hate someone so much if you had once loved them in equal measure.”
In this part of the world, there exists a “fun” Chap Goh Mei tradition, where single Chinese ladies throw perfectly good mandarin oranges with their names and phone numbers written on the fruit into a body of water, where they would usually be scooped up by eager gentlemen who may or may not be looking to score a free supply of vitamin C.
“My parents would flip out if I dated someone from another race,” I admitted. “It’s strange, isn’t it, how this form of racism is still accepted under the guise of ensuring that the new addition to your family has a ‘similar cultural background and value system’?
8:05 a.m. Must have slept through alarm because was up so late scrolling through dick pics and telling off sick senders of dick pics!!!
Grudgingly I thanked Suresh for helping me out. He grinned and said, somewhat playfully, “Did I really, though? Or did I allow you to entrap yourself in a lie you now have to extricate yourself from?” My God, he was an evil genius!
The thing about dressing for a date when you’re almost in your mid-thirties and not a yoga or fitness instructor is that you are no longer primping but literally remodeling.
I glanced over and saw him staring blankly at the screen with an expression I knew well. It was what I called the Monday Horror Show™ face, a combo of constipation, existential horror, and resignation.
“You need to relax, Andrea Tang,” he admonished. “You’re very . . . tightly wound up.” “So I’ve been told. It’s part of my charm.” Without missing a beat, Eric said, “No, it’s not. You have much more going for you than your anxiety.”
fought the urge to groan audibly by doing a Kegel.
Much as I hated to admit it, I think I drink a bit too much. I have to stop using (so much) alcohol and Angry Birds/Candy Crush as ways to self-medicate. Abusing alcohol and mobile phone games is not allowing me space to develop the clarity of mind needed to identify and understand the root cause(s) of my problems so that I could truly solve them, according to a listicle I found on a mental health website today.
