Grand Expectations

Number of days since graduation: 4
Number of times the word "grandchildren" were mentioned on the road trip: ~7

My parents need to hang out with younger people without grandchildren.

Is this what love is?

I am on a road trip with my parents on the eastern seaboard of the United States. I have been up since 4.30am, for the past 21 hours, taking my sister to the airport, running errands, buying groceries, meeting people, driving in bad weather from Buffalo to Pittsburgh. I am dead tired.

My daddy is in the next bed, his snoring interrupting my attempts to sleep. He plops onto the bed, and falls asleep immediately, not with cute gentle snores (which I might be able to deal with), but irregular snort-snort ones. I look at my mummy, exasperated, but she just smiles.

"I try to sleep first, usually, but I'll just sleep the other way so it's not in my ear."

She's fast asleep too.

They're so cute together.

Flawed

My papa graduated with top honors (one of the four) in University Malaya in Engineering. My older sister graduated summa cum laude in English with I-dunno-what accomplishments under her belt. I just managed to graduate cum laude in Chemistry and Medicinal Chemistry with some vague mention of academic excellence and distinction (it's a farce) by my department. I see my mum scanning the pages formore mention of her baby daughter's intelligence (but alas! finding none). I scraped through decently, but never as brilliantly as INSERT NAME HERE.

To be more intelligent, to earn admiration.
To be thinner and more beautiful, to garner attention.
To be more ambitious, to gain respect.

Oh to be.

Joseph, Tell Me

I had a terrible nightmare yesterday night.

I dreamt I got married and I was at my wedding ceremony. It was a really terrible wedding, held at a really ratty place, and I had a terrible wedding dress on. For some reason a butcher knife was packed in my suitcase (I had a suitcase to prepare for my wedding). Everyone was excited and annoying me. The groom was actually someone I knew ( I won't mention who because it would be scandalous. ROTFL when I think about it. )

When I entered the church, guys I used to like were peppered all over the seats. Every second when I was walking down the aisle, my head was screaming, my heart was full of dread, and I felt like puking. I felt like running, like calling it off. I felt like saying NO, I DON'T. I felt like I was walking to an electric chair.

I woke up just before I reached the end, thank God.

Is that supposed to mean anything?

Graduation

My parents are on a plane right now, flying over to see their baby daughter graduate. I sometimes wish that they weren't coming, just because I'll be a face in a sea of hundreds, probably thousands. It's going to be a long drawn out 2 hour long ceremony with me having no significant part in it. It would be different if I graduated with a 4.0 GPA with super honors or was a somebody, but I'll just be the girl with literally 5 seconds on stage with a really cute pair of white shoes ($65 with a 15% discount!). There's too many people in the world (and UB) for little me to be any special.

Oh wells. Perfectionism kills my spirit.

Regardless of my apprehension about graduation, they will be here in T minus ~40 hours. Things to do include:

• Clear up the beer bottles lying around (99% aren't mine, 1% mmm)
  
• Hide that bottle of Jack Daniels (not mine but nevertheless in the apartment)
• Clear up the apartment (I hate packing)
• Hide half my shoes so they think I spent money on useful things like books and food
• Hide half my clothes so they think I spent money on useful things like books and food
• Hide the latest shopping bags so they think I spent money on useful things like books and food
• Plan the road trip and book hotels for the next couple weeks
  

I also realized I spent more time and effort thinking about my outfit for graduation (underneath the cap and gown) more than I did for writing those CHE414 Instrumental Analysis lab reports. Priorities, priorities.

H-O-T-T

It was a slow day in the office. Another mundane 9-5 work day (I actually get in at about 10.30 despite my best of intentions, will wake up on time the next time, PROMISE).

Did the routine afternoon run across the building tunnel to get the mail. On my way back, I caught sight of this gloriously half naked guy in shorts playing football (or as we say in America, soccer lah) with sweat glistening on his broad brown shoulders down to his back.

I gasped, involuntarily.

The last time I was left speechless by a man was when I was watching Brad Pitt and Eric Bana in THAT scene in Troy. Mmmmm.

I Want My Piano

It's another late night. The night is quiet and cool, my mind is at rest. I'm glad I'm busy with the mundane task of packing, I'm relieved at the prospect of having a fairly easy class exam on Monday. It keeps my mind busy, but not hectic. I'm glad.

It's at times like these, my vulnerability scares me. These quiet cool nights. The cool breeze knowingly caresses my hair and puts goosebumps on my skin.

I know in my heart that I'm not as strong as I thought I was, as I seem to be. My independence is dependent on the kindness of others. My stoicism rocks with the smallest movements. I hope when I shouldn't, I trust who I shouldn't, I care for what I shouldn't.

I am susceptible and gullible. My armor of confidence is an illusion. It works during the day, but on nights like these, I am exposed.