Not Real
I haven't posted in ages...and so far I've kept from writing about my life here on the Little Red Dot. I don't really know why. Maybe because it sometimes still doesn't feel real. And by real I mean permanent. It's the perfect place for commitment-phobes: life is fleeting, people are transitory, routine is temporary. You can get to "try" a life and decide if its for you. Try to live in one part of town and move again.
I do like living here. To some people, it's Utopia. A place where (finally) everything works and everything's clean and new. To others, it's Singabore. It's detached and it's stripped down to the bare essentials of work and home devoid of the myriad things and distractions of an older/ more dangerous/ unpredictable city. And sometimes, as my colleague loves to put it, "nature-identical." Meaning, they can create almost anything and with a breathtaking speed. Sometimes, too artificial attributable to it's naked ambition. I admire it though, it's "can do" attitude makes it the little dot that could.
There are days though I miss home, not for the places or the food or the comforts. Mostly for the people and for the depth of experiences I've had with them. I've turned mostly introvert again, I think, because I'm not really the small-talk kind of person. I hate having to think of stupid topics past the initial "who-what-where's" if all it centers on are "activities" "work" and "interests". I can read those on your facebook page. I am genuinely interested in people and in what makes them tick. I am drawn to people who like to talk about themselves, sure, moreso if they become introspective. It's the psych-voyeur in me, see. Or the psych-vampire. Pour it on me or let me draw it out. (Which sounds kinky I admit.)
I want to see the real person. Not the shell. Not the party person. Not the work person. Not the repackaged shiny new you. Those things get old quickly. Can you just tell people, cut the crap. Tell me who you are...no, really. Tell me the awkward, uncensored, raw, complex things about you. Tell me why you bleed. Tell me what makes you laugh but shouldn't. Tell me what you shouldn't be thinking.
Feed me, dammit. Feed me some reality.
I do like living here. To some people, it's Utopia. A place where (finally) everything works and everything's clean and new. To others, it's Singabore. It's detached and it's stripped down to the bare essentials of work and home devoid of the myriad things and distractions of an older/ more dangerous/ unpredictable city. And sometimes, as my colleague loves to put it, "nature-identical." Meaning, they can create almost anything and with a breathtaking speed. Sometimes, too artificial attributable to it's naked ambition. I admire it though, it's "can do" attitude makes it the little dot that could.
There are days though I miss home, not for the places or the food or the comforts. Mostly for the people and for the depth of experiences I've had with them. I've turned mostly introvert again, I think, because I'm not really the small-talk kind of person. I hate having to think of stupid topics past the initial "who-what-where's" if all it centers on are "activities" "work" and "interests". I can read those on your facebook page. I am genuinely interested in people and in what makes them tick. I am drawn to people who like to talk about themselves, sure, moreso if they become introspective. It's the psych-voyeur in me, see. Or the psych-vampire. Pour it on me or let me draw it out. (Which sounds kinky I admit.)
I want to see the real person. Not the shell. Not the party person. Not the work person. Not the repackaged shiny new you. Those things get old quickly. Can you just tell people, cut the crap. Tell me who you are...no, really. Tell me the awkward, uncensored, raw, complex things about you. Tell me why you bleed. Tell me what makes you laugh but shouldn't. Tell me what you shouldn't be thinking.
Feed me, dammit. Feed me some reality.