97 - On insomnia.

I have an aversion to sleep - although, nowadays, I often pass out on my bed anyway - something I didn't do before. Back in my heyday, around four, five, six years ago, I would go on living with around only five hours of sleep per week. I loved to stay up late, I felt so great having so much time to play pointless online games (after completing all of my homework, of course), and read stuff online.

Now, I feel like my quota for time spent awake is finally running low. I can't help but to fall asleep, sometimes at the most obscure and inconvenient times - right before a lecture, right before a party, right before the sun comes up, right before lunchtime. I'm trying to stay awake, and when my mind can't take it any longer, it compels me to draw the curtains shut, turn the lights off, and simply catch some desperately needed rest, whether or not I have somewhere to be in a few hours, regardless of whether or not I believe I'm going to be able to get up later or not. My case is serious, because I will really throw away all of my obligations and responsibilities—my classes, my family time, my job—just to stay in bed another five minutes longer, ten minutes longer, oops, what time is it?... eight hours have gone by?... I'm screwed, might as well go back to sleep... ZZZzzzzzz.........

Honestly, I have Googled ways to increase insomnic ability. It's a little bit sad, and that's right, I call it an ability. Because if I could just push through another few hours without rest each day, I would be able to do so much more. The pile of things I wish I could tend to gets taller and taller everyday, and at an exponential rate. I've been warned before, about how it's bad for my skin, and bad for my eyes, and bad for my brain to stay awake over overly long hours of the day, but I don't care. I want to sleep less. It's only because I used to be the best at it back in the day that makes me stubborn, and in denial of the fact that I'm not the young man I was a few years ago, capable of doing things that my now tired body cannot.

Sigh.

88 - University is nice

University life is not that radically different from the life I led back in Hong Kong. My friends all tell me how great it is to finally live beyond the smothering, overly restrictive hold of their parents, how wonderful it finally is to be free. But I've always had kind of a free lifestyle (whether that's a good or bad thing is unclear), so I don't really feel much change. I've always been able to do whatever I want, eat what I want, make friends with whoever I want, without anybody ever telling me what I should or shouldn't do.

This makes my journey of life a big trial-and-error process. That's the way I don't necessarily prefer to live my life - simply, it is the way I have done so, to feel accomplished after logically working out a suitable solution to my problems, and to feel humbled and enlightened when my thought-up solution turns out to be not that suitable.

So far, I have been eating a lot of microwave meals and junk food in the past two weeks. Whenever I sense a sore throat coming, I purchase a ready-to-eat, dielectrically heatable soup - which should be healthier, and good for my throat. I drink it, and the soreness wears away. Laundry has been easy, I've just followed the instructions on the box - no white clothes coming out colored is a WIN for me. Ironing has gone successfully as well - thanks to instructions and tutorials on Youtube and DIY websites that I simply Googled. And lecture theaters have been easy to locate. I was always good at reading maps. And having a good directional sense in the absence of one.

Life is nice. I decide what I eat. I'm learning what I want to learn. I truly have my own room, which I decorate and keep clean myself. I join the clubs and societies I have a passion for. I might get a part-time job soon - bartending or waiting, of course. I have so much time to do whatever I want, to read, to watch television series and review them, to write, to explore this new place, and to just think to myself - there has been a lot of time to myself. This amount of independence is certainly a step above what I had in Hong Kong.

And it feels incredibly good.

82 - Clubbing in Singapore.

Wow, it's been eleven days since I last blogged. I think I'm going to use my day off today to prepare some more blog posts to be published throughout next week. I've been really thoughtful lately, but just hate that I haven't expressed those thoughts on Blogger.

So, since I last spoke to you all, I was heading off to Singapore. My mother wanted to see an Air Supply concert, and she had correctly assumed that I would be the only one who would agree to go with her all that way just to see a show. Singapore was, to me, a good place to visit. They had nice food, and a beautiful combination of sand and sea called Santosa beach. It seemed like a very pleasant place to live. And everywhere, I could see people who enjoyed living there, the expression on their faces revealing a feeling a lot like mine in how I love residing in Hong Kong.

We were only there for four days and three nights, and my mother and I had both taken three days off work just to be there. On the first night, my mother permitted me to go out clubbing and bar-hopping. The nightlife in Singapore was fantastic. It's a place called Clarke Quay, and it consists of a whole line of restaurants, bars, clubs and pubs, that line the banks of a river. It seemed a lot cleaner than Hong Kong's partying districts, and a lot less crowded, even though there was still a lot of people.

After scouting the area for an hour or so, asking various bouncers for the entrance fees and the availability of an open bar, I routinely bought some breath mints from 7-11, and paid twenty Singaporean dollars to enter a nightclub called Zirca. It was quiet at around 9pm, but I waited 'til the party started, as it usually does on a Thursday night. Three young-looking people seated a table seemed sociable and welcoming, so I joined them. We ended up dancing to pretty much the same boring tunes they play in Hong Kong. Singaporeans certainly have a lot of energy on the dancefloor, but by 2am, I just couldn't keep up with them, I wasn't feeling up for it, the alcohol started making me miss home, and so I went back to the place where my mother and I were staying in.

When I got home, my mother bade me go to the bedroom. I went, and as soon as I stepped in, she gave me a big, heartful hug, and said in Chinese, "You worried me to death!"

My mother has a keener interest in health and safety than I do. She always hears stories of the malicious things people do in different places. There are innocent, Indonesian girls that get raped in the middle of the night when they're alone. There are love interests who you think you can trust, who may tell you they have nothing wrong with them, but in actual fact, have a sexually transmitted disease like AIDS. And then there are young guys like me, thirsty for alcohol, who might get served a drink that contains some sort of sedative, so that the strangers behind the bar may carry me off into a world of crime, and teach me how to deal drugs illegally (and God knows what else), and transform me into a monster that will also, sneakily and heavily, sedate other young boys for generations to come, to keep the future of drug trade alive.

While I was having fun in Singapore's clubbing district, my mother was alone, creating an untrue image, of which I will never know the exact nature of, in her mind, of what might have happened to me, in the most unfortunate sense. I actually regretted going out that night, and I did not go out for the next two nights we were there, because of what transpired on the first night. I felt sorry to her, for worrying her. It's understandable because she hardly approves of me going out at all, even here in Hong Kong. She doesn't know that Singaporeans are friendlier than Hongkongers. She has no idea that Singapore and Hong Kong have two of the lowest crime rates in the world, Singapore's being even less than Hong Kong's. And, she doesn't know just how often I go out.

It's logical for her to worry, with what she doesn't know.

I have no doubt that I will return to Singapore some day, to properly experience the nightlife there without anybody worrying me. I guess when you go on holiday with your mother to a foreign country, some things will never change and you still can't go out drinking, whether you're finally 18 years old or not, because it worries her. It always will.

50 - I feel like puking.

Two years ago, I was suffering from my second-most serious case of depression (the first being the time I nearly commited suicide). During this second-most serious case, I constantly felt dizzy, nauseated and miserable. I lacked an appetite and the urge to sleep.

I don't just mean skipping breakfast. I don't just mean I pulled off an all-nighter. I did not eat or sleep for four days straight. All I did was crap, and cry at night in my room. I really didn't know if my mood affected my appetite, or if my loss of appetite led to my depression.

But it was horrible, and I knew I had a problem even by the second day. I refused to eat anything at meals... anything. I would walk past my all-time favorite fast-food chain, McDonald's, without even stopping. I was disgusted by all food, anything from chocolate cake to scrumptious Chinese delicacies, from pork chops to chicken wings, from pancakes with bananas to spaghetti bolognese. I would drink Coke, and puke it out later. Ordinary water seemed to be the only thing I could take in, even though I never drink any water and rely on juice, soft drinks, energy drinks, tea, coffee and soup for my fluids. And as for alcohol, well, you know what alcohol does to you: it makes you puke, but even I, with a tough threshold for holding my drink, puked, and that, my friends, is an astonishingly serious symptom. It's like everything, toxic to my body or healthful for my body, didn't appeal to me. I hated eating, I didn't want to consume anything.

Shit, it's probably the sickest I've ever been.

Right now, I have a virus lying within me that's similar. I woke up today frantically reaching around for my rubbish bin so that I could vomit.

I didn't get any satisfaction, though, because I haven't eaten since Wednesday afternoon, and there's nothing in my digestive system to regurgitate. I mean, it's Friday afternoon now, and I don't have the appetite to eat anything, not even a slice of bread, a small biscuit, or a bowl of congee - basically not even boring, bland rice in a bowl of water.

The one difference, between this time and that time two years ago, is that I'm not miserable. I think things with my family, especially my mother, are going fine. I have an active, lively Facebook, MSN and blogging life when I'm not out with my friends. And damn, my friends make me so happy and they mean so much to me. A romantic life is not in the equation because I'm not desperately looking for it. And I had a week of school that was actually looking up until I was feeling too ill to go yesterday, and now, today.

And it's making me think, am I actually miserable like the last time, but I've only been hiding it these past few days? Is there something I'm denying about how I feel? Am I withholding emotions that I don't want to let out?

I just gagged.

I'm heading to the doctor now to get some medication. I still don't want to eat anything. A big, fat steak would repulse me and make me puke up my stomach.

Shucks, I just gagged again. Talk to you all later.

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Update @ 21:27: The doctor gave me five different pills to take. I have a really bad headache now in addition to the vomiting need. I just went to the bathroom, and basically let out whatever was left inside my body. I don't think there's any food matter inside me at all. I still don't have an appetite. I just feel tired. I'll be back later, I suppose, to give another update.

40 - Stress.

I just got a conditional offer from the University of Kent in the UK, but you know what?

Hip hip no hurray, because I'm damn tired of school. I hate to be a complainer like the rest of them, but I think I deserve the right to rant and protest like an archetypal adolescent after seventeen years of not complaining. I'm so sick of each and every one of my subjects ruining my meals, my sleep, my weekends and my daily livelihood. Why do Hong Kong schools need to be this way? Why do international schools need to be this way? Why does the final year of high school have to be this way? I hate complaining, I hate complaining about this so much because I know it only gets more difficult and pressured in university and at work. So what if I get an offer? I still have to apply for scholarships and student visas. I need to sign up for financial aid thanks to my parents' crummy divorce , familiarize myself with the course, buy new textbooks and get myself a part-time job as soon as possible. When it comes time to leave, I have to make plans to see everybody, I have to make plans to see the right people in the university/country of my choice, say goodbye to everybody and everything I know here, pack up everything in my room to move somewhere else 'cause God knows I can't afford to fly back any time soon. The way life is going to be in the next six to eight months is simply not humane to me.

I don't feel like a robot. I feel more like the living dead, my body's degradation after so many years of attaining education has caused me to become so pessimistic and tired. I want to fall asleep on my own accord, whether it be in bed or on the bus to school or on the plane going to holiday and not have a pen in my hand or my textbook on the floor or my laptop on my lap when I wake up. It kills me that my room is such a mess, with books, sheets and folders lying around everywhere. I'm so worn out and lazy whenever I catch a break that I can't even walk out of my room to dump my school clothes into the laundry basket, or even walk out to throw out the countless boxes and plastic bags that used to contain takeout.

I'm tired of staying up so late trying to slam out 1,500-word essays, only to wake up to 200 words done. I'm tired of waking up at the very last minute, to rush to school, to rush to school to finish those darn essays. I want to take a proper fucking shower, I want there to be enough time to wash my fucking hair. I want time to read and to watch my television series without a pile of homework sitting next to me, without a spreadsheet or a word document open on my monitor. I want time to really spend time with my family and friends. Gosh, I'm not even attending a very important Chinese family gathering because I have to work.

What do I have to work on? Well, let's see... There's the 4000-word essay on Hell that I was meant to finish in September 2008, I have a Math portfolio that isn't a bit of fun at all, there's Theory of Knowledge essay and presentation ideas to come up with, Mandarin group oral as well as a Mandarin essay, the data response I have to do for Economics, as well as two portfolio assessments, an oral commentary for English to prepare, four Chemistry practicals, on the titration curves for four different types of neutralization reactions, the hydrolysis of dihalogenoalkanes and the oxidation states of vanadium, the Chemistry past paper to complete, notes to copy down from Physics and Economics because I missed one lesson of each subject thanks to my oversleeping and another three practicals to write up for Physics, to do with the half-life of brick dust, Planck's constant and the Hertzsprung-Russell diagram, all of which, I'm sorry, might as well be mixed with dry twigs and leaves to make fuel for a bonfire because I don't give two shits about any of it.

I trick myself, my classmates and my teachers into believing so because it's right. What I really care about is my damn happiness, health and well-being and sorry if this sounds shockingly self-centered but I am worried that I do not live happily, healthily or well. I hate complaining about school, I've never believed in complaining about it, but this is what I swallow because I know hatred towards school is not the right mindset for a student. I just need to be more efficient with my work. It's such a pain in the neck, but fine, back to work. If you're going through Hell, keep going, right? That's the motto, so I've heard, on this blog...

Talk to all of you folks later...