I want to go straight to art school, but my parents tell me to give junior college a try. It makes the Top 5 Best Decisions Ultimatums From My Parents. (They like using this strategy of tricking me into thinking that I have control over the situation, but really I don’t.) I end up going to school with my cousin Rah and some of my bestfriends, and we make even more friends.
Having male classmates after a decade of education in an all-girls environment is such a foreign concept. Okay… So you’re saying I can’t just pull my shirt off in the middle of the classroom after Physical Education (PE) lessons anymore? And I should sit with my knees together? And what do you mean I can’t lift my friends’ skirts as and when I want to? I guess running down the hallways screaming for a sanitary napkin is out of the question then?
It finally happens. My boyfriend dumps me! Even though he was the one who cheated on me repeatedly, I was the one who felt like my world had just ended. When you’re in a relationship, especially with your first (puppy) love, you never really think about it ending. I was in this constant honeymoon phase, blinded by love, tuning out anyone who dared suggest that he wasn’t the one for me. One by one, all of my powerful emotions left to get a 6-pack of beer and never returned. For months, I behave as if I were a muscle whose sole purpose is to mourn.
I lose my appetite. It begins gradually with a fear of refined carbohydrates and sugars, then evolves into a feeling of unworthiness of red meat, mayonnaise, French fries and Taco Bell, and finally I’m running on (water and three pieces of nutritionally) empty (Iceberg lettuce) towards Perfection and Control. Literally running, despite how my mind (couch potato mentality) and body (allergic reaction to my own perspiration) rejected the idea so many years ago. Orthorexia. Like anorexia, but healthy. (“Healthy”)
My friends and I go out to party every weekend. We are almost 18, almost legal, and almost good at holding our alcohol. I am going through the motions of “break up, break down. Drink up, fool around” (2 Days in Paris).
One night I bump into my brother Stu outside a nightclub. He scolds me and I cry. #socialsuicide They start the She Shouldn’t Be Clubbing Foundation on Facebook. #nextlevelsocialsuicide On another night, my mom locks me out on purpose. I stumble home at 4am and fall asleep in our garden. And on another night, she mistakes me for a burglar as I’m trying to climb in through a window. She calls the police and I hear her say “Hello, I’m calling from (our home address). There is a burglar trying to climb into my window” at this point, I reluctantly pull my hair away from my face and fess up saying “Hi, mom! It’s me!” and hear her say “oh, sorry. It’s just my stupid daughter.”
I pierce my Monroe again and this time my parents just roll their eyes. It is my first attempt at trying to win my ex-boyfriend back. I’m not sure anymore how I rationalized it in my mind to be a strategic move, but it was ineffective. I go to extraordinary lengths, such as swallowing my stud, to keep my piercing open without getting caught in school. The stud has 0 calories, so it’s cool.
My cousin Rah and I go to Swensen’s for an ice cream buffet after school one day. We talk about our hopes and dreams for the future. We scheme World Domination. Two weeks later, we are walking around the wealthy estate of Nassim, ringing doorbells and trying to sell jars of Manuka honey. Our honey is expensive because it has a UMF rating of like, 2758343+. Despite our efforts, we only sell two jars – one to her mother and the other to mine.
I start dating my neighbor Shaun who I’m close to because we go to the same church. That’s a bit misleading. We go to church, but we don’t actually attend mass. Mostly, we sit in the canteen and chat with our fellow cradle Catholic peers about unreligious matters.
I sign up for a short acting course at The Substation after my Year 1 Final Exams. I am the youngest in the class of 10. I meet a statistical analyst in his mid-thirties. He’s a strange one. At the end of our course, he presents me with a fake metal shotgun with cool pink details as our parting gift. It puzzles me.
I will try ANYTHING to avoid getting physical during that one hour PE lesson. Super bad menstrual cramps – I never get them. But our PE teachers are dudes, so they don’t ask too many questions. The fictitious sprained ankle – I don’t like using this because then I’d have to walk around with a limp for the rest of the week and that’s very exhausting. Forgetting to bring my PE shorts – I shot myself in the foot with this one. I was made to do PE in my formal shirt and skirt uniform, which meant no fresh clothes to change into after. Hiding in the toilet – Not advisable. I ended up getting detention for this.
Eventually we (Nut, Char, and I – The Three Musketeers, The Three Blind Mice, The Talkative Trio) figure out that the trick is to start out running at the same pace as the rest of the class, then slowly fall behind, break away and then vanish into the crowd. (We usually have five classes doing PE lessons at the same time.)
It’s bizarre that I shun PE classes in school, but run 15 km every other night when I come home. I cannot sustain this routine for very long. Duh. My daily caloric intake is about 2% the recommended value.
I start practicing yoga on Saturday mornings with my parents instead. My reputation as a Flake gains momentum now that I am bailing out on drunken Friday night shenanigans. “Sorry, I can’t stay out late tonight because I have to wake up at 6.30am tomorrow for yoga.”
I start to feel better. And my life starts to get better.
I couldn’t draw the direct link between this positive change and yoga back then, but I can today: Yoga saved my life. LOL. Namaste, y’all!
The root of my problems boiled down to striving for perfection and craving control, whereas yoga is about cultivating the ability to let go. Spending just one hour each week to silence my mind and focus on my breath and body, helped me to appreciate all the good things my body was doing for me. I was learning to befriend the body I’d been abusing. Yoga retrained my focus and thoughts, discouraged me from chipping away at my self-esteem by realigning my thinking. It disengaged me from judging my body and allowed me to just experience it. #om
As mentioned, I don’t see a clear connection between yoga and my life getting better. So as soon as my life gets better, I am less disciplined about staying in and sleeping early on Friday nights. I attend a charity fashion show event and meet an interesting boy Bryan at the after-party in a nightclub. We click immediately. With the help of some Vodka cranberry. We talk and hold hands.
Word gets around to Shaun. He tells me that I’m stupid and ridiculous for jeopardizing what we have for someone I’ve barely even known for a week. Bryan sends me some music, of which I only remember Pa Pa Power and For Emma. We stop talking.
I go for my first and only ZoukOut. Rah and I somehow sneak past security and go to a friend of a friend’s (AKA stranger’s) hotel room to drink. I pass out before midnight. She leaves me in a room of second-degree friends (AKA strangers!!!!!!) and goes down to the beach to dance the night away. I drift in and out of consciousness, so I know for a fact the kind strangers actually just let me have the duvet and leave me to curl up like a ball at the edgy of the bed. I wake up at 6am and join Rah at the beach. We – it’s really just us, everyone else is passed out for real – enjoy the last half hour of the party and then head home.
