Fashion is for the Foolish

The dark crimson lipstick glided effortlessly across her plump lower lip and she enjoyed its consistency of Shea butter. She pursed her lips together, pressed them lightly a few times back and forth to ensure the deep red was evenly spread. Then, she fished out a minute pair of pink forceps from her closet and also a transparent case containing a set of flamboyant lashes, resembling shrunken replicas of peacock tails. Gingerly, she squeezed a thin streak of translucent glue on the lashes' base and adjusted them with  a few dexterous, precise moves. Her look was then completed with the insertion of 2 electric blue contact lenses onto her snow-hued sclera, shielding the lovely burnt sienna of her eyes. She looked at herself in the mirror and barely recognized the lady staring back at her. There she was, with pseudo-hollowed cheeks and a contoured bridge coupled with unnaturally long lashes. The reflection’s saturated cyan eyes stared into her soul. Everything that she witnesses captured in the 1.2x1.0m reflective surface is unreal. She once adored the attention she received by setting the trends. She absolutely loved it when people labeled her as a daring pioneer; she was the Queen of Fad. But now, it all seemed so empty. Her soul is hollowed out, trying to be different and have an edge over other people. It was a comparison of who had the most outstanding features, who had the most eyeball-grabbing look. But overtime it has morphed into a competition of who has the weirdest riot of color on their faces, and honestly, it had not done her a single bit of good. Slivers of the stage wash that illuminated her cheeks reveal the uneven surfaces created by little bumps of pimples. Even the best concealer fails to hide the effect of age, the tender lines conjugating to form a mermaid tail along the corners of her eyes. 

I’m one year older, but not one year wiser, she thought to herself.

She mulled over it, and thought about why she had gone into the modeling industry in the first place and took a trip down memory lane where the floodgates of yesteryear were unleashed. She thought about her idol, Audrey Hepburn. Her almond shaped eyes and finely chiseled features formed in her mind. Hepburn’s exquisite features and her charm that overwhelmed the stage in Roman Holiday penetrated the 50 years’ worth of cultural and ideological differences. But it had all seemed so different then and now. Hepburn had natural beauty and a refreshing charisma that no one has. She had a fine frame, unlike her large physique which made her very ashamed.

Well, how about someone more recent, she pondered. As her eyes gazed heavenwards, she thought about stars like Ariana Grande. It was as if god had packed the world’s supply of sunshine into her soul. It radiates and glows wherever she goes, a radical difference from her where she always faked it till she had made it. Every single time on the run way is a nightmare worse than meeting a real life Medusa. She fear that the audience’s comments may pierce her like how a curse is inserted into the limbs and body of a voodoo doll. People are starting to detest her. They label her as an oddball with a very eccentric sense of dolling up. It tears through her and rips her into little pieces.

Just then, the manager calls. The voice makes reverberates off the walls of her inner ear.

“Phoebe, it’s your turn on stage!”

She squirms inside as she balanced on 15 inch cream heels with a matching outfit armed with an attitude for war. She wore this air of confidence around her like she never had and posed in her most cutting-edge positions. She smiles despite the frowns cast at her from the audience. Once she was done, she splashed the makeup off her face and crushed the contact lenses, disposing them into a common bin along with her lashes. After all, she was no longer head over heels over fashion. It was driving her crazy, she was losing herself, not knowing who she really was inside. At the end of the day, she is only Phoebe, and she will always be. Fashion is not really meant for everyone. Down the road, the ones who remain real and true to themselves are the most captivating. And with that thought, she packed up and leaved a resign letter on her table the next day, relieved finally that she has found herself and how she has dumped a foolish decision. 

Image source: http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1130/1274815691_73aff48e22.jpg 

Suicide hotlines, it's time to up your game

I dialled a familiar number. I held the phone close to my ear, listening as each small little electrical pulse ran to get for help with each beep resonated in the receiver. I twirled the coils of the telephone line and felt my soul inside equally as gnarled. My life is out of sorts, and I need someone to tell them to. Given such an eccentric personality, my social circle's radius is very confined as well. I reached out for the telephone, felt the smooth round buttons compress under my finger's push. Instead of help, I was delievered rejection. They made me feel like a specimen. I was the frog they were dissecting on. It is one of the worst feelings ever in the world. 

To kick things off, suicide hotlines can make their clients feel like statistics. This problem not just lies with me, but also another 723 of 1431 calls for aid. Instead of asking the person on the line whether he or she feels suicidal, receivers beat around the bush. They attempt talking about daily life, but that is exactly what people want to avoid. Real life is like a suckerpunch straight up the jaw at times. The type of tone that they adopt is like the suicide version of Elder-speak. Elder-speak is when some of us speak to older people, we slow down, sugar-coat our sentences and use repetition. Here, it becomes like " Yes, I know you are feeling very down as you have said. And you also mentioned you are sad. Yes, you feel devastated. Don't be sad okay?" Applying what I have just learnt in school today, this qualifies for a logical fallacy of begging the question. One is just using synonyms for sad, but one is not really tackling the problem. The inability to deliver the promised effects makes the caller feel even more hopeless. It gives the caller the impression that his problem is so big that even a professional cannot solve it. So, in his mind, there will be a higher chance of the balance tilting towards pulling the trigger and not. For me, I really felt like sliting my wrist more with every single call. Instead of feeling better, suicide hotlines are providing me with every reason to jump off the building. Hence, as suicide hotlines services are making people feel worse, I believe it is time to up the game of providing people with real comfort and not act all stiff and unnatural when handling cases. 

Other than making one feel estranged, some volunteers of the suicide hotline get impatient as the caller tells the volunteer about his problem. For example, when they try to solve the problem, volunteers may speak in a hasty manner or they may show signs of annoyance in their speech. I have experienced this personally before when one of the suicide hotline volunteers I called said bye to me before I could finish my  sentence. However, I am not alone. There are many others who have experienced the same thing as I have. I felt that nobody ever bothered or cared. But then again, I guess I must learn to understand that I cannot be too selfish to demand that everyone is here for me when I need them the most. However, I felt really alone and left out like there was really no one to care. Hence, as suicide hotlines can potentially convince one to probably take that leap of death, it really needs to up its game in helping people walk out of their darkness. 

I do understand it is tough being a volunteer for a crisis hotline. Everyday, there will be shattered souls coming to one waiting for the power of one's words to piece up the broken parts together. It is going to be very difficult for the volunteers if they have never had any of such incidents before. Every person's perspective is different, thus what may seem like a problem for one may not be a headache for another. Also, to each his own experience. Hence, for a volunteer to understand every caller's encounters fully is really a Herculean task. Therefore, while they try their best to appreciate the complexity of our situation, it is also the caller's duty to be patient and clear in explaining. 

Then again, even though their service is not bad to start off with, however, I believe that suicide hotlines can do better. Being a INTJ, I appreciate it when people show their logic in dissecting a problem and presenting it to me in a clear logical manner. However, being an INTJ who has been immersed in many sad novels and thrillers, I do have an emotional side. Hence, when one analyzes my problems as if it were an examination script, I would feel very alien, and I'm sure many people would too. Suicide hotlines without a human touch is like talking to a robot. This unfortunately does not solve any problem at all. Also, with a little bit more patience, I'm sure a lot of people would appreciate it even more when there is really someone listening to their problem. Most would love a listening ear when they are in distress. Talking to people is one of the best and instant ways to feel better about a situation according to Jim Gray and and suicide website, Lost all Hope. 

Wrapping up, I hope that suicide hotlines would be able to incorporate less hassle when handling cases. They should introduce more follow ups like "Are you feeling better now? Talk to me more about this issue, and let me see what I can do about it. " Also, crisis hotlines should be able tackle their client's problems directly instead of avoiding it. All of these would make the client feel  welcome and warmth because the other person on the line really cares for him or her. Hence, his scales in this case would be to put down that bottle of bleach instead of swigging it like soda. People need love and care to go around. I sincerely hope that each individual considering about suicide would give it one more thought. Walking down the boulevard of broken dreams is hard, but someone will find you very soon, so fret not and be strong. 

I don't understand

Sometimes, I don't understand how this world works anymore. Sometimes, I feel like ripping out my DNA and then re-sequencing them all over so that I don't have to be such a sore loser like I am today. I feel like ripping my double helix apart so that I don't have to exist.

I have called suicide hotlines over and over and all they do is to treat my like a statistic. Hello? Yeah, I um, yeah, I um know that you are feeling down and all that, but feel better okay? Maybe you can try going for psychology courses and couselling. Well sure, if I hadn't been so unhappy that I almost slit my throat, I would not have called. I would not have the guts to call the suicide hotline if I hadn't tried strangling myself and swig bleach like it was soda. My palette, it's all gray and black along with some spit of despise that someone has given me respectfully as a souvenir. Thank you so much for your pity, I really appreciate it. Now let me kneel down and hail you as a king shall I? 

My mom keeps on asking me to marry early even though I just started high school. She keeps on telling me that I must get a good husband. "Your academics are not important. All you need to do, is to get a good man to depend upon and someone to dote upon you. Then, you will just give me my grandson and then my job would be done. " 

Honestly, I felt revolted about the warped mindset of my Mother. The woman who has brought me up as a Tiger Mom, asking me to be Head Prefect, asking me to get a Perfect Score, asking me to get into Gifted Education suddenly vanished. In her place is some person I don't understand and don't fathom. She is now asking me to depend on a man. She is asking me to bury my dreams and then go get a family ASAP. She is trying to persuade me how awesome marriage is.  However, just by observing our current life now, just by seeing how you are stuck in a downward spiralling paranoia makes me scared. Mom, you were the one who taught me the importance of reading, yet, now you prefer TV to books. Mom, you were the one who was against new technology fearing that it will corrode our minds, yet you suggested I get a SmartPhone. Mom, you were the one who taught me that what I wanted to be in life was to be independently wealthy. I should have been a skilled, passionate and driven person. Now, you are telling me to depend on the seperate sex for all my life. 

Okay, this post is not meant to be sexist, I have nothing against the opposite gender. 

But mom, you scared me. Your 180 degree attitude change shattered me instantly. I hate how you think women are worthless. How in our whole lives, we should just be child bearing machines and submit our lives to men. No! This is totally not how it works. I beg to differ and this time, in my whole wide life as goody-two-shoes I disagree with you.

There have been so many things that happened tthat got me thinking, sparked passion within me. In 2007, dad took me to a Nobel Prize exhibit that got me loving Science. In 2011, I was introduced to Shakespeare, poetry and Geography and fell in love with them ever since. This year, I managed to get into Biology Olympiad. I read Campbell's Biology and that opened my eyes to a whole new world. It was really like going for a magic carpet ride. I got to learn so many interesting things in Chemistry. I plan to go on and pursue Plant Biology/Chemistry or Bio-Chemistry as my degree. 

But no, what did you say? No way are you going into Chemistry or Plant Biology. Chemistry is way too dangerous and Plant Biology doesn't earn money. Bio-chemistry is found in the Medical School and you are obviously not cut out to be a doctor. C'mon, studies isn't the most important thing. The important thing is to get married and then enjoy life as a house wife. 

Cool, we're going to owe a projected $15400 in tuition fees in University for moulding me into a housewife. Mom, I loathe how you think that I am worthless just because I get nauseous watching dissection videos. I detest how you forbid me to do what I love to do! People's moms tell them to chase down their dreams like the last bus of the night, you are telling me to give up my dreams because I was not cut out for them.

I don't understand.

Mom, stop sinking in hysteria and anxiety. Stop thinking that you have it worse. Stop thinking you have got an incurable disease when your most recent health checkup was an A+. Stop believing that women were meant to marry men and depend on them. That would make women leeches which I'm certain that the whole world knows that we are not.

I'm sorry that I suck. I'm sorry that I am such a financial burden, that I cannot agree to the rules that you have set for me i.e get married and give birth to triplets at 25. I'm sorry that I'm such a selfish little prick. But mom, I hope you can see that the world isn't all about bearing children and depending on a man to feed you and support you. Mom, people have the right to dream, and that includes women too. Why not give it a try? Have a little faith in life, and uproot the assumption that you are doomed for life. Everyone has their battles and each is fighting hard to see the sunrise. We may be going through hell now, but I'm sure it will get better. [P.s. I will not become another statistic for youth suicide just yet. ] If you let reality pin you down, it will and you will always remain in that position. We need a little motivation, and that is called having a dream. I really wanted to do music, but you said it didn't earn any money. Mom, when you engage in something that you love the most, money is the not the most important concern.

Mom, for once, stop thinking about money and making babies. I feel disgusted. Please excuse me as I go and vomit out all my woes into the toilet bowl. You underestimate me, and I feel the fire flickering in me. I wish I had a normal family and a mom with higher expectations. Are women really cut out just to bear babies and depend on other people? You mean, women cannot go after their dreams? Women are not cut out for achievements like men? We are second-class citizens? No mom. You are dead wrong.

I don't understand your logic anymore.