Text reads: We are who we are for a lot of reasons. Background contains a paint palette.

We are who we are for a lot of reasons

Last year (I think… I’ve lost all concept of time in 2020) I was asked an interesting question by an old friend:

“Have you always been this shy? Or did something happen to you when you were little?”

At the time I said, “I’ve always been like this”, which I believe to be true.

And my friend said, “That’s cool then. If it was the result of some unresolved trauma you’re not talking about, that would be unhealthy.”

(Just to clarify, my friend is in no way a qualified mental health professional and you should not take any health advice from this blog.)

But I have been thinking lately about why I am the way I am. And there are lots of factors that have shaped me, many of which I probably can’t even identify. However, there is one period of my life that comes to mind.

Pre-primary. I had spent the first few years of my life with older siblings and older cousins. The first day of school was the first time I’d encountered kids my age in the flesh. And it was overwhelming.

I didn’t know how to make friends. I didn’t know how to talk to people. I retreated into safe, familiar things like painting, playdough, and dolls… while doing my best to avoid frightening things I couldn’t control, like outdoor play and other children.

My teacher quickly reached a verdict and called my parents in for a meeting.

“Your daughter thinks she’s too good for the other kids,” said the teacher. “You’re obviously spoiling her at home.”

I moved to a different class, where — after a lot of help from my new teachers — I made some progress. I even got invited to a birthday party later in the year. However, socialising would prove difficult throughout my school years and even now as an adult.

I wouldn’t classify it as “unresolved trauma”. It is what it is. But what if that first teacher had realised/cared that I was struggling, instead of just writing me off as stuck-up? Would I be different? More confident and bubbly? An award-winning conversationalist?

Yeah, probably not. Like I said, there are many factors that have shaped my life and who I am.

But a part of me wonders. What if?

Then again, I’m pretty sure not being able to speak to people helped drive me towards books and writing, so maybe that teacher actually did me a favour. 😛

P.S. If you’ve read my previous posts on this blog, you may have noticed I’ve dropped the “Dear Diary” opening. It was beginning to feel a bit contrived as I’m clearly writing to an audience (not a huge one, but an audience nonetheless). I did briefly consider “Dear friend” like in The Perks of Being a Wallflower, but I wasn’t sure how Stephen Chbosky would feel about that. Especially after I lifted a line from his book for the title of this post. 😀

Text reads: The masked music fan. Image contains a concert crowd and a heartbeat line.

The masked music fan

Dear Diary,

Before the pandemic, if I was out and about for “non-essential” reasons, there was a pretty high likelihood I was going to a gig. I love live music. For someone who took piano lessons for roughly a third of their life, my own playing is rubbish, but I get a buzz out of seeing people who don’t suck do their thing.

However, it was never quite as easy as that.

Because a gig isn’t just the live music. It’s the sweaty bodies squeezing up against you. It’s the randos who want to hug a stranger and scream centimetres away from your face. It’s the beer being waved around in the air and spilling onto your head.

To be fair, I gave up alcohol years ago, and social situations are way out of my comfort zone. So I’m writing from the perspective of an awkward, sober introvert with an anxiety disorder.

But I guess I’ve always had to weigh up whether or not I love a particular band or want to see a particular gig more than I hate the other stuff that comes with it.

And then a global pandemic hit. Which came with its own set of worries. But it also meant I wasn’t constantly thinking about the pros and cons of going out (there was nowhere to go) and I wasn’t really missing out on anything (there was nothing happening). Truth be told, there was a certain freedom in that.

Now there are gigs back on in Western Australia (albeit with restrictions) and I’ve had to make that decision again. Knowing that people are very lax when it comes to social distancing, the thought of being anywhere near a pub or club at the moment freaks me out.

But there was a benefit gig on Saturday, “A little help for our friends”, to raise money for WA-based production companies that have taken a beating during the pandemic. And I decided to go after considering that:

  • the ticket price would hopefully weed out anyone who was just looking to get shitfaced, leaving those who were there for the bands;
  • it was at the Astor Theatre, where one can get a drink, but alcohol isn’t the main point of its existence;
  • the venue was only allowed a 50% capacity so even if no one was social distancing, I’d have a chance of moving away from people who weren’t respecting my personal space;
  • I knew musicians in three of the five bands, and obviously hadn’t seen them play in quite some time;
  • I have some face masks at home and was willing to be the only person wearing one at the gig. And I’m pretty sure I was, but hey, I’m also Asian. In many Asian countries, it’s not a cultural oddity to have a mask on, even when there isn’t a global pandemic.

And I’m glad I went.

I did get shoved around a bit on the dance floor and elbowed in the head on multiple occasions (I’m very short). And towards the end of the night, I was starting to feel a little overwhelmed. But no one spilt anything on me and no one touched me on purpose. And the bands were on fire, some perhaps more so than others, but this is a “Lee-Ann’s issues” review, not a gig review. 😛

So yes, I managed to get out and I had a good time. And with WA in a strong position COVID-wise (fingers crossed it stays that way), hopefully there’ll be more good times in the foreseeable future that aren’t crippled by anxiety. 🙂

Text reads: The curse of the hyphenated name. Background contains a young girl frowning while cupping her face in her hand.

The curse of the hyphenated name

Dear Diary,

I had a frustrating experience not too long ago while trying to make an online purchase. When I entered the billing address, I repeatedly got an error message telling me it contained invalid characters.

After several attempts, I finally released what the invalid character was. The pesky hyphen in my name. I deleted the hyphen and was able to successfully proceed to checkout.

But come on, it’s 2020. It’s not like hyphenated names are terribly unusual.

Alas, it’s not the first time my little hyphen has caused some issues.

For starters, there are lots of people who don’t seem to know what you’re referring to when you say “hyphen”.

I’m constantly having to spell my name out. (People with uncommon names or uncommon spellings will probably relate to this.) More than once when I’ve reached the hyphen, I’ve been met with one of two reactions:

  1. a blank or bewildered expression, as if I’ve just coined a new word.
  2. a brief pause, before the person writes an apostrophe instead. (That’s some cool science fiction shiz right there. 😀 )

I usually end up explaining it as a “dash” and drawing a horizontal line in the air with my finger.

Then there are those who see my name written down and can’t figure out how to read it.

I get called Lee a lot, which I don’t mind. Some of my friends call me Lee or L for short. But I’ve also been called Ann and Annie by multiple people, and I hate it. (There’s nothing wrong with those names, they’re just not me.)

I don’t know if other people with hyphenated names or double names experience the same issues I do, or if I just attract confusion. 😛

Anyway, at the top of the post, I melodramatically described this as a curse. But in all seriousness, I like the name my parents gave me. My first world hyphen problems are more of a quirk than anything else.

But that doesn’t mean I can’t try to educate y’all about the joy of hyphenated names. 😉

Text reads: Embracing the new normal. Background contains a pair of hands pumping liquid soap at a sink.

Embracing the new normal

Dear Diary,

Life is pretty normal. I returned to the office about a month ago, part-time at first, but I’m back to full-time hours now. I’ve gone out for lunch and dinner a few times since COVID-19 restrictions eased, and even though I was nervous beforehand, it’s been fine once I’m there. Though I think my blood pressure goes up whenever someone coughs.

Given the lack of current community transmission in Western Australia, anyone coughing or sneezing in public most likely just has a cold because it’s winter. But the little voice inside my head says, “It could be COVID. They could be spraying killer droplets everywhere. You could get sick. You could get someone else sick. How many times a day do you need to touch your face?!”

Not to mention, I have family and friends in parts of the country and the world where the coronavirus situation isn’t so great.

On the plus side, I’m no longer obliged to shake hands with people. I don’t know why squeezing the germy hands of strangers became A Thing. But I’d be happy to permanently abolish the handshake in favour of any number of non-contact greetings. Bow, Vulcan salute, anjali mudra… the possibilities for not touching people are endless.

Alas, physical distancing seems to have gone out the window in many places. But I like my personal space so when people are keeping a 1.5 metre distance, it’s good. I know those markings on the ground won’t stay forever but I’d be okay if they did.

Oh, and my longtime hand sanitiser habit has not attracted a single snide remark about “OCD” since the pandemic began. I’m finally considered “normal”!

Well, maybe. I am still talking to a blog that can’t talk back, after all… 😀

P.S. Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder is a very real condition. Can we agree to stop trivialising it by using OCD as an adjective for anyone who happens to like being clean or tidy?

P.P.S. This blog is still quite new but it looks like I’m averaging two posts a month. Which is far less than what you’re “supposed” to do but hey, quality over quantity, right? (The “quality” part is debatable. 😛 )

Text reads: Facing the new normal. Background contains surgical masks.

Facing the new normal

Dear Diary,

This week, I returned to the office for the first time since my workplace went into lockdown three months ago. And as much as I like my job and the people I work with, I was… apprehensive.

Plenty of people have developed some form of coronavirus-related anxiety during the pandemic, and I guess I have too. But I also had anxiety before COVID-19. And the line between my usual anxiety and COVID anxiety isn’t clearly defined.

I live in Western Australia, where the number of cases has been low and there doesn’t appear to be community transmission. In other words, there’s no need for panic; we’ve been very fortunate. But I can’t help my thoughts and feelings — only what I do about them.

So on Monday, I got up earlier than I have in months and went to work.

It was nice to see my co-workers in person, rather than through a webcam. Although the office was still quiet compared to normal (or at least the old, pre-COVID normal). Sometimes eerily quiet.

There were some nervous moments, especially on the train, where it can be hard to physically distance yourself from other people. It’s also winter here, and you inevitably come across people with sniffles and other cold-like symptoms. But I got through my first week unscathed and lived to write this to you. 😉

I have no idea what the future brings. But I suppose all I can do is face it as it comes, cover my coughs and sneezes, and wash my hands properly. And hope others are doing the same.