Die Slowly

Another day at work, another lunch in a local canteen and another ‘death in small dose’ as Pablo Neruda would say…

EVERY day I go for lunch with my colleagues I get a comment about me eating. EVERY SINGLE DAY.

It’s usually about me eating fast. I promise you, anyone would be fast compared to people that eat one noodle or rice grain at a time.

It can also be about me being hungry (we eat the same amount, and I am not particularly fat..), or how expensive my meal is (5 Singaporean dollars compared to the 3 they spend).

EVERY SINGLE FUCKING DAY.

Every single day a bit of me dies. Every single day I wish I did not have to endure this. I wish I was not the different one, but I am. And even when I don’t want to notice it, it’s highlighted to me.

Whilst for many lunch is a break, for me it’s very much a meeting, part of my job.

I don’t want to sound negative, because it is not all bad, but the same comment every day is really hard to bear. It always has. What can I say, I am a sensitive soul.

Today we also talked about dishwashers, and the fact that is not common in Singapore. So young colleagues setting up a new house are not going to buy one because they don’t believe in it.

At my comment “You don’t have to believe in it, it’s not a religion” I had weird faces looking at me, mostly lost. So I am the weirdo that misses having a dishwasher.

Fucking yeah.