'that even the most intimate individual concerns, those that are most extraneous to the public sphere, are influenced by politics; that is to say, by that complicated, pervasive, irreducible thing that is power and its uses'

i was thinking about what elena ferrante said, 'the personal is political' and how that's true, as in the personal is always political; as in by choosing to write about the personal you are not avoiding being political. i think even in writing which chooses to focus only on the day to day the choice not to engage the forces that shape those actions only points back towards it, that is if i feel it is easier only to write about the things i did today, or the way my feelings change from one hour to another, to believe that those actions can be isolated from the structure of powers that either benefit or disadvantage is to delude myself. if writing is a way of filing the present into memories then to think and write about 'even the most intimate individual concerns' without engaging the wider set of axis (geographical location, nationality, ethnicity, gender, background) that locate me as a person at this point in time presents an incomplete document.

it is easier, of course, to imagine myself that way, as a single image without context; the ease is the point—to concern myself with smaller and smaller units of my existence instead of trying to change things in this shitty world. but if these things so intimately shape my own feelings that i would think that it is easier to not engage them so as to absolve responsibility then i am only giving myself up to a certain void, where i lose and have lost agency. so anyway what i mean is if i am writing to examine my feelings then i want to remember that by choosing to write about the personal i am not avoiding being political.

a few days ago a friend and i were talking about a wallstreetoasis thread i was reading—it was this one i think http://www.wallstreetoasis.com/forums/relationship-question-not-the-usual-one—and given that wso is mostly made up of extremely male responses that you have to sift through i said it was nice to know that some people offered opinions along the lines of 'the person you're with is more important than your career', but that even then there seemed a sense that people aligned themselves or offered solidarity first and foremost according to gender, and that this was obviously problematic to me, and she said, 'haha i find feminists very hyper aware', and i said 'are you calling me a feminist', and she said, 'yes, you are', and i said 'what do you mean by hyper aware, what am i hyper aware of?' and she said, 'you know, how ingrained chauvinism is in society', and i said 'but u have to make people aware of it, it's something that can be changed unlike other things',  and she said 'i get it if you're talking about other places in the world where they don't have equal rights but if someone makes a joke i don't see the need to start an intellectual debate about it, like check yourself', and i felt like flying into a rage and said 'but why is it funny to begin with? like if someone makes a joke where a woman is defined only in sexual terms why is it funny?'' and now typing this: how divorced are you from reality if you think that gender inequality, translated across the world into concrete terms like equal pay or equal rights or abusive marriages, has nothing to do with the day to day perception of females as defined by males?

reading her interview/feature with the nytimes mag after i woke up this morning i felt immediately annoyed at how the writer portrayed nicki minaj's beef with taylor swift and miley cyrus as all part of a 'revenge drama that played out on various screens', i mean by characterising them this way she simultaneously trivialises and points back to the issues nicki tried to raise. the writer asks nicki about 'thriving off drama':

She pointed my way, her extended arm all I could see other than the diamonds glinting in her ears. This wasn’t over yet. ‘‘That’s the typical thing that women do. What did you putting me down right there do for you?’’ she asked. ‘‘Women blame women for things that have nothing to do with them. I really want to know why — as a matter of fact, I don’t. Can we move on, do you have anything else to ask?’’ she continued. ‘‘To put down a woman for something that men do, as if they’re children and I’m responsible, has nothing to do with you asking stupid questions, because you know that’s not just a stupid question. That’s a premeditated thing you just did.’’ She called me ‘‘rude’’ and ‘‘a troublemaker,’’ said ‘‘Do not speak to me like I’m stupid or beneath you in any way’’ and, at last, declared, ‘‘I don’t care to speak to you anymore.’’

the writer tries to justify herself (in writing the article) by explaining what she meant by drama: "in pop-culture idiom, ‘‘drama’’ is the province of Real Housewives with nothing better to do than stick their noses where they don’t belong. I was more interested in a different kind of drama — the kind worthy of an HBO series, in which your labelmate is releasing endless dis tracks against your boyfriend and your mentor is suing your label president for a king’s ransom". as if that distinction she made between 'real housewives' and 'HBO series' made any real sense, when they both remain tv series aka caricature of real life/'entertainment for other people's pleasure'. by defining these men in relation to her 'your labelmate' and 'your boyfriend' and 'your mentor' and 'your label president' the writer also defines nicki in relation to them—suggesting that her life/internal order is somehow dominated or can be overridden by these babies fighting with each other. so nicki calls the writer out on this and throws the embarrassing reporter out and everyone is pleased, the media has something to write another thinkpiece about, but i think the point is her honesty

for example: ‘When I was younger,’’ she explained, ‘‘I thought that the only reason my mother didn’t leave my father was for financial reasons.’’ She went on: ‘‘From early on in my life, I looked at a woman not having her money as the biggest curse,’’ and then added, ‘‘Now that I’m an adult, I realize that women stay whether a man’s rich or poor. It’s just a weakness.'

anyway i was thinking about all of this today, about the importance of remaining critical about things around you and also the things that make up your [self], and to call people out on shit like that, but also to remember that the reason i have become more aware about it is because of my friends/the people i've met in london, because friends like stacey and diane and sophie prioritise these issues and talk about it, because i met people who wrote about these things and pointed them out to me, i am so grateful for it. a lot of times i think about the kind of people i am interested in, not just 'the type of guy' i feel physically attracted to but my friends in general—looking at my friends, at the people i would walk away from, instinctively i think i've always felt interested in people who don't invest in gender performance—although in the past i wouldn't have the vocabulary to understand that. i feel very uninterested in the performance of masculinity, guys who pride themselves on being Men, embodying male traits, i am so sick of that! i remember walking down old compton road towards dean street (soho) and hearing a guy tell his friend about a girl he was interested in, 'aw you gotta fuck those legs man, lock them down' and recoiling in horror, i have managed to organise my life such that none of the guys i am friends with would ever unsarcastically say that. but on the other side of the spectrum, girls who feel the need to compete with each other, stop! when will we stop aligning with the structure that defines us solely in terms of our value to them? being in single-sex schools, being taught since forever to value femininity, the way singapore socialises people as they grow up, those might be reasons for the way gender seems so strongly established in our minds but they aren't excuses, why should one excuse patriarchy? where are the other people in singapore who feel that way, can we be friends?
sometimes im like i can do it—grow up, live here, move on; it's easy to focus on things in a three to four hour window: what i want now, what i want next, whether i'm comfortable or bored or too warm or craving something, to satiate those wants or curiosities then move on to the next; move from bed to kitchen back to bed, like when my grandma calls me and asks me to ask my mom about something, and then i call my mom and she asks me to call my grandma again, i feel absorbed in the flow of one act to another; other times though i am reminded of and unnerved by something from a long time ago, a bad memory, a bad time, a bad image. the other things absent from my life as it is right now. sudden distance makes the best of relationships feel unsatisfying. what is the opposite of moored? i feel that

spent most of dream leisurely walking in a single direction with ben, we were in new york/lower east side, and i felt happy and pleasant to be there, not having to rush to be anywhere, watching the shops change on either side of the street as we headed north back to our apartment. at some point, the road began to slope upwards and after a while we found the road brought us to the top of the hill, later, in a car park we continued walking purposefully, ben wanted to find a pub to get a beer in, i tried tweeting about how happy i felt in the cool weather but couldn't get my tweet to post (as is usual in my dreams)


fell into a deep sleep in the late afternoon, woke up after hearing my dad come home from work and tried to get out of bed to turn on the light, only to find that i was still in bed, still dreaming, felt frightened and aware that i wasn't able to move my body and tried to wake myself up again, got out of bed and walked downstairs to look for my mom, only to realise feel the blankets around me and realise i had not woken up, was still asleep, got increasingly frightened and felt around my bed for my phone, found it and tried to turn it on, realised that the fact that it couldn't turn on was because i was still asleep, started screaming 'please help me' but couldn't hear anything coming out of my mouth, felt like there was a heavy weight on my tongue making it impossible for me to speak, looked for my phone again and used it to hit my face, to see if i could feel any pain, if i felt pain how could i still be asleep, found myself lying in bed again, touched my eyes and they seemed to be closed and that what i was seeing wasn't the reality that i wanted to return to, looked for phone again to try to turn it on, to call someone and instead found two phones, felt desperate and scared and felt around bed for phone again and instead found my laptop, opened it and the screen lit up and i started crying from relief and fear .. left my room immediately bc i couldn't stand the memory of being paralysed in my bed.. sleep paralysis is truly hell i've never felt such visceral fear before


part one: dreamt mom came down the stairs and said to me 'i read your blog, i can't believe you blogged about using tor' and i said 'mom it's fine' and dad said 'yeah there's nothing wrong with using tor, in fact i'm proud of my daughter for knowing how to use it' then he high-fived me and i grinned bc dad was defending me, then i added 'also, i just got vpn so i'll be fine' (which i did, irl, bought a vpn service the day before)

part two: was walking down the stairs in a white long dress, holding a bouquet of flowers there were a train of people behind me and it seemed like i was about to enter my own wedding ceremony, and i was nervous but excited to be marrying ben; a few seconds later i was standing next to ben and people were in small groups chatting loudly, and there were a few people speaking to me, and i whispered into ben's ears, what happened, did we say our vows already, and he said yeah, and i said i don't remember that happened, the last thing i remembered is walking down the stairs, how did i blank out for the last hour or so, he said i don't know, i kept thinking wth happened, how did i miss out on that

part three: was on a train heading back home/london after traveling, with max and rowan it seems, or two people who resembled the roles max and rowan play in my life aka really great friends and therefore the way being around them makes me feel, there wasn't any anxiety present and i didn't feel self-conscious. as we got off the train i realised that we were in brighton, or that the way we were returning to england was through brighton, and i remembered that laurens stayed very close to the station (which is not true, he used to stay like.. twenty mins away and i think he's maybe moved since then) and so we decided to visit him instead of spending the night waiting for our ferry by the port. in the morning we left just an hour or two before our ferry departed, and by the ferry was a fish market, there seemed to be enough time so we wandered through it, splitting up to look at the things we wanted to. there were several japanese food stalls wedged between fish stalls, i remember looking at the menu/signs written in japanese and seeing pictures of katsu don, then thinking, no i can't eat katsu don, i'm allergic to egg now, then wandering off to the next stall. i couldn't really find anything i wanted to eat so i circled the different stalls again, peering at the items on display in the glass cabinets, oysters, fresh fish that i wouldn't be able to eat immediately. wanted to get something for ben so walked back to the fried tempura vegetables and decided to get slices of fried battered sweet potato, she placed them in a little plastic bag for me and then i left the market, went back outside only to find that the ferry had left because i had spent too much time trying to decide what food to get. i sat down in a bathroom and cried while eating my fried sweet potatoes
Q. I fully respect your choice, and I’m sure you are tired of this question, but I have to ask it: At what stage in your writing life, and in what spirit, did you choose anonymity? Was it meant, as in the ancient epics, to give the story precedence over the storyteller? To protect your family and loved ones? Or simply to avoid the media, as you’ve said in the past?

A. If I may, I didn’t choose anonymity; the books are signed. Instead, I chose absence. More than 20 years ago I felt the burden of exposing myself in public. I wanted to detach myself from the finished story. I wanted the books to assert themselves without my patronage. This choice created a small polemic in the media, whose logic is aimed at inventing protagonists while ignoring the quality of the work, so that it seems natural that bad or mediocre books by someone who has a reputation in the media deserve more attention than books that might be of higher quality but were written by someone who is no one. But today, what counts most for me is to preserve a creative space that seems full of possibilities, including technical ones. The structural absence of the author affects the writing in a way that I’d like to continue to explore.

Q. What is the best thing that you hope readers could take away from your work?

A. That even if we’re constantly tempted to lower our guard — out of love, or weariness, or sympathy or kindness — we women shouldn’t do it. We can lose from one moment to the next everything that we have achieved.

'I've started to assess my emotions and give them a number on a scale of 1-10. As a lifelong avoider of feelings, I can't always describe exactly what I am experiencing—but I can always tell if it's a 3 (mild discomfort) or if it's a 10 (definitely dying).

Recently I put the number system into play while having lunch with a professional acquaintance who was visiting my city. For normal people, this doesn't sound like a huge deal, but I'm not normal people. We were just finishing our food and I was about to drive her to her hotel, when suddenly, I was hit with a weird-ass feeling, like a wave of existential sadness. What freaked me out the most was there was really no reason I should be experiencing this feeling. What was this sadness? Was I going to cry in front of this person? How would I hold it together enough to drive her to her hotel?

The thing is, the sadness itself wasn't totally unmanageable. If I were to give it a number, I'd say it was about a 4. You can drive on a 4. You can continue living. But my fear around the sadness, the thoughts that catapulted it into high anxiety, ratcheted me up to about an 8 or 9. 8 and 9 are far less doable than a 4. So what I discovered was that it was actually my reaction to the feeling, and not the feeling itself, that made me feel like I was dying. This thought somehow brought me back down to about a 5. I suffered some, but not as badly as I have in the past.'


i finished reading all four of the neapolitan novels recently and i really loved them, i think i want to read them all over again.

 i keep thinking about these two quotes:

'Leave, instead. Get away for good, far from the life we’ve lived since birth. Settle in well-organised lands where everything really is possible. I had fled, in fact. Only to discover, in the decades to come, that I had been wrong, that it was a chain with larger and larger links: the neighbourhood was connected to the city, the city to Italy, Italy to Europe, Europe to the whole planet. And this is how I see it today: it’s not the neighbourhood that’s sick, it’s not Naples, it’s the entire earth, it’s the universe, or universes.'
—those who leave and those who stay by elena ferrante (book 3)

‘I’m alive, now, here, ten steps from the water, and it is not at all beautiful, it’s terrifying; along with this beach, the sea, the swarm of animal forms, I am part of the universal terror; at this moment I’m the infinitesimal particle through which the fear of everything becomes conscious of itself; I; I who listen to the sound of the sea, who feel the dampness and the cold sand; I who imagine all Ischia, the entwined bodies of Nino and Lila, Stefano sleeping by himself in the new house that is increasingly not so new, the furies who indulge the happiness of today to feed the violence of tomorrow. Ah, it’s true, my fear is too great and so I hope that everything will end soon, that the figures of the nightmares will consume my soul. I hope that from this darkness packs of mad dogs will emerge, vipers, scorpions, enormous sea serpents. I hope that while I’m sitting here, on the edge of the sea, assassins will arrive out of the night and torture my body. Yes, yes, let me be punished for my insufficiency, let the worst happen, something so devastating that it will prevent me from facing tonight, tomorrow, the hours and days to come, reminding me with always more crushing evidence of my unsuitable constitution. Thoughts like that I had, the frenzied thoughts of girlish discouragement. I gave myself up to them, for I don’t know how long.’
—the story of a new name, elena ferrante (book 2)

'it will shock you how much it never happened'

this keeps coming back to mind.. it will shock you how much it never happened.. i took a while to remember where i heard it, at first i thought it was from a book maybe, and tried to remember the ones that seemed important to me over the last year, then realised it was from season 1/2 of mad men .. sad that mad men is over nothing will ever be as good as that show

some dreams i've had recently

my dreams seem to be taking on new shape, where in a dream i am consciously referring to past dreams as a concrete memory, or seem to possess memories that are different from my real memories. i mean, my dream self seems to have a continuity of identity of its own. also, i seem to realise at some point in my dream that i'm dreaming, if i'm having a nice time in my dream that realisation makes me relax in a way that's like i've decided to enjoy the ride, if i'm having a sinister kind of dream i feel like i'm banging on a glass wall screaming and hoping someone will hear me and wake me up. i kept a written dream journal for a while but i feel kind of anxious about keeping things externally and piling up more memories to refer to, in material form, just gonna post abt them here.

kept waking myself up from saying things aloud, as though increasingly anxious or desperate in dream. i don't remember much of it now except in drifts, at some point i was walking around raffles girls primary school, as though it was the place i had done junior college, and we were done with jc and so was trying to organise a party for people to go to, and i remember asking mom if we could use "her place" for the party, and remembered having a party there before. now that i'm awake i recognise that i've never been to a place like that, which seems funny given how vivid i recalled, in the dream, the layout of the place, furnished like a don draper apartment, a carpeted floor that sunk into a circle forming a sofa. i kept trying to find a place ben and i could be alone but it seemed like there were people everywhere we went. then i woke up

at one point i was in a car with my sister and dad, driving past the stretch of road between sixth ave and mgs, i looked out at the row of shops and perceived that to be london, thinking oh how envious i am of my sister for returning to a place that's exciting and always turning over, which seems funny to me now given that what i was referring to in my dream was singapore, i could have gotten out of the car, obviously. later, i was at a restaurant that was opposite the area around coronation plaza, i knew that bc i perceived going home (though that's no longer where i live) as being easy, i could walk across the overhead bridge and be 'home'. at the restaurant were people from my class in jc, but they were part of the group of people i went to berlin with in february. it was a thai restaurant maybe, kind of dim with little graphic design, and mirrors next to the tables. i felt very thirsty and kept walking to the counter to ask for a glass of water, then would walk drinking all of it immediately before i reached the table, then walked back to the counter for more. i did that four times i think, then sat down and exclaimed i drank so much water, like 5 litres, then realised that that was definitely an exaggeration, so corrected myself and said, more like 2 or 3 litres. before we left, i said in mandarin to ben — i've been speaking in chinese more often in my dreams it's really cool — '我要走了,你想跟我会吗?'

at another point i remember opening an envelope that i received in the mail, in singapore, and finding the contents tampered with, and found a letter from the postal authority saying 'you do not need ritalin for your psoriasis so we have kept the medication' .. lmao i do not have psoriasis

i was in a shopping centre someone was asking me to do something, or trying to turn my attention to something else, but i was like i think just saw kanye, and took the escalator diagonally across and a level up to see if it was him, but it wasn't, the person checking out the plotted plant sale just had a similar silhouette to kanye, but just as i realised it wasn't him kanye and kim appeared, with some body guards, and tapped me on the shoulder and i said omg hi, and he said i'm just about to go in for my show, wanna go back stage, and so we joined him on the escalator really excited, drake was with him and he said 'can you hold my hand' in a joking way, which in my dream i perceived as him playing into the impression he knows ppl have of him and therefore found it funny. kanye and drake were nice to us but kim kept to herself/looked at her phone a lot, which i perceived as being 'wifey'. later, backstage i tried trying to tweet drake held my hand but the tweet wouldn't go through - it's funny how this happens in my dreams, like given that it is a dream tweet there is no reason why it shouldn't work, but somehow this always happens, like my snapchat will crash or ill spend a long time trying to tweet something but the tweet wont post, in my dream. also we were offered weed and i said no thank you, but ash was like just have some it's the chewing kind (???) so i put a leaf in my mouth and then got really high, and missed when kanye played 'all day'

21/9/2015 (night before we planned on going to ai wei wei exhibition)
earlier, was in a beautiful theme park of some kind, at least a tourist attraction, or the sense that the place was 'marked off' from the rest of the world; there were colonial era buildings with large white columns, people mostly seemed peaceful, then suddenly everyone started running because there were dinosaurs coming down the road, i was with my family and rachel and charlotte's family, but we ended up splitting off from each other because our dads needed to take care of their own family

later, was in scgs canteen when i spotted ai wei wei, who seemed to be alone and not have been recognised by anyone yet. i asked him to take a picture with me and he good-naturedly agreed, posing symmetrically with me, i held both my hands up towards him like a lighsabre, and he did the same, such that our hands formed an 'X', while we smiled towards the camera. we took some drugs together, and then i sat down to watch him paint pale flowers with a set of watercolours,  thinking wow, he paints as well, i didn't realise. a bunch of people noticed he was painting/that he was ai wei wei, and came to sit at the bench/table in between me and ai wei wei, and i was irritated for i wanted an uninterrupted interaction with ai wei wei, and not to compete for his attention. i decided to leave, and told ai wei wei that i'd meet him later and he passed his phone to the girl next to him to pass to me so i would have his number, but the girl was like i'm going to keep his number too, and i snatched the phone out of her hand and said um as if, and she snatched it back out of mine and said something irritatingly untrue, which i can't remember right now, but i'm guessing something along racial lines, because i punched her in the face, then grabbed the phone back and tried to read the number off ai wei wei's phone but couldn't focus because, i then realised, i was high, and then ai wei wei came over and tried to separate us from fighting. because i realised his friendly attitude towards me was turning, i apologised and said to him in chinese, sorry sir, if you remember, we took drugs together earlier, so i am still high and he was like oh ok, haha, me too, then typed his number into my phone

last night i went to a wake for the first time, for my godma’s mother.. the place/sanctuary was nice, larger than i expected and well lit in a way that you wouldn’t associate with death. no one seemed particularly upset or over emotional.. but i saw a dead body for the first time. i didn’t expect to see her inside the casket, she was so beautifully made up, with a peaceful expression on her face but you could tell that there wasn’t anyone inside, lifeless, just an empty shell. i looked away almost immediately, felt horrified and suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to run out of the place and squat next to my parents’ car to be alone and cry. later, sitting down at one of the tables with my mom and dad drinking warm barley, dad started talking to someone he knew that he hadn’t seen in a while and introduced me as his daughter and the man said “why hello cutie”, and smiled in a way that made me feel rlly rlly uncomfortable
new issue of “poems in which” is alive and i did a poem for it abt the time kanye west came to london for s/s 2015 fashion week earlier in march this year and announced a surprise concert at koko on twitter n i screamed bc i had spent the whole day at my laptop n went to the kitchen to make food n got caught up in a long conversation w my flatmate abt whether or not we wanted to stay in london then went back to my laptop n twitter and realised that all the tickets had been sold out

interviewer: how does it feel to be far away from everyone you love?
typing this on plane from london to singapore

right now its 22:57
11 hours left to singapore

at part of flight where ive taken a couple of xanax and waiting for it to kick in n also eaten most of the food i brought with me - a chicken quinoa salad n a granola bar n a banana - im always paranoid im gna starve to death on the plane.. like its a real fear, that ill run out of food .. seems funny

tho flight stewardess just rolled food cart down.. i always rly like sq’s airplane food n the chicken stew looks rlly yummy

anyway this past week was nice.. got to spend a lot of time w everyone

on sunday we finally got back from greece n i slept for 12 hours

on monday i said bye to rowan n matt n we had dinner at cay tre n i bawled on the way home reading the card she wrote for me

on wed went to franco manca for lunch, had a shitty pizza without cheese.. do not recommend pizza without cheese isnt worth it. then ben n i got haircuts at the same time hehe .. at night ash came over n she made a spinach risotto for us

on thursday i had dinner w basc ppl at vu viet that was nice n after that chris came over to drink in the observatory until after midnight

on friday ben n i met crispin ash n mat at pemby tavern then back to walthamstow, mat got keys n left while we waited for benzo to come on train after us, played jenga n drug dealer then ben n i took the n26 home

on saturday i went to chinatown to get roast duck for everyone, met camilla in the main square n then we took 176 down to crystal park palace, as we were walking towards the park i thought i saw someone who looked like ben across the road and then it was him, that was really sweet, then we walked together to meet everyone else on the steps. went to a pub, got chips n drank in the garden, did bombs then went back to joe’s house n then took an uber home around 3.30am

on sunday woke up around 11, got dressed and camilla rang to say she was outside, we walked down to the west side of victoria park to see the dog show, the weather was really nice compared to most of the rest of the week, sun finally out, we came just after best rescue dog was over, i liked how many dogs there were everywhere, split up after for me camilla fred and ben to have pho then walked back to the pemby for drinks + roast.. ben left to skype his parents around 9.30pm n i stayed till everyone left, went back to his

on monday spent most of the day packing then met mat n joe n ange at montagu pyke (?) everyone trickled in, camilla was coincidentally there too, walked down to woo jung for last dinner w everyone n had soondubu n fried chicken, then had gelupo at the new shop, said bye to mat, sat at chandos, said tearful bye to crispin rach joe n ange, took 26 home

tuesday, today, woke up and met camilla in burlington house courtyard, said bye to her, went for ai wei wei exhibition, met kiera at borough market then walked back to sister’s to do a final packing, ash came over as well.. it was raining when we left, fell asleep in cab after crying, woke up as we were pulling into the terminal and the sky seemed beautiful.. said bye to ben n cried the whole way thru security

gonna give myself two weeks to be depressed in my bedroom w the blinds down all day & keep fucked up hours bc of jetlag & not leave house .. cry abt missing everyone/everything i love abt london & fact that ben n i are back to doing a ldr again .. then im gna get out of bed n try to make the best out of this god damn life

things to do
unpack, throw away stuff i dont want, driving license, frame camilla’s sketch, hang up paintings, find/make gf df egg free brownies, reply to all galavant emails, start dream journal again, make a list of food i can eat for mom, milk blog elena ferrante books, find good pho here

list of weird things/supplements im taking now for immune system
diatomaceous earth, raw garlic, oregano oil, coconut oil, spirulina, AFA

things to focus on
convalescing, getting healthy again, being strict abt cutting out all food allergies/intolerances, getting to spend more time with & take care of mama, editing, writing, reading, maybe getting a dog