As I was trying to remember the name of this life hack blog he once sent me, I referred back to our whatsapp chats. To my surprise, I had no inclination to read anything I’ve sent him or he has sent me. I went directly to the links section, had a glance at his alluring profile pic, found the link, and quit whatsapp.

Then I don’t want to read this blog anymore. I want to document this moment.

The orchids he gave me is absolutely dead. I gave up two days ago. Since our so-called broke up, everytime I lay my eyes on the tsundere flowers, I feel something different. Something is evolving. I know it is evolving to the right direction, ebbing and waning, on and off. But I kind of wished I had more time to remember them. The tiny clicks. I might miss his lips one morning, and disgusted by the way he talks about beans.

It just doesn’t matter anymore.

This might be the fastest time I’m coming out of a relationship. I think I came out of 3, actually. I still had feelings for my previous crush when I met this one, and I had feelings for another boy while dating this one. Now I’m over all these three.

What a progress.

This sentense can be used to describe my entire year of 2020.

What a progress.

As I’m moving into the phase of setting up the company culture and whatever it is related to emotions, happiness, image, values, I realized that I’ve created something that as long as it survives, it will share the name with me.

That’s why it has to live. Live long and prosper. Longer than a lifetime. So I can be proven. I can be proven in this world that I’m not really buying. I don’t obey the rules but I know when I could break them, when I could only play under them.

A completely new feeling for the world.

Besides romantic relationships, another milestone is the relationship with my co-founder. I’ve tried so hard to motivate her, crush her, elevate her and squeezed her to be the kind of co-founder I wanted, while she was doing the same to me, but in a much delicate and milder way. Now we both gave up. The only solution possible for another scale-up.

I guess this is it. The thing that suits all relationships, is to give up trying to change the other and see if it is still possible for you to get comfortable together. Don’t try to change them. Nor yourself. Change your perspective.

Can’t wait for 2021.

I was ironing my clothes. Alone in the spacious living room. In my headphones, pianists Valeria Szervanszky and Ronald Cavaye were playing some Maurice Ravel. Impressionists water me well.

They turned me into a drainage system that’s finally working again. Rust were flushed away. Onto the iron, through my crumpled cloths, was my childhood unraveled on the ironing board.

My grandma passed away around 2 months ago. Thursday, Erma had a stroke and was declared hopeless. Now she is waiting for someone to stop the oxygen.

“Erma” is the widow of my uncle, my mom’s older brother who passed away 8 years ago. “Er” means second, “Ma” means mom. That’s how we call her in the village. On Thursday, after cooking lunch for my mom, Erma was found curled up in the corner of the bathroom unconscious. She was sent to the hospital immediately. While waiting for the ambulance, my mom took a needle and pierced all 10 fingertips of Erma’s to reduce the blood pressure.

Doctors said thanks to the pierced fingers, she was not dead before arriving at the hospital. But that was too much bleeding in the brain. There is no way she could survive a surgery. Yesterday, they took her back home.

When my dad sent me the text, saying grandma had passed away, it sounded like an relieved ending to a story, a certain period of time, a struggling era that could also be a start for everyone involved. I felt the grieveness penetrated me from my dad’s thoughts to mine. Personally, I couldn’t even remember any interaction with my grandma. All the images in my mind were too sad and pitiful to be remembered.

“Erma always said that when you’re back, she will cook this chicken dish for you. She remembers you liked it.” Mom told me on the phone Thursday.

I don’t remember the dish. But I remember a lot of things about Erma.

She was loud. She speaks loud, laughs loud, scolds loud, crys loud.

She always had such strong energy above people. Yes my mom and I we are very well-educated, she probably didn’t even finish middle school. But sometimes we feel like pupils in front of her.

Erma cooks a lot. A lot of very salty dishes, with loads of soy sauce and lard. Even though I couldn’t remember any one of those, I remembered me getting drunk one New Year’s Eve, I took too much local alcohol (50+ degrees). Erma thought I was such a badass hero.

I had to pretend that I liked her dish. She will be very happy and talk to me with her awfully accentuated mandarin: “Thank you!”

I was so bored living at her place. All I do was playing poker with myself, or one of the cousins that are not so village-styled. If I read too much, she will say, “Don’t study! It’s bad for your eyes! Come downstairs and play!”

Even if I was only reading greasy soap opera romantic stories.

The last time I saw Erma. She lost her husband. 8 years ago. I was tired of the mourning ceremonies when everyone came faking tears and repeating the same comforting words to her and her two daughters.

I wrote a song about it. “5 Bold Guys of the Funeral Band”. That was the name.

I was such a mean kid. Erma. I was not as good as you always think I was. You think being smart is everything. But it’s not.

I couldn’t go back to you anymore. The kind of life I fear of having when I was younger, is now unachievable, not anymore. Erma.

I’ve always had more freedom. Everytime I go back to the village, I would be showered in the eyes of jealousy. But more loneliness. Erma.

I know you knew that. That’s why you tried so hard to keep me accompany. You tried so hard to make me talk and smile. Then whenever I entered a fight with my mom and was ready to receive a slap on the face, you’ll pull me away and give me something sweet to eat. Those sweets tasted awful.

I’d like to smile for you again. Erma.

I’d like to talk to you about all the things you would not understand until you doze off. But I’ll keep on talking.

Until you dive deep into your sweet dreams.

Uncle will be there with you. Erma.

You don’t need to cry loud anymore.

713MB. The size of my first Zoom meeting recording. It was the one with this Cali Guy Brian.

During our entire talk, I can’t stop tracing back to my early days in this industry, when I forced “Angelo the coffee godfather” / my “George Clooney in Coffee” to tell me everything. He had a mask with Trump’s face on it. He hangs a huge picture of the entire team wearing Chinese army uniforms back in the 50s. He used to run a coffee museum in Zurich. He was the only one who were serving Hawaiian coffee beans in Berlin, as far as I know.

If it happens again, I might be able to distinguish if he is faking his passion in a commercial way, or exhibiting every tiny detail he can, like Brian did today.

As streams merge into rivers, the questions “where we started at the first place? ” popped up multiple times this week. Did we really try to build a money-printing vampire? A monopoly in the new coffee industry? Did I want to become someone to be labelled as “the coffee queen” or “a successful female entreprenuer”?

If that was truly the goal, why did it take us too long?

What did we really want?

There has been many mistakes I’ve made during the 3.5 years of entrepreneurship. At some point, I’ve stopped counting them, or even categorizing them as mistakes. I don’t care if I make mistakes. I only care about how to move forward. I only care about now, what’s the next step?

The first one is believing in an ideal reality that can be 100% actualized by creating and owning something conceived purely from my mind.

The truth is, we make sacrifices on the way, some of which we don’t even noticed. One day, I suddenly realized that I don’t have the craving to write songs anymore. I can’t compose a logical article that’s more than 1500 words with depth. I can’t stand talking to people about a topic that’s fun but irrelevant from whatever I’m doing, especially if I don’t find this person very attractive.

I don’t have the time.

Even if I have, I’d rather spend it with my own thoughts, strategizing, pruning, or getting reading for the next sharp move.

I use to have much more fantasies about the future. Like the fantastic future will land in front of me like a hot balloon. I’ll jump on it. It will take me to the end of the world.

The second one is I’ll never ask for help if I can do something by myself. Now I’m ruled over by the concept of “interdependence”. I learned how to cry for help as well as how to give hints to people whom I’m seeking help from, even when this help is not that urgent sometimes not necessary, and I don’t have to get this from him/her.

If I don’t cry, nobody will know I need it. I have to fall badly, or at least pretending that I’ll fall badly, so that people will offer their helping hand, even if they don’t, they will bear in mind that I’ve tried hard.

Tearing my image of a “well-educated relaxed bobo lady who never worries about life” was one of the biggest movement going on with my innerself. I’m still fighting for it.

All of a sudden, people realized that I’m smart and obsessed with work. They used to think I’m lazy, rich and a beautiful face.

I thought I’d become an actress when I grew up. Now I am. In some secret sense. Although I’m not sure I have a beautiful face anymore.

The third one is I thought I could enjoy extremely inspirational and loving relationship as soon as I’ve accomplished something in my work. Then I fell in love with my work.

I used to love coffee, then coffee people, now I love devising business models in gastronomy. Creating extensions and try to validate them. I’ll soon fall in love with extensions of business models and forget about the kind of relationship I’ve dreamed about in the first place. It was probably an illusion.

I can have a relationship running, as long as it doesn’t interfere my efficiency at work. I can go meet somebody, as long as I can relate our conversations to my work, or my work life balance, one way or another.

I’ve shortlisted the things I would do within my scarce freetime after work: fine dining, high quality drinking, meeting up only valuable friends, social networking, interesting sport sessions, language training, moments with art and nature, moments with myself.

All these lessons that I can’t appreciate are valuable ones that sometimes make me sad.

But stronger.

Sadness is a strength.

The moment I almost burst into tears when he was in bed with me. I knew, I could let go of this. This intricate romance that only manifest itself with the most energy-saving torch. I’ve prepared myself to leave it from day one.

I carefully counted how many times we’ve met. How many times we’ve slept together. How many times he said anything complimentary, even when it ends with doubt or sarcasm. How many moments I felt happily in love, before the feeling vanished within one instance.

The time we were lying in bed with the meditation music, weirdly and stiffly holding hands. No, our bodies were soft, but the act of holding hands was stiff. The grapefruit scent is flying in the room, from something I only bought to slim my body, not his.

30 minutes before that, I almost burst into tears.

I knew for sure, I was prepared for our separation, no matter when it will happen. I’ve been preparing for so long.

But I don’t want to leave him. Not yet.

I’ve came to understand my inability to express myself, to maintain a light-hearted mood, to succumb to fundamental needs, to show the deepest vulnerability, to get mad at people, to say stupid things and cry, to forget about work and focus on the person in front of me, to get comfortable with being rejected or ignored.

All of the things I couldn’t possibly do in relationships.

Not only in relationships. I couldn’t even show investors how hard I’ve worked. I want to be able to share my hardship and struggles, but everything was kind of belittled when I talked about them.

On top of my inability to maintain a disciplined life, to focus and always deliver like a machine, to not take indulging moments as a relief for stress, etc. All the things I’ll excuse myself of being imperfect with style.

When a hopeless moment hits like now, I write.

So I can go back to work.

Monday, in my PJ and dim lights, I finally stepped one toe into the career that I know at some time I’ll spend the rest of my life working on —- angel investing. I listened to two well-dressed eloquent Russian classmates presenting their Chatbot project on Zoom. One score up.

As I thought I had given the best of my thought into it without any preparation, my friend J —- the middle man of this meeting —- said, please shorten your sentences. Be succinct. One score down.

Tuesday, in a smoky bangkok barbecue house, I consulted a winery – an industry I’ve always admired to join – on their offers to sell wine in China online. We checked forecast models on spreadsheets with the smell of smoky ribs. On getting deep into the conversation, she said, wine industry is lucrative. Two scores up.

Wednesday, all of a sudden, by inviting him to a Zoom meeting, I realized that I now have a boyfriend. I prepared the meeting so well with an agenda, prerequisites and disclaimers. Otherwise I might not have known.

It was a happy conversation. Ten scores up. But as I’m summarizing now, I’m drown by my incapacity with ambiguity in relationships. As the exhileration is over, why doesn’t he want to meet me over the weekend, or simply text, or simply tell me what he is up to? Is it my fault?

At least eight scores down.

Insecurity is my own issue to deal with. Maybe I’m somewhat stupid and dogmatic with relationships. I’ve tried to minimize the fantasies and hints under certain moments of “feeling in love”. The relentless imaginary plots arising like clouds before storms. But I still feel tremendously puzzled. So I tried not to think about them.

My friend commented, no you’re just inexperienced. You fall in love drastically but you’re SO inexperienced in a relationship. It’s cute! This contrast! Two scores up.

Plus, you like weird and extreme guys. Usually very smart. She added.

Thursday, I made my way into a group consisting top VCs and companies interested in meeting them. One score up!

I made my first move by introducing myself and my company in front of 370+ total strangers. My heart was shaking when I clicked “enter”. Then I heard my Boston BFF shouted at my ears: Be a proper grownup! 0.5 score up, maybe.

Friday, I got 15+ VC contacts. Some even said, “waiting for your proposal!” Six scores up!

Plus I met my first gynecologist. She thought I’m overly nervous so she asked me if I’m a virgin. I said no. She said, do you hate gynecologist. I smiled and couldn’t reply.

I’m just scared of them. One score up with doubt.

Saturday, a friend’s friend came to our place and he was constantly talking for 9 hours straight until all of us were tired. Maybe one hour of it was worth the time. And another hour was worth the food, another hour for the champaign. In general, I wasted 6 hours with him (if one hour of friction time was included).

But the only one hour we’ve talked about, he gave me extremely precious ideas about how to strategically write my business plan, which might be even more valuable than 7 hours of talk with any other person who won’t be interested in this. Hard to tell.

This one is a double-edge one. Maybe one score up because I’m a positive person. Or at least I tried to be.

But I ate too much on both Friday and Saturday following the strong emotional upheavals. Gained 1kg after that. Five scores down.

Sunday, I went out for a jog around 8am. With a mask. Didn’t feel overly suffocated. Three scores up! And tried to continue reading On Writing Well after the call with friends. Two scores up.

Now I’m trying to write something as a summary of the week.

Even though my personal relationship is a huge step forward but still pendulates, I’ve made big “mental” progress on two important personal goals in life: investing and writing. Plus some tiny ones.

A week of positive 15.5 points, with significant lack in romanticism.

Let’s try better next week.

In my rooms, curtains are always drawn. For example, right now, 8:41pm in complete daylight, I kept my drawn curtains and switched on my lamp.

The effort he spent drawing the curtains and the withdrawing the curtains, is very impressive for me.

I’ve never learned to appreciate sunlight until maybe 2-3 years ago, after several harsh Berliner winters. But I still can’t sit by the beach, under the sun for over 2 hours. I would feel very withered, dried, dizzy like a blended pumpkin soup —- you supposed there are a lot of stuff, but not really sure which ones.

I remember the first time I had a room with blackout curtains. I was 15. I was born extremely sensitive to light. I felt I’ve finally found my world of being a complete vampire and wandering freely with my moons and stars, in dreams and daydreams.

The next year I got a boyfriend. I would invite him over to my very dark room. And of course I lost my virginity there.

I lost my virginity at 17, after we went to a class hotpot lunch, where after some beers, over 20-30 people asked us to kiss. I still remember it was at a lamb hotpot place. But I had no memory of how we smelled like. I guess we both tasted bad. We used to enjoy this disgusting game of kissing after school meals and commenting on the flavours that stayed in each other’s mouth. Eww.

Around that time, we were at the verge of breaking up but nobody knows. He came to my table, sat down, kissed me in front of everyone, among a lot of cheering, screaming, clapping or whatever noise it was. I think somebody even took a picture. Then after the lunch, he said, can I go home with you.

He looked at me with his prying sharp eyes. But it felt like he just wanted my body at that mere moment. He didn’t love me anymore.

I stopped having relationships with any classmate or colleague after that. It’s just too much to bear to be watched by everybody around. For over a year, he has been trying with me so many times for sex but I wasn’t so sure about that. And this time, he just doesn’t care if I want it or not.

That’s how it felt.

He left. About an hour later, my mom came home. I was talking to my mom with the huge pain down there, there was too much sunlight in our living room. I don’t really know what to say.

Till today, my curtains were still drawn.

I have a weird relationship with my motherland. She banned my religion, I chose to live somewhere else, but I love her, and love the people. And I make money, out of my love for them.

Buddha Sis called to tell me what happened and assured me everything is fine. I don’t know how Shifu managed to think everything is fine. They were being blocked there. Millions of people that used to listen to their teachings, now would need to learn how to use a VPN that can’t work smoothly 50% of the time. The last time it happened with my Mom’s Shifu. I was shocked. My mom was in a retreat. She is much more calmer than I expected her to be. She is so advanced in taming her mind.

Everybody is, except me.

In the call, Buddha Sis then asked me how I’m doing, with work, with relationships. I told her we were over. She is the only one who truly believed that I’ve got a “boyfriend”. How interesting. The other people who knew about us, more or less knows it was only a weekend fling.

“It’s not there anymore. We’re done.”

“You already ended?” She sounds smiling when she said these. “I thought he is a buddhist?”

“No, he is not. We work in the same industry.”

“Oh yes, but you met him when I asked you to meet Shifu there, right?”

“Yes.”

Exactly. That’s how it started. That’s why I was tricked into this “God’s will” kind of belief. If that strange trip was never so strange, I probably will like him less.

Sis sounds extremely chill. She said, “You dumped him, am I right?”

Somehow people on the outer circle of my friendship membership always think I’m sensible, positive, and forwardlooking 100% of the time. So I’m assumed to be making the right choice before things go sour.

That’s right about me. From the outer circle too.

I always make the “right” and sensible choice and regret it for one year but can’t really change anything. All the situations are too complicated.

Someone living in another country, with a Japanese girlfriend whom he took all the way from Japan?

Someone who really want to hire and help me, well maybe flirt as well, but I just don’t want to join his business even though I fancy him a lot?

Someone who grew up in a cult family, built everything by himself, came to this country from the other side of the world, wanted to find a cheesy & happy girlfriend and stay, while I was miserable, lost in thought, and supposed to leave and study abroad?

Someone who didn’t even finish college studies, suddenly fell in love with me with his gorgeous styles and crazy stories, chased me all the way back to our city, while sleeping with somebody else?

I’ve got a “red-flag” curse.

I’m only attracted to dangerous and impossible people.

But somehow, magically, the moment when Sis said, “You dumped him, right?” I felt relieved.

I can’t say no. Because it’s true.

But I was hurt.

I still am.

If not, why would I send him a toilet golf kit for the birthday? He asked, why not surprise me? Oh come on, I don’t like to be surprised by people that are not supposed to send me anything. I suppose I’m on that list? Or should I just send you anything and waiting for your girlfriend so say something, or nothing she could say?

Because you’re not single! If I answered this, he might think or reply, but you didn’t send anything blatantly claiming our more-than-friends relationship!

I bet even if I do, he would still be happily accepting it. He doesn’t care. And stereotype Japanese women are supposed to deal with it.

“Because if you hate me, it won’t be from me.” I replied.

This answer doesn’t make sense. Or maybe, it makes a lot of sense. It means, I want you to know it’s from me even if you hate it.

I want you to remember me, even if I’m not talking to you anymore.

Yes I dumped him. Buddha Sis said, “You must have!” She sounds happy.

She sounds happy most of the time. Like all the other buddha sis do. But in general, she is extremely happy because Shifu assigned her a husband.

She unleashed me. I was calmed down. Then I realized that, everything started because of her. Because she called me that day, saying, you have to travel to this event and meet Shifu.

Now she believed that I took good care of myself. She believed that I must have moved on.

Wow, this is finally putting to an end. By the same person who started it.

Even though for months, I didn’t pick up her phone calls in time, nor did I finish any requirements from her. She sounds happy for me.

I hope I can be like that.

As I start again, having doubts about my relationships, my religion, the only thing that I would still believe is Shifu. If one day Shifu would give me a husband. I’ll happily take it. No matter who he is.

And I’ll never leave Buddha Sis.

The tiny things I’ve understood about myself after the 2 months of lockdown:

I still can’t stand too strong daylight. Like a vampire. Curtains should be properly closed during the day. Otherwise I feel dizzy and needs to head off bed every two hours. May is always the worst for me, because it’s not warm enough for sleeveless, nor is it cold enough to calm my mind. And the daylight lasts forever. There are clouds in my room.

I enjoy occupying space. BIG space. Well maybe not too big. That Singaporean Mansion feels horrible the day I left. But being alone with some empty space relieves me. I’m fully grounded. My mind is free as many birds.

I would even sacrifice some sleep to get the chance of being alone in the living room. And create something. I used to be able to work from my room. But lockdown has killed that capability. I need the night so much. That’s why I need my own study. Or maybe a studio. Or a big room with compartmentized corners would also work.

I’m such a virgo because I know exactly how much I should drink and eat everyday to keep me at my current weight. Anything more, I’ll see myself bloating in a few days. I don’t even need to check the calorie table and measure all of them. I simply know. If I’m starved for at least 2 times in a day. I’ll be losing weight very fast.

I should NOT drink alone. Chances are high that there is no pleasure, and it ruins my efficiency. No drinking pals, no drinking sessions. They could be on the cloud. Drinking is intimately social. I need friends to drink to.

If I spend money for something, it is easier for me to have commitment. For example, Masterclass, Ballet Beautiful, Netflix (something I don’t find it very useful because I always binge watch), etc. I’ll intentionally have a seat for them in my heart. Purely because I paid. Oh yes, there is also Barista Hustle and Spotify.

I’ve been able to express my angers now. I learned that skill. But sadness, not yet. I could sometimes even express anger in a more expressive way. But if I’m sad, I can’t even cry. I feel slow and numb. I can’t think, can’t talk, can’t do anything. I even can’t feel sadness, when I’m really sad.

Most importantly, so many years have passed. I still believe in love. And I miss him.

Types of joy:

If you measure by the number of people you are with.

1. Happiness with a big group of people you don’t hate. Usually at a party or some kind of social event. With nice food, and drinks. Maybe a tiny cute dessert that melt your heart. Maybe some goodlooking guy smiled at you genuinely. Maybe you went into the bush or sat by the sea. Or you just found yourself connected with someone you’ve never really talked to. Or after 20 years of separation, you got back together at a restaurant… no, I’m never truly happy in this kind of alumni gathering. And the next morning, it’s gone.
2. Happiness with a few important someone. When you feel your soul is complete. Somebody completes your soul. You feel so alive and clear about everything in your life. You are with this person because this person makes you adorable, or fills you with faith. Either theirs or yours. And this person will be away. And you’ve lost them. Maybe not the person, but the faiths, the belief in yourself, and half of your soul.
3. Happiness with yourself. Only when you feel you’re full of hope. Or you’re full of now. Anything in between these two, will be a disaster.

If you measure by the level of social status, power and wealth:

This is easy. As long as you achieve something you haven’t had before, that will make you happy. Then you’ll get used to having it. And you need something more. This transitory essence of happiness associated with power and money will only makes it harder for you, if you lose a tiny bit of it.

Or if you measure by where you’re at, in a word, geographically:

Somewhere magic. Iceland, Antarctica, somewhere with sweet spring in the middle of a desert. Your Island. You embrace the universe with your tiny heart and let it penetrates you, makes you a vivid creature, adds complexity to your look and your story so you can see people deeper, but suffer from having little resonance from the majority of people you meet. You’re lonelier.

Somewhere you call home. No shower, no makeup, loose pants. No socks, slippers patting on the floor, creating the sound that would piss your mom off. And your mom is actually there! What a surprise. And then, she’s gone at dawn, you had a dream that she called your name before she left. You woke up, seeing the boiled egg on the table. Her phone call came in, said, don’t forget to close the windows when you leave. She didn’t even tried to wake you up and let you give her a hug.

Joy doesn’t change her face. She just comes and goes, creating hardship for people, so they would welcome her harder, the next time.

Happiness is a bitch.

I was lying in bed when Ms. Y was gone. She said she called my name. But I didn’t hear. I can’t remember if I fell asleep or not. Even though that was only 7 hours ago. I couldn’t remember. The only thing I remembered is that, I’m attached to this life. This life with her talking shit with me everyday. This life that I couldn’t go anywhere, but everything I have in my mind, I can just blurt out to her. It doesn’t matter if she wants to hear it or not, she will listen to.

Because that’s what she’s been doing to me. I felt uncomfortable at the beginning, but I guess I really needed someone to talk to, to say my mind out without any stress, without any double thought. And we love the same type of food. During the time we are not supposed to meet up anyone else, we were fully with each other. I was trapped by my idea of fully devoted to my business. She was tortured by her new job.

What a life. And now we are both stranded by visa issues.

I’ve had enough fight with people during the last two weeks. More than anything I’ve had since April 2017. Growth pains. I was lying in bed Thursday night, and my nose started bleeding. Mom said, you don’t sound right.

“We have money. We can live this life peace and safe. Don’t stress yourself. You don’t have to.” —- That’s what she always says.

I spent the last 3 years making this baby, killing it, reforming it, transforming it, again and again, with the same person. And I don’t like this baby anymore.

It changed me. It deprived me of what I should have. It sucked some best part of me out. All of a sudden, I’m not myself anymore. I’ve lost my glam.

If mama is not great anymore, how can the baby be? I have to take that focus off me. Which might mean, spending less time curating what is now being curated, and set it free with the best guidance. It needs to grow up by itself.

People abandon their favorite things unconciously, for something they consider better. Am I doing the same? Is there anything I consider better?

No idea.

But change is always good.