I miss being outside during the golden hour.

I miss Hong Kong.

I miss going to the theater to watch movies with John in the summer.

I miss Collier family dinners.

I miss camping.

I miss watching good Chinese romantic comedies.

I miss Bronwen hugs.

I miss Hong Kong Milk tea.

I miss physical contact.

I miss being able to drink and eat what I want without having stomach problems.

I miss getting buzzed.

I miss unrequited love.

I miss residence.

I miss being in my last year of high school.

I miss being missed.

And I keep hanging up.

The first thing she asks, nonchalantly like nothing has happened, is whether I’ve eaten yet. This is something thing she used to say at the beginning of every phone call. One of her old habits, to make sure I’m eating enough.

I didn’t answer her question, but asked what she wanted. She told me she just wanted to see how I was doing.

She doesn’t get it. I don’t want to talk to her. I never want to talk to her again. Every call is a reminder of the wounds that haven’t healed.

It’s like having your rapist show up at the door with flowers.

Well it wasn’t so much my fault as hers for walking by one of my candles as I was lighting it.

It’s a full seven days between sessions, and at this point, my pschologist is just starting to know me. In between, I can never stop reflecting. I’ve always believed that I know myself well, but these sessions are probing ideas and memories I haven’t thought of in a while, and opening up completely new areas of reflection.

And while I could write for days about these thoughts and epiphanies, I simply don’t have the time, so I figured I’d briefly touch on them in point form.

• I need to respect my psychologist in order to accept help from him. i.e. If he was a Freudian and I was a Jungian, I wouldn’t be able to agree with any of his methods.
• I get very anxious when I’m in his office. This is because I don’t like to admit to myself that something’s wrong with me, but when I’m in there, it’s a very tangible reminder that I have mental problems.
• I’m very conflicted on several issues.
  • I don’t want to lose my emotions because I need to suffer to create. Yet the emotions are bad enough that I don’t want to have them anymore (or have them in moderation at least).
  • I want to love and be in a relationship, and at the same time I cling to being single because I’m scared of being hurt (in addition to the fact that the freedom is intoxicating). I do this by pushing others away from me or cutting them off.
    • This stems from two significant childhood memories, where I felt betrayed in friendship, as well as my relationship with my parents.
  • I want to be settled and have some stability (in terms of schedule, relationships, finances etc.), but the struggle to be settled is what makes me grow and be stronger.
  • Many of these issues can only be resolved from decisions I should make. (i.e. No one else can make the decision for me)
  • Turning to Taoism, which is very paradoxical in itself, has only helped so much.
• Without my creativity, or my desire to express myself, I’m nothing.
• I don’t want to “blame” my parents for confidence problems or perfectionist tendencies, but I’m slowly starting to find out that they’ve affected me even more than I thought before.
• As a hedonist, my greatest fear is losing my joie de vivre. If this happened (and it has once), I would consider killing myself. This is because the joys of life balance out all the bad and makes it worth living.
• I’m dependent on other people for happiness. I don’t see my friends often enough for me to be satisfied, and it’s a simple fact of life. They all have significant others, and I’m the only one left single. I don’t blame them for not spending enough time with me, but it makes me very sad.

Knowing his preference for how he likes his coffee¹, I jokingly told him he should get a Wayne Gretzky on the way to Timmies this morning. Until today, he had never even heard of Tim Hortons, and must have thought that all Canadian products are named after Canadian heroes. “What’s that?” he asked me. “Nine cream and nine sugar, like Gretzky’s jersey number; 99″, I told him.

“That sounds good”.

So I walked up to the counter, made my order, and looked at him. He gave me a nod, so I turned to the girl behind the counter again, and said, “Extra large coffee. Nine cream, nine sugar”.

In a completely deadpan face, she asked, “Are you serious?”.

“Yep.”

And this is probably the greatest thing I’ve ever experienced.

1. The previous day, I asked him how many cream and sugar he takes. Expecting a quantitative measure, he just told me, “A lot”. [↑]