Opening up.

I was so emotionally distraught that I entered my tutor's house looking suitably distressed, which incited a "is there something wrong with you" from her. I prefixed my outburst with a "I know this sounds so silly but-". I was early, and none of the other students were there yet. Somehow, I can tell that having chosen her as a confidante has changed her perspective of me. It's that intimacy of having spilt your innermost concern that develops between two individuals. Once you've decided to pour your soul out to someone, it automatically draws a sacred connection between you two, whether you like it or not. I was also the last to leave, and unlike the previous times, she sent me to the door this time. It was nice of her. She did give me an encouraging pat on the back, which I really appreciate. (The power of physical intimacy cannot be underestimated. I shall speak about this some other time.)

In normal circumstances I probably wouldn't have chosen to confide in her, though. She's a very nice, sympathetic lady, but her sympathy doesn't have seem to have complexity to it, if you get what I mean. I suppose it's that generic concern that you develop from being a teacher. Obligatory, so to speak.

In fact, in normal circumstances I probably wouldn't even confide in anyone. I was just desperate and agitated, I guess. My logic in not needing to confide in anyone is that I have all the answers, and it's not like people can tell me what I don't already know (or won't be able to figure out with sufficient time). However, I have since realised that people CAN tell me things I don't know, and also, the very act of just transferring that pent-up emotion can be gratifying in ways that logic isn't quite able to explain.

I broke down at some remarks that were made: not because those remarks were hurtful (I've gotten used to them) - more annoying, but more because it was the final straw that broke the proverbial camel's back. In my emotional catharsis, I realised that all along, I've been so good at making excuses for other people's and even my own behaviour that I've denied myself the sadistic pleasure of getting hurt. Oh, his mother was diagnosed with cancer when he was in Secondary Two; surely he'd have detachment/commitment issues. Oh, he was abandoned by his parents when he was brought up; surely he'd have self-esteem issues.

Who cares if they had shitty childhoods or dead parents? They make ME feel like crap and that should be all that matters. Let's take for example the girl whose boyfriend dumped her for another girl. She can logically convince herself that HE is the one with issues, the one who can't make up his mind, the one who is a commitment-phobe. But all these justifications count for naught when it comes to alleviating her own wounded feelings. It makes her feel mentally superior, but it doesn't change the fact that she has been hurt.

On a lighter note, I had lunch at Out of The Pan at Raffles City today. Erica and I shared a sun-dried tomato crepe with Peking Duck, and a Tutti Frutti salad. The salad was nondescript, but the crepe was good. Yes. The duck meat was tender and tasty, but not just salty-MSG-tasty. Like marinated-with-lots-of-herbs-tasty. The crepe was fragrant and sort of like *sniff*-ahhh-earthy-scent. My vocab fails me at describing culinary nuances. I could try but you really should just go eat there yourself. $20++ set meal, which includes one salad, one savoury crepe, and one drink. I will definitely go there again to sample their other crepes.

Then we bought two-bite brownies from The Marketplace. I was asking Erica about the possibility of them lying; what if I can eat the brownie in a single bite? Turns out that it is not quite small enough to chow down in a single bite unless I want to risk choking, so yes, they weren't lying.

We had dessert at Canele Patisserie, which was quite heavenly. She had the Profiterole Violette. Almond tart perfumed with violet flower, violet chantilly, violet profiterole, blackcurrent jelly and fresh berries. Sounds beautiful, doesn't it? Okay it's essentially three cream puffs atop some thick cream atop a tart crust, with berries adorning the entire structure. It does have a very complex floral taste that I've never sampled before, but somehow... it's not really something that you'd die to eat again. I had the Caraibe, which is like decadence in a dark chocolate-coated package. It comprises of 66% dark chocolate with a hazelnut nougat filling. It sort of reminded me of Ferrero Rocher and Kinder Bueno, though of course it's way better.

Well, these are expensive cakes, coming at $8 per slice, but well. We are foodies, what to do. We saved a bit by taking away, so we didn't have to pay service charge and GST. So we sat at the fountain, people-watching and chatting about shoes and ships and sealing wax and cabbages and kings. Needless to say I probably exceeded my recommended calorie intake by an excessive amount.

OH FUCK I AM A MOTHERFUCKING SLACKER.

Please let the 'A' Levels be over. :(