“We had the experience but missed the meaning. And approach to the meaning restores the experience in a different form.”

― T.S. Eliot

(Scroll to bottom for English version)

T.S Elliot 話，太多經歷，太少意義。

我想寫中文，唔理有無人睇，唔理邊個睇 ，唔理AI 寫得好過我。我想寫中文。

有好多嘢我都有自知之明 ——自知唔明。

個個都寫嘢，寫咗又無人睇。

唔使急，唔係趕住做KOL 急住要分析時事局勢，指點江山，寫完又無人睇，都係寫啲茶餘飯後嘅傷春悲秋，諗下先，睇定啲先。

我日日嘗試做得好啲，我都唔知好啲—係搵多兩個錢，定陪啲細路多啲，定間屋吸塵拖地換床單，周末meal plan 計劃好啲，定睇多啲書，定學多幾隻字，定寫嘢，定畫嘢，定見多啲人，定諗下平時返工有咩進步嘅空間，定學多啲電腦酬備轉工，定填下form搵份有大啲機會可持續發展嘅工？

我完全唔知點先叫做好啲。我以為工作安穩，但常有控制不了嘅人事問題令我個個月都有衝動劈炮唔撈。跟住我諗，係我自己見識少，係我少少嘢都瓜瓜叫，挨多兩星期又出糧， it can’t be that bad。

究竟點先可以做得啱？我覺得我仲係好似五歲時，幾努力都係俾人打。

人大咗講嘢無咁大聲，自我HR 審查，怕得罪人。但我成世人都唔知點解，不明所意，成日得罪人。我以為我終於開竅嘅時候，下星期又打回原形。人大咗，接受自己渺小如塵，平庸無稽，但我幾唔想俾人見到，要生存，我都要融入社會㗎。我唔想做能人所不能，但我唔放棄做自己，唔諗辦法超越現時嘅我，我就死得。

但同時我仲係default parent，星期一至日都係我最早起身，整早餐放狗幫啲細路換衫預時間出門口準時返學返工，返工前設定洗衣乾衣 D 細路有校服著，放工後煮飯洗碗放狗晾衫摺衫，返工學習HR 咀臉待人以誠得嚟又小心講嘢，放工要對啲細路有紀律得嚟又唔好搵佢哋出氣，我仲要諗點可以逃出生天。

而家一星期有一半時間啲細路都係得我照顧，另一半時間我要做人老婆諒解佢要跨區工作辛苦，我奔波啲，你訓多啲，啲細嘅早起身要人幫手我就早起身。我好自律，日日都好自律，但好多嘢我幾自律都好，都唔係滴水不漏，實有嘢係我問題。

寫完都唔會有人睇，但都仍有衝動去寫，可能係因為on9。人自故以來打獵求生都要喺個洞度刻字畫圖，我哋之所以係萬物之靈，就係因為我哋食都可以食唔飽都要諗人生嘅意義，你諗下，嗰時唔係隨手都搵到筆，幾艱難仲要有創作力同幻想先創造到功具記事畫圖。呢個係人天生嘅衝動，我一路都有嘅單純衝動。一路咁多年，好多人都叫我寫嘢畫畫，人越大就越難再開始積極哋做無聊嘢。

都近年尾，上兩個周末我決定隨緣唔特別積極搵兒童院更，同個女去下同學仔生日 party。但啲嘢咁貴，我唔打散工我都唔夠膽洗錢。所謂洗錢都係同啲細路搭半個鐘火車去轉 York，齋行唔買嘢，窮風流，我都唔敢。

早既日出糧後我計下條數先大徹大悟，我天真地以為打咁多工會多兩個錢，但今個月出糧後先發覺我真係孭起半頭家，Carl個個星期去兩晚 Manchester 加架車本身嘅開支都成皮嘢，呢皮嘢再加搬嚟呢度後安揭貴咗400鎊，所以而加要比三年嘅前基本開支多咗一個月千五鎊，唔怪得O 多幾多T 都唔覺多咗錢儲啦。佢過完家用俾我已經無乜剩，我都係努力向上執得兩更就得兩更啦。真係好氣屢。

一方面我同自己講，唔急著轉工唔搵工住。另一方面我工作上亦越來越難頂，係咪因為英文唔係母語？係咪因為我困住喺屋企十年唔識代人接物？係咪文化差異？係咪代溝？我等緊 Carl 嗰邊有咩轉數我可以希望在後天，得咗又有新嘢煩。我唔停提點自己，工可以轉，我隨時可以俾人跣俾人炒，呢四幅牆內嘅先屬於我嘅，唔單止係屋企人，仲有我自己。但咁多年啦，我自己係邊個？我都唔認得。

我好耐無話好想寫嘢。Bertie出世時好多嘢都好難識應，果時有寫。然後fb 嘅演算法越來越睇得少識嘅人嘅嘢，呢兩年人工智能能人所不能所向無敵，好多搵到食嘅插畫家都俾AI 盜用晒佢哋嘅作品，我本身無能力無人脈搵到食嘅就更加唔使發夢啦。大科技大數據形成大家所見嘅 enshittification，言論極端，斷章取義，嘩眾取寵，碌來碌去睇來睇去都屎溝屎，搶眼球娛樂性高無營養。

如何在散亂的經歷找到意義？所謂意義就似天上嘅星，你話佢似人馬又好，雙魚又好，佢有佢存在，佢嘅存在唔係為咗俾意義你，係你要意義去生存，本能反應地自作多情。接受無意義就如接受死亡，我哋無辦法唔扮我哋唔接受我哋會死。

我不知從何說起。我嘗試，故我在。

_______________________________________

I wouldn’t say I know enough to quote T.S. Elliot. But I often feel, I have seen it all, but I can’t make sense of anything.

I am trying to get back to writing again. I don’t care if no one is reading, I don’t care if AI does it much better than me. I want to write, particularly in Cantonese. I still write like HR/ Big Brother is watching though.

There is too much I don’t understand. I am trying to join the dots together by writing.

I am not trying to run a popular blog. I can’t teach, I am not trying to inspire anyone. My mundane existential crisis and overwhelming sentimentality.

I am trying, still, stubbornly. I have always been trying everyday to be better, but I am confused what does it mean by better. I feel like I am still the 5-year-old kid, no matter how hard I try to cover my ass, I still can’t escape from the beating, the inevitable f-up which I can’t fathom.

Does being better mean spending more time with my children? Does that mean changing bedsheets for everyone weekly and hoovering regularly? Does that mean better weekly shopping and meal planning? Is it about writing? Back to painting? Meeting new people? Should I take up training in my free time to keep up with the trend? Completing the Master degree? Looking for new jobs and filling in some application form? Self-actualising? Whatever that means?

Meanwhile, I am still the default parent. I get up earlier than everyone Monday to Sunday: empty the dishwasher, walk the dog, make breakfast, get them changed, make sure they get to school on time and I get to work on time, and set off the washing machine and tumble dryer running automatically so the kids have clean uniform when needed; half of the week I am totally on my own with the kids, I finish work, I arrange childcare and make sure they are safe, I make dinner, wash up and read with them, listen to their stories and put them to bed. And stare at the ceiling to plot my way out. I may not look like that, but I am so insanely disciplined and contained.

How else am I supposed to get through this?

I still don’t feel unsettled in one of my jobs (that’s why I still need JOBS). I thought it was just a feeling, a phrase and it will pass. I thought it was just in my head. I tell myself I am overreacting because I am naive and inexperienced. But every month or two the same issues drive me to the walls again. And then there comes payday. I tell myself, it can’t be that bad. I made use of counselling and coaching services, I am lucky enough to be selected in two programmes in 2024-2025. I got some opportunities to talk to people out of my little circle. Everyone would tell me I am smart (enough) and I am right. But it just doesn’t add up. I can’t be right, if she is right. I don’t know if I could trust or ask my colleagues what they think.

How can everyone always seems to be so certain about themselves?

A few years on, I am a grown up now. I still say things I regret, all the bloody time, unwittingly, accidentally, without the satisfaction of being a smart-ass. I still don’t know what is the right thing to say. I thought I’ve finally got it for one week, and next week I feel absolutely drained and defeated. Is it cultural barrier? Is it because English is my second language? Is it because I had 10 years stuck in the house with my kids and I just can’t read social cues when I am out? While I accept my insignificance, I still have to fit into some bigger picture to survive.

I try to write, again. Like a caveman. After a long day hunting gathering surviving looking after the young, I still can’t resist the urge to invent a tool, make a mark on the wall. To survive is a practicality, to understand why is another.

For many years, my friends keep encouraging me to write, draw and paint. It gets harder as I get older. It’s nearly the end of the year. I decided not to take up too many extra children homes’ shifts in the weekend. I try to be more present for my children. I am still counting pennies if I don’t pick up extra shifts. It’s only very recently I understand how much we need to get by, with my husband working away, petrol, accommodation, car expenditure, along with all the basics. And just to get through another month comfortably, to make sure kids have the right sized clothes and boots for winter, and buy a book or a jumper, I need those extra shifts. Never enough, never enough.

On one hand I tell myself, stay put, it can’t be that bad; on the other, it isn’t getting any easier. We are waiting, we are waiting. And I remind myself everyday, it’s only in this house my life is real. Not just about the kids, but what I do, and what I want to do. And this. I don’t know what I am supposed to do.

Since Bertie was born 12 years ago, the world has changed. I have drifted further and further away from the world I knew, and it’s harder and harder to reach people I used to know. AI makes things dramatically worse. Even the livelihood of professional writers and illustrators are at risk. I haven’t even started, so I can’t even dream of being one. And don’t let me start about monetarization and enshittification. Little me against the whole Upside Down. Maybe this is for the next post.

How can we find meaning in this Pluribus world? F___ if I know.

Meanings are like constellation in the night sky. You make up stories and you think the dots you joined together means something. And without that make-believe play you are nothing.

To survive is one practicality. To make sense of why is another. I have no choice but to keep going.

I don’t know how to keep going. But I try, therefore I am.