015. Pain don't hurt.

As I sit here and type this post, I am still searching the internet to find ways to cope with/treat rheumatoid arthritis.

Yes, you read that right. I have rheumatoid arthritis.

When I started having pain in my right wrist, I listed down possible reasons why I had the pain. I thought it happened because I used a bowling ball that was too big for my hand. I also thought that carrying my niece was the cause of my sudden wrist pain. I even suspected the cold air from the office air-conditioner was getting into my bones. 

After reading so much about carpal tunnel syndrome, I began to assume that given the nature of my job,  this was the cause of all my misery. After getting a referral from the doctor, I went to see the orthopaedic surgeon that my family has been seeing. He took one look at my hand and said "your wrist is swollen, we'll do a blood test to see if it is arthritis". Of course, I didn't like the sound of that. I'm not THAT old to be having arthritis like my mother. If I could carry three suitcases from one flat to another and carry five heavy bags of groceries from the supermarket to my flat, I don't see how I could possibly have arthritis.

After two weeks, the test revealed that I showed signs of rheumatoid arthritis. I was calm when he told me. When I asked him if there was a way to lower the reading, he said 'no'. Again, I was calm. The moment I reached the office, I was upset. I went online to read up about this ailment I was having. (please don't ever do this because you will end up reading the worst possible scenarios and think "OH SHIT I AM GOING TO DIE!". The joy of being a hypochondriac). I was distracted because all I wanted to do was cry. At lunchtime, I went down to my favourite spot and cried. I only told three people about it that day. I unleashed my anger on my mother for not calling to check on me because she would always call to find out if I was doing okay. I did apologise to her for my outburst, but she understood that I was upset.

On Wednesday, I went to see the orthopaedic surgeon again. After finding out that the pain was still there and had extended to my forearm, he referred me to a rheumatologist (who is also treating my mother). He asked me a lot of questions and told me to get another blood test done. After that, he told me "Yes, you have mild arthritis. While not curable, it can be prevented from getting worse. It is hereditary, which means that you don't have to worry about being adopted. It's very common in women, and it can also be caused by stress. It can go away and never return. It can go away and return. It can get worse". He told me to destress and sleep early (hahaha) and to go back in three months to see if it has subsided or worsen.

It is overwhelming to take in and understand. I can't ask "why me?" because hey, I got from my mama. It has set me back from doing things such as chores, lifting a box file at work, and carrying my niece. Seeing my parents carry her makes me sad because I want to be able to do the same without feeling pain and/or hurting the little girl. It makes me sad because I can't be of much help to the family when they need help. It makes me sad because I can't lift things without wincing in pain. It makes me very sad that I have to cut down on working out/exercising and intake of certain foods (the latter was instructed by my father because he thinks that eating cold foods at night is going to kill me, when the doctor said that there is no scientific proof that cold foods make it worse. better to be safe than sorry, you know?). I'm also sad because I've also caused people to worry about me (my family, my friends - online and real-life, my colleagues, my boss (who has already yelled at me to go for a full medical checkup as per my entitlement)).

I am going to take things one day at a time. I will learn to destress and relax, and hopefully, this thing will leave and never return. I won't let this pain consume me.

I'm so thankful for all the well-wishes, support and scoldings I received in the last few days. I'm truly blessed with good people in my life.

Remember: pain don't hurt.

014. Love yourself.

I know I'm not overweight, I have an average built. I'm comfortable with it, but when you have friends/family members who are much smaller than you, you become the butt of all jokes (literally). I shrugged it off in the beginning, but sometimes, it gets to you and it hurts.

I had a teacher who would tell me that I was fat at every opportunity she got. She went one better by using my name in an English exam paper. We had to write the opposite word for the underlined word in a sentence...one of the sentences was

Rowena is a thin girl.

It doesn't take rocket science to tell you what she had implied. It didn't matter if I came in first in my class, it didn't matter if I had the highest score for Maths. None of that mattered because all I was to her was that I was fat.

I was 9.


I'm also one of those unfortunate people who gain weight from vacations. I gain at least five kilogrammes every time I come home from a trip. Losing the weight isn't that difficult for me because I tend to lose them all during the fasting month. But again, when you have skinny/smaller-sized friends, standing next to them makes you feel like you're a beached whale.

After my one-month trip to America when I was 16, I gained five kilogrammes and I couldn't fit into any of my clothes. Being at an age where other people's opinions were important, I knew I needed to lose weight. So, what did I do?

I used laxatives.
I fasted a lot.
I skipped meals.
I exercised excessively.

And then I masked it by eating normally. Then, when I felt 'flabby' and guilty, I'd do it all over again. It was a beautiful cycle: eat so much, feel guilt, do shit loads to lose the weight, rinse and repeat.

I kept doing it for eight years without people knowing. It was the only thing I knew I could control, because I couldn't control other parts of my life. One day in 2011, I looked in the mirror and I could see my ribs and said "this is bad". It was the first time that I admitted to myself that I was bulimic, and that I had a problem that needed fixing. I never publicly admitted it, but at least some of you knew about it from my other blog.

I took it one day at a time, because you just don't tell yourself "snap out of it, you're beautiful" and rainbows and fireworks would magically appear. Every day you look at the mirror and tell yourself that, the mirror would reply "hahahaha nope you're not". It's the hardest part to convince yourself all these things when you don't feel like it's the truth. It was a struggle in the beginning.

After a while, I felt better and learnt to accept and love myself for the way I am. Sure, there have been times I would have a relapse, but with supportive friends and a conscience, I would make sure that I don't go back to the old me.

It took me a few years to realise that being skinny wasn't going to make me happy. Being healthy and fit was the way to go. I decided to follow an exercise regime and change my diet, and I've seen the improvements. I'm much happier now.

All I want to say to you reading this is: love yourself. Don't let anyone define your worth, you don't need that toxicity in your life. I learnt my lesson the hard way, and I suffered. I hope you're a lot smarter and wiser than I was back then. You are NOT your weight.

I'll leave you with something Miranda Hart said:

Be kind to yourself.

013. Things I learnt from the World Cup 2014.

With the World Cup 2014 coming to an end, here are some of the things I learnt during this wonderful month.

01. People still use the term 'rape' when the scoreline looks like '1-5', '4-0', or '1-7' as if it were a joke. 

In every football match, the teams go in knowing their opponents and the outcomes could be either a win, draw, or loss.

In rape, there are no such outcomes besides shame, grief, pain, and in some occasions, death. 

The part that sickens me most is that women are also using the word 'rape' to signify a humiliating loss. We cry about how it's always the victim's fault for rape, the way we dress and behave are the 'reasons' for rape. Yet, people use the term so lightly when it comes to sports.

To equate a loss to a rape only does disservice to rape victims and shows how lightly people consider rape to be.

It's 2014, rape should NOT be treated as joke. 

02. Supporting the England NT will only leave you disappointed.

I always tell people that I root for England at every single tournament, and people laugh at me and say "Why do you always do this to yourself?". I know, I am a masochist. After all, suffering is part and parcel of football.

In 2002, I spent 30 minutes crying to my best friend (a Brazil fan) when Brazil beat England at the World Cup quarterfinal. I didn't even want to go to school the day after the match because I was devastated. We still talk about that moment every single time we meet (I cringe every single time).

In 2004 and 2006, I spent the entire week moping about England unfairly losing to Portugal on penalties. Losing on penalties is the worst way to exit a tournament.

In 2008, they didn't even qualify for the EURO Championships. Of course, I cried.

In 2010, I was really upset when they were not given a goal against Germany (poor Lamps will never have his World Cup goal). I am still angry with Neuer because of that.

In 2012, I sat and sighed as I watched England lose to Italy. On penalties. Sigh.

This year, I sat and laughed as England exited the tournament at the group stage. I didn't like the team that was selected (excluding Ashley Cole in favour of the 'youth'), so maybe that's why it was a lot easier to watch England flop play this year. Yes, I do understand the idea of 'mixing it up' but it was done horribly wrong (you should seek advice from Jürgen, Roy).

It's okay, England. You can try again in 2016. Or, you know, whenever.

03. Never underestimate the underdogs.

When the groups were announced, I made predictions of the top two teams from each group. It did not include the likes of Costa Rica, Colombia, Algeria, and Chile.

Oh, how wrong I was. I made the terrible mistake of counting them out. I won't do it again.

They played amazing, beating the top teams (whom you would've expected to actually advance to the second round)!

Chile, perhaps inspired by this video of the Chilean miners, amazingly beat Spain, the current World Cup holders. They also nearly beat Brazil. *coughs*robbed*coughs*

Algeria did well to hold off Germany despite the fact some of the players were fasting on the day of the match. I know I wouldn't have been able to do such a thing, I fainted in the bathroom once due to dehydration while fasting for 19 hours.

I was gutted that they didn't make it far. (*coughs* COLOMBIA AND CHILE WERE ROBBED! *coughs*)

These teams have so much to be proud of, and I hope they will come back for the next World Cup stronger than before.

04. My niece is beginning to show signs of being a football fan.

According to my mum, when Portugal scored the equaliser against the USA, my niece started crying loudly. I still laugh about it because she's only 5 months old, what does she know about football?

No, darling little snowflake, please don't be a mini-me. Watching/supporting a football team gives you enough pain and misery, you don't need that. I mean, look at me and England. Or the Czech Republic. 

SO MUCH PAIN.

05. Sportsmanship is a beautiful thing.

What this old man did, I sincerely hope other football fans will follow suit. Football rivalries exist, but at times you have to look past all that and for once, just be a decent human being. I know I have been a terrible person at times, but I'm trying my best to be better. So should the rest of us.

06. You realise how old you really are.

Miroslav Klose broke the record of the top scorer, surpassing the Brazilian legend Ronaldo. I cried so hard because I've watched him score all 16 goals from 12 years. In the span of those 12 years, I graduated from high school, got a Bachelors degree, got a Masters degree, and found a job.

I've seen all the goals and all the backflips. My inner 15-year-old has been crying non-stop over this.

It's also been 12 years since Germany last featured in a World Cup final. This has been my battle cry the last few days.

*wipes single lone tear streaming down my face*

Yes, I'm ancient. Don't make fun of me.

07. Your best memories of the World Cup always involved the people you loved.

I was always surrounded by friends at every World Cup. We would discuss the matches, cute players (it is an added bonus), and predictions. You could cry at a loss and no one would judge you (okay, not entirely true - refer to point number 2, but it does make good conversation!).

I would watch the matches with my family and I'd always be entertained by their commentaries. In 2010, my dad stayed up with me and we played Blackjack (he cheated) while watching the match and discussing about being away from home for a year. He was also very excited that two of his favourite players from his favourite football team featured in the World Cup final.
(who knew he'd end up hating them a few years after that final?)

This year, I have been fortunate enough to have wonderful friends who would keep me awake with texts and random funny things. It's nice knowing that there are people who are willing to put up with your nonsense at a horrible hour of the day. (#olifortopscorer, eh?)

08. Every other song sounds better than the actual official World Cup 2014 song.

We had quality World Cup songs, and this year, we get THIS.

I would've preferred THIS or THIS to be the official World Cup 2014. (preferably the former, but my niece loves the latter. Who can deny my Colombian queen?)

09. Same, old boring tactics can only get you so far before someone calls you out on it.

I'm looking at you, Spain.

10. The internet is a wonderful place.

One funny moment, and you become an internet sensation. God bless you, you creative little buggers.

Some of my favourites:

Jasper Cillessen being the voice of conscience for James Rodriguez.

Alejandro Sabella channelling his inner Michael Jackson.

Robin van Persie can fly!

That is all for this crazy one month of football. I've enjoyed myself immensely and I hope you had a great time too. See you in the another four years!

(or two years if you're going to watch the UEFA EURO 2016 tournament. I know I will!)

012. Take the night and tear it down.

I suppose I should apologise for the serious lack of updates. I seem to only pop in to write an obligatory post that marks how old I am.

I actually have a post lying in my draft, but I just gave up on it because I really didn't feel like posting it. I might post it when I'm actually ready. We'll just have to wait and see on that one.

I did say to a few people at the beginning of the year that I would start blogging again. Unfortunately, I haven't written anything (except for that draft). Sigh, procrastination is such a terrible thing.

It's the second half of the year, and what a better time to pick to keep to my promise. I will attempt to blog like I used to, not just for the usual "oh boo, I am a year older but hey like wine, I get better with age" nonsense.

Yeah, so here we go again. Let's hope I stick to my promise.