I am so friggin tired.

Tired, in the sense that my body is aching. I can't turn my neck without that somewhat satisfying cracking sound, nor can I bend down without experiencing that tight pulling sensation in my upper back. Why is it that I find today's beginner Reggae much harder than Intermediate HH and SJ?

I think its the groove? Reggae groove doesn't exactly come naturally for me and today is like my second time I'm going for an open class so apparently there were some Reggae techniques which was completly new to me. According to Fredy, if you aren't comfortable with the moves, it'll show itself in the way you move and all. And that's so true. Reggae has so much groove that Ive never experienced with Gin, Fredy, Allegra or Zaihar before. But I didn't care because I'm there to learn. I'm just going to keep attending classes and learn. But still, this week's routine didn't come as smoothly for me as it did for me the previous lesson. Shoot.

Oh and despite my efforts to avoid meeting my unintelligent sister's boyfriend at all costs yesterday, it turns out i did not come home late enough. I arrived home at ten and I just looked down at the doormat and see these pair of black dress shoes and I was half bent on running away, but I was really tired and wanted to sit down and like, eat dinner because I class started at 7.30pm. So I just stepped into the house, and found my mama, said unintelligent sister and the Man, coming out of my room. MY ROOM, PEOPLE. He's entered my private area, my place of peace, my palace of sanctuary, my Zen palace and now I have to detoxify my entire room. So what I did was that I immediately turned the air-cleaner on after he left to purify the air and remove all nasally undetected fumes that might potentialy cancel out the feng shui in my room and bring disturbed peace upon my personal environment (not that I believe in feng shui, but whatever.)

So we locked eyes on each other and it was so awkward. He looked at me and gave me this quick glance from my head to my toe and not-so-discreetly turned to my unintelligent sister and whispered something in ear & started stroking her hair.

Bitch.

So in an act of defiance and self preservation if you may, I flipped my head to one side and pretended I was unloading my stuff onto the table so that my hair fell on one side of my head for all to see. To see the real curls unlike the fake ones that my sister had to obtain because she doesn't have curly hair I do.

Okay fine, wavy hair, but at least there are curls thank you very much. Curls that are pure in nature, pure as the driven snow, untouched by chemicals and fuzzy curlers. So I imagine the view he must have gotten when he just turned back to me again and instead of seeing a face, he was looking at a beautiful, flawless, angelic waterfall of black beautiful curls cascading down the side of my face and onto my shoulders. I picture him looking shell shocked, slack-jawed, looking at my waterfall of natural curls, then whipping his head back to see my sister's thin, slack hair and saying how fine he thought my hair was.

But he didn't. But still. I showed them.

So my mum was all "Oh, that's my second girl" and started looking at what I bought and so I gave her my bag of almonds and I decided I had to go introduce myself just to seem polite. So I was all "Hi, I'm Serene" and shook his clammy hand. And he mumbled something back, only I couldn't hear it, because either he didn't know how to respond, has Tourette's Syndrome, Irritable Mouth Syndrome, or that his response was drowned out by that thick heavy accent of his.

So I got to experience, first hand, the difficulty at having to comprehend the "elegance" of his accent. He saw the almonds that my mum was clutching and was all "You know, there is the difference between that almonds and the real almonds" And in my mind, I was thinking "Real almonds? Dude, what the hell are you saying? It says "Natural Almonds" on the friggin bag. How unreal can they be?!"

How dare he insult my almonds? Then we went on to say something like "Real ones, have those leaves" Then he started gesticulating with his fingers, attempting to draw leaves, only it came out like the was some conductor conducting a band or something. "Then the non-real ones, bad leaves. You should try"

Uh-huh.

You could totally tell my mother was trying to make sense of his words. Her face was slightly strained and there was this awkward pause after he ended, because I think she wasn't sure when he had ended his sentence, and just went "Oh, okay." And walked away with me to kitchen while I tripped myself laughing. But not before looking at the smug look on my sister's face. It is SO awkward to see my sister slinging her arms around his body. I mean. In my opinion, he's not good looking. He's not even Northern Indian, whom are Indians that are very fair and look more European than Indian. He's either Southern or East Indian because he has dark skin and I try, but fail, to stop myself from associating him with those nasty gross foreign workers who take the same bus as me home from Serangoon Station. Sleezy, cunning eyes and body odour. Dr Tan is wrong when he said I should try to empathize with them because they have starving families back home. And you know what, I totally understand their position, and its not their fault that they have cunning eyes or smell. Wait, that's not an excuse because body odour is a major turn off. Its that. I'm a girl. You place a guy with one of them foreign workers in a life and probably nothing bad will happen, but if you put a girl in a lift with one of them, chances of bad things happening automatically rise. And I'm so no theorizing. Its the truth. Who knows how sex-starved these people are and they might just suddenly crave for Southeast Asian meat and suddenly pounce on an unsuspecting female in a deserted environment?

Thank goodness I listen to my dad.

Okay, plus, he's not lean. He's round. And he has hair that's a little longer than the average guy's hair cut. And he slicked back his hair with gel. And he's slightly taller than my sister, which upon my guesstimation, makes him between 1.7m to 1.75m. Which really surprised me because I know that both my sister and I are attracted to the Northern Indian-European looking Indian men because they are definitely genetically beautiful. Like the ones we see in Bollywood music videos. Shirtless, tall, can dance, light brown hair, light eyes, tight abs. And she decides to bring one home who's the EXACT opposite?

I'll never understand my sister. But then again, we operate on different intelligence and wavelength, so its not that I'll never understand my sister even if I want to, its that I'll never understand her because we're programmed differently, and also because I don't even want to see the world in her perspective, thank you very much.

Then to my disgust, when my mum's back was turned - who, in my opinion lost her good sense to want to give him a red packet, I mean is it even legit that a mother gives her daughter's boyfriendMONEY on the first visit home? She's not even Chinese! - she slapped his butt.

And I saw it. With my own eyes. She slid her hand down his torso and gave his round behind a light slap. My sister. Slapped had slapped butt cheeks.

I am going to be in therapy for the rest of my life for this. Couldn't you ijust see me in my therapist's office:

"Hi Serene, so what brings you here?"

"Well, I saw my unintelligent sister slap a round man's butt and I was folding the laundry a few days before and discovered that my mother wears sexier underwear than I do. Oh and she wears tampons and I've never worn a tampon in my life even though I'm supposed to be the one experimenting with pads and tampons. And my mother goes clubbing, even though I'm the one who is supposed to have adolescent-induced raging hormones"

Surely this can create some vast psychological affects upon my fragile 20 year old psyche, of which is already being challenged by the lack of self esteem and self cutting, recently of which involved carving the word "fat" above her elbow with a rusty safety pin?

I'm so not ready for self actualization.

Plus, I almost dropped dead when my sister asked me "Will you come to my wedding in India?" And I was like "What...?"And she said something like how they had discussed marriage and that he's one and how she didn't want a Chinese wedding. So the realistic, dream-wrecker me went "But you guys have been together for less than a year. What if you break up?"

"I'm not going to break up with him."

"Yeah, but you'll never know, Miss I Can Tell the Friggin Future"

"We won't break up."

"Whatever, but aren't you too young to get married?"

"I've friends who got married at 20 and they're very mature. And I'm mature"

"Oh really? Well exsqueeze me while I go vomit."

My sister thinks she mature? I almost barfed down my shirt. She doesn't even know what contraceptives are. I bet she's never heard of the term self-actualization. She doesn't even take the iniitiative to clean up the house or go grocery shopping for the family, and always whines about how my mother supposedly "owes" her money when she has to use her own allowace to buy milk and bread for the household and tells my mum "You owe me 10 bucks." when I don't even do that because I'm grateful for even being given an allowance.

Amd she thinks she's mature? She's got a lotta nerve.

It's not that I'm mean. Its just that I don't like nor trust him one bit, because my sister sourced him from an online dating site, you know ones that go "Single and Lonely? You'll find your perfect match here, guaranteed." So you can see why my dad distrusts him. Plus, he's not really trustful of Indians, except our 2 of our Indian neighbours (one who's son is a medical student in NUS and is actually really polite, and the other is a married couple, one who is a lawyer and the other who is a law professor at NUS or something, and my dad loves having conversations with him)

My dad informed me "Serene. You can marry whoever you want to. It's okay if he's not Chinese, because I myself didn't marry a Chinese woman. You can marry whoever you want for all I care, as long as you promise me that he's not Indian, and he won't make you wear a headscarf. Otherwise, I'll disown you and cut you out of my will."

Wow Daddy have some cough syrup.

Love can make people do strange things, that's all I have to say right now.