Random Musing


The rule for every writer in training is to write every day, even if it’s just 300 words. I haven’t been doing that. I should and I will try, especially when my semester ends in a month and I have less reading and essays to submit. Otherwise, I really have trouble thinking of a subject to write, even for my blog.

A few days ago, as part of a CNF homework to demonstrate why we can never really recall exactly the events which had happened in the past,  I tried to write a piece on a lunch conversation I had with a friend and it’s amazing how the memory returned only when I started typing, with even the tiniest detail which I had not thought about while trying to remember. Even then, I am sure I left out a few little nuggets but I was amazed at how my mind worked.

Since I started school, I have spent countless hours sitting in front of the PC. I feel my vertebrates locking into each other like lego bricks, displacing the precious cushions in between. My right-hand feels arthritic and I have to keep doing the cow-face yoga pose to stretch it. I felt I needed more yoga in my life and after much consideration (ding-donging in my mind for the past six months), I decided to splurge on a yoga studio membership for better time flexibility. To make my money worth, I have been faithfully attending yoga classes almost daily.

I soon realise I lack yoga attires. While it is true that you can do yoga in any comfortable clothes, modesty may be an issue when there are men in the class, with tee-shirts flying down during inversions, or running shorts exposing inappropriately during splits. I don’t know why I worry so much, for the sexy attires which my fellow peers wear to the studios expose just as much, except that these bras and camisoles are meant to be exposed, complete with pushed-up cleavage during cobra. Some of the tights they wear are so sheer they resemble stocking.

The prices of yoga attires surge along with the popularity of yoga. I balk at paying anything above $30 when my sister tells me that she gets a pair of tight in Germany for less than $20. She tries to shop for me but tells me I am too choosy – tights are either too short, too long or too sheer (I wanted a mid-tight); shirts are too loose or too low cut. She tells me, ‘Do you know my yoga mates change clothes in class, stripped down to their underwears even in front of men? So I don’t care so much also.’

Speaking of underwear, in order to prevent VPL under tights, I feel seamless panties are essential, and I am aghast at how much they cost. A piece of flimsy synthetic fabric heat-sealed at the seam without prints, hems or threads cost $25 by Triumph. Uniqlo is selling at half the price and still too much. So to do yoga every day, I spent more than $100 just on underwear.

After three weeks of daily yoga, my enthusiasm is beginning to wane. The classes are not challenging enough. Even the aerial yoga class which I initially thought of as fun has lost some of the pull factor. I realise what is my problem. Unlike before, I now don’t have a fixed schedule in my timetable for yoga. I had thought I would just fly off to yoga when my body demands it but like many who wants to but don’t exercise, there are always other priorities calling.

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I just need to push myself more, the same way I need to push my writing. And I will. Soon.

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About vickychong

Just an ordinary woman.
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