For all the “four-eyed boy/girl” out there, there will be a milestone in one’s life when one decides to get rid of the external “two eyes”. I am taking about wearing a pair of contact lens.

Of course, the decision does not come after a night of sleep where God demands and suggests you to wear the eye lens and you then wake up the next morning and head straight to the store.

People wear contact lens for various reasons. Some narcissists believed that they looked better without the glasses. But for me, the reason has been more practically inspired, rather than aesthetically inspired.

You see, I need to stage a music performance early next month, and for some intuitive reasons (that’s the trick of the right brain) I thought I should eliminate a look that screams “this-guy-is-nerdy” and project a more “I-am-the-music-guy” image. Plus I have been misplacing my spectacles for a few times as I have been prone to alternating between removing and putting it on, as frequent as politicians in Malaysia emanating bull sh*t.

So, one fine day, I declared that I needed contact lens. To get things started before getting a pair of my own, I took my mum’s lens in an attempt to fit in to my eyes.

Attempt #1 - The first part is to hold the tip of the lens on my index finger, as I was briefed by my mum earlier, plus a little live demo. Hey, that was easy, I thought. And so, I was all excited and I began maneuvering the lens to my eyes. Alright, I managed to push the lens until I touched “something”. And I thought it was in, and that I was touching my eyeball (eww), only to realized that my eyes has long been closed! Ah, blame it on human nature!

Attempts #2, 3, 4 - I tried again, but I blinked on every subsequent attempt. The very human nature of “blinking” in response to any abrupt moments towards the eyes, complicates things.

Attempt #5 - So I decided that blinking, or rather, the sudden movement towards that spherical sensory device of mine, is the cause of the problem. So I open my right eye and had the lens on my index finger, but move in stages so that it will not appear “sudden” to the eyes. Yes, that’s right - I moved a little, and paused for the next few seconds. A while later, I gave up. I had opened my eyes for too long, trying the accommodate the slow motions that I thought would help in the endeavor. Consequently I could feel air (wind) flowing into my eyes. You know, that gross airy feeling, like the feeling of an open wound or the feeling that there is a big hole in the part of your pants disguising your most private parts. I felt really awkward, and yes, I blinked (the horror!!).

Attempt #6 - Ok, the problem had been identified. It is then time to go to a place where the flow of air is restricted. So the bathroom is the new venue. This time around, I did not blink. Well, that should call for a celebration! However, as I scrutinized the size of the lens and juxtaposing it with my eyes, I arrived at a conclusion - I had small eyes!

It is not a discovery, but rather, a reminder. I always had small eyes. Back then a few school mates used to tease me as the “small-eyes-boy”. It’s not hard to tell, I think, especially when I smile or laugh. I also remember fondly that when I was being “tested” on the greatest stretch my eyes can reach, I use to stretch open my eyes (which is still relatively small), and simultaneously open my mouth as wide as possible, in a futile attempt to create an “optical illusion” to magnify the size of my eyes. And that usually comes with comical remarks like, “I asked you to open your eyes to the max, not your mouth”. Such a silly boy I was. But of course I have never feel bad or give a damn about it.

Having tried everything, I turn to Chan Vee Nee, the very person who shocked and fooled me when she suddenly dropped a bombshell few years back, and told me that she has been wearing contact lens all this while. So this is what she has to say - Open upper eye lids with left index finger and lower eye lid with thumb, put lens on hand index fingers.

Having endured quite a lot previously, I had a pair of eyes which bears the color of the Chinese red packet. So I decided to call it a day.

After a few days, I tried again. And after countlesssss repetitive actions and attempts to fit it in, which is nothing short of a mundane and painful process (for a few moments I thought the skin surrounding my eye socket (the part closer to the ears) was about to be torn off), I FINALLY MADE IT!

Phew, what a milestone!

I was overwhelmed with excitement, until an inherent internalized phobia of mine spoiled all the fun. I panicked at the mere thought of not being able to remove it. I’ve always fear the additional “add-ons” on my body, possibly because I fear I cannot remove them, which will then necessitate me to (pardon the exaggeration) undergo amputation just to remove them. So I have never wore a ring, necklace, wristband, etc. Heck, I don’t even like to wear a watch.

My fears heightened as I failed miserably to remove it. And after a series of “rummage” using my fingers, doing the searching on the surface of the eyeball, a la looking for the exit in a totally dark room, I was really convinced that it was finally out, when my vision was blurred abruptly and my finger tips clasping a pitifully deformed soft lens (as a result of the arbitrary rummaging, which come to think of it, is utterly risky and dangerous that I felt I should issue a warning that achieves the “don’t-try-this-at-home” effect).

Phew.

As I try putting those lens on again, the hassle and challenges that I faced was exacerbated by my lack of patience. Coupled with genetic limitations (small eyes), I began to rethink how this linked to my personal trait - that I am totally impatient. All I thought was to get that damn thing in, and as I nearly made it in, the haste and impatience halted the endeavor.

But it has been an eye-opening experience in my endeavor to wear contact lens. It really takes patience.

More so, when you are a newbie and are disadvantaged in some ways compared to others (having small eyes).