A poem and a dream from 2012

So I'm back here in Pasir Ris, and the first thing I did was to clean up the mess that was my room. I came here two days ago, to place on my bookshelves some of the books I had at Paya Lebar.

Seeing my new collection of books on my shelves just motivated me to clean up, because they deserved the cleanliness. Or am I the only one who feels that way?

Anyway, I found a lot of weird things from secondary school. Old photos, and old notebooks. By notebooks, I don't mean the diaries I'd written; those had been in my knowledge forever, but the notebooks I discovered today were just.... Random. They weren't diaries. They were random as hell.

I found one of "My Random Poetry", and another which I used to write the dreams I had. For the fun of it, I'm gonna share with ya one from each. Take note these were from years ago, so please excuse the silliness of what I'd written.

I shall rewrite exactly what had been written, though I have to edit names out or unnecessary segments, things like that. Here's the dream.

"It was late December. Everyone was running out of homes, for some reason, and I had stumbled upon a building which served as a shelter for those who had lost their ways of housing.

Most of the people staying there were students. In fact, I saw many familiar faces. I saw juniors from my school. I had lingered outside the building for a while, fingering the red and black hoodie of mine that I had slung over my shoulder.

I looked at everyone  All the students were chaotic. I saw a sign that said "5/1" and I saw two of my then classmates standing outside a room. I propped my hoodie on a wall and made my way towards them.

Everyone had bags and were walking to certain classrooms, including me. I was walking along, with my eyes on the room with the "5/1" sign, when I bumped into someone from 4/3, but I just walked off without an apology.

It turned out that the classes took lodging in a classroom each. I don't know what was done to separate the girls from the boys, but for all I saw, everyone from the same class shared a classroom together. 5/1's was empty, and I sat inside, alone.

There were windows, and students were walking past, to and fro, to and fro. I don't remember their faces anymore, but they were all sec 4s from my school.

[some unnecessary parts that I have to crop out]

When I woke up, it was New Year's eve. I was alone in the 4/3 room, and when I looked out the window, everyone was moving in the same direction, hastily. They were not walking to and fro like the first day that I had walked in the compound. I wondered what was happening, and to my surprise, I managed to get out of the bed without difficulty.

I followed my gaze to the direction that everyone was walking away from. All the classrooms were stripped of their walls, and all that remained were the bricks that laid on the floor. If the destruction were to resume, the classroom that I had been in was to be the next to be brought down.

I looked back to where the students were walking towards. At the end of the road stood a wall. I saw them climbing over it, some even jumping.

I saw some 5/1 students, and I walked to where they were, right by the wall. My hoodie hung over it, and as I was taking it down, XX had came up to me asking for my real name. I didn't answer because I didn't understand what she meant.

I overheard some conversations beside me, saying things like "We spend our last few hours of the year being chased out of our homes..." and everyone looked so very sad...

At that moment, an aeroplane had crossed the sky. It was blue, a contrast of the darker blue that the sky was. I don't remember how long I'd stared at it, but when I looked back down, all the students were gone and I stood alone next to the wall."

Bloody hell, I remember this dream. I remember the compound, and it had that dystopian atmosphere to it. Dystopian or post-apocalyptic, either way it was.

Now for the poem. It may or may not make sense to you, maybe not to me either but I'm still gonna share it in its original form. What I remember about writing this poem, I'll let you know too.

"Please set fire to my precious eyes
It's the only way to run from ghosts of you and I
The solitary escapade unties no rope
The movement of time unleashes no hope.

Rather blind than at mercy
Of the smiling ghosts in bow and courtsey
Rather darkness than colour
Accompanied by figures of purple.

Nobody to look into your eyes
Nobody to figure out your lies
Nobody to determine in what way you're recognised
Nobody to tell you that you're not okay or fine.

No tears to show you're sad
No frowns to show you're upset.
No fire in your eyes to show your anger
No spark in your eyes to show you're in love.

No motive for murderers
No opportunity for witnesses
No reason for weaknesses
And most certainly no need for questions."

I remember, that this was during the time of my 2012 break-up, where practically everywhere I walked in Pasir Ris had a memory of him. I couldn't handle it then, because I'd been way weaker than I am now, and that's what was meant by 'set fire to my eyes', because I didn't want to see the memories floating all around me.

By 'smiling ghosts of bow and courtsey', it probably goes to show how those memories were way happier than I was as a human, even when they were just putting on a show.

The last three verses were probably the good of having no eyes. Eyes are the windows to the soul indeed, and without them, not only would I be unable to watch memories I'd rather forget, but people wouldn't be able to look inside, to come closer to me, to know me.

I guess that's it for tonight. My room has so much treasure in the Literature of E'in Nadh; diary entries and poems and other stupid little random things. Might wanna share some here occasionally. Goodnight.

My love for Singapore's roads

Yesterday was a pretty productive day in travels! I'm so contented with myself!

My mom has always been her own best at roads, and her navigation skills are top-notch. Her weakness however is the North East area, especially Punggol and Sengkang; she never easily finds her way around these areas unlike other places.

A long time ago, I told myself I want to be like her, a master of roads, maybe even better. What better way to bypass your role model by taking on the challenge that is her weakness?

So, E'in Nadh goes exploring in Sengkang, the 16th station of the North East Line, with her tourguide Yazid the Rebellyious! Okay, so we didn't cover much because my legs were aching so bad after walking only one section of the park, which according to Yazid, had 4 segments.

We may or may not be making a few more parts to this Sengkang tour, maybe he'd be nice and adventurous enough to head to Punggol as well, I'm not sure? Meanwhile, enjoy the video ^^

About the "last blade of grass" part, I didn't really get to finish my story... I'm not really a good speaker, shamelessly.

The LRT tracks, though they were MRT's in the dream, were on ground level, and I was walking right next to that. Yes, every patch of grass around me was dried up, dead, brown. Someone told me to look for 'the last blade of grass', possibly because that last blade, or patch, would be the saviour of the terrible drought.

That's it, really. I told you I don't blog about dreams much unless I remember enough to write a story about it.

And yes, yesterday was my first time exploring that part of Sengkang. I've never been there before this, but yes I dreamt of it. It's actually pretty normal for me to dream of places before I cross them haha.

With that said, this little Youtube channel of mine shall be used to showcase all corners, all places to go, in my own country, because idk some kids just don't appreciate how lovely Singapore really is. And anyway, I do so love taking walks and bus rides around Singapore. As cheesy as it sounds, Singapore is my home because I love being anywhere around her.

For now, that's the only love I know: passion. My passion for writing, my passion for the roads of Singapore. And I'm gonna show my love off because we gotta be proud of what we love yeah?

Thanks for showing me my strength

My fingers hover over the letters of my keyboard and that's when I realise I don't remember last night's dream. Is that a miracle or what? But damn, now I have nothing to blog about.

That aside, I know it may seem strange that I have dreams every night but I rarely blog about them. I don't know if anyone's ever noticed, if I even have enough readers for someone to wonder that, but just saying, that I only blog about a dream I had when I remember enough to write a story about it.

Maybe I shall blog about that now: dreams in which I only remembered little to one scenes.
Okay I'm just gonna write about one dream for now, since it's long enough already. I had this one in late January this year, my break-up misery days.

I was in a school... My school, to be exact. I'm not sure how I remembered it was my school, but that's how dreams work: you wouldn't know how you know something, you just do.

There was that holiday kind of atmosphere, the school was half empty, and the few students littered around were just slacking and laughing, not studying or rushing to classes, shit like that.

It soon got a little darker, like it was 7 in the evening or 6 in the morning? Now that you mention it, I don't exactly recall the exact time of this one but the lighting was around those timings of the day.

I was walking past a group of other students when I receive a text from the ex's best friend. ...Wow, it's been a while since I last thought about him.

He gave me some random directions in which I obediently followed, and got into this classroom that was dark as hell. I could make out chairs and desks, like a normal classroom, but I didn't really see any reason special as to why he'd made me go there.

And then, bit by bit the classroom started to light up. There were these little pictures being lighted up, letters that spelled out words and words that made sentences, all of which glowed in the dark.

The pictures were of me, from all stages of my solitude, from misery to picking myself up, gaining composure and moving forward. At the time I had this dream, I was at my most miserable, and I hadn't been through that 'strong' stage in reality.

I don't exactly remember how they went, but the sentences were quotes, reminding me of how strong I am, how strong I should be, how I'd be able to handle this pain and more.

The pictures and quotes not only glowed in the dark, but they were spinning around me, slowly, a show of lights that was only meant for me and me alone. Really, it was extremely beautiful. You can't even begin to imagine. The way the lights bounced on my body, danced around me.

The ex's best friend texted me when I was in the midst of admiring the show, but I don't remember what it said, unfortunately. Never did remember it, not even the slightest.

I woke up with lots of butterflies in my tummy, but I did feel that little spark in me at the moment. And because my dreams have always meant so much to me and were always right, I strongly believed that the best friend had something to do with my moving on from the ex.

I dunno, it sounds stupid thinking back about it, but *shrugs* you never know?

And, I guess in a way, he predicted my strength. Okay, just his dreamworld alter-ego, but damn. At that time he was one of the few who really knew me well anyway, so... Yeah. Damn.

The chance of meeting someone random

I went to the city area for a walk today, in Marina Centre to be specific. My Paya Lebar house is near the city area. Wait... Okay, so to me town is the Orchard/Somerset area, while city refers to the landmarks that are always featured if you ask for Singapore's skyline. Okay? Okay.

So I took a walk in the city area, and my head was bursting with memories when I stepped into Marina Centre. It's where I'd gone prom shopping with the girls back in 2011! I wouldn't want to talk about prom exactly, you can read about that here [link].

I bought myself some laptop stickers, and then went for a little dinner at Pizza Hut. There, I stumbled onto a schoolmate of mine, from secondary school, the same batch from me but from NT. I don't know if he recognised me, if he had even noticed me there.

My thoughts started running through all kinds of possibilities as usual, and suddenly I had a crazy thought: what are the statistical probabilities of having someone cross your path in life? What are the chances that someone random and you will meet someday, just like that?

I thought of it this way: imagine if you notice a cute guy, and he happens to be with your old schoolmate. Say, Cutie points you out to Schoolmate and says you're cute. If Schoolmate doesn't recognise or remember you, the conversation ends there. Your meeting with this cutie ends there.

On the other hand, if Schoolmate remembers you and gives Cutie your name, you and Cutie have that chance of meeting again, on Twitter or whatever if he bothers to find you. From there, your paths intercept with each other, and you may or may not have a future with the cutie.

Simply said, it's fascinating how the tiniest of things have the biggest impacts on your path in life. Kind of like how, if you could ever go back in time, you shouldn't touch anything because the slightest modification in the past can change the present/future completely.

I'm not sure if you can learn anything from this post, these thoughts of mine, but it was just something I wanted to share.  Maybe you're now thinking of what little things you did that made your life like this today.

Being compared to Violet Parr

Honestly, I've always had long hair, in my pre-secondary days. That's probably why I'd always been compared to freaking Violet Parr from The Incredibles movie, by my parents and cousins when I was younger and by workmates when I grew older.

It was almost always the hair. How my hair covered my face, just like hers did. Then I got my glasses and chopped off my hair when I was in sec 2, which helped me lose the resemblance to her.

Last night I got compared again, the last time being in 2011 when I think I didn't look that much like her anymore. The comparison this time was by one of my Heroine family members.

And then I had a sudden realisation: it wasn't just the hair anymore. If you remember, Violet's powers were invisibility and the ability to conduct force fields.

Doesn't that sound like me, and most of us these days? Invisibility, how I'm always hiding away from people and away from others' eyes. Not getting any attention. Force fields, how I have the tendency to build walls around me to protect myself from others. Throw anyone off their feet if they get too close.

Sounds exactly like me. And sounds like Violet had had these weaknesses of hers as her powers as well. Impressive. Can we be like that?

Three houses in three minutes

Finally got around to recording and editting videos!

I'm not sure if the quality is good as on the computer, but you can watch this on your phone as well and that's awesome! Compared to my previous videos in 2011.

I realised I had quite a lot of random recordings on my camera and phone, so I decided to make a montage with all of the footage. My initial idea was to make a "Two Weeks In Pasir Ris" video, but I didn't manage to record enough solely in Pasir Ris.

Since I was spending a lot of time to and fro, I thought, why not make a montage of all three houses? So there you go!

I may be making a lot of these videos in time to come, because why the fuck not? This channel needed its life back anyway, though I've privatised a lot of my 2011 videos because they were mostly embarrassing. Sure, good memories, but embarrassing nonetheless.

My wanting to make videos again has been on for a long time already, I just never managed to do it for real. Holidays+Boredom+Love for the roads was a good combination for me.

A little background story on this video:
Pasir Ris, the place of relaxing and lepak, thus all the simple shots of the house and things that help me overcome boredom. [and a trip to the airport]
Paya Lebar, where the cats are, and when I managed to explore the Mountbatten area with my brother, who was my guest at the time.
Johor Bahru, where the renovations are done and I was running around because the house looked so fabulous.

Fight, because flight is instant death

I'm not sure how to start this because I don't remember where it all began. I was with him, someone who held my hand for a year but decided to let me go in a matter of days. I'm pretty sure we all know his name now. I'll never forget it, because it stirs all kinds of emotions in me, from bliss to anger, and it brings joy and grudges.

The thing with my dreams is, they're really unpredictable. I don't understand the pattern in them; sometimes they're funny, sometimes they're bloody. Sometimes they make zero sense, sometimes they blow my mind about something I was once clueless about in the past. This time, my dreams decided to bring back something which I'd never thought of in such a long time.

It's only been about two months since he left. I've cried, I've screamed, I've walked in a daze on the roads, I've drank half my health away. The pain was over when I found my new love, the expressways of my country. The loneliness was gone when I reunited with my parents and met Heroine. It was all over.

I never thought of him anymore. Still, my mind decided to stir up a dream about him.

The difference about the 'him' in the dream was how willing he was to explore new corners with me. In reality, he never wanted to go further than bus interchanges that had buses to Johore.

We were somewhere on the purple line, though I'm not sure which station exactly. The initial plan was to catch a movie, and we had to walk through this institution to get to the cinema. Some kind of weird school.

...The 'he' in the dream was exactly as I remember him. He displayed exactly the qualities which had made me fall head over heels, made me stay, made me devastated to have to let him go. I'm just saying. Not that it bothers me.

I bumped into this huge middle-aged man, who I later learnt was the Headmaster of the school. He made all the people there sit in this long line, including 'him' and I. I saw one of the students' notebook, in which she had carved onto the cover for her friend next to her to read: "Fight or flight, in which is death".

The Headmaster saw us engrossed with the cover of this notebook, and he snatched it out of us. The girls in front of me held their breath, hoping he couldn't make out the words on the cover. He didn't, but he was not happy with us. Me, especially, for some reason.

When he walked away, the girls whispered to me about an uprising. About how they'd been locked in this school for many years, forced to be slaves and to study all day, everyday. About how they've been planning to fight back for their rights, for their stolen lives. About how the plan for this rebellion was to "Fight, because flight ensures death."

What bothered me most was how, apparently, 'he' and I were also part of this school already, made slaves for having trespassed the school property. That was what made me choose to fight; because flight was instant death. [I didn't know what way exactly, but it was what scared the students there]

That was what I did. I went against whatever the Headmaster said. I refused to do anything he asked. Another boy followed suit. Eventually the Headmaster realised our constant defying, and took us into this single room, just a box across the street of where everyone else was.

The Headmaster told us to surrender ourselves; and by that, he meant he wanted us as a sacrifice. He demanded we gave up our heads, literally. As he was talking away, the other boy made signals to me for us to try and run. It was a good idea, but I remembered the 'Fight or Flight' thing, about how running away leads to death.

In the end, the idiot boy made a run out the door. Because the Headmaster couldn't react in time, he decided to vent it on me. My hair was pulled, my face was slapped. He pulled me to the pillory, trying to secure my head and hands in the woodwork. All I could do was struggle to release his latch on me.

Eventually I managed to escape his grasp, and it was my turn to run out the door. I totally forgot about the whole "Fight, because if you run, you die" theme, and just as I was about to run back across the street to everyone else was, I realised something odd.

Everyone was dead. Even my prince, who was sprawled on the floor, a pool of blood forming out of his neck.

I ran to him first, and tried to awaken him, although he was obviously dead. I held him in my arms, but it wasn't long before I realised the monsters coming for me. They were these completely black and white monsters, thin strands on their heads being their only hair. They were human, but they were not. And humans definitely did not float around corpses the way these things did.

One got to me, and I let out a scream just as I was brought back to the scene in which I ran out the door. Yep, I was brought back in time. This time, I didn't stop to hold the 'he' in my arms. This time, I decided to run to the wall, scale it, and made a run for it. This time, I lived.

Honestly, the part that bothers me most, is not the cold, or the dark, or the bloody, but his presence. It may be just a dream, but it bothers me so bad I haven't stopped thinking of it since I woke up. I haven't stopped thinking of him, to be exact.

And I just realised I called him my prince again. Mm, not gonna change that.

Chased, stripped, drugged

I was coming out of the shower when we got attacked. I don't remember who I was with, because they were all killed by the bullets that showered onto the house we were hiding in. I entered the scene of the chaos naked, just as the shooters, who were on tanks, disappeared around the corner.

I struggled into my clothes just as the remaining survivors struggled to get out the door. They demanded we get out of there, but that we all had to split ways. For some reason, their way of separating was by leaving just me to fend for myself. What could I say?

So all alone I was, not that it'd bothered me. I was wary, keeping alert of the shooters from before. The places I'd passed and streets I'd walked were deserted as hell.

I got to this shophouse full of flowers, and a woman who seemed to be the florist. Her shop was the only one lighted while the neighbouring shops were all closed, dark, and abandoned.

I was about to get comfortable when she told me 'the enemies were coming' and that I had to make a run for it. For some reason, she didn't seem scared; like those people with the guns were only after certain people, or maybe just me.

Whatever it was, I took her advice and went out the back door, through this garage, where unfortunately for me one of the bad guys was already waiting. I think I was drugged, because I don't remember much from this, or if I made any movement at all.

I was forcefully stripped naked, and had something sharp enter me through my skin everywhere. These were the only things I could remember. I cried, but I couldn't struggle because my movements were restricted by whatever drug I'd been given.

My assaulter disappeared soon after, but I was left bleeding on the floor of the florist. I struggled to get up and put on my clothes again, and walked out the door of the garage.

The chase wasn't over. People were still after me, and I kept running but I would always be stopped by someone from this weird gang, who would drug me and force something sharp through my skin, into my body. Every corner I turned, one of them was there, waiting to do the same to me.

It happened about five times, the pain shooting up my arms and down my legs. Such pain it was, I can't forget... Then my mind decided to wake up, three and a half hours after I'd fallen asleep.

If you're new to this blog of mine, just letting you know that I've always been having strange dreams. Bad dreams, to be exact, scary enough but too regular and normal to be labelled 'nightmares'. They're dark, violent, bloody, and constant.

I can figure out a meaning for this recent bad dream, but I figure it's too complex to state without explaining, and an elaboration for this would take far too long to be put in this together, so scratch it.

The airport and ghosts of the past

The first time I took an airplane was in 2009, to Kuching, Sarawak, a country full of history, enough for me to love it there. That's my first memory of flying, but I don't remember how I started loving aeroplanes in general.

I'd been reading my diaries from 2010, where I'd drawn lots of aeroplanes all over. I also have dozens of aeroplane paper clips, holding up old pictures in these notebooks, in a box in my drawer, just everywhere.

There was also this poem in one of Haruki Murakami's books, written in one of his short stories called "Aeroplane". I don't remember how exactly it went, but I know I was fascinated with that poem then, a poem which made zero sense to me.

There's also something about the airport, this vibe that makes me stay, even without doing anything. Like a home. 2012 was when I frequently went there, sitting at Dunkin Donuts, just writing away. Occasionally I'd head to the viewing plaza, but then I wouldn't write much because I'd be staring at planes instead.

The airport was also where I'd first met the one who used to mean the world to me. Where the 'love at first sight' magic had happened between the both of us. It was also where, 8 months later, I'd fetched him from his arrival from Bali, when he said he'd realised that we couldn't live long without each other. (that was what he said, I'd explain but psshhh.)

When we broke up, the airport became a place I tried to avoid. I just kept thinking that the memories would be too overwhelming, that I'd be too weak to handle it.

Just like with the North, I was wrong.

I paid a visit to the airport today, after a long time. I walked where I'd walked with him, but it really didn't scare me. It didn't bother me anymore; sure, the ghosts of the past walked alongside me but I just minded my own business and smiled at them. Don't cry because it's over; smile because it happened.

Now that another fear is down, I hope I can get back in good terms with the airport again. It's peaceful, you see all kinds of different people, doing different things, and you can just walk along anywhere in the airport, just being yourself, without looking out of place.

On a side note, I may love the airport, and aeroplanes, and exploring and travelling around Singapore, but I don't find myself wanting to travel the world. The interest is just not there. I feel contented enough with Singapore's roads. Yes, pretty sure that makes me weird.

And I apologise if this post is out of place, considering the recent chaos with the missing plane. It's just not my style to write about current affairs, something that everyone is talking about. I'll try one day though, okay???

Slowly letting go of 2013, slowly working hard to gain recognition for my writing.

The bright side of darkness

You know how everyone tells you to 'look on the bright side' every time something shitty happens to you? Yeh, it gets annoying because you think there is no such thing, but over time I realise that there is.

About one and a half months ago, my good friend from my Comiss class said to me: "You'll have everything when you have nothing." Thinking back, it made a lot of sense.

You see, the darkness is where there are the most possibilities. Turn off your bedroom lights, keep it quiet for a while, and in no time your imagination starts getting wild. You think of ghosts. You think of serial killers. Stuff like that, lurking in the darkness.

Likewise, when you are stripped of everything, that's when you will gain the most. You have the highest possibility of flying when you are at the bottom of your life. Anything can happen now that you are nothing. Simpler put, it's a rebirth.

If I hadn't been kicked out by my parents last two years, I wouldn't have discovered the amazing thing about MRT lines and roads, and expressways.

If I hadn't been dumped last two months, I wouldn't have returned to my parents, and I wouldn't have tried to socialise in these Whatsapp groups.

The next time I fall again, I shouldn't be so bummed out about it. I should take it as a chance to try new things. Being away from my parents opened my eyes to the roads of Singapore. Being away from boyfriends gave me freedom to meet all kinds of amazing new people.

Being in a shitty life is what brought me to see the beauty of being me.

Being in the darkness is what showed me the bright lights.

Breaking free / 2000th post!

I told myself Thursday would be the last time I'd ever meet him. But after all that talk about standing up for what you really want, I couldn't just leave him alone. Because like I'd said, honesty is important, and I couldn't deny that I really like him. I couldn't avoid him.

I used to love the North, especially Woodlands, but I'd had to avoid it ever since my recent break-up, only because of the haunting memories. The last time I'd gone there, I was being a drunk fucktard who was texting and calling up everyone I'd wanted attention from.

First thing that helped me out of this 'fear' was bus 168, which I'd taken from Tampines' retail park. The best part of this bus journey is basically, well, start to finish.

Pretty sure you know how much I love the expressways of Singapore; the thing about 168 is that it goes on the Tampines Expressway and the Seletar Expressway. Just two highways, but it's a big deal to me. When it exited the SLE and went on Woodlands land, it just got better; the fact that it didn't scare me as much as I'd thought.

I still didn't know the layout of Woodlands bus interchange though, shamefully. I'd walked one round only to have him jumping on me from the back by surprise, and leading me back all the way to the berth where I'd alighted at.

He got me iced chocolate, which was a request he'd owed me from Thursday. Just when I thought I'd never meet him again! Hehe. We were being clueless idiots at Starbucks, though the sales dude was nice to us.

Our date today was just at the Waterfront all day, waiting for the sunset. We played swings, ran from one end to the other of the jetty, read our books with the wind blowing through our pages. Most of all, we talked. I'd sworn never to tell my story beyond 2014 to anyone new, but as always, I made him an exception. He didn't judge me anyway, so all was good.

He is so alike me, I couldn't help noticing. The problem with him is just the same as the problem with me back then, so I hope I'd managed to bring the light to him by sharing my own experience.

My darling, you aren't the only one in a tough spot. You aren't the only one who has to make a difficult decision here. I'm torn between too. I'm torn between loving you or leaving you, as you very well know.

Stand up for what you want. That's what I'd always told you. Choose what makes you happy, not because you don't want to hurt someone, or whatever. Stand up for yourself. That's what would make me want to love you.

But thinking of it, I don't want your girl to feel this way. I know how it feels like to lose a love you've spent so long nurturing, a love you've sacrificed for and invested your energy on. It was only a one-year relationship for me and I already felt like shit when he left; how would your girl feel, considering the fact that your relationship has been on for two years?

I should leave. I'm well aware of this. But if I do, I'd be hurting you. And you're the one I'm in love with, not your girl, so I should be caring about your feelings more, right? As sick as it sounds, isn't that the way feelings work? I don't know.

But yeah, you aren't alone. I'm in a tight spot together with you. See the beauty of this mess, is that what you choose will be my choice, and what I choose will be yours.

We parted at where we met, and again, I took my 168 and flew on my expressways. Lucky for me, there were two buses that came at the same time, and I managed to snag the empty one; the ride throughout was peaceful as fuck. I sat hugging my knees for a solid half an hour or so, just marveling at the beauty of Singapore's expressways.

Unlike 2012, I've been strong throughout this break-up. I'm proud of myself for having made it this far, for throwing away my fears to make space for hope. I'll never forget the joys of the relationship with the boy from Johore, but it looks like I'll never cry over the loss again either.

I'm gaining strength as the years pass and experiences grow.

The presence of friends helps. That's what I'd learnt, and it was a big mistake to have let go of my only friends in 2012. So, thank you to whoever's been there for me through this break-up, be it just once or twice or up to today. I'm grateful for you; you know who you are.

P.s. This is my 2000th post! Can you believe I've written that many entries in this little blog of mine? I don't, either! Well, 109blackaxesii just recently celebrated her 6th birthday last November anyway. Hehe. May she progress onward! May she make me proud someday!

He was never mine

Knees hugged to her chest
Nothing on her mind but this mess.
Energy taken away by this fight
The only rest being a bus ride.

No matter how beautiful are their eyes
When it's time, make the sacrifice.
No matter how hard it tears you like so
If you love someone, let them go.

Don't cry, you did what you had to
The reward for it will come for you.
Even though you were never his
At least you got to feel what love is.

____

Just a little poem I wrote a few days ago, the day after we last met. Was a little depressed I'd say, listening to the same songs over and over, lying in bed and crying, thinking about you, about me, about what we could have been.

That phase is over, and I'm fine as a feline now! Now I know how it feels like to be in love by letting someone go when you have to. No greater love than in sacrifice and letting them decide what they'd like on their path.

Love at first sight, like falling for someone you just met at the airport, knowing you would never meet them again. It feels just the same.

Our infinity within the numbered days

Years ago, in 2012, I made a post about the things I found attractive in a guy; crooked teeth, loneliness, a reading hobby, a flair for writing. I'd fall in love immediately with someone of these qualities, but I thought it'd be impossible to meet someone that perfect.

When I broke up recently, people were telling me I'd meet someone better. I refused to believe it because I loved the qualities that guy had possessed: an openness to be himself, a sense of humour, honesty in letting you know how much you meant to him.

What would have been better? A guy who had the qualities from both the above paragraphs. Impossible for me to meet someone that perfect right? I did, though. I met such a guy, who also had a gorgeous smile and, at 185 cm, is also a ruler taller than me.

He noticed me first, before I realised his perfections. The thing is, he had his own affection towards the roads as well. I wasn't the only one who felt at home on the roads. Not only that, but we had so much in common, most of all his love for books and writing. Yes, I've met a tall, cute guy who likes reading and writing.

It wasn't just common interests; the way we looked at life was similar too. The way we felt, in general. Most of the time, we could sense what the other was thinking, or doing, almost like we were connected to each other by a umbilical cord. Like we were twins.

He didn't have many friends of his own, but when we first met, he was friendly, open, and he was just being himself. I really liked that. There was no awkwardness and I found it comfortable to be open with him as well.

Not to be cheesy, but it was love at first sight with this guy. The last time I'd felt that was a year ago, with the same guy who only recently dumped me. Of all the boys I'd mingled with since then, there were never any which I felt love at first sight, not even the date from weeks ago with Arabic blood, who was the type who could turn heads on the streets because he's that good-looking. But I just didn't feel that toward him.

We went to town yesterday, on what we called a 'bookstore date', since buying books was our main intention of going out. Of course, it turned out to be a date just in itself, because we had sushi for lunch, caught a movie, and took a walk through town with my hand in his. And have I mentioned I wore a dress? Hah.

Every time we passed a mirror, I couldn't help but pull him to look at our reflection and say, "Look. We're so cute together." because I think we really were. We looked sexy too, because we were both so tall. Hehe.

I wish I could blog more in details, but I guess only he and I are the only ones who would know the memory we created yesterday. The laughs, and the sadness.

I've only known you for a while, but I can honestly say, that I'm in love with you.

Of course, in every love story there's always the part that's fucked up. In this case, it's the fact that this guy has a girlfriend. They've been together for two years. I'm the third party, the lowest of all the lowest scum.

That's why, at the end of yesterday I had to tell him that that'd be the last time we could ever meet. Making him choose wasn't the way to go; I'm the third wheel, so of course I'm the one who has to make the sacrifice, despite the fact that he himself had fallen for me too: "Where else could I ever find a girl who's also in love with writing?"

As much as I hadn't wanted to, I had to leave. It hurt him, and it made me cry, but I couldn't risk being with him any longer because that would just hurt all three of us a lot more. I'd fall harder, knowing I could never have him, and he'd fall harder, knowing he could never leave the girl he's already with.

We've been playing these little games where the loser has to do a request for the winner; his last request for me was a whispered, "Kiss me hard before you go.", before he broke into a song about summertime sadness.

How could I have said no to that? It was the first and last time I kissed someone so perfect. The first time, in a long time, that I'd been shown love and affection from a guy while I was still sober.

The time spent was magical while it lasted. It was wrong, but love hurts whether it's right or wrong doesn't it?

In a way, he was my Augustus Waters; he'd given me our own infinity within the numbered days before it all had to be over.

My creepy bedroom

If you've been reading my blog since last year, I'm pretty sure you've read the post about how I'm really just a coward despite going through so much. [link]

So I've been wanting to write about this one thing in my everyday life which is actually creepy, but which I've gotten used to, that's why it doesn't scare me much: my bedroom.

The whole year I was at Paya Lebar, none of my family members slept in my room, despite there being a comfortable double bed which I'm pretty sure my dad would have liked. If not, my little brother would have, because it's about time he sleeps on his own anyway.

When questioned, he simply said, "Honestly, your room has this creepy atmosphere about it, which I just can't describe."

I didn't deny or think he was crazy, because I knew what he was talking about. Before I left in 2012, it was where I sat crying and cutting and doing other crazy things in lieu with my depression back then. Perhaps the tension in my bedroom was caused by those haunting emotions and memories.

As if those demons weren't enough, I'm pretty sure that more have settled in here during my absence since then. What more with nobody coming in here the whole year, how its door remained shut for the whole year.

I doubt the windows were ever open either, because of the mosquitoes constantly coming in, and the howling of the wind that sounds too creepily unnatural.

Yes, when I came back here to Pasir Ris about a month ago, I could feel a difference, like it had gotten more abandoned and dark. I'm not sure how to describe it either, it's just a difference I felt in something I'd grown accustomed to.

I just find it amazing that despite being such a coward who finds a need to sleep in my parents room each time I see just a scary picture, I'm the only one who can handle the pure creepiness of my own room. And yes, I'd like to know what is it that makes my room hella creepy, that even my parents feel it.

The crust, the mantle, and the core

"He only likes me because he thinks I'm pretty; he doesn't know me on the inside."

It ain't as simple as that anymore. Truth is, we not only have an 'outside' and 'inside', but we have three layers. Just like the Earth, we have the crust, the mantle, and the core.

Our crust is our exterior, what others see at first glance. Our looks, simply. Our physical perfections, the tiny flaws on your face that you were born with. Or the things we do, acts that make people do this thing called 'judge' you.

Our mantle is what's just below the surface. Approach someone, talk to them for a while, and you might reach their mantle; who they actually are. He who frowns all the time has a good sense of humour. She who is always dressed down has a flair for fashion design. Things like that. Little things that you'll grow to love and accept because it's just who they are in front of you.

And then there's our core, the innermost layer. This is where our past and dirty secrets lie. This is where it's determined who survives you and who doesn't. Only those who can handle the heat of your core would be willing to stay no matter how it hurts them.

Truth is, I've not exposed my core to anyone new as of 2014. If you'd just met me and are reading this now (you know who you are), you don't know me. Sure, you may like me because I'm a writer like you, you may like me because I share common interests with you. You may like me because I use proper language even when I'm texting, you may like me because I'm a bookworm. You may be attracted to me because I'm quote 'different from other girls', but that's just my mantle.

I'm pretty sure you can't handle my core. Heck, you're not even halfway there. The one person who made it ended up leaving, dirtying this core of mine even more. Sure, you've made it past the crust, you've sat on my mantle, but I don't want any of you to be coming near my core. Thinking about it, I think I should just push everyone the fuck away.

And yes, I've said it before but I shall say it again: I hate being caught in between. If there are two parties with equal pros and cons, heck it I'd rather pack up and move forward, and be alone.

Nobody is ever gonna put you first. That's your job; putting you as an individual before anyone else. I think I've seen Merlissa's point: I have to start doing things for myself, and myself alone, because no one repeat no one will ever see you as important. Apart from you.

So I guess I shall just keep my core to myself. Everyone else, back off from it.

P.s. I'm not a Science freak so I'm sorry if my metaphor clashes with the scientific reality. But you get the idea, right?