First Ramadan

Everyone's always looking forward to Ramadan every year. [insert 3 things that people look forward to in the fasting month which I usually don't care about] Me, on the other hand... I feel like the Christmas Grinch, Ramadan version.

I don't know man, I just dread it more and more each year. It's like a time for 'family', and because I'm so sensitive when it comes to issues about family, I easily crack and end up not enjoying a time of togetherness.

This year, the problem lies in the fact that I have two homes now. First day of break fast is always for family; Mom wanted me at Pasir Ris, but I didn't want to. Told her how I felt. How Paya Lebar is my home too, that the people there are my family too. Glad she understood my choice.

Though, excuse me if I seem like a hypocrite myself right now, but I hate how the asshole of a big brother of mine did not break fast with the family. As usual. I don't mind if it's because he's working like my dad is, but I bet he's gone out to eat with friends or girlfriend instead. If I see him tweet shit like "First day of buka is a must to be with family", I will personally chop his fucking head off.

So, I shall blog about yesterday now.

I made my way to Paya Lebar to know that my aunt had gone to Johore. So glad I made it, because my grandma would've been all alone otherwise.

We had jemput-jemput ikan billis, with 4 nuggets to the side for me because she knows I love them. The reason why I chose Paya Lebar?: for its simplicity. Mom would have made a ton of things to eat and most of the time I can't finish my share.

So after a whole day of being careful I do not accidentally eat or anything, guess what happened? Like 10 minutes before buka time, Granny passed me my cuppa iced milo, and the idiot me. Out of habit, I took a sip right out of my mug.

It was only when I was swirling it around my mouth did I realise. I didn't know whether I should spit or swallow!!!! In the end I did the latter and just giggled to myself and kept quiet when granny walked in. Ugh, I am such a blurblock ._.

I ate potato chips afterwards, while playing with the kitties. Granny was getting mad at my cat best friend Anis, about how she was always hiding somewhere and not coming into the room when I wasn't around, and only appearing when I'm home hehe.

Fell asleep for about 2 hours before waking up to go back to Pasir Ris.

Got to my doorstep to see a swallowtail moth waiting for me. During this whole moth season, I'd looked long and hard for moths but were never greeted any, until that night at Pasir Ris, probably about a month ago now. That was the first and last moth I'd seen, but it never failed to make me smile to think about it.

It fluttered about me for a bit while I was unlocking the door, and I was careful not to let it in. My parents and brothers wouldn't like it, as much as I would love to invite that moth in. One of the many factors that make me the black sheep of the family.

This morning I thought I saw the same moth by the letterboxes at the void deck. It fluttered the same way as last night's one, and I recognised the way one of its wings bent a little weirdly. I didn't see it when I reached home from school, unfortunately.

I think I can honestly say: I miss the days when I was a pure Paya Lebar girl. Although it's been just a few years, that place was the one that saved me. Pasir Ris breathed into me a life, but Paya Lebar was the one that saved my life, taught me to breathe.

A wise man said, It doesn't matter where you came from, what matters is where you choose to be.

I am a murderer.

I am a murderer.

I kill them all in the same fashion, by putting a knife deep into their hearts, twisting the blade and hearing the melody of their screams. I only stop in dead silence.

I hang their corpses in the doorway of my bedroom, tied to the ceilings in vines. The thorns cut deep into their bodies; into their arms, their throats, their eyes.

Their blood drips on me everyday. I take no notice of it when it happens, but I know I am stained red with what I've done to other people. Others see me as a blood-soaked girl, because I am covered head to toe with this thick red liquid.

I've given up on cleaning myself. I resort to pretending that I am clean, that this blood all over me is an illusion created by the souls of the people I've killed.

The few who have tried to wipe the blood from me ended up the same way as my victims. What was just an act of kindness brought them to their death instead.

I find solace in putting a knife into kind hearts, hearing their screams of pain and agony, listening to how they put their trust in me to put my weapon down.

I'm blissfully aware that what I've done to others drips on me everyday, and the smell lingers around me. I let that scent float around me as a warning; the few who stubbornly come over do not have the right to blame me, for I have signs all over me to stay away.

I am a murderer.

Confessions of a bibliophile

I am in dilemma right now. Deep turmoil. My heart is indecisive. I don't have much time left, and I need to make a decision fast.
I'm not sure what book to read next.

Don't know if you know this, but it's a library here in my bedroom [Pasir Ris]. All these books sitting on my shelves, many amazing ones, many more unread ones. Here I stand, staring at each and every one of them, wondering which one I should check out.

So for the month of June, I've bought myself 5 books, which is actually a huge improvement from the previous months. They're all contemporary genre, which simply means a story set in the real world, about normal lives, normal people. A contrast to the many fantasy books I bought last month. [I don't actually read fantasy very much]

It kinda sucks to not know which book to start on. I should read a book I bought a long time ago which I never got around to reading, yet I don't feel the mood for that particular book. Am I the only one who feels this way?

I've been reading a lot of contemporary this month, maybe because I just wanted to soak in the cuteness of a first love, the support from a loving family, or a road trip on discovering who you are. I've missed having a normal life.

Anyway, just thought I should blog a little something... Been too long since I let my fingers fly around the keyboard like this. It feels good, though nothing can compare to the way my hand moves when I'm writing in my diary.

I've gotten a little too addicted to books. In the past I was fine with just borrowing them from the library. But now that I've learnt how to save and shit, I find myself spending a little too much on books. Heh. *sheepish grin*

I love Booktube. It's a community of Youtubers who make videos about books; book recommendations, book reviews, book hauls. They're the only Youtube-famous people who share the same love with me. They understand my desire to collect books too, the only difference being that they can afford more than I can.

I love physical books. I like the sound of the page turning, I like the smell of its pages. I don't read any e-books or Wattpad or whatnot, because it's just not the same as a real book.
I love how I'm holding an entire world in my hands.
I love the thought of how a knife is hidden in the pages, waiting to stab me in the heart when I get there, again and again.

A lot of books have killed me, this I can't deny. [and honestly The Fault In Our Stars isn't as painful as many other books I read] I love every book that I've read, even long after I finished it. I never forget their stories like how people easily forget mine.

2012 was when I read the most; I was reading a new book every 2 days, believe it or not. They were my only friends at the time, old friends who came to me asking if I was okay, even when I had neglected them before. [just like how writing was]

I wanted to write more about how I've loved reading since I was a kid, and have never stopped since, and how books mean the world to me but I think that's enough for this post haha. I should get back to reading, I have more than 30 unread books, and that is so shameful of me. *another sheepish grin*

A war with my dreams

I didn't want to talk about this to anyone because people would just think I'm crazy.

My dreams have been getting weird. I have no other way to put it, but they're starting to have minds of their own. Like how a doll suddenly gains ability to move around.

As if it wasn't enough that they've been dark, violent, bloody; now it feels like they want to take over me. Like they want to be real instead of just dreams. Like how Pinocchio was a puppet who wanted to be a real boy.

Just a while ago, they started to come at times of the day when they were least expected. Then they started to come more and more consistent and frequent. I'd wake up from a dream that seemed to have gone on for days, only to see that 10 minutes have passed since I fell asleep.

My dreams were improving like how movies improved in time. They were becoming 4-dimensional, or 5-dimensional, or whatever. I've been starting to feel the effects of what my dream-self went through in the dreams. I've felt cold when I woke up from a dream with snow. A headache from a dream where I was shot in the head. Little things like that.

A few nights ago, I had this dream where I was surrounded by fire, and at the same time being rained upon. I had a high fever the day after, the kind of fever you'd develop when you get caught in hujan panas [not sure what it's called in English, but it's kinda 'rain when the sun is still out'].

This morning, I woke up vomiting non-stop, and my stomach was hurting so bad.
I had just woken up from a dream in which I was pregnant.

I told myself I've grown used to all these dreams, but they're still scary nonetheless. What scares me is how they're starting to control me. The line that divides reality and Dreamworld is fading, and my dreams seem to be winning this war right now.

My thoughts don't control my dreams anymore.
My dreams control my thoughts. 
They're getting into my head and I've no idea how to get them out.

I've been happy these past 2 months or so, really I have. So I have no reason to dream of such miserable things, because I haven't had sad thoughts. It feels like, the dreams I have need misery to feed on, and are angry to know that I've been happy, because they're hungry.

Someone told me he's had nightmares about me, three nights in a row. We've never talked personally with each other. We've not talked or met for a long time in fact, and we were never even close, so it was strange for him to be getting bad dreams about me.

It makes me feel overpowered by something so damn weak like dreams. What does my Dreamworld want? What is it trying to tell me, or do to me? It drives me crazy thinking of how it's acting on me right now. It's a mystery that can never be solved. A case that people would just laugh at and forget.

I really don't like sleeping anymore, because of all these bad dreams. Nightmares that leave lasting impacts on me through the whole day, screaming for attention and desperately wanting me to be miserable. God. It's tiring. I won't be surprised if I die in my sleep anytime soon.

Then again I really want to fight back. If they really do feed on my agony and pain, then all the more I should be happy and positive in order to get rid of them. I shouldn't let these things get to me; what comes from Dreamworld should stay in the Dreamworld. Stay at the back of my head, and don't come out ever.

Erudite anal-probe???

Another night, another dream. Long enough and an impact that's hard. I'd managed to get a whole dream to write about this time, after getting vague dreams the whole term since school started. Meh.

Anyway, I'm starting to believe my Dreamworld is really one world in its own. I don't know how to put it in words, apart from the fact that the places I dreamt of, I don't just see them again in real life, but I see them again in separate dreams.

Just a while ago I dreamt of an apocalyptic Johore Bahru. I was in a car, looking out the window, driving along its abandoned ruins. The grounds were snow-filled, though I don't remember if there were anymore snow falling from the sky.

I believe last night I was brought back to that time and space. I remember more snow, the same ruined road, and someone mentioning that we were going 'deeper into Johore Bahru', probably further than where my dream-self had explored before.

'We' arrived at this little town [I don't recall exactly who I was with], which actually consisted of a garden, a few houses and a freaking huge school. The whole town was filled with snow, which made it difficult to walk, especially through the garden, but I made it.

We got into the compound of the school, which was deserted as hell. Not for long because a woman with a giant bell protruding out of her stomach ran over to us and started making a lot of noise by ringing the bell and yelling at the top of her voice.

One of the people I was with said that was the job of these bell-stomached people: to attract attention and alert the authorities when there are intruders. As soon as he said that, a woman appeared behind him, one who looked important, she in her suit and hands behind her back, chin held high.

We all seemed calm, though I'm pretty sure my companions were scared as fuck. She commanded us to follow her, which we did, until 2 of the boys from the 5 of us developed a plan and ran off. The remaining 3 of us didn't follow, because the woman had had her eyes on us. What's more, the fact that she had seen the other 2 boys running off but wasn't fazed by it just intrigued all of us.

She brought us into this room, chucked at the back of the school, and the first thing I noticed upon walking into it was a grown man laid on an uncomfortable-looking bed. He was naked, and he was completely stripped of his sexual organs.

I slowly looked around to see that he wasn't the only one. There was one by the door, another by our side, both laid down, naked and without any genitals. My companions who followed the woman with me were a girl and a boy, so you can imagine the look of horror on the latter.

The woman explained: "For many years, this town we live in has been in extreme poverty. Despite that, education and intelligence mean the world to us, more valuable than any amount of money or any diamond. Many of the people in our school were too poor to afford schoolbooks, but the rule of the town is that it's compulsory for everyone in our town to know the content of our books.

That is why, the only way we could spread the knowledge without spending a single cent was to circumcise these men, so we could probe into them the content of the books. What is written in these books are put into them via anus so as to transfer the information to their heads."

And she demonstrated.

I'm not even gonna try to describe it. It was too grotesque, too horrific for words.

We all watched in horror until the woman casually looked at us and said, "As long as you've touched your feet on our land for more than 10 minutes, you are considered part of us, and thus, it is necessary that you withhold the content of our schoolbooks in your heads as well."

We slowly backed up as she approached us, until the door opened behind us and our other 2 companions yelled at us to run. We didn't need them to tell us that; we bolted out the door and our feet took us, anywhere as long as we were away from the woman and the anal-probing.

We had a car, but it was parked at the outskirts of the garden and we couldn't take the risk of changing direction. It was chaos as we just, well, ran.

I got separated from my companions, and for the rest of the dream I was on my own exploring this dystopian town that was once Johore Bahru. I reached a carnival where monkeys were attempting to steal your phones. I drank at a bar where they decided who were your friends or foes by taking blood tests. I looked out the window to see that the sun was just a giant yellow spaceship with orange rings around it.

My dream-self was in disbelief that that was happening to her. It all felt too surreal, but unfortunately for her, everything that she had seen or felt was her reality. Just like how I feel when I'm on a bus, looking out the window, thinking of all that has happened to me.

Maybe that's just why my dreams take a huge toll on me. She's convinced that she's in reality when she's just in my dreams, so I wake up believing that her world is mine. I wake up still stuck in there, still messed around by the things she had seen.

Just a theory. I love theories.

And that's just the dream I had this morning. I woke up from it at 4 in the morning, feeling breathless and perspiring my head off. I don't remember what was the last thing I'd been running from really, considering the fact that running away from the woman had happened toward the beginning. There're so many gaps in my dreams most of the time.

I also can't forget the display of the men on their beds, with holes at where their sexual organs should have been. As much as I hate men, that is not a pleasant sight, and seeing them anally probed was not nice at all. Ah. My goosebumps.

Dear faggot ex

Don't think I don't have a clue that you still read my blog. Isn't it ironic that you shoot your mouth off about me not moving on when you're the one stalking my blog and shit? [I stalk your Twitter only when I know you've read my blog] I've had so much to rant about you since forever. Glad I have the chance now.

You, my dear faggot, have got to stop thinking so highly of yourself. Yeah, I'm friends with some of your friends, but does that mean I want you back? And who was the one who introduced us in the first place? Was there a rule stating that friends can't keep their friendship when the mutual friend isn't friends with one of them anymore?

You probably hate me because of my long blog post for you the other time, but I never understood why ya know. To put it in words, you've probably told your side of the story to your tertiary friends, that's why even the ones whom I liked so much and whom I thought cared for me, cut off all ties with me as well. [I can imagine you with your cuntface while you tell them your standard "She cheated on me twice!" *rolls eyes*]

They never heard my part but they already made their judgement that I am the villain. How fair is that? So let me tell my side of the story then, why don't you. Thus you can't hold it against me to write and let people see that post.

I don't understand why you even made me to be the bad guy. I cheated on you twice? Maybe the first incident is considered, not that heavy a case but at least I admit it was a huge mistake on my part, and I only allowed it to happen once before I talked to you about it, while the second can't even be classified as 'cheating'.

Secondly, I'd explained to you both incidents, I told you my feelings and why I'd done that. Thirdly, these two shit happened so long ago, long before our break-up even. In between you told me you were okay with me already, that you already put that all behind you. Fourthly, these two incidents weren't even the reason why you broke up with me.

Dude. From October up to our break-up I was trying so goddamn hard for you. I already saw that you were losing interest, but I still did my freaking best while I let you sit back and relax in the relationship. The few times you had to comfort me, was the few times I crumbled from exhaustion of doing my best for you.

Who was the one who left, clearly stating it was because he lost interest in me? Who was the one who coldly shrugged his arm off when I was begging him not to go, who said so casually, "I just don't love you anymore." Why am I the villain?

All the crazy things I did after our break-up; who wouldn't break down like that after being dumped just two days after the goddamn anniversary with a reason like yours dude? Who ever saw it coming? How would you feel if you're laughing with someone one minute, and the next, he suddenly punches you right in the face? Pretty sure your emotions would take over you, you can't deny it.

And put yourself in my place. What if you're the one who had no one except for the person you love? What if you're the one who literally has no friends in school, no parents or siblings to talk to, nobody except your other half? What if you had someone who knows everything you've gone through and supposedly understands why you need her so badly? How would you feel if you've done all you could for her because you only have her, but one day she just decides that she doesn't want you anymore, after you've been together for one year?

It hurts okay?

So why am I the villain? Why do you make me the bad guy? I never deserved any of it. I did wrong to you but at least I admitted my mistakes. You're still living in your fantasy that I'm 100% the bad guy of the story, you don't even admit how you've wronged me. Just... UGH. Who's the egoistic one?

One more thing I admit. It does suck to have your ex girlfriend liking your best friend. I know it's stupid that I've gotten a crush on him of all people, but even that in itself is nothing wrong. Again, me liking him has got nothing to do with my past relationship with you. I feel bummed out too with the fact that he's your best friend, you piece of shit, but still I only want to see him as him, not 'my ex's best friend'.

Again, you're the one not moving on. You've lost interest in me, you've broken up with me, you've stopped contacting me altogether. You doing all this should lead to you treating me as just another girl, thus you shouldn't see any problem with me going out with him. You shouldn't give a shit. I'm just another girl. Tell yourself that you faggot. Because I really am nothing to you.

I honestly don't know what exactly are your problems with me liking him, but whatever it is, I assure you you are wrong. If you think I've got any hidden intentions, I'll tell you what it is. My hidden intention is that I want to know more about him, I want to listen to him and I want to take care of him better than you ever would.

That's it. If you think I wanna get to him only to get back at you, fuck off. Ain't nobody got time for that. And Idk, a part of me has this feeling that you're thinking I've liked your best friend since the days we were still together. Well the answer is no, I didn't have feelings for him like that when I was still with you, and even if so, you lost interest in me months before you broke up with me, remember that, and that's no different.

And I told myself that if I want to be with him, I shouldn't try regarding you, not even any hate. Because although I will never have the chance of being his, I don't want to cause him the disservice of having his best friend and a girl fighting over him and shit. He means a lot to me, and I don't want to cause unnecessary trouble, though maybe I already am..

God dammit what else do I have to spit out at you... Just hate it if I leave out any important points even if it's just ranting ._.

Well, dude. Just wanna give you the good news that I've been out of your goddamned life since January, so you don't have to worry about that. Your friends don't equate to you, so me being close with a friend of yours or two doesn't make me still in your life, and it doesn't give you reason to be all "when will you fuck off from my life" just because you see me hanging out with your classmate.

I see all my friends as who they are, and it doesn't matter that you were the one who introduced them. They have names, they have their lives, they have no reason to be linked to you.

Also, nothing justifies you saying "holy shit you disgust me so much", because you are the disgusting one. If you still don't know why after reading this post of mine [which I've written only to stand up for myself] go look in the mirror and reflect on what you've forced me to do for you, you filthy piece of shit.

Any arguments, please feel free to fucking mention me.

Take me back

Take me back to that night in 1995

Before I was granted a life.

Before my hands were able to hold.

Before my shell was granted a soul.

Take me back to 2004 

Before the little body became bruised and sore.

Before the secret was given away.

Before their fights every night and day.

Take me back to 2010

Before a boy was mistaken for a man.

Before a girl gave him everything she's got.

Before he ran away with the whole lot.

Take me back to 2012

Before the best true friends were left.

Before the careless spill of the first blood.

Before home's door was slammed shut.

Take me back to January

Before I knew the life that I'm living now would ever belong to me.

Before I stopped meaning the things I say and have said.

Before I started mixing reality with the things in my head.

Joyously depressing

Today was what you could call bittersweet.

I don't really want to use that word though, because somehow it sounds sad. My day was, as I called it, joyously depressing. Like how you'd see the people in an insane asylum laughing away, unaware about their conditions.

It started with my daily morning stroll to Mountbatten station. Because first class started at 8, I had to leave my Paya Lebar house by 6. The silence was peaceful and at the same time eerie, and there weren't any cats or people around. No birds chirping. Pretty much like how solitude comforts yet kills.

When I got to school, a song called "Happy" came next on my playlist. It lifted my spirits, even when I'd been thinking of the sad things in life throughout my bus journey.

A long time ago, I read the English lyrics of this song; contrary to its joyous and upbeat tune, it's about letting go of someone who means the world to you; how you've lost yours, but that you wish they'd find their own happiness.

That's when I realised that it doesn't matter how sad your lyrics are. As long as you have a happy tune, everything will be alright. The happy is all that everyone hears and sees.

And then I had a fight with one of the few people who means a lot to me. This fag has always meant a lot, but I don't show it, and he knows that. Regardless of my newly found hatred for guys and my declared statement of I don't want to care anymore, somehow I actually do, but I don't know how to prove it.

I don't know how to show it. I don't even know if my affection for this person is good enough. Because judging from what he'd said, it looks like my presence hasn't made any impact on him for the past 2 months of our friendship. It seems that I haven't made any difference, whether or not I'm in his life. I could go on giving him the silent treatment for days and he'd never notice I was gone.

I spent my three hours lunch break completing the book I started on yesterday. It's one of those books where you have to get into it without having a clue what it's about, so I'm not gonna say much about it.

It's a funny one, yet at the same time depressing because it poked and prodded hard at me, right in the most sensitive spots of my past 18 years. I had to take a few deep breaths each time its plot twisted suddenly, had to let a few tears slip when I imagined myself in the protagonist's place.

By the time I read to its end, I couldn't hold it anymore. I tossed the book aside and ran to the toilet, where I hid in a cubicle and cried my eyes out. In the middle of my bawling, I caught my reflection [there's a mirror in every cubicle in my school's Atrium toilet] and, seeing how ugly I looked, started to laugh at my silliness.

It's just a book, I told myself. It's just a little paperback, just words in devious placements, forming sentences and paragraphs that became knives, stabbing you in the heart again and again. I smiled and wiped my tears away. It's just a book.

I didn't know whether I should label it 'better than', or 'worse than', in comparison to the book that stirred everyone else's hearts, The Fault In Our Stars. This book I'd read was better than that because its plot was not expected at all and I related to it better, but at the same time it was worse because it'd made me cry harder. [then again, if a book were to touch your heart so deeply like that, I'm pretty sure that makes it a good one]

I had to make my way to class after that, where I'd suffered a terrible book hangover. I couldn't stop thinking of the ending, of the characters, of the world through the protagonist's eyes. It felt like I was still stuck in the world of the book, still on Beechwood Island.

And then I looked down at my arms. The thin white stripes on the black background of my sleeves brought me back to 2011.

And at that moment, I lost all my senses. I didn't know what was reality anymore.
I got it mixed
with the world of the books I'd read
with the world I fantasise living in
with the alternate universe where the other 'me' was living the life I never had
with my Dreamworld
with the past.

I didn't know what was going on anymore, and that made me want to laugh
and cry
at the same time.

I'm in my own asylum. One part of me laughs too hard at the smallest things, another keeps her chin too high until only the insides of her nose could be seen, which disgusted and chased others away. The other parts are trapped in my head, yelling again and again, I'm not crazy, I want out, help me, I'm not supposed to be here. Another part yells Leave me the fuck alone. I'm fine on my own. Leave me be.

But the biggest soul of them all speaks, and immediately the rest of these voices shut up. The biggest soul in me simply says:

Today was a bittersweet day, but I wouldn't really use that word because it sounds too sad.
Today was joyously depressing.
In a way that the patients in an insane asylum would laugh like mad, unaware of their conditions.

Putting myself in others' shoes

Some things have been on my mind lately. About putting myself in other people's shoes. The past boyfriend said I never understood him, because I'd never thought about his feelings, or about the situation he was in.

Sure, most of the time I was too egoistic, but a few points of our relationship, I swear I'd placed him first without a second thought. Not gonna talk about those moments because they don't matter anymore.

He left, and ever since then I'd changed my way of thinking by placing myself in the shoes of others. Simpler said, I was just looking at myself the way others would, by looking at others through my own eyes.

I tried imagining how others looked at me. They wouldn't care, because I wouldn't care about anybody else. You could try sending some message through your tweets or retweets or favourites or whatever, but truth is, nobody would bother reading between the lines for you. Because would you do that when it comes to somebody else? I don't think so. You'd only react to somebody else's suffering if the fact's thrown right into your face.

Nobody would try to decode your life by reading your tweets, nobody would dig into your Favourites to know what secret message you're trying to convey. Nobody would Google the lyrics of the song you #np just to know how you feel. Nobody would read your blog, and even if they do, they wouldn't really care enough to know you better or to make you feel better.

Nobody would look at you and ever wonder, "Does she ever sit on a bus and cry her eyes out as she looks out the window?",  "Is she tired from having two families and two places to call home?", "Does she still feel hurt by the words I just don't love you anymore, even 5 months after a boy said that to her, and 2 years after her own parents said that to her?"

No. Nobody would care to even wonder that. As long as they see that you're fine on the surface, that's it. That's all they see in you. Because come on, that's how you see them.

What am I saying? My point is, knowing others wouldn't care, why should I care about others, really? I'm fine in my own world, because from what I can see, the rest of the world is fine the way they are too. Do I make sense?

I don't trust my life in the hands of another anymore, I don't really care anymore if people leave, I don't bother to know how others are feeling on the inside. I don't want to do things for others anymore, because I'd end up getting hurt. I'd rather hurt others, because this is my life at stake. My feelings. Not theirs.

To know that the nicest person to you was just faking it all along. To know the one whom you called your world already lost his feelings for you just when you were starting to try again. To know the one who gave birth to you thought you were ugly all along and only appreciated your uniqueness when you were gone. To know the one you really like hugged you tight like his world depended on you, only as a friendly gesture. Everyone is selfish, so why can't I be?

I almost gave way to my selflessness earlier by getting this urge to run back to NYP just to accompany a friend of mine. I'm glad I didn't, because this is a new start for me. I don't want to care anymore.