Please Aamir no more

I'm so sorry. I tried. But the whole of yesterday -- while it was supposed to help me out of this shell that grew on my back whenever the heck it did, instead, it served as a reminder of what happened nearly 4 years ago.

I struggled to get over that night. And there yesterday was, bringing it all back. I did all of said night for my cousin, like how I did yesterday for you. In 2012, a wedding dinner; in 2016, a raya outing. One that wasn't with my friends, but yours, just like how it wasn't a wedding dinner with my family, but hers.

I never wanted to go, but you wanted me to, and that I'd disappoint you if I didn't show up. Work wasn't a good enough reason to excuse me, and you told me to take an MC again, which I really refused. But you insisted.

What possessed me to take urgent leave for you? I guess I just wanted you happy, even though I knew exactly how I was going to feel.

At the age of 21, and I still don't wear make-up like all the girls in your class. Do you know how useless it makes me feel??? I already feel like a nobody when I see their photos on Instagram, what more being forced to sit side by side with them? I appreciate them talking to me and trying to include me, but... Each time they conversed with me I just wanted to turn my head the other side and scream PLEASE. DON'T LOOK AT MY FACE WITH YOUR PRETTY ONE.

I was there because I was with you, and from a whole different secondary school and neighbourhood, while the rest of the group were super tight friends from the same classes. Nobody I knew, nobody I could talk to, except for you, and you kept ditching me to sit on the other side of whatever house we were in.

It got to the point where I didn't even want to eat because I felt like everyone was staring at me and judging me if I took the food for myself, because there is this huge nonsensical mindset of mine that reminded me I'm not part of this friendship, I'm just a shadow, I. Shouldn't. Be. Helping. Myself.

The second last house, when your friend's mom kept asking me to eat. Please don't do that please don't do that please please please leave me alone please.

This. Damn. Anxiety.

All the inside jokes all of you had, all the memories you guys reminisced, and that moment when we were taking a group picture and you all decided to say "Fuchun". I don't know why, it's such a small thing but it broke me. I'm not a part of this at all.

And the moment I separated from you at Marsiling station, I just could not hold in my tears anymore. I swear to God, just tears beyond my control, all the way to Mountbatten. Even now as I'm typing this I'm hoping my mother doesn't pop her head in just to tell me "E'indah I go sleep first ah," like she always does, and see me with my wet eyes.

Why did I have to be the ugliest one? 

Why did I have to be the weirdest one?

Why did I have to be someone disliked by people?

If I tried to include myself, what could I have talked about? The books that nobody else could have read? The things that happen at work that I find hilarious but that nobody else would laugh at? What? What???? What could I have said...???? 

And I've been trying to keep it in, but you always tell me not to hesitate if I have something to get off my chest. I didn't want to text you about this, because you'll say things that won't make me feel better at all, but worse. You'll never understand how I feel, I have to say this honestly, because you are surrounded by so many people you can call friends. People who like you.

I'm so sorry, again, I've tried. But please Aamir, no more. Please when I say no please don't keep forcing me.

A boy named Marish

It's been a while since I blogged about my dreams because I just couldn't be bothered to find words for it lately. But the ones I had this morning was kinda... easy to describe???

Not forgetting to mention, there's been lots of thunderstorms in the middle of the night lately, and well thunderstorms in the middle of the night really do scare me. Fact: since young, whenever I wake up from sleep due to thunder/lightning I'll always shake my granny awake as well to tell her, "Nek, hujan." just so I wouldn't feel so alone.

Ok, so I did say the dreams I had this morning were easy to talk about, but where do I start??? Here are the things I remember, in no particular order: (also not necessarily in the same dream because, you know, I dream up stuff any time as long as I'm asleep no matter how many times I 'tersadar'.)

(1) Me, sipping tea from a cup at the airport. It looked like a diner, just stretched with booths from one end to the other. Aamir was beside me in a wheelchair, and yes that's strange but well I guess my brain isn't over Me Before You yet.

People started running in a single direction; from my angle, they were running towards me, so whatever it was they were escaping from was at the other end of this airport. And errr it was a motherfreaking T-Rex. I guess it was baby-sized, because it just reached about the height of about three people, but still, it was a T-Rex.

What else do I do??? I grab the handles of Aamir's wheelchair and pushed him and ran the fuck for our lives. (which I'm not able to do in real life) I led us to those fire escape stairwells that's always behind closed doors at shopping malls, and said out loud, "Why won't the people hide by the staircase? The T-rex will be too tall to come in anyway." while it goes on a rampage outside the door.

(2) I'm on a train, one of the two lone seats that's always at the end of the carriage. A girl is in front of me with a little boy child on her lap, and at this moment that girl was Farizah.

When she reached her station, she proceeded to leave the train but she left the boy child, to which I called out to her for. She never heard me, so I grabbed the boy's hand and followed her suit, all the way to a medical clinic.

By this time it was a few minutes to 11, the time which that clinic was closing, but Farizah really really really needed a doctor for the boy. (maybe she was rushing so bad to the extent of forgetting the boy completely?)

The receptionist girl told Farizah about another clinic which was 24 hours, to which she and I hunted for. By this time, Farizah became Miko. (yes it's pretty normal for someone to change into another person in dreams, at least in mine)

We got to Chinatown, and I guess I know it's so because of the red lanterns that were everywhere. Miko told me to look for that 24 hours clinic while she hunted for some pregnancy books because it was so damn important to her suddenly, and that's how I ended up on the roof of this particular building all on my own.

And that's where I saw that boy child I first met on the train. Getting beaten and screaming, while this narration went off in my head; "...and Marish went on screaming." Then finally getting stuffed into a plastic bag.

You know how sometimes there's no clear explanation but you just know something, that's how it's always like in dreams. I just knew it was child trafficking. And I'm not at all shocked because (1) these dreams are normal to me (2) it is happening in the real world and we can't do anything about it, I can't do anything about it but dream about it. So that's it for now.

Let's skip to the good part

Been listening to the songs I listened to in 2014 lately.

If there's one thing I envy most about my 2014 self, it's her writing. The way she could sit down alone and go on writing, never stopping even 5 pages later. And I love her way with words. I don't know how my English language has depleted, even with all these books I read.

I'm not sure what's my logic, but I've always felt I wrote better when I was alone, not just physically but in the relationship sense. I always thought it had to be a choice between a significant other and the flair for writing.

My other half is still with me today despite all my thoughts of not deserving him/him deserving better. So I guess I shall stick with this right? Since I can't do anything about my looks (actually I can i.e. make-up or braces or just plain effort but nevermind), I wouldn't mind getting back that natural way of writing instead.

You know, sometimes I think: I may be happier at work, but I was definitely less tired during my poly days. At least I could sleep in class, and I didn't do my homework anyway, and I didn't have much of a social life to keep up with. It was all just bliss, reaching home way before the sun sets. I just didn't have my own income.

I feel more useful at work, and it's the only place in a long time where I've felt better than everyone. But boy am I so tired from it. Working so hard for marriage and a house for me and my other half, even though he or I or this world could be taken away anytime He wishes.

As cliche as it sounds, can I just skip to the part where I'm already married and settled down and very very financially stable??? Someone would be way less tired too if he could just live in Singapore.

Today I had this thought though: me, turning 21, and him turning 20, and we are already struggling to earn enough for our future together, which is in about four years as we've planned (if He is willing). Then what about those who haven't found their significant other yet? Like, are they already saving up money already or are they waiting til they've met that Mr/Ms Right and then start saving? Which would result in getting married at age 30, 35? Which is kinda... 'late'? What??? What am I talking about???

Nevermind, goodnight, til tomorrow hopefully.

All too well

Why do people do what they do? Or maybe, why do I do what only silly little girls would do? Here I am everyday trying to make myself forget, and yet here I also am, reading back the journal from the very year I want to erase from my mind. Stupid, stupid.

And yet I am really taken in. I don't mean to be cliche but the entries showed me proof I've changed over the years. Even my writing, although that's in a negative way because my 2014 entries were really, really good. In terms of language. No joke. I don't mean to be praising myself.

These entries were the very moments when I came up with the Type metaphors, when I found a flower, a bird and a river, and a flame in myself. I think it's really beautiful, but I am the only one who will ever get it.

Maybe I don't regret his leaving me. But I wish the year would have stopped at July. It was perfect (with all its flaws) til August, when my brother got married and when I went out with those people and when I fell prey to the haunting of a Ghost.

If only I hadn't went. If only I'd reached out to the flower and the wind at Jurong Point. If only I'd stayed with the river. If only, if only, if only.

But the reality is: If only I'd known how to say no.

Just one word could have saved my life the year.

The diary entries never mentioned anything about what happened the later half of the year, but I do remember. I'm glad I didn't write about any of it, because it would have been tougher. I loved that year from March to July, with all its screw-ups and fuck-ups. I just wish it hadn't gone beyond August.

I think smells carry memories stronger than any other senses, and I could never forget the scent from September 2014. And it doesn't help that it's still a popular cologne and I smell it quite frequently in public places.

It's still quite a struggle to get over that year, to forget everyone I met or got close to then. It's so easy to leave friendships, but it's so hard to get them out of my head. The way H, E, and M were talking about Running Man and Z and I had no idea. Eating chocolate waffles with SY and F while waiting to catch A's performance. The way A and F gave me that little push to see L at the library. These were pleasant memories and they're still so difficult to think of.

I think April to June were the most peaceful and I wish it'd stopped there. But what's the point of a wish if it's already happened and there was nothing to stop it with anyway?

You know how they say you'll regret the things you didn't do more than the things you did? It's a lie. Remembering the things you did do would be so... much... more... painful.

Done

A little hard to blog this out because I don't want someone saying I'm always trying to make myself the victim.

I should not have taken that bloody picture.

Yea, there you go. You're handsome. Even guys say so. I'm ugly. Nobody has to say it but I know. Obviously we are not meant for each other.

I'm the kind of person who would make your friends say "Why is he even with her?"
The kind of person who would make the people who know me say "I pity her boyfriend."

God knows how worthless I feel. God knows but God doesn't care. He probably thinks I should be grateful He even gave me a face. But what's the point of it? I'm living in a world where my self-worth is my net worth.

You're probably staying only because you feel guilty for last year, or because you know I have this thing where I'd hurt myself or worse if you ever left me again, or both. It'd be easier for the both of us if I left first.

I think you deserve better and I can never be that someone better. No matter how hard I try. I don't have a pretty face, or a pure heart, or money, all of which you deserve. I'm so tired. But you're more so. Call it a sacrifice. If I could leave her for your sake, it should be easy to leave you for your sake.

I'm so fucking worthless. It's not a "feel", it's a fact and this world has shown it.

I think I deserve...

Yea, I'm exhausted right now, but this blogging thing has always been the one to rekindle my energy.

I learnt cashiering at work today, more than a year after I started out at this job. So far, it's fairly easy but it's tiring, considering the fact that I also have to take care of my own department and any which doesn't have staff. I still feel underpaid, but what am I to do?

Really sucks that I'm working so hard in this company and the area manager not only doesn't see it or appreciate it, but doesn't even know my bloody name.

I loved this job because I can handle anything (again, if you dismiss the HOD stuff) and I'm really fully invested in it, making sure everything is done and perfect (even though it isn't my job) and ensuring all the customers I serve get what they wanted (even though they don't say thank you).

And honestly, working in this underpaid job is still way better than being in poly. I just can't study, and I'd rather be in a place where I'm useful than sit down somewhere where I don't know anything.

Popular was a lovely job, but I think I deserve better. Perhaps I'm just waiting for the day when I finally have the balls to leave and to try out for SMRT, or when I finally have enough money to get a diploma to get a better job, or when I stop being shy and make those videos I wanna make, or when I take back my love for writing and write that book I've been dreaming about.

Some things that I think I deserve:
(1) A higher salary, please?
(2) All the books in the world that I want. (and space in my room for them)
(3) At least an entire week off.
(4) More views on this blog and more money on the Nuffnang that I've had since 2012.
(5) A friend.