A year ago I thought I'd lost my flair for writing. I would open the new post page and stare at it without anything coming to mind. I was convinced I didn't have the love for it anymore, the passion, the hunger to be a recognised writer.
I once thought it always had to be a choice between an other half and a passion; that you could never have both. I wrote a lot when he first left me--now I am writing just as much after he's gone again. Even planning to invest in a full Microsoft Word and already contacting publishing houses. I believe the heartbreak is what pushed me to it.
If you are like me, then you really can't have both. Your writing would only be fueled by loneliness, and you could leak your universe either to the person you love or the natural instincts you have with a pen and paper/fingers and keyboard. Hint: the person is the one who would throw your feelings into the trash or into your face.
Thinking of alternate universes made by differing decisions: if I'd chosen to have her, the wind would have left because he didn't want her, as he'd clearly said at the time. In this universe, I chose him, so of course I wouldn't have the one that would have been mine forever.
Another alternate universe possibility: I kept her, but not him, and am too busy taking care of a child that I put my dreams on hold. Pushing them back and back and back until I could no longer fulfil them or even try to, boundaries made by my daughter, or lack of youth, or just the simple fact that the love for writing has died.
I guess thinking about it I could never have all three. I've lost her forever and had him and writing left; now he's gone and all I have is my gift with words. And swear to god I will never lose this, I will never lose you and I will be working hard to achieve this.
Thursday, April 20, 2017
Wednesday, April 19, 2017
You were on fire
Was told a story by an old friend today, but I am a terrible person who triggered the emotions he'd been trying to forget, so I decided not to write about it anymore. I'd just spent the last half an hour flipping through my diary from 2015 again; because you know, self-torture.
All my entries stood out, shocking myself right now at the thought that my almost-20-year-old self had written all these.
An entry from the 6th of October, 2015. Word for word, except names are exchanged for initials.
Hm, I am getting back on track with this writing thing. I don't have anything deep or emotional to let out, unless you count the dream I just had about a week ago...
The entire dream was insane just the way it is. There were ghosts, a woman who would breathe on everyone's necks but not reveal herself. Most of all, there were the love of my life and his best friend.
...There is always the two of them.
Exit A and I from the motorbike that we'd obtained from the previous scene, a warehouse with the invisible woman. Enter us into an MRT station that somewhat has a resemblance to Pasir Ris. I spot L, looking so much taller than I remember. I call out, and he smiles when he sees me but A is emotionless.
I don't think A was as invested in our conversation as L and I were... I so believe at this point of time my dreamself has forgotten her other half.
The MRT station is fairly crowded, like it would be during peak hours. Though I have the slight feeling it wasn't due to people returning home from work and all... I believe it was a sort of apocalypse. You are lucky if you are caught in a life-or-death situation with the love of your life.
Or are you?
The minute all 3 of us have gotten to the platform level, this huge, muscular guy comes into view, looking really threatening. He opens his mouth and his voice thunders, "Everyone has 6 minutes to get out of this station before I blow this place up."
And there is mass panic. There is a wall of death as people run all over the place, squashing others in the midst. Plenty of people are pushed down... stepped on... squashed like a bug... organs and bones going everywhere.
Seeing things like these aren't new to me. But I still get traumatised every dawn when I awake.
More importantly, where is the love of my life? L is right there, he is holding my hand but where is A???
Here comes the plothole: while I am leaning down from the tracks, a soft wind pushes me over. I do not feel scared even though there are bodies on the ground below me, the many who'd tried to jump. I remember feeling myself floating down to the ground, landing on my feet amidst those who landed on the last seconds of their lives.
And then L falls on me, and I am able to catch him.
But... where is A???
I look back up to the platform level, and there I finally see the love of my life. He is emotionless, and I want to cry out for him but I don't find my voice. I look at him helplessly, and then the huge, muscular guy comes into view again, blocking my other half from my line of sight.
He says, voice booming again, "6 minutes is up." and smiles a big yellow menacing smile.
And he guns away at everyone who is left on the MRT platform.
The bullets in his gun explode upon piercing someone's skin, and the victim is set on fire.
I watch him aim his gun, I hear the bullet hitting someone and exploding, I watch the love of my life burn. And I am doing nothing but screaming while his best friend has his arms around me.
L and I made it out but you didn't. You were on fire.
That last line, on a sticky note next to my wall, from the time I regularly wrote down the first thing that came to my mind every morning. L and I made it out but you didn't. You were on fire.
All my entries stood out, shocking myself right now at the thought that my almost-20-year-old self had written all these.
An entry from the 6th of October, 2015. Word for word, except names are exchanged for initials.
Hm, I am getting back on track with this writing thing. I don't have anything deep or emotional to let out, unless you count the dream I just had about a week ago...
The entire dream was insane just the way it is. There were ghosts, a woman who would breathe on everyone's necks but not reveal herself. Most of all, there were the love of my life and his best friend.
...There is always the two of them.
Exit A and I from the motorbike that we'd obtained from the previous scene, a warehouse with the invisible woman. Enter us into an MRT station that somewhat has a resemblance to Pasir Ris. I spot L, looking so much taller than I remember. I call out, and he smiles when he sees me but A is emotionless.
I don't think A was as invested in our conversation as L and I were... I so believe at this point of time my dreamself has forgotten her other half.
The MRT station is fairly crowded, like it would be during peak hours. Though I have the slight feeling it wasn't due to people returning home from work and all... I believe it was a sort of apocalypse. You are lucky if you are caught in a life-or-death situation with the love of your life.
Or are you?
The minute all 3 of us have gotten to the platform level, this huge, muscular guy comes into view, looking really threatening. He opens his mouth and his voice thunders, "Everyone has 6 minutes to get out of this station before I blow this place up."
And there is mass panic. There is a wall of death as people run all over the place, squashing others in the midst. Plenty of people are pushed down... stepped on... squashed like a bug... organs and bones going everywhere.
Seeing things like these aren't new to me. But I still get traumatised every dawn when I awake.
More importantly, where is the love of my life? L is right there, he is holding my hand but where is A???
Here comes the plothole: while I am leaning down from the tracks, a soft wind pushes me over. I do not feel scared even though there are bodies on the ground below me, the many who'd tried to jump. I remember feeling myself floating down to the ground, landing on my feet amidst those who landed on the last seconds of their lives.
And then L falls on me, and I am able to catch him.
But... where is A???
I look back up to the platform level, and there I finally see the love of my life. He is emotionless, and I want to cry out for him but I don't find my voice. I look at him helplessly, and then the huge, muscular guy comes into view again, blocking my other half from my line of sight.
He says, voice booming again, "6 minutes is up." and smiles a big yellow menacing smile.
And he guns away at everyone who is left on the MRT platform.
The bullets in his gun explode upon piercing someone's skin, and the victim is set on fire.
I watch him aim his gun, I hear the bullet hitting someone and exploding, I watch the love of my life burn. And I am doing nothing but screaming while his best friend has his arms around me.
L and I made it out but you didn't. You were on fire.
That last line, on a sticky note next to my wall, from the time I regularly wrote down the first thing that came to my mind every morning. L and I made it out but you didn't. You were on fire.
Tuesday, April 18, 2017
You never know when something matters
I haven't read a book in forever. Even the weeks leading up to his leaving, I'd already lost the mood for reading. I jumped from book to book and all of them just didn't seem to work. When all was lost, I jumped back into my favourite for the 4th time since 2014. I went into it still with an other half; I finished it without.
A few days ago my friend from 3 years ago asked if I was okay; he was the river, and now back to the block of ice as I'd known him as before I made a dent in him. I told him about my favourite book, and I felt that magical weird feeling when he said he remembered me, at his school, holding it the very first time I'd read it.
I'd read half of that book at NYP, his school, and half at mine. To think of that moment again, having held the book that would turn out to be my favourite. To think that at the time, there'd been a knife hidden among the pages, and I hadn't known about it. Hadn't known about the potential this novel had to break my heart into smithereens.
It's the same magical weird feeling when I once scrolled back through old pictures, ones which I'd had her right there but I hadn't known yet. Pictures of me and my cousin at a wedding in Kuala Lumpur, me smiling sheepishly next to a Minion statue at Universal Studios. She had been right there during those moments, and we all didn't know.
On Saturday I'd gone to my old school, taking a route I was once so familiar with. I caught sight of bus 87, going towards Sengkang, and felt that strangeness again. I see this bus regularly now on my routes to and fro work; I imagined back 3 years ago when I was going to school and caught sight of this bus and thought nothing of it, never knowing it would be my everyday during my working life.
I can't really describe it and I know nobody else would get it. Quite a disturbing feeling sometimes, but it's also strangely beautiful. We never keep receipts of the books we grew to love, conversations with people who would turn out to be the loves of our lives. It's only when we look back at a photograph or a memory do we realise that something was right there all along. It just never seemed important at the time.
A few days ago my friend from 3 years ago asked if I was okay; he was the river, and now back to the block of ice as I'd known him as before I made a dent in him. I told him about my favourite book, and I felt that magical weird feeling when he said he remembered me, at his school, holding it the very first time I'd read it.
I'd read half of that book at NYP, his school, and half at mine. To think of that moment again, having held the book that would turn out to be my favourite. To think that at the time, there'd been a knife hidden among the pages, and I hadn't known about it. Hadn't known about the potential this novel had to break my heart into smithereens.
It's the same magical weird feeling when I once scrolled back through old pictures, ones which I'd had her right there but I hadn't known yet. Pictures of me and my cousin at a wedding in Kuala Lumpur, me smiling sheepishly next to a Minion statue at Universal Studios. She had been right there during those moments, and we all didn't know.
On Saturday I'd gone to my old school, taking a route I was once so familiar with. I caught sight of bus 87, going towards Sengkang, and felt that strangeness again. I see this bus regularly now on my routes to and fro work; I imagined back 3 years ago when I was going to school and caught sight of this bus and thought nothing of it, never knowing it would be my everyday during my working life.
I can't really describe it and I know nobody else would get it. Quite a disturbing feeling sometimes, but it's also strangely beautiful. We never keep receipts of the books we grew to love, conversations with people who would turn out to be the loves of our lives. It's only when we look back at a photograph or a memory do we realise that something was right there all along. It just never seemed important at the time.
Monday, April 17, 2017
Maybe this time
She was a flame and the mess, her idea
Head in the clouds, a need to go higher
And he was the wind and the storm, his wake
Made a masterpiece but wanted a clean slate.
Somewhere along the lines, roles reversed
A heart gone silent, a brain in self converse
He, a dying passion for the remaining girl
She, burning desire to let go of the world.
He with enough courage to take his leave
She wishing her memories was instead a sieve
With no idea what's in his throbbing head
Except a glimpse of his happiness at her dead.
Her head and his heart, now made of stone
Surrounded by people and still so alone
She, standing firm with company of her words
He, already swept away with the brain-dead herd.
Maybe this time, she would not be the one to suffer
In this tiny country with year-round summer
Maybe someday she'd be the remembered one
He just needs to recall how much she loved the sun.
Head in the clouds, a need to go higher
And he was the wind and the storm, his wake
Made a masterpiece but wanted a clean slate.
Somewhere along the lines, roles reversed
A heart gone silent, a brain in self converse
He, a dying passion for the remaining girl
She, burning desire to let go of the world.
He with enough courage to take his leave
She wishing her memories was instead a sieve
With no idea what's in his throbbing head
Except a glimpse of his happiness at her dead.
Her head and his heart, now made of stone
Surrounded by people and still so alone
She, standing firm with company of her words
He, already swept away with the brain-dead herd.
Maybe this time, she would not be the one to suffer
In this tiny country with year-round summer
Maybe someday she'd be the remembered one
He just needs to recall how much she loved the sun.
Sunday, April 16, 2017
I never really wrote about you
Missing the year 2014 a little, when I'd handled the first break-up fairly well. I did it better after a 1-year relationship than a foolish 2-months fling in secondary school, and I'm not sure if that could be labeled as strength, as growing up.
When you find an other half, you really do want to spill everything out to them. If you couldn't tell them everything that's bothering you, then who else could there be? It's me to blame, it's you to blame, and yet there's both to blame and no one to blame and everyone to blame.
It's a bigger gap this time compared to 3 years ago; back then I only had him to lose but how does one move on from a soulmate and a daughter? All the books in the world, and none that could teach me. This break-up might be a blessing because missing him is distracting me from missing her.
A few weeks, or was it days, before he left I was already missing 2013, when everything was all fun and games between the both of us. We loved each other without thinking of our pasts and futures, and I thought that was just perfect. We were infinitely young, and it was us against everyone else.
I missed it so much that I made a playlist for the songs I'd been listening to, songs that I heard on the radio at the bakery I'd worked at. Songs that a poly classmate blasted on his laptop, songs that played overhead when I'd gone playing pool with them.
I guess halfway through the past 2 years it became me against him, him against me. Third parties came between us: insecurity, overthinking, jealousy, an unplanned life, a mental illness. I built the walls blocking him out, and he just got tired of trying to break them down each time. He thought he wasn't the one for me, and I, not the one for him.
I keep wishing I was beautiful and normal, then maybe things would have been different. 6 months after our first break-up he'd seen me change for the better and returned, and I accepted him wholeheartedly. I don't have anything great to do this time for that to happen again, and I think all is lost.
But I'm just gonna do it. Or die trying. 4 months into the new year, and I'm just starting to think of resolutions. Once I get my salary, I will invest in a full MS Word package and start writing, start typing away like a maniac on my laptop every single day. It's okay if I don't get published; they said a collection of rejection letters is good for an aspiring writer's soul.
On my side, he is the villain, a hurricane ripping through my heart; on his side, I am the bad guy, the rampant fire that burned everything of his to dust. We are alone yet side by side, both single-handedly rebuilding our worlds that we had destroyed together.
Maybe he's already found other girls to talk to, maybe one of them is already able to make his heart skip and already putting in effort for him. It stings to think about, but on the bright side, I am able to stop thinking of her for a moment. I really can't tell yet if this break-up is truly a blessing, but it's a slap and cold water poured to my face.
I'm sorry to the people who are reading this, the ones who are on my side: but I'm still waiting for him. I don't want anyone else, and if none of the girls he talks to works out, I hope he knows he can always come back to me and that I've forgiven everything that he's said and done.
When he came back in July 2014, he mentioned how he had stayed faithful while I was going off with so many boys in trying to move on. I think this time it's my turn to stay; fuck it I don't have anywhere to go anyway, and I'll be here sitting, always.
My heart is still in the same three spots as it was two years ago: Popular at OneKM; in heaven, wherever she is and however state she is in; and with him, traveling through customs every morning and every night. And it's okay, because I'm just certain I want to keep it at these places, even if they don't want it.
When you find an other half, you really do want to spill everything out to them. If you couldn't tell them everything that's bothering you, then who else could there be? It's me to blame, it's you to blame, and yet there's both to blame and no one to blame and everyone to blame.
It's a bigger gap this time compared to 3 years ago; back then I only had him to lose but how does one move on from a soulmate and a daughter? All the books in the world, and none that could teach me. This break-up might be a blessing because missing him is distracting me from missing her.
A few weeks, or was it days, before he left I was already missing 2013, when everything was all fun and games between the both of us. We loved each other without thinking of our pasts and futures, and I thought that was just perfect. We were infinitely young, and it was us against everyone else.
I missed it so much that I made a playlist for the songs I'd been listening to, songs that I heard on the radio at the bakery I'd worked at. Songs that a poly classmate blasted on his laptop, songs that played overhead when I'd gone playing pool with them.
I guess halfway through the past 2 years it became me against him, him against me. Third parties came between us: insecurity, overthinking, jealousy, an unplanned life, a mental illness. I built the walls blocking him out, and he just got tired of trying to break them down each time. He thought he wasn't the one for me, and I, not the one for him.
I keep wishing I was beautiful and normal, then maybe things would have been different. 6 months after our first break-up he'd seen me change for the better and returned, and I accepted him wholeheartedly. I don't have anything great to do this time for that to happen again, and I think all is lost.
But I'm just gonna do it. Or die trying. 4 months into the new year, and I'm just starting to think of resolutions. Once I get my salary, I will invest in a full MS Word package and start writing, start typing away like a maniac on my laptop every single day. It's okay if I don't get published; they said a collection of rejection letters is good for an aspiring writer's soul.
On my side, he is the villain, a hurricane ripping through my heart; on his side, I am the bad guy, the rampant fire that burned everything of his to dust. We are alone yet side by side, both single-handedly rebuilding our worlds that we had destroyed together.
Maybe he's already found other girls to talk to, maybe one of them is already able to make his heart skip and already putting in effort for him. It stings to think about, but on the bright side, I am able to stop thinking of her for a moment. I really can't tell yet if this break-up is truly a blessing, but it's a slap and cold water poured to my face.
I'm sorry to the people who are reading this, the ones who are on my side: but I'm still waiting for him. I don't want anyone else, and if none of the girls he talks to works out, I hope he knows he can always come back to me and that I've forgiven everything that he's said and done.
When he came back in July 2014, he mentioned how he had stayed faithful while I was going off with so many boys in trying to move on. I think this time it's my turn to stay; fuck it I don't have anywhere to go anyway, and I'll be here sitting, always.
My heart is still in the same three spots as it was two years ago: Popular at OneKM; in heaven, wherever she is and however state she is in; and with him, traveling through customs every morning and every night. And it's okay, because I'm just certain I want to keep it at these places, even if they don't want it.
Saturday, April 15, 2017
Not as young as before
After the first break-up in 2014 I learnt that sometimes the only way to move on is to go back to where you came from. I'd gone back to my Pasir Ris house, shoved down my ego for the father who never once put away his for me. This time round, I don't have a house to return to, but I have people.
Spent the last week texting a handful of old friends, people I haven't talked to in a long time, girls I've always wanted to talk with but was too shy to. I don't really have the balls to go further than 2013, so I haven't texted the girls from secondary school, and I don't plan on it. Maybe if fate calls for it.
Today I'd spontaneously decided to visit my old school, Ngee Ann. It's not my first time coming here during the holidays or weekends, just to waste time like young people. I did it a lot after the first bad break-up three years ago, and how time has passed.
I only managed to stay in school until January/February 2015, not even two years after I'd started. Even then, it's not like I made it up with the very first classmates, because I had to repeat modules again and again. I don't think I'd have made it to graduation even if I'd tried to continue studying. It just wasn't for me, and I just wasn't made for it.
Imagine feeling sad just from seeing the Downtown Line stations in operation already. The last time I'd passed by, they were all just construction sites, with banners exclaiming they've all been accident-free for more than 100 days.
Upon reaching the opposite bus stop I was already lost, not being able to find the overhead bridge because everything was constructing. The atrium, my favourite solitary spot, was completely different. Toastbox was gone.
But it felt bittersweet to see the stupid sandwich shop at the corner still exactly the same. To see the door to the classrooms at level 3 still broken. The button for level 1 in the lift still not lighting up when you press it. The tiny little things, still the same after all these years.
Went to the Grandstand, where I'd once sat with 3 new friends whom I doubt even remember me. Walked to the end and felt like I was standing at the edge of the world.
Walked to a new block behind the poolside, where there was a tennis court on the rooftop. There was slight drizzle as I was wandering around so I couldn't do much; neither could these 3 boys who were bouncing tennis balls below the shelter on that rooftop.
Went to a level below to check out these studying rooms from the outside, because they were locked. A tennis ball dropped from the roof level, and I'd gone over to pick it up and silently toss it back upstairs, an unsung hero.
I watched a few students walking around, loitering and taking pictures, and somehow they all looked so young. To think that some of them might be my younger brother's age, not even categorised as the infamous 90's kids anymore. It still feels weird whenever a 2000 kid applies for a job at my workplace.
I imagined if I walked there during regular schooltime; I would be at least 4 years older than these kids, and I'd feel so old, so tall, sticking out like a sore thumb somehow, as if the year I was born is plastered on my forehead.
To think that 4 years went by just like that. I thought I would always be young, but that can't be because my first day of tertiary was that long ago. Time is crawling by and also going too quickly that I didn't even have time to find out what I'm really worth.
Spent the last week texting a handful of old friends, people I haven't talked to in a long time, girls I've always wanted to talk with but was too shy to. I don't really have the balls to go further than 2013, so I haven't texted the girls from secondary school, and I don't plan on it. Maybe if fate calls for it.
Today I'd spontaneously decided to visit my old school, Ngee Ann. It's not my first time coming here during the holidays or weekends, just to waste time like young people. I did it a lot after the first bad break-up three years ago, and how time has passed.
I only managed to stay in school until January/February 2015, not even two years after I'd started. Even then, it's not like I made it up with the very first classmates, because I had to repeat modules again and again. I don't think I'd have made it to graduation even if I'd tried to continue studying. It just wasn't for me, and I just wasn't made for it.
Imagine feeling sad just from seeing the Downtown Line stations in operation already. The last time I'd passed by, they were all just construction sites, with banners exclaiming they've all been accident-free for more than 100 days.
Upon reaching the opposite bus stop I was already lost, not being able to find the overhead bridge because everything was constructing. The atrium, my favourite solitary spot, was completely different. Toastbox was gone.
But it felt bittersweet to see the stupid sandwich shop at the corner still exactly the same. To see the door to the classrooms at level 3 still broken. The button for level 1 in the lift still not lighting up when you press it. The tiny little things, still the same after all these years.
Went to the Grandstand, where I'd once sat with 3 new friends whom I doubt even remember me. Walked to the end and felt like I was standing at the edge of the world.
Walked to a new block behind the poolside, where there was a tennis court on the rooftop. There was slight drizzle as I was wandering around so I couldn't do much; neither could these 3 boys who were bouncing tennis balls below the shelter on that rooftop.
Went to a level below to check out these studying rooms from the outside, because they were locked. A tennis ball dropped from the roof level, and I'd gone over to pick it up and silently toss it back upstairs, an unsung hero.
I watched a few students walking around, loitering and taking pictures, and somehow they all looked so young. To think that some of them might be my younger brother's age, not even categorised as the infamous 90's kids anymore. It still feels weird whenever a 2000 kid applies for a job at my workplace.
I imagined if I walked there during regular schooltime; I would be at least 4 years older than these kids, and I'd feel so old, so tall, sticking out like a sore thumb somehow, as if the year I was born is plastered on my forehead.
To think that 4 years went by just like that. I thought I would always be young, but that can't be because my first day of tertiary was that long ago. Time is crawling by and also going too quickly that I didn't even have time to find out what I'm really worth.
Friday, April 14, 2017
A butterfly with sad eyes
When a day has been good, I feel like I can do anything. Today is one of those days, and maybe--just maybe--I might possibly stay in this world just a little bit longer.
My cousin dragged me to what they would call a staycation, and there I sat at the lobby while she did the checking in stuff. Bored out of my wits, when I spotted a butterfly on the other side of the doors.
It tried to fly and only kept crashing into the glass ahead, and I watched it do so for a while before deciding that okay, I can wander off for a while, nobody will notice. I need to help this beautiful but kinda dumb insect.
At first she didn't trust me that much, refusing to climb onto my finger and just flapping her wings like crazy, only to crash into the glass again. In the end I just forced my finger under her legs and that's when she decided to go with me, just a bit reluctantly. (I swear I could see it on her face)
I was a girl who kneeled down beside those large bell thingy they use to carry luggage, just to pick up an insect. Little thing eventually didn't even protest, obediently staying on my index finger, while I walked towards the outside garden. One of the bellboys exclaimed, "You've got a butterfly!"
In the end, she didn't want to get off my finger. Her face was tilted towards me, and I swear she was looking at me with some kind of sadness and gratitude, all at once. So now I'm a butterfly whisperer aren't I?
Finally she lifted herself off my hand, continued to fly around me for a bit. And I giggled like a fucking Disney princess with her stupid animals, before she finally flew away and I walked back to the sad old boring lobby.
But honestly, meeting that butterfly melted my head a little. I live in a world where an insect thugs at my heart more than a human would. I think I'm gonna stay in here for a little while more, but just for the butterflies.
My cousin dragged me to what they would call a staycation, and there I sat at the lobby while she did the checking in stuff. Bored out of my wits, when I spotted a butterfly on the other side of the doors.
It tried to fly and only kept crashing into the glass ahead, and I watched it do so for a while before deciding that okay, I can wander off for a while, nobody will notice. I need to help this beautiful but kinda dumb insect.
At first she didn't trust me that much, refusing to climb onto my finger and just flapping her wings like crazy, only to crash into the glass again. In the end I just forced my finger under her legs and that's when she decided to go with me, just a bit reluctantly. (I swear I could see it on her face)
I was a girl who kneeled down beside those large bell thingy they use to carry luggage, just to pick up an insect. Little thing eventually didn't even protest, obediently staying on my index finger, while I walked towards the outside garden. One of the bellboys exclaimed, "You've got a butterfly!"
In the end, she didn't want to get off my finger. Her face was tilted towards me, and I swear she was looking at me with some kind of sadness and gratitude, all at once. So now I'm a butterfly whisperer aren't I?
Finally she lifted herself off my hand, continued to fly around me for a bit. And I giggled like a fucking Disney princess with her stupid animals, before she finally flew away and I walked back to the sad old boring lobby.
But honestly, meeting that butterfly melted my head a little. I live in a world where an insect thugs at my heart more than a human would. I think I'm gonna stay in here for a little while more, but just for the butterflies.
Thursday, April 13, 2017
Caught in my own bell jar
Found a song last night called Don't Believe In Stars by some Trent Dabbs. Its background gives me an indescribable energy like some songs from my favourite band, The Naked and Famous. It's hard to find words for them, but some songs give me the illusion that this world is prettier than it seems.
When people tell me to love myself, I have no idea how. All I have is my gift with words, and in the past, all I knew to do when trying to find my self-worth was to write about how I view this world. It may not be easy to see what's beautiful about me, but honestly, sometimes I can't help but love the way this world looks through my eyes.
I love how I remember the smallest things, even though it may be torture when they come back in dreams. I love how I avoid the news because I am so scared of seeing something I've dreamt of. I love how I notice a broken signboard on the highway, seen from bus 88 when entering Punggol Road. I love the strange sad I feel when I see an old woman with her back hunched 40 degrees, and I love how I miss my grandma whenever I see the old woman from Food Junction.
I love how I'm never bind down by time, at the same time never losing my daily routine. When I was in sec 5 I didn't have a smartphone with an app to check what time my regular bus comes; I knew I will catch it whenever I saw this woman with long hair and always in a black skirt, who took the same bus as me every morning. I saw her again some time ago and never forgot how she was once part of my everyday.
I love how I see a leaf fall from a tree and think the world of it. I love how I mishear song lyrics and write an entire poem from that mistaken line. I love how the wind blew through my hair and I would think about it even 4 years later. I love when I catch a glimpse of a Grace calling the man in front of me and wondering who this woman could be and what bus is she on and where is she going.
I have a universe for a brain, I am suicidal, and the only way I knew how to show my love was to give whatever I had, including my anger. And there is nothing, nothing, nothing beautiful about me from the outside, but through my eyes this world is so dim yet that is what I find so pretty about it, and I love the magic of words yet I can never seem to find the right ones for it--and it's all okay because the world in my head is mine and mine alone, caught in a bell jar.
When people tell me to love myself, I have no idea how. All I have is my gift with words, and in the past, all I knew to do when trying to find my self-worth was to write about how I view this world. It may not be easy to see what's beautiful about me, but honestly, sometimes I can't help but love the way this world looks through my eyes.
I love how I remember the smallest things, even though it may be torture when they come back in dreams. I love how I avoid the news because I am so scared of seeing something I've dreamt of. I love how I notice a broken signboard on the highway, seen from bus 88 when entering Punggol Road. I love the strange sad I feel when I see an old woman with her back hunched 40 degrees, and I love how I miss my grandma whenever I see the old woman from Food Junction.
I love how I'm never bind down by time, at the same time never losing my daily routine. When I was in sec 5 I didn't have a smartphone with an app to check what time my regular bus comes; I knew I will catch it whenever I saw this woman with long hair and always in a black skirt, who took the same bus as me every morning. I saw her again some time ago and never forgot how she was once part of my everyday.
I love how I see a leaf fall from a tree and think the world of it. I love how I mishear song lyrics and write an entire poem from that mistaken line. I love how the wind blew through my hair and I would think about it even 4 years later. I love when I catch a glimpse of a Grace calling the man in front of me and wondering who this woman could be and what bus is she on and where is she going.
I have a universe for a brain, I am suicidal, and the only way I knew how to show my love was to give whatever I had, including my anger. And there is nothing, nothing, nothing beautiful about me from the outside, but through my eyes this world is so dim yet that is what I find so pretty about it, and I love the magic of words yet I can never seem to find the right ones for it--and it's all okay because the world in my head is mine and mine alone, caught in a bell jar.
Wednesday, April 12, 2017
Tornado
Asked a best friend a past acquaintance what would be his perfect way of dying. Dying doing something good for others, he says. He's not that amazing in "doing good for others" but he made me think, like he always does.
Is it better to have died doing something good for people, and devastating them with such a significant loss? Or to die invisible, without anyone noticing or caring, except for the very few who matters?
I remember in 2010, having dinner with one of my secondary school girls, at Elias Mall mac, before it moved to the unit behind the bus stop. She told me how she'd asked her then-boyfriend "if you knew you only had one month left to live, what would you do?"
He said to her "I'll treat you like shit and make you hate me so when I go, you will not be affected." Different people, different thoughts.
Last night I found another way he is the tornado that he always was. 3 years back I watched a disaster movie called Tornado, and I remember who I watched it with but those people are among the accounts I've now blocked from my Twitter.
There was a scene in the film where the characters hid in a tunnel-like thing and were caught in the tornado--when suddenly, silence. Why? They realised they were right in the middle of it: the eye of the storm.
In 2012, my lonely year. It was a struggle before I met him, and it was chaos getting to the heart of the wind, the center of the storm. I spent years in that peaceful spot, protected by the trouble that is this being itself. And it was beautiful in there, in the heart.
I may have forgotten that there will be the same chaos as the tornado takes his leave.
I can imagine him laughing if I told him this. A part of me is sad that he will never understand. A part of me wants to hear that laughter again because sometimes I feel our differences make us, and I want to be the reason for that laugh everyday. Unfortunately for him I am not enough and too much at once.
Is it better to have died doing something good for people, and devastating them with such a significant loss? Or to die invisible, without anyone noticing or caring, except for the very few who matters?
I remember in 2010, having dinner with one of my secondary school girls, at Elias Mall mac, before it moved to the unit behind the bus stop. She told me how she'd asked her then-boyfriend "if you knew you only had one month left to live, what would you do?"
He said to her "I'll treat you like shit and make you hate me so when I go, you will not be affected." Different people, different thoughts.
Last night I found another way he is the tornado that he always was. 3 years back I watched a disaster movie called Tornado, and I remember who I watched it with but those people are among the accounts I've now blocked from my Twitter.
There was a scene in the film where the characters hid in a tunnel-like thing and were caught in the tornado--when suddenly, silence. Why? They realised they were right in the middle of it: the eye of the storm.
In 2012, my lonely year. It was a struggle before I met him, and it was chaos getting to the heart of the wind, the center of the storm. I spent years in that peaceful spot, protected by the trouble that is this being itself. And it was beautiful in there, in the heart.
I may have forgotten that there will be the same chaos as the tornado takes his leave.
I can imagine him laughing if I told him this. A part of me is sad that he will never understand. A part of me wants to hear that laughter again because sometimes I feel our differences make us, and I want to be the reason for that laugh everyday. Unfortunately for him I am not enough and too much at once.
Tuesday, April 11, 2017
Unborn
Week 1 - 31st January.
I won a race today. I was the first among so many, hundreds, thousands, I think maybe even millions. All I knew was I reached the finish line before all of them! Sadly neither of my parents seemed to care. They didn't praise me, pat me on the shoulder, or even look at me. I think they don't even realise I exist.
Week 5 - 4th March.
I followed my parents to Universal Studios today. They didn't hold my hand, or buy me snacks to eat. I was a shadow, sticking to them like glue, without them realising. My mother didn't protect me during the scary rides either, didn't put her hand over me and assured my safety.
5th March.
I decided to give my mother some signs that I'm here. I made her threw up in a taxi, all the food she ate that day; her breakfast, dinner, all the snacks. I didn't like her stuffing her face like that anyway. It was unhealthy, and she didn't know it was affecting me as well. I couldn't take it. I hope she knows I'm here now, and that I care about her well-being more than she even realises I exist.
Week 6 - 15th March.
My mother has been on a road trip the past few days. She doesn't know she's not in the state to move around so much... Everything I do affects her, and everything she does affects me. I made her throw up so much of her food, and I imagine the retching itself was so uncomfortable for her. She wouldn't stop sticking her finger down her throat to force the vomit out; I couldn't see her suffering like that, so I tried to behave myself, but I failed. Maybe it's better I don't exist after all.
She fought with her mom, who hit her. Please don't hit her, I'm right here.
Week 7 - 17th March.
My aunt, my mother's sister-in-law, told her that I might possibly exist. My mother looked at me for the first time, but only for a second. She didn't believe it. My aunt gave her a bag with Watson's on it, and I wondered what it was... It must be really important, because my mother quickly hides it whenever someone walks into her bedroom.
18th March.
Whatever it was in that bag, it helped shine light for my mother. She now knows I exist. But my father calls her, and I hear her saying, It's negative. I see her choking back her tears while he says a prayer of gratitude, obviously happy to hear the lie that I am not existent.
Week 8 - 25th March.
My parents have been fighting a lot lately. I hate my father for saying all these mean things to my mother, not knowing the burden she has to carry. I'm glad I'm growing alongside her instead of him; I'm glad he doesn't know I'm real, I can't imagine what he'd do to me. It upsets me to see my mother going through this alone, but I know she's strong enough for it.
26th March.
She couldn't take it anymore, all his mean words and oblivion to her feelings and burden. She dropped the bombshell that is my existence on him. I don't understand why they both get scared after knowing I am here... Nonetheless, he holds me too, the few times I get to see him. He shows more kindness to her. He is scared on the inside but so brave on the outside; I am proud to call these two my mother and father.
Week 9.
My mother has been working really hard for me. She holds me more often than she used to, stroking my head and covering me with warmth whenever her hands are free. She works in a bookstore and one time I see her sneakily reading a book about how to raise someone like me. I can't wait for her to spend all her hard-earned money on me, all the sweets and toys I can have in the future, like a proper child.
Week 10 - April 8th.
She wouldn't stop crying, even on the bus with people looking at her. I could hear her sobs from here, but they disappeared like magic when she unlocked the gate to her home.
She has two houses, but none of them with him in it. Do they not live together? Aren't mothers and fathers supposed to?
Week 11 - April 19th.
Look at me... we can't have this baby. We don't have the money and we're not in the right place either. Trust me I want it as much as you do, but we just can't, not right now. We'll have another one in the future. I hear this, while he holds her and me at the same time.
Week 13 - April 27th.
She fainted at work, thanks to me... I followed her to the polyclinic, where she asked the doctor to confirm again whether she was pregnant. Of course she was. I'm right here.
Are you keen on this pregnancy?
A smile on her face, a shake of her head.
Week 14.
She's been showing her belly off to her colleagues and friends, but they all laugh at her. They take me as a joke, even say they're pregnant too, when they're obviously not. They ask her, How many months? and she answers truthfully, 3 months. and they laugh. I have no voice but I wish I can call out to them and prove I am really here.
Week 15.
She wants to keep me, I know it. The way she looks at children outside, the way her heart beats when her niece smiles at her.
But I also know her love for my father and grandparents are stronger. She would do anything for them, including raising the money for something she doesn't want; abandoning me. But I hope she doesn't.
I see her watching my grandparents cuddle my cousin, and I wish they'd hold me like that too. I know my mother also wishes they could love her child the same way as they love her brother's.
She has to carry plenty of heavy stuff at work. She has to carry this long heavy metal divider for the shutters. Doesn't anyone know she's having me right now?
Week 16.
They were supposed to see me today, my mother and father. But she fell sick, and try as she might she couldn't gather enough strength to bring herself to the hospital. Her best friend who has a gem for a name keeps telling her that it's dangerous to be sick while having me. It didn't faze her. She didn't want to eat, and she was too uncomfortable to sleep, and she keeps crying.
Week 18 - 2nd June.
She had to see nurses and doctors and counsellors, all constantly telling her to change her mind. Change her mind about what??? She's already working hard to raise me. They keep asking her where is her boyfriend, my father, why isn't he here today?
She goes to a dark room where a nurse rubs jelly on her tummy and moves a probe along it. On the screen above her is a monochrome shot of me; the nurse tells her where my head is. "Can you tell if it's a girl or a boy?", she asks so shyly.
I'm a girl. I feel my mother's happiness, which makes me bounce, and I hear the nurse telling her: "The baby is moving, it's moving!" And I think she wants to laugh or cry, I can't really tell.
Week 19 - 8th June - 1pm.
I feel her fear. She's in a hospital bed, surrounded by many other women. But not all the other women are pregnant: some already had their babies, some had lost them. She doesn't belong to either category and I can't imagine why she's here, is she okay?
- 3pm.
The nurses keep hitting her hands and trying to poke a needle in her. Her hands look so fragile to me, and bruises start to show but she doesn’t resist. Finally they hook her up to a machine from her right hand and leave; the curtains are drawn and my father and the girl with a gem for a name show their faces. My mother starts crying and I can feel that something is wrong.
- 9th June - 2am.
They keep putting in pills at where I am. What are they doing? My mother has difficulty walking, but still she forces herself to the toilet because she keeps feeling a pain in her stomach, at where I am. She thinks it's her faeces wanting to come out, but I think it's me she's trying to get rid of.
- 3am.
She keeps walking to and fro the toilet and her hospital bed by the window. Her bare feet on the cold floors, her brown-red gown hanging to her ankles and her hair falling out of the bun her best friend had tied for her. Is it strange that I still think she’s possibly the most beautiful woman in the universe?
- 3pm.
There's a stick like object holding her womb open.
Why?
It hurts.
- 8pm.
She doesn't want to eat anything and she just vomits out the painkillers. She keeps singing a song that goes "just close your eyes... the sun is going down... you'll be alright... no one can hurt you now... come morning light... you and I'll be safe and sound."
Doctors and nurses keep attending to her and my father says Look, there are so many people here taking care of you. I hear her say, just loud enough for him to hear, None of them are my parents.
When my father asks her to rank the pain she's feeling on a scale of 1 to 10, she constantly says 6. But in her mind, it's more than a 10. She wants to be strong for him, although her stomach is as hard as stone and she feels like all her organs might slide out of her anytime. Along with me.
- 9pm.
Visiting hours are over and my father leaves. I heard him telling her that he misses his mum. She doesn't want him to go at all but her hands are too weak to hold on to him anymore. She misses her own parents but she will never have them as visitors unlike the rest of the women in the ward; her own parents think she is at her best friend’s place, having a sleepover like a normal 20-year-old girl.
10th June - 2am.
The painkillers have lost their effects and she's woken up. She keeps clawing for the emergency button. The nurses tell her that pain is a good sign, that the fetus is starting to slide out. They're referring to me.
- 5am.
I feel it.
She screams like an animal getting slaughtered.
- 5.32 am.
I'm between her ankles. She doesn't want to look at me. Slippery, bloody, I am. Gone, I am. I hear something about burying it in a Muslim cemetery. I thought she was working hard to raise me. We all thought wrong.
I won a race today. I was the first among so many, hundreds, thousands, I think maybe even millions. All I knew was I reached the finish line before all of them! Sadly neither of my parents seemed to care. They didn't praise me, pat me on the shoulder, or even look at me. I think they don't even realise I exist.
Week 5 - 4th March.
I followed my parents to Universal Studios today. They didn't hold my hand, or buy me snacks to eat. I was a shadow, sticking to them like glue, without them realising. My mother didn't protect me during the scary rides either, didn't put her hand over me and assured my safety.
5th March.
I decided to give my mother some signs that I'm here. I made her threw up in a taxi, all the food she ate that day; her breakfast, dinner, all the snacks. I didn't like her stuffing her face like that anyway. It was unhealthy, and she didn't know it was affecting me as well. I couldn't take it. I hope she knows I'm here now, and that I care about her well-being more than she even realises I exist.
Week 6 - 15th March.
My mother has been on a road trip the past few days. She doesn't know she's not in the state to move around so much... Everything I do affects her, and everything she does affects me. I made her throw up so much of her food, and I imagine the retching itself was so uncomfortable for her. She wouldn't stop sticking her finger down her throat to force the vomit out; I couldn't see her suffering like that, so I tried to behave myself, but I failed. Maybe it's better I don't exist after all.
She fought with her mom, who hit her. Please don't hit her, I'm right here.
Week 7 - 17th March.
My aunt, my mother's sister-in-law, told her that I might possibly exist. My mother looked at me for the first time, but only for a second. She didn't believe it. My aunt gave her a bag with Watson's on it, and I wondered what it was... It must be really important, because my mother quickly hides it whenever someone walks into her bedroom.
18th March.
Whatever it was in that bag, it helped shine light for my mother. She now knows I exist. But my father calls her, and I hear her saying, It's negative. I see her choking back her tears while he says a prayer of gratitude, obviously happy to hear the lie that I am not existent.
Week 8 - 25th March.
My parents have been fighting a lot lately. I hate my father for saying all these mean things to my mother, not knowing the burden she has to carry. I'm glad I'm growing alongside her instead of him; I'm glad he doesn't know I'm real, I can't imagine what he'd do to me. It upsets me to see my mother going through this alone, but I know she's strong enough for it.
26th March.
She couldn't take it anymore, all his mean words and oblivion to her feelings and burden. She dropped the bombshell that is my existence on him. I don't understand why they both get scared after knowing I am here... Nonetheless, he holds me too, the few times I get to see him. He shows more kindness to her. He is scared on the inside but so brave on the outside; I am proud to call these two my mother and father.
Week 9.
My mother has been working really hard for me. She holds me more often than she used to, stroking my head and covering me with warmth whenever her hands are free. She works in a bookstore and one time I see her sneakily reading a book about how to raise someone like me. I can't wait for her to spend all her hard-earned money on me, all the sweets and toys I can have in the future, like a proper child.
Week 10 - April 8th.
She wouldn't stop crying, even on the bus with people looking at her. I could hear her sobs from here, but they disappeared like magic when she unlocked the gate to her home.
She has two houses, but none of them with him in it. Do they not live together? Aren't mothers and fathers supposed to?
Week 11 - April 19th.
Look at me... we can't have this baby. We don't have the money and we're not in the right place either. Trust me I want it as much as you do, but we just can't, not right now. We'll have another one in the future. I hear this, while he holds her and me at the same time.
Week 13 - April 27th.
She fainted at work, thanks to me... I followed her to the polyclinic, where she asked the doctor to confirm again whether she was pregnant. Of course she was. I'm right here.
Are you keen on this pregnancy?
A smile on her face, a shake of her head.
Week 14.
She's been showing her belly off to her colleagues and friends, but they all laugh at her. They take me as a joke, even say they're pregnant too, when they're obviously not. They ask her, How many months? and she answers truthfully, 3 months. and they laugh. I have no voice but I wish I can call out to them and prove I am really here.
Week 15.
She wants to keep me, I know it. The way she looks at children outside, the way her heart beats when her niece smiles at her.
But I also know her love for my father and grandparents are stronger. She would do anything for them, including raising the money for something she doesn't want; abandoning me. But I hope she doesn't.
I see her watching my grandparents cuddle my cousin, and I wish they'd hold me like that too. I know my mother also wishes they could love her child the same way as they love her brother's.
She has to carry plenty of heavy stuff at work. She has to carry this long heavy metal divider for the shutters. Doesn't anyone know she's having me right now?
Week 16.
They were supposed to see me today, my mother and father. But she fell sick, and try as she might she couldn't gather enough strength to bring herself to the hospital. Her best friend who has a gem for a name keeps telling her that it's dangerous to be sick while having me. It didn't faze her. She didn't want to eat, and she was too uncomfortable to sleep, and she keeps crying.
Week 18 - 2nd June.
She had to see nurses and doctors and counsellors, all constantly telling her to change her mind. Change her mind about what??? She's already working hard to raise me. They keep asking her where is her boyfriend, my father, why isn't he here today?
She goes to a dark room where a nurse rubs jelly on her tummy and moves a probe along it. On the screen above her is a monochrome shot of me; the nurse tells her where my head is. "Can you tell if it's a girl or a boy?", she asks so shyly.
I'm a girl. I feel my mother's happiness, which makes me bounce, and I hear the nurse telling her: "The baby is moving, it's moving!" And I think she wants to laugh or cry, I can't really tell.
Week 19 - 8th June - 1pm.
I feel her fear. She's in a hospital bed, surrounded by many other women. But not all the other women are pregnant: some already had their babies, some had lost them. She doesn't belong to either category and I can't imagine why she's here, is she okay?
- 3pm.
The nurses keep hitting her hands and trying to poke a needle in her. Her hands look so fragile to me, and bruises start to show but she doesn’t resist. Finally they hook her up to a machine from her right hand and leave; the curtains are drawn and my father and the girl with a gem for a name show their faces. My mother starts crying and I can feel that something is wrong.
- 9th June - 2am.
They keep putting in pills at where I am. What are they doing? My mother has difficulty walking, but still she forces herself to the toilet because she keeps feeling a pain in her stomach, at where I am. She thinks it's her faeces wanting to come out, but I think it's me she's trying to get rid of.
- 3am.
She keeps walking to and fro the toilet and her hospital bed by the window. Her bare feet on the cold floors, her brown-red gown hanging to her ankles and her hair falling out of the bun her best friend had tied for her. Is it strange that I still think she’s possibly the most beautiful woman in the universe?
- 3pm.
There's a stick like object holding her womb open.
Why?
It hurts.
- 8pm.
She doesn't want to eat anything and she just vomits out the painkillers. She keeps singing a song that goes "just close your eyes... the sun is going down... you'll be alright... no one can hurt you now... come morning light... you and I'll be safe and sound."
Doctors and nurses keep attending to her and my father says Look, there are so many people here taking care of you. I hear her say, just loud enough for him to hear, None of them are my parents.
When my father asks her to rank the pain she's feeling on a scale of 1 to 10, she constantly says 6. But in her mind, it's more than a 10. She wants to be strong for him, although her stomach is as hard as stone and she feels like all her organs might slide out of her anytime. Along with me.
- 9pm.
Visiting hours are over and my father leaves. I heard him telling her that he misses his mum. She doesn't want him to go at all but her hands are too weak to hold on to him anymore. She misses her own parents but she will never have them as visitors unlike the rest of the women in the ward; her own parents think she is at her best friend’s place, having a sleepover like a normal 20-year-old girl.
10th June - 2am.
The painkillers have lost their effects and she's woken up. She keeps clawing for the emergency button. The nurses tell her that pain is a good sign, that the fetus is starting to slide out. They're referring to me.
- 5am.
I feel it.
She screams like an animal getting slaughtered.
- 5.32 am.
I'm between her ankles. She doesn't want to look at me. Slippery, bloody, I am. Gone, I am. I hear something about burying it in a Muslim cemetery. I thought she was working hard to raise me. We all thought wrong.
Monday, April 10, 2017
Lightbulbs and tiny pieces of heart
Never really understood having to love yourself before you can love other people. Or finding yourself before getting lost in someone else. I think a person who has difficulty finding self-worth is completely capable of loving.
I hate blogging about love and I hate the existence of the word itself sometimes. But it doesn't mean I don't feel it. When you're alone, it feels like the world has gone darker and you don't know if your heart is even worth every beat.
Imagine feeling like you're worth nothing, constant headaches and the desire to slit your wrist or slice your head open. And then imagine having somebody who changes all that when they're with you. No, when you're with them.
Imagine someone whose smile lights up the whole fucking world that you think somehow got dim over the years. Someone whose face you can't help kissing all over because they're so fluffy... Someone who pulls all your pieces together when you wrap your arms around them.
Imagine a job where the people love you more than your friends from high school. You love their snide remarks, their bounce, their ridiculous dances that make you feel more at home than the house you've grown up in for years.
Imagine your whole world crashing back down again the moment that somebody boards his bus; the moment you punch out of work and say goodbye. Maybe I don't know self-worth, or the need to nurture myself first. But I know love... it's when their existence is the only source of light in your life.
When she slid out of me 2 years ago, the light that represented my self-worth blew out. I'd had a purpose sheltering a second life, and it was all gone in 2 days, slowly seeping out of me. And it would definitely take me more than two years to fix that bulb, but who said it was gonna be easy? And why lie about me never going to be alone again?
A few days ago, the second light, the biggest light of all, blew out. I thought wrong about a lot of things, one of them being that you would always stay. Whenever you said what the fuck do you want me to do, I wish you'd known that all you had to do was stay. But even my own father didn't want me once; what right did I have to think you always would?
My heart isn't capable of self-worth but it knows love. And however tiny it is, there's a piece of it in heaven, a piece at a quiet mall at Paya Lebar, and a piece with a boy who crosses the border everyday. And I hope to god that the light hovering over Paya Lebar doesn't go out, or it would be dark, dark, dark.
I hate blogging about love and I hate the existence of the word itself sometimes. But it doesn't mean I don't feel it. When you're alone, it feels like the world has gone darker and you don't know if your heart is even worth every beat.
Imagine feeling like you're worth nothing, constant headaches and the desire to slit your wrist or slice your head open. And then imagine having somebody who changes all that when they're with you. No, when you're with them.
Imagine someone whose smile lights up the whole fucking world that you think somehow got dim over the years. Someone whose face you can't help kissing all over because they're so fluffy... Someone who pulls all your pieces together when you wrap your arms around them.
Imagine a job where the people love you more than your friends from high school. You love their snide remarks, their bounce, their ridiculous dances that make you feel more at home than the house you've grown up in for years.
Imagine your whole world crashing back down again the moment that somebody boards his bus; the moment you punch out of work and say goodbye. Maybe I don't know self-worth, or the need to nurture myself first. But I know love... it's when their existence is the only source of light in your life.
When she slid out of me 2 years ago, the light that represented my self-worth blew out. I'd had a purpose sheltering a second life, and it was all gone in 2 days, slowly seeping out of me. And it would definitely take me more than two years to fix that bulb, but who said it was gonna be easy? And why lie about me never going to be alone again?
A few days ago, the second light, the biggest light of all, blew out. I thought wrong about a lot of things, one of them being that you would always stay. Whenever you said what the fuck do you want me to do, I wish you'd known that all you had to do was stay. But even my own father didn't want me once; what right did I have to think you always would?
My heart isn't capable of self-worth but it knows love. And however tiny it is, there's a piece of it in heaven, a piece at a quiet mall at Paya Lebar, and a piece with a boy who crosses the border everyday. And I hope to god that the light hovering over Paya Lebar doesn't go out, or it would be dark, dark, dark.
Sunday, April 09, 2017
A universe dies with us
I've never been very good at studies and my brain overworks on everything other than academia. I can remember things that happened 7 years ago today, or what anyone had worn the first time I saw them, but never anything that could save my ass in a final year exam.
We are always lost in our own worlds, head in the clouds, caught in daydreams. Maybe we do it subconsciously, for a moment, like how we'd suddenly feel like there's something wrong with the way we walk, or if there's a tuft of hair sticking up at the side of our heads.
Sometimes I get reverse claustrophobic, if that's the right way to describe it. I think about how huge this world is, and how tiny I am in comparison. And I want to say I'm insignificant, but I can't. I have a whole entire universe in my own head. We all do.
Your thoughts, the dreams you have at night, your memories, the song lyrics that randomly pop into your head, the scenarios you create that you know would never happen. Gosh they make you, you. They make me, me. And I havea best friend an acquaintance who likes to say we are all insignificant, but truth be told, I think we are the opposite.
When somebody dies, a whole universe dies with them. Outside your body life goes on as it always does but everything in your head is gone. When you think about jumping off a ledge, a whole world is crushed together with your head. When you think about shooting your brains out, there goes a universe, splattered on the wall behind you.
And you could have written diary entries and blog posts every day of your life, taking down the things that happened and the theories you came up with, but it would never even begin to cover the universe that is in your head.
Truth be told right now, I can't really tell if the world in my head is great, or toxic. What happened to just hating my physical being, just wishing I had a different body and face? I became a girl who wishes she has a whole entirely different brain instead.
There is nothing beautiful about being sick, and this world has become dimmer over the years and I can't bring myself to care about the other humans suffering out there because I have my own head to take care of. And it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, and I can't tell if I'd been too stupid or too intelligent for school my whole life. There is a universe in my head, just the same as a life growing in a womb.
We are always lost in our own worlds, head in the clouds, caught in daydreams. Maybe we do it subconsciously, for a moment, like how we'd suddenly feel like there's something wrong with the way we walk, or if there's a tuft of hair sticking up at the side of our heads.
Sometimes I get reverse claustrophobic, if that's the right way to describe it. I think about how huge this world is, and how tiny I am in comparison. And I want to say I'm insignificant, but I can't. I have a whole entire universe in my own head. We all do.
Your thoughts, the dreams you have at night, your memories, the song lyrics that randomly pop into your head, the scenarios you create that you know would never happen. Gosh they make you, you. They make me, me. And I have
When somebody dies, a whole universe dies with them. Outside your body life goes on as it always does but everything in your head is gone. When you think about jumping off a ledge, a whole world is crushed together with your head. When you think about shooting your brains out, there goes a universe, splattered on the wall behind you.
And you could have written diary entries and blog posts every day of your life, taking down the things that happened and the theories you came up with, but it would never even begin to cover the universe that is in your head.
Truth be told right now, I can't really tell if the world in my head is great, or toxic. What happened to just hating my physical being, just wishing I had a different body and face? I became a girl who wishes she has a whole entirely different brain instead.
There is nothing beautiful about being sick, and this world has become dimmer over the years and I can't bring myself to care about the other humans suffering out there because I have my own head to take care of. And it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, and I can't tell if I'd been too stupid or too intelligent for school my whole life. There is a universe in my head, just the same as a life growing in a womb.
Saturday, April 08, 2017
The weight of the sun on his back
What if you're used to waiting 30 minutes for a bus
And you lose 300 dollars for littering your cigarette butts
And what if the songs you find on Spotify aren't enough
To help you through this life so rough, rough, rough.
What if you're constantly reaching work an hour late
Even though 4 hours ago you were already out of bed
And what if crossing the border everyday is a struggle
And your family of more than nine is nothing but trouble.
What if you have no ambitions and you always feel lost
Unsure of your future and unfazed by your thoughts
And what if you're not sure if the one you've always loved
Would ever stop pining for the child above?
What if your battle scars are the blisters on your palms
The constant arguing between your father and both mums
And the one person who's supposed to make it all better
Couldn't even pull the pieces of her own life together.
What if you don't feel at home in your own skin
And the world is just an ocean you're drowning in
And what if your other half is the weight of the sun
Making you lethargic all the time except to run, run, run.
And you lose 300 dollars for littering your cigarette butts
And what if the songs you find on Spotify aren't enough
To help you through this life so rough, rough, rough.
What if you're constantly reaching work an hour late
Even though 4 hours ago you were already out of bed
And what if crossing the border everyday is a struggle
And your family of more than nine is nothing but trouble.
What if you have no ambitions and you always feel lost
Unsure of your future and unfazed by your thoughts
And what if you're not sure if the one you've always loved
Would ever stop pining for the child above?
What if your battle scars are the blisters on your palms
The constant arguing between your father and both mums
And the one person who's supposed to make it all better
Couldn't even pull the pieces of her own life together.
What if you don't feel at home in your own skin
And the world is just an ocean you're drowning in
And what if your other half is the weight of the sun
Making you lethargic all the time except to run, run, run.
Friday, April 07, 2017
Dear wind
10th November 2014.
A new beginning with an old flame, once again.
Spent the whole of yesterday with A, and I'd deemed it one of the best days of the year, another reason for me to be grateful for my being alive.
Following up my apology for the bad attitude during our last conversation, he had asked me to come along with him to Orchard to collect his pay. I thought why not, since we hadn't met for some time already anyway. And have I mentioned about how he'd straightout admitted that I'd been on his mind lately, that he didn't like D after all.
It was nice seeing him again. It felt exactly like going home to Pasir Ris after 2 years; the memory of every outline intertwined with the hope for something new. It would have been awkward, but it wasn't probably because we were together for so long.
Everything just fell into place. The way I'd babble on about useless things, the way he'd comment on my flaws and we'd laugh at me together, the way he'd hold me by the waist in the crowds or across the roads. It just happened all too naturally.
"I don't know why it's so hard to forget," he said at one point. "You just can't easily forget someone you spent so long with."
If I'd followed my instinct, my survival instinct, I would have taken off the moment he'd said that. He'd used such words on me the last time, convinced me he'd had such feelings, but it turned out to be lies.
But this time, I actually believe him.
A very good friend of mine from sem 1 told me about a rooftop that had a 360 degrees view of Singapore. If you knew me you'd understand I was thrilled to check the place out myself. I told A about it, and he didn't hesitate to tag along with me wherever I'd liked to go.
We entered a dark, empty lift that only has 2 storey buttons: the 4th, and the 55th. He pressed the latter, next to an embossed Ion Sky logo. "Why is it so dark!?" he kept crying, because it was pitch black albeit for the bit of lights dotted here and there on the ceiling. After a while, the effects of air pressure started kicking in.
We finally reached the 55th storey, and it was just amazing. There were poems about clouds stuck on the windows, sky all around, and if there'd been natural wind instead of blasting air-con, it was a perfect place to be with none other than A.
And I loved how comfortable he still is with me. The way he laughed to himself and made excited faces as he was playing with the binoculars; I couldn't help staring at him the whole time, taking in how handsome he is.
We headed off to Scape soon after, talking about all kinds of things, updates on our lives, people we'd been acquainted with. He watched me slowly pick out stickers for my laptop, rushing me and annoying me and laughing at my embarrassing moments. We checked girls out together, I taught him how to walk with confidence and he imitated poorly; we tried to walk the same way as a cute girl, trying to catch glimpses of her face. We laughed til our bellies ached, and that's just exactly what makes it so easy to fall in love again.
I'd missed waiting outside the mosque while waiting for him to pray. I got a kick of nostalgia because he'd gone to do his prayers at the mosque behind Abercrombie and Fitch. I waited on a bench, legs dangling and cars driving by.
In return, he followed me to Kinokuniya, my all-time favourite bookstore. It was crowded, and I was amazed to find out that I still got butterflies in my tummy when he grabbed my hand, locking his fingers with mine. I'd gone to that very bookstore so many times just this year, with so many different dates including a solitary one, but... being with A in there was a different kind of bliss.
It seemed all too gullible of me... But I'd like to trust myself on this one. I'd like to trust myself in making the right decision this time.
We took the underground tunnel and then the bus to Bugis, where we both had our buses home--me to Paya Lebar, and him to Johore. Before that, he showed me the hotel he's currently working at. He's an intern at Ibis Hotel, which I thought was pretty cool.
I told him about how proud I've been for him, how I'd practically watched him 'grow up', from that skinny boy during post-high school days, to a very tall ITE student in a shirt and tie, to the man he is now, an intern at a hotel.
Feels overwhelming somehow, sparks this desire in me to continue nurturing this same boy until his NS days, his work days, and beyond. There's nothing I'd like more than that now.
Upon seeing the biggest 7-11 ever, we decided to get some instant meals and have early dinners there. More silly things happened that caused me to erupt into laughter, spilling my giggles all over the place. I told him, "I have such a horrible laugh, I'm sorry!" (even though he's heard enough of it the past nearly 2 years) and he said with a laugh: "So? It's cute!"
When we sat down to settle our meals, that's when things got serious. We talked about the mutual friends we have, the friends from tertiary, how we couldn't really trust or rely on anyone anymore. I'd long learnt that, but it was a little saddening to say it out loud and have someone else feeling the same way.
I wish it would turn out this way: two of us, against the world. Here I am taking the same risk for the third time; if I fall flat on my face again I'll deal with it because I'm just asking for it now. But I trust everything will be okay.
17th December 2014.
I think I'm a really blessed person, and I think I've found the one I'm gonna marry. On Monday, I'd gone on a 'date' with none other than the wind. Okay, so we called it a date for just a second before correcting it to 'a meeting', but nonetheless, it was still a nice time spent with him.
We'd worn button shirts, and that's enough for me to consider it a date, heh. So we met at Bugis where he was playing Lan, and again, things between us just fell into place easily like they always do. Teasing and laughing and hands around the other's waist, isn't it so damn easy?
We watched Mockingjay P1, which was practically a wish come true for me, if you remember how I said I wanted to watch that with him. While buying our popcorn and nachos and walking down to the cinema, we had a load of laughs that I will always remember about for a long time. We're always making a fool of ourselves and that's why it's so fun to be with him.
We got Best Fries Forever, after which we dropped his wallet in the middle of the empty space in front of it, aka in plain view of everyone, and his coins spilled everywhere. I couldn't stop laughing but I still had to help him gather them.
Again, we sat at Scape and had a bunch of random topics to converse about. At one point I rambled on about blame, went on about how you can't blame just one party when something happens. Blah yadda whatever, we're not here to talk about that now.
We talked alot about our relationship too, of course. About his feelings, mine, the things that have happened and that might happen. When I removed my Passion tag from beneath my collar and asked "Do you remember this?" to which he said, "I bought that for you, of course I remember."
And when we went up the escalator, he declared: "You know what, fuck everyone and let's just be together."
Fuck everyone and let's just be together. I will always remember you saying this.
Everyone keeps telling me that I deserve better and that you're the one who's lost something great, not me. They keep reminding me that I lost the person who wasn't there for me at my lowest, and that you're the one who's lost the gem, the one who would have stayed with you always.
Maybe I'll never forget how you blamed me for not being decent, for always tempting you to sin just by being a girl. How you told me to sell myself on Geylang when I was so worried about our finances. How you admitted to me you kept wishing I would fall and have a miscarriage when I had her.
Maybe I'll never forget and maybe they'd always be brought up in times of anger. But I've already forgiven you, and although it hurts, I would do it all over again for you. I would do so much for you again because it's my purpose, it's probably my instincts.
And I can't bring myself to care about the people on my side, the people who tell me that I deserve someone better. All that's left is for you not to care about the people on your side too, the white rose who is secretly a Venus flytrap.
They are not the ones who will marry you, and maybe they won't even stay to the end of the year. But if you choose me, I will always.
And I know I am sick, but it disappears whenever I'm with you. You keep telling me to love myself, but I've spent all that on you and the girls at my workplace, I forget my thoughts on this world whenever I'm with any of the 6 of you. I am sick but I still remember how to love.
If it never works out with others, if you're lonely, you can always come back to me. I'll always be here. My brain is a universe and the wind still takes up the most of it. And even if the whole world tells me a tornado is coming and to run for my sweet, precious life, I will always let it take me. Maybe I was made for it.
A new beginning with an old flame, once again.
Spent the whole of yesterday with A, and I'd deemed it one of the best days of the year, another reason for me to be grateful for my being alive.
Following up my apology for the bad attitude during our last conversation, he had asked me to come along with him to Orchard to collect his pay. I thought why not, since we hadn't met for some time already anyway. And have I mentioned about how he'd straightout admitted that I'd been on his mind lately, that he didn't like D after all.
It was nice seeing him again. It felt exactly like going home to Pasir Ris after 2 years; the memory of every outline intertwined with the hope for something new. It would have been awkward, but it wasn't probably because we were together for so long.
Everything just fell into place. The way I'd babble on about useless things, the way he'd comment on my flaws and we'd laugh at me together, the way he'd hold me by the waist in the crowds or across the roads. It just happened all too naturally.
"I don't know why it's so hard to forget," he said at one point. "You just can't easily forget someone you spent so long with."
If I'd followed my instinct, my survival instinct, I would have taken off the moment he'd said that. He'd used such words on me the last time, convinced me he'd had such feelings, but it turned out to be lies.
But this time, I actually believe him.
A very good friend of mine from sem 1 told me about a rooftop that had a 360 degrees view of Singapore. If you knew me you'd understand I was thrilled to check the place out myself. I told A about it, and he didn't hesitate to tag along with me wherever I'd liked to go.
We entered a dark, empty lift that only has 2 storey buttons: the 4th, and the 55th. He pressed the latter, next to an embossed Ion Sky logo. "Why is it so dark!?" he kept crying, because it was pitch black albeit for the bit of lights dotted here and there on the ceiling. After a while, the effects of air pressure started kicking in.
We finally reached the 55th storey, and it was just amazing. There were poems about clouds stuck on the windows, sky all around, and if there'd been natural wind instead of blasting air-con, it was a perfect place to be with none other than A.
And I loved how comfortable he still is with me. The way he laughed to himself and made excited faces as he was playing with the binoculars; I couldn't help staring at him the whole time, taking in how handsome he is.
We headed off to Scape soon after, talking about all kinds of things, updates on our lives, people we'd been acquainted with. He watched me slowly pick out stickers for my laptop, rushing me and annoying me and laughing at my embarrassing moments. We checked girls out together, I taught him how to walk with confidence and he imitated poorly; we tried to walk the same way as a cute girl, trying to catch glimpses of her face. We laughed til our bellies ached, and that's just exactly what makes it so easy to fall in love again.
I'd missed waiting outside the mosque while waiting for him to pray. I got a kick of nostalgia because he'd gone to do his prayers at the mosque behind Abercrombie and Fitch. I waited on a bench, legs dangling and cars driving by.
In return, he followed me to Kinokuniya, my all-time favourite bookstore. It was crowded, and I was amazed to find out that I still got butterflies in my tummy when he grabbed my hand, locking his fingers with mine. I'd gone to that very bookstore so many times just this year, with so many different dates including a solitary one, but... being with A in there was a different kind of bliss.
It seemed all too gullible of me... But I'd like to trust myself on this one. I'd like to trust myself in making the right decision this time.
We took the underground tunnel and then the bus to Bugis, where we both had our buses home--me to Paya Lebar, and him to Johore. Before that, he showed me the hotel he's currently working at. He's an intern at Ibis Hotel, which I thought was pretty cool.
I told him about how proud I've been for him, how I'd practically watched him 'grow up', from that skinny boy during post-high school days, to a very tall ITE student in a shirt and tie, to the man he is now, an intern at a hotel.
Feels overwhelming somehow, sparks this desire in me to continue nurturing this same boy until his NS days, his work days, and beyond. There's nothing I'd like more than that now.
Upon seeing the biggest 7-11 ever, we decided to get some instant meals and have early dinners there. More silly things happened that caused me to erupt into laughter, spilling my giggles all over the place. I told him, "I have such a horrible laugh, I'm sorry!" (even though he's heard enough of it the past nearly 2 years) and he said with a laugh: "So? It's cute!"
When we sat down to settle our meals, that's when things got serious. We talked about the mutual friends we have, the friends from tertiary, how we couldn't really trust or rely on anyone anymore. I'd long learnt that, but it was a little saddening to say it out loud and have someone else feeling the same way.
I wish it would turn out this way: two of us, against the world. Here I am taking the same risk for the third time; if I fall flat on my face again I'll deal with it because I'm just asking for it now. But I trust everything will be okay.
17th December 2014.
I think I'm a really blessed person, and I think I've found the one I'm gonna marry. On Monday, I'd gone on a 'date' with none other than the wind. Okay, so we called it a date for just a second before correcting it to 'a meeting', but nonetheless, it was still a nice time spent with him.
We'd worn button shirts, and that's enough for me to consider it a date, heh. So we met at Bugis where he was playing Lan, and again, things between us just fell into place easily like they always do. Teasing and laughing and hands around the other's waist, isn't it so damn easy?
We watched Mockingjay P1, which was practically a wish come true for me, if you remember how I said I wanted to watch that with him. While buying our popcorn and nachos and walking down to the cinema, we had a load of laughs that I will always remember about for a long time. We're always making a fool of ourselves and that's why it's so fun to be with him.
We got Best Fries Forever, after which we dropped his wallet in the middle of the empty space in front of it, aka in plain view of everyone, and his coins spilled everywhere. I couldn't stop laughing but I still had to help him gather them.
Again, we sat at Scape and had a bunch of random topics to converse about. At one point I rambled on about blame, went on about how you can't blame just one party when something happens. Blah yadda whatever, we're not here to talk about that now.
We talked alot about our relationship too, of course. About his feelings, mine, the things that have happened and that might happen. When I removed my Passion tag from beneath my collar and asked "Do you remember this?" to which he said, "I bought that for you, of course I remember."
And when we went up the escalator, he declared: "You know what, fuck everyone and let's just be together."
____
Everyone keeps telling me that I deserve better and that you're the one who's lost something great, not me. They keep reminding me that I lost the person who wasn't there for me at my lowest, and that you're the one who's lost the gem, the one who would have stayed with you always.
Maybe I'll never forget how you blamed me for not being decent, for always tempting you to sin just by being a girl. How you told me to sell myself on Geylang when I was so worried about our finances. How you admitted to me you kept wishing I would fall and have a miscarriage when I had her.
Maybe I'll never forget and maybe they'd always be brought up in times of anger. But I've already forgiven you, and although it hurts, I would do it all over again for you. I would do so much for you again because it's my purpose, it's probably my instincts.
And I can't bring myself to care about the people on my side, the people who tell me that I deserve someone better. All that's left is for you not to care about the people on your side too, the white rose who is secretly a Venus flytrap.
They are not the ones who will marry you, and maybe they won't even stay to the end of the year. But if you choose me, I will always.
And I know I am sick, but it disappears whenever I'm with you. You keep telling me to love myself, but I've spent all that on you and the girls at my workplace, I forget my thoughts on this world whenever I'm with any of the 6 of you. I am sick but I still remember how to love.
If it never works out with others, if you're lonely, you can always come back to me. I'll always be here. My brain is a universe and the wind still takes up the most of it. And even if the whole world tells me a tornado is coming and to run for my sweet, precious life, I will always let it take me. Maybe I was made for it.
Monday, April 03, 2017
The kids our age aren't the same as us anymore
Once in a while I hear my parents talking about friends from previous lives. A few weeks back I heard them talking about one who's the same age as them, 52. They were saying "Asal muka dia gitu teruk eh???"; why is her face like that, because apparently this person has some skin disease on her face.
My parents are quite great gossipers, especially with each other. They like to tell me things like, "Look at your mother, I'm 52 but I'm still looking young," and sometimes, I think to myself that it could change anytime and she needs to watch her mouth.
But it also got me thinking on something else: we're all at that point of life where people our age are no longer the same as us. Our first 6 years of education, no doubt most of the kids would move up one level together with us. We were all always on the same boat, the only differences maybe being; some of us were in standard form, or foundation, little things like that.
Secondary school wasn't so bad either. Most of us moved on together, maybe some kids being left behind in sec 3 because they needed to repeat that year. The forks in our paths started becoming more obvious when we reached the age of 16.
I was in Normal Academic, so I watched some classmates stay, moving on to sec 5, and at the same time classmates leaving, going on to ITE. I was in the former, and I was even lucky enough to have made it into polytechnic after my O levels, by a hair's breath.
When I think about all the kids from my primary school, I wonder what they're doing now, how they're like, what their personalities are like or what labels have they obtained.
I'll just never know; but if anyone of them thought about me, and randomly searched for my Instagram and decided to read this blog of mine; they would know that I am still the same aspiring writer that I was from all those years back.
Right now, nearly 22, not everyone who's the same age as me would be doing the same thing as I am. Maybe there are some who are still stuck in their dumb classrooms, in university or whatever education level comes after. There are some who have left school and have no intention of continuing their education anywhere. And among those, there are some who are perhaps on their way to traveling the world.
There are the ones who have gotten engaged, or possibly even married. Maybe they've long found their soulmates, their person that they wish to annoy forever. Someone they want to see every single day, with no third party called insecurity. No blank space in their bank accounts. They're probably either the happiest or the most miserable among us.
There are also the ones who have died. Maybe God decided to take them away because they'd been suffering, with grief or illness or how sick they are of the world. Maybe they were taken doing something they loved, maybe they were taken just after arguing with their mothers or other halves, and now they would never rest in peace.
At this age, ambitions are no longer ambitions. When we were primary 2, we would say we want to be a doctor, or a lawyer; maybe there are some who have been studying medicine or law, and are on the way to this career. We just won't know if it's what they want, or what their parents want.
Some are lucky to have their parents' blessings to do what they like, or courses in what they really do enjoy, or both. We're just no longer at the age where we could just say I want to be a this, I want to be a that. We're at the age where we need to work for it, or there's just no point in growing up.
My parents are quite great gossipers, especially with each other. They like to tell me things like, "Look at your mother, I'm 52 but I'm still looking young," and sometimes, I think to myself that it could change anytime and she needs to watch her mouth.
But it also got me thinking on something else: we're all at that point of life where people our age are no longer the same as us. Our first 6 years of education, no doubt most of the kids would move up one level together with us. We were all always on the same boat, the only differences maybe being; some of us were in standard form, or foundation, little things like that.
Secondary school wasn't so bad either. Most of us moved on together, maybe some kids being left behind in sec 3 because they needed to repeat that year. The forks in our paths started becoming more obvious when we reached the age of 16.
I was in Normal Academic, so I watched some classmates stay, moving on to sec 5, and at the same time classmates leaving, going on to ITE. I was in the former, and I was even lucky enough to have made it into polytechnic after my O levels, by a hair's breath.
When I think about all the kids from my primary school, I wonder what they're doing now, how they're like, what their personalities are like or what labels have they obtained.
I'll just never know; but if anyone of them thought about me, and randomly searched for my Instagram and decided to read this blog of mine; they would know that I am still the same aspiring writer that I was from all those years back.
Right now, nearly 22, not everyone who's the same age as me would be doing the same thing as I am. Maybe there are some who are still stuck in their dumb classrooms, in university or whatever education level comes after. There are some who have left school and have no intention of continuing their education anywhere. And among those, there are some who are perhaps on their way to traveling the world.
There are the ones who have gotten engaged, or possibly even married. Maybe they've long found their soulmates, their person that they wish to annoy forever. Someone they want to see every single day, with no third party called insecurity. No blank space in their bank accounts. They're probably either the happiest or the most miserable among us.
There are also the ones who have died. Maybe God decided to take them away because they'd been suffering, with grief or illness or how sick they are of the world. Maybe they were taken doing something they loved, maybe they were taken just after arguing with their mothers or other halves, and now they would never rest in peace.
At this age, ambitions are no longer ambitions. When we were primary 2, we would say we want to be a doctor, or a lawyer; maybe there are some who have been studying medicine or law, and are on the way to this career. We just won't know if it's what they want, or what their parents want.
Some are lucky to have their parents' blessings to do what they like, or courses in what they really do enjoy, or both. We're just no longer at the age where we could just say I want to be a this, I want to be a that. We're at the age where we need to work for it, or there's just no point in growing up.
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