H. M.

It's now the 20th of April, 2017 and this post has been scheduled to be published on the 10th of June, 2017.

At this point I've watched 6 episodes of Thirteen Reasons Why and already starting to see a little of myself in Hannah Baker. You'd think we would kill ourselves without telling everyone what had been done to us first? Grab a snack, as she would say, because you'll be here on this post for a while. I am writing this in one shot and I hope whoever you are you'll read it in one too.

By the time you are able to read this I should be long gone. I've slit my arm from my semi-colon tattoo all the way to my inner elbow, cutting through all the tinier cuts that go across my wrist. These words are the blood that came dripping out, after all these years of being clogged up in my system.

Where do we start this story? Is the starting point of our life truly the day we were born? I don't believe we deserve to mix our innocence with our mistakes and havoc--I've always seen a line cutting through my life somewhere, I'm just not sure of its exact location.

Does my life start from the day I left my best friends in 2012? Or the first day of school, the day I met them all, way back in 2008?
Does this story start from the day I lost her? Or maybe the day I found out I had her?
Does it start from the day I last kissed the wind? Or the day we had our first kiss, back in 2013?
Does it start all the way back to the day my parents were making me?

Let's go to the day her parents were making her.

The 31st of January, 2015.

The idea was mine. This whole mess started with me. You were working the night shift at Ibis hotel, and I'd gone to fetch you. It's weird to think that I have a vlog from that very day, when we'd visited the cat cafe above Burger King. The calm before the storm, wasn't it?

The place we went to was called Mayo Inn, and there was a Cheers opposite. We got sandwiches there, remember? They weren't doing hourly charges, and we paid a hundred for a night; they didn't accept nets, and I waited for you at their lobby while you went to withdraw money.

My heart still quickens when I think about that day; when I think about any of the days we'd gone to a hotel. You know the truth of how I got pregnant, right? You took yourself out before you came, but you went back in after for some reason. I was so in love with you I didn't take notice or think there was anything wrong about that. We were stupidly in love, joined together again after one year of being absent from each other's lives.

Maybe I still am, but I need to force myself to write every single thing I've missed out. I have diary entries from the year, but when I read them back anyone could see how badly I was trying to cover up for you. My own way of protecting you. Maybe not anymore, right?

I already wrote the whole story of my pregnancy, but this shall be a clearer one.
My previous post titled "Unborn" was written in late 2015, but just only published a few days ago. That wasn't the whole truth either.

We went to Universal Studios on the 4th of March, 2015. At the time I was living at my Paya Lebar house, my granny's place. The day after my mom came over and we went back to our Pasir Ris house together, took a cab all the way on the Pan Island Expressway and Tampines Expressway.

When we were passing by Ikea I already felt like throwing up. I felt that wetness in my mouth, you know, right before you're about to throw up. That's when I furiously tapped my mom on her knee and somehow she understood, but she was too late. I'd thrown up all fucking over. It was funny though, because my mom actually took out a piece of tissue to pass to me. Like that pathetic piece of tissue could hold in all my vomit?

Do you remember my nephew? On 10th March, I was following my mom to her regular bakery supplies shop when she received a phone call. I heard her saying the prayer that a good Muslim says upon the news of someone's passing. It was my cousin and his wife's first child, a son. He passed away a day after birth.

I couldn't stop crying, even though I'm not that close with this cousin. Just bawling, endless tears. Maybe it was the life that was starting to form inside me at that time. Maybe it was already giving me a motherly instinct. Nobody will ever know.

A few days later we had a wedding to attend to, all the way in Kuala Lumpur. My grandmother is from Malaysia so my mom has lots of cousins and relatives from there. Everyone mistook my vomiting episode as fever, even me. From young, I will always throw up whenever I was sick. It was nothing to be worried about at all. Still, they got me those asam things to suckle on if I felt like throwing up.

At the time I had this favourite shirt, the one that's grey in the front and checkered green down the back and the sleeves. I was wearing it on that road trip to Kuala Lumpur. We had our lunch at a pit stop, the one with Baskin Robbins opposite the toilets, I'm sure you know that one.

I didn't have appetite to eat rice, and my mom got me porridge. I threw it up when we were walking to the car. If you brought me to that pit stop again, I could show you exactly where I'd stood, hunched over with my granny rubbing my back.

One of the relatives got us a villa to stay in, my family and the others who came from Johore. That night upon reaching I had dreams of that house, I dreamed of a family of three, a little daughter sleeping in a crib in that very room I was sleeping in. They weren't white per se but their skin was so, so pale. I told my cousin about it, when she arrived with her husband; I'm not sure if she remembers.

The day of the wedding my mom and I got into an argument. It was so stupid and insignificant; she was mad at me for not waking up on time and kept yelling at me. I called her a bitch when I was walking to the bathroom, and she gave me one hard hit on my back. Such a tiny detail, but how would she feel if she'd known I was pregnant at the time?

On the trip back to Johore we made a stop at the place with a bridge, the one with A&W on it, I think. Or was it Marrybrown? I can't recall for some reason. But I can remember using the Wifi there and seeing lots of messages from you; the way you said you couldn't stop thinking of me and you couldn't sleep from missing me and "I really can't live without you".

When we got back to Singapore my mother brought me to a clinic for my rashes. I'd developed some on my legs at the time, and after explaining about them to the doctor, she mentioned my nausea to him as well. He said they weren't related to each other, and then asked me, Could you be pregnant by chance? And I said no.

I made a video called Document Your Life for March 2015; I made it on my brother's 15th birthday, and when I went to dinner with the family I texted you: Do you think I might be pregnant? My period didn't come for the whole of February and it's not coming for March either.

You were so scared, you panicked. You begged me not to ever mention such a possibility. It was clear from then that you never wanted her. That you never had the intention to stay whether or not I gave you what you wished for.

My sister-in-law got me the test kit thing, and when it showed up positive I was deadly calm. I called you, and I lied to you, saying it was negative. You were so relieved, you said Thank God, and I was already holding back my tears.  I really wanted to protect you, you know. I was planning to keep it secret from you until I aborted it.

Half of the reason why I didn't want to keep her was because of my parents. They already had a granddaughter outside of marriage, and I didn't want them to think there was something wrong with the way they raised their children.

You were still most of the reason. I loved you so much, I still do and I always will even if the whole world tells me not to. I wanted you to be happy, more than anything. I honestly daydreamed about keeping it from you, but I couldn't. I was a terrible liar and you were already suspicious of me, you were almost accusing me of cheating on you. You called me the worst girl you ever met, do you remember?

I cracked, and I told you a week after I took the test. You were terrified, and I regretted telling you immediately after. I hated the things you were saying to me but I hated seeing you so scared. I wanted to protect you from it, so so so fucking bad but I failed at it, like I always do.

Remember the few days when I was badly craving for pancakes? You brought me to the Gelare at One Km Mall, where I got banana pancakes. I'd worn my maroon shirt tucked into my black skinnies and had my hair in a ponytail, and you told me I looked like a minah from behind.

You stared at me while I ate my pancakes, with that in-love look on your face, and you told me, "I'm just gonna stare at you right now."

You sent me a song that you were obsessed with at the time; it couldn't have been more perfect. If all we have is time then we'll be alright / it's not much but it's better than nothing / We're running on fumes but we'll make it through the night / it's not love but it's better than dreaming.

You went to meet your friends that night, one of them coming back from Australia after two years. You confided in them about your situation, and one of them, the one who never really liked me the most, asked you "How sure are you that it's yours?"

And you came to ask me. You came to fucking ask me, "Are you sure it's mine?"
We argued again that night. I couldn't fucking believe you asked me that.
That question started everything. It started all my fucked up thoughts and all the feelings I had for my fucking baby.

We talked about getting jobs--you'd just ended your internship at Ibis hotel, and we were both just freeloading at home and not having much income. Talked about the abortion and realised how badly we needed money at the time.

I contacted an agency on the 30th of March, 2015 and they told me to come down to their office the next day. That night I'd gone to visit my grandfather at hospital with my mom, and we slept overnight. I slept on the cold hard fucking floor; such a tiny detail but to have done so while pregnant. It actually hurts to think about; I never cared much about her didn't I?

At that time I was reading a book called My Heart And Other Black Holes. It revolved around a website where people meet to make plans for suicide together. The protagonist meets someone who wants to do it on April 7th. What an eerie coincidence, wasn't it? I'd already had ideas then: I daydreamed about dying together with the life inside me. Maybe I was already starting to fall into depression then, but we'll never know.

The next day I went to the agency at Bishan. I got a job at Popular One KM, starting on the 1st of April, 2015. I was terrified, but little did we know it turned out to be my second home. But that shall maybe be a story for another day.

Here's another part where I need to rewrite my story.
I never mentioned much of this in my diary entries or blog posts.

There was a night when I listened to this one song repeatedly: Breathe, by Taylor Swift. It's such an old song, I'd listened to it on a CD player back in sec two. It was way past midnight, and I mentioned keeping it to you. I didn't want to do it, I didn't want to abort it, I wanted so badly to keep it.

And you said "Sure, you can keep it. But just know that you won't have me around anymore if you do."

Do you remember?

I also vaguely remember you mentioning that you would give me money every month as financial support. But you made it clear that if I kept it, you would leave my life. You made it clear that it was a choice between a life with you, and a life without you.

And you wonder why I always asked you to choose me over your friends.

There's nothing else to blame but my stupidity, the love I had for you. I loved you so much and I was so, so, so willing to do anything to make you happy. There was never anyone else to blame but myself. I should have seen by then that you never had any intention to keep me.

You promised me that you would give me another baby in the future. You kept telling me that you did want to keep it too, 'trust me I want it just as much as you do', but that 'it just isn't the right time'. And when I brought up the topic of adoption, you got angry, you told me "I'll never let anyone else have what's mine, ever. I'd rather let God have it than someone else."

I cried almost every night, and when I told you, you said my tears were like tap-water to you, 'so common and meaningless'.

Do you remember? Because I do. So clearly.

I started work at the place which turned out to be my most favourite place in the world. During my lunch break I called you, you were at home, and you told me not to carry heavy things. I said okay, but unfortunately I had to, because it was my job. I didn't want to complain about anything when my colleagues told me to do this, or carry that, I didn't protest. I was doing my job.

On my first day, one of my best friends now taught me how to do Housekeeping duty. You know what that's about, right? Whoever's on duty has to open and close the doors when the time is right, and throw the rubbish down at Basement.

Maybe it's nothing much to you. But imagine being four months pregnant and pushing a trolley filled with cartons and carrying bags of rubbish. Lifting that huge metal divider that goes between the shutters and using all my energy to slot it into that fucking gap at the top of the store. You won't know how annoying that thing is unless you work here. And I did it until I was four months in. I could do anything you know?

In early May there was World Book Day and we had to hang the posters on these metal bars that are suspended from the ceiling. They made us part-timers do it, and I climbed up right to the top of the ladder to hang those stupid posters; at the time I was three and a half months pregnant.

I didn't complain, not once. But I was scared. At the time I'd grown over-attached to it, and I was grateful that it wasn't showing much because it was easy to hide. But I was scared if there was anything wrong with it because it was so unusually small. I was never a healthy person to begin with and I started thinking of my every little action because I know everything I do will affect it.

Remember the day I'd fainted at work? During morning briefing when my vision started to blur and my knees went weak and my hearing slowly disappeared. When I realised what was happening my Chinese Department colleague and manager were carrying me to the office.

I was

so

fucking

scared.

And where were you? You were at home, sleeping. We were arguing that day, I remember. I tweeted that I'd collapsed at work and a girl from your secondary school replied to it, asking if I was alright. It's funny how I remember the smallest details, but I always do.

I brought myself to the polyclinic when I came to. My best friend from secondary school, the one with a gem for her name: she had to take an injection for a trip she was taking too, so we'd gone together. We had to wait for more than an hour, so we got donuts and bubble tea and sat at the community centre in the meantime.

And I told her. It was difficult too, but way easier than if I'd told any of the other girls in the clique. All of them were so pure at the time, never having boyfriends and never knowing the feeling of giving a boy your everything. I've always been sickly involved with boys back in school, and I knew deep down that if I'd told any of them about it, they would have secretly thought I deserved it.

That day at the polyclinic was my first time talking to a doctor on my own, without my mother even waiting for me outside. So insignificant, but it was a sign of my growing up, wasn't it? They made me pee into a stupid little tube, and when the doctor confirmed again that I was pregnant, he asked: "Are you keen on this pregnancy?"

I shook my head because what else was there to do, right? And so he referred me to KKH Women's Hospital.

Life wasn't very nice to me during my pregnancy. I had to hear the news of my nephew passing away a day after birth. I had to go through Mother's Day with my sister-in-law telling me I have a baby and that I am a mother too. I had to let my niece come near me and smile at me and then later hearing my sis-in-law saying that babies can sense when you're pregnant.

And I never told you this but there was a time when my mother walked into the room and asked me if my period was here. She knows whenever I get mine, because I would have soaked and hung my underwear in the toilet, something I hadn't done for a long time. She told me that my granny asked her to ask me, and then she told me to stand up. She said I looked fatter, and I was so fucking terrified that day and I don't remember what lie I'd said to get her off my back.

I hated the nausea. Everytime I had my lunch at work, I would lean over the toilet, waiting for whatever to come spilling out of my mouth. Most of the time it refused to come out despite the nauseous feeling in my stomach being so damn fucking strong. I developed a habit of poking my finger down my throat to force myself to puke, I just couldn't stand it.

Imagine not being able to talk to your own best friends about it. We once all met for dinner, where I stuffed my face with lots of ice-cream, and my stomach was bloated afterwards; they started joking that I was pregnant, and pretended to talk to my stomach. Only the girl with a gem for a name knew there was something growing in me for real. The way the life inside me was being talked to, but as a joke. "I may be a mother but I sure am a cruel one." a line from my diary entry that day.

You didn't make it any better. We hung out around Pasir Ris one time in May, bought ourselves hotdogs from the 7-11 at Downtown East and sat at the stairs between the escalators. You wanted to make out, asked if we could go to the toilet in the middle of Pasir Ris Park. Your exact words being "You're already pregnant, what's the worst that could happen?" And whenever we argued, I'd ask you to remember what I'm doing for you; you'd say "What are you even doing for me?"

I remember the day we went out and watched Child 44 at Jem, how I tried to tell you again that I wanted to keep it. You told me, I will always remember, "We can't have it, not right now. Trust me I want it just as much as you do, but now is not the right time. I promise I'll give you another one in the future." You, the wind, the hurricane, will always be cruel. I never wanted 'another one'; just my first. But of course I listened to you, I loved you too much, me and my stupidity.

That one day, when you knew how much I wanted to keep her and you were so scared that I would do that; your words: "I keep wishing you will fall and have a miscarriage," but at least you apologised for that, right? The word 'sorry' solves everything doesn't it?

This one time, when I was on the way to work on the train; this Indian woman had boarded the train with her son, and she took the empty seat beside me. Her son started to squeeze between her and me, and that day I was honestly not feeling well at all, I think I was past three months at the time. I really needed that fucking seat; but of course everyone stared at me, waiting for me to get up and offer my seat to her fucking son. So I did.

And I so badly wanted to scream: I'M

FUCKING

PREGNANT.

This post is getting so hard for me to write right now.

When did I start falling in love with my child?

Imagine being a worthless person your whole life, beaten by your elder brother as a kid and by your father as a teenager. Being disliked by all the kids in your secondary school, not belonging with the people at polytechnic, being the girl who makes her boyfriend's friends say "Aamir you deserve someone way better."/"Aamir why did you go back to her, why are you licking back what you've spat out?"

I'll never forget 8th April, 2015. The way I'd cried like an idiot on the bus going home from work. I started tearing up at the bus stop, and one of the other part timers was passing by and saw me cry. He's long gone from Popular now, but I'll always remember him as the one person who knew then that something was wrong with me.

A song that goes: Turn off the lights when you leave / 'Cause we've got everything we're gonna need / We're gonna run we're gonna run we're gonna run child / We're on the run we're on the run we're on the run child giving me ideas, making me daydream about running away with my second soul but making me cry, knowing it was more than impossible.

I wanted it so, so, so, much. And I kept it to myself because I didn't want you to say things that would hurt me. I had to pretend that I thought keeping it was never an option. But I never stopped daydreaming about disappearing from your life and bringing it along with me.

I fell sick in mid-May, exactly on the day I was supposed to go KKH for my scan. I really wanted to see my baby, but tried as I could I didn't have the strength to get out of bed. I cried the whole day, I refused to eat and I ignored all the texts and calls from you. I hated that I loved you so much, I wanted my child so damn fucking much.

I called KKH and made a new appointment for the 2nd of June, 2015. My heart expanded and shattered at the same time that day, seeing that monochromatic screen. The past twenty years of my life, I'd been so useless, not worth shit in this ever-moving world. So tiny and insignificant on earth and the afterlife--and then being blessed with a life growing inside me.

Do you know how it felt?

You wouldn't, unless you've been pregnant yourself. Unless you've been shunned by society and ignored or hated by everyone around you yourself.

I was stunned, looking at that screen. I started tearing up, definitely, and then I hesitantly asked the nurse: "Is it possible to tell if it's a girl or a boy?" She said she'd try to see, and while watching her pinch and zoom in the screen here and there, I held my breath.

I always thought having a girl first is perfect. I grew up believing elder brothers are pieces of shit, and I didn't want my first to be a boy.

And then she said the one word that shattered me in all ways: girl. It was more than enough to make me so excited and at the same time deflated because I can't fucking keep her. But she moved, I saw her move, and I didn't know whether I'd wanted to laugh or cry at that moment.

I also wished you'd been there to see her for yourself too. Maybe you wouldn't have moved on so quickly then. It was amazing, she was amazing, I was amazing.

The nurse asked if I wanted to keep a picture of it, which of course I wanted to, more than anything. Just one shot of her, the life growing inside me, the heart beating next to mine. A mere piece of paper already curling at the sides that I carried with me wherever.

I had my last counselling session afterwards. I was constantly asked Where is your boyfriend? I told the counsellor you couldn't make it because you lived in Johore. She said there was no excuse, but I tried to defend you by telling her that you'd be there during the procedure. Then she said the sentence that rang in my head constantly after it was all over: "The guy can be there throughout everything but at the end of the day it's only the girl who suffers."

Again, she tried to talk me out of the abortion. I didn't cry throughout all the counselling sessions I'd had thus far, would you believe it? I kept composure and just smiled through all the talks with the people of the hospital.

Only one exchange cracked me, when I said I was doing it for my mother, remembered up until now:
"Would you rather hurt your mother or hurt your baby?"
"My mom is more important."
My first tears shed after all the interactions with counsellors, nurses, doctors.

My last room for the day: a doctor who gave me the final appointment. I was told to report to Admissions at noon, the 8th of June, 2015, and expected to stay for at least two days.  And that for 19 weeks, it could not be by vacuum anymore, but a 'slightly more painful method'.

I took the North East Line back to Outram Park, and then all the way to Pasir Ris. I went to Ikea on bus 58, bought myself a corkboard. How normal life seemed to be, huh?

I informed my manager that I was going to take MC for two days, on the 8th and 9th June. I was a part timer then, and I told her I was supposed to get some sort of bullshit surgery for my spine. I didn't know what the fuck else I was supposed to say.

And then I told my parents that my best friend, the one with a gem for her name, was going to be alone at home for a few days because the rest of her family was on holiday. I told them that she didn't go along with them because she had school and assignments to finish, and could I accompany her with a sleepover?

You'd informed your mom that you were sleeping over at your best friend's place, the best friend that we weren't even talking to at the time, but that shall be a story for another time too.

All was set.

The remaining days between my last appointment and my admission, I slept on my left side, so I wouldn't be lying down on her head. I listened to Two Of Us On The Run and Fumes on repeat and cried myself to sleep whenever I could and I kept it all from you. I didn't want you to tell me again, "Your tears are like tap-water to me, so common and meaningless."

And on the day itself, the 8th of June, 2015; I was calm. Taking the train to Bugis, walking to the bus stop with the shuttle bus to KKH, it was all becoming a norm. I didn't really feel any fear, it'd felt like any other day. Maybe it was just me surrendering the one thing that mattered. Maybe it was like how an old man would be calm on his deathbed.

Lucky for us it was the day of my salary, so we managed to make a payment of 800 bucks. Just a complete sweep of my bank account, but it was all we could do to make sure no letters were sent to my house. They mentioned sending a bill over to my address if I still owe the hospital anything.

I was brought to Ward 42, Bed 10. A bed by the window, how perfect huh? I was a mother, but also still the girl who loved looking out windows and sitting on windowsills.

They made me change into a red-brown garb that hung to my ankles, and you probably said I looked cute in it. Then two nurses tried to hook me up to that machine thing, but they couldn't find any veins big enough for it or something, so they started hitting my hands. In the end they hooked me from my right hand, rendering me completely useless and not being able to feed myself or sign all the stupid documents they made me sign afterwards.

One last counsellor came over to my bed, still trying to get me to change my mind. It did me more hurt than anything, because of course I wanted to run from that hospital and run from the country and maybe from the world, anything at all as long as I could keep her. And she told me: "Don't ever feel like you have no choice."

Of course I had a choice. And now, thinking back, I made the choice between my daughter and a boy who never had any intention to stay. My stupidity, my love for someone who would leave in two years' time over someone who would have spent her whole life believing I was beautiful.

A doctor explained to me that she will be putting in pills into me from down below, one pill every five hours for five times. Before she started, she told me: "Are you sure you want to do this? It's still not too late for you to change your mind, at this point of time. But once I put in the first one we can't go back."

And I just wanted to die.

It would have been so much easier.

But I nodded.

And she drew the curtains over my bed, told me to lift my knees and spread my legs, and then she placed a pill inside me. And it hurt like hell and when she left, I looked at you and at my best friend with a gem for her name, you both looked at me, and then I started to cry. Was it from the pain, was it from the fear, was it from the longing to keep her?

We never expected it to be a slow, painful process. I guess the pills part wasn't so bad, because we were just waiting for it to slide out. They told me I'd just have the normal discomfort of wanting to pass motion, but they really underestimated that one. I kept walking to the toilet in my bare feet, sitting on the toilet bowl but having nothing come out at all. One of the nurses also mentioned that it would be exactly like giving birth.

The only difference? I wouldn't be getting my baby.

You left for a while to eat at Mac, but then you couldn't come back in because visiting hours were over. And I was so miserable, wanting you around but at the same time not being able to care if I was alone or not. You told me you walked around Bugis, that it was a walking distance from KKH.

I didn't have much appetite by the second day. The makcik who gave us patients our food came over, asked me to choose what did I want to eat, or something right? And I didn't pay attention to anything and you answered for me, but I hated you and everyone and everything so much. I just remember having the strength to say thank you to whoever aided me, that much I know.

It was the day the new Mockingjay Part 2 trailer came out. I watched that and then went to watch the music video for Safe And Sound, and for the whole day afterwards that song was stuck in my head. You sat next to my bed the whole time, stroking my hair and occasionally falling asleep with your head touching mine, both of us jolted awake when nurses came to check my blood pressure.

They were constantly changing the doctor's nameplate that hung above my bed, and you told me Look, there are so many people here looking after you. And I said yeah, but none of them are my parents. Remember?

By that evening the five pills were already inserted but nothing was happening. The doctor came and told me they had to start a new procedure, a much more painful one. And I thought the five pills was the most painful it could get???

I couldn't even pay attention to what was happening anymore, I was so tired. But I remember the doctor putting a stick-like object into me from below, and this one hurt like hell and I even tried to pry her hands away. It was needed to hold my womb open so the fetus could slide out easier.

I thought the pills were bad enough, but this one was a million times more slow and painful. Time didn't seem to move at all, and I couldn't bring myself to eat or talk, and I kept making these whimpering sounds because it was all I could muster. My stomach was as hard as stone, and you were resting your hand on it and agreeing, that's when you moved your hand up and did what you'd always liked to do.

Don't you remember? In midst of all my misery, you slid your hand under the hospital dress and groped me, fondled my breasts and fingered my nipples. You never learned, did you, oh, Aamir Bin Kamsari. I should have known then that you would never go to the right path no matter what I wore or what I did or how I became. And we both just constantly blamed me for it. The harder I tried to bring you away the angrier you got for bringing you there in the first place.

I am drinking all the coffee I can in order to stay awake and write this in one shot, even though it's getting difficult. I would never have the composure to record tapes like Hannah did, and you would never have the balls to listen to my voice saying all that I have written here. You're afraid of me, my voice and my words, just the same as how I am afraid of you, your hands and your actions.

You left shortly after visiting hours that day. You told me you missed your mom, and while you were going home to her, I was texting my father, telling him I was staying over my friend's house for one more night. Of course he got mad, so I turned off my data and threw my phone to the side and curled into a ball beneath the blanket.

I opted for the lowest class ward, and there were just these weak fans turning round and round above our beds, but it was still freezing, even after I turned mine off. The painkillers they gave me earlier were fading and the pain was coming back. Imagine feeling like all of your organs might slide out of you anytime soon, that's how it felt, but a million times more.

Again, I kept walking back and forth to the toilet. But nothing came out. It hurt like hell, and they gave me more painkillers but I threw them all up.

I don't know what time the extreme pain started. The time just crawled by when I felt it starting to slide out, and my whimpers turned to groans, which later turned to screams. I looked for the emergency button, desperately pressing it to call for the nurses or whoever the fuck could help me, even if it was a fucking angel coming or God himself coming personally to take me the fuck away. Anyone, anything, anyhow, just make it fucking stop make it fucking stop I'm so so so sorry I didn't want to do this I want her I want her I want her.

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. 

I woke the whole ward up with my screaming. I'd really gone through it all at that point of time. You could split me in half with an axe or run a chainsaw through me or twist my head until it snapped off my neck and it would all be nothing to me. It was nothing compared to going through hours-long labour and getting an undeveloped, bloody body between my legs instead of a breathing, living baby girl, and knowing it was my choice.

I looked at my phone shortly after, I don't know why. But I saw the time and I'll always remember it: 5:32 in the morning. The last thing I saw was that, and the last thing I heard was 'Muslim cemetery', before I closed my eyes and finally fell dead to the world of slumber.

Later on, a few months after, we both found out together what was verse 5:32 in the Qur'an. I'm sure you remember, but I don't know how you could continue living after reading that.

When the sun started rising, patients started waking up and nurses started bustling out and about. I woke up too, but not fully as I watched one of them checking my blood pressure again. The narrow tube that ran from my hand to the drip was all red, my blood running from my veins and through the tube. I don't know what the fuck happened there but it was a sight I would never forget.

I used the last of my energy to text my manager that I was still at the hospital and couldn't make it to work that day.

The doctor came and talked to me but I just wasn't hearing anything. I was slipping in and out of sleep, or oblivion, or my dreams, or anything that sits between this reality and the next. I heard her voice saying, "I think she's very tired." and that again was the last thing I heard.

You came a few hours later, and they transferred me to a stretcher-like bed, brought me to the operations theater or whatever it was called. You later told me that my bed was all bloody and there were bits of meat, probably remnants of the umbilical cord.

I was injected at near the base of my spine, and I couldn't feel my legs afterwards. They had to vacuum my down below, to clean it and rid it of whatever's left from the fetus or whatever shit, I couldn't be bothered to listen. They wheeled me back to my bed hours later, and told me I can't go home until the anaesthetic is completely gone.

They told me not to get up and to call them if I needed to pee, and my passing urine would be the indication that the anaesthetic is faded. Never in my life have I tried so hard to pee, you remember that don't you? We drew the curtains over my bed and you helped me up, carried me against you and pretended we were dancing. We got scolded for that, and also for carrying me to the toilet to pee.

I kept asking the nurses to let me go home that night. They told me I had to stay for another day at least, but I wasn't having it. The doctor tried to talk to me again and that's when I told her, My parents don't even know I'm here, I really need to go right now.

They made me sign more documents, or more like scribbled on because my right hand was still useless, gave me medicine, gave me brochures about post-abortion care and all the things which I couldn't bring myself to give a shit about. We finally left the hospital about half an hour before midnight.

I got back to work a day later, with my first period after 5 months. Actually I'm not sure if it was technically my period, because I started bleeding below when she came out, and it never completely stopped.

All my life, I have been rude to my parents, yelling at my mother and fighting with my father, making them both cry, running away from home, disappearing overnight and feeling no remorse looking at my own grandmother cry for me, I have been a flame, letting you fuck me in handicap toilets and going down on you in staircase alleys, walking past donation boxes for mosques and people needing my help and beggars needing money for their meals. I've done so much sin, and the only one that I will ever ask for forgiveness for is when I made the choice to throw her.

My biggest mistake in life was not having her. It was losing her.

And I'm so sorry.

She would have been so beautiful, despite having such an ugly mother you know? Even til today, I would do anything to hear her cry again. Just cry, I'm not scared anymore, I just want to hear her again. It's been two weeks since I lost you, Aamir, but everyone knows getting over you is the easy part. It's getting over her that's difficult, even after two years. I never stopped the habit of protectively placing a hand over my stomach. A heart beating next to mine; my only purpose in life, after twenty years of being useless and never belonging anywhere.

I already felt a bit of the depression even before I lost her. It worsened afterwards, even though I was so deadly calm to you all the time. I couldn't look at people the same way again. I couldn't hear my niece cry or see her laugh without feeling a million knifes stabbing into me. I always disliked children my whole life, but after the whole episode I couldn't help staring at little Malay girls in public, wishing I had mine.

We'd built the lies so damn carefully and intricately during the whole hospital stay. But one time in mid or late June, when I was sleeping over at my grandmother's place, she received a call from my mom. She hung up and asked me, "Kak, surat apa tu kak?" KKH had sent a letter to my address, because I forgot that technically I'd overshot my stay and owed them for it. I tried to shut her out, I didn't answer her and ignored her until I fell asleep.

The next day I was going off to Popular Headquarters to sign my contract because I was converting to full-time. My bank account was completely gone, and I think you'd just started working at Domino's around that time, right?

I was living on two dollars a day and constantly worrying about our finances to the extent of you saying: "If you're so worried about money why don't you just sell yourself on Geylang then?" Why did I get so hurt over that? I'd gone through so much worse, it shouldn't have fazed me. But of course I added it to my collection of things that made me want to die.

When I was taking the bus back to Jurong East MRT from Popular HQ, my father texted me, about the damn letter. I tried to ignore it, I get my anger from him so you could only imagine the things he was saying to me. And you, where were you? Sitting at home with your mother, the mother that still thought her middle child was so perfect, not knowing about the potential granddaughter she'd almost had.

You were there a few days or weeks later, when my father texted me again, being so angry and accusing me of exactly what I'd stayed at the hospital for. You read his texts together with me, your head leaning against mine, while waiting for 168 at the old Woodlands interchange.

I cried in front of you, but you never felt the pain. Your parents didn't know, and I think they still don't even until today. I cried on buses 168 and 88 home, wiping my eyes and nose on the sleeves of my stupid black cardigan. I cried myself to sleep, woke up the next day with swollen eyes. I kept wondering why they couldn't understand that I did it for them.

My father never talked to me after that, never did all the way to Hari Raya 2016. And you realise, despite knowing about it all, he accepted you when you came over to my open house last year. My grandmother, the one who's cried so many times for me, accepting you whole-heartedly and constantly asking about you even though it hurt her a million times more than you can imagine. Don't you feel any remorse at all?

When you enlisted in August 2015, I felt so alone. Being on my own in the outside world with the loss still fresh on my mind and body. I can just remember 31st of August, 2015, when I bought some pathetic bottles of alcohol, drank while watching If I Stay and cried and cried and cried. And then I went out and got my first tattoo, listening to Habits (Stay High) on repeat the whole time.

I got her initials and the date I lost her. I gave her a name, you know, but of course giving her a name is nothing because I didn't even give her a chance to live. You tried persuading me that we saved her, that it was better letting her go heaven an innocent soul than be born in a cruel world. Your sweet tongue, and I thought I was the one with the gift of words.

A memory from a lifetime ago: one of my best friends from work coming over to me while I was doing my stocks and somehow the conversation floated to superstitions and futures and the like. She took my hand and squeezed it, did the thing that would apparently tell you how many children you will have in the future. She told me my hands indicate that I would have only one child: a girl.

Here's something you wouldn't believe: I tried to cheat on you once in December, while you were in camp. I tried to cheat on you with death himself. I had lots of leftover medicine from post-abortion, and maybe I did it wrong or something because after swallowing about eight random pills, I fell asleep and woke back up, not dead but with a weird stomachache. How the fuck did I even survive that, I don't fucking know, or maybe I am a failure at dying like I am at everything else.

If a woman ever died during childbirth, she would be deemed beautiful. She would be granted a place in heaven. I kept wishing I'd died during my own version of labour; how beautiful for a woman to die giving life to another. It only seemed fitting for me to die taking the life of another.

Everytime I told you I missed her, you snapped at me: Then what the fuck do you want me to do? / You want a baby so fucking much? Get another guy to fuck you and give you a fucking baby.

I ruined your 19th birthday, by crying endless tears the whole time. I lost my secondary school best friends the previous night; add that to the mix of my believing I was ugly, my missing her, my feeling worthless to you. I felt so ugly all the time with my short hair, with my scars, my empty womb, my lack of friends, my blood, my blood, my blood.

Earlier on I couldn't decide where to start this story from but now where does it end? I started this off not knowing how you could move on so easily from it, from her; now after I've written it all down, I can see why. I finally understand how you feel about it all.

You weren't the one who carried her, that much is easy to see.
You weren't the one who saw her move during the scan.
You weren't the one whose organs threatened to slide out.
You weren't the one who was given silent treatment from your father for a year for doing something you thought was a sacrifice for him.
You weren't the one who dreamed of little girls and woke up looking for someone who was long gone.
You weren't the one with a growing niece whose smile always made you think of your own girl.
You weren't the one who listened to love songs and suddenly thought they were for daughters, not lovers.
You weren't the one who had to live knowing that your biggest mistake was your own choice.
You weren't the one being told What sacrifice? You call that a sacrifice?
You weren't the one whose parents can't look at the same way anymore.
You weren't the one who felt so, so, so worthless to the world and society and even to your supposed other half.
You weren't the one who lost friends time and again and only having the life inside you as your purpose.
You weren't the one who so badly wanted to die from both physical and emotional pain.

Even until today, I always feel a gap in my arms but not from missing the way I would wrap them around your neck. It's from wanting so badly to hold her. My elder brother recently got a new baby boy and while I was so scared from holding my niece when she was just born herself, I'm now a million times more terrified to hold my nephew, because I miss mine so much. There will always be that gap in my body, my heart, my life, and there's never anyone I could talk about it with, not my colleagues, not my family, not my flower. Because they weren't the ones who brought me here.

And you know something? Thinking about it, seeing my elder brother rocking his newborn son back and forth, I realise that this person I've hated more than anything is better than you, the person I've loved more than anything. Because at least he was responsible, at least he loved his daughter enough to keep her. And you? You supposedly pray five times a day but you wanted so much to get rid of her. An 'it' to you, because you once told me, your exact words being: "Right now there's nothing it's just meat." You think I would ever forget?

Maybe you don't remember, and you will say I am lying, making up words. Of course you would think that, and I don't blame you for it because you weren't the one on the sharp side of the knife.

Of course there are thirteen sides to every story; their Hannah had the thirteen people who treated her in different ways that led to her suicide. And here, now, your E'indah has her thirteen reasons too, thirteen things you've said in the year 2015 alone that have made her want to die.

Your tears are like tap water to me, so common and meaningless.

Why can't you be more decent?

You're the worst girl I ever met.

Are you sure it's mine?

I keep wishing you would fall and have a miscarriage.

Right now it's nothing it's just meat.

Sure you can keep it, but just know that you won't have me in your life anymore if you do.

What are you even doing for me? What sacrifice, you call that a sacrifice?

If it weren't for me you'd be fucking a lot of guys right now... Probably selling yourself on Geylang or something. 

If you're so worried about money why don't you sell yourself on Geylang?

Nampak baby kat advertisement pun nak nangis.

You want a baby so much? Get another guy to fuck you and give you a fucking baby.

Depression is just a passing cloud, get over it.

This post is one step towards my closure for 2015. These words are my blood, and I'm not sure if I would survive again or die finally or lie comatose, but wherever I go, I hope your love, or whatever feelings you'd had for me is completely gone so you wouldn't be affected by it at all. I hope you don't look for me the way you did when you first left three years ago. I hope I am just a stranger to you by the time you see me on the news, be it as a successful local writer or as a body of 22-year-old found.

And if you ask me; of course I've forgiven you. I've forgiven you for all your sharp words, for the times you would drag me to staircases and toilets, for the time you persuaded me to go a hotel with you and then tell me right afterwards "I wonder what it's like to date someone who can bring me to the right path." And as long as you were with me, you would always blame me for it.

I'm sorry I wasn't enough to bring you back, but I've learned that no matter who I am you'll always blame me for bringing you off, you'll always use me however way you want and even getting me pregnant wasn't enough to teach you a lesson; the only way I could have stopped it was by letting someone else have you.

And I'm sorry I never had the courage to leave you, but you've done that for us and you'll I'll be safe now and you deserve another bird who is just as tiny and shallow as you, not a flame, a sun who will always be swimming in the galaxy and its infinity. I'm much too powerful for you, I am the universe and you, the wind, do not take much of it at all.

I just wish I'd realised it all sooner.

I don't want to carry any grudge against you wherever I go; the weight of the guilt, the loss, is more than heavy enough. And maybe if God is kind enough to let me see her when I die, I hope to Him that you will never set eyes on her yourself. But you know, however old you live to be, there will always be the two girls that you once gave life to; the two girls whose lives you ripped out just the same. 

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.

Done

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

I should not have taken that bloody picture.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her

Why
should
you
be
happy
when
you
stole
the
one
thing
that
I
wanted
and
got,
only
because
you
didn't
want
it?

Her.
because
you
didn't
want
HER.

Who am I?

Are you happy?

I think we're really fake.

I don't think I'm important to you.

After all my sacrifices,

to which you've just said

"what sacrifices? you call that a sacrifice?"

you don't even notice me.

You don't realise my existence,

what more my importance.

I don't feel like I belong with you.

Your friends don't accept me now

your family won't accept me future.

Even I don't accept myself.

Who am I to you?

I don't belong to you.

Or more so you don't belong with me.

You should go free

for you are the wind, after all.

You shouldn't be with me

and I need to let you go.

Taking a break from you

I

don't

understand

how

you

can

treat

me

like

this

It's

clear

how

less

you

love

me

than

you

think

On the nights I search for you

I

don't

think

we

are

meant

for

each

other

I 
think
my
soulmate
is
not
you
but
my
daughter

Found on a Gelare receipt

I

am

sorry

for

stealing

you

from

your

friends

I 

am

sorry

they

don't

even

say

hi

to

me

when

we

bump

into

them

I 

am

sorry

for

not

being

society's

standard

of

pretty

I

am

sorry

for

not

being

your

mother's

standard

of

perfection

for

you

I

am

sorry

I

find

myself

ugly

I

do

not

believe

your

words

what

you

see

in

me

Found on an Auntie Anne's wrapper

There

is

this

mechanism

in

me

that

will

always

feel

relieved

when

I

meet

the

little

flower

for

he

was

the

very

first

person

I'd

set

eyes

on

after

being

suffocated

by

a

ghost.

Found on a flower

Remember

when

your

little

flower

asked

you

"does

he

ever

use

force

on

you"

and

you

said

no

because

you

were

just

defending

the

person

you

call

your

other

half

I didn't realise I was in so much pain

I don't love my niece the same way I did when I first saw her.

She isn't as cute anymore. She can't compare to you.

I'd sacrifice my own parents just to be with you if I could.

I am working so hard for you but you're gone.

You're dead and I only have a black and white picture of you.

A screenshot from my first and last ultrasound scan of you.

I gave you up for people who couldn't care less about me...

I am the ugliest person on earth.

You were the only one who could have gone your whole life believing I was the most beautiful.

I threw you away.

For people who couldn't care less about me.

I have three photo frames of many different people looking down at me,

and none of them are even here for me.

It hurts in my chest, physically, and I wish it didn't.

My breathing gets harder each time.

And when I say something, my other half only laughs and mocks me for it.

I'd sacrifice him to be with you if I could, too.

Every song reminds me of you. Every night I hear you. Every dream, I see you.

I miss you so fucking much and I'd burn the world down just to be with you if I could.

And no one understands.

I am this close to putting myself into oblivion.

I don't do it because the only thing still pulling me together is my job.

"You're not alone", but really, I am.

Because who else could be there even if they wanted to?

Just fucking kill me already. 

Having a daughter and losing her

No, I don't doubt that people don't read my blog anymore. Two years ago I was desperate to be well known as a blogger, always shoving my page into people's faces, trying to get them to read my stories. I know better now. Maybe I have guts to write this post right now only because I know my other half is the only one who reads it still.

I'd gone through a lot last year, all of which I will never forget, be it the events or the people. There was a period in my secondary school days when I remembered dates really well, whatever happened on the exact day itself. These days, I find myself losing track of time easily, sometimes forgetting even what year it is.

I can't tell whether time is going too slowly or quickly. Sometimes I go through certain things that make me feel tired and old; other times I realise hey... I'm only twenty...? I just can't decide whether I have more time before this very moment or after.

A month into 2013, I found the love of my life.

A month into 2014, I lost him, but we reconciled 6 months later, leading the both of us to believe we were meant to be.

A month into 2015, I still had the same person, but I was blessed with another love of my life.

I didn't even realise I had her--we had her--until March, and even then it wasn't me who noticed her existence. It was my sister-in-law, who told me I was having the same symptoms she'd had.

Yes I did realise I was late for 2 months, and a few days before we'd gone on a road trip to Kuala Lumpur, the whole time of which I'd been nauseous, vomiting out whatever I'd eaten. But I just didn't think twice of it.

Her existence was proved to me in the form of a faded red line. Surprisingly I wasn't panicked or anything, just too weirdly calm on the outside, probably like how you'd react when you get the final bill at a restaurant, one part internally screaming at how expensive it was, the other merely mumbling an Oh shit it's so expensive. Either way, you deal with it, smile to the cashier and pay anyway.

I made my decision on the spot. Reasons were simple; it was for the sake of my other half and my parents. I'd already disappointed them by engaging in the act that got me there in the first place, and I just didn't want to throw the fact straight onto their faces.

What's more, the announcement of my niece last year was unexpected enough, and I knew they didn't need another grandchild made out of wedlock. Not for them to take care of, not for them to think there was something wrong with the way they raised their children.

It was another one of those rare times where I was grateful for being skinny. Nothing showed through my belly, not even when I was 19 weeks through. Whatever physical changes my body was forcing me through, I had to deal with it myself because it's not like any of my best friends would've understood.

Out of the 6 girls, I only managed to confide in one of them; the one who's been in relationships before and who was definitely the only one who would understand the feeling of giving a boy your everything. Even she knew that the others would have secretly thought I deserved it if I talked to them.

My whole life, my mom has always brought me to the clinic. The day I fainted at work in late April, I brought myself to the polyclinic, and to tell the truth I was scared because it was my first time talking to a doctor myself. Maybe that's when I realised I was growing older.

Being in a polyclinic by myself was scary enough; imagine how much more terrified I was when I went for my ultrasound scan at the women's hospital.

The weeks leading to my appointment, a part of me thought that maybe I wasn't pregnant after all. That maybe I had some sort of cancer or whatever. My mind made up all kinds of shit, but when the lights turned off and the screen overhead the bed lit up, I knew I just had to face the fact.

It took me some time to process it, all I could do was just stare at the screen, the shot panning in harmony with the probe that the nurse was moving along my tummy.

I couldn't believe that something so amazing was growing inside me. That very moment, I stopped feeling scared, telling myself I was nothing but lucky. And I was, because for 19 weeks, I was able to be the most amazing thing in the world: a mother.

For a moment, I lost sense of reality when the nurse told me it was a girl. I was struck with happiness for about 5 seconds before remembering I wasn't able to keep it. Her. My daughter.

I had to go through three counselling sessions, the first being at the polyclinic and the others being on the day of my scan. They were all the same, trying to get me to change my mind about the termination. I hadn't cried in all of them, but it was only after the counselor talked about my mom in the last session did I shed a few tears.

She asked me, this I will always remember: Would you rather hurt your mother or hurt your baby?
I answered without hesitation, this I will also always remember: My mom is more important.
She nodded, and I cried.

I got admitted the Monday after, my other half's hand in mine. The day of my scan, the counselors and nurses told me that at 19 weeks, they couldn't use the vacuum method anymore. Instead, I had to be admitted, have pills inserted into me from below, to contract my womb, forcing the fetus to slide out of it and out of my body.

Just after I was warded, they had a counselor talk to me. Again, she tried to change my mind, as did the doctor just before she inserted the first pill. I'm going to insert the pill right now, but it's still not too late to change your mind. Are you sure you want to do this?

I had nodded, but by the time the doctor and nurses left my bedside, replaced with my other half and my one best friend I confided in, I was bawling endless tears. From the physical pain or the emotional, I couldn't tell.

They had to insert a pill every 5 hours for a maximum of 5 times, hoping it would drop out during one of those times. The insertion was really painful, I was asked awake every hour or so to check my blood pressure, I had needles probed into me here and there... It was horrible.

By Tuesday night, all five pills were in and yet, nothing was happening, so they had to bring in the 'more painful method'. This time, a stick-like object was put into me from below, apparently to hold my womb open instead, wide enough for the fetus to drop out. I was really weak by then, I didn't really pay attention much, to what they were saying or doing to me...

They weren't kidding when they said this was super painful. My belly was as hard as stone, and every ten minutes a sharp jolt of pain would hit at me from the inside. All I could do was grab at my other half's hands with my trembling ones, squeeze with whatever little strength I had left.

It just got worse after visiting hours, when he had to leave the ward. I couldn't sleep at all, I wasn't comfortable enough to even lie down, and even the painkilling injection the nurse gave me faded after a few hours. I just wanted to die, for God to take my life and just end my suffering.

Emotional pain can't compare to physical pain. You won't know the true feeling of wanting to die until your body is in great and terrible suffering, not your heart.

The pain was at the highest peak at 4 in the morning, and all I could do was desperately claw at the emergency call button. The nurse came over and drew the curtains over my bed, and I couldn't find any humanity left in me to talk, but she asked: Is it painful?, and seeing that I obviously was in pain, she actually exclaimed, Good!

It was just the same as giving birth, and I was in labour for one and a half hours. I probably woke the whole ward up with my screaming. Out of the pain or the fear or both, I don't know.

My girl was out at 5.30 in the morning; I felt her wet, bloody, undeveloped body against the skin of my ankles. By this time I had difficulty breathing, but lacking a few breaths can't compare to the fact that my daughter had taken her last at that moment.

And that's just another experience to add into the list of things I've survived. It doesn't make it 'my story', because all these things that happen to me don't make me on their own. They're all puzzle pieces that make the whole picture that is me.

When I walk in a crowd, I wonder what all these other people have gone through or are going through. For a moment I would tell myself I'm sure they have it worse than me, but then again, it doesn't matter, because I am not living their lives. I'm living mine, and my story is all that I care about. I have the rights to feel whatever pain or sadness no matter how good I have some things compared to others.

Some things make me feel older than I am, and this is another. I was pregnant, I chose to lose my child, and I didn't even have the balls to tell my own parents. It's still not over, because I'd only just started feeling the depression slowly coming in, and I have some physical problems, no doubt after-effects of the termination.

When my other half told his friend that has never liked me, that accused me of cheating and the child of not being his; when our most trusted friend spilled the secret to the classmates from their secondary school; when this post is being read by unknown eyes; I'm aware tongues will wag and I know some of the things that might have already been said... But I'm too tired to care anymore.

READ ONLY IF U WANNA FEEL GUILTY

I should already be used to this by now. More than one year with you and you've already done this so many times so why do I bother getting hurt? Why the hell do I keep bringing myself to tears just thinking about it? Hmm I can actually think of plenty reasons.

***don't read if you don't wanna feel guilty blah blah blah. If you go ahead and read it don't come to me complaining 'you just had to make me feel more guilty' like you always do.

Maybe because we already made plans for today a week before.

Maybe because you kept saying "yay can finally see you on Monday" which made me believe we were both looking forward to it.

Maybe because I was already excited for it from Friday, and felt like the weekend was so tortuously slow, but I felt it'd be worth it once it was over.

Maybe because when it was finally Monday I was so happy because I could finally see you, after our short time together the last time we saw each other.

Oh maybe because that time was short due to your fault too, because you decided to spend it with someone else instead. Yeah sure I understand that it was your best friend, but you even spent the night at his place. You could have stayed with me a while longer instead of chasing me off considering you spent so long by his side.

Maybe because I was so mad at you the last time we met and I thought I could finally have a good day with you.

Maybe because I wore my freaking adorable new tshirt that I wanted to show off to you and also because I wanted you to try it so I'd know if you could wear this size because you wanted one for yourself too and I wanted to make the freaking order for you.

Maybe because I wore my hair in a stupid ponytail which I knew you'd like.

Maybe because the reason you gave was "I'm having a headache and feeling kinda sick", and that was enough for you not to bother, when just last week I fetched you from work two days in a row even with my freaking fever and migraine and sore throat, and when I was going back home afterwards I had a terrible nausea, because I have this thing where I always puke whenever I'm sick (since young) and the milkshake just made things worse.

Maybe because today was a perfect day, which even you said so since you were having an off day and I ended at 10, and you have tomorrow off as well so you'd still be able to rest, and you were so excited for it too and I thought it'd actually happen.

Maybe because I am doomed to have a terrible end-of-the-week coming because I'm gonna be working with an asshole, and so I was hoping I'd at least have 1 good day with you before things went to shit.

Maybe because I was already feeling stressed inside and I was trying to keep it to myself but you just had to make all the emotions spill over.

Maybe because you kept saying "you're so selfish, stop making me feel so guilty" even though I said it was okay when you announced you weren't coming after all.

Maybe because I didn't want to say all this to you just so you wouldn't feel guilty which just made it worse because it was all collecting inside of me instead.

Oh and maybe because you got mad at me for being down about it, and you even ended the conversation with a fucking "Fuck you".

Yeah I think I know why I'm mad at you. And now you know too, good for you. Tell me again how girls never tell their boyfriends what's the problem?

Love and marriage and jodoh wow

Brace yourself, I'm gonna talk about love now. I've always looked for love, always writing my love stories, but I've never really thought hard about it. Until now anyways. I've been brainwashed with marriage ever since I watched my big brother happily settle down with my beloved sister-in-law.

You can't deny that love with a significant other is still the love you desire most. Even with all your family, friends, passion; having someone special, someone existing just to hold your hand, is the best kind of love. It's not desperation on my part... Maybe I just feel this way earlier than most people do.

Life isn't meant to be lived alone, really. Even if you spent your entire life so far single, once you marry someone, bam, they're with you til death. Your roads are with that person, never on your own again (provided that you both love each other that much of course).

I wish to settle down at age 25, just like my parents. At first it was because I thought it was cool to turn 50 in the same year of your 25th wedding anniversary, but now that I think about it, it's just the right age to marry. I've no desire to go university straight after poly, so it's the best option for me.

I'm 19 now, a hair's breath away from 20 at the rate time has been going. My parents met at their workplace, and if I'm not wrong they were in a relationship for only 2 years before they got married.

In my opinion, I'd like to have been with my future husband longer than that. Marrying someone you've been with for 5 years? I don't know about you, but that sounds more appealing than settling down with someone just a year after you got together.

I think it's normal for one to feel like they've found their soulmate, especially when they're at a certain age. For my case, the word 'jodoh' is stronger, and yes it's surprising I believe in this even though I'm not religious.

Honestly I don't know what are the factors that would contribute to the fact that two people were literally made for each other. Is it how you still think of each other 6 months after breaking up? Is it how you always cross paths with each other's lives no matter what? Is it based on feelings or just fate, I have no idea.

I have an inkling on who my soulmate might be, and the things he'd said in July and November have helped me realise I'm not the only one who thought of this. It's crazy. I sound crazy now, but......... it's crazy.

Back in secondary school, there'd been a boy who kept coming back into my life too. But now, me being 19, it seems silly as heck to have thought of him as a soulmate just because of how he kept coming back. Yet here I am doing the same analysis with this other boy. He could mean nothing to me when I'm 25, and yet...

Yeah. It's crazy. Love is being crazy. Love will always be crazy.

Strange and beautiful sorrow

"Deep inside I know I want to keep this thing,
to stop calling it a 'thing' even.

But I know I can't, and it's a reminder of my mistake
the mistake of meeting you
of letting you get to me
of saying yes to your every need
of loving you.

It's a memento of you
times spent with you
and at this point I'd rather forget everything about you.

The look in the wind's eyes when he reminded me
of how he'd been faithful to me even when he left me
how I, on the other hand, have been fooling around
falling in 'love' more times than he could count

I wish to remain faithful to him even if he doesn't love me anymore
because there is half of someone else inside me now
I wish to love him more than anything.

Maybe I already did, but the way I executed it was all wrong
I loved him more than I loved myself
and that was why I'd rather let those things happen to me than watch him walk away.

I do not want him to love me now either
with half of someone else being part of me.

I wish to rid of this thing, even from my conscience
I wish to be cleaner than the air
I wish to be a flower again.

If there's one thing I regret after giving all my love to you,
it's the February 13th, 2013,
when I plucked the second last flower off the field.
He hasn't stopped spinning in chaos ever since.

I realised how much of a treasure he is
after all the times I enjoyed the sins with you.

The bruises on my wrist and the bite marks down my chest
At the very moment, I loved it
but staring at myself in the mirror after that
arguing with you everyday after that 
getting hurt by you over little things after that

made me wish I was with the wind.

Even if we never kiss,
even if we only make love years down the road,
I wanted to be with him more than anything.

I want to be with him more than anything.

I missed him so much even before you were gone
and I'm admitting this now
I am not ashamed about my feelings, ever. 

I'm glad I can write down all this
because if I were to say it out loud, I won't believe it's happening to me.
Writing makes me feel like it's just another story
just another piece of fiction created for the feels.

I want to throw this thing away
and at the same time I want to protect it with my everything
but I don't want it to grow into a person like you.

I wish I could keep it
but I don't want it
I'm done with myself, and I'm done with you,
and I'm certainly done with what we've created.

I've made my decision

and I know after this nobody would want me anymore
whether or not I keep it
especially not my precious wind.

I am in deep remorse but I'll keep living in place of its life.

My strange

and beautiful

sorrow."

Eyes locked in interest and wonder

January, your eyes locked on me in interest and wonder
Your arrival against the cold and I forget how to shudder
A smile, and I can't help letting a breath escape my teeth
Every inch of you steals my air I can't breathe

July, your eyes locked on me in interest and wonder

Glaring eyes beneath the long hair bring a shudder

A smile, and your breath escapes through your teeth

Travel across and steal all my air that I can't breathe

February, my hands around your waist in possession
So much pain and trouble threatening separation
Your patience, you have entrusted me half your heart
The way you look at me, like I am a work of art

August, your hands around my waist in possession

Arms tight around me before every separation

A laugh, and aware that I've gotten half your heart

Admiring and gentle caressing like a work of art

March, your eyes devouring me in curiosity
Fingers in mine, wanting to grasp everything about me
An intake of breath, like it's always the first time we meet
You possess all my heart, you give it reason to beat

September, your lips devouring me in curiosity

Fingertips light as feathers, tingling every inch of me

A sigh of pleasure, before and after our lips meet

You possess all my heart, it forgets how to beat

April, your growing arms protecting my fingers
Long after you go, your scent memorised it lingers
A snore, as you sleep with your mouth open to your chest
I imagine a future, because I love you to that extent

October, your skin outlined beneath my fingers

Long after you go, your scent memorised it lingers

A snore, as you fall asleep against my chest

I imagine a future, because I love you to that extent

May, your heels stay rooted to the cold floor
Refusing to go, banging non-stop on my door
A slap across the face, screaming for you to leave
Your constant attention despite all the pain and grief

November, your heels turning away on the floor

Change of lock and key, beginning to close the door

A wave, a premonition that you are taking your leave

Shock comes after shock, no strength left to grieve

Wind, you come and you go as you please
When you come in you sweep me up with ease
I am in oblivion, hanging around your shoulders
You are enough to break all ice and boulders

Ghost, you shut me in and out as you please

When you pull me into your world I am at ease

But your eyes long for something over my shoulders

You are here but built around you are ice and boulders

____

A little story explaining this poem: The left-text are referring to the wind, while the bold right-text are of course the ghost. I'm sure you know who they are by now.

The thing with the wind, back in 2013, was how he just wanted to love everything inside me, from the things I like to the things that scare me. How I'd tried again and again to shut him out, but he always stayed outside the walls I built, trying to coax me into letting him in.

How he isn't here for me all the time, but when he is, you'd just appreciate every second of him existing.

On the other hand, with the ghost in 2014, it's how he just saw me, wanted me, got me, left me, you know those cliche shit. He'd shut me out, not letting me understand him, and when I think he is finally letting me in, he has found something else that he wants, thus his eyes over my shoulders.

How he says he is here for me, and he may be, but he isn't here wholly.

Blah blah bullshit whatever, I've been so stressed out with problems about these two, I don't know how else to let it out without going into cock and bull stories. Okay done.

By the way, this right-text and left-text format posts, I have no idea what to call them. They're usually done when comparing past and present and they're not usually in poem form, but I don't know what to name them. Perhaps just transition-type writing. Okay.

And just to say this, I miss the wind so much right now, and I'm in deep remorse for having disappointed him. I hope there'd come a day when you'd forget everything that is happening right now, because call me silly for saying this but I can't imagine anyone else being God's match made for me.