the first time i saw its movie poster was early this month. soon after, everyone on my timeline was talking about it; saying how much they really wanted to watch this new horror film. when they heard it was based on a true story, it just sparked their interest further, firing up their desire to catch this movie.
this is The Conjuring. and today, people are still talking about it, posting pictures of the Annabelle Doll, movie stills, scaring each other about scenes from the movie.
i've read about the Annabelle Doll in the early month of Ramadan this year, on my trustworthy Facebook friend, a page telling tales of the bizarre, hauntings, and strange objects. among these stories was the one of the Annabelle Doll. this is what i understood of it.
a student nurse named Donna had been given a raggedy Ann doll for her birthday. back in those days, Ann/Andy dolls were of the rage and every girl wanted them. she was thrilled for this gift. she and her roommate Angie treated it like a friend.
the doll soon began developing a life of its own. it started off changing positions; it would be left laid down, only to be sitting when Donna came into the room again. eventually it began moving around on its own, and was always found in a room different from where it had been left.
the most chilling sight was when they returned to see that the doll was sitting on a chair, upright. it was impossible. the doll's legs were too flexible to support its own weight.
Donna seeked help from a priest. apparently a young girl named Annabelle had been murdered, lifeless body found when she was seven, on a field where the house now stood. its spirit had taken a liking for the Ann doll and therefore took residence in it. upon knowledge, Donna and Angie gave permission for the spirit to stay in the doll as long as it stopped doing creepy things.
everyone seemed happy at the arrangement. except for Lou, the friend that had been staying with Donna and Angie. he claimed that the doll had tried to strangle him when he was sleeping at night. notes in childish scribbles were found; "help", "help Lou", and claw-marks formed on Lou's back.
again, they called for help. they were told that spirits do not possess objects. they'd rather take on human form. Annabelle was just taking temporary residence in the Ann doll before it attempts to possess its human target; Lou.
the demonologists featured in The Conjuring; Ed and Lorraine Warren, were also called in to investigate. they had taken the Ann doll, where it remains imprisoned in a glass case. "Positively Do Not Open", a note on its window says.
and no... this doll has nothing to do with the family of five daughters from the movie. the only thing these cases have in common were demon possession and Ed and Lorraine Warren.
so the question: is The Conjuring really based on a true story?
one of the Perron sisters; Andrea, had written, quote: "On behalf of my entire family, thank you for the fine and balanced reporting in this article. For the purpose of clarification, “The Conjuring” IS based on a “true story”…our story. However, the film is not based on my trilogy “House of Darkness House of Light”. It is, instead, based upon the case files of Ed & Lorraine Warren.
They conducted an investigation of our home between 1973-74 and the movie tells our story from their perspective."
i can't say for sure because i never really watched the movie [was closing my eyes the whole time], but the film version did exaggerate here and there, beginning with the Annabelle doll. who knows if the whole story was of exaggeration too? isnt that what filmmakers are supposed to do, in order to draw an audience?
and the film is based upon the case files of investigators Ed and Lorraine Warren. they are famous names in the horror world, stated to have investigated over 10,000 cases, the most mentioned being the Amityville hoax.
this story took place in another house, 112 Ocean Avenue, with the Lutz family. a family of seven, the DeFeo family, resided there about a year before they did. the eldest son, 24 at the time, had murdered his parents and his four younger siblings, aged 9, 12, 13, and 18.
he claimed to have not been aware as he was murdering his family. he casually went to work, and when he returned home to see his family drowned in blood in their beds, he called the police telling them frantically of his discovery.
it was said that he had been possessed by demons, and that he was truly innocent of these murders.
came the Lutz family. they had their share of unworldly encounters. George Lutz would wake up at 3:15 in the mornings; the estimated time that the DeFeo murders had taken place. Kathy Lutz had dreams where she found out the order of the killings and the rooms in which they occurred. the Lutz children began sleeping on their stomachs; that was how the bodies of the DeFeos were found.
there was a book written about this; The Amityville Horror. however, its author soon admitted the whole story to be a work of fiction created together with the Lutz family and a priest. the priest too admitted it to be fake. because the Warrens had done their part of investigation, they were highly associated with the hoax.
so it can't be wrong for people to think that the Conjuring is not based on a true story, because the Warrens were involved. there was also no link in the Annabelle doll and the Perrons' house haunting.
i did some research on the witch Bathsheba, featured in the horror film as well. from what i understood, her being a witch may or may not be true. an infant had died in her care, with its skull being punctured by a sewing needle. it was said that she sacrificed her child to the demon.
later on Carolyn Perron was lying on her couch when she suddenly felt a pain in her calf; it started to drip blood where the pain was felt. there were no bees that could have hurt her, and the wound looked like it had been punctured by a sewing needle. Lorraine Warren believed that the witch had taken her murder tool with her when she died.
they said that the witch had sacrificed all her children to the devil, but this was not entirely true. she had a son whom she watched becoming a farmer, a husband, and a father. her witchcraft was also known to be just folklore.
for the special 'power' that Lorraine had possessed as seen in the movie, it is true. she started seeing bright lights around other people when she was 12; she had told a nun about it, and was punished instead of being helped. her daughter Judy has also inherited this gift.
the Warrens never charged money for their services. this fact confuses me. they wouldnt take all the trouble to hold exorcisms and investigations if the hauntings are just hoaxes. on the other hand, they were probably just doing this in kindness; they just wanted to help the families that were being haunted, out of sincerity.
so how true is the story which The Conjuring is based on? and how reliable are the demontologists Ed and Lorraine Warren?
it is a Tuesday afternoon and here i sit at Jurong East library. first day of vacation, and this is how i spend it; by pretending to be a journalist. i havent even had breakfast, or lunch for that matter.
there are a dozen other articles on the net, regarding the stories behind The Conjuring. a million times better than what i just wrote. you can always do some research on your own. the above is just what i understood of it.
even as my cursor lingers above the 'publish' button, i still feel displeased at this blog post of mine. it doesnt feel satisfying. but nevermind. i'm just an amateur journalist [a wannabe, even], putting my heart and soul into my research, although i don't get satisfying results from it...
you can never watch a movie "based on a true story" without researching every single detail about this story. nope. definitely not me. and thus, i present to you this post of mine. i hope you enjoyed it, thank you for reading.
Tuesday, August 20, 2013
Monday, August 19, 2013
Unknowingly disappointing someone.
you know, back in secondary school my teachers were always doing their best for us, in order to motivate and make sure we understood what is going on. if we were to sleep, they'd wake us up, and also call us to stay back after class for extra lessons.
they kept telling us to be grateful. they told us, that in poly life, none of the teachers were gonna do that. none of the teachers would give a shit if we slept in class, if we could focus or not, if we understood or not. i graduated from secondary school and moved on to Ngee Ann Poly believing this.
but who would've thought; what they had told us was wrong. my lecturers weren't as mean as i thought. they weren't just nice; my EG1 teacher bothered to single me out because i was lagging behind. some of you may find it annoying, but at least they noticed that you need extra guidance.
my EMPTS teacher also bothered to come over to my table and ask me to try again, when he saw that i had given up and had laid slumped in front of the oscilloscope. he'd come over again and again to explain to me how to work that damn machine, but i still shamelessly didnt try again.
in the end, i handed in empty worksheets for that lesson, and stopped turning up completely for this module. a classmate just recently returned me my worksheets, which i had just chucked into my backpack without any second glances.
just a few days ago, i was looking through the mess of my notes, when i bumped into these worksheets again. what i had left blank all those weeks ago, had been filled in with red ink.
my EMPTS teacher had completed the worksheet for me. it may be a small gesture, but it really means a lot. he had bothered to fill in what i had left blank, perhaps in the hopes that i'd come back and try again. it hurts me in a way you can't imagine; to have disappointed someone and only realising it. you gave them the impression that you didnt care about their efforts.
and then there's my EngMec teacher. right from the start, he has always been trying to help me. i never paid attention to the base chapter. he had taken the effort to look for me in the middle of a lesson [not his] and requested that i come look for him for extra guidance because he realised i wasnt doing well.
i was reluctant; i was still in my daydream mood and didnt feel like it. but i went, and thanks to that, i got the base of this module. the rest of the topics came easy, though i still went for consultations here and there.
the thing about him was, he bothered to go the extra mile. he called a bunch of us over to sit with him and revise through the questions again and again til we got it. he held consultations for us to come and busy him with queries, and he was more than happy to help us; always had that smile on his face.
he asked if there were any problems when he saw me sleeping in class. i told him i had to work; just that simple truth, and he was always talking to me, asking me how things were going between work and studies.
one day i told him that i had to work because of the issue with my parents. he took the initiative to call the school counsellor to talk to me. and when the class was noisy as fuck [as per normal] during one of his lectures, he had stopped teaching just to talk some sense into everyone.
"if you don't want to listen, at least learn to keep silent. all of you are fortunate to have your parents paying your school fees. but there are some of your schoolmates who have to work to pay for themselves. they know how difficult this is, and they are really trying to listen in class; the least you could do is respect these people."
on the last day of tutorial, he actually brought a camera to class and told us to take a class photo together.
today, i sat for my EngMec exam. and i'm sorry to say but i've disappointed this teacher once again.
just imagine your teacher, sitting down, staring into space and thinking of you as you sit for your exam. what would he be doing as you handed in a blank answer paper and left the exam hall an hour before the exam ends?
he's probably thinking of you, thinking of all the time he had helped you, held consultation sessions so you could come and ask him questions. so he could help you, because he wanted the best for you. he'd be thinking of his faith in you, believing that you can do your best.
while you, in the exam hall, stare at the questions, decide that you cant do them, write your seat number and student id number, and raise your hand without a single thought. and you leave the hall, looking forward to your vacation, without realising that you have disappointed someone.
tell me how that doesnt hurt you? look me in the eye and tell me you don't give a shit?
unknowingly disappointing someone; letting someone down without even realising it. that's just one of the shittiest feelings in the world.
they kept telling us to be grateful. they told us, that in poly life, none of the teachers were gonna do that. none of the teachers would give a shit if we slept in class, if we could focus or not, if we understood or not. i graduated from secondary school and moved on to Ngee Ann Poly believing this.
but who would've thought; what they had told us was wrong. my lecturers weren't as mean as i thought. they weren't just nice; my EG1 teacher bothered to single me out because i was lagging behind. some of you may find it annoying, but at least they noticed that you need extra guidance.
my EMPTS teacher also bothered to come over to my table and ask me to try again, when he saw that i had given up and had laid slumped in front of the oscilloscope. he'd come over again and again to explain to me how to work that damn machine, but i still shamelessly didnt try again.
in the end, i handed in empty worksheets for that lesson, and stopped turning up completely for this module. a classmate just recently returned me my worksheets, which i had just chucked into my backpack without any second glances.
just a few days ago, i was looking through the mess of my notes, when i bumped into these worksheets again. what i had left blank all those weeks ago, had been filled in with red ink.
my EMPTS teacher had completed the worksheet for me. it may be a small gesture, but it really means a lot. he had bothered to fill in what i had left blank, perhaps in the hopes that i'd come back and try again. it hurts me in a way you can't imagine; to have disappointed someone and only realising it. you gave them the impression that you didnt care about their efforts.
and then there's my EngMec teacher. right from the start, he has always been trying to help me. i never paid attention to the base chapter. he had taken the effort to look for me in the middle of a lesson [not his] and requested that i come look for him for extra guidance because he realised i wasnt doing well.
i was reluctant; i was still in my daydream mood and didnt feel like it. but i went, and thanks to that, i got the base of this module. the rest of the topics came easy, though i still went for consultations here and there.
the thing about him was, he bothered to go the extra mile. he called a bunch of us over to sit with him and revise through the questions again and again til we got it. he held consultations for us to come and busy him with queries, and he was more than happy to help us; always had that smile on his face.
he asked if there were any problems when he saw me sleeping in class. i told him i had to work; just that simple truth, and he was always talking to me, asking me how things were going between work and studies.
one day i told him that i had to work because of the issue with my parents. he took the initiative to call the school counsellor to talk to me. and when the class was noisy as fuck [as per normal] during one of his lectures, he had stopped teaching just to talk some sense into everyone.
"if you don't want to listen, at least learn to keep silent. all of you are fortunate to have your parents paying your school fees. but there are some of your schoolmates who have to work to pay for themselves. they know how difficult this is, and they are really trying to listen in class; the least you could do is respect these people."
on the last day of tutorial, he actually brought a camera to class and told us to take a class photo together.
today, i sat for my EngMec exam. and i'm sorry to say but i've disappointed this teacher once again.
just imagine your teacher, sitting down, staring into space and thinking of you as you sit for your exam. what would he be doing as you handed in a blank answer paper and left the exam hall an hour before the exam ends?
he's probably thinking of you, thinking of all the time he had helped you, held consultation sessions so you could come and ask him questions. so he could help you, because he wanted the best for you. he'd be thinking of his faith in you, believing that you can do your best.
while you, in the exam hall, stare at the questions, decide that you cant do them, write your seat number and student id number, and raise your hand without a single thought. and you leave the hall, looking forward to your vacation, without realising that you have disappointed someone.
tell me how that doesnt hurt you? look me in the eye and tell me you don't give a shit?
unknowingly disappointing someone; letting someone down without even realising it. that's just one of the shittiest feelings in the world.
Sunday, August 18, 2013
Bloggers are people who WRITE.
i've always wondered why some people are called "bloggers". sometimes it feels like these people are not worthy of the title. i for one, grew up believing that bloggers are people who write and share stories. because that's what i've always been doing with mine, as well as some other people i know.
but it seems different now. people are being called "bloggers" not for their writing anymore. the people who fall into this privileged category are teenaged girls who use their blogs to post selfies, outfits, and are sponsored by blogshops.
these girls are being recognised for their looks, not for their writing. the compliments they are getting are just focusing on their looks. "she's gorgeous", "she's so pretty", "so beautiful", blablabla. have they been praised "wow, her writing is good."?
[i'm not really talking about anyone in particular, i'm just saying in general.]
many other girls are also getting recognition for their selfies and ootds on Instagram, 'relatable' tweets [that are in horrible English most of the time].
alright, i understand that i dont have the looks and i dont have good tweets or an updated fashion sense, but sometimes i do wish i'd get more recognition for my writing. and not just me, but also those other people who actually sit down and spend their time writing, putting their heart into their blog posts.
i have two good friends from my secondary school, these two beautiful ladies who write in their blogs as well. both of them are artistic as well as loyal bloggers. their entries are real; they write about the dreams they had at night, the bad days they went through, and one of them travels a lot and writes about this too.
i also have a Twitter follower, and although we've never met, she's been a wonderful support, and she blogs too. she writes about her sadness, the pain she's watching others suffer, things about this world which she would never understand.
all of these people are wonderful bloggers, right here in the tiny island of Singapore. why do they not gain respect and recognition for that too? why give more and more spotlight to those who already have hundreds of likes for their instagram selfies?
why do blogs that already have sponsors still get the limelight? what about the poorer bloggers like me? i can't afford to be a regular customer at posh blogshops, so i cant be sponsored by them [if that's the way it works], so where the hell do i stand? that's right, just my writing alone.
if you noticed, i've completely stopped posting pictures on my blog posts. i also seldom wrote names in my blog posts, because i wouldnt mind being anonymous. because writing is all i want to be known for. not my face; my words.
i've talked about this so many times, but still, nobody ever notices me. it's like how Adele is known for her voice, not her body, because her talent is her songs.
and i thought that's what Blogger is for. that's what these online journals are for. they're for us to write. they're not a model agency for little girls to advertise their outfits and their sponsors and shit like that.
it's for the people who are in pain, to release their sadness. it's for the days we spent, laughing with our friends and family, for the reminiscing of all things lost, and at the same time the embracing of new memories to come. that's what blogging is for.
if all those fashionista "Bloggers" [really, some don't even deserve such a meaningful name] want to keep blogging, i suggest you keep it strictly to words, and pictures which are related to those words. because that's what freaking Blogger was used for since my early blogging days.
i don't care if times have changed. some people still suffer from their misery at home, or at school, or in their heads. they need the support more than the fashionistas do.
it's unfair to all of us who really use our time to sit down and write. this is what i do everyday. maybe it's society's fault, for choosing to give attention to the pretty ones. why? i want it to stop. i really want to be someone, known just for my words, complimented for my blog posts, and not for my face. i don't give a damn if people say i'm ugly, as long as you sit down, read what i write, and if you enjoy it, say that you enjoy it.
[with all this said and done, i do have a fair share of selfies, but at least i keep these strictly to Instagram and not my dearest blog. this treasure of mine labelled 109blackaxes.blogspot.com is only meant for the precious gold and pearls that come in the form of my words.]
thank you for reading.
but it seems different now. people are being called "bloggers" not for their writing anymore. the people who fall into this privileged category are teenaged girls who use their blogs to post selfies, outfits, and are sponsored by blogshops.
these girls are being recognised for their looks, not for their writing. the compliments they are getting are just focusing on their looks. "she's gorgeous", "she's so pretty", "so beautiful", blablabla. have they been praised "wow, her writing is good."?
[i'm not really talking about anyone in particular, i'm just saying in general.]
many other girls are also getting recognition for their selfies and ootds on Instagram, 'relatable' tweets [that are in horrible English most of the time].
alright, i understand that i dont have the looks and i dont have good tweets or an updated fashion sense, but sometimes i do wish i'd get more recognition for my writing. and not just me, but also those other people who actually sit down and spend their time writing, putting their heart into their blog posts.
i have two good friends from my secondary school, these two beautiful ladies who write in their blogs as well. both of them are artistic as well as loyal bloggers. their entries are real; they write about the dreams they had at night, the bad days they went through, and one of them travels a lot and writes about this too.
i also have a Twitter follower, and although we've never met, she's been a wonderful support, and she blogs too. she writes about her sadness, the pain she's watching others suffer, things about this world which she would never understand.
all of these people are wonderful bloggers, right here in the tiny island of Singapore. why do they not gain respect and recognition for that too? why give more and more spotlight to those who already have hundreds of likes for their instagram selfies?
why do blogs that already have sponsors still get the limelight? what about the poorer bloggers like me? i can't afford to be a regular customer at posh blogshops, so i cant be sponsored by them [if that's the way it works], so where the hell do i stand? that's right, just my writing alone.
if you noticed, i've completely stopped posting pictures on my blog posts. i also seldom wrote names in my blog posts, because i wouldnt mind being anonymous. because writing is all i want to be known for. not my face; my words.
i've talked about this so many times, but still, nobody ever notices me. it's like how Adele is known for her voice, not her body, because her talent is her songs.
and i thought that's what Blogger is for. that's what these online journals are for. they're for us to write. they're not a model agency for little girls to advertise their outfits and their sponsors and shit like that.
it's for the people who are in pain, to release their sadness. it's for the days we spent, laughing with our friends and family, for the reminiscing of all things lost, and at the same time the embracing of new memories to come. that's what blogging is for.
if all those fashionista "Bloggers" [really, some don't even deserve such a meaningful name] want to keep blogging, i suggest you keep it strictly to words, and pictures which are related to those words. because that's what freaking Blogger was used for since my early blogging days.
i don't care if times have changed. some people still suffer from their misery at home, or at school, or in their heads. they need the support more than the fashionistas do.
it's unfair to all of us who really use our time to sit down and write. this is what i do everyday. maybe it's society's fault, for choosing to give attention to the pretty ones. why? i want it to stop. i really want to be someone, known just for my words, complimented for my blog posts, and not for my face. i don't give a damn if people say i'm ugly, as long as you sit down, read what i write, and if you enjoy it, say that you enjoy it.
[with all this said and done, i do have a fair share of selfies, but at least i keep these strictly to Instagram and not my dearest blog. this treasure of mine labelled 109blackaxes.blogspot.com is only meant for the precious gold and pearls that come in the form of my words.]
thank you for reading.
Saturday, August 17, 2013
Aint as brave as you think.
so i'm sure you've read most of my past posts. you've read my stories, you've read about my hardships. most of you probably think i'm brave, or strong, shit like that.
well we've probably had enough of that. we've long had enough of stories that make me seem to be a strong person. today, it's time for a change. i am here to write about how much of a coward i really am.
ever since i was a kid, i've always slept next to my grandmother. alright, so in my much younger days, my elder brother slept in my room as well because he was scared to sleep alone in his. of course, he grew up, got over his fears, and moved out of the bedroom i continued sharing with granny.
i always woke her up in the middle of the night whenever i wanted to pee. on the other hand, when i woke up to see that she had went for a pee, i'd quickly dash out of the darkness and stand in front of the bathroom door waiting for her to come out.
everytime i couldnt sleep, when the rest of the house was already in slumber, i'd wake her up and sheepishly tell her, "gran, i can't sleep." it was just my way of comfort; i didnt like the feeling of being the only one awake in the house, so i just turned and woke her up as well.
it happened too many times, and she always got frustrated. if i woke her up for the fifth time that night, she'd snap at me, "how old are you already? just sleep!" and roll back on her side, snoring again just a few seconds later.
once, my two elder cousins from my mother's side came over for a sleepover, like they always did in my childhood. we all crowded around the living room, watching the episode of The Incredible Tales regarding the "third door", if you remember that.
granny had laid out mattresses for my cousins to sleep in the hall, and i joined them on my own will. the space in front of the tv was where my brother and boy cousin slept, [if my memory serves me right], on this section we called the "platform".
on the section below, which was the space between my bedroom door and the kitchen, was where my aunt, girl cousin, and i slept. to make it sound easier, in front of me laid my bedroom door, while right opposite it laid the doors of the dining room/kitchen.
and that night was the longest night of my childhood, because i could not stop remembering the episode of Incredible Tales.
i kept remembering about the ghost that kept moving from door to door, because it was caught in the loop. i kept thinking there was one right in my house at that time, that was moving from the kitchen to my bedroom door, back and forth, like in the episode.
i didnt sleep the whole night because i was thinking about it, perspiring and heart beating fast and saying the Al-fatihah over and over. [the only prayer i knew]
i stayed awake til about 6 in the morning, when my mom got out of her bedroom to hang some towels on the storeroom door. i got up and straightway went to her, and she got such a shock! "why are you up so early!?"
"i can't sleep," i whined. i made her bring me back into her room, where i slept on her bed with my little brother and father while she got ready for work.
once upon another time, my family had booked a chalet during our holidays. i'm not sure what the occasion was, i think it was my brother's birthday or something?
for some reason my brothers and mother decided to sleep on the floor while my father and i shared the bed. i was about 7, or 8 i think? and yes, i couldnt sleep at night because of the constant thoughts swirling in my head.
it was the 'H' building of the chalet, and the voice in my head, still a child like me, was teasing me over and over; "H stands for haunted!!"
i kept waking my dad up again and again, whining to him that i couldnt sleep. eventually he got fed-up, stood up and went to the toilet and rubbed my face with water. [it was a sort of custom that we should at least wash our face and feet before we go to sleep if we're from far, something like that]
for the rest of the night, i dared not wake him up anymore til i eventually drifted off to sleep.
when i was a kid, i never closed the door when i was in the bathroom. i'd make someone stand outside til i was done, and i dared not even be in a room alone. i couldnt even stand being in a lift alone! the 9th floor had never felt so high.
i once had a sort of argument with my elder brother when we were coming home from school tgt, and he left me at the void deck while he ran off and went up to our house alone. i stood at the lift landing for quite some time, before i got scared and started to cry and wail right there.
[take note: it was 1 in the afternoon.]
a Chinese woman came over and patted me, asking me if i knew where i lived. i mumbled to her, through my tears, that this was the block where i lived. she had a look of disdain, like she didnt know how to react, and that was when my grandmother appeared in the lift that arrived.
i dashed to her and i told her about how Abang had just left me there and i was scared to go into the lift, and she went home and scolded my elder brother for abandoning me like that. and she also scolded me for being such a scaredy-cat.
i have a girl cousin the same age as me, yet she was braver than me. she'd been my best friend from the huge family since forever. her mother is my father's elder sister.
dad once called their house, and asked my cousin for her mom. she said she wasnt in, and that she was alone in the house at that time. my dad placed the receiver down and turned to me, "look at your cousin, same age as you but can already be left alone in the house! not like you, so penakut!"
whenever i slept over at her house, i always made sure that i slept in between. if the other cousin slept over as well, i made sure to sleep between them, because i didnt want to be at the edge of the bed.
years passed and i remained a coward. i only learnt to sleep in my own room when i was 15; my grandmother had moved out, leaving me with no choice.
of course, even then, whenever i woke up in the middle of the night i'd straightway dash to my parents' room and squeezed myself at the edge of their bed.
my dad gets pissed off by this because when i ran out, i always never turned off the fan, while my mother was angry because she always woke up with a backache whenever i slept over. after all, i was not as small as before.
every morning i'd have to wake up at 5.30 to get ready for school, in order not to miss the 6.30 bus. the first thing i do upon waking up is turn off my bedroom lights, before dashing to my parents bedroom, not daring to turn and look at the rest of the house.
i usually woke my mom up to accompany me outside while i shower in the kitchen toilet [the bedroom toilet has no hot water]. sometimes she gets in the lazy mood, and she'd shoo me off and ask me to wake my dad instead. this would piss him off in turn, because he treasured his few hours of sleep he had before he had to get ready for work.
i knew all along that i was a scaredy-cat, yet i never stopped reading ghost stories. in return, i'd beg my parents to let me sleep in their room after i read these books. sometimes i didnt ask; i'd just take my pillows and crash onto their bed, and pretended to sleep as my mother told my little brother, "eh who invited her to sleep here!?"
even when i was in sec 5, i still ran to their room when i couldnt sleep. when Slender man was a hot topic, i read everything about him which of course, made me so damn afraid to sleep alone. i begged my little brother to sleep in my room with me.
oh, and i went to bed with the lights on. my father would only come in and turn them off when he's made sure that i was really asleep. if i wasnt, i'd just get up from bed and turn the lights on again.
and yes, this cowardice of mine remained til now. i'm sleeping with my grandmother again, and every morning and night, i'd ask her to be in the kitchen to accompany me while i shower.
when the kitchen gets too quiet, i'd call out to her to make sure she was still there. i didnt want her to scold me for being a penakut, so whenever she answered, i'd say, "can you check for me if i'd turned on the heater already?"
if she didnt, i'd rush through my shower and quickly dashed out, and into our room, getting upset because my grandmother had betrayed me when she said she was gonna accompany me.
everyday, if i got home late, i'd call her when i'm at the void deck so she'd fetch me from the lift. the storey we lived in is always really quiet, and it didnt help that my house has a gate and door a few metres apart. it's always nerve-wrecking to open these two in the darkness, alone.
it gets really difficult for me to just pee, believe it or not. the classroom toilets of my school are really creepy, and if i couldnt prop the door open using the rubbish bin, i'd end up going down and heading to the one beside Co-op, which was a bit more crowded.
i once went to study at Republic Poly with my then best friend, who was a guy. i wanted to pee so badly, but the toilets were empty [it was the weekend] and dimly-lighted and i didnt dare step inside. i also didnt dare tell him that i didnt manage to pee because i was too scared.
when we were leaving though, i told him again that i really had to pee. "i thought you already went?" he queried. so i admitted to him that i didnt dare go because it looked really creepy.
he kept urging me to go, "just go, just go, i wait outside. i'm right here!" but i couldnt! one more look into the toilet, and i couldnt! so we walked back all the way to Causeway Point before i had guts to go pee.
he was also the one who told me, "my brother said block 50 toilets are haunted." block 50 was where we had one of our modules, in split classes. this one statement of his was enough for me not to ever go into the toilets for the two hours of lessons.
during Hari raya, my granny went back to her kampung, leaving just me and my aunt alone in the house. she told my aunt to sleep outside, and reminded me to turn off our bedroom lights before going to sleep.
i ended up laying my mattress outside with my aunt, and slept next to her. and during night-time, i would literally tail my aunt around the house because i didnt want to be left anywhere alone.
just a few days ago, i bought tickets for The Conjuring. when it came to cinemas and everyone was talking about it, i told myself i was never ever gonna watch it.
i only suggested it because the prince was mentioning that he really wanted to watch it, and he was mad at me at the time. i couldnt think of any other way to cheer him up, so i went to buy us tickets without a second thought.
i knew it was a bad idea. it wasnt gonna end up pretty, and i was right.
first things first, i didnt watch a single scene. i only dared look at the screen during the normal scenes, or when there was sunlight. i was also constantly letting go of the prince's hand just so i could cover both my ears. at the end of it all, i was still scared, like i had seen and bore witness the most unimaginable.
i was quiet the whole time as the prince and i went down the escalators. what's more, he bumped into his secondary school mates to chat with so i didnt find any excuse to make a sound.
and before we parted, i started to cry.
"i don't want to go home alone." i started with a whisper. he told me he couldnt send me home, and that was when i started to bawl, right there in the middle of the crowd. "i don't want to go home alone...!"
i started to sputter nonsense. "i knew i couldnt watch it because i know i was gonna be this scared... but then anything for you, just to make you happy *laughs* because you wanted to watch it, and, and *more nonsense about demon possession while the prince wiped my tears*"
even as i was talking, my lips were trembling and i was literally shaking so bad, cause that's how traumatised i felt. i really didnt want to be left alone!
there were only two people i could think of to call; the person whom i once called my best friend, who was just 1 station away, and the prince's classmate. i called the former but he couldnt, [or maybe he just wanted to avoid being with me] and when the latter answered, i cried to him telling him what happened and could he send me home?
the prince had to talk for me halfway because i started crying again, and wouldnt stop mumbling, "i dont wanna go home alone.." he told me, before we parted, "you can do this okay, i know you can. call me if there's anything." and he gave me a hug as i went through the gantries, looking fierce but still scared as fuck.
in the end, this classmate [the one with the same name as my elder brother] took the liberty to fetch me from Khatib and sent me home, all the way to my block's lift landing.
so there you have it. i'm not as brave as you think. i am a scaredy-cat. i may look like a ghost myself, but supernatural things are just exactly what i'm most afraid of, ironically.
just today my aunt joked, "if i were to ever put you in an empty house, i think you'd be so scared to go to the toilet that you'd just pee on the floor!" i'm not gonna say this is entirely true, but i am not gonna deny it either.
well we've probably had enough of that. we've long had enough of stories that make me seem to be a strong person. today, it's time for a change. i am here to write about how much of a coward i really am.
ever since i was a kid, i've always slept next to my grandmother. alright, so in my much younger days, my elder brother slept in my room as well because he was scared to sleep alone in his. of course, he grew up, got over his fears, and moved out of the bedroom i continued sharing with granny.
i always woke her up in the middle of the night whenever i wanted to pee. on the other hand, when i woke up to see that she had went for a pee, i'd quickly dash out of the darkness and stand in front of the bathroom door waiting for her to come out.
everytime i couldnt sleep, when the rest of the house was already in slumber, i'd wake her up and sheepishly tell her, "gran, i can't sleep." it was just my way of comfort; i didnt like the feeling of being the only one awake in the house, so i just turned and woke her up as well.
it happened too many times, and she always got frustrated. if i woke her up for the fifth time that night, she'd snap at me, "how old are you already? just sleep!" and roll back on her side, snoring again just a few seconds later.
once, my two elder cousins from my mother's side came over for a sleepover, like they always did in my childhood. we all crowded around the living room, watching the episode of The Incredible Tales regarding the "third door", if you remember that.
granny had laid out mattresses for my cousins to sleep in the hall, and i joined them on my own will. the space in front of the tv was where my brother and boy cousin slept, [if my memory serves me right], on this section we called the "platform".
on the section below, which was the space between my bedroom door and the kitchen, was where my aunt, girl cousin, and i slept. to make it sound easier, in front of me laid my bedroom door, while right opposite it laid the doors of the dining room/kitchen.
and that night was the longest night of my childhood, because i could not stop remembering the episode of Incredible Tales.
i kept remembering about the ghost that kept moving from door to door, because it was caught in the loop. i kept thinking there was one right in my house at that time, that was moving from the kitchen to my bedroom door, back and forth, like in the episode.
i didnt sleep the whole night because i was thinking about it, perspiring and heart beating fast and saying the Al-fatihah over and over. [the only prayer i knew]
i stayed awake til about 6 in the morning, when my mom got out of her bedroom to hang some towels on the storeroom door. i got up and straightway went to her, and she got such a shock! "why are you up so early!?"
"i can't sleep," i whined. i made her bring me back into her room, where i slept on her bed with my little brother and father while she got ready for work.
once upon another time, my family had booked a chalet during our holidays. i'm not sure what the occasion was, i think it was my brother's birthday or something?
for some reason my brothers and mother decided to sleep on the floor while my father and i shared the bed. i was about 7, or 8 i think? and yes, i couldnt sleep at night because of the constant thoughts swirling in my head.
it was the 'H' building of the chalet, and the voice in my head, still a child like me, was teasing me over and over; "H stands for haunted!!"
i kept waking my dad up again and again, whining to him that i couldnt sleep. eventually he got fed-up, stood up and went to the toilet and rubbed my face with water. [it was a sort of custom that we should at least wash our face and feet before we go to sleep if we're from far, something like that]
for the rest of the night, i dared not wake him up anymore til i eventually drifted off to sleep.
when i was a kid, i never closed the door when i was in the bathroom. i'd make someone stand outside til i was done, and i dared not even be in a room alone. i couldnt even stand being in a lift alone! the 9th floor had never felt so high.
i once had a sort of argument with my elder brother when we were coming home from school tgt, and he left me at the void deck while he ran off and went up to our house alone. i stood at the lift landing for quite some time, before i got scared and started to cry and wail right there.
[take note: it was 1 in the afternoon.]
a Chinese woman came over and patted me, asking me if i knew where i lived. i mumbled to her, through my tears, that this was the block where i lived. she had a look of disdain, like she didnt know how to react, and that was when my grandmother appeared in the lift that arrived.
i dashed to her and i told her about how Abang had just left me there and i was scared to go into the lift, and she went home and scolded my elder brother for abandoning me like that. and she also scolded me for being such a scaredy-cat.
i have a girl cousin the same age as me, yet she was braver than me. she'd been my best friend from the huge family since forever. her mother is my father's elder sister.
dad once called their house, and asked my cousin for her mom. she said she wasnt in, and that she was alone in the house at that time. my dad placed the receiver down and turned to me, "look at your cousin, same age as you but can already be left alone in the house! not like you, so penakut!"
whenever i slept over at her house, i always made sure that i slept in between. if the other cousin slept over as well, i made sure to sleep between them, because i didnt want to be at the edge of the bed.
years passed and i remained a coward. i only learnt to sleep in my own room when i was 15; my grandmother had moved out, leaving me with no choice.
of course, even then, whenever i woke up in the middle of the night i'd straightway dash to my parents' room and squeezed myself at the edge of their bed.
my dad gets pissed off by this because when i ran out, i always never turned off the fan, while my mother was angry because she always woke up with a backache whenever i slept over. after all, i was not as small as before.
every morning i'd have to wake up at 5.30 to get ready for school, in order not to miss the 6.30 bus. the first thing i do upon waking up is turn off my bedroom lights, before dashing to my parents bedroom, not daring to turn and look at the rest of the house.
i usually woke my mom up to accompany me outside while i shower in the kitchen toilet [the bedroom toilet has no hot water]. sometimes she gets in the lazy mood, and she'd shoo me off and ask me to wake my dad instead. this would piss him off in turn, because he treasured his few hours of sleep he had before he had to get ready for work.
i knew all along that i was a scaredy-cat, yet i never stopped reading ghost stories. in return, i'd beg my parents to let me sleep in their room after i read these books. sometimes i didnt ask; i'd just take my pillows and crash onto their bed, and pretended to sleep as my mother told my little brother, "eh who invited her to sleep here!?"
even when i was in sec 5, i still ran to their room when i couldnt sleep. when Slender man was a hot topic, i read everything about him which of course, made me so damn afraid to sleep alone. i begged my little brother to sleep in my room with me.
oh, and i went to bed with the lights on. my father would only come in and turn them off when he's made sure that i was really asleep. if i wasnt, i'd just get up from bed and turn the lights on again.
and yes, this cowardice of mine remained til now. i'm sleeping with my grandmother again, and every morning and night, i'd ask her to be in the kitchen to accompany me while i shower.
when the kitchen gets too quiet, i'd call out to her to make sure she was still there. i didnt want her to scold me for being a penakut, so whenever she answered, i'd say, "can you check for me if i'd turned on the heater already?"
if she didnt, i'd rush through my shower and quickly dashed out, and into our room, getting upset because my grandmother had betrayed me when she said she was gonna accompany me.
everyday, if i got home late, i'd call her when i'm at the void deck so she'd fetch me from the lift. the storey we lived in is always really quiet, and it didnt help that my house has a gate and door a few metres apart. it's always nerve-wrecking to open these two in the darkness, alone.
it gets really difficult for me to just pee, believe it or not. the classroom toilets of my school are really creepy, and if i couldnt prop the door open using the rubbish bin, i'd end up going down and heading to the one beside Co-op, which was a bit more crowded.
i once went to study at Republic Poly with my then best friend, who was a guy. i wanted to pee so badly, but the toilets were empty [it was the weekend] and dimly-lighted and i didnt dare step inside. i also didnt dare tell him that i didnt manage to pee because i was too scared.
when we were leaving though, i told him again that i really had to pee. "i thought you already went?" he queried. so i admitted to him that i didnt dare go because it looked really creepy.
he kept urging me to go, "just go, just go, i wait outside. i'm right here!" but i couldnt! one more look into the toilet, and i couldnt! so we walked back all the way to Causeway Point before i had guts to go pee.
he was also the one who told me, "my brother said block 50 toilets are haunted." block 50 was where we had one of our modules, in split classes. this one statement of his was enough for me not to ever go into the toilets for the two hours of lessons.
during Hari raya, my granny went back to her kampung, leaving just me and my aunt alone in the house. she told my aunt to sleep outside, and reminded me to turn off our bedroom lights before going to sleep.
i ended up laying my mattress outside with my aunt, and slept next to her. and during night-time, i would literally tail my aunt around the house because i didnt want to be left anywhere alone.
just a few days ago, i bought tickets for The Conjuring. when it came to cinemas and everyone was talking about it, i told myself i was never ever gonna watch it.
i only suggested it because the prince was mentioning that he really wanted to watch it, and he was mad at me at the time. i couldnt think of any other way to cheer him up, so i went to buy us tickets without a second thought.
i knew it was a bad idea. it wasnt gonna end up pretty, and i was right.
first things first, i didnt watch a single scene. i only dared look at the screen during the normal scenes, or when there was sunlight. i was also constantly letting go of the prince's hand just so i could cover both my ears. at the end of it all, i was still scared, like i had seen and bore witness the most unimaginable.
i was quiet the whole time as the prince and i went down the escalators. what's more, he bumped into his secondary school mates to chat with so i didnt find any excuse to make a sound.
and before we parted, i started to cry.
"i don't want to go home alone." i started with a whisper. he told me he couldnt send me home, and that was when i started to bawl, right there in the middle of the crowd. "i don't want to go home alone...!"
i started to sputter nonsense. "i knew i couldnt watch it because i know i was gonna be this scared... but then anything for you, just to make you happy *laughs* because you wanted to watch it, and, and *more nonsense about demon possession while the prince wiped my tears*"
even as i was talking, my lips were trembling and i was literally shaking so bad, cause that's how traumatised i felt. i really didnt want to be left alone!
there were only two people i could think of to call; the person whom i once called my best friend, who was just 1 station away, and the prince's classmate. i called the former but he couldnt, [or maybe he just wanted to avoid being with me] and when the latter answered, i cried to him telling him what happened and could he send me home?
the prince had to talk for me halfway because i started crying again, and wouldnt stop mumbling, "i dont wanna go home alone.." he told me, before we parted, "you can do this okay, i know you can. call me if there's anything." and he gave me a hug as i went through the gantries, looking fierce but still scared as fuck.
in the end, this classmate [the one with the same name as my elder brother] took the liberty to fetch me from Khatib and sent me home, all the way to my block's lift landing.
so there you have it. i'm not as brave as you think. i am a scaredy-cat. i may look like a ghost myself, but supernatural things are just exactly what i'm most afraid of, ironically.
just today my aunt joked, "if i were to ever put you in an empty house, i think you'd be so scared to go to the toilet that you'd just pee on the floor!" i'm not gonna say this is entirely true, but i am not gonna deny it either.
Sunday, August 11, 2013
Time to make it, or break it.
hi.
i am writing this in the darkness of the living room. it's in the middle of the afternoon, but i've turned the lights off, closed the windows and shut the door, with only the computer screen being a light source. i am alone.
what i am about to say may scare you, or it may get you worried about me. or both, if you are really guilty of this pain. but i know i am not alone, and i am very grateful for your existence (':
so what the hell am i babbling about, you ask? well, i can't put it in a lighter way than... although i sit here breathing, alive; i am as good as dead. i may as well kill myself now because there wouldnt be a difference.
the problem this time is not family, not money, not with the prince, not society. but it is none other than my beloved studies (':
i've wasted my first few weeks of lessons. i should have paid attention. yes, it is a regret. because only recently i'd started to pay attention and i realised that all this engineering shit is pretty easy. just that i should've started earlier, then i wouldnt be caught up with the previous topics right now.
i'm not sure why i really detest doing tasks assigned to me. i've not touched a single online assignment and i've only recently handed in a few tutorials. i was actually the last in class but after these tutorials i moved up one spot. i'm not sure if i should laugh or continue crying.
i gave up on one of the practical modules a long time ago. why? because i didnt feel like doing that shit. it was pretty stupid of me, but nevermind, because i have obviously failed it already.
it didnt help that i always lied to the prince on Tuesdays, telling him i end at 2 when i had this module's lessons from 2-5pm. now you know i lied, so, i'm sorry.
even the prince is doing well in his studies. he's always making time for me, and he's always coming home late and having to wake up early the next day because of his residence. but still, he's been chosen to go to Bali because of his good results. how the hell does he do it? i will never know.
a part of me is still very unhappy being here, but i did realise that i had to keep going if i want to get to my desired destination. just because you're not where you wanted to be right now doesnt mean you wont reach there right?
stupid metaphor here, but you can't board from Pasir Ris, wanting to get to Buona Vista, only to alight at Redhill because it was taking a long time and you thought you were not on the right track to where you want to go. am i making sense?
i'm just trying to get this into my head. i'm not happy in Engineering, and definitely not in a class where i had screwed up my social life. but if i don't do something about it, i'll still be stuck here forever right? i have to keep moving.
i've been doing my best, only started doing so just recently, but we all know i've already screwed up anyway. with a few days left to final exams, what can i do? i've lost most of my grades to my undone assignments and projects.
i dont mind repeating my modules because yes, i have learnt my lesson that i should have started way before. but, i dont know. i dont understand the concept of my school yet but i dont think it's good that i'd have to repeat a number of modules right? *sheepish grin*
it's the study break this week. i'm making my way to school every single day to do my own shit, just, doing my best. i'm not sure how i'd fare at the end of the road; i may disappoint some people, and please those who are happy with my downfalls, but at least i know i did my best.
it's make it, or break it. and i sure as hell really want to make it.
this is not the first time i'm drowning in my studying problems. i never seem to learn, huh.
i am writing this in the darkness of the living room. it's in the middle of the afternoon, but i've turned the lights off, closed the windows and shut the door, with only the computer screen being a light source. i am alone.
what i am about to say may scare you, or it may get you worried about me. or both, if you are really guilty of this pain. but i know i am not alone, and i am very grateful for your existence (':
so what the hell am i babbling about, you ask? well, i can't put it in a lighter way than... although i sit here breathing, alive; i am as good as dead. i may as well kill myself now because there wouldnt be a difference.
the problem this time is not family, not money, not with the prince, not society. but it is none other than my beloved studies (':
i've wasted my first few weeks of lessons. i should have paid attention. yes, it is a regret. because only recently i'd started to pay attention and i realised that all this engineering shit is pretty easy. just that i should've started earlier, then i wouldnt be caught up with the previous topics right now.
i'm not sure why i really detest doing tasks assigned to me. i've not touched a single online assignment and i've only recently handed in a few tutorials. i was actually the last in class but after these tutorials i moved up one spot. i'm not sure if i should laugh or continue crying.
i gave up on one of the practical modules a long time ago. why? because i didnt feel like doing that shit. it was pretty stupid of me, but nevermind, because i have obviously failed it already.
it didnt help that i always lied to the prince on Tuesdays, telling him i end at 2 when i had this module's lessons from 2-5pm. now you know i lied, so, i'm sorry.
even the prince is doing well in his studies. he's always making time for me, and he's always coming home late and having to wake up early the next day because of his residence. but still, he's been chosen to go to Bali because of his good results. how the hell does he do it? i will never know.
a part of me is still very unhappy being here, but i did realise that i had to keep going if i want to get to my desired destination. just because you're not where you wanted to be right now doesnt mean you wont reach there right?
stupid metaphor here, but you can't board from Pasir Ris, wanting to get to Buona Vista, only to alight at Redhill because it was taking a long time and you thought you were not on the right track to where you want to go. am i making sense?
i'm just trying to get this into my head. i'm not happy in Engineering, and definitely not in a class where i had screwed up my social life. but if i don't do something about it, i'll still be stuck here forever right? i have to keep moving.
i've been doing my best, only started doing so just recently, but we all know i've already screwed up anyway. with a few days left to final exams, what can i do? i've lost most of my grades to my undone assignments and projects.
i dont mind repeating my modules because yes, i have learnt my lesson that i should have started way before. but, i dont know. i dont understand the concept of my school yet but i dont think it's good that i'd have to repeat a number of modules right? *sheepish grin*
it's the study break this week. i'm making my way to school every single day to do my own shit, just, doing my best. i'm not sure how i'd fare at the end of the road; i may disappoint some people, and please those who are happy with my downfalls, but at least i know i did my best.
it's make it, or break it. and i sure as hell really want to make it.
this is not the first time i'm drowning in my studying problems. i never seem to learn, huh.
Saturday, August 10, 2013
Social anxiety.
social anxiety: the discomfort or fear of being in a social situation whereby you will get looked at and judged. the insecurity, and being convinced that you are not good enough for other people.
you fear criticism, rejection, embarrassment. and most of the time when you are surrounded by people, you are convinced that these aspects are what's being shot at you from their heads.
as you read the above i bet you're already thinking that that's what you are. but honestly, you dont know how bad you've got it. neither of us do.
i'm not saying i've got this disorder though. i've never been diagnosed with anything. maybe it's because i rarely go to the doctor's anyway but who cares?
i've had many things happened in my life which cause i'd never been able to explain. i've never heard of "social anxiety" only until recently. i did some research on it this morning and my previous explaination is what i understood of it.
there's a reason why i stopped going to school in sec 5 after i left my girlfriends. i may or may not be given a fuck about but i had always thought everyone in school was always whispering about me when i was walking around alone. it felt like everyone was whispering my name, uttering of my sudden solitude and stupidity.
there's a reason why i bailed out on my cousin's wedding during the time when my mother and i werent on talking terms. my dad was with the men, i wasnt close with my elder brother, and my little brother had the other young cousins to play with, and my girl cousin/best friend from the big family had invited her secondary school friends and was entertaining them. i had no one to talk or sit with, and i felt so alone that i just left, without telling anyone.
there's a reason why i stoned at my other cousin's wedding party, with all the strangers around me and me being the only one 'representing' my side of the family. i wanted so badly to leave when everyone was in their own families or social circles, and when i was finally in my uncle's car nearly to midnight, all i could do was release the tears that i had been holding in the whole night.
there's a reason why i always have to look at my phone when walking down the halls in school, although i hadnt had any notifications. if i look up, i wouldnt know where to look. all i could think of would be everyone is looking at me, and at least being on Twitter while i walk would distract my mind from the awkwardness.
there's a reason why i dreaded school this year because i stopped talking to the only good friends i had made in poly. it wasnt easy making friends with them, and even more so difficult to talk to the other classmates. it may seem like bullshit to others, but i swear, talking to the other classmates other than these two was more difficult than you think.
there's a reason why i felt so left out in the clique of five, when my two Chinese friends were talking with each other, while my two Indian friends too. there's a reason why i always decided to go on my own instead because if i followed them, i would look like an extra head.
there's a reason why i'm not going to this classmate's open house today. if i go, i'd definitely be alone because they both have their own friends and cant be with me around the clock. i'd definitely dread being there in five minutes. i understand that they can't be with me the whole time, so i may as well not go. but thank you once again for inviting me.
i'm not diagnosed with this condition called "social anxiety", but the pieces are falling into place. maybe i do have a mild case of it, which may or may not worsen if i dont do anything about it.
i dont know why i'm the way i am. i know i'm unpopular and shit, but why am i not doing anything? because my lack of self-esteem tells me, "no matter what you do, people still arent gonna look at you. they're still gonna ignore you and shit. oh, and they're also gonna think you're weird."
this is what the voice tells me when i want to talk to my other classmates. this is what it tells me when i try to talk to the prince's classmates. this is what it tells me when i want to tell someone on Twitter to cheer up when i see someone being sad. this is what it even tells me when i want to follow someone randomly on Twitter.
i'm not sure if it can be changed, but i'm really doing my best to tell this voice off.
and i'm also not sure why i want to be a journalist when this mindset of mine is in the way. because i'm ambitious? or maybe because once i'm given words to speak, that's all i'd care about? or maybe i'm just so hell-bent on doing the best for my writing? or perhaps words will always be my one protection. maybe.
but then again have you heard the story about the girl who was born with no legs, and who wanted to be an athlete?
i've still got to tell this voice off though. i'll find a way.
you fear criticism, rejection, embarrassment. and most of the time when you are surrounded by people, you are convinced that these aspects are what's being shot at you from their heads.
as you read the above i bet you're already thinking that that's what you are. but honestly, you dont know how bad you've got it. neither of us do.
i'm not saying i've got this disorder though. i've never been diagnosed with anything. maybe it's because i rarely go to the doctor's anyway but who cares?
i've had many things happened in my life which cause i'd never been able to explain. i've never heard of "social anxiety" only until recently. i did some research on it this morning and my previous explaination is what i understood of it.
there's a reason why i stopped going to school in sec 5 after i left my girlfriends. i may or may not be given a fuck about but i had always thought everyone in school was always whispering about me when i was walking around alone. it felt like everyone was whispering my name, uttering of my sudden solitude and stupidity.
there's a reason why i bailed out on my cousin's wedding during the time when my mother and i werent on talking terms. my dad was with the men, i wasnt close with my elder brother, and my little brother had the other young cousins to play with, and my girl cousin/best friend from the big family had invited her secondary school friends and was entertaining them. i had no one to talk or sit with, and i felt so alone that i just left, without telling anyone.
there's a reason why i stoned at my other cousin's wedding party, with all the strangers around me and me being the only one 'representing' my side of the family. i wanted so badly to leave when everyone was in their own families or social circles, and when i was finally in my uncle's car nearly to midnight, all i could do was release the tears that i had been holding in the whole night.
there's a reason why i always have to look at my phone when walking down the halls in school, although i hadnt had any notifications. if i look up, i wouldnt know where to look. all i could think of would be everyone is looking at me, and at least being on Twitter while i walk would distract my mind from the awkwardness.
there's a reason why i dreaded school this year because i stopped talking to the only good friends i had made in poly. it wasnt easy making friends with them, and even more so difficult to talk to the other classmates. it may seem like bullshit to others, but i swear, talking to the other classmates other than these two was more difficult than you think.
there's a reason why i felt so left out in the clique of five, when my two Chinese friends were talking with each other, while my two Indian friends too. there's a reason why i always decided to go on my own instead because if i followed them, i would look like an extra head.
there's a reason why i'm not going to this classmate's open house today. if i go, i'd definitely be alone because they both have their own friends and cant be with me around the clock. i'd definitely dread being there in five minutes. i understand that they can't be with me the whole time, so i may as well not go. but thank you once again for inviting me.
i'm not diagnosed with this condition called "social anxiety", but the pieces are falling into place. maybe i do have a mild case of it, which may or may not worsen if i dont do anything about it.
i dont know why i'm the way i am. i know i'm unpopular and shit, but why am i not doing anything? because my lack of self-esteem tells me, "no matter what you do, people still arent gonna look at you. they're still gonna ignore you and shit. oh, and they're also gonna think you're weird."
this is what the voice tells me when i want to talk to my other classmates. this is what it tells me when i try to talk to the prince's classmates. this is what it tells me when i want to tell someone on Twitter to cheer up when i see someone being sad. this is what it even tells me when i want to follow someone randomly on Twitter.
i'm not sure if it can be changed, but i'm really doing my best to tell this voice off.
and i'm also not sure why i want to be a journalist when this mindset of mine is in the way. because i'm ambitious? or maybe because once i'm given words to speak, that's all i'd care about? or maybe i'm just so hell-bent on doing the best for my writing? or perhaps words will always be my one protection. maybe.
but then again have you heard the story about the girl who was born with no legs, and who wanted to be an athlete?
i've still got to tell this voice off though. i'll find a way.
Thursday, August 08, 2013
Hi, i am @naqibezwnx's sister.
let's just go back to December 2012 once again. for the last time, though i can't promise. in fact i already told myself to let it go, but sometimes the parties involved just had to drag their sides of the story across their throats and smear their blood across the society's faces.
before we rewind in time, i'd like you, my readers, to read these following tweets.
and just as you have guessed, i am writing this post as defence against these words. not just my elder brother's, but also the reply from his follower, and whatever it is that his other followers are already thinking of about me.
it's probably too late by now, or maybe his followers would never ever read this [duh], but i dont care. i am gonna write my side of the story, and i wont just lay down and let this scumbag tweet like that. such a hypocrite!
back to December, 2012.
i had woken up to the banging on my door, still with my red contacts on and unshowered from the day before. i had fallen asleep straight upon reaching my bed at 10 in the morning, after a night of staying awake with my classmates at the class chalet.
it was my dad. i looked at the clock; just a little past noon. i knew what was coming, but i opened the door anyway, and still got the shock of my life.
my dad swung his hand across my face, and before i could even move back my head after having it tossed aside by the impact, he hit me with a few more blows til i was pleading for him to stop.
he got emotional on me, spilling his heart out, but he should have realised by then that i was barely listening. was i on the floor or on the bed, i dont remember. but i was clutching my stomach and tears and snot were all over my face and whatever surface it had been lying on.
i could hear the television humming. my elder brother was there, and at certain points of my confrontation with my dad, i saw my brother walk past my room, or slam his bedroom door closed.
yup. my elder brother was there as our father beat the shit out of me. and when dad told me to pack my stuff and get out, my elder brother was there lying down, watching television.
Naqib E'zuwan was watching television as his little sister was getting beaten and eventually forced out of the house. sorry, there just isnt any other subtle way to put it.
and to fuel things further, the television is aligned with my bedroom door. my bedroom is right next to the hall, the closest room to the living room space. my brother obviously saw and heard everything.
i left the house with only two things in my head; Pewdiepie's words that kept me going, and the realisation that my elder brother is nothing but a fucking coward.
how many times have i written about this ever since it happened? i'm guessing about thrice. but who cares? all that matters is, [following suit the reply to my brother's tweet above] i did not run away. i got forced out. kicked out. halau.
the full story as to why he kicked me out and why i just followed his orders: click here. it's a bit lengthy but take your time if you ever decide to read it. i'm sure you know my name; and what comes after the name is always the story. that's mine.
back to my elder brother's tweets. "i don't even know where she is"? really bro? is there anywhere else i'd be if not our grandma's place? and it's not like your parents don't know shit. you could ask them.
and i've been there to visit our little brother a few times to take things from my room. you could have asked bro. but you never even held any conversation with me. i was like a stranger. i was like a random classmate from your brother's class that you didnt really need to bother with.
it's not like you never saw me. you were there right in my path as i was walking out of my room. when was that? that was about two months ago. i had been gone for quite some time already. but you never seemed to give a shit about how i was doing.
there's also something called Twitter, bro. it's not like my name is something unexpected that you can never think of right? my Twitter username is @_109th, but it's not like you can't search for my accompanying name right? my bloody Twitter name is E'indah Nadhirah, for fuck's sake. was that so hard? "i don't even know how to contact her" bro? seriously? i don't think you're that stupid.
and bro. about a month or so after i got kicked out [i emphasise i got kicked out; i didnt run away] i wrote you a letter. i spilled my heart to you. i was closer to our little brother but he wouldnt understand and he was young. so i thought that you being the adult brother, would understand the misery of his kid sister. after all, you were once in this rebellious stage too.
i slipped it under your bedroom door when you were locked inside. if you hadnt seen that piece of paper in the midst of your simple bedroom i dont even know what to say. oh and i even left my bloody phone number and blog address at the end of the letter. i think that's enough regarding the contact argument huh?
i have another argument though. you were the one who has always been cutting me off. this brings me back to the days when i was filling in application forms for my admission to poly. fine, it was my fault that i only started doing it in the wee hours of the day after its deadline, but nevermind.
my aunt and uncle were helping me, and we really needed my parents' and brothers' IC numbers. it was 1 in the morning, and my little brother didnt answer. he was probably asleep.
but you? i went into your Twitter profile and saw that you had tweeted literally a minute ago. my aunt called you non stop but you never answered. but you were still tweeting! how irritating was that, you tell me!?
i couldnt mention you because you blocked me on Twitter. see? you did know how to find me. i had to use my boyfriend's account to tweet to you to call me. and then what did you do afterwards? you blocked his fucking Twitter account too!
i have no better words to describe you other than "scumbag", and "hypocrite". yes, i do stalk your Twitter occasionally because why the fuck not? at least i bothered to see how you were doing.
you? you dare tweet about wondering of my whereabouts and shit but you never made the effort to find out. i don't think you'd care less about me. you're just saying shit about family for the sake of doing so.
with all this said and done, i dont really care if people still think highly of you, your followers especially. i just wish that when i publish this post, its tweet will be retweeted til most of the society reads this.
i've long had enough of being your little sister. i've had enough of being called "Naqib's little sister" all my life. when the hell would i be looked at as "E'indah Nadhirah"? for fuck sake, you're fucking Twitter famous. i barely have 200 followers, most of which are stupid troll accounts.
i know i'm on a different level from you and that i'm so fucking different from you but what the fuck? i hate how everyone is gonna judge me based on your tweets. you may have tweeted only about 10 or 20 tweets about me but by then most of your followers would have already thought wrongly of me.
and me? i tweet every other day about how much of a scumbag you are, and i write posts about you turning into an asshole, but my writing never gets recognised. more people on your side because more people know you. ugh, it just pisses me off!
i've sidetracked a little havent i. it's okay. i'm done for now. i still think he's a coward, and a hypocrite. i'd add in more stories fueling this, but it's okay. i don't think the faggots of society would ever be bothered to read this post to the end.
if you did, though, thank you for reading though it's nothing but anger. i'm just pissed off, and also a little sad.
and one more thing. this is the only time i ever get to speak up against my brother. because in real life, he'd never give me the chance to speak. he'd just beat me if he was pissed. so i'm glad i managed to get this out, and i dont give a fuck if he gets angry that many people read this. not my fault that its link got retweeted right?
before we rewind in time, i'd like you, my readers, to read these following tweets.
and just as you have guessed, i am writing this post as defence against these words. not just my elder brother's, but also the reply from his follower, and whatever it is that his other followers are already thinking of about me.
it's probably too late by now, or maybe his followers would never ever read this [duh], but i dont care. i am gonna write my side of the story, and i wont just lay down and let this scumbag tweet like that. such a hypocrite!
back to December, 2012.
____
i had woken up to the banging on my door, still with my red contacts on and unshowered from the day before. i had fallen asleep straight upon reaching my bed at 10 in the morning, after a night of staying awake with my classmates at the class chalet.
it was my dad. i looked at the clock; just a little past noon. i knew what was coming, but i opened the door anyway, and still got the shock of my life.
my dad swung his hand across my face, and before i could even move back my head after having it tossed aside by the impact, he hit me with a few more blows til i was pleading for him to stop.
he got emotional on me, spilling his heart out, but he should have realised by then that i was barely listening. was i on the floor or on the bed, i dont remember. but i was clutching my stomach and tears and snot were all over my face and whatever surface it had been lying on.
i could hear the television humming. my elder brother was there, and at certain points of my confrontation with my dad, i saw my brother walk past my room, or slam his bedroom door closed.
yup. my elder brother was there as our father beat the shit out of me. and when dad told me to pack my stuff and get out, my elder brother was there lying down, watching television.
Naqib E'zuwan was watching television as his little sister was getting beaten and eventually forced out of the house. sorry, there just isnt any other subtle way to put it.
and to fuel things further, the television is aligned with my bedroom door. my bedroom is right next to the hall, the closest room to the living room space. my brother obviously saw and heard everything.
i left the house with only two things in my head; Pewdiepie's words that kept me going, and the realisation that my elder brother is nothing but a fucking coward.
____
how many times have i written about this ever since it happened? i'm guessing about thrice. but who cares? all that matters is, [following suit the reply to my brother's tweet above] i did not run away. i got forced out. kicked out. halau.
the full story as to why he kicked me out and why i just followed his orders: click here. it's a bit lengthy but take your time if you ever decide to read it. i'm sure you know my name; and what comes after the name is always the story. that's mine.
back to my elder brother's tweets. "i don't even know where she is"? really bro? is there anywhere else i'd be if not our grandma's place? and it's not like your parents don't know shit. you could ask them.
and i've been there to visit our little brother a few times to take things from my room. you could have asked bro. but you never even held any conversation with me. i was like a stranger. i was like a random classmate from your brother's class that you didnt really need to bother with.
it's not like you never saw me. you were there right in my path as i was walking out of my room. when was that? that was about two months ago. i had been gone for quite some time already. but you never seemed to give a shit about how i was doing.
there's also something called Twitter, bro. it's not like my name is something unexpected that you can never think of right? my Twitter username is @_109th, but it's not like you can't search for my accompanying name right? my bloody Twitter name is E'indah Nadhirah, for fuck's sake. was that so hard? "i don't even know how to contact her" bro? seriously? i don't think you're that stupid.
and bro. about a month or so after i got kicked out [i emphasise i got kicked out; i didnt run away] i wrote you a letter. i spilled my heart to you. i was closer to our little brother but he wouldnt understand and he was young. so i thought that you being the adult brother, would understand the misery of his kid sister. after all, you were once in this rebellious stage too.
i slipped it under your bedroom door when you were locked inside. if you hadnt seen that piece of paper in the midst of your simple bedroom i dont even know what to say. oh and i even left my bloody phone number and blog address at the end of the letter. i think that's enough regarding the contact argument huh?
i have another argument though. you were the one who has always been cutting me off. this brings me back to the days when i was filling in application forms for my admission to poly. fine, it was my fault that i only started doing it in the wee hours of the day after its deadline, but nevermind.
my aunt and uncle were helping me, and we really needed my parents' and brothers' IC numbers. it was 1 in the morning, and my little brother didnt answer. he was probably asleep.
but you? i went into your Twitter profile and saw that you had tweeted literally a minute ago. my aunt called you non stop but you never answered. but you were still tweeting! how irritating was that, you tell me!?
i couldnt mention you because you blocked me on Twitter. see? you did know how to find me. i had to use my boyfriend's account to tweet to you to call me. and then what did you do afterwards? you blocked his fucking Twitter account too!
i have no better words to describe you other than "scumbag", and "hypocrite". yes, i do stalk your Twitter occasionally because why the fuck not? at least i bothered to see how you were doing.
you? you dare tweet about wondering of my whereabouts and shit but you never made the effort to find out. i don't think you'd care less about me. you're just saying shit about family for the sake of doing so.
with all this said and done, i dont really care if people still think highly of you, your followers especially. i just wish that when i publish this post, its tweet will be retweeted til most of the society reads this.
i've long had enough of being your little sister. i've had enough of being called "Naqib's little sister" all my life. when the hell would i be looked at as "E'indah Nadhirah"? for fuck sake, you're fucking Twitter famous. i barely have 200 followers, most of which are stupid troll accounts.
i know i'm on a different level from you and that i'm so fucking different from you but what the fuck? i hate how everyone is gonna judge me based on your tweets. you may have tweeted only about 10 or 20 tweets about me but by then most of your followers would have already thought wrongly of me.
and me? i tweet every other day about how much of a scumbag you are, and i write posts about you turning into an asshole, but my writing never gets recognised. more people on your side because more people know you. ugh, it just pisses me off!
i've sidetracked a little havent i. it's okay. i'm done for now. i still think he's a coward, and a hypocrite. i'd add in more stories fueling this, but it's okay. i don't think the faggots of society would ever be bothered to read this post to the end.
if you did, though, thank you for reading though it's nothing but anger. i'm just pissed off, and also a little sad.
and one more thing. this is the only time i ever get to speak up against my brother. because in real life, he'd never give me the chance to speak. he'd just beat me if he was pissed. so i'm glad i managed to get this out, and i dont give a fuck if he gets angry that many people read this. not my fault that its link got retweeted right?
Monday, August 05, 2013
A beautiful boy.
so this is what they say: if a beautiful girl loves you, never let her go.
why? apparently because she could have chosen to be somewhere else, with anyone else, but she chose to stay beneath the stars with you.
because she has all the beauty she needs, and strength which can overpower you anyday. she can use her beauty to charm others, and she could just leave you and be with someone else who is as beautiful as her.
but it doesnt make a single ounce of sense to me. beautiful girls arent the only people which you shouldnt let go of.
if a beautiful boy loves you, never let him go.
a beautiful boy could use his handsomeness to charm other girls. and from my point of view, it's not very difficult to charm girls, especially stupid young schoolgirls, who are always after a beautiful boy.
a beautiful boy has no difficulties socialising, and he can have waves and waves of friends til he could forget about your existence, but he shows you off to the world.
he would smile at you and compliment you, even after a tiring and long day at school, and you're not looking your best. he would hold your hand, and this simple gesture means so much than you could say.
he would try his damnest just to make you laugh, and it didnt matter how silly he had to be, as long as he saw the smile on your face.
he would listen to you when you talk about your problems, until you can't help but cry. he would put his arms around you, and keep wiping your tears til there are none left. he would tell you everything would be alright, and he would pull you closer to him, and give you a long kiss at the top of your head.
he would hug you before you part, and he wouldnt care who was watching, he'd also pull you in and give you a goodbye kiss.
he would comfort you, no matter how complicated you get. he would stay with you for as long as he can, no matter how hard things get.
he would cry for you when you cope with hardships in dumb ways. he would get hurt if you make rash decisions without asking for his advice. he would always be there for you, remember that.
and a beautiful boy would never let you go, because he loves you.
he could have chosen to be with someone else. he could have chosen someone who is prettier than you. he could have chosen to be with someone who might need him more than you do. but he chose to be with you.
if a beautiful boy loves you, never under any circumstances let him go. love him back the same way. love him the way he loves you, and more. because that's just what he deserves. girls aren't the only ones who are fragile. boys have had their share of heartbreaks too, maybe even more so than girls.
i'm slowly learning this. because my boy is not just beautiful, but he's a prince who deserves all the treatment he deserves. so, I'm sorry for the way i've been hurting you.
why? apparently because she could have chosen to be somewhere else, with anyone else, but she chose to stay beneath the stars with you.
because she has all the beauty she needs, and strength which can overpower you anyday. she can use her beauty to charm others, and she could just leave you and be with someone else who is as beautiful as her.
but it doesnt make a single ounce of sense to me. beautiful girls arent the only people which you shouldnt let go of.
if a beautiful boy loves you, never let him go.
a beautiful boy could use his handsomeness to charm other girls. and from my point of view, it's not very difficult to charm girls, especially stupid young schoolgirls, who are always after a beautiful boy.
a beautiful boy has no difficulties socialising, and he can have waves and waves of friends til he could forget about your existence, but he shows you off to the world.
he would smile at you and compliment you, even after a tiring and long day at school, and you're not looking your best. he would hold your hand, and this simple gesture means so much than you could say.
he would try his damnest just to make you laugh, and it didnt matter how silly he had to be, as long as he saw the smile on your face.
he would listen to you when you talk about your problems, until you can't help but cry. he would put his arms around you, and keep wiping your tears til there are none left. he would tell you everything would be alright, and he would pull you closer to him, and give you a long kiss at the top of your head.
he would hug you before you part, and he wouldnt care who was watching, he'd also pull you in and give you a goodbye kiss.
he would comfort you, no matter how complicated you get. he would stay with you for as long as he can, no matter how hard things get.
he would cry for you when you cope with hardships in dumb ways. he would get hurt if you make rash decisions without asking for his advice. he would always be there for you, remember that.
and a beautiful boy would never let you go, because he loves you.
he could have chosen to be with someone else. he could have chosen someone who is prettier than you. he could have chosen to be with someone who might need him more than you do. but he chose to be with you.
if a beautiful boy loves you, never under any circumstances let him go. love him back the same way. love him the way he loves you, and more. because that's just what he deserves. girls aren't the only ones who are fragile. boys have had their share of heartbreaks too, maybe even more so than girls.
i'm slowly learning this. because my boy is not just beautiful, but he's a prince who deserves all the treatment he deserves. so, I'm sorry for the way i've been hurting you.
Sunday, August 04, 2013
Just another usual day with my prince!
the last time i had a Practical test for Programming, i screwed things over. it was just the basics of C Programming and it could have been easy if i had paid attention from the start.
as time passed i started reading about the fundamentals of C Programming and finally got the gist of it. i stopped turning up for the lessons and read up on the new topics on my own. the written test was easy, apart from the fact that i had skipped the second question because of the stupid maths involved.
but chapter 6 was a killer for me. i turned up for lessons for this topic and days of listening attentively to my lecturer didnt gain me any more knowledge about it. i liked how he used metaphors to make understanding easier, but still, the day of the last practical test came and i was not prepared.
i had my practical test Friday morning, and all i can tell you is that i definitely screwed it up again. i managed to answer the question due to what i know from the previous chapters, but not in the format that they wanted me to, which was to include the damn functions.
there we have it. my life in Ngee Ann Polytechnic may as well be over.
the guilt didnt engulf me just as easily as i had given up though. i rushed to Clementi station right after, where i met 'Aamir, Yazid and Farhan. we took the next train to Raffles Place, and along the way 'Aamir just had to keep irritating everyone out of boredom.
we transferred to the red line, and the train was so empty! we dropped off at Somerset and walked a long way out of the station. the first thing i saw was Typo, and i straightway wandered off to it, not realising the heavy footsteps that ran following suit.
'Aamir grabbed my backpack and exclaimed, "can you stop wandering off like that!? at least tell me first before you head somewhere???" he added in a hushed tone; "they're gonna think you're weird!"
i kept quiet, but his choice of words were sinking in.
so i followed them to the mosque instead, where i sat outside waiting while they did their Friday prayers. i sat on a wall, with my legs dangling while i watched the cars and people passing by. i had the thought of going around for a walk but i remembered that 'Aamir had told me not to wander off too far so i might as well have just stayed at one spot.
reunited with them about an hour later, along with Naqib.
[this Naqib is 'Aamir's classmate, who is of the same age as i am. yes, he shares the same name as the douchebag of my elder brother. this Naqib is the good brother version, but i'll write about him another time.]
upon our union the first thing he did was point to my new tshirt [which he had followed 'Aamir to buy for me] and exclaim, "chey! baju baru sey!" in return, i pointed to his bag and exclaimed, "chey! beg baru sey!"
this exchange already shows how my relationship is with this Naqib, which is polar opposites with my elder brother. but like i'd said, i'll blog about it some other day.
so they found a spot above Scape, right outside a music school or was it, with Dina joining some time later. i've met 'Aamir's classmates a couple of times, and although i'm not that open with all of them, being around them was a familiar feeling which i'd gotten used to.
they all played cards, a game which name i cant remember, while i sat the side reading 'Aamir's book. i didnt bring mine but he had his True Singapore Ghost Stories, which i'd read whilst leaning against him.
i was engrossed in the words until i felt tension in the air and 'Aamir and his classmates were talking in somewhat hushed tones.
i watched as the posse of policemen walked toward us, and queried about what we were doing there. 'Aamir's classmates did the talking while the Indian policeman that was standing near me looked at me and gave me a smile.
i returned it, and the one who had been asking questions asked us for our identity cards or something. we all took out our ezlinks, and i handed mine over to the Indian one.
i've no idea what that was all about, but they let us off with a reminder that if the staff or security told us to stop, we'd stop.
so along came Mel and we headed off to the stalls that lined along scape. i've heard about blogshops putting up stalls there, and i'd wanted to go off on my own again but 'Aamir called me and made me stay with them.
he and Farhan and Mel and Dina spent eons looking at phone accessories. 'Aamir was so happy with his new Batman phone cover and went wandering off to look for cables next, so i sat down with Naqib and Yazid, talking about a mix of random little things.
when the rest were finally done, looking happy with their purchases, we all made our way across the road and that was when 'Aamir and i parted from his classmates.
i really do like them. they accept me as if i belong with them, as if i were no different from them. still, i wish i were more open and less awkward whenever i'm hanging out with them.
the biggest problem with hanging out with them is laughing. sometimes i'm not sure if i should laugh or not. it could be an inside joke and if i laugh as well i'd look stupid. but if i don't, i'd look really sulky and unamused and shit. but aside from that, i really enjoy being with them.
'Aamir and i walked back to Ion Orchard, holding on to his hand like how i'd held my mother's when we walked along the same lane many years ago.
being part of society ourselves, we judged the people whom we walked by, commenting on their fashion statements especially. then we talked about my fashion sense, or more like lack of it.
the lane was also just a whole stretch of our memories; we had spent our first few dates on Orchard Road. i pointed out some of the spots where we had walked, and could even recite for him what he had said back at that moment. i already liked him a lot back then, so i'd clung on to his every word.
we finally made it to Ion Orchard, where i was hopping up the escalator up to {prologue} bookstore. my long-lost old friend! i'd read that it was closing and thus, a closure sale of 30% off.
so i started off okay, just looking at the books near the entrance. 'Aamir picked out a book at this point, one called Kite Runner by a Middle Eastern author. he helped me pick out one which was beautiful without so much of a bend, the sweetie.
and then i found out that the 30% discount is actually storewide! such discounts always had gimmicks after all; most of the time it just applies to the few books on display near the counter or the entrance.
so of course i started hopping around the bookstore looking for other finds. sometimes the old books are more of a treasure than the current bestsellers. you just gotta know how and where to look.
[oh and by the way, rewind to a few days back; i'd told granny that i wanted to go to the sale but when i thought about how i wasnt working anymore, changed my mind about it. the next day she said, "if you ever wanna buy storybooks, let granny know." she gave me 50 bucks for my book shopping!]
everytime i stared at a book, glancing through the pages and focusing intently on its summary at the back, 'Aamir would pester, "just take it lah just take it." okay fine i know it gets annoying if i do that to every book on all the shelves, but you gotta pick a book wisely ok!
i was standing in front of another shelf again, rubbing my chin, eyes scouring for fancy covers when 'Aamir came over and wrapped his arms around me, saying, "i really sayang you sia."
we had spent our third date exactly like this too; at the exact bookstore, him following me around as i looked for books.
when i already held 3 books, 'Aamir took them from me and declared, "okay let's go pay!"
of course, i was reluctant. "no! i have to keep looking. i dont feel satisfied with these books. what if there are other good books which i'd missed out??"
he was getting annoyed, and he said, "come on lah, just read these books first and when you're done with them you can come back and buy more ok?"
"this is called a closure sale for a reason!" i exclaimed, and wandered off again to look at other books. of course, i knew he was pissed off but he still followed me around and helped me choose my books, occasionally giving me a light kiss on the cheek when he didnt know what else to do. how can i not love him?
and guess what? i managed to squeeze one more book into my tight budget; i'd managed to snag four books for the price of S$45!!! on average, each book cost me about twelve dollars. that is actually not bad!
we got on the train, our next destination being Paya Lebar, for the Ramadan bazaar at Geylang. when we already transferred to the green line, i said casually to 'Aamir; "you know right, actually if you are a book lover, when you walk into a bookstore any book you lay your eyes on would do. no need to be so picky if you really love books."
'Aamir gave me the O_O!!! expression, before giving a bored look and stating, "how ironic."
waited at a taxi stand while he went off to do his Asar prayers at Masjid Wak Tanjong, and i was getting bored til i was sliding myself to and fro on the bench, and he had to come at that moment.
"sorry, i went to charge my phone and i fell asleep!" he cheekily announced. damned barrel.
we walked through the train station to get to a side of the Bazaar, and on the way we passed by a movie poster for The Conjuring. i told him about the stories i read about it, about how the actors and crew died before the release of the film, and other rumours about it.
'Aamir passed this on to his classmate who said she wanted to watch the movie, and i got pissed because he was taking the credit for my research and knowledge!
but now that i think about it though, i think those stories i'd read were about another movie named "the Poltergeist", not The Conjuring. well fuck me!
the first thing we purchased from the bazaar was kebab; the man who had made 'Aamir's order called out to him; "hey mr handsome!" the other man who was attending the stall turned to 'Aamir and exclaimed, "fuuh! memang handsome lah! masya allah!"
i hope that boosted the prince's confidence. he's always thinking so lowly of himself, and never believes me when i tell him how bright he shines. "the only thing about me that shines is my oily face!", he'd say.
so we went off to get my food next; roti john which i'd been longing for for days. i also ordered a chicken burger with egg, and while waiting for our orders to be done, a middle-aged Chinese woman decided to chat us up.
she started off with commenting that we both looked like Chinese, and were we mixed? 'Aamir answered that he was, with a bit of Chinese, and when i told her i was a Bugis, she gave me this confused look. sad that not many people know the race of Bugis.
it was cute how she mistook us as siblings. we both laughed at her comment, and when she saw our imperfect teeth, she exclaimed even more excitedly, "even your teeth is the same!!"
when we all happily got our orders, she made her way and 'Aamir and i found a spot to sit on the walls and talked while waiting for Azan. i also took a few photos of him, and he looked oh so handsome!
we wolfed down our food when it was time, and he was so shy when he was eating his ayam perchik! he's so adorable.
we walked through some of the usual lanes where i walked with my parents and brothers every year, and i dropped off the lucky draw coupon which my granny and i had earned at Raja Kuih.
"my ticket to 27 thousand dollars!!" i announced to him and dropped it into the box with a thousand other coupons. 'Aamir snickered in mockery. he wouldnt be if my granny happens to win that grand prize!
our last destination was the mosque, and on the way we passed by this abandoned building with its shutters slightly ajar at the bottom. "we should sneak in there one day." he declared, before adding, "but it looks kind of creepy. why is it abandoned?"
we checked out its surroundings, and it didnt really bar trespassers that securely. 'Aamir was staring at the building for quite some time, before stating, "is this like a fire station or something?"
and that was the answer to a question i had always been wondering. "the bus stop before, where i used to wait for bus 154. it's called "before Geylang fire station" but i've always wondered where is this fire station!"
we were both looking pleased. but he asked again, "why is it abandoned then??"
"leave it to me, the best researcher and journalist in town." i declared.
"you go research okay, and tell me everything!" he grinned, and we continued walking.
waited for him to do his prayers again, and went through the underpass to get to my usual bus stop. my bus came eons later as always, and he gave me one last hug and a kiss on the cheek.
i stared at him for a moment, taking in his handsomeness and charm, and the disbelieving fact that he loved me. i leant in and pecked his cheek before dashing off to catch my bus.
such a blissful day, to have spent it with my prince! it was the best date ever. but then again, that's what i say at the end of every date. just proves how much i enjoy being with him every single time. how i love him so. and he treats me so much like a princess! bliss.
but the happiness didnt last. when i got home, my granny told me that Mother had texted my aunt.
Mother wanted me back in Pasir Ris, latest by Monday, or, her threat had said; she will never come visit my aunt and granny here at Guillemard for Hari Raya, ever again.
this is another one of her tricks. there was no point giving me a choice; she had already made her own decision. i know her. if she gives me a choice, but threatens me, it just means that i'd better make the right decision, aka what makes her happy.
and if i dont make the right choice, she's gonna make me. sometimes by force.
i know her. i know my Mother.
you may or may not know my story, but my dad was the one who kicked me out of the house. why isnt he the one asking for me back? and do you remember back on the day of my O Level results? Mother had said that she was cutting off all ties with me.
why cant i spend my first Hari Raya with my granny and aunt in peace? why must my parents keep disrupting my happiness? Father had kicked me out; Mother had cut off all ties with me, her exact words. so why cant they just leave me alone already?
as time passed i started reading about the fundamentals of C Programming and finally got the gist of it. i stopped turning up for the lessons and read up on the new topics on my own. the written test was easy, apart from the fact that i had skipped the second question because of the stupid maths involved.
but chapter 6 was a killer for me. i turned up for lessons for this topic and days of listening attentively to my lecturer didnt gain me any more knowledge about it. i liked how he used metaphors to make understanding easier, but still, the day of the last practical test came and i was not prepared.
i had my practical test Friday morning, and all i can tell you is that i definitely screwed it up again. i managed to answer the question due to what i know from the previous chapters, but not in the format that they wanted me to, which was to include the damn functions.
there we have it. my life in Ngee Ann Polytechnic may as well be over.
the guilt didnt engulf me just as easily as i had given up though. i rushed to Clementi station right after, where i met 'Aamir, Yazid and Farhan. we took the next train to Raffles Place, and along the way 'Aamir just had to keep irritating everyone out of boredom.
we transferred to the red line, and the train was so empty! we dropped off at Somerset and walked a long way out of the station. the first thing i saw was Typo, and i straightway wandered off to it, not realising the heavy footsteps that ran following suit.
'Aamir grabbed my backpack and exclaimed, "can you stop wandering off like that!? at least tell me first before you head somewhere???" he added in a hushed tone; "they're gonna think you're weird!"
i kept quiet, but his choice of words were sinking in.
so i followed them to the mosque instead, where i sat outside waiting while they did their Friday prayers. i sat on a wall, with my legs dangling while i watched the cars and people passing by. i had the thought of going around for a walk but i remembered that 'Aamir had told me not to wander off too far so i might as well have just stayed at one spot.
reunited with them about an hour later, along with Naqib.
[this Naqib is 'Aamir's classmate, who is of the same age as i am. yes, he shares the same name as the douchebag of my elder brother. this Naqib is the good brother version, but i'll write about him another time.]
upon our union the first thing he did was point to my new tshirt [which he had followed 'Aamir to buy for me] and exclaim, "chey! baju baru sey!" in return, i pointed to his bag and exclaimed, "chey! beg baru sey!"
this exchange already shows how my relationship is with this Naqib, which is polar opposites with my elder brother. but like i'd said, i'll blog about it some other day.
so they found a spot above Scape, right outside a music school or was it, with Dina joining some time later. i've met 'Aamir's classmates a couple of times, and although i'm not that open with all of them, being around them was a familiar feeling which i'd gotten used to.
they all played cards, a game which name i cant remember, while i sat the side reading 'Aamir's book. i didnt bring mine but he had his True Singapore Ghost Stories, which i'd read whilst leaning against him.
i was engrossed in the words until i felt tension in the air and 'Aamir and his classmates were talking in somewhat hushed tones.
i watched as the posse of policemen walked toward us, and queried about what we were doing there. 'Aamir's classmates did the talking while the Indian policeman that was standing near me looked at me and gave me a smile.
i returned it, and the one who had been asking questions asked us for our identity cards or something. we all took out our ezlinks, and i handed mine over to the Indian one.
i've no idea what that was all about, but they let us off with a reminder that if the staff or security told us to stop, we'd stop.
so along came Mel and we headed off to the stalls that lined along scape. i've heard about blogshops putting up stalls there, and i'd wanted to go off on my own again but 'Aamir called me and made me stay with them.
he and Farhan and Mel and Dina spent eons looking at phone accessories. 'Aamir was so happy with his new Batman phone cover and went wandering off to look for cables next, so i sat down with Naqib and Yazid, talking about a mix of random little things.
when the rest were finally done, looking happy with their purchases, we all made our way across the road and that was when 'Aamir and i parted from his classmates.
i really do like them. they accept me as if i belong with them, as if i were no different from them. still, i wish i were more open and less awkward whenever i'm hanging out with them.
the biggest problem with hanging out with them is laughing. sometimes i'm not sure if i should laugh or not. it could be an inside joke and if i laugh as well i'd look stupid. but if i don't, i'd look really sulky and unamused and shit. but aside from that, i really enjoy being with them.
'Aamir and i walked back to Ion Orchard, holding on to his hand like how i'd held my mother's when we walked along the same lane many years ago.
being part of society ourselves, we judged the people whom we walked by, commenting on their fashion statements especially. then we talked about my fashion sense, or more like lack of it.
the lane was also just a whole stretch of our memories; we had spent our first few dates on Orchard Road. i pointed out some of the spots where we had walked, and could even recite for him what he had said back at that moment. i already liked him a lot back then, so i'd clung on to his every word.
we finally made it to Ion Orchard, where i was hopping up the escalator up to {prologue} bookstore. my long-lost old friend! i'd read that it was closing and thus, a closure sale of 30% off.
so i started off okay, just looking at the books near the entrance. 'Aamir picked out a book at this point, one called Kite Runner by a Middle Eastern author. he helped me pick out one which was beautiful without so much of a bend, the sweetie.
and then i found out that the 30% discount is actually storewide! such discounts always had gimmicks after all; most of the time it just applies to the few books on display near the counter or the entrance.
so of course i started hopping around the bookstore looking for other finds. sometimes the old books are more of a treasure than the current bestsellers. you just gotta know how and where to look.
[oh and by the way, rewind to a few days back; i'd told granny that i wanted to go to the sale but when i thought about how i wasnt working anymore, changed my mind about it. the next day she said, "if you ever wanna buy storybooks, let granny know." she gave me 50 bucks for my book shopping!]
everytime i stared at a book, glancing through the pages and focusing intently on its summary at the back, 'Aamir would pester, "just take it lah just take it." okay fine i know it gets annoying if i do that to every book on all the shelves, but you gotta pick a book wisely ok!
i was standing in front of another shelf again, rubbing my chin, eyes scouring for fancy covers when 'Aamir came over and wrapped his arms around me, saying, "i really sayang you sia."
we had spent our third date exactly like this too; at the exact bookstore, him following me around as i looked for books.
when i already held 3 books, 'Aamir took them from me and declared, "okay let's go pay!"
of course, i was reluctant. "no! i have to keep looking. i dont feel satisfied with these books. what if there are other good books which i'd missed out??"
he was getting annoyed, and he said, "come on lah, just read these books first and when you're done with them you can come back and buy more ok?"
"this is called a closure sale for a reason!" i exclaimed, and wandered off again to look at other books. of course, i knew he was pissed off but he still followed me around and helped me choose my books, occasionally giving me a light kiss on the cheek when he didnt know what else to do. how can i not love him?
and guess what? i managed to squeeze one more book into my tight budget; i'd managed to snag four books for the price of S$45!!! on average, each book cost me about twelve dollars. that is actually not bad!
we got on the train, our next destination being Paya Lebar, for the Ramadan bazaar at Geylang. when we already transferred to the green line, i said casually to 'Aamir; "you know right, actually if you are a book lover, when you walk into a bookstore any book you lay your eyes on would do. no need to be so picky if you really love books."
'Aamir gave me the O_O!!! expression, before giving a bored look and stating, "how ironic."
waited at a taxi stand while he went off to do his Asar prayers at Masjid Wak Tanjong, and i was getting bored til i was sliding myself to and fro on the bench, and he had to come at that moment.
"sorry, i went to charge my phone and i fell asleep!" he cheekily announced. damned barrel.
we walked through the train station to get to a side of the Bazaar, and on the way we passed by a movie poster for The Conjuring. i told him about the stories i read about it, about how the actors and crew died before the release of the film, and other rumours about it.
'Aamir passed this on to his classmate who said she wanted to watch the movie, and i got pissed because he was taking the credit for my research and knowledge!
but now that i think about it though, i think those stories i'd read were about another movie named "the Poltergeist", not The Conjuring. well fuck me!
the first thing we purchased from the bazaar was kebab; the man who had made 'Aamir's order called out to him; "hey mr handsome!" the other man who was attending the stall turned to 'Aamir and exclaimed, "fuuh! memang handsome lah! masya allah!"
i hope that boosted the prince's confidence. he's always thinking so lowly of himself, and never believes me when i tell him how bright he shines. "the only thing about me that shines is my oily face!", he'd say.
so we went off to get my food next; roti john which i'd been longing for for days. i also ordered a chicken burger with egg, and while waiting for our orders to be done, a middle-aged Chinese woman decided to chat us up.
she started off with commenting that we both looked like Chinese, and were we mixed? 'Aamir answered that he was, with a bit of Chinese, and when i told her i was a Bugis, she gave me this confused look. sad that not many people know the race of Bugis.
it was cute how she mistook us as siblings. we both laughed at her comment, and when she saw our imperfect teeth, she exclaimed even more excitedly, "even your teeth is the same!!"
when we all happily got our orders, she made her way and 'Aamir and i found a spot to sit on the walls and talked while waiting for Azan. i also took a few photos of him, and he looked oh so handsome!
we wolfed down our food when it was time, and he was so shy when he was eating his ayam perchik! he's so adorable.
we walked through some of the usual lanes where i walked with my parents and brothers every year, and i dropped off the lucky draw coupon which my granny and i had earned at Raja Kuih.
"my ticket to 27 thousand dollars!!" i announced to him and dropped it into the box with a thousand other coupons. 'Aamir snickered in mockery. he wouldnt be if my granny happens to win that grand prize!
our last destination was the mosque, and on the way we passed by this abandoned building with its shutters slightly ajar at the bottom. "we should sneak in there one day." he declared, before adding, "but it looks kind of creepy. why is it abandoned?"
we checked out its surroundings, and it didnt really bar trespassers that securely. 'Aamir was staring at the building for quite some time, before stating, "is this like a fire station or something?"
and that was the answer to a question i had always been wondering. "the bus stop before, where i used to wait for bus 154. it's called "before Geylang fire station" but i've always wondered where is this fire station!"
we were both looking pleased. but he asked again, "why is it abandoned then??"
"leave it to me, the best researcher and journalist in town." i declared.
"you go research okay, and tell me everything!" he grinned, and we continued walking.
waited for him to do his prayers again, and went through the underpass to get to my usual bus stop. my bus came eons later as always, and he gave me one last hug and a kiss on the cheek.
i stared at him for a moment, taking in his handsomeness and charm, and the disbelieving fact that he loved me. i leant in and pecked his cheek before dashing off to catch my bus.
such a blissful day, to have spent it with my prince! it was the best date ever. but then again, that's what i say at the end of every date. just proves how much i enjoy being with him every single time. how i love him so. and he treats me so much like a princess! bliss.
but the happiness didnt last. when i got home, my granny told me that Mother had texted my aunt.
Mother wanted me back in Pasir Ris, latest by Monday, or, her threat had said; she will never come visit my aunt and granny here at Guillemard for Hari Raya, ever again.
this is another one of her tricks. there was no point giving me a choice; she had already made her own decision. i know her. if she gives me a choice, but threatens me, it just means that i'd better make the right decision, aka what makes her happy.
and if i dont make the right choice, she's gonna make me. sometimes by force.
i know her. i know my Mother.
you may or may not know my story, but my dad was the one who kicked me out of the house. why isnt he the one asking for me back? and do you remember back on the day of my O Level results? Mother had said that she was cutting off all ties with me.
why cant i spend my first Hari Raya with my granny and aunt in peace? why must my parents keep disrupting my happiness? Father had kicked me out; Mother had cut off all ties with me, her exact words. so why cant they just leave me alone already?
Monday, July 29, 2013
Meet my lady boss.
she's always been fierce, actually. she's always had this look in her eyes, telling people not to mess with her. she has this threatening stance, and the way she waves her spreading knife around when she's telling someone off.
meet my lady boss.
honestly i never had a bad first impression of her. i was never scared of her or anything. i just didnt like the way she treated people sometimes. sure, i hate humans too but she used to brag to me about how she'd gotten a cert for service or some shit like that.
she did treat me like her own daughter sometimes. she stood up for me numerous times, when people were discriminating me for being Malay, and her for hiring a Malay.
she knew about how i was fending for myself, because my parents werent giving me money. when school started, she decided to give me my pay weekly, instead of the usual "every 5th". i was very grateful for that, really.
she always got snacks and meals for me, and on the days i worked 12 hours, she'd thank me again and again as way of her gratitude. i was sincere in helping her, because sometimes her other workers werent very dependent. i was more than happy to aid her.
but that's the bright side of her. i have more things that i disliked about her than i appreciated about her.
for one, she may sayang me like she said she does, but upon her arrival, if she sees one little screw-up in the shop of hers, she'd stay mad at me the entire day.
and by mad, i mean mad. on her normal days, she'd talk to me nicely if i dont serve our customers up to her standards. but on her mad days, even if i do things properly, she'd find something to get irritated about and would yell like shit away at me.
and sometimes i doubt her "sayang" too. i know she talks about me behind her back. on the days i was sick, she'd gossip to my replacement about how i was lying just so i wouldnt have to work. yes, this is how she really thought of me.
i've been taking this attitude of hers for six months. the last straw was about two weeks ago, on a Sunday. Sunday mornings are when i usually work with one of my girlfriends. we call these mornings "party", because we'd really make a party out of all the bread and ingredients that were free of charge for us.
so this particular day, there was an order for about 35 curry puffs, to be ready by 1pm. this was the time that lady boss and boss usually arrives at the shop.
additional info which may aid in understanding the story later: i had checked my phone to see two missed calls from a private number, which i decided not to bother with anymore after i had chucked my phone into my pocket. because what could i do? i couldnt call back, it was private number.
my girlfriend and i had managed to bake the 35 of them on time, but we were confused about how to pack them. one big box or two small boxes? each option was flawed, in the sense that our lady boss would definitely find fault either way.
and if we asked? she was bound to get mad and say something like "you all how long work here already? this one also dont know meh?" yes, we knew the way she was.
there were no customers at the time but i'd stayed outside at the counter while my girlfriend was in the kitchen, taking out the batch out of the oven. she had called me from inside, wondering how to pack the curry puffs, and i went in to take a look.
unluckily for us, lady boss arrived a second after i had stepped in, and the first thing she did was yell, "why are the both of you inside here? then who's taking care of my counter?"
so i answered, "i just went inside." i'd said it calmly, but it just pissed her off more, and she decided to start a new argument: "why i call you so many times you never answer?"
it was then that i remembered that her phone number was a private number. "oh yeah i never see. i saw only two missed calls and it never crossed my mind that it was you."
and this simple sentence pissed the shit out of her. the following is the argument that had taken place. i'm too lazy to write this in perfect English sentences \o/ [and i speak Singlish with her too, cause my cheem English is too high a standard for her]
her: then you see already why you never call back?
me: i didnt know it was you.
her: how come you dont know is me? you dont have my number meh??
me: huh? i have la.
her: then why you never call back?
me: cause you call me is private number what.
her: what private number?? if you have my number then confirm when i call you got my name what! you never save my number is it?!
me: i did. it's just that when you call me is private number.
[at this point of time i was getting really agitated]
her: WHAT PRIVATE NUMBER!?!? *takes out her phone and shows me her calls list* you see if i call people confirm got their name what. like this one, i call you got your name what! i call Linda also, got her name what! what private number!?
me: no, no, when you call me, my phone says private number. your number from last time private number already what! *shows my log of missed calls, and shows her "private number"*
her: means you never save my number lah!
me: *shows contact book* i did, i save your number as your name, see?
her: *muka dah kalah* *waves her hand* aiyah i dont know what you talking lah! must be your phone stupid lah, call you also no have my name!
me: it's freaking private number!
[yes, i was getting really pissed and i didnt want her to get away thinking she was right.]
her: IF YOU GOT SAVE MY NUMBER CONFIRM HAVE MY NAME WHEN I CALL YOU WHAT!
she asked my girlfriend, almost pleading for her to back her up, but all she could say was, "my phone no caller ID, everyone call me also all private number."
still, my lady boss was unhappy and wasnt gonna let me get away with it. she continued making her statement to the big boss, going on and on about the missed calls, the saved contact, and private number, blah blah blah. boss didnt answer her that much though, so she just rambled on away.
i went off at 3, thank goodness, and went off to meet my boyfriend, and while we were on our way to Harbourfront to break fast with his classmates, i told him all about it.
the next morning i woke up to see texts from my girlfriend, saying that our lady boss had tested out the private number thing by calling one of our colleagues. and she realised that i was right! but of course, proud as she was, she stayed speechless and didnt say anything more about it after that.
that night i decided that i should only work on Saturdays instead of both the weekend days. my studies were declining. my lady boss had mentioned before school started, that if i could only work for one day, she'd understand because studies were important for a kid like me after all.
so i texted her, telling her that i was only able to work on Saturdays from then on. and it being the fasting month, i could only last 8-3pm temporarily. "hope you understand", i had added.
she didnt reply me straight. instead, she told my girlfriend to pass on the message to me. "eh auntie say if you can only work like that she say she rather fire you."
first thing that pissed me off, why couldnt she text me herself? she'd always been texting my girlfriend to text me when i text her. when i tried to do the same to her by texting my girlfriend to text her, she'd come to me the next working day and snap, "why you cannot give sms me yourself? why must ask your friend give sms me?"
second thing that pissed me off; her hypocrisy. she did mention that it was okay if i could only work one day a week. she mentioned it many times, in fact!
so i told my girlfriend, "hey, tell her she can't fire me. because i quit!"
and that Sunday afternoon that i had finally stood up for myself against her? it was the last day i ever worked.
so you're saying i'm ungrateful for this job? i am thankful. i really am. i just cant stand the way she treats me anymore. do you know that me and my girlfriend are the only workers who know how to work the morning shift? i was opening shop for lady boss every day during the holidays, and on weekends when i had school.
on the days i couldnt work? she was the one who opened the shop. she had to work 9 in the morning to around midnight every single weekday. shouldnt she be grateful that at least i had opened up shop for her on those days that i could?
and damn, the way she talks about me behind my back. i've always helped her when she needed staff, and i was always working alone on damn busy days. i was probably the only sincere worker she had compared to all her China girls!
so there we have it. i'm jobless now. i didnt have any regrets, and honestly i still dont. i'm just not sure how i'm gonna fend for myself now, and how am i gonna earn money during the holidays without any job? ugh, fuck me. it's okay, i'll find a way. like i always do.
meet my lady boss.
honestly i never had a bad first impression of her. i was never scared of her or anything. i just didnt like the way she treated people sometimes. sure, i hate humans too but she used to brag to me about how she'd gotten a cert for service or some shit like that.
she did treat me like her own daughter sometimes. she stood up for me numerous times, when people were discriminating me for being Malay, and her for hiring a Malay.
she knew about how i was fending for myself, because my parents werent giving me money. when school started, she decided to give me my pay weekly, instead of the usual "every 5th". i was very grateful for that, really.
she always got snacks and meals for me, and on the days i worked 12 hours, she'd thank me again and again as way of her gratitude. i was sincere in helping her, because sometimes her other workers werent very dependent. i was more than happy to aid her.
but that's the bright side of her. i have more things that i disliked about her than i appreciated about her.
for one, she may sayang me like she said she does, but upon her arrival, if she sees one little screw-up in the shop of hers, she'd stay mad at me the entire day.
and by mad, i mean mad. on her normal days, she'd talk to me nicely if i dont serve our customers up to her standards. but on her mad days, even if i do things properly, she'd find something to get irritated about and would yell like shit away at me.
and sometimes i doubt her "sayang" too. i know she talks about me behind her back. on the days i was sick, she'd gossip to my replacement about how i was lying just so i wouldnt have to work. yes, this is how she really thought of me.
i've been taking this attitude of hers for six months. the last straw was about two weeks ago, on a Sunday. Sunday mornings are when i usually work with one of my girlfriends. we call these mornings "party", because we'd really make a party out of all the bread and ingredients that were free of charge for us.
so this particular day, there was an order for about 35 curry puffs, to be ready by 1pm. this was the time that lady boss and boss usually arrives at the shop.
additional info which may aid in understanding the story later: i had checked my phone to see two missed calls from a private number, which i decided not to bother with anymore after i had chucked my phone into my pocket. because what could i do? i couldnt call back, it was private number.
my girlfriend and i had managed to bake the 35 of them on time, but we were confused about how to pack them. one big box or two small boxes? each option was flawed, in the sense that our lady boss would definitely find fault either way.
and if we asked? she was bound to get mad and say something like "you all how long work here already? this one also dont know meh?" yes, we knew the way she was.
there were no customers at the time but i'd stayed outside at the counter while my girlfriend was in the kitchen, taking out the batch out of the oven. she had called me from inside, wondering how to pack the curry puffs, and i went in to take a look.
unluckily for us, lady boss arrived a second after i had stepped in, and the first thing she did was yell, "why are the both of you inside here? then who's taking care of my counter?"
so i answered, "i just went inside." i'd said it calmly, but it just pissed her off more, and she decided to start a new argument: "why i call you so many times you never answer?"
it was then that i remembered that her phone number was a private number. "oh yeah i never see. i saw only two missed calls and it never crossed my mind that it was you."
and this simple sentence pissed the shit out of her. the following is the argument that had taken place. i'm too lazy to write this in perfect English sentences \o/ [and i speak Singlish with her too, cause my cheem English is too high a standard for her]
her: then you see already why you never call back?
me: i didnt know it was you.
her: how come you dont know is me? you dont have my number meh??
me: huh? i have la.
her: then why you never call back?
me: cause you call me is private number what.
her: what private number?? if you have my number then confirm when i call you got my name what! you never save my number is it?!
me: i did. it's just that when you call me is private number.
[at this point of time i was getting really agitated]
her: WHAT PRIVATE NUMBER!?!? *takes out her phone and shows me her calls list* you see if i call people confirm got their name what. like this one, i call you got your name what! i call Linda also, got her name what! what private number!?
me: no, no, when you call me, my phone says private number. your number from last time private number already what! *shows my log of missed calls, and shows her "private number"*
her: means you never save my number lah!
me: *shows contact book* i did, i save your number as your name, see?
her: *muka dah kalah* *waves her hand* aiyah i dont know what you talking lah! must be your phone stupid lah, call you also no have my name!
me: it's freaking private number!
[yes, i was getting really pissed and i didnt want her to get away thinking she was right.]
her: IF YOU GOT SAVE MY NUMBER CONFIRM HAVE MY NAME WHEN I CALL YOU WHAT!
she asked my girlfriend, almost pleading for her to back her up, but all she could say was, "my phone no caller ID, everyone call me also all private number."
still, my lady boss was unhappy and wasnt gonna let me get away with it. she continued making her statement to the big boss, going on and on about the missed calls, the saved contact, and private number, blah blah blah. boss didnt answer her that much though, so she just rambled on away.
i went off at 3, thank goodness, and went off to meet my boyfriend, and while we were on our way to Harbourfront to break fast with his classmates, i told him all about it.
the next morning i woke up to see texts from my girlfriend, saying that our lady boss had tested out the private number thing by calling one of our colleagues. and she realised that i was right! but of course, proud as she was, she stayed speechless and didnt say anything more about it after that.
that night i decided that i should only work on Saturdays instead of both the weekend days. my studies were declining. my lady boss had mentioned before school started, that if i could only work for one day, she'd understand because studies were important for a kid like me after all.
so i texted her, telling her that i was only able to work on Saturdays from then on. and it being the fasting month, i could only last 8-3pm temporarily. "hope you understand", i had added.
she didnt reply me straight. instead, she told my girlfriend to pass on the message to me. "eh auntie say if you can only work like that she say she rather fire you."
first thing that pissed me off, why couldnt she text me herself? she'd always been texting my girlfriend to text me when i text her. when i tried to do the same to her by texting my girlfriend to text her, she'd come to me the next working day and snap, "why you cannot give sms me yourself? why must ask your friend give sms me?"
second thing that pissed me off; her hypocrisy. she did mention that it was okay if i could only work one day a week. she mentioned it many times, in fact!
so i told my girlfriend, "hey, tell her she can't fire me. because i quit!"
and that Sunday afternoon that i had finally stood up for myself against her? it was the last day i ever worked.
so you're saying i'm ungrateful for this job? i am thankful. i really am. i just cant stand the way she treats me anymore. do you know that me and my girlfriend are the only workers who know how to work the morning shift? i was opening shop for lady boss every day during the holidays, and on weekends when i had school.
on the days i couldnt work? she was the one who opened the shop. she had to work 9 in the morning to around midnight every single weekday. shouldnt she be grateful that at least i had opened up shop for her on those days that i could?
and damn, the way she talks about me behind my back. i've always helped her when she needed staff, and i was always working alone on damn busy days. i was probably the only sincere worker she had compared to all her China girls!
so there we have it. i'm jobless now. i didnt have any regrets, and honestly i still dont. i'm just not sure how i'm gonna fend for myself now, and how am i gonna earn money during the holidays without any job? ugh, fuck me. it's okay, i'll find a way. like i always do.
Sunday, July 28, 2013
Teke-teke and 50 Berkeley Square.
so a long time ago i started reading the posts off this Facebook page. i'm not sure how i found it, but the page tells of all kinds of tales from the supernatural to the bizarre and shit like that.
of all the stories i'd read, the ones i've been thinking of most are this Japanese urban legend and the "most haunted house in London".
i'd tell you about the scariest one first. well, to me, it's the most terrifying and chilling anyway. i wouldnt know about you. i talked to my grandma about it and i always asked her to fetch me from the void deck because i was so terrified. [yes, it was just recent...]
this one's called the Teke-teke. it's the ghost of a girl who got bullied during her school days, and tried to escape it by suicide. this she did on the train tracks; an oncoming train had chopped off her lower half, separating it from the rest of her body.
her ghost comes in the form of her upper body, missing her lower torso and legs. apparently she has a knack of hunting down those who resemble her bullies, and chasing them til she cuts off their lower half.
it's impossible to outrun her, and even if you do manage, she'd find you in the next three days and cut you in half.
she frequents railway tracks, because that's where she killed herself. but there'd also been cases of her appearing in classroom toilets. [the reason why i always go down to the co-op toilet instead of just heading to the classroom one...]
and her name? she doesnt have any legs; her name's derived from the sounds her palms make against the ground when she chases after you.
i dont know about you, but as if ghosts who chase after you aren't already scary enough; what about ghosts who dont use their legs? although they're slow when doing so, crawling against the floor while chasing you is scary as shit!
next, 'the most haunted house in London'; 50 Berkeley Square.
i'd spent one whole day at the library last week, just reading about this, because it seemed so very interesting! there were many stories behind it, and much confusion revolving around the differing versions but this is what i understood of it.
the monster that resides in a room on the top floor [while some say it's the second floor] has been dubbed "the Thing", and appears to be a brown mess. it must have been so ugly til whoever saw it had all been doomed to madness and sometimes death.
a maid had been sent to the haunted room to fix a bedroom, and just as she got into the room, a scream was heard. everyone rushed to the scene to find her in the corner with a shocked face, repeating over and over; "don't let it touch me, don't let it touch me."
she died in a mental hospital the day after.
one man had heard about the house, his drunkenness causing him to make a bet that these stories were nothing but "unadulterated poppycock" [yes, his exact words]. he ordered the landlord to let him stay in the room for a night, and though reluctantly, was passed the 'privilege' of taking temporary residence.
it was, in fact, his last resting place in his life. his was the first death the Thing had taken; he was found leaning against the wall with a gun in his hand, still smoky from its recent shot, with his eyes literally bulging and his mouth opened wide in shock to reveal his teeth and gums.
he was pronounced dead of fright.
many years passed and the house soon became vacant. a pair of sailors were looking for a resting place, and spotted this very house. they couldnt believe their luck; and so they decided to spend the night there.
they decided that the first floor was not suitable enough, with all the dirt and rats everywhere. so of course, they settled in none other than the haunted room.
one of them had fallen asleep easily, but the other; not so. the latter had heard the door to the bedroom opening, and a presence had slipped over to him; he tried to run but he was enveloped by the Thing as it wrapped its arms around him and strangled him to no end.
the first sailor had awakened, and he was the one who witnessed the above. he took the opportunity to run out the door and onto the street. he had sacrificed his friend for his own escape, but he never stopped running til he met a police officer.
the sailor had alcohol on his breath, he was frantic and his tale was too unreal; but the police officer followed him til they got back to the house; and what greeted them would never be forgotten.
the head of the sailor's friend had been thrown off its body, which laid in a mangled mess over the sharp fence that had pierced through it.
it was reported that the Thing that the sailor saw was slimy-looking and had some sort of tentacles. lots of investigation made a conclusion that the Thing was actually some sort of octopus that originated from the sewers.
today, the first floor of the house is inhabited by a books company. a sign has been pinned onto the wall many years ago, warning that the above floors of the house were not to be used for anything, and not even storage.
the staff of this company had undeniably met and felt certain strange presences, but the last sign of a haunting was when one of the workers' glasses got thrown out of his face and across the room as he was climbing up the stairs. that was more than a decade ago, in about 2001.
i'd like to think that the octopus had been breeding in the attic, and today, continue to live by feeding on the rats and garbage. that is some sick shit!
but of course, there are many other theories as well. it was thought to be the ghost of a little girl who had suffered abuse from her uncle, and whose ghost continues being tortured and wanting to escape.
another story tells of a man who had locked his mentally ill brother in the attic, and only fed him through a hole in the door. he was too violent to be kept anywhere else outside the room, so he stayed there til he died.
it's also said to be the ghost of a Mr Myers, a man who had gotten jilted on the day of his wedding. he was so excited for his big day that he had ordered his servants to prepare a feast. he also spent a fortune decorating the house with new dresses for his new wife and nurseries for the family he was planning.
on the day of his wedding though, his bride never turned up. he waited hours but she never came. he got so upset that he made orders to leave the feast; the cakes and food as they were. he spent the rest of his life walking through the house with nothing but a candle and a broken heart.
everyone left him to be, along with the remnants of his wedding's preparation; moths were eating at his bride's dresses and rats were scurrying across the feast that had been prepared then.
he was found dead with a heart attack; he had died of a heartbreak.
of all the stories i'd read, the ones i've been thinking of most are this Japanese urban legend and the "most haunted house in London".
i'd tell you about the scariest one first. well, to me, it's the most terrifying and chilling anyway. i wouldnt know about you. i talked to my grandma about it and i always asked her to fetch me from the void deck because i was so terrified. [yes, it was just recent...]
this one's called the Teke-teke. it's the ghost of a girl who got bullied during her school days, and tried to escape it by suicide. this she did on the train tracks; an oncoming train had chopped off her lower half, separating it from the rest of her body.
her ghost comes in the form of her upper body, missing her lower torso and legs. apparently she has a knack of hunting down those who resemble her bullies, and chasing them til she cuts off their lower half.
it's impossible to outrun her, and even if you do manage, she'd find you in the next three days and cut you in half.
she frequents railway tracks, because that's where she killed herself. but there'd also been cases of her appearing in classroom toilets. [the reason why i always go down to the co-op toilet instead of just heading to the classroom one...]
and her name? she doesnt have any legs; her name's derived from the sounds her palms make against the ground when she chases after you.
i dont know about you, but as if ghosts who chase after you aren't already scary enough; what about ghosts who dont use their legs? although they're slow when doing so, crawling against the floor while chasing you is scary as shit!
next, 'the most haunted house in London'; 50 Berkeley Square.
i'd spent one whole day at the library last week, just reading about this, because it seemed so very interesting! there were many stories behind it, and much confusion revolving around the differing versions but this is what i understood of it.
the monster that resides in a room on the top floor [while some say it's the second floor] has been dubbed "the Thing", and appears to be a brown mess. it must have been so ugly til whoever saw it had all been doomed to madness and sometimes death.
a maid had been sent to the haunted room to fix a bedroom, and just as she got into the room, a scream was heard. everyone rushed to the scene to find her in the corner with a shocked face, repeating over and over; "don't let it touch me, don't let it touch me."
she died in a mental hospital the day after.
one man had heard about the house, his drunkenness causing him to make a bet that these stories were nothing but "unadulterated poppycock" [yes, his exact words]. he ordered the landlord to let him stay in the room for a night, and though reluctantly, was passed the 'privilege' of taking temporary residence.
it was, in fact, his last resting place in his life. his was the first death the Thing had taken; he was found leaning against the wall with a gun in his hand, still smoky from its recent shot, with his eyes literally bulging and his mouth opened wide in shock to reveal his teeth and gums.
he was pronounced dead of fright.
many years passed and the house soon became vacant. a pair of sailors were looking for a resting place, and spotted this very house. they couldnt believe their luck; and so they decided to spend the night there.
they decided that the first floor was not suitable enough, with all the dirt and rats everywhere. so of course, they settled in none other than the haunted room.
one of them had fallen asleep easily, but the other; not so. the latter had heard the door to the bedroom opening, and a presence had slipped over to him; he tried to run but he was enveloped by the Thing as it wrapped its arms around him and strangled him to no end.
the first sailor had awakened, and he was the one who witnessed the above. he took the opportunity to run out the door and onto the street. he had sacrificed his friend for his own escape, but he never stopped running til he met a police officer.
the sailor had alcohol on his breath, he was frantic and his tale was too unreal; but the police officer followed him til they got back to the house; and what greeted them would never be forgotten.
the head of the sailor's friend had been thrown off its body, which laid in a mangled mess over the sharp fence that had pierced through it.
it was reported that the Thing that the sailor saw was slimy-looking and had some sort of tentacles. lots of investigation made a conclusion that the Thing was actually some sort of octopus that originated from the sewers.
today, the first floor of the house is inhabited by a books company. a sign has been pinned onto the wall many years ago, warning that the above floors of the house were not to be used for anything, and not even storage.
the staff of this company had undeniably met and felt certain strange presences, but the last sign of a haunting was when one of the workers' glasses got thrown out of his face and across the room as he was climbing up the stairs. that was more than a decade ago, in about 2001.
i'd like to think that the octopus had been breeding in the attic, and today, continue to live by feeding on the rats and garbage. that is some sick shit!
but of course, there are many other theories as well. it was thought to be the ghost of a little girl who had suffered abuse from her uncle, and whose ghost continues being tortured and wanting to escape.
another story tells of a man who had locked his mentally ill brother in the attic, and only fed him through a hole in the door. he was too violent to be kept anywhere else outside the room, so he stayed there til he died.
it's also said to be the ghost of a Mr Myers, a man who had gotten jilted on the day of his wedding. he was so excited for his big day that he had ordered his servants to prepare a feast. he also spent a fortune decorating the house with new dresses for his new wife and nurseries for the family he was planning.
on the day of his wedding though, his bride never turned up. he waited hours but she never came. he got so upset that he made orders to leave the feast; the cakes and food as they were. he spent the rest of his life walking through the house with nothing but a candle and a broken heart.
everyone left him to be, along with the remnants of his wedding's preparation; moths were eating at his bride's dresses and rats were scurrying across the feast that had been prepared then.
he was found dead with a heart attack; he had died of a heartbreak.
Thursday, July 25, 2013
Betrayed.
i cant say anything more. all my life, words have always been what i have. what i relied on, what i went to for saviour. my diaries were my main concern when i left the house; i didnt want my parents to touch them. i kept getting the thought that they would throw away my precious writings.
i don't talk much in reality. but when i write, everything flows from my head, everything which i have always wanted to keep inside forever. this is really all i have. all i have to display for the world, my only talent because i am not good in anything else.
my writing was what got me to you. when we got together i spilled my heart to you most. i talked to you about everything in my head, things which i never even wrote about. there was a point of time when i had fallen in love with you more than i had ever loved writing.
you changed me. i opened up to you more than when i was writing. i told you all my stories, from my childhood right up to my loneliest year, and you listened, and you watched the emotions on my face unfold as i talked.
just recently you watched me cry, in ways that you've never seen before. i was lonely, and more than once you watched me cry about it. you held me. you hugged me and told me you loved me.
but who would have thought, that all along, to you my stories were just an exaggeration. that all along when you were looking at me, all you could say in your head was how i was overreacting.
i feel so betrayed. maybe this is my punishment for betraying my writing for you. but whatever. all along you thought i was exaggerating, and that's all i know now.
you are the last person on earth that i'd expected this to come from. i feel so dead right now.
i don't talk much in reality. but when i write, everything flows from my head, everything which i have always wanted to keep inside forever. this is really all i have. all i have to display for the world, my only talent because i am not good in anything else.
my writing was what got me to you. when we got together i spilled my heart to you most. i talked to you about everything in my head, things which i never even wrote about. there was a point of time when i had fallen in love with you more than i had ever loved writing.
you changed me. i opened up to you more than when i was writing. i told you all my stories, from my childhood right up to my loneliest year, and you listened, and you watched the emotions on my face unfold as i talked.
just recently you watched me cry, in ways that you've never seen before. i was lonely, and more than once you watched me cry about it. you held me. you hugged me and told me you loved me.
but who would have thought, that all along, to you my stories were just an exaggeration. that all along when you were looking at me, all you could say in your head was how i was overreacting.
i feel so betrayed. maybe this is my punishment for betraying my writing for you. but whatever. all along you thought i was exaggerating, and that's all i know now.
you are the last person on earth that i'd expected this to come from. i feel so dead right now.
He whom i'd called Niccy.
i only learnt his name on the fifth day of school. that was when we were all in our own Whatsapp group, and we were slowly learning one another's names.
it was lunch with adviser, which up to today remains to be the sweetest classroom memory. at this point of time there were many unknown numbers in the conversation, because i didnt know who was who and couldnt save any contacts.
the next day, some of us had lunch together before school started. he sat beside me, and i learnt his name. he was constantly smiling, the sides of his mouth all the way up to his ears, exposing the braces he had on beneath his lips. he was adorable and good-looking in his own way, although he was short.
he had signed up for the same CCA as me, and on the first day of this, i had went off to meet my boyfriend before coming back to meet this classmate. he had called me, led my way to the lecture hall where the cca was taking place.
due to our differences in arrival, i was put in another room. we stayed in contact through our class Whatsapp group, but i felt so miserable that i was alone in a different room.
we were all made to draw a name from a case, and this name would be our group for the semester or so. when the name i had drawn was called out, i was made to follow the mentioned to gather into our new group.
and lo and behold! the ones from the other room who had drawn her name as well included none other than my classmate. we laughed upon reunion about how lucky we were.
we had a few rounds of ice-breaking with the other group members, and it grew into a common perception of our group leader. we laughed at her, and we laughed among ourselves when we saw her doing something silly. he gave me his comments about her and it was actually the first time he was ever honest with me.
i also learnt that he had wanted to be in the school of film and media studies. like how i did.
photography was the only time we had ever got together as one.
we had our first lesson of SW the next week, and afterwards he was telling us, his classmates, about his broken hamstring. i didnt know what a hamstring was but it sounded really horrible, and the way he walked pictured a glimpse of the pain he must have been feeling.
he wasnt the only one who got injured. my best friend of that time had broken his wrist and ankle, or was it a sprain? i dont remember but i recall clearly that for that period of time, we were all giving special attention to these injured classmates.
we walked slowly with them although we were already late for the next lesson. we took the bus back to school instead of walking because they were having difficulties with the latter. we made them ride the elevator with the crowd while we took the stairs to the classroom.
when this classmate of mine had a terrible cough and fever, we skyped with him in the middle of class. well, it was another classmate who took the initiative but i wanted to talk to him too and see how he was! we all missed his presence. because that was how much he meant.
during the school's birthday celebration at the botanic gardens, our other classmate wouldnt stop disturbing him like how he always does. i was amused at the way he was entertaining him! how i loved my classmates so.
we went for dinner afterwards, the classmates and i, but the first thing i noticed was that particular classmate's absence. after asking around where was he, i got pretty sad to know that he couldnt join us.
we had taken photos using his DSLR, which i'd kept pestering him to upload and name the album to my liking. well he did, and i said to him "thanks Niccy. you are the best!" because he really was.
i talked to my boyfriend a lot about him, about how determined he always seemed to be, to get things right. about how frustrated he was when he couldnt get something, how he kept trying til he got it.
sometimes he gets too frustrated at things unreasonably; sometimes he gets too sad til he boiled with rage. but no matter what, i had always admired him for this determination. for the way he was driven by his desires.
i don't know what happened though. we were never that close to begin with, but somehow we grew a little more distant. til eventually, i guess he just started disliking me altogether.
i had a lot on my mind. and like what we all do to our thoughts, i tweeted mine. i dont know if it was really directed at me but each time i tweeted, he'd tweet right after, telling one to 'grow up' and 'stop being so immature', and to 'just face the facts lah'.
they were downright accurate, but i didnt want to think they were for me. so i just decided No, his tweets were not for me. because maybe they really werent.
i once accidentally left the class Whatsapp group, and another classmate of mine showed the conversation they had right after. this particular classmate i've been talking about had a reaction that, when thought about, told me how much he really disliked me.
but i dont know.. i couldnt really say anything. it was all in my head, just assumptions and judgements. i didnt want to fuel things further.
it all started with tweets though. i saw a few more tweets that seemed to be prodding at me. i took a snapshot of one and texted him straight; "is this meant for me?" he didnt answer, but he had seen my text. instead of responding, all he could do was indirect more of his tweets to me.
i wasnt angry at first. initially all i was, was upset and disheartened. after all i had always looked up to him and never had i owned the intention of discriminating him.
he's a smart person, and i've wanted to ask him questions regarding engineering maths, i'd asked on the class Whatsapp, asking him to please help me, but of course, he disregarded my plea. maybe the way i said it was rude, or maybe my question was just 'a stupid question which deserves no answers', i dont know. at least, i had tried.
with both of us owning a huge ego acting as walls between us, i'm not sure when we will ever act like classmates again, or if we ever would. i'd like to keep trying, but Maths needs me more than this friendship does.
it was lunch with adviser, which up to today remains to be the sweetest classroom memory. at this point of time there were many unknown numbers in the conversation, because i didnt know who was who and couldnt save any contacts.
the next day, some of us had lunch together before school started. he sat beside me, and i learnt his name. he was constantly smiling, the sides of his mouth all the way up to his ears, exposing the braces he had on beneath his lips. he was adorable and good-looking in his own way, although he was short.
he had signed up for the same CCA as me, and on the first day of this, i had went off to meet my boyfriend before coming back to meet this classmate. he had called me, led my way to the lecture hall where the cca was taking place.
due to our differences in arrival, i was put in another room. we stayed in contact through our class Whatsapp group, but i felt so miserable that i was alone in a different room.
we were all made to draw a name from a case, and this name would be our group for the semester or so. when the name i had drawn was called out, i was made to follow the mentioned to gather into our new group.
and lo and behold! the ones from the other room who had drawn her name as well included none other than my classmate. we laughed upon reunion about how lucky we were.
we had a few rounds of ice-breaking with the other group members, and it grew into a common perception of our group leader. we laughed at her, and we laughed among ourselves when we saw her doing something silly. he gave me his comments about her and it was actually the first time he was ever honest with me.
i also learnt that he had wanted to be in the school of film and media studies. like how i did.
photography was the only time we had ever got together as one.
we had our first lesson of SW the next week, and afterwards he was telling us, his classmates, about his broken hamstring. i didnt know what a hamstring was but it sounded really horrible, and the way he walked pictured a glimpse of the pain he must have been feeling.
he wasnt the only one who got injured. my best friend of that time had broken his wrist and ankle, or was it a sprain? i dont remember but i recall clearly that for that period of time, we were all giving special attention to these injured classmates.
we walked slowly with them although we were already late for the next lesson. we took the bus back to school instead of walking because they were having difficulties with the latter. we made them ride the elevator with the crowd while we took the stairs to the classroom.
when this classmate of mine had a terrible cough and fever, we skyped with him in the middle of class. well, it was another classmate who took the initiative but i wanted to talk to him too and see how he was! we all missed his presence. because that was how much he meant.
during the school's birthday celebration at the botanic gardens, our other classmate wouldnt stop disturbing him like how he always does. i was amused at the way he was entertaining him! how i loved my classmates so.
we went for dinner afterwards, the classmates and i, but the first thing i noticed was that particular classmate's absence. after asking around where was he, i got pretty sad to know that he couldnt join us.
we had taken photos using his DSLR, which i'd kept pestering him to upload and name the album to my liking. well he did, and i said to him "thanks Niccy. you are the best!" because he really was.
i talked to my boyfriend a lot about him, about how determined he always seemed to be, to get things right. about how frustrated he was when he couldnt get something, how he kept trying til he got it.
sometimes he gets too frustrated at things unreasonably; sometimes he gets too sad til he boiled with rage. but no matter what, i had always admired him for this determination. for the way he was driven by his desires.
i don't know what happened though. we were never that close to begin with, but somehow we grew a little more distant. til eventually, i guess he just started disliking me altogether.
i had a lot on my mind. and like what we all do to our thoughts, i tweeted mine. i dont know if it was really directed at me but each time i tweeted, he'd tweet right after, telling one to 'grow up' and 'stop being so immature', and to 'just face the facts lah'.
they were downright accurate, but i didnt want to think they were for me. so i just decided No, his tweets were not for me. because maybe they really werent.
i once accidentally left the class Whatsapp group, and another classmate of mine showed the conversation they had right after. this particular classmate i've been talking about had a reaction that, when thought about, told me how much he really disliked me.
but i dont know.. i couldnt really say anything. it was all in my head, just assumptions and judgements. i didnt want to fuel things further.
it all started with tweets though. i saw a few more tweets that seemed to be prodding at me. i took a snapshot of one and texted him straight; "is this meant for me?" he didnt answer, but he had seen my text. instead of responding, all he could do was indirect more of his tweets to me.
i wasnt angry at first. initially all i was, was upset and disheartened. after all i had always looked up to him and never had i owned the intention of discriminating him.
he's a smart person, and i've wanted to ask him questions regarding engineering maths, i'd asked on the class Whatsapp, asking him to please help me, but of course, he disregarded my plea. maybe the way i said it was rude, or maybe my question was just 'a stupid question which deserves no answers', i dont know. at least, i had tried.
with both of us owning a huge ego acting as walls between us, i'm not sure when we will ever act like classmates again, or if we ever would. i'd like to keep trying, but Maths needs me more than this friendship does.
Tuesday, July 23, 2013
If i were a billionaire.
so i read somewhere that J.K. Rowling was the first person to ever become a millionaire by writing books. well my dream is to become more than that; i wanna be the first to become a billionaire by writing and blogging!
it may seem impossible right now, but a girl can dream. and a girl can also write about how she's gonna spend that money once she's a billionaire.
i'd start with a house. i'd buy a five-room flat; i dont need a bungalow, or a terrace or any of those fancy places. as long as there are enough rooms and space for everyone whom i'm currently living with.
the house i'm living in has been in the family's possession since forever. the void deck underneath me right now is where my parents got married, so you can imagine how long it's been.
you'd have to see my home to know what i mean, but the living conditions here is not as easy as it seems. it never has been, but i've always been happy here. a lot happier than in my previous residence, that's for sure.
if i were a billionaire i'd buy a house for me and my family. one room would be for my uncles, the other for my aunt, one for the cats to roam about! and the last for my granny and i. a bed and a closet for every one of us, and a dining table with enough chairs for all of us.
i don't need much apart from a bed and a closet. all i want is a desk and a bookcase. and then i'll be the happiest little girl with the best bedroom ever!
i'd get a DSLR next. one that can record. i've forgotten the exact model i'd wanted; a Canon 600D? 660D? i dont even know anymore. but i'd like one, so i can start making videos again without being ashamed of the camera i'm using.
i've bumped into quite a number of Muslim orphanages here around my home area, and although i'm not exactly sure how, i'd like to do something for them. i've honestly never done anything for charity before but i hope that one day when i have lots of money i can help with something!
and since i dont have to work, i'll use my free time to learn how to be a proper Muslim. i can write about my experiences during my repent, which keeps my writing going.
i'd travel around the world with my camera and continue writing about every single one of my experience, so everyone will continue reading whatever i have to write. i'll do whatever it takes for reading to be an everyday activity in the future.
and lastly, i'd buy a huge house. for 'Aamir. and his family.
somewhere near my family and i, so we can meet all the time. not only us, but also our family members. we'd be so close like neighbours, and i can always tell my granny, "oh granny, i'm going out for a while to 'Aamir's house to do homework and shit :D" and she'd be like, "oh hold on give him this rendang daging to give to his mommy!"
and he wouldnt need to travel to and fro Singapore. he wouldnt need to spend so much on transport and he wouldnt worry me like shit whenever he's making his way from the Malaysian customs to his home.
i'd buy him his own laptop so we can skype, and so he can play his games without bothering me when i'm blogging. i'd get him a webcam, so he can fulfill his longings of making youtube videos.
i'm doing my best. my 'best' may not be the most satisfying effort seen from the outside, but i know what i'm doing. a girl can dream. and a girl can write about her dreams in the same way you'd write on a post-it to remind yourself about a task.
Sunday, July 21, 2013
Hey baby.
hey baby. i dont know if you would ever see this, because i dont have any intentions of publishing the link of this post on Twitter. i doubt you check on my blog on your own qualms, so i'm not sure when you'd see this... or if you ever would.
i just want you to know, that i have a million reasons for being in love with you. it was a thousand just a few months ago, and on the day we met, just ten.
every single day, whether or not i see you, you'd give me a whole new reason for me to love you. i dont know if you feel the same for me; or maybe you're having total opposite effects. but i'll have you know that my feelings for you grow stronger day by day.
just yesterday you held me in your arms. it was not your first time doing so but your embrace was magic. i'd cried because i was feeling lonely. you told me to speak, but i didnt want to, and all i could do was allow the floodgates to open.
you touched my neck and you pulled me towards you, and i buried my face in your chest. all i could do was cry. your heartbeat rang in my ears and it was the loudest sound i heard at that very moment, even louder than my sobbing.
your arms were around me, and you pulled me into a hug. it was awkward because we were both seated next to each other, and there were people around but you hugged me nonetheless.
i wrapped my arms around your waist and held onto you for my dear life, and i tried to control my sobbing but i cried and cried. you laid your lips onto the top of my head, and you shushed me, trying to convince me that everything would be alright.
you took my chin and pulled my face towards yours, and you leant in for a kiss. it was not our first time kissing but i swear to you, that felt so much like heaven. like the very first kiss of my teenage years.
it was a shy and quiet kiss, derived out of comfort and care, and your feelings for me. i felt it in your kiss. it was fireworks!
it brought me back to the very first time we did kiss, which was back to about half a year ago. but believe it or not, yesterday's kiss still added to my list of reasons why i love you.
maybe because every single memory between us is different; we may do the same things again and again, but every single date we ever had makes me happy in their own ways. no two hugs are the same.
for the million reasons why I love you, [and counting, as the days and months and years pass] no words can describe them or bring them to light. not even by a writer like me. they're all caught in the depths of your eyes, and too bad for the world, that only i can see these reasons.
I love you more than anyone can imagine, and although i didnt exactly tell you why, i hope you understand that my feelings for you are stronger than you think.
i'll stay strong for you, and i hope you stay strong with me too. i want to be with you as long as i breathe. and i really, really dont want to ever be without you.
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