My own battles

Everyone is battling their own wars, I'm pretty sure. Just that, not everyone shows it to the world. Not saying I'm one of those people, because I obviously have a blog and Twitter which I regularly update about my woes and shit.

The DAELN battle
At the start, it was all okay, I understood every little shit the lecturer was going through. As time passed, I started to lose concentration, and was basically going to class only for attendance. It didn't help when I got dumped, and when I was regularly drinking in morning classes.

Tutorials didn't help. I was in a class full of people who have known each other before, and who were always crowding around the teacher with their own questions. My social anxiety refrained me from picking up courage to ask questions myself, and it didn't help that I was seated right at the back.

I was lucky enough that my advisor, who is also my tutorial teacher for the module, bothered to reach out to me when he saw how I was struggling. He asked me about my personal problems, some of which I told, and he understood my lack of focus. He wanted to help me.

He spent an entire day going through the basics of DAELN with me, not once but twice, the first time with my other classmate and the second just me alone. The latter was on the day of my retest for the subject, as I'd failed the real common test.

Alas, I screwed up the retest as well. In fact, I got way lower marks for it than the original common test. I was so ashamed with myself when he threw the paper at me, asking me to sign it. He asked me why had I done worst, but I couldn't answer.

That was it. Ever since I screwed the retest, I was too afraid to ask him for help already. Shamelessly, I've been falling asleep in his classes, and not turning up for the lectures at all.

That's why the past few days, I'd been trying my damndest to learn this module from scratch all by myself. Its exam is around the corner, but I believed I could do it. I didn't have any friends from the same module to teach me, I know a few guys but this voice in my head just tells me, "Don't ask them. You don't have the rights to ask them, because you are nothing to them and they will think you're crazy to ask them for help when you've never talked to them before."

But it looks like the war is over already, and that I've lost. I've given up, and shall accept my fate of having to repeat this module next semester.

The alcohol battle
I dropped this habit already, once back in 2013 thanks to the asshole whose name we all know now. It was that easy then, so why is it extra difficult now?

Perhaps it's the fact that I'm already legal and now I can buy that shit literally anytime I want, not like back then when only my regular 7-11s would allow me to pass. But maybe it's also the fact that now, I'm a lot more broken than then, since this breakup was such a shock that it caused me to blow into pieces.

Quitting is harder than you think. Without it, I thirst in a way you can't imagine. I drink it for breakfast, for lunch, for dinner if I could afford that. I was treating it more precious than water, more thirst-quenching and more important than water.

Not saying that drinking makes me forget him, it just makes me so sad that I'm happy. Does that make sense? When I say I remember everything when I'm tipsy, I really meant it. It makes me happy to be miserable, to be walking in zigzags, just because. Like how The Script motivated me, "If he sees how much I'm hurting, he'd take me back for sure."

How wrong I was. Not only did he not come back, but I also chased away so many good friends because of this habit. So many people I've not talked to for so long, the last time I hung out with them being when they had to take care of me in that miserable state.

I also can't remember the last time I held someone's hand sober. This whole time, every guy who had held my hand after that asshole who dumped me was just trying to stabilise me. I was falling, so their instinctive reaction was to hold my hand. Not because they wanted to but because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. God, I may never know what love is anymore.

I've not drank for a week, ever since the incident with my new SP friend. I'm just hoping he gives our friendship a chance, if not, the longer I go without him the faster I'm gonna return to this bad habit. Again.

The home battle
I don't know where 'home' is anymore. Home is where you are supposed to feel safe, secured, and happy. Home isn't the place you are being forced to choose to be called that name. Home isn't somewhere you have to stay in two weeks, before moving to another place that's also supposed to be 'home'.

Finding out where home is shouldn't be this hard. Sure, every kid my age has their own problems within their households, but at least, at the end of the day you have somewhere that you know you have to return to. At least you know, that this is your permanent place, with your parents, or your grandmother. At least there is only one.

It's not easy to be living two weeks here, two weeks there, back and forth like that. Why can't there be somewhere I can stay forever? Must I really choose one? It's either where I was raised, or where I was given a chance to start anew. It ain't that easy to decide on one, because. I need both.

I'm not saying these two houses I'm torn between are perfect, because I have problems in both. In the case of Pasir Ris, I feel I do not belong. It was only one year but it was enough to make me feel dislocated from my own parents and blood brothers. It doesn't help that my elder brother still doesn't acknowledge my presence after a long time of not seeing me.

In the case of Paya Lebar, I don't get what I need. My grandmother pampers me too much, ensuing my disability in growing up and being independent. The longer I stay with her, the more I'll grow to need her; and then when she has to go, what will happen to me? I won't be able to survive, so I have to start living without her, starting now.

Why can't all of us live under one roof together? Won't that solve it for me? Or is everyone too busy with their own problems to consider me? Does my family not realise how much this is taking its toll on me?

The social battle
It's not easy to make friends. It's not easy to keep friends, especially those who's seen the ugly side of you. Losing a friend by being unfollowed on Twitter because you were tweeting too much is nothing; but losing a good friend because they saw the side of you which they didn't like, even after those late night conversations to know how much in pain you are, is worse.

Maybe it was still his hypocrisy or the bloody bro code, but after getting dumped, I was also rejected by his best friend, whom I had painstakingly built my friendship with. Maybe he's painfully oblivious to my love for him, in that best friend way, because I really cared for him, more than I expected. From the day we met, I took an oath to take care of him.

And what about the other friendships I had made via my relationship with the asshole, the tertiary friends I so dearly loved? I'm never gonna have lunch with them or meet them or hang out with them anymore because the first link we had together has cut off all bridges with me. Getting too close with any of them would bring a "trying to steal ex's friends" drama shit.

Making friends with my classmates is out of the question; having repeated most of my modules, I'm put in classes who are already in their own group. Everyone in the class knows everyone except me, so of course, put the new girl aside!

I have my very good friend who's been in the same boat with me since semester 1, and I'm really appreciative of her support in helping me socially and academically, but even she has better social skills than I do. She makes other friends so easily, and most of my friends from this sem were with her help. When we part ways next semester, what's gonna happen to me?

What about in terms of relationships? Guys are assholes, am learning that the terribly hard way, yet here I am still wanting to try again, to try lending my heart to someone again and see how they'd treat it. Such a high possibility that it'll get crushed, yet I'm so willing to place it in anyone's palm. What the fuck is wrong with me?

The religion battle
I can't. I just can't. It's so hard to believe in my own God, because I keep telling myself about how He's let me down, He's let me down. I have always believed in His existence, but never in His power. I keep getting angry at Him for letting me down and hurting me all the damn time.

It ain't helping that I've been watching videos about this History and Science shit that has led me to believe that actually yeah, there might be no such thing as God at all. Put together these scientific+historical shit, and my being disappointed again and again by this 'God', and I might just find myself to be an atheist in the future.

You want me to pray? What if I told you I have, but my life still turned out like shit? All those quotes about how God won't put you through something you can't handle, that's unbelievable. I clearly can't handle this shit, so please get me the fuck out of it!

But nope, I'm still deep in the waters, where in the world are You? Nowhere. His existence is so damn questionable that it's invalid.

And that's why I'm in constant battle with my religion. I just don't know if I should believe it or not.

The mental battle
The hardest war of all is my mentality. I'm turning 19 this year, but I doubt I've been acting my age. I can't stop blaming the 'demons' in my head, when really this voice is none other than my own. Once I'm left alone, this 'voice' is the only one that talks to me. And it's gaining more and more control of me than I can help.

Not gonna touch on that much. But yeah, these are my battles, everyday ones if you could say that. I know it ain't much compared to other people who are suffering more, but everyone has their own different battles. These are mine, and it may be nothing to you, but they are each taking their own tolls on me.

I'm really tired. I wish I can go through this alone, really I do, but I think it's obvious that I depend too heavily on a special someone. Girl best friends can't do shit like that, family won't believe the pain I'm going through, religion is a battle in itself, and even writing isn't doing me much.

With a special someone, I'd discover my own strength that I never thought I'd have. Pretty unbelievable, I know. But with each relationship I've been in, I discover how willing I am to go through the bullshits of life, how strong I am to take on every obstacle that comes my fucking way.

Am I the only one who feels this?

5 reasons why I ain't in TP

The question that I've been labeling as the most irritating these days is: "Why never go TP?", especially after I say that I live in the East. Come on, must every Eastern kid who isn't in TP be asked this same question over and over again?

This shall be my list of reasons for not being in TP despite being an East kid, though most are my own personal ones. If only I could shove this link up the noses of whoever asks me this damn question again in the future.

5. First of all, there is the O Level results. Because of my shitty ones, there weren't a lot of courses I was eligible for. I was lucky enough to be eligible for TP's Film, Sound & Video course [I think it changed its name though] but that was it, and that was the only course from TP which I'd applied for in my 12 choices. With my shitty grades, what were the odds of me being able to get that?

4. Secondly, at that point of my life when I was applying for JAE 2013, I really wanted to escape the East side. I hated my job at Loyang Point, I hated the family that kicked me out of their oh-so-perfect house, and I hated the people from my school [who mostly lived in Pasir Ris], which brings me to my next point.

3. Maybe it was just me, but from the graduating batch before mine, I could see a whole bunch of people from my secondary school were in TP. I couldn't help 'stereotyping' students as lazy people who would only go for the nearest poly, so I took the chance to go further. I didn't want to be in the same school with the same people again, not to be reminded of my last year in that hell hole.

2. These next 2 points aren't really reasons why I didn't go TP, but more like why I started to not mind going to a school on the other side of Singapore. I'm not gonna elaborate this one, but just leave it at the main point: I just liked being nearer to the asshole's school, so we were able to meet up easier and more often.

1. This number one reason ain't nothing new. As time passed, I found that I really liked taking the MRT from one side to another. This liking for MRTs grew to a love for the roads; the longer the bus journey, the more things I'd get to see outside the window.

In fact, I love going to school from my Pasir Ris house than from Paya Lebar, just because I get to be on two expressways in one bus journey. I don't mind waking up at 5 in the morning for my 8AM classes, because I grew to love the long bus journeys. I would never have met the roads, my love of my life, if I had gone to a nearby poly.

And hey, if you look at the Singapore map, the Bukit Timah area isn't that far from the East at all. People only say it's far because they look at the MRT map, where Pasir Ris is EW1 and Clementi is EW23.

I've learnt the hard way that roads of Singapore are not equivalent to the MRT map, so you can't judge distance via its place on the latter. Pretty much like how Hougang and Ang Mo Kio are on entirely different Lines on the MRT map despite being practically next to each other.

So please stop asking me Why never go TP!? in that tone, like I'm expected to go there just because I live in the East. No, just no. Stop. And if you show me a shocked face or gasp or go all "Huh so far!?" to know I live in Pasir Ris/Paya Lebar and schooling in Ngee Ann Poly, I will slap you.

Torn apart / Bludgeoned

____

T o r n  a p a r t .

It was back to Paya Lebar last night. My grandma wanted me to leave earlier but I wanted to watch Tangled with my little brother, so I could only leave at 9.30. Mom insisted I took a taxi but I didn't want to waste the money, and I liked to be on a bus or train anytime anyway.

I'm not sure why I got so sad as I was walking down Elias Road, down to the bus stop. The whole lane I walked was part of my childhood, how my mom and I walked that same path every Wednesday to hail a cab for my ballet lessons. I'm not even 19, yet my childhood feels like decades ago.

Must be the shit I've gotten myself into. I kept thinking, God I'm only 19. Why have I gone through so much? Why had I been abandoned by my parents, why had I gotten my innocence stolen by someone who was using me, why had I been fooled to love someone who left in the end? Are these just the pains of youth? Will this pain disappear once my age doesn't start with a 1 anymore?

Couldn't help but let the tears slip down my face, like I always do. Holding back the tears were causing me more harm than good, although it just made me a lot sadder to cry like that. Just like how you have to let go of someone that's hurting you, even if it pains you as well to be without them, right?

I tried not to cry on the MRT, though I had a fun time crying like shit from EW1 to EW2 [I saw my reflection in the window opposite, I remember how horrible I looked], but at Paya Lebar's bus stop and on bus 70M, I had to curl up and resume crying crying crying like shit.

So I decided to walk around the petrol station, because there is a little pathway that I can take to my block. Turned out, that pathway and the other was closed due to construction works, and I had to walk around the entire site in the end. Of course, halfway I started to sob for whatever reasons, and more and more fucking tears escaped out of me.

Terrible night. Terrible, terrible night. I felt so torn apart. When can I stay somewhere forever? But hey, I survived. And I'm still alive today. Therefore, I am a strong person.

____

B l u d g e o n e d . 

I was running along an alleyway that turned here and there, I was getting chased by a horde of... people, though I'm not sure if they were alive or dead. Someone was in front of me, holding out to me and asking me to hurry, that we'll make it. That someone was my only motivation in getting me to run quicker.

There was something heavy tucked in the back of my jeans, though it was only later that I saw it was a parang.

Cut to the next scene, where the camera zooms out of the tree, and pans across the enclosed concrete path. There's a house far up in the north, a little parking lot to the right, little benches propped against a rectangular bed of flowers that stretched across, and this huge flight of staircase that goes higher than you can see down in the south, facing the west.

There's a little boy, about aged 10, with his parents. His parents leave him alone for a while and go to their house, the longhouse at the end of the enclosed area. This is where the game begins.

A group of children, also about aged 10, enter the area from the parking lot and begin running around. The little boy from before go running after the other children, presumably just wanting to join in and play with them.

Every other kid runs away from him screaming, even before he picks up the stray parang on the ground. They scream even before he chases after them and bludgeons them to death. Even when a kid isn't moving anymore, he continues hitting until they are in pieces and there is blood and body parts everywhere.

One left standing, the last fat kid sits on the big staircase crying. The main character stands before the flower bed, supposedly deciding whether he should kill this last kid. His decision is made when the fat kid runs toward him; he violently swings the parang across his head, and as his body drops to the floor, he repeatedly hit him again and again, til it was just a mess of meat and bones and blood on the ground.

The boy looks to his right, and the camera zooms out and shoots the house in the distance, where his parents can be seen in the kitchen through the window. He runs to the house, but the camera angle stays where he was standing.

The camera zooms back to the tree from before, where I realise that, leaning against it, is my very own purple backpack with my Squirtle keychain hanging from it.

I don't know which is scarier; the fact that I was the boy, and killing all those kids... Or the fact that I was there and that I might be the next victim.

____

Maybe, in that beginning scene, I was that 10 year old boy, but as a teenager, thus the same parang being tucked into the back of my jeans. All the people who were chasing me were probably dead, or simpler said, zombies. My murdering them was what made them chase me; maybe it was also what made them come back alive. To seek revenge on me.

To relate that to reality, it's probably just telling me that whatever I do now will all come back to me in the end. If I want to think negatively, I'll have to consider the bad karma. But if I want to think positive, which I should, I'll have to think about how someday some guy will do for me more than everything I've done for that asshole who dumped me.

Hah, after I prayed for God not to give me any dreams and just a blank night, I get yet another dark dream full of bloody murder.

Guess I'll blog about my dreams more regularly now on, because you can't deny that they're so damn interesting.

Skull's bashed in but I'm still in love

I hate what dreams can do to you. Dreams, in the sense of ambitions, can make you so desperate, and can make you so damn devastated when you know you can never achieve them. But in this case, I hate what the dreams I have at night can do to me.

I call them dreams, not nightmares, because I've had worse than what I usually get.

My little brother wanted to hide, and he decided to do that by sitting on the kitchen window. He slipped, and ended up falling over. I could hear his voice screaming, going further and further, while all I could do was stand, look over and call out to him.

I immediately dashed out and went down in the lift [we live on the 9th floor by the way], and when the lift doors opened on the first floor, my parents were there. I looked at them hopefully, but all they could say was: "I'm sorry. There was nothing we could do."

Cut to the next scene, where I was standing in a lift lobby, just me alone. It was really dark in the place and in my soul, I could feel it. I remember the place being a sort of MRT station, probably a major interchange one, because there seemed to be different Lines on different levels.

The lift was so scary, this I remember, because I was saying out loud the Al-Fatihah. It was dark as hell too, and the lift was moving so damn slow despite it only having four levels, as I'd seen the numbers on the lift buttons.

After getting out at the ground level, I continued walking, brooding shoulders and hung head, just letting the darkness eat away at me. I didn't talk to the few people that passed me by, though they greeted me with a smile.

I got to a sort of mall, where I met with none other than the asshole who dumped me and his tertiary friend. The latter spoke to me, telling me to follow them to Courts, so I did.

The Courts were on two levels, and as we went down from the fourth, I went over to the third level entrance. But they continued on to the second level's, so I just went ahead and did my own exploring. I got to this little alleyway that was hidden next to the escalator connecting the two levels, and when the asshole's friend started chasing me, asking me to join them, that was where I hid.

I was drained at this point of time, I sat in a corner of that alleyway and just cried and cried. The asshole and his friend found me, went through the door to the alleyway where I was and came over to me. His friend tried to comfort me but all I could do was hug my knees and cry.

The whole time, the asshole never talked but eventually he knelt down in front of me, looked me in the eyes and told me to stop crying. I didn't stop.

And then he started to hit me. He was bashing my skull in, banging my head against the wall, just hitting me without a sound. I just continued crying, which soon evolved to bawling. I didn't ask him to stop but when he did, he held my head and murmured, "Oh, shit." He looked at his hands and they were bloody, and I noticed a mirror in front of me, so I caught my reflection.

I was a fucking mess. My head was bleeding like crazy, blood dripping down my face along with my tears. I could feel a gap at the back of my head, where more blood was coming out from. It was literally a gap, I could push my fingers into that hole in my head and pry open my skull just like that.

"I'm sorry," he said, and he went to sit opposite me, hugging his knees as well.

I just resumed crying. I'm not sure where his friend had gone, but the asshole who dumped me, sat across from me mirroring my position and just staring back at me. And then guess what he said? He and his fucking balls, he said, "Please marry me."

I can remember the first three words so fucking clearly. What he said afterwards, I can't recall word for word, but it went along the lines of "I'm sorry, but I'll take care of you. If you screw up, I'll stay with you and we'll clean up your mess together. You won't be alone, whatever you said was right and I was wrong. I love you so much I just want to be with you no matter how messed up you are."

He was sitting next to the mirror, and I saw my bloodied face and pathetic state next to him, a reminder of what he just did to me a few minutes before. But I said yes. I said: "Okay, I will marry you."

This obviously means that I'm currently still at his disposal aren't I? I would get stripped of my everything, and when I'm left all alone he could hit me and injure me all he wants, but at the end of the day if he ever uses his charm on me I'd always fall for it.

That just sucks doesn't it.

Moving on is harder than I thought.

A side note: My dreams at night are darker than you think. The atmosphere, the places, the "camera angles", they're all out of a horror movie and then some. That's why I'm really scared of them, they can get real scary sometimes. My own words aren't enough to bring out the depth of my dreams; it's something you'll have to see for yourself in order to feel the fear that I go through every night.

Yes, these are just dreams. Words can't even begin to describe the horror of what I call "nightmares". And I can't forget how I looked like in the mirror, and the look of regret that the asshole had on his face as he was staring at me. It was a look of remorse and at the same time a look of satisfaction.

The spark is going

We've been hanging out the past week. We study at his school, though most of the time he's teaching me or we're both just fooling around. We've known each other for more than a year, but we've never gotten to know the other more.

He's really adorable. I love the smug smile he gives every time he manages to annoy me. I love how nerdy he looks. I love how we glance at each other without saying a word and burst into chuckles. I love the way he gives me a flying kiss when he's going off to play soccer.

Never thought I'd feel this way again. I told myself not to screw up this one. I told myself, take care of him properly no matter how hurt you are by another. I told myself, take it slow. Because I really liked him for who he was, and with him, my anger is so easily forgotten.

I've gone to new places when I'm with him, and not just literally but in a metaphorical sense too. He brings me to a certain kind of happiness that I can't describe, just as I thought I would never get up again. Even if I thought I'd move on, I never thought it would be this easy. Quick like a bullet shot to the head where you don't have to suffer.

He brought me to his clique's favourite place, which had felt like the start of something new. And on Wednesday, we were going to take the bus back to Pasir Ris [it was his turn to sacrifice his concession; his is for the MRT and mine is for the bus] when someone called to him from a car.

His friend offered to drop us to Simei, and I was reluctant at first but I just went along with it. I've always loved buses and trains, never a big fan of cars exactly. But I absolutely loved being beside him in his friend's, looking out the window, being on my roads.

The best part? We actually went on the Marina Coastal Expressway, the new expressway which just opened late last year. I didn't know until I heard his friend talking about the Marina Barrage above us, and I just had to cut in: "What expressway are we on...?"

I couldn't help getting excited, and he started teasing me, as if he didn't know my obsession with roads and expressways.

"She looks familiar," his friend remarked about me. I knew it was impossible for him to know me straightout as me, so I just told him my elder brother's name, thinking he'd know him. Surprisingly, the name meant nothing to him, but he insisted that he'd seen my face before.

He and I got to Simei, thanked his friend for the ride, and made our way to his home. I loved how I knew the way just by knowing his block name and street number.

It would have been a great day and all, if I hadn't decided to drink while walking. I told myself, just one bottle, but that taste left me wanting more so I bought another. I let him see that side of me, and I so deeply fucking regret because now he ain't talking to me.

It confuses me though. We did talk about how he'd one day accompany me drink, but only after we finish studying for the day. Which was just what happened that night; as long as I didn't drink while he was teaching me, it's fine. I really don't get it.

Still, I think I've learnt my lesson. This habit is ruining a friendship. I've said sorry and that I will quit, and that I hoped he would talk to me like normal again. I swear, if he would just text me like normal, smother me with good mornings and babes, I swear I will never ever touch alcohol ever again.

And that's what happened. My most recent heartbreak, and my most recent addition to my debate of Guys are more complicated than girls!!!

Getting up

There was once I had the best Monday of the year, it was a beautiful day and then some, but I hadn't had the chance to blog about it.

That Monday in October, when everything was perfect. When I wore a long skirt to school and the one whom I'd called my world back then said I was gorgeous. When I sat on the top deck of bus 197, which ran alongside trains on the tracks between Lavender and Kallang, with the sunset on my hair. When I reached home, at Paya Lebar, to receive a call from my granny that she was on the way home after one week at Johore.

That was a perfect Monday, three months ago. Just recently, the whole beauty of that day was shattered, and I never went anywhere near the memory, just to run away from the fact that it's over.

Here came another Monday, entirely different from then: I wasn't living in Paya Lebar anymore; I didn't have any boy's hand to hold anymore; I couldn't sit on the top deck of a bus and ride alongside trains anymore.

Yesterday, I'd gone to Singapore Poly to study alongside a new buddy of mine, with his group of friends. I was alone yet I was not alone, thanks to their company. They have a sort of hideout which they called "Narnia" because of the view, and they brought me to see for myself. I can't even begin to describe my feelings when I sat there.

Thinking about it, I was sad that the perfection of my life from last year was over. I still couldn't believe that he left just like that, and that I actually went back to Pasir Ris. Two things which I'd sworn would never be. It was hard to accept that these two things had truly happened, and I couldn't help but let a few tears slip away.

As I stayed there longer alongside this other guy that cared for me at the moment, I felt a little lighter. I told myself that this is 2014. It's the start of something new, as much as I don't want to leave my previous happiness behind. It was saddening, yet hopeful at the same time. This feeling, it's hard to describe.

And then came today: for a girl who's having trouble finding out where 'home' is for her, I guess the only time where I feel at the right place is on the expressway. When you're in love, you see the beauty which others don't, like you have your own third eye. That's how I feel for my roads; no other kid my age would appreciate them like I do, and that makes me feel in a way, that they're mine alone.

It's not easy to forget; everyone tells you to move on but they don't tell you how. But I think I've figured it out myself; you move on by moving back. Go back to the life you had before, back to the person you were before you deemed yourself as happy.

You may think I'm crazy, but it makes sense to me, because "back", is back to when you didn't know what was happiness and what was not, and you'd feel contented with whatever that comes into your life.

And as usual, here I'd be writing these sentimental shit, pretty sure I'm making sense, but in reality, I won't bother to put in effort to heed my own words. But I want to try. I have so much in me to give, and I'd start by giving my best to myself.

Torn between

I was supposed to go back to Paya Lebar tonight, but I'm just so damn sick and tired of transferring from here to there, getting tossed around like a soccer ball so I stood up for myself and demanded that I'd like to stay at Pasir Ris for another week.

It's tough getting torn between two houses. I'm being forced to choose which one to call "home", and choosing both is not an option. I honestly would rather be alone altogether, than having to stay here for one week and then there for another. I feel so damn fucking unwanted.

I've been getting along with my parents, which is an awesome thing, but I still can't help feeling that "I don't belong here" feeling. One year without them feels like a decade, like I'm not supposed to come back ever. Up to this day, three weeks after I'd decided to return, I still feel like a distant relative who's staying just for a while. After all I was the one who decided on this; nobody from this family asked me to come back.

I feel awkward when my brother's getting scolded by my parents, like how you'd feel when your friend is getting scolded by theirs. My parents have been way too nice, and their hospitality is through the roof. It feels weird, knowing how they were towards me the entire year before they kicked me out. It doesn't feel right. Like I'm not part of the family anymore.

Nothing feels right. Everyday I ask, what the hell am I doing with my life? I feel way better being on my own, out of any houses, and just being on my roads. My roads are my true home; being on the expressway is better than anywhere else, because it feels like home and freedom at the same time. Where else can I feel that way? Nowhere. Maybe your arms, but fuck you.

And speaking of you, yeah fuck you. I was having a peaceful time listening to music at midnight last night, when you came along and gave me a DM. He gave his bullshit stories, and we exchanged a few "courtesies" before he finally said, "I was about to give you a chance but you just had to write that blogpost."

Fuck you bro. If you had really wanted to give me a chance, you would have given it a long time ago. Where the fuck was that chance when I was crying in front of you on the day you left? Where the fuck was that chance when I went one week without drinking, expecting some miracle to happen? Where the fuck was that chance when I told you I'd found a piece of hope? Where the fuck was that chance when I wrote like 5 other blogposts being nice and asking you directly would you like to give me a chance?

One blog post was enough to ruin your pride huh? Yeah, and a year's worth of memories and effort from both of us weren't enough to make you stay. And what about my other blog posts that were asking you nicely to try again like this and this and this and fucking this? Big fat FUCK YOU to you.

Don't say I didn't give you a chance. I gave you plenty. You were the one who didn't take them and ended up pissing the fuck out of me in the end. Fuck you. You broke my heart; I broke your pride. I'd say "I guess we're even now" but I won't because we're not because you. fucking. shattered me. more than you think.

Fucking long post for a stupid fool

You know how they always say "Wow this kind of guy still exists?"

That 'kind of guy', I had found. Someone who understood me, found time for me, always gave in to me, made silly faces with me, wiped away the dirt from my face, wiped away my tears, listened to me, a best friend to me. He found me, to be more specific. I had that 'kind of guy'.

On the other hand, there's also that other 'kind of guy', that also makes people go "Wow this kind of guy still exists?"

That 'kind of guy', is the jerk. The desperate one that sweet talks girls into wanting him, only to get tired of them and dumping them one by one. The kind that sees a potential prey, and paces around it til he captures it. I also had that 'kind of guy'.

These two guys from my life are the same.

If you've been a consistent reader of this blog of mine, you'd know how much I cherished this guy. You'd know how grateful I'd been for his presence, how happy I'd been in the relationship, how hard I'd fought to keep it going. Thinking it over, I was probably just paying it back.

He never gave up on me at the beginning of the year. I was already a mess before he met me, and I remained so even after we got together. He tried so hard to get my attention, and when he did, he continued trying to make me happy. The walls I built up around me went crashing down at a mere touch of his finger. He melted my heart so easily, after the entire year I spent trying to protect it.

Even after we got together, I was still a little shaky over the past, but he was always there for me. Eventually I dropped all the bad addictions, with the support and encouragement from him. Yes, I just dropped them; it was that easy with his help. I was blinded by my feelings for him.

He kept telling me how he'd never liked any girl like he liked me. He always told me he sayang me so much, which I thought was a stronger word than 'loved'. He once told me about how he always prayed for me on his last sujud, that I would go back to the way I once were.

The first time he abandoned me was in the mid of April. I made a big mistake, and I let my anger get the best of me. He had been neglecting me since he started school a week before I did, and I was still angry about it. I got too close with a new guy friend from my Sem 1 class, and I even allowed him to hold my hand and kiss me on the cheek.

I did think about him; but only the fact that he had been ignoring me and neglecting me and I just wanted to get his attention.

When he found out, he left me stranded on his turf, somewhere in Woodlands. I was too upset to find my own way back, and at that time I wasn't very good at getting around to places on my own. I just cried and cried til I eventually got up and cabbed back to my aunt's place. That was the first mistake I did, and the first time he abandoned me.

It was only half a year later that he told me; he only came back for me because he was afraid that if I left, he wouldn't have anyone else that wanted him.

September, 2013. I made my second mistake. It was all the same as before; he was neglecting me, I was getting too close with some other guy, he found out and just ditched me. This time, the guy was his own best friend. I knew it'd hurt, but the only reason I used his own best friend was because I knew he'd tell him, and that way I would get the attention I wanted.

This time, I had to fight harder for him to come back. Alright, it wasn't really fight, but I went drinking and that's when all the honesty came out from me. His close friend from tertiary was there, and she listened, and I told her everything, and she as well as my own secondary best friend helped us get back together again.

Was it so bad that I so badly craved the attention of my own boyfriend? Was it so hard to give a portion to me, knowing that I didn't have parents or brothers or friends to talk to like he did?

My 18th birthday came, and I received a phone call from Malaysia, his voice on the other end cheering "Happy birthday!" how I hated those words. How I longed for him to be right beside me instead, spending the time instead of muttering a pair of useless words.

I blogged about why I hated birthdays, and all he could say was "You just had to make me feel more like shit huh.", and he started to hate on me. It drove me mad that when I was upset, he wouldn't bother finding out why, and instead decide to turn the tables and get angry at me instead, and in the end I'm the one who has to comfort him. I guess that's just how much I put aside my ego for him.

One day in late September or early October, I can't remember, I just finished work when he texted me; "Can I not talk to you? You're too, ehrm, over attached." I remember these exact words.

I didn't understand why he would say that. I was just being a girlfriend, texting him whenever I could, asking him what he was doing and shit. The word was so sharp, I started trying not to be too 'over-attached'. I didn't know how to, and in the end, I just ended up crying because I felt like I was neglecting him instead.

The day I decided to talk to him about it, he'd made me wait for three hours, sitting in the library while he went for gym. By the time he came I was in tears, and then I started hitting him, because I was so angry that I didn't know what he wanted. Attention or space, either way, I thought I'd given my best to give a fair share of both.

It's hard to be perfect. It's hard to give the best of both worlds, not too much of this or too little of that. But I gave my best, like how he had done for me at the beginning of the relationship.

That very night that I cried and spilled my heart to him, we kissed. He whispered to me, "I think I love you." I asked him what he meant by that; he told me, that all along, he never loved me like that. He only liked me, which of course felt like a huge difference from loved. He also mentioned: "This is the first time I kissed you without wanting to have sex with you."

The first time we did it was in late February, or late March, I don't quite remember. It was probably my fault; like his best friend had mentioned to me in September; "A girl becomes desirable once she's had sex with a guy before." As innocent as he had been before me, once he knew my past, he was already getting ideas.

So I'm not sure whose fault it was. I've been asked Who started it?, but as you can see, it was both of us. I don't mind taking the blame for him though.

Our first time, I was still buried in the darkness of the past, and that's why I just let it happen. As time passed and I fell for him harder, I wanted so badly to get him out of the mess. I knew I couldn't return him his precious virginity, but it was all I could do to bring him back nearer to God instead of further, like I'd done.

It was hard, yes. We did it a few more times, the last being in mid July, was it? Two days before the fasting month, that I remember. I was having so much troubles in school, being a social outcast and with my grades, and I let my wanting sex slip out. He was just trying to make me happy, he skipped school to meet me and brought me to East Coast Park, where he said there was a good place.

I remember this one text he sent me, before he came to Jurong East Library to fetch me, every exact word; "Promise me this is the last time we have sex before marriage."

I promised. And I kept that promise, no matter how much he begged, no matter how much I myself wanted it, because I didn't want us to live on that. And because I didn't want to ruin him any further. I knew it was impossible to get him back to the innocent person he was before, so the least I could have done was not to bring him further. I wasn't perfect, but of course, I did my best. What's more, our dates were enjoyable enough with his little antics and my being stupid, little shit like that that bound us together.

Speaking of promises, he promised he would never leave me. He even made me promise never to leave him. I kept it. How many times had I been so angry at him, how many times had I wanted him to disappear forever and never come back, how many times had I myself wanted to leave, but I couldn't, because I kept my word.

I also learnt from one of my storybooks that if you ever felt like leaving, you gotta think of why you held on. Think about the things you've done for him, or what he's done for you. At these points of times, he definitely did so much for me, sacrifices and time, and I didn't want his efforts to be for nothing. Likewise, I'd done quite my share for him.

What's more, it pained me to imagine him being alone.  It hurt me to imagine him coping with his stresses alone, not having anyone to check on him asking how was he. As silly as it sounds, I was worried that one day he'd be alone. I didn't want to be responsible for his loneliness anytime, so I fought hard to make sure he would never go through anything without me.

I figured he would keep his end of the promise as well. I remembered how he always wanted a girl who would stay with him no matter what; that's what we were: we stayed, no matter what. For a whole year. He knew how I was like, he knew my favourite things and food, he knew my hopes and dreams.

As poor as the both of us were, we made it through.  Do you know how much I was willing to give up just to make him happy? How many times have I given up my last few dollars to pay for his meal? How many times did I part with twenty bucks to buy him his Garena cards just to make him happy?

I wasn't that rich, I worked but I wasn't getting allowance from any adult, since my parents were still on hiatus from their roles, and he knew that. As bad as he felt, he said one day he'd pay back; and I didn't mind if he meant paying me back when we were married and he was the breadwinner of the family. We were kids dreaming up silly fantasies, but I had the ounce of faith that he meant it.

Was I just being silly? His best friend had talked to me, back in May, about how he was; "He's that kind of guy who is so damn popular, he'd find a girl in no time, sweet talk her, use her, get bored of her, leave her, feel guilty, use her again, then, the day after, he just finds another prey to repeat the cycle." [exact words, thanks to the useful Search function in Whatsapp]

I chose not to believe it, but I suppose he was right. I was so stupid to overlook his own best friend's words. The one person who knew him more than I did.

The reason he gave me for leaving me was his losing interest in me. Honestly, I've already felt that since mid October, around there, because I have a diary entry talking about my feelings regarding that. I know I'd been trying hard since then, trying so hard to make him happy, and not to forget, trying so hard to make sure he didn't go any further from God.

When our holidays in December started, we were meeting much lesser. The last time we went on a proper date was to watch Frozen, on his last day of school in early December. The whole time after that, I never got to see him once because he was never able to go out. His promises of going exploring and cycling with me were put on hold, but I didn't mind and just did my own travelling.

Even texting was hard, because he was almost always gaming. I tried to let it go, I was feeling neglected as fuck, but I tried not to get too bothered by it. I didn't want to repeat the two mistakes I did when he was neglecting me back then. As long as he was happy, I kept quiet.

His tertiary friends were planning a surprise for his 17th birthday, 26th of December, which I hadn't wanted to be part of because of my grudge against birthdays. I decided to forget this anger and went ahead with it, because I knew how he hadn't had any special birthdays before. I just wanted to help make his day special.

I never forget how I suffered for my 17th birthday, and how he had upset me on my 18th, but I let it go, just so I could go ahead with his tertiary friends' plan and make him happy.

I was sad that he hadn't managed to make it on his own day even after confirming that he would be able to go out, and that was when I decided that yup, I hate birthdays. But then two days later, I tried again, as a belated birthday surprise, and this time it worked. How happy I was on that day that the surprise was a success.

I hadn't managed to get him any birthday presents, but the last thing I got him was a maroon sweater from H&M, which he had been looking for for so long. He picked out a navy blue one for me, but I paid for both.

During my first week of school, there was this point of time that I couldn't take it anymore. He had taken 12 hours to reply my text, and that was at 1am, so I didn't bother replying. However morning came and I was about to reply him when I forgot or something, so he thought I ignored him. He grew increasingly upset as the day passed, so in the end I decided to say sorry to him.

He blocked me on Whatsapp and Viber, and I absolutely had no idea why or what to do. He came to eventually, and we had a talk but I knew something was still wrong. I tried to be nicer to him since that incident, because I really didn't want to lose him.

He dumped me two days after our first anniversary. With the reason "I just don't love you anymore."

Wasn't that unfair? It took him a few seconds to like me,
ten months to love me,
two months to lose that bit of interest,
and three weeks to hate me.

All that effort of mine... For nothing.

It's a shock, really. I never thought he'd be this cruel.

____

I'm done for now, but you can go to my ask.fm if you've any questions.

Racial Discrimination in Singapore

This is a report I'm doing for one of my modules. It was due last week, and everyone had submitted theirs way before then. I didn't even do any shit, and was made to come to class yesterday to finish this, when all my classmates hadn't needed to come. Since I've nothing much to blog about these days, why don't I let you read what shit I've written in my report?

I have a lot more opinions about the issue of racial discrimination in Singapore, but whatever.

Racial Discrimination in Singapore

1. Introduction

For a country that prides itself on the fact that it is multi-racial, Singapore may be seen from the outside as a state whereby people of all races or religions live together in peace and harmony. Singapore is a very special place, founded and intended to be a place where everyone could flourish and prosper; a place where you can be yourself and comfortable with your own ethnicity, culture and religion, and at the same time feel part of a bigger unity with the same nationality shared. Singapore not only has to celebrate its similarities, but differences as well. The purpose of this report is to highlight the reasons for the issue of racial discrimination, and why it must be prevented.

2. Why is there discrimination?

The question to ask is, "why do people discriminate?" There are many possible explanations, some of which being, people discriminate because they are afraid, and most of the time, they fear because they do not have a clear and precise understanding of a certain something. So when people speak against the wedding practices of another race, it is because there were not familiar with the practice of this other race. As they are in the middle of doing something in their own time, instead of taking initiative to go down to see for themselves what the wedding of another race is like, a person might choose to look at things from their own perception, and prefer to believe that the wedding is just a disturbance.

A popular form of inequality and discrimination in Singapore is the apparent preferred treatment that majority of citizens with Chinese heritage enjoy, over those with Indian or Malay backgrounds. For example, employment ads explicitly state that the position is preferred to be filled by a Chinese person. This division along races is an unfortunate reality of daily life in Singapore, which often boasts about its status as a multi-racial country. However, certain laws have done all but silenced debates on matters of race and ethnicity, making it very difficult to address the problem of racial discrimination in Singapore publicly.

3. Types of Discrimination 

3.1 Discrimination on the net
Shimun Lai, a Nanyang Polytechnic student, had felt frustrated and angry toward a certain race and vented it via racist remarks on her Twitter page. These comments were uncalled for, and particularly hurtful towards Indians, as she had mentioned: "Indians need their own form of transport. Or trains need to have separate cabins for humans and dogs", making it clear that she categorised Indians as low as "dogs".  (http://sg.news.yahoo.com/, 2012)

Another incident, this time against the Malays, showed how Amy Cheong had vented her frustrations about a Malay wedding happening at the void deck of her home, feeling annoyed just because the custom she knows and possibly grew up with is not the same way. She garnered much attention after putting up the remark, with netizens calling her disrespectful. It was also reported that her comment was lodged to the police. (http://news.asiaone.com/, 2012)

3.2 Discrimination in jobs
Over the years, little has changed. Job advertisements today state “Must be able to speak Mandarin” as a very important job requirement. This is done presumably to ease business communications with mainland Chinese and Taiwanese companies and certain authorities, but the truth is, these Chinese and Taiwanese representatives have their own cultural differences that local bosses are not sensitive to, hence they may need translators. So what does it matter for one to be fluent in Mandarin when a skilled translator is used? (www.transitioning.org, 2011)

Another factor lies in the military. No matter how tempted a Malay male is to join the Navy as a regular, they know that they can never fulfill this dream because of the fact that certain units in the army, and mostly the air force, are out of bounds to Malays, despite how high their capabilities and how fit they are. It is appalling to know that such policies exist for a reason such as "security", even after these Malays have sworn to protect their own nation against aggressors, whether or not they share the same religion as certain terrorists. (www.transitioning.org, 2011)

A survey was conducted to determine the country’s progress in building harmonious relations among races and religions, and covered 4,131 Singapore residents. According to the response, about  67% of Malays have faced discrimination at some point when applying for jobs in Singapore; 60% for Indians, and 39% for Chinese. When the surveyors asked the respondents “How often do you feel racially discriminated when being considered for a job promotion?”, the results were similar: 63% of Malays faced discrimination;  58% for the Indians and 40% for the Chinese. (Institute of Policy Studies, 2013)

4. Why must discrimination be stopped?

Racial discrimination in Singapore brings about social tension among the existing races. The more the Chinese benefit from certain policies, the more the minority of races will feel angry towards them. This way, the races will not live in harmony at all, but instead, grow further apart because of this unnecessary division. Singapore, being a multi-racial country, has to make sure that all its races and religions are treated equally, whether or not they form the majority of the country.

5. Conclusion

It is definitely true that on the surface, Singapore might seem like a perfect state where residents of all ages, religions, and races peacefully coexist. However, this does not mean that discrimination in Singapore does not exist, although it is often not openly visible. For a country who constantly prides itself to be a multi-racial country, Singapore has to make sure that the differences in the country brings the people together instead of bringing about disputes, like it has over time. By highlighting the main issues of where discrimination has been found and extracted from, the people of Singapore should be able to see the problems they have brought about along time, and that everyone has to do their part to keep the harmony going, because differences are what should bring the people together.

____

Letting you go

When I was taking residence at my aunt's place at Paya Lebar, I swore myself an oath that I would never return back to my parents, ever. I swore to make sure they spent their remaining Hari Rayas without me, that they would never watch me graduate with a diploma, that they would never look at me as their daughter again. That was how strong my grudge was, how badly I didn't want to forgive them.

But I did. I put away my ego, and I returned. 

Although I've been caught in between two homes ever since, I really enjoy being a Pasir Ris girl again. I find myself back in the sadness of 2012, yet at the same time, the glee and joy of the other years of my previous life.

I find myself in 2008, when I was still so obsessed with anime and all things part of the Japanese culture. When I would sit on the computer for hours catching up on seasons of different series; when I would listen to only strictly JRock and JPop on the bus trip to school; when I would sit at my desk drawing stupid little manga versions of me. When I learnt that being proud and letting people know what you like was easy.

I find myself in 2009, when I started writing in my diaries again. When I would sit at my desk religiously every night and write about how I was feeling, what had happened during the day. When I wrote shallow entries that did not make me cry or frown in anger as I was writing. When I could so easily handle my emotions myself, and just love the people who were around me.

I find myself in 2010, when I would go for walks around when I was upset. When I would plug in my earpiece, listen to that one song that hits me hard, on repeat. When Pasir Ris Park was my true home, where there was nobody around but the ghosts of the past. When there was nothing to reminisce but happy childhood memories. When I understood that sometimes we gotta let our loved ones be alone for a while.

I find myself in 2011, when I was attached to the PS3. When I would sit on it for hours, defeating swarms of soldiers with my throwing knives, or shooting the heads off zombies with my favourite weapon, the shotgun. When I myself thought it was okay to neglect other people in order to game. When I knew how it felt like to vent your frustrations on virtual enemies.

I find myself in 2012, when my love for my parents were through the roof no matter what. When our friendship wasn't as close as before, which I took as chances to improve bonds with them. When I wasn't under the same roof every day of the week, which I used to appreciate every moment with them more. When I was broken, but tried to fix myself by being with them.

You never knew me when I was a Pasir Ris girl. You never knew me when I had a bedroom, when I had a PS3, when I had my parents. You never knew me when I had no grudges. Here I am, re-enacting that person I was, being happy again. I've learnt that doing this isn't for you, but for my own good. It's your loss that you didn't take the chance I offered to get to know me better in a different light.

It doesn't matter. I don't need you anymore. I have other things to spend my time on. I'm not a Paya Lebar girl anymore; I'm not broken like I had been; I'm not a scared girl hiding under a beanie and pile of hair anymore; I'm not heavy with anger, or grudge, or memories that I can't let go. I'm not the girl you had met a year ago.

I've grown taller, and become lighter, my heads are up higher, and I shall be happier. I'm letting go of you now. Thank you again for everything. Good luck finding another girl who would appreciate you, dismiss your flaws, and do her best for you.

Dedication

No idea what the hell happened. One minute, I was crying at the side of the road, because I was lost as fuck and my emotions were overwhelming. Lost+emotional=one big mess. The next minute, I woke up with a blocked nose, a burning throat and a super high fever.

The funny thing was, I woke up in my bed at Pasir Ris, when I'm very sure that night I'd been supposed to go back to Paya Lebar. I remember, Jalan Baiduri, or Telok Kurau lorong J or H, I can't recall, that area, I'm very sure it's towards Paya Lebar.

Just did some research, and I've gotten sick because I didn't drink alcohol when I was already super used to it. But you know what? Even if so, even if I don't remember what the hell happened, I definitely did not. Touch. Alcohol. And I will never.

I say I will go one week without it, so I will fucking go one week without it. No matter how sick I get, I'd deal with it. And once my week is up, whatever I deserve, I will fucking get it.

____

Diary entry from 7th October, 2013. 

Yes, I am writing. Writing, not blogging, with the pen my best friend gave me, in the journal my aunt presented me with. Why am I writing? I don't know what else to do. It's so difficult to even talk to you.

Times have changed. Months have passed, and things definitely wouldn't stay the same. Those cliche quotes on Tumblr, always stating the reason why relationships don't work out is because one person stops 'chasing'. I don't mean to push the blame, but in this case, it's definitely you.

In the past, you were always so excited to talk to me. You always found joy in being in a conversation with me, just being silly, and you get worried if I don't reply in three minutes. Not to forget, I'd fall asleep in the middle of talking to you, and I'd wake up to see tons of texts from you.

Now, you'd reach home, end the conversation with "I'm gonna game now." You leave me waiting for you til past midnight, only to tell me "I'm going to sleep now." It's so difficult to talk to you. Even telling you straight out Hey, I wanna talk to you doesn't work anymore. What's happened to you???

I still melt when you look at me. Heck, just a glance from you and I'm already feeling butterflies. I still love daydreaming about you kissing me. I daydream about you all the time at work! The way your eyelashes fall against the hollow of your cheekbones... Yes, I peek at your face when we kiss. I can't resist.

My point is,... I'm still chasing you. I always will, you know. My feelings for you still feel like a crush. There're still so many things I must know about you, so many dates I want to go on with you, so many places to explore with you.

I'm not done chasing you. I wish you'd feel the same.

I'm writing this because there's no other way to let it out. I don't have the chance to even talk with you, and even if I do, you'd just think that all I've written in this entry is bullshit. Like you always do.

I miss you. I miss you in any way possible. I miss your touch; I miss talking to you; I miss who you are, or were, when we first met. I'm sorry if my difficulties have changed you. I'm trying to get you back. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

____

I knew from back then already, that you were losing interest for me. I tried not to let that go further, I thought I tried to get you back. I was on the verge of giving up, but I held on. Did I not try hard enough, I wonder?

You once told me to list the times and things I've done for or sacrificed for you, but honestly if you ask me heads on like that, I can't give you the answers. I do remember my last sacrifice for you, and that is your 17th birthday.

You knew how much I hated birthdays. You knew you hadn't managed to do anything for my 18th, no matter how badly I'd wanted to see you. Yet, on your 17th, I did my best to give you a special birthday, because you had never celebrated your day before.Was that not good enough..?

I tried to be nicer to you, because I did not want to lose you.
Just like how you were so nice to me, because you wanted to gain me.

When you came to me, I was still trying so hard to push everyone away. I didn't want you near me, but you tried your damndest to make me change my mind about that. You were so nice, you tried to cheer me up when I was down. In the end, you won.

If you could melt my heart like that when I didn't want you, why can't I do the same for you now when you don't want me anymore? Is it because you've never had anyone fight for you this way before, like how I never had anyone so determined to break down my walls, the way you did...?

When you say "I don't deserve you", do you mean that you're too good for me, or that I'm too good for you? Because either way, I'd still want you. If you're too good for me, I promise I'd try to be that better person you deserve. If I'm too good for you, I promise I'd try to help you be that better person for me.

I'm sorry I hadn't tried hard enough. I'm sorry I let you lose your interest in me, just like that. But I'm so, so, so, so, so, willing to try, like I've said so many times... I swear, with my parents around me now, I'm gonna be so much better for you. Just let me. I plead.

____

Luke

This special friend, whom I'd met about a year ago now. At that time, I'd only heard of him, stories and tales of the chaos they got themselves into, silly shit that they did which made me laugh, made me want to meet him.

Before I met him I was judging him, I'd thought he was the kind who's open, noisy as hell at first meeting, shit like that. But when we met, he was so shy and awkward, even with a mutual companion between us. I could see him shivering, though at that time I thought it was just the cold.

He was cute too, with his little fang at the side of his mouth when he smiled. Together with his best friend, they were super annoying, and I remember how they purposely held hands to spite me, and how I tried so hard to come between them.

The first time we talked, without having the faggot as our mutual friend, was in April, two days before my first day of school. At that time the two of them were having their bitch fight, quite a horrible one I must say, and I was caught in between.

This one time, I tried to get them to eat pizza with me, without knowing that the other was gonna be present. The faggot came, but his best friend realised my trick, and refused to come because he was there. I was such a failure.

I should have tried harder to patch them up, and I did, but I thought it was a good time to learn more about him. At that time I hadn't had my own best friend, and I was really jealous of their close friendship. I guess that's how my own friendship with this special friend evolved.

Just a few days of conversation and he was already picking on me the way a best friend would. I felt bad that I was stealing someone's best friend when I was supposed to patch them up, but up til now I've no regrets. Because he is an amazing person.

I'd always known about how he really liked all things Science. I tried to make our conversations revolve around such topics, asked him some questions to get him talking. It was a great way to get him talking, and I really liked listening to him go on about what he really liked.

Time passed and our conversations became more random and sillier, talking about all kinds of shit, especially when his best friend was neglecting me. It was nice talking to this friend, and listening to him; I really appreciated how we talked about anything without being afraid of getting judged of the other. And he did tell me he was grateful for the fact that I didn't judge him for anything he said.

September came. His best friend and I had our first breakup, which he had been involved in. Maybe we had gotten a little too much closer than we were supposed to.

Things between the faggot and I were fine again, and I was just randomly playing with his phone when I saw his best friend's texts to him. He mentioned how I was an annoying little prick and that he was thankful that "at least now I don't have to layan that girl anymore".

That really hurt me, I couldn't hide that. All along, I really thought he liked talking to me, that he was grateful to have me because no one else ever listened to him. He really said that, and I really thought that, but I guess I was wrong. I was so angry and from then on I called him nothing but a hypocrite.

One day in October he sent me a long text, explaining that he'd only been saying mean stuff about me so that the faggot wouldn't get the wrong idea about us. Kind of protecting our friendship. I tried to shun it and call it an excuse and remain angry at him, but a larger part of me decided to take it, forgive him, and revert our friendship back to before. Just not closer than the faggot would've liked.

We seldom hung out, but this friend and I developed a real special friendship there. I liked to think the three of us as a happy family, the faggot being the husband and this special friend as our son. Because that's how he was like; I liked how he would always whine to me, or tell me about his fears, or get angry at me when I was having pizza and he was not. He was like a spoilt brat, but a really loveable one. Like how your own son or daughter would be to you.

I was constantly asking him more and more questions about Science, and he was also one of the first few people I'd told I wanted to be an engineer. He talked to me about anything Science, from stars to pumping of blood to some carbon monoxide shit. Because I asked.

And the time this friend and I went town together, as a replacement for the faggot who backed out last minute. How we hunted for the perfect pair of shoes for him, because he had mentioned wanting new shoes, for such a long time, and I was so hell bent on getting those for him.

Once, he mentioned that I was closer to him than his own best friend was, and that I knew him better than he did. I felt terrible for that, I was betraying the faggot, I was making his best friend betray him; but it was nice to know that I meant something to someone.

Every time I had problems with the faggot, I'd try talking to this friend first, because he was after all the one who knows him the best. Sure, most of the time when I'm being sad to him, his response would be annoying, the jokes coming at the absolutely wrong timing.

I'm not sure when he said this, but I remember so fucking clearly how he once said: "If he ever left you, for real, without ever coming back, I promise I'll be the first person to lend you a shoulder to cry on."

I'm not sure if he remembers this, or was it really said in this one simple sentence, maybe it was lines exchanged between us, but hey guess what. He kept the promise. He kept it, he listened to me whine last Monday, he stroked my hair and held me while I cried, he struggled bringing me back to the MRT station while I was tipsy as hell.

That's why, along with this incident, you keeping your promise, I believe you're a good guy. You were an awesome good friend to me, and I know for a fact that you're gonna go further than your best friend, despite having the least experience in love among your group of friends.

I can tell, that when you find someone, you're gonna be a fucking prince who treats her like she's the only person in your eyes. I may not know you before, I may not know you like how your other classmates do, but fuck it I know a good guy when I see one. I'd like to believe that whatever you've told me, your fears and your dreams, are true and sincere, and you mean every fucking thing you've ever said to me, and for that,... I really believe you're gonna be awesome in love someday.

Honestly, a part of me wishes that I can be that girl. It's a tiny crush that I've gotten since that night with you, after my break-up. When I realised how pretty your brown eyes were, and that little fang at the side of your mouth when it's open ajar. You're really handsome you know that, and you're such a loveable character on the inside too. As much as I wish it'd be me, I hope you find someone soon. Someone who loves you as much as you love her, like how you told me you'd wanted.

You don't have to return me the money for your shoes. You deserve to keep the money more than I do, and just take it as a thank you from me. Because, well, thank you. For being a really good friend, for being there when I needed cheering up, for being annoying and making me angry, for being my only hope in moving on.

P.s. a side note: the thing in September makes me realise that he may or may not still be a hypocrite, he may be still bad-mouthing me to the faggot and their other classmates, I don't know, but I'd like to believe not.

One week without drinking!?

Met up with Siying two days ago, probably my last drink til whenever. She challenged me to go one week without drinking a drop of alcohol, and I took it. I'm gonna do it!

But guess what? One day in, and I'm already dying. I went yesterday without that shit, and I think that in itself is a pretty amazing thing. I know that once I'm addicted to something I won't be able to go that long without it, but hey I can do this.

It isn't as easy as it seems though. But I know I gotta stop this shit before it makes an impact on my future blablabla *insert some lecture about the impacts of alcohol here* kay.

So here I am in school, it's programming now but I can't help getting distracted. I've no choice but to take the ring out of my nose in class, so that I can fucking breathe. But I still have to push it back in at other times, because I can't deny I look stupid with it.

[When I say push it in, I mean push it up my nose because it's the only way to hide it. Pull it out is displaying it, if you get what I mean. I can't remove it, because I don't want the hole to close. It cost me twenty bucks kay] [I can hear you say "Siape suruh pierce?" shut up.]

Honestly, I don't know what's in it for me. I don't drink for one week, and then what? What do I get? A chance to get back with you? I wanna hope so, but my brain tells me no. But my heart tells me to just try, because I never know. Sigh. Sigh x1000.

Just a rant. Get back to you soon, I have someone special to write about later.

A source of hope

I found a piece of hope.

When he left, he told me he lost interest in me. I wasn't moving him the way I had before. He'd seen all my tricks, whatever I'd had up my sleeve would be nothing special because he'd seen everything.

Two days after, I had gone back to my old house in Pasir Ris. It was a long year and then some, but I realised I still got along with my parents. The last time I cried to the faggot, he told me I should try to go back to them. I didn't want to, but he told me to just try. Look what I did. I guess it was mainly for him too, thanks to his words.

At first it felt like I was just a guest. A distant relative staying over for a few days. But time went on and I slowly felt like we were friends, just like how it was back in 2011 and beyond.

And then I realised, that you never knew me when I had my family. You never knew me when I was a Pasir Ris girl. You never knew the side of me that had my parents.

I told him this, I told him to give this one more chance because this was a huge piece of hope. With my parents around, I wouldn't be lonely, I wouldn't want to go back late feeling I was neglected at home, I wouldn't be hung up on him over Whatsapp because I would have them to talk to. I would be a different person. And he never knew this person. This side of me.

I'd have outings with my mom to share with you. I'd be gaming with my little brother because he forces me to, and I'd not be bothered when you were too hooked on yours. I'd have a kitchen and oven to cook and bake for you, which I'd never been able to do for you. I would have a bed and a desk, lesser things to complain to you about. I'd have a longer journey back from school, so I would want to hurry back and not ask you to stay longer whenever we go out.

I felt like it was my only hope that I was hanging on, it was a thread, yet it was a thick rope that could pull us up easily. I thought we could try. Just one more time; this time, I have my parents.

I'm sorry, but I just really like being with you. I really like getting irritated by you, and irritating you back in return, and forcing you to go shopping with me til your face is all sulky. I'm sorry that I hadn't managed to make you keep your feelings for me, but I'm so, so, so willing to keep trying for you, to keep working on that.

If you would just say "Ugh, fine", just a simple one like that, I'll be the happiest girl in the world because then I'd have a grandma, my secondary girlfriends, my parents, and you, which is the best family ever!

Alcohol adventures / Holland Village

I guess I'll write one of my alcoholic days each week. Although I can't deny that yes, I've been drinking everyday and yes, I've gone through all kinds of chaos each time. But I'll write about one, because I've nothing else to blog about. My life is empty.

Anyway, here are my Alcohol Adventures, version Monday 20.1.

I came class for freaking Shan, who didn't even turn up. Because he is a betrayer! We ended class about an hour earlier, to see him waiting at the lobby of the first floor checking us all out.

We made our way to his turf, Holland Village, talking about how fucked up my life had been. I'm not sure if I've mentioned this but Shan's also a budding writer, and we talked about the books we wanted to write in the future.

I bought churros, which he didn't really like because they were sweet, and when his friend finally came we made our way to get us some drinks. It was my first time drinking with others, because most of the time it was just a solitary affair.

Drinking with Shan took a lot of trust, as well as drinking with me did for him. I guess you could call it a bonding session. Har. I met a new friend though, but I didn't catch his name apart from the first four letters, Kish. They got beer I think, while I just got my usual 8.4 and Q, which are my current favourite brands.

I've never been to Holland Village before! As much as I didn't want to, [because I was supposed to be angry at the world, har] I couldn't help getting excited having my feet stepping on new land. Now I can colour in one more yellow circle in my MRT map!

So, back to serious business, the three of us found somewhere to sit and just, well, quenched our thirsts. Somehow the main topic fell on me, and I ended up telling my recent story. About my heartbreak and confusion and wanting to rebel and change from who I was supposed to be, just to hide my pain. Sigh.

Of course, after one bottle I was already tipsy as fuck, and the world was already starting to spin. Shan and Kish kept telling me about how I can find someone else, how someone else would accept me, and how he'd be a million times more perfect than my most recent heartbreak.

As everyone knows I'm a stubborn piece of fuck, so I did all I could do disagree and go against his words, tossing arguments to prove otherwise. I got lectured like fuck in return, until I just gave up and flopped to one side.

And then Shan started getting all emotional lecture on me, telling me that I can't be this way forever and that I just have to have faith that things will get better and that the faggot ain't everything, blablabla until I finally allowed to let a few tears slip, as angry as I'd wanted to remain.

They just had one can each, and their tolerance is definitely way higher than mine so I was pretty much wasted already compared to them. They asked me to join them in soccer, and as much as I wanted to, I couldn't help remembering memories associated with soccer.

What's more, I could barely walk straight, what with the alcohol and tears and overwhelming emotion. The strongest presence that was holding me back was myself I suppose, because I just told myself that I don't want to walk!, and just like that I flopped onto whatever wall was nearby.

In the end, my good friend Shan had to carry me. I remember because I was protesting so bad, practically screaming for him to put me down, Put me down you bitch, I can walk straight! but he had me quiet with a simple Shut up. And it didn't seem like he was putting me down anytime anyway.

He did put me down eventually, but I thought that was a great mistake because I remember straightway crashing to the ground and just staying there, curled in a ball, praying for the faggot to come pick me up. Thinking back, that was embarrassing as hell because we were drinking in a part of the housing estate so people would naturally be everywhere.

Still stubborn as hell. Still believing that things will go back to normal, the way it was in 2013, with the same guy, not better, not with another person. Still got lectured like crazy, still stubborn like crazy.

And in the end, I discovered something which made all of Shan's efforts go to waste. If you knew about it you probably wouldn't blame me but it's okay, I shall shoulder all the burden instead, whatever. I got so angry at him, telling him he'd made me feel more like shit instead of better.

I didn't even want to look at him, I didn't even say bye when my bus came. I was sobering up, but I was so angry, so upset, I didn't know where home was, the emotions were so fucking overwhelming it was all I could do not to cry.

Still fighting???

Eight days down. Was it really just one week? It feels like an entire year, decade even. All the tears I had cried, all the anger I had let out, all the bullshit I had gotten myself into. Was all that really in the space and time of one week?

Eight days down since you left, but you were already gone way before that. I thought I tried. I'd always been confused with what you wanted, space or attention, but I'd always tried to give you a dose of both at the right times. I tried not to get angry when you were being a frustrating little bitch, and even when I did, I put away my ego to say sorry.

Did I really not try? Was there really no effort that you saw from me? Did you really see no more reason to have feelings for me anymore?

It's still a shock, I can't deny. For you to just leave with an excuse like that, despite all the effort I had put in. The effort that we put in. You can't forget the things you'd done for me. It's a lot. We both know you've done so much more for me than I have for you, that's why I'd found it difficult to even imagine leaving you. So why...? Ugh.

What about how you had always wanted someone who likes you the way you are? What about how you lack self-esteem but in my eyes you are so fucking perfect? Isn't that what you wanted? And someone who would stay no matter what? Have I not made you happy? Even if I haven't, what if I'm willing to try again? Does effort not touch your heart?

I know I was never perfect to you. How I'm not as religious as you are, how I don't love God as much as you do. How I wasn't understanding and I was short-tempered. What if I'm willing to put away these emotions for you?

Remember how you told me that I have friends now, and that I didn't need you? What if I told you that right now, all the things I wanna share with someone, I still wanna share with you? What if no matter how happy I get I still wanna share all that funny shit with you? Don't you dare tell me I can do that as friends. Don't you dare.

I pierced my nose because you liked to pinch it. Now I can't even touch it because it stings on the inside, but at least I can get my hands off that memory. It hurts to be left behind. You, of all people, should know how I feel about that. That's why I never dared do that to you.

Even when I was so angry, so badly wanted you to fuck off, at the end of the day I'll just go back to you because I could not stand the thought of leaving you. After a while you become a darling again and my feelings will go back to normal. Get it? It's the thought of leaving that is so scary, like you're letting go of a chance. I don't know how you can do it.

Ugh. I don't know okay. I'm really trying. I'm so damn lost without you, so dead, all the colour drained from my face and my life. And one more thing, it's just so damn unfair that you were the one who tackled me first, who made me fall in love with you, only to just leave because you lost interest. It's so goddamned cruel. But you know what? Even if so, I'll forgive you for that. Like I always did.

No matter how beaten up I get I'm still gonna stand and fight for what I want.

Kate

Here's a little something I want to share with you my dear. I read a book, a non-fiction about this girl named Kate. She was so innocent, quiet in school and always burying her nose in a book. So damn innocent.

She fell in love with James, a guy who had been on heroin for some time now. She wanted to stay out of it, but temptation called her into it. James helped her get her first shot of heroin up her arm; and from then on, she was hooked on it.

Months pass and she finally admitted she was a heroin addict. James at this point had gone to rehab and had successfully became clean of the addiction. He stayed with Kate still, trying to help her out of it as well. He failed.

Time went on and James realised he was better off without her. He loved her, but he couldn't stay with her because of her addiction to heroin. He left her, started a new life on his own, while he left her fending for herself, trying to find the money to feed the habit; whether or not she managed to quit the addiction was none of his business.

Don't you think it's really unfair? That he had been the one who had dragged the innocent girl into the addiction, and yet when he managed to escape from it, he left her to the depths of it? Just like what I did to you.

This is my proof that I'd stay. I know I can't return you what I took from you... I don't know what to do with it either. But since I've improved from it, I should help you do so as well since I'm the one who dragged you down. I'm sorry my darling, you can't see it but I really hope my trying is visible.

Just let me

I'm currently staying in Pasir Ris. The place I'd tried to avoid the whole of last year, the place I was supposed to call home, the place I most thought did not deserve such a name.

Why am I here?? I don't know. I don't like waking up to see my old bedroom all around. I don't want to get used to it either. It just feels weird, and not right at all. Maybe I'm here because I am a coward, running away from something once it starts being different.

What was Paya Lebar without my granny and that faggot? What was 'home' when she wasn't sleeping next to me or when his arms were gone from around me? What was life without the old woman who was still strong enough to take care of a worthless child like me, what was life without the cutiepie who made me laugh and swoon so easily?

I can't deny that the faggot is what pulled my life together. How many times have I looked at him whenever he's laughing, telling myself "This is it. The guy I'm in love with." How many times have I been grateful for him, how many times I'd wanted to give up but just could not.

...So cruel of you.I still remember so clearly last October, how you told me you had fallen in love with me: ten months after we got together. It hurt me so bad and I thought maybe this isn't the happiness I desire. But I went on, hoping I could change you, believing you would change yourself. Because faith.

Thinking back, I'm shocked to see you leave just like that. Because you've "lost interest and feelings". I remember, how before we met, you were so lonely and badly needed someone to love and to love you back. You found me. I thought you'd be thankful for that, I thought you'd wanted me for as long as you could, after saying all that to me about how nobody ever liked you for who you are.

Thinking back what your best friend said: about how you only wanted me because of my looks? About how you just wanted to show me off for a while? Even if it's true, you know how I'd shown you who I really am. Even the bad points, which you so readily accept again and again. And vice versa. Why did you let it go to waste just like that? Why couldn't you forget your main reason of coming after me, and just focus on how things have been between us as time passed on? No?

As your other friend, from tertiary, had said: "On the verge of giving up, remember why you held on for so long. " Instead of just accepting the fact that you didn't love me at all why didn't you just remember all the patience you had given me, all the times you wanted to leave but had stayed, because I know you had those moments. Or maybe think of what I've done for you?? Whatever memory we made together?? Because whenever I wanted to give up on you I think of what you've gone through for me and I changed my mind.

You could have given this another chance. I know you're better than that. Like how I always believed in you. It's just so saddening to remember how you always wanted someone, and when you found me, you just got tired of me and ended up dumping me one year later. Those goddamned promises of yours doe.

Just let me try again. It hurts to sit in the sidelines watching my misery unfold when I know I can do better for you. I'm sorry I was not perfect but I'll do better. ...Just let me.

Nothing

So what have I got to talk about? My past few days have been nothing but a wreck. I am the wreck. There's nothing to talk about anymore it seems. I can type properly though! Really fast too! Would you even read this??? I'm nothing but ugly, and drunk, and imperfect, and not worth loving anymore.

Was I really??? I thought I did so much for him. Not the best but my best. Was that not good enough??? I don't understand. I thought everything would be okay. I did all I could. I don't understand. I don't understand.



Luqman has thrown a million more arrows into my heart by making me read the English lyrics of this song.

The hell am I doing here? The hell is he doing? The hell is the reason for him doing this?

I'm not just a wreck, I'm not just shattered, I'm empty. Drunk or not, I still feel dead. Dead. Empty. Just filling up space for nothing. This space could be given to someone more deserving right?

God should take me away soon, stop giving me chances to repent because I'm always disappointed Him. Just take me away when I'm wasted so I'll def go to Hell. Kan???

I deserve being held like this

I'm not sure where to start this story from. The wee hours of yesterday? The first day of the year? Or back to October?

If I start this story from the wee hours of yesterday, you'll know that he had just texted me at 1 in the morning, saying we can't meet or go out anymore, but we can still be together and just text. I saw no point of that, so I ignored him; but the very next morning, 6 hours later, I had to tell him, Please take back whatever you said last night back. All he could say was I was serious about that.

If I start this story from the first day of the year, you'll know that I had not been a bitch to him those days, and before that even, and that I did not do anything wrong and I do not deserve this.

If I start this story from back in October, you'll know that he had suddenly told me, "I think I'm in love with you." "What do you mean?", I had asked; and he had answered, that he had just fallen in love with me and that the whole time before since January, he never had any feelings like that for me. And if I continue the story from this point, you'll know that his most recent reason of dumping me was "I don't have feelings for you anymore." If this does not make him the asshole of this story I don't know what does.

____

He said we were meeting for the last time. I did not get what that meant, but I had hoped I could make him change his mind. I tried to write a letter, but I had lost that skill. My handwriting was in shambles, and I did not know what I was saying so I tossed it aside.

I went up to him with a frown on his face. I did not deserve that. He brought me somewhere we could talk, and once we were seated I just lashed out whatever was on my mind. I did not tell him the story about Kate and James, which would have been a good argument on my side.

I hated how he got up when I wasn't finished talking. I'm not sure when, but at one point when he told me to accept his decision, it was all I could do not to wail. I interlocked his arm with both of mine and kept wailing, "Don't leave, just stay."

"You're making a scene," he said, but I was not. "You're making things difficult for me," but I was not. He was.

"I don't deserve this," I said.

"Nobody does."

I did not understand.

And I still did not understand when he just said he had "lost his feelings" for me. I thought I did my best to make him happy and listen to him and to not pull him further from God anymore. I thought I gave him space and checked on him sometimes and not be a bitch when he made me upset, I thought I did everything I could, why would he suddenly say that?

It was all I could do to persuade him I'll try harder, harder than I ever had if he weren't pleased with my efforts. I was trying not to cry but that was an absolute failure, like my persuasions were. I had to take his bag from him and not return it before he totally snapped.

"Then what the hell did you save me for, what the hell did you make me stop all my habits for?"

"I cleaned you up for someone else to have you, okay?" his voice was raised, but he lowered it in his next sentence. "You deserve someone else, you're so pretty who wouldn't want you?"

"It'll take me long to have someone accept the way I am on the inside, like you did! And I don't want anyone else, I want you!"

"You don't have a choice," he muttered.

"When have I ever had a choice?" was all I could say, because it was true: he never let me have a say in his decisions that involved us, and even with my parents, I never had a choice.

"You are making things hard for me," he kept saying, which I could only answer with "Then just say you'll stay and I won't make it hard for you." I was getting frustrated by the minute, and it was slowly evolving into anger. What happened to the things I had told him? About how you gotta think of what you've ever done for me and vice versa, you can't let that all go to waste.

It was so unfair. So many times, I'd thought of giving up but I'd always given him the chances I thought he deserved, because it was not all about me, it was all about us. What happened to the promises we made? He said he would only stay if he was sure I would, and I definitely did. He was being so unfair, I did not deserve it!

I did not deserve it at all.

When he was gone, I didn't know what to do. I wanted a drink, and I wanted something strong enough to make me forget everything for a while, but I was scared because nobody would take care of me. The despicable side of me told me to call his best friend; so I did. I rang Luke up. I tried to tell him what happened but my voice just went into shambles; he just told me to come to Marsiling.

____

So many places here with memories already. It's gonna be hard for me to travel now, especially in the North, because of the asshole of this story.

I kept repeating to myself: "I don't deserve this."

The clinking sound of the glass bottles in my plastic bag was the only sound accompanying me, as I walked through this tiny field in front of 402, where Luke was waiting. I saw him from afar with his hand raised, so high in the air. I gave a small wave in return.

"What the hell happened?" was the first thing he asked, and I tried not to cry. I said: "He dumped me." "Again?" Luke had to say, but he was right. "It's serious this time." I mumbled.

We sat down on these little benches under a hut, and I tried to say what happened. I told him about what happened between us before, while taking sips of my alcohol; he kept quiet when I was done, but he eventually said, "I'm sorry to say this, but I knew this all along. He did tell me about it, how he had already lost his interest in you for so long now."

All I could say: "I don't deserve this."

All Luke could say, exactly what his best friend said: "Nobody does."

I still did not understand.

Luke said: "It's the way he is. He's super selfish. He just wanted you because what?; you were pretty. He just wanted to show you off and shit. And as usual he loses interest and just dumps you."

"I thought I was special. He never had any of his crushes becoming his girlfriends before, he said that. Why would he do this?"

"He will always be him, he will always put aside girls he doesn't like anymore, after a period of time."

I finished my first bottle.

By this time, Luke and I were talking about other subjects, mainly crap. After a few false alarms of wanting to puke, I was done with my bottles. I tried to let out my feelings, I tried to laugh but there only came out tiny burps. Luke laughed and said I was cute. I just started to cry again because I didn't want him to call me cute.

It was all I could do not to cry. The world started spinning and I could just lower myself down til my head was in his lap. I buried my face in my hair and started groaning, which slowly became wails, and then loud Banshee bawls [as he would call it], calling out the asshole of this story's name.

One of his arms wrapped around me, while he used his other hand to stroke my hair. He tried to coax me, with his shushes, while I kept bawling, occasionally saying his best friend's name. The gesture of comfort from Luke just made me cry harder, I deserved being held like that, but I kept mumbling: "I don't deserve this. I don't deserve this."

"Nobody does."

And I just cried harder.

____

I'm not sure how long we stayed that way, but it was getting late; I could barely get up, my head was throbbing so bad. Luke held out his hand for me, and I held onto it for whatever support I could have. His fingers interlocked with mine and that just made me want to cry some more.

I tried to walk, but I remember seeing messy shots of the floor; I was walking here, and then I was walking there. I was walking forwards, and then I was walking back. My bag slipped off my shoulder, and Luke tried his damndest to help me carry my backpack by both straps so it wouldn't keep falling.

He was the best support ever, I know because I remember everything. Maybe because my tipsy behaviour this time was the worst ever. I felt like I was dancing instead of walking, forward, back, left, and right. I laughed a lot too. Gotta salute Luke for whatever patience he'd had for me.

I saw the ground, spinning, but I could hear what Luke was saying. "No, no, E'indah, this way... Stop going backwards E'indah, there you go..." His tone was so gentle and patient, I wouldn't have believed it was him. I wouldn't have believed the arm around me and the hand in mine were his either.

"I've never had 8.4 percent before!" I remember I kept saying. "My alcohol tolerance is so weak!!" and then I laughed, and Luke just had to keep me entertained.

Because of how I had observed traffic lights at a cross junction, I knew when the red man was turning green, so I tried to cross the street before it did, to show off. All Luke could do was grab me from behind and say, "No no E'indah, not yet kay.", even with that patient tone of his.

We crossed the road with his hand on my backpack, a tight grip, and I remembered how I had held him by his backpack like that when we were crossing roads.

I kept calling him by his best friend's name. This I remember, because when at one point I was about to say Luqman instead, I'd choked back the word and told myself No, this is not Luqman, this is the love of your life, things are okay now.

But you know what? I couldn't be fooled. If I had been drunk like that around 'Aamir, he would have just literally left me like that at the side of the road.

When I looked up I saw Luqman, and his face was so stressed out, I felt so bad for making him do this. Yet at the same time I was glad he was there and not anybody else, and I just, yeah. Cried harder.