Pains of recording photographs

If you're viewing this on your phone, it may or may not be cut out, but click on it and it'll be fine.

I went out filming again today. This time, with no companions and just around my very own hometown, the place I grew up in.

Alright, to be exact, I only went around Pasir Ris Park. I thought of going to a carpark rooftop where Siying and I used to hang out a lot on, or maybe the part of the park where the girls and I celebrated birthdays by having water fights.

But of course, since I was out alone, I wasn't very disciplined in leaving early, and I lost a lot of time. I didn't want to record in the dark, so I just did everything in one place.

Recently, a friend of mine told me he always thinks of the 'Behind The Scenes' of my videos. He said that while watching my comeback video, [Three houses. Two weeks. One girl.] he imagined what was going on behind the camera. What posture was I in, what was on my mind.

So I decided, why not blog about the behind the scenes of my latest video? Take note, it may turn into a blog post full of complains because this video had the toughest and most irritating recording session ever XD

Alright, so the idea came from the many photographs I found here at my Pasir Ris house. I've written many diaries since my secondary school days, and the 2009 and 2010 ones especially were filled with lots of photos. Most of them are random as hell, majority being badly taken selfies.

I decided to bring these photos out for a walk, on a peaceful Tuesday afternoon. [alright, it'd looked like it could rain anytime soon, that I can't deny]

Here come the complains.

First up. The photos with the waves as the background weren't so bad, apart from the strong wind that was threatening to snatch the photos off my hands. The camera isn't that light either, and I had to struggle with both my hands. I really didn't want the footage to be shaky.

Secondly, the photos that lay on the rock. The winds were still strong, and I had to use my phone to hold the photos down. I didn't have anything that would look a lot more pretty for the camera. These weren't that tiring to record.

Third, the photos that lay on the sand. I was wearing black jeans, and I didn't really want to soil them with sand, so I sat on the rock instead. I remember how I sat in an awkward position because I didn't want anything unnecessary to appear in the shot.

Fourth: the photos with rock and sand. I sat in the same place, but I had to bend over to the side in order to record, since the rock was behind me. Gosh, I was squatting at the foot of the rock, and there was this family who kept staring at me because I must have looked weird.

I walked a little, with the intention of recording at the carpark rooftop of Ehub, because the girls and I used to hang out there a lot. I realised I wouldn't be able to reach on time, so I decided to record everything at Pasir Ris Park instead. I just needed some more backgrounds.

So... I used the floor. Yep. I sat cross-legged on the ground, balanced the photos on these metal railings, and recorded away. This one wasn't so bad either, there was not any pain. And, I think the footage looked the nicest in this background, because the photos stood out somehow.

Next, the leaves. Oh... This one was the worst. The leaves were gathered behind the bench, which I sat on and bent forward from in order to record the photos. It was painful, my arms were aching, and people probably thought I was crazy from afar... But hey, I did it.

Last but not least... Oh, definitely not the least. The most pain. I found a tree with little petals all around, and a branch that could support the photos, and it was perfect. But, I had to squat. And, there were literally hundreds of ants walking in a line.

If you look to the left of the last few photos in the video, you can actually see it.

When I was done recording here, I realised I had lots of ant bites all around my body, and little paranoid itches that didn't exist. I was scratching everywhere!!!

I'm done complaining.

Even when I went through all that, it was really fun. Satisfaction is great, when I see how my video turned out. It ain't exactly perfect, but I'm proud of myself for the efforts and the result.

Not afraid of the North anymore

I know it looks cut out if you're viewing this on your phone, but click on it and it works perfectly fine.

Another trip to the North! This time it's with a fellow Heroine whom I call Zimmyzoo. He isn't really a Woodlands resident, but his school is in the same turf so it's about the same. Due to the fact we're not Northerns, we both got lost a few times, yep.

I know a video about Woodlands isn't complete without a trip to the Waterfront. It's alright, you see, the song I used for this video has a 'part 2' to it, so I'll just use the same tactic with my next Woodlands video.

So, there's actually sort of a story during the last 1 minute and a half, or so. The part where I fast forwarded the footage on the expressway, is a way of saying in the future,.... After that's done, you see me alone for the rest of the video.

It may be the first time I'm standing strong on my own, but it definitely won't be the last time, as the lyrics say. "Twenty bucks says you'll remember me", because 'in future', I'll make sure I'm well known for my writing, for my stories, and that I'll bet your ass you'll remember who I am.

And by 'you', I'm really directing this hidden message at someone who threw me away.

Woodlands used to be a scary place because of the memories with that someone. But heck it, it doesn't matter shit anymore. It long stopped mattering. That's when you see me jumping around, turning around and smiling to the camera, because I'm happy now. You see me running, because this loss has given me strength to leave it all behind and start anew.

Because it's my time to shine.

The girl who played with people's dreams

Remember when I told you I cleaned up my room and found a whole bunch of stuff that I'd written over the years? Well... I just found a book that I'd been writing. And by book, I mean an actual progressive story with lots of chapters, which I had thought of as a real physical book. Because I really believed this story would go far.

I've forgotten what I named the series, but each book was titled after the protagonist of that particular book. Each book was in the perspective of a different character in the story, the last one being the villain. I wasn't even done writing the first book, but I already thought of til the sixth!

Alright, my memory is quite vague about this series but how convenient; there's a chart here I did, that explains the concept of the story.

The first book was in the perspective of a girl named Kai Xin, which means happy in Chinese, that's why I named her that. As far as I can tell, she's the one who got the ball rolling; her meeting with a few old friends and strangers was what triggered certain events of the story.

An old friend named Bunny, and a strange girl named Yume, both of whom have the ability to play with people's dreams. For all I remember, Bunny uses this gift to 'matchmake' two people, while it's Yume's job to tear them apart.

Simpler said, if your dreams were caused by Bunny, it means you have to find that other half whom you saw in your dream. If they were however caused by Yume, it means you have to stay away from whoever she put you into the dream with. And the thing is, you have no idea who those dreams were caused by.

Most of the characters who get these dreams are normal people, who are usually already next to the person that they'd dreamt of. Problem is, they never know if they should be together or stay away from each other.

There's this group of 'special' people who also have their own abilities, these boys with strange abilities and equally strange nicknames. Illusion, who could see ghosts; Illustrate, who could see the future; Illuminate, who could see the truth, and the 'leader' of the pack, Infinite, who could simply live forever, finding other people to pass these nicknames and powers to in every generation.

These guys use their gifts to help those normal people find their destiny, for all I know. And also, I vaguely remember Yume being the villain, because she's gone a little mad thanks to her gifts. She couldn't control her ability, and it was eating away at her and whoever whose dreams she'd played with.

What genre is the book eh hmmm. I'd say it's a fair mix of contemporary and... fantasy? Since most of the time it's about friendship and love and betrayal and sacrifice, finding out who you are and what you love, just with the bits of magic and powers and shit being thrown in.

There are 24 chapters written so far for the first one, though I don't know where the first three chapters are. I think I felt like my writing style was too different than in the other chapters and that I'd planned to rewrite them. Still, no traces of those chapters here.

My writing was pretty cheesy back then, but I honestly think the storyline is pretty good. I remember some of the ideas I'd had as a 14-year-old, and I think they'd make a good series if I combine those ideas with a better writing style of my current self.

I just read the last chapter I'd written of book 1, and I must say... That was cheesy as hell. Really. I'd love to share it here, but dang.

The protagonist Kai Xin is left on a long train journey to 'the other side of the country', as everyone kept saying, because the person that she dreamt of had run away and hid there. She sets off to find him, because being with him was the only way to discover who she is.

Cheesy, I know.

Oh the feels to continue writing this series, or rewriting the first book in a more suited writing style.

A little anger over uhm desks

I think I just riled myself up for something trivial.

So here's the deal. As you know, I've returned to Pasir Ris after like a year or so of being away. Every furniture was in the same position, except that some things were neater and some were messier.

Ok, so my parents apparently cleaned up my shelves a bit. When I returned, there were only the few books I had [I didn't have many books because I usually borrowed them from the library] and the diaries I'd written since secondary school on my desk.

A sad fact: I'd been collecting dozens of mangas since primary school, which I later found out my dad had thrown out because 'there were just too many'. Thus, there was a lot of space on my desk compared to when I'd left.

So I moved back, and also transferred most of the books I had at Paya Lebar to the new space on my desk. I can't describe how happy and excited I am to see my books on shelves! Back at Paya Lebar, all they've ever sat in were dusty shoeboxes. They deserved better.

Okay. A few days back I did a little spring cleaning on my part, cleaning whatever I could. Which was basically my shelf, my drawers, and this little segment on my cupboard. Hmm, I'm not sure how to describe it, but years ago I tore down the door of my wardrobe, this part that was 'shelves' and not that railing to hang your hangers from.

Ever since the door was down I used it as a proper shelf, that's where I put all my ear studs and other tiny shit at. So yeah, I basically cleaned that one shelf as well. Uhrm. Have I lost you? You don't get it right??? Nevermind.

Okay, my point is, my cleaning was restricted because my mom stuffed her own clothes into my wardrobe and my little brother rammed his desk full of unnecessary things while I was away.

Sure, my parents cleaned beneath my bed and under the windows for me, and I'm really grateful for that but what's the use if you take up the space that I need for your own things? ):

So this is why I got mad at my little brother.

He has a desk. It's right next to mine, but the thing is, he absolutely doesn't use it at all. It's crammed full of things, yeah, things which he doesn't even use anymore. He literally tosses things there when he doesn't need them anymore.

I suggested throwing the desk, because really. Even the drawers are filled with crap which he doesn't bother about. I did let him decide; either you clean up, throw whatever you don't need, or you throw away the table completely.

He refuses to throw the desk, because he claims "I won't have anywhere to put my things." The thing is, what things does he have??? He rarely has any belongings that need a desk. He rarely even uses a desk! Swear to Arceus!

The few schoolthings he has are either in his backpack or on this couch near the balcony. That's it. These are the only school possessions he has, which he's still using or still needs. He doesn't need the goddamned desk!

Not only is this messy desk of his such an eyesore to me, but just imagine what I can do with the space. I can buy myself a bookcase. I'm really lacking space for that, for crying out loud.

I told him if he didn't have space for anything, he can use a little bookcase of mine that I already have. I don't need it currently, and I'm also saving for a bigger bookcase. Besides, he doesn't need a desk. A bookcase would be enough for him, yes.

Today I finally decided I'd had enough, so I told him for the millionth time to "Clean up your desk please. Or just throw it away." He started to snap at me, giving me bullshit excuses, the same old crap he keeps saying about him having no space to put his things. It really pushed me over the edge.

Yeah. That's pretty much it. Riled up for a small matter.

Ok, to me it's a huge matter. Gosh. I just want my own personal space.

Mom just started cleaning out the wardrobe though. The past two months or so, my clothes have been hanging outside because my wardrobe was full of her stuff. Justice has been done.

Okay, I don't want to drag this rant for too long. I think I've cooled down anyway, thanks to a goodnight text. ^_^

A thought about the beautiful things in life

I'm currently about, I'm guessing 80% done with Beyond: Two Souls on my PS3. Hey don't blame me, it ain't my fault I wasn't with my PS3 when the game came out, and that I'm alternating between Pasir Ris and Paya Lebar. Can't complete it that quick ya know.

The format of this game is what you can call unique, because it goes from the main character's childhood, to her rebellious stage, to her as an adult, and back again. It jumps across here to there in her timeline.

You can say that I don't quite understand the story of this timeline, because it's just too confusing at first play, but I know for a fact that if I play it the second time, the pieces will fall into place.

Just like how, in the past, there was this manga series that I was so fond of called Fruits Basket. It had a great storyline and beautiful philosophy, which I only understood after I read and reread the entire series again and again.

So I was thinking. The beautiful stories aren't understood at one shot. It takes a lot of attempts in order to see the beauty of it. Maybe not just stories, but also in persons in general.

Maybe there's a reason why someone keeps to himself. He just has so much in him, all the amazing things he has to offer in him. The harder he is to understand, the more I want to know him better. [this is just an example, I'm not exactly referring to anyone in particular, take note]

If you keep trying again and again to read and understand it, you'll eventually see how beautiful it really is. The frustrations and impatience wouldn't be for nothing because the beauty of it rewards you.

Reasons to believe my mom loves me

Honestly, I've always believed that my mom doesn't love me. A long time ago, she did something she wasn't supposed to and told me not to tell my dad, which was exactly what I'd done. I could have sworn she hated me after that, like there was a difference between the ways she treated me before and after the incident.

Time passed and I still felt like she didn't accept me. Her anger scared me, how she vented it on me sometimes. How she would compare me to other girls and kept emphasising how I wasn't a perfect daughter just because I didn't dress up and shit.

I went a year without my mom in my presence. To me, that was a huge relief. It was an escape. The last time we'd seen each other before this gap was the day I got my O Level results. She came over to my aunt's place and demanded to see my results slip.

I refused, because I knew it was unfair that she hadn't been there for me during the time I was taking my exams. She locked me out of the house when I missed a curfew by an hour, because I'd been studying at the airport. She hurled vulgarities at me telling me not to come home ever.

She started hitting me, right in front of my aunt and uncles, when I rejected her for the millionth time that No, I am  not gonna let you see my results. Because I strongly believed she didn't have the rights. My whole sec 5 year, she was never there for me.

When her siblings defended me, she stopped hitting and yelled: "Okay, fine, don't let me see your results, but I'm cutting off all ties with you!" That was the last time I ever saw her, up to about 11 months later in December, when my grandmother and cousin persuaded me to go see her.

And then early this year, I had a bad break up and that was when I realised I needed her. I went back to my Pasir Ris household, after I'd sworn countless times I was never going to.

These are the five reasons to let me believe she's always loved me.

1. She readily accepted me back.
She didn't wonder why the hell did I suddenly wanted to go back to her. If she knew it was because I had problems, she understood I didn't want to talk about it, and so she didn't ask.

2. She continues trying.
She was never perfect, like I'd said, because of the way she treated me. Maybe it was the way she just is, but when I came back to her, she realised she needed to change her behaviour for me. She buys me books, she asks me out shopping, she treats me lunch and dinner. Back then, she rarely had that much time for me. For us.

3. She loves me the way I am.
The other day when we went out for lunch, she told me that she's always been secretly glad that I'm a weirdo and that I'm not like other girls. It was a surprise to hear her saying that! All these years, it always seemed that she detested me for being 'different'.

4. She's grateful I have the interests that I do.
 My brothers and dad never had the same taste in food and life in general with her. They don't eat sushi, they hate traveling and exploring, they have terrible navigation skills. I, on the other hand, have the same interests as her, and we both have that navigation magic and the love for roads.

5. She's proud of me, after all.
Ever since I came back, she was always asking me for these little favours, to meet her friends/colleagues when she wanted to pass them something. I've always been obliged, but it was because she wanted to show me off; she wanted her friends to see how grown-up and pretty she thought I was. Another pleasant surprise, contradictory to what I've always believed she'd thought all these years.

Sure, we've been through hell in each other these past years, almost a decade now, but she's still my mother after all, and I'm still her only daughter. Although she wouldn't say it directly that she loves me, like I wouldn't tell her, I know her feelings deep inside.

Among both my parents, I'm a lot like her. We're both angry all the time, we're both lazy people, but we both feel contented being on the roads and we're both, I'd like to believe: strong people.

I ain't as strong or beautiful or smart as she is now, but that's all the more reason for her to be my role model and inspiration. She's my mom and I treasure her.

My heroes and my Heroines

The first time we met, we teased one another like siblings. We weren't awkward. You guys made me laugh until my belly ached, and I was so grateful for having made it because it intensified my love for the group.

I mean it when I said you guys are my family; you are the first I say 'good morning' to, the first I talk to when I'm upset, when I'm happy, the first I want to hang out with when I have free time.

We slacked, we went on a food adventure, we took pictures together. I forget everything that's disturbing my heart when I'm with you guys, because the silliest things happen and the silliest things are said. You guys are the source of my happiness.

I know I screwed things up two nights ago. I know it was wrong of me to let it out by drunk-texting, and trust me I'm really embarrassed looking back at the things I'd said, ugh. Yes, I had things bothering me, but I should have just talked to you guys about it instead of going back to an old habit.

Many of you have left 1.0 ever since then, and one of you even said "Add me back only when the old Heroine is back, because this isn't the Heroine I know."

I agree with that one. You know why? Yes, Heroine is not the same. But that's because you aren't in there. That's because most of the people I love aren't in there. Heroine is not the same without you, and as long as your presence isn't there, the group will never be as it is.

I'm sincerely apologetic for my behaviour that night; the things I'd said. I'm cringing in memory, eurgh. I'm sorry, and I really hope you come back, because that's the only way Heroine will revert back to the family we were.

And no, I am not 'homeless'. I do have a home. And that is, like I'd said: with you guys. You are my happiness, you are my drug, and you are my home. You are my heroes and Heroines.

A poem and a dream from 2012

So I'm back here in Pasir Ris, and the first thing I did was to clean up the mess that was my room. I came here two days ago, to place on my bookshelves some of the books I had at Paya Lebar.

Seeing my new collection of books on my shelves just motivated me to clean up, because they deserved the cleanliness. Or am I the only one who feels that way?

Anyway, I found a lot of weird things from secondary school. Old photos, and old notebooks. By notebooks, I don't mean the diaries I'd written; those had been in my knowledge forever, but the notebooks I discovered today were just.... Random. They weren't diaries. They were random as hell.

I found one of "My Random Poetry", and another which I used to write the dreams I had. For the fun of it, I'm gonna share with ya one from each. Take note these were from years ago, so please excuse the silliness of what I'd written.

I shall rewrite exactly what had been written, though I have to edit names out or unnecessary segments, things like that. Here's the dream.

"It was late December. Everyone was running out of homes, for some reason, and I had stumbled upon a building which served as a shelter for those who had lost their ways of housing.

Most of the people staying there were students. In fact, I saw many familiar faces. I saw juniors from my school. I had lingered outside the building for a while, fingering the red and black hoodie of mine that I had slung over my shoulder.

I looked at everyone  All the students were chaotic. I saw a sign that said "5/1" and I saw two of my then classmates standing outside a room. I propped my hoodie on a wall and made my way towards them.

Everyone had bags and were walking to certain classrooms, including me. I was walking along, with my eyes on the room with the "5/1" sign, when I bumped into someone from 4/3, but I just walked off without an apology.

It turned out that the classes took lodging in a classroom each. I don't know what was done to separate the girls from the boys, but for all I saw, everyone from the same class shared a classroom together. 5/1's was empty, and I sat inside, alone.

There were windows, and students were walking past, to and fro, to and fro. I don't remember their faces anymore, but they were all sec 4s from my school.

[some unnecessary parts that I have to crop out]

When I woke up, it was New Year's eve. I was alone in the 4/3 room, and when I looked out the window, everyone was moving in the same direction, hastily. They were not walking to and fro like the first day that I had walked in the compound. I wondered what was happening, and to my surprise, I managed to get out of the bed without difficulty.

I followed my gaze to the direction that everyone was walking away from. All the classrooms were stripped of their walls, and all that remained were the bricks that laid on the floor. If the destruction were to resume, the classroom that I had been in was to be the next to be brought down.

I looked back to where the students were walking towards. At the end of the road stood a wall. I saw them climbing over it, some even jumping.

I saw some 5/1 students, and I walked to where they were, right by the wall. My hoodie hung over it, and as I was taking it down, XX had came up to me asking for my real name. I didn't answer because I didn't understand what she meant.

I overheard some conversations beside me, saying things like "We spend our last few hours of the year being chased out of our homes..." and everyone looked so very sad...

At that moment, an aeroplane had crossed the sky. It was blue, a contrast of the darker blue that the sky was. I don't remember how long I'd stared at it, but when I looked back down, all the students were gone and I stood alone next to the wall."

Bloody hell, I remember this dream. I remember the compound, and it had that dystopian atmosphere to it. Dystopian or post-apocalyptic, either way it was.

Now for the poem. It may or may not make sense to you, maybe not to me either but I'm still gonna share it in its original form. What I remember about writing this poem, I'll let you know too.

"Please set fire to my precious eyes
It's the only way to run from ghosts of you and I
The solitary escapade unties no rope
The movement of time unleashes no hope.

Rather blind than at mercy
Of the smiling ghosts in bow and courtsey
Rather darkness than colour
Accompanied by figures of purple.

Nobody to look into your eyes
Nobody to figure out your lies
Nobody to determine in what way you're recognised
Nobody to tell you that you're not okay or fine.

No tears to show you're sad
No frowns to show you're upset.
No fire in your eyes to show your anger
No spark in your eyes to show you're in love.

No motive for murderers
No opportunity for witnesses
No reason for weaknesses
And most certainly no need for questions."

I remember, that this was during the time of my 2012 break-up, where practically everywhere I walked in Pasir Ris had a memory of him. I couldn't handle it then, because I'd been way weaker than I am now, and that's what was meant by 'set fire to my eyes', because I didn't want to see the memories floating all around me.

By 'smiling ghosts of bow and courtsey', it probably goes to show how those memories were way happier than I was as a human, even when they were just putting on a show.

The last three verses were probably the good of having no eyes. Eyes are the windows to the soul indeed, and without them, not only would I be unable to watch memories I'd rather forget, but people wouldn't be able to look inside, to come closer to me, to know me.

I guess that's it for tonight. My room has so much treasure in the Literature of E'in Nadh; diary entries and poems and other stupid little random things. Might wanna share some here occasionally. Goodnight.

My love for Singapore's roads

Yesterday was a pretty productive day in travels! I'm so contented with myself!

My mom has always been her own best at roads, and her navigation skills are top-notch. Her weakness however is the North East area, especially Punggol and Sengkang; she never easily finds her way around these areas unlike other places.

A long time ago, I told myself I want to be like her, a master of roads, maybe even better. What better way to bypass your role model by taking on the challenge that is her weakness?

So, E'in Nadh goes exploring in Sengkang, the 16th station of the North East Line, with her tourguide Yazid the Rebellyious! Okay, so we didn't cover much because my legs were aching so bad after walking only one section of the park, which according to Yazid, had 4 segments.

We may or may not be making a few more parts to this Sengkang tour, maybe he'd be nice and adventurous enough to head to Punggol as well, I'm not sure? Meanwhile, enjoy the video ^^

About the "last blade of grass" part, I didn't really get to finish my story... I'm not really a good speaker, shamelessly.

The LRT tracks, though they were MRT's in the dream, were on ground level, and I was walking right next to that. Yes, every patch of grass around me was dried up, dead, brown. Someone told me to look for 'the last blade of grass', possibly because that last blade, or patch, would be the saviour of the terrible drought.

That's it, really. I told you I don't blog about dreams much unless I remember enough to write a story about it.

And yes, yesterday was my first time exploring that part of Sengkang. I've never been there before this, but yes I dreamt of it. It's actually pretty normal for me to dream of places before I cross them haha.

With that said, this little Youtube channel of mine shall be used to showcase all corners, all places to go, in my own country, because idk some kids just don't appreciate how lovely Singapore really is. And anyway, I do so love taking walks and bus rides around Singapore. As cheesy as it sounds, Singapore is my home because I love being anywhere around her.

For now, that's the only love I know: passion. My passion for writing, my passion for the roads of Singapore. And I'm gonna show my love off because we gotta be proud of what we love yeah?

Thanks for showing me my strength

My fingers hover over the letters of my keyboard and that's when I realise I don't remember last night's dream. Is that a miracle or what? But damn, now I have nothing to blog about.

That aside, I know it may seem strange that I have dreams every night but I rarely blog about them. I don't know if anyone's ever noticed, if I even have enough readers for someone to wonder that, but just saying, that I only blog about a dream I had when I remember enough to write a story about it.

Maybe I shall blog about that now: dreams in which I only remembered little to one scenes.
Okay I'm just gonna write about one dream for now, since it's long enough already. I had this one in late January this year, my break-up misery days.

I was in a school... My school, to be exact. I'm not sure how I remembered it was my school, but that's how dreams work: you wouldn't know how you know something, you just do.

There was that holiday kind of atmosphere, the school was half empty, and the few students littered around were just slacking and laughing, not studying or rushing to classes, shit like that.

It soon got a little darker, like it was 7 in the evening or 6 in the morning? Now that you mention it, I don't exactly recall the exact time of this one but the lighting was around those timings of the day.

I was walking past a group of other students when I receive a text from the ex's best friend. ...Wow, it's been a while since I last thought about him.

He gave me some random directions in which I obediently followed, and got into this classroom that was dark as hell. I could make out chairs and desks, like a normal classroom, but I didn't really see any reason special as to why he'd made me go there.

And then, bit by bit the classroom started to light up. There were these little pictures being lighted up, letters that spelled out words and words that made sentences, all of which glowed in the dark.

The pictures were of me, from all stages of my solitude, from misery to picking myself up, gaining composure and moving forward. At the time I had this dream, I was at my most miserable, and I hadn't been through that 'strong' stage in reality.

I don't exactly remember how they went, but the sentences were quotes, reminding me of how strong I am, how strong I should be, how I'd be able to handle this pain and more.

The pictures and quotes not only glowed in the dark, but they were spinning around me, slowly, a show of lights that was only meant for me and me alone. Really, it was extremely beautiful. You can't even begin to imagine. The way the lights bounced on my body, danced around me.

The ex's best friend texted me when I was in the midst of admiring the show, but I don't remember what it said, unfortunately. Never did remember it, not even the slightest.

I woke up with lots of butterflies in my tummy, but I did feel that little spark in me at the moment. And because my dreams have always meant so much to me and were always right, I strongly believed that the best friend had something to do with my moving on from the ex.

I dunno, it sounds stupid thinking back about it, but *shrugs* you never know?

And, I guess in a way, he predicted my strength. Okay, just his dreamworld alter-ego, but damn. At that time he was one of the few who really knew me well anyway, so... Yeah. Damn.

The chance of meeting someone random

I went to the city area for a walk today, in Marina Centre to be specific. My Paya Lebar house is near the city area. Wait... Okay, so to me town is the Orchard/Somerset area, while city refers to the landmarks that are always featured if you ask for Singapore's skyline. Okay? Okay.

So I took a walk in the city area, and my head was bursting with memories when I stepped into Marina Centre. It's where I'd gone prom shopping with the girls back in 2011! I wouldn't want to talk about prom exactly, you can read about that here [link].

I bought myself some laptop stickers, and then went for a little dinner at Pizza Hut. There, I stumbled onto a schoolmate of mine, from secondary school, the same batch from me but from NT. I don't know if he recognised me, if he had even noticed me there.

My thoughts started running through all kinds of possibilities as usual, and suddenly I had a crazy thought: what are the statistical probabilities of having someone cross your path in life? What are the chances that someone random and you will meet someday, just like that?

I thought of it this way: imagine if you notice a cute guy, and he happens to be with your old schoolmate. Say, Cutie points you out to Schoolmate and says you're cute. If Schoolmate doesn't recognise or remember you, the conversation ends there. Your meeting with this cutie ends there.

On the other hand, if Schoolmate remembers you and gives Cutie your name, you and Cutie have that chance of meeting again, on Twitter or whatever if he bothers to find you. From there, your paths intercept with each other, and you may or may not have a future with the cutie.

Simply said, it's fascinating how the tiniest of things have the biggest impacts on your path in life. Kind of like how, if you could ever go back in time, you shouldn't touch anything because the slightest modification in the past can change the present/future completely.

I'm not sure if you can learn anything from this post, these thoughts of mine, but it was just something I wanted to share.  Maybe you're now thinking of what little things you did that made your life like this today.

Being compared to Violet Parr

Honestly, I've always had long hair, in my pre-secondary days. That's probably why I'd always been compared to freaking Violet Parr from The Incredibles movie, by my parents and cousins when I was younger and by workmates when I grew older.

It was almost always the hair. How my hair covered my face, just like hers did. Then I got my glasses and chopped off my hair when I was in sec 2, which helped me lose the resemblance to her.

Last night I got compared again, the last time being in 2011 when I think I didn't look that much like her anymore. The comparison this time was by one of my Heroine family members.

And then I had a sudden realisation: it wasn't just the hair anymore. If you remember, Violet's powers were invisibility and the ability to conduct force fields.

Doesn't that sound like me, and most of us these days? Invisibility, how I'm always hiding away from people and away from others' eyes. Not getting any attention. Force fields, how I have the tendency to build walls around me to protect myself from others. Throw anyone off their feet if they get too close.

Sounds exactly like me. And sounds like Violet had had these weaknesses of hers as her powers as well. Impressive. Can we be like that?

Three houses in three minutes

Finally got around to recording and editting videos!

I'm not sure if the quality is good as on the computer, but you can watch this on your phone as well and that's awesome! Compared to my previous videos in 2011.

I realised I had quite a lot of random recordings on my camera and phone, so I decided to make a montage with all of the footage. My initial idea was to make a "Two Weeks In Pasir Ris" video, but I didn't manage to record enough solely in Pasir Ris.

Since I was spending a lot of time to and fro, I thought, why not make a montage of all three houses? So there you go!

I may be making a lot of these videos in time to come, because why the fuck not? This channel needed its life back anyway, though I've privatised a lot of my 2011 videos because they were mostly embarrassing. Sure, good memories, but embarrassing nonetheless.

My wanting to make videos again has been on for a long time already, I just never managed to do it for real. Holidays+Boredom+Love for the roads was a good combination for me.

A little background story on this video:
Pasir Ris, the place of relaxing and lepak, thus all the simple shots of the house and things that help me overcome boredom. [and a trip to the airport]
Paya Lebar, where the cats are, and when I managed to explore the Mountbatten area with my brother, who was my guest at the time.
Johor Bahru, where the renovations are done and I was running around because the house looked so fabulous.

Fight, because flight is instant death

I'm not sure how to start this because I don't remember where it all began. I was with him, someone who held my hand for a year but decided to let me go in a matter of days. I'm pretty sure we all know his name now. I'll never forget it, because it stirs all kinds of emotions in me, from bliss to anger, and it brings joy and grudges.

The thing with my dreams is, they're really unpredictable. I don't understand the pattern in them; sometimes they're funny, sometimes they're bloody. Sometimes they make zero sense, sometimes they blow my mind about something I was once clueless about in the past. This time, my dreams decided to bring back something which I'd never thought of in such a long time.

It's only been about two months since he left. I've cried, I've screamed, I've walked in a daze on the roads, I've drank half my health away. The pain was over when I found my new love, the expressways of my country. The loneliness was gone when I reunited with my parents and met Heroine. It was all over.

I never thought of him anymore. Still, my mind decided to stir up a dream about him.

The difference about the 'him' in the dream was how willing he was to explore new corners with me. In reality, he never wanted to go further than bus interchanges that had buses to Johore.

We were somewhere on the purple line, though I'm not sure which station exactly. The initial plan was to catch a movie, and we had to walk through this institution to get to the cinema. Some kind of weird school.

...The 'he' in the dream was exactly as I remember him. He displayed exactly the qualities which had made me fall head over heels, made me stay, made me devastated to have to let him go. I'm just saying. Not that it bothers me.

I bumped into this huge middle-aged man, who I later learnt was the Headmaster of the school. He made all the people there sit in this long line, including 'him' and I. I saw one of the students' notebook, in which she had carved onto the cover for her friend next to her to read: "Fight or flight, in which is death".

The Headmaster saw us engrossed with the cover of this notebook, and he snatched it out of us. The girls in front of me held their breath, hoping he couldn't make out the words on the cover. He didn't, but he was not happy with us. Me, especially, for some reason.

When he walked away, the girls whispered to me about an uprising. About how they'd been locked in this school for many years, forced to be slaves and to study all day, everyday. About how they've been planning to fight back for their rights, for their stolen lives. About how the plan for this rebellion was to "Fight, because flight ensures death."

What bothered me most was how, apparently, 'he' and I were also part of this school already, made slaves for having trespassed the school property. That was what made me choose to fight; because flight was instant death. [I didn't know what way exactly, but it was what scared the students there]

That was what I did. I went against whatever the Headmaster said. I refused to do anything he asked. Another boy followed suit. Eventually the Headmaster realised our constant defying, and took us into this single room, just a box across the street of where everyone else was.

The Headmaster told us to surrender ourselves; and by that, he meant he wanted us as a sacrifice. He demanded we gave up our heads, literally. As he was talking away, the other boy made signals to me for us to try and run. It was a good idea, but I remembered the 'Fight or Flight' thing, about how running away leads to death.

In the end, the idiot boy made a run out the door. Because the Headmaster couldn't react in time, he decided to vent it on me. My hair was pulled, my face was slapped. He pulled me to the pillory, trying to secure my head and hands in the woodwork. All I could do was struggle to release his latch on me.

Eventually I managed to escape his grasp, and it was my turn to run out the door. I totally forgot about the whole "Fight, because if you run, you die" theme, and just as I was about to run back across the street to everyone else was, I realised something odd.

Everyone was dead. Even my prince, who was sprawled on the floor, a pool of blood forming out of his neck.

I ran to him first, and tried to awaken him, although he was obviously dead. I held him in my arms, but it wasn't long before I realised the monsters coming for me. They were these completely black and white monsters, thin strands on their heads being their only hair. They were human, but they were not. And humans definitely did not float around corpses the way these things did.

One got to me, and I let out a scream just as I was brought back to the scene in which I ran out the door. Yep, I was brought back in time. This time, I didn't stop to hold the 'he' in my arms. This time, I decided to run to the wall, scale it, and made a run for it. This time, I lived.

Honestly, the part that bothers me most, is not the cold, or the dark, or the bloody, but his presence. It may be just a dream, but it bothers me so bad I haven't stopped thinking of it since I woke up. I haven't stopped thinking of him, to be exact.

And I just realised I called him my prince again. Mm, not gonna change that.

Chased, stripped, drugged

I was coming out of the shower when we got attacked. I don't remember who I was with, because they were all killed by the bullets that showered onto the house we were hiding in. I entered the scene of the chaos naked, just as the shooters, who were on tanks, disappeared around the corner.

I struggled into my clothes just as the remaining survivors struggled to get out the door. They demanded we get out of there, but that we all had to split ways. For some reason, their way of separating was by leaving just me to fend for myself. What could I say?

So all alone I was, not that it'd bothered me. I was wary, keeping alert of the shooters from before. The places I'd passed and streets I'd walked were deserted as hell.

I got to this shophouse full of flowers, and a woman who seemed to be the florist. Her shop was the only one lighted while the neighbouring shops were all closed, dark, and abandoned.

I was about to get comfortable when she told me 'the enemies were coming' and that I had to make a run for it. For some reason, she didn't seem scared; like those people with the guns were only after certain people, or maybe just me.

Whatever it was, I took her advice and went out the back door, through this garage, where unfortunately for me one of the bad guys was already waiting. I think I was drugged, because I don't remember much from this, or if I made any movement at all.

I was forcefully stripped naked, and had something sharp enter me through my skin everywhere. These were the only things I could remember. I cried, but I couldn't struggle because my movements were restricted by whatever drug I'd been given.

My assaulter disappeared soon after, but I was left bleeding on the floor of the florist. I struggled to get up and put on my clothes again, and walked out the door of the garage.

The chase wasn't over. People were still after me, and I kept running but I would always be stopped by someone from this weird gang, who would drug me and force something sharp through my skin, into my body. Every corner I turned, one of them was there, waiting to do the same to me.

It happened about five times, the pain shooting up my arms and down my legs. Such pain it was, I can't forget... Then my mind decided to wake up, three and a half hours after I'd fallen asleep.

If you're new to this blog of mine, just letting you know that I've always been having strange dreams. Bad dreams, to be exact, scary enough but too regular and normal to be labelled 'nightmares'. They're dark, violent, bloody, and constant.

I can figure out a meaning for this recent bad dream, but I figure it's too complex to state without explaining, and an elaboration for this would take far too long to be put in this together, so scratch it.

The airport and ghosts of the past

The first time I took an airplane was in 2009, to Kuching, Sarawak, a country full of history, enough for me to love it there. That's my first memory of flying, but I don't remember how I started loving aeroplanes in general.

I'd been reading my diaries from 2010, where I'd drawn lots of aeroplanes all over. I also have dozens of aeroplane paper clips, holding up old pictures in these notebooks, in a box in my drawer, just everywhere.

There was also this poem in one of Haruki Murakami's books, written in one of his short stories called "Aeroplane". I don't remember how exactly it went, but I know I was fascinated with that poem then, a poem which made zero sense to me.

There's also something about the airport, this vibe that makes me stay, even without doing anything. Like a home. 2012 was when I frequently went there, sitting at Dunkin Donuts, just writing away. Occasionally I'd head to the viewing plaza, but then I wouldn't write much because I'd be staring at planes instead.

The airport was also where I'd first met the one who used to mean the world to me. Where the 'love at first sight' magic had happened between the both of us. It was also where, 8 months later, I'd fetched him from his arrival from Bali, when he said he'd realised that we couldn't live long without each other. (that was what he said, I'd explain but psshhh.)

When we broke up, the airport became a place I tried to avoid. I just kept thinking that the memories would be too overwhelming, that I'd be too weak to handle it.

Just like with the North, I was wrong.

I paid a visit to the airport today, after a long time. I walked where I'd walked with him, but it really didn't scare me. It didn't bother me anymore; sure, the ghosts of the past walked alongside me but I just minded my own business and smiled at them. Don't cry because it's over; smile because it happened.

Now that another fear is down, I hope I can get back in good terms with the airport again. It's peaceful, you see all kinds of different people, doing different things, and you can just walk along anywhere in the airport, just being yourself, without looking out of place.

On a side note, I may love the airport, and aeroplanes, and exploring and travelling around Singapore, but I don't find myself wanting to travel the world. The interest is just not there. I feel contented enough with Singapore's roads. Yes, pretty sure that makes me weird.

And I apologise if this post is out of place, considering the recent chaos with the missing plane. It's just not my style to write about current affairs, something that everyone is talking about. I'll try one day though, okay???

Slowly letting go of 2013, slowly working hard to gain recognition for my writing.

The bright side of darkness

You know how everyone tells you to 'look on the bright side' every time something shitty happens to you? Yeh, it gets annoying because you think there is no such thing, but over time I realise that there is.

About one and a half months ago, my good friend from my Comiss class said to me: "You'll have everything when you have nothing." Thinking back, it made a lot of sense.

You see, the darkness is where there are the most possibilities. Turn off your bedroom lights, keep it quiet for a while, and in no time your imagination starts getting wild. You think of ghosts. You think of serial killers. Stuff like that, lurking in the darkness.

Likewise, when you are stripped of everything, that's when you will gain the most. You have the highest possibility of flying when you are at the bottom of your life. Anything can happen now that you are nothing. Simpler put, it's a rebirth.

If I hadn't been kicked out by my parents last two years, I wouldn't have discovered the amazing thing about MRT lines and roads, and expressways.

If I hadn't been dumped last two months, I wouldn't have returned to my parents, and I wouldn't have tried to socialise in these Whatsapp groups.

The next time I fall again, I shouldn't be so bummed out about it. I should take it as a chance to try new things. Being away from my parents opened my eyes to the roads of Singapore. Being away from boyfriends gave me freedom to meet all kinds of amazing new people.

Being in a shitty life is what brought me to see the beauty of being me.

Being in the darkness is what showed me the bright lights.

Breaking free / 2000th post!

I told myself Thursday would be the last time I'd ever meet him. But after all that talk about standing up for what you really want, I couldn't just leave him alone. Because like I'd said, honesty is important, and I couldn't deny that I really like him. I couldn't avoid him.

I used to love the North, especially Woodlands, but I'd had to avoid it ever since my recent break-up, only because of the haunting memories. The last time I'd gone there, I was being a drunk fucktard who was texting and calling up everyone I'd wanted attention from.

First thing that helped me out of this 'fear' was bus 168, which I'd taken from Tampines' retail park. The best part of this bus journey is basically, well, start to finish.

Pretty sure you know how much I love the expressways of Singapore; the thing about 168 is that it goes on the Tampines Expressway and the Seletar Expressway. Just two highways, but it's a big deal to me. When it exited the SLE and went on Woodlands land, it just got better; the fact that it didn't scare me as much as I'd thought.

I still didn't know the layout of Woodlands bus interchange though, shamefully. I'd walked one round only to have him jumping on me from the back by surprise, and leading me back all the way to the berth where I'd alighted at.

He got me iced chocolate, which was a request he'd owed me from Thursday. Just when I thought I'd never meet him again! Hehe. We were being clueless idiots at Starbucks, though the sales dude was nice to us.

Our date today was just at the Waterfront all day, waiting for the sunset. We played swings, ran from one end to the other of the jetty, read our books with the wind blowing through our pages. Most of all, we talked. I'd sworn never to tell my story beyond 2014 to anyone new, but as always, I made him an exception. He didn't judge me anyway, so all was good.

He is so alike me, I couldn't help noticing. The problem with him is just the same as the problem with me back then, so I hope I'd managed to bring the light to him by sharing my own experience.

My darling, you aren't the only one in a tough spot. You aren't the only one who has to make a difficult decision here. I'm torn between too. I'm torn between loving you or leaving you, as you very well know.

Stand up for what you want. That's what I'd always told you. Choose what makes you happy, not because you don't want to hurt someone, or whatever. Stand up for yourself. That's what would make me want to love you.

But thinking of it, I don't want your girl to feel this way. I know how it feels like to lose a love you've spent so long nurturing, a love you've sacrificed for and invested your energy on. It was only a one-year relationship for me and I already felt like shit when he left; how would your girl feel, considering the fact that your relationship has been on for two years?

I should leave. I'm well aware of this. But if I do, I'd be hurting you. And you're the one I'm in love with, not your girl, so I should be caring about your feelings more, right? As sick as it sounds, isn't that the way feelings work? I don't know.

But yeah, you aren't alone. I'm in a tight spot together with you. See the beauty of this mess, is that what you choose will be my choice, and what I choose will be yours.

We parted at where we met, and again, I took my 168 and flew on my expressways. Lucky for me, there were two buses that came at the same time, and I managed to snag the empty one; the ride throughout was peaceful as fuck. I sat hugging my knees for a solid half an hour or so, just marveling at the beauty of Singapore's expressways.

Unlike 2012, I've been strong throughout this break-up. I'm proud of myself for having made it this far, for throwing away my fears to make space for hope. I'll never forget the joys of the relationship with the boy from Johore, but it looks like I'll never cry over the loss again either.

I'm gaining strength as the years pass and experiences grow.

The presence of friends helps. That's what I'd learnt, and it was a big mistake to have let go of my only friends in 2012. So, thank you to whoever's been there for me through this break-up, be it just once or twice or up to today. I'm grateful for you; you know who you are.

P.s. This is my 2000th post! Can you believe I've written that many entries in this little blog of mine? I don't, either! Well, 109blackaxesii just recently celebrated her 6th birthday last November anyway. Hehe. May she progress onward! May she make me proud someday!

He was never mine

Knees hugged to her chest
Nothing on her mind but this mess.
Energy taken away by this fight
The only rest being a bus ride.

No matter how beautiful are their eyes
When it's time, make the sacrifice.
No matter how hard it tears you like so
If you love someone, let them go.

Don't cry, you did what you had to
The reward for it will come for you.
Even though you were never his
At least you got to feel what love is.

____

Just a little poem I wrote a few days ago, the day after we last met. Was a little depressed I'd say, listening to the same songs over and over, lying in bed and crying, thinking about you, about me, about what we could have been.

That phase is over, and I'm fine as a feline now! Now I know how it feels like to be in love by letting someone go when you have to. No greater love than in sacrifice and letting them decide what they'd like on their path.

Love at first sight, like falling for someone you just met at the airport, knowing you would never meet them again. It feels just the same.

Our infinity within the numbered days

Years ago, in 2012, I made a post about the things I found attractive in a guy; crooked teeth, loneliness, a reading hobby, a flair for writing. I'd fall in love immediately with someone of these qualities, but I thought it'd be impossible to meet someone that perfect.

When I broke up recently, people were telling me I'd meet someone better. I refused to believe it because I loved the qualities that guy had possessed: an openness to be himself, a sense of humour, honesty in letting you know how much you meant to him.

What would have been better? A guy who had the qualities from both the above paragraphs. Impossible for me to meet someone that perfect right? I did, though. I met such a guy, who also had a gorgeous smile and, at 185 cm, is also a ruler taller than me.

He noticed me first, before I realised his perfections. The thing is, he had his own affection towards the roads as well. I wasn't the only one who felt at home on the roads. Not only that, but we had so much in common, most of all his love for books and writing. Yes, I've met a tall, cute guy who likes reading and writing.

It wasn't just common interests; the way we looked at life was similar too. The way we felt, in general. Most of the time, we could sense what the other was thinking, or doing, almost like we were connected to each other by a umbilical cord. Like we were twins.

He didn't have many friends of his own, but when we first met, he was friendly, open, and he was just being himself. I really liked that. There was no awkwardness and I found it comfortable to be open with him as well.

Not to be cheesy, but it was love at first sight with this guy. The last time I'd felt that was a year ago, with the same guy who only recently dumped me. Of all the boys I'd mingled with since then, there were never any which I felt love at first sight, not even the date from weeks ago with Arabic blood, who was the type who could turn heads on the streets because he's that good-looking. But I just didn't feel that toward him.

We went to town yesterday, on what we called a 'bookstore date', since buying books was our main intention of going out. Of course, it turned out to be a date just in itself, because we had sushi for lunch, caught a movie, and took a walk through town with my hand in his. And have I mentioned I wore a dress? Hah.

Every time we passed a mirror, I couldn't help but pull him to look at our reflection and say, "Look. We're so cute together." because I think we really were. We looked sexy too, because we were both so tall. Hehe.

I wish I could blog more in details, but I guess only he and I are the only ones who would know the memory we created yesterday. The laughs, and the sadness.

I've only known you for a while, but I can honestly say, that I'm in love with you.

Of course, in every love story there's always the part that's fucked up. In this case, it's the fact that this guy has a girlfriend. They've been together for two years. I'm the third party, the lowest of all the lowest scum.

That's why, at the end of yesterday I had to tell him that that'd be the last time we could ever meet. Making him choose wasn't the way to go; I'm the third wheel, so of course I'm the one who has to make the sacrifice, despite the fact that he himself had fallen for me too: "Where else could I ever find a girl who's also in love with writing?"

As much as I hadn't wanted to, I had to leave. It hurt him, and it made me cry, but I couldn't risk being with him any longer because that would just hurt all three of us a lot more. I'd fall harder, knowing I could never have him, and he'd fall harder, knowing he could never leave the girl he's already with.

We've been playing these little games where the loser has to do a request for the winner; his last request for me was a whispered, "Kiss me hard before you go.", before he broke into a song about summertime sadness.

How could I have said no to that? It was the first and last time I kissed someone so perfect. The first time, in a long time, that I'd been shown love and affection from a guy while I was still sober.

The time spent was magical while it lasted. It was wrong, but love hurts whether it's right or wrong doesn't it?

In a way, he was my Augustus Waters; he'd given me our own infinity within the numbered days before it all had to be over.

My creepy bedroom

If you've been reading my blog since last year, I'm pretty sure you've read the post about how I'm really just a coward despite going through so much. [link]

So I've been wanting to write about this one thing in my everyday life which is actually creepy, but which I've gotten used to, that's why it doesn't scare me much: my bedroom.

The whole year I was at Paya Lebar, none of my family members slept in my room, despite there being a comfortable double bed which I'm pretty sure my dad would have liked. If not, my little brother would have, because it's about time he sleeps on his own anyway.

When questioned, he simply said, "Honestly, your room has this creepy atmosphere about it, which I just can't describe."

I didn't deny or think he was crazy, because I knew what he was talking about. Before I left in 2012, it was where I sat crying and cutting and doing other crazy things in lieu with my depression back then. Perhaps the tension in my bedroom was caused by those haunting emotions and memories.

As if those demons weren't enough, I'm pretty sure that more have settled in here during my absence since then. What more with nobody coming in here the whole year, how its door remained shut for the whole year.

I doubt the windows were ever open either, because of the mosquitoes constantly coming in, and the howling of the wind that sounds too creepily unnatural.

Yes, when I came back here to Pasir Ris about a month ago, I could feel a difference, like it had gotten more abandoned and dark. I'm not sure how to describe it either, it's just a difference I felt in something I'd grown accustomed to.

I just find it amazing that despite being such a coward who finds a need to sleep in my parents room each time I see just a scary picture, I'm the only one who can handle the pure creepiness of my own room. And yes, I'd like to know what is it that makes my room hella creepy, that even my parents feel it.

The crust, the mantle, and the core

"He only likes me because he thinks I'm pretty; he doesn't know me on the inside."

It ain't as simple as that anymore. Truth is, we not only have an 'outside' and 'inside', but we have three layers. Just like the Earth, we have the crust, the mantle, and the core.

Our crust is our exterior, what others see at first glance. Our looks, simply. Our physical perfections, the tiny flaws on your face that you were born with. Or the things we do, acts that make people do this thing called 'judge' you.

Our mantle is what's just below the surface. Approach someone, talk to them for a while, and you might reach their mantle; who they actually are. He who frowns all the time has a good sense of humour. She who is always dressed down has a flair for fashion design. Things like that. Little things that you'll grow to love and accept because it's just who they are in front of you.

And then there's our core, the innermost layer. This is where our past and dirty secrets lie. This is where it's determined who survives you and who doesn't. Only those who can handle the heat of your core would be willing to stay no matter how it hurts them.

Truth is, I've not exposed my core to anyone new as of 2014. If you'd just met me and are reading this now (you know who you are), you don't know me. Sure, you may like me because I'm a writer like you, you may like me because I share common interests with you. You may like me because I use proper language even when I'm texting, you may like me because I'm a bookworm. You may be attracted to me because I'm quote 'different from other girls', but that's just my mantle.

I'm pretty sure you can't handle my core. Heck, you're not even halfway there. The one person who made it ended up leaving, dirtying this core of mine even more. Sure, you've made it past the crust, you've sat on my mantle, but I don't want any of you to be coming near my core. Thinking about it, I think I should just push everyone the fuck away.

And yes, I've said it before but I shall say it again: I hate being caught in between. If there are two parties with equal pros and cons, heck it I'd rather pack up and move forward, and be alone.

Nobody is ever gonna put you first. That's your job; putting you as an individual before anyone else. I think I've seen Merlissa's point: I have to start doing things for myself, and myself alone, because no one repeat no one will ever see you as important. Apart from you.

So I guess I shall just keep my core to myself. Everyone else, back off from it.

P.s. I'm not a Science freak so I'm sorry if my metaphor clashes with the scientific reality. But you get the idea, right?

A new family

Okay, my stats have been shit. People have been coming in regularly to check but be disappointed to see no new posts. And with no new posts, I don't get audience either. So.... I shall now write a little something. What about exactly?

I think I shall blog about social life, shouldn't I? It's been a while. [because it's been non-existent]

They always tell me to make friends. They know I don't have many at school, I spend my lunches alone and the few friends I did hang out with are the ex's friends. So, yeah: make friends. Easy, right?

Wrong. It was difficult as hell. Like I'd said, I'm no longer in the same classes as my Sem 1 classmates, and since I repeated modules, I had to be placed in classes that had been together before, leaving me out of their circle. Okay, so, apart from my lovely Shihui and the occasional laughters with Loy and Aloysius, I hadn't had any other friends in school.

In the end, I had to resort to something new in order to socialise, and that was to retweet one of those "Retweet and I'll add you to this Whatsapp group!", give my number to a stranger called The Admin, and BOOM. You now have new friends.

A long time ago, I'd seen these things, and I thought they were super silly. Only after going through the experience firsthand, making new friends, meeting new people, did I know that whoever first thought of this is a genius.

I've met so many new friends, it's so amazing. Not only that, but these people are so awesome, in their own ways, each and every one. We've known each other only for, what, a few weeks, but it feels like we've been together for our whole lives. I feel like we're a family, and I'm glad that I'm not the first to mention this, and that they feel the same too.

Even the first time we met, it hadn't been awkward. We teased one another like siblings and laughed like there was no tomorrow. I couldn't remember the last time I'd laughed til my belly ached like that.

Maybe 2014 wouldn't be so bad after all. The start of something new, no? Yes, I remember how I'd lost a good friend the last time I said this, but hey. Think positive right? I think the new year has just begun, and I'm looking forward to spending every day of it with you people.

I still have problems finding out where home is, but for now, home is with you guys.

The Friday 'date'

Do you remember? You told me to blog about our little date, so here. You. Go.

A little background story: I'm not sure how do I answer "How did you meet?" because I really have no idea how. But he approached me in a good way, he was charming and shit, he stayed up all night reading my blog posts, with the intention of wanting to know more about me. He read about my past, and he still said "I still want you in my life." OK.

So Friday. We were supposed to meet at 2, after his Friday prayers but it turned out my exam was starting at 3, not 10 as I'd thought. The 'date' was cancelled and was replaced with a short meeting; instead of watching a movie, we were just gonna hit the court and then dinner afterwards.

He was sad about it, and I didn't like the feeling of having disappointed someone. He just said he'd be grateful as hell to just see me even if it was only for a while. So despite my exam ending a little too late, I told him Okay, I'll do my best to come for you.

On Friday, after my exam, I headed to Bishan. I was just keeping my promise; it was bad of me to have to cancel the plan, so it was the least I could have done to make up for it.

So here's what happened: the only times we interacted was walking to and fro the basketball court and Bishan station, because he was playing basketball while I sat at the side. Okay, got that, and then I couldn't stay for dinner because it was already late.

When we parted we gave a goodbye hug and I didn't think much of it, apart from the melting sensation because Finally a hug from someone way taller than me! and His smile is so cute!

So I got back to Paya Lebar, told him I've made it home, and he also texted when he was home. Before, he would text me literally every minute he was online, but that night he didn't. I didn't really think too much into it, but the next morning I decided to be all "Morning", to him. No reply. So that was it.

Blahblahblah, the day passed and night came, and then he sent me a long text explaining why he didn't talk to me. He just felt 'ashamed' that he'd made me wait for nothing, and that he felt he had 'used' me. Of course, me being me I just sent back a long text explaining why it didn't bother me, and that next time he should just be honest about it.

If y'all follow me on Instagram I'm pretty sure you've seen my drawing of "Dreamboy's dream team", because the first time we talked, he told me his top 6 favourite Pokemon. I just thought I'd draw that for him because I was bored anyway.

You'd think he'd be touched, and well yeah he was, he went all teary-eyed and was like, "You didn't miss out a single member of my favourite Pokemon (':" OK. You'd think he'd melt and shit, and be like OMAIGOD I LIKE YOU YOU'RE SO SWEET I WANNA BE CLOSER TO YOU but nope.

"But I've got no feelings for you anymore cause I feel bad about myself for doing what I'm not supposed to. I'm honestly sorry" was what I got instead :-)

So seriously, I've no idea what guys want??? He flirted with me first and seemed so honest and sincere but then just ended up being like your typical douchebag. ZzzzzzzZZZZZZzzzzZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ. You may be cute but that's inexcusable.

Okay, I may have screwed things up with the previous guys, like my awesome SP friend, but this date, I swear I never once did anything wrong. I was keeping a promise, I personally asked if anything was wrong when he didn't reply, I texted him with all honesty when he finally did. So leave me alone on this one because really I didn't contribute to its falling apart.

Dreams are possible!!!

A long time ago, a friend of mine said: "My mother told me that whatever you dream of, will always be the direct opposite in reality."

He was talking about the dreams you have at night. And for all I know, he isn't the only one who strongly believes in this. I have a bunch of others who say this same line each time I tell them about a dream I had at night.

But I'd like to beg to differ. Around October last year, I'd dreamt of walking to my Pasir Ris house in the night, the only light being the streetlamps, texting the best friend of the asshole who dumped me. Just his best friend, while he himself was mentioned nowhere in that particular dream.

And then meanwhile in reality, just a month ago, I was returning to my parents' place late at night. Of course, I'd already been dumped by that asshole, but yep. His best friend was there, texting me during my whole journey from Paya Lebar to Pasir Ris, til I fell asleep.

It may be nothing, but it's still a dream come true wasn't it?

Even if it's true that reality will be the opposite of what you dreamt of, it doesn't mean it will happen. If you really want it to come true, you'd put in effort. Like how I told my friend that I dreamt of a crush asking me out, and she immediately said: "To be honest, what happens in real life will always be the opposite of what you dream of." as a way of saying that this dream wouldn't come true.

But hey? The opposite of being asked out, is asking someone out. Do I not make sense? It still can happen if you twist the situation and put in effort to make it reality.

What about the dreams you have in reality, the ambitions you're chasing?

There was this one time, in my childhood, I'm not sure how long ago it was. I was watching this show where Nick Cannon shyly confessed his celebrity crush being Mariah Carey. I didn't take much notice, but then a few months or maybe years later BOOM, there was this other show where Nick was shown a picture of Mariah and he immediately gushed: "Aww man that's my wife man, I love her!"

My mind straightway transported to the last time I saw this guy on TV, when he only confessed to his wife being a crush. I was dumbfounded as to what the hell happened in between these two moments!? Still, it was a pleasant surprise, like anything can happen huh?

Another moment back in my childhood, when my mom was telling me a story; she had a conversation with the youngest daughter from next door, who is 3 years older than me. The girl was practising her posture and the way she walked, because, my mother learnt, it was her dream to be an air stewardess.

At that time I was really young, probably about mid primary school. I didn't take notice, but again, many years later something else happened that made me think of that moment.

Just a few days ago, maybe two weeks back, my mother and I were waiting for the lift when she pointed to our neighbour's laundry. "Do you wanna be a stewardess too?"

I looked to see that there was the Singapore Airlines uniform hanging out to dry. I straightway exclaimed: "Who's the stewardess!?" and when I learnt that it was their youngest daughter, I was once again pleasantly shocked.

Dreams can come true huh? Your crushes can be your boyfriends and your ambitions can be your sources of income!

Basket of moss

I don't know how I found you, but I'm glad I did. It was a room, at the back of a house, with a secret door which I had stumbled upon. A secret door where lain beyond was you.

You were a prisoner there, it was a small space with a mattress and bookshelves all around, cramped full of unimportant things. You were lying on the mattress, sitting against the wall, looking so pale and weak I thought you were going to die.

I had to go over to you and hold you in my arms so tightly, before you even realised I was there. Your eyes were so dead they scared me; they have never looked that empty.

You wouldn't talk, but somehow I figured you were just starving. I found a box of muffins in the kitchen of the house, which I brought back to you. You finished everything and I guess you were so thankful for me, because afterwards you wouldn't allow me to leave you alone.

You still refused to say anything but you made me stay there with you, making sure I was there each time you woke up. I couldn't bear to leave you alone anyway, not after seeing how you were caught up in that tiny hole all on your own the whole time.

I'm not sure how long we stayed there, just me against the wall, stroking your hair while you laid on my lap with your arms around me. You were like a child, and I so badly wanted to stay with you forever.

Soon, your captor returned. He went on a rage at seeing me there, and he grabbed at your hair, pulling you up to wake you. I tried to protect you, by fighting back against your captor but he just kicked me out of the secret room and locked the door behind him.

There was a lot of banging noise from the inside, and when the door opened again, your captor walked out with a death glare for me. You refused to even look me in the eye, as you walked out of your room with a backpack. Presumably that was your first time in a long time leaving that hellhole.

Your captor looked at me and told me he was bringing you to another place. A special place, fit only for a person like you. I wanted to protest, I wanted to bring you with me, because I could see he was torturing you but the look in his eyes dared me not to even speak.

And I'm sorry, that I let you down. I let you go with him, right when I thought you're safe with me. I didn't fight for you. I just let you walk away, with your head hung low, right on the tail of that bloody asshole.

____

I wish I can be there for you. It may be just a dream, but I feel like something's bothering you, like you're in trouble or buried in lots of problems that you can't talk to anyone about.

I know for a fact that if I approach you, you'll just push me the fuck away, but bloody hell you know I meant it when I told you I'll always be here for you if he ever gives you problems or neglects you.

If you think the "you" in the above story was referring to the asshole who dumped me, you've got it all wrong. You'd know who it is only if you really read into every single detail and if I've talked to you about my feelings about my relationship with this person, so, I guess only he himself would know who "you" is. Meh.

P.s. Refer to the Victorian flower language.

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.