Wind of voices

The first thing I see are my black jeans. My black shirt. My black sneakers. I hold up my hands. They are dirty. I don't need a mirror to guess that my face is probably just as soiled.

Something about ferns... They are everywhere. I see a few HDB blocks but even those are not as many as the fern trees. They are growing everywhere, I could die strangled by their leaves.

I see a family pass me by, looking at one another like they were the most wonderful things each has ever seen. They look happy to be together; they don't even realise I'm standing there and practically walk right through me.

One of the daughters picks up a fern leaf, spins around while letting it go. I watch the fern float higher and higher until it is gone into the clouds.

When I look back down from the sky, I see a boy staring at me. He grins and runs off, and I find myself chasing after him. I've never seen him before, yet he has the aura of something familiar, as if I've been intimate with him in my past life.

I lose him for a moment, fern trees breathing down my neck and pulling my ankles wherever I go. I stand on a lift lobby, very sure I've lost him, when there he is in the distance.

He holds another girl in his arms, she with her long wavy dark hair. They stand in a space that is surrounded by the playground, embracing each other. Occasionally he looks over her shoulder and gives a secret smile at me.

My stomach wants to lurch and my throat wants to throw itself out my mouth. People are gathered around them, filling up the playground and watching and cooing at them, I believe admiring how cute they are together.

I see his eyes on me still, how longingly they look at me. I almost see him reaching his hand out to me, but I turn away when I notice how she looks completely in love with him.

I can't ruin that, can't ruin the show that everyone is enjoying.

I hide at the back of the playground, making sure I don't see them anymore. I sit in the shadows of the audience, sobbing until a soldier comes over to me. A soldier, with a patch over his left eye and a wooden leg. He looks like a pirate in these parts, yet I identify him as a soldier because the rest of him looks that way.

He has a huge gun slung over his chest, while he holds a chain whip. He tells me not to cry, comparing my heartbreak to his past. He tells me he's lost an eye and a leg in the war, and yet he never cries.

"That's your story, this is my story, and I want to cry as and when I feel sad. I don't care about your past!" I argue. He continues demanding I stop crying, that I just suck it up unless I lose a leg and an eye myself, then I can cry. The bastard!

I glare at him, and that is when he whips me with his chain. I don't see it coming, and even if I did, he moves fast. It tears through my jeans and even my skin; I catch a glimpse of my bone through the hole his chain has made. My bone looks burnt, as if the chain is made of fire.

He tells me to stop crying, while he holds his chain up, ready for another beating. I turn to run instead, into the lift I was standing by earlier. A silhouette that resembles the Grim Reaper is the last thing I see before the doors close on me.

As the lift takes me up to the highest floor, I drop to my knees and bury my face in my hands. The whispering in my ears grow more and more intense the higher I go.

The door finally opens after what seems like forever; in front of me is nothing but a straight lane. Neither doors nor windows decorate its dirty walls. I don't see where it ends.

I begin walking to the end, and that is when the whispers become shouts. I can't make out what they're saying, but the voices act like wind blowing against me. The louder they get, the harder it gets for me to walk forward. My injured leg doesn't help.

My desire to jump to my death is what keeps me alive, to the extent that my walks become crawls. I try to get up, but I hear the crack of a bone. I look down and watch in horror as the bottom of my leg breaks away from my thigh. I fall on the remaining of my leg, and watch the rest fly back to where I came from.

I make out a little of what some of the voices are saying: I hear "red and blue", "Fernvale", "die with a Ghost". I hear the name of the boy, and the girl he was hugging. It's almost too much for me to bear.

I think I almost reach the end, and the voices become sharp as knives, cutting into every part of my face. The Grim Reaper stands before me; he lifts his cloak to reveal the soldier from before.

I can't run anymore. I let his chain cut through my every bone, as he whips at me again and again. It is made of fire, it burns me yet it doesn't hurt me. In fact, I seem to enjoy the heat. It's solace compared to the cold of the voices and the wind.

He cuts me into pieces, each part of my body flying off to where the lift door stands. He cuts off my ears and finally I hear nothing but silence, as my head lifts from the ground and floats back to wherever the wind of the voices takes me.

I am finally in oblivion.

It is my last thought before I wake up from the nightmare.

Close the windows

The window at my feet.

The window at my feet. 

Cold cement below the surface of my thin mattress.

A warm bed with pillows all around.

A few books at my feet, arranged neatly in boxes.

Dozens of books at the front of the room, arranged neatly on all five shelves. 

A text from the wind.

A text from a ghost. 

The sound of jingling bells.

The sound of someone gaming. 

I pick up my cat and cradle her in my arms.

I pull my brother's hair and make some joke about him. 

I stay in bed, stare at the ceiling and think about the bad dreams I had.

I get up, stare out the window and think about what I should do that evening.

The house is cramped, filled from the floor to the ceiling with unnecessary things.

The house is spacious, an executive flat, kept spick and span. 

I don't have to worry about breakfast because my grandmother always makes me something without fail.

Mom's at work, I have to get my own breakfast as well as my brother's.

I am pressured to do my best, especially in my studies.

I am left to tend to my own life. I'm not sure if my parents know how much difficulty I'm having in my studies. 

I am not alone but I am angry.

I am strong but I am lonely.

I have what I need but not what I want.

I have what I want but not what I need. 

Too much mess that I try to deal with.

Too much mess that I have to simply sweep under the carpets. 

The wind blows through my hair, comforting me when it gets too hot.

The wind forces its way in and messes everything up, forcing me to fly with it. 

The wind is a gentle breeze that I need.

The wind is a tornado ripping through my life, destroying everything.

I close the windows so the wind doesn't leave.

I close the windows so the wind doesn't come in ever again.

I am happy being here with my new family. I never want to return to Pasir Ris.

I miss my old family. I want to return to Paya Lebar.

I am home. This will be my home forever.

I am home. But I want to go back to my real home.

Home is where you choose to be,

not where you came from. 

Where you were saved,

not where you were born.

Why I can't and won't repent

So a while ago I told myself I would start to acknowledge my own religion.

After about a month or so thinking about it and going through more bullshits of life, I've come to the decision that I shouldn't, and I won't. I did try, but I realised it isn't my fate to love Him.

It'd have been easier if I started from young, but I didn't. I read about my religion a lot last year, but it didn't interest me like it should. I find myself more interested in things that clash with my religion instead.

To me, religion tears people apart, from themselves and from each other. I see many people from mine making it out like they're higher and mightier than others just because they believe. They go on hindering others for one sin, when they're committing a different sin themselves.

It's not just sin it's behaviour too, and most people who keep boasting about their beliefs are no better than those who openly don't follow the rules. Feels like religion is making people look down on those different from them. Brings more war than peace.

I feel like atheists (or people who aren't that iffy about religion) are nicer people in general. I've read stories about these people, and met quite a few, and they don't look down on those who heavily believe in religion, although you see them being judged a lot themselves.

Part of me never believed in my own God. Sure, I believed in His existence but I never once believed he had the power that everyone says He has.

I'm not convinced when people say He has something better planned for you; if you died before you got that something, then everyone just dismisses it as 'God loves him more'.

I heard that suicide is a sin in my religion, and I also heard that God planned our death before we were even born. So if someone died of suicide, isn't it what He wanted? Is the person still gonna be punished for that sin? Because if he is, that's pretty unfair.

There's also the Jodoh thing. It's pretty cruel how He makes two people fall in love and give their everything to each other, only to rip them up apart just because He doesn't want them together for life. People can say "He knows what's best for us" but I don't think anyone would be happy if that happens to them.

If God really loves us, why doesn't He just accept the way we are? Even if we sin a lot, even if we're tattooed, even if we're gay? No? I question too many things about Him that we should just accept. Idk.

I've had many questions about these, and many other things about this matter but nobody ever had an answer for me, even when they're religiously inclined. So many gaps in this religion that I wouldn't have noticed if I wasn't so curious.

Just my own opinion, that's why I don't find myself suited to be a Muslim.

It was always what the wind wanted for me, that's why I tried so hard. It was always for him. Thinking about it, he probably further deterred me from wanting to repent and shit, comparing the way he looks differently at those who aren't as religious as him. Ugh nevermind let's not.

Now I've thought about it hard, and if I chose what I want, I choose not wanting to hug my own religion after all. I'm just not interested, I don't find most of the religion's aspects logical, and I simply like to consume/do many things that are forbidden.

A day at the hospital

I woke up and we were already rushing to the hospital. I thought it was a dream, because I remember getting into a car accident. But I wasn't the problem; it was my mom.

When I saw her the first thing she said, with just a tinge of misery, was "I had a great fall." I couldn't help but think of Humpty Dumpty when she said that. Dad has always been making fun of Mom that way. I almost took it as a joke.

Apparently Mom had fallen at work, on the luggage conveyor belt at her workplace. I overheard her talking on the phone with her colleague about the way she fell, and I stifled a giggle when I imagined it.

So while Mom was being treated and all, I just went and have a normal day at the hospital.

At first I just sat reading the book I'd brought, Fangirl. It's about a girl who goes into college and realises that she can't be stuck in her past 18 years. The things that happen to her slowly forces her to grow up and leave all her familiarity behind.

The main character is annoying sometimes but I found myself being able to relate to all her bullshit.

I went on reading until my little brother showed up and told me he was hungry. I didn't realise I was too, so we went off to get stuff to eat.

We came across a vending machine that dispensed 'fresh hot sandwiches', but we didn't have enough coins for it. So we walked on to the 7-11 where I got myself a big fat nice hot chicken pau and icy cold milk tea. We used the change for the sandwich vending machine.

After slotting in our coins, the machine flashed WAIT 190 SECONDS, the 190 decreasing to 0 by the second as a countdown. When it got to 0, bam, a wrapped sandwich appeared in the little window. We sat outside the A&E, eating all our hot food and talking about bullshit like we always do.

I brought sushi after that, and then we came across a pond with dozens of huge fish. They were the same kind of fish as the ones at Downtown East, yet we still found ourselves being excited about them.

You could donate 2 bucks in exchange for fish food, so we did that and spent the next 15 minutes or so throwing these bits into the pond. They smelled like the cuttlefish snack that comes in string, so we thought those damn fish were cannibals.

You should have seen how excited the fish were when we threw the food in! They were almost fighting to get one. The big dark fish were on one side while the bright sparkly white koi were on the other. We thought they were racist too.

Who knew that fish could be so weird too?

There was one that didn't move from the bubbles coming from the purifier thing or whatever it was. It just stayed there among the bubbles, like it was its personal Jacuzzi. It didn't leave its spot, not even for the food.

There was one that kept swimming on its side, and we noticed that it hadn't gotten any food. We tried to get it to eat, but it was never fast enough to snag a bite.

There were also the suckerfish that mostly stuck to the floor and walls of the pond, and when we saw one coming up to the surface, we rushed to feed it. It came up, slowly, and then SPLASH it jumped to bite the food fiercely, shocking the shit out of my brother and I!

The koi were rabbling on about something, their mouths opening and closing non-stop. We looked at one and mimicked its mouth movements, saying rabble? rabble rabble? over and over. I imagined looking at us through the koi's perspective. Who knew if they were saying something intelligent and calling us humans dumb morons for our constant rabbling???

All in all, the hospital is a really cool place. I got sad looking at the patients and all, but I tried my damndest trying not to imagine their life stories. It's a habit I need to stop because it always makes me emotional on the inside.

A flame and a ghost

I went on a date today ^_^ It's been eons since I last went on one. Get ready for yet another post about nothing more than the day I had.

We both turn up in navy blue shirts, blaming the other for being a copycat. We give each other a hello hug, and he kiss the top of my head like he always does. We aren't together but we sure act like we are. "Just make it official already!", as my friend said.

I tell him he can bring me anywhere today, that I don't care where we go as long as I'm with him. I don't mean to sound cheesy but that's the honest truth!

Before we set off anywhere, I tell him I need to get my chewy cookies. Chewy cookies are a luxury to me, especially those M&M ones from Cookies For Sid. The first and last time I got them was back in last year with my cousin, because I always missed the shop somehow whenever I passed it by. This time, no way!

He brings me to Esplanade, and I tell him some of the stories of my memories there. The sun is still high in the sky so not many people were outside, but I like having the sun in my face. so I drag him to sit by the river.

We sit there for quite a while, me just soaking in the warmth of the sun and his presence, and taking panorama pictures of the city skyline.

After a line of conversation we make our way to Gardens by the Bay, cutting through Marina Square as a shortcut. Idiot can't remember where the shortcut exit is, so we end up walking in circles around the mall.

I tell him more stories, memories of my prom shopping with the girls, episodes of South Park which I'm reminded of.

It's a sign that I'm getting more comfortable with him, to be telling him things which he wouldn't give a shit about, and that he's comfortable with me too, to not be hiding the fact that he really doesn't give a shit xD

About 45 minutes later we finally find the exit by the cinema, where I give him a thousand applauds for being such a genius.

We get to the bridge with the weird twists and turns at the top, overlooking the city skyline and the river. I tell him what is it about water that's so scary to me; how water looks calm on the surface but runs deeper than that, with the ability to pull you in, close in on you, taking up your personal space and even robbing you of your breath. He agrees that the ocean and its secrets are not a pleasant place.

Our hands interlocked with each other's, we head to the rooftop of the Marina Bay Sands mall, where I take more pictures of the scenery. The roads are so beautiful from up high, the way they snake around above the water.

We walk side by side on the differently-leveled boards, holding each other's hand as a way of balance. I tell him I am his shadow, a side character from a video game, following him wherever he goes. "You jump, I jump!"

After taking a dozen pictures on the rooftop, we head on down towards Gardens by the Bay, cutting through Marina Bay Sands on a bridge.

My breath is taken away at the moment we exit the hotel. There's a bit of everything; roads on either side of me, trees and flowers ahead of me, a reservoir in the distance, birds and dragonflies flying past me, the wind blowing through my hair.

It's my first time walking through Gardens by the Bay. I've always wanted to come here, and ever since I discovered I'm a Fire Type, I've been more scared, as silly as it sounds. But I need not be afraid, for the place is more powerful than I am. More stunning. I'm small compared to it.

We walk through the park, just holding hands and talking about the randomest things. The both of us share a common hatred for people, but despite the crowds, we don't care about anyone else but each other.

We make it to Marina Barrage, where we stand overlooking the bridge that separates the reservoir and sea. He brings me into a gallery that tells and shows everything about the place. How it was formed, how it works, and other historical and geographical facts.

I can't deny that it interests me, to know how water is managed here. In a way, it's knowing my fear and enemy. In fact, we've been hanging around water a lot today; almost like I'm getting along with it :3

I tell him more memories of my secondary school girlfriends as we walk through the rooftop of Marina Barrage; how I miss them so. We sit down on the grass, looking at Marina Bay Sands in the distance, talking about girls and guys.

He tells me this is the first real date he's ever been on. A date where he just walks around in her presence, just talking and knowing her better. I tell him it's the first time I've been on a date in the city, about how my previous lover never wanted to bring me further than his own convenience.

Our eyes find each other in the dark of the night, and he smiles at me.

He tells me the sun may be gone now, but I can still be his flame and his light.

I like the way he caresses my face with the back of his hand. I go very still, careful not to shock him into moving his hand away from me.

We get up when we realise it's getting late; he takes my hand and I attempt to twirl myself around under his arm. My bag accidentally hits him instead, and I end up laughing while he clutches his stomach in pain xD

"I think we look so cute together." he sheepishly says at one point. I think we are too ^_^

After an entire day together, we grow more familiar with each other. On our way to the MRT station, we try our damndest to trip each other but to no avail. Up to the point where he suspiciously looks at me and I walk as far as I can away from him even with our hands locked together. We look so silly but at that point neither of us really cares about people anymore.

Because he resides in the West and I'm from the East side myself, we part right at City Hall. We give a goodbye hug, his lips landing on the top of my head. He strokes my face one more time, eyes locked in mine, before saying a final farewell.

"See you on Wednesday," being our promise of meeting again.

Oblivion

I'm just gonna get straight to the point.

I've been feeling suicidal lately. I've been wanting to just die. This feeling has never felt so great before. It's been here for a week and it isn't going away.

While most of the time in the past I wanted to die only because I wanted people to start appreciating me, right now all I want is to leave everything behind. I really don't care who mourns and who doesn't.

I just want to abandon the world, my emotions, and whatever little responsibilities that I have.

I want to let the world rot without me watching.
I want to leave my sadness and anger and even happiness behind.
I want to stop feeling pressured by the future whenever I do something.

Right now I feel like whatever I do either (1) does nothing and has no point, or (2) will make a drastic effect on my future.

Whatever I put all my heart and soul into gets me nowhere, and whatever I carelessly do will affect my entire life. It's so tiring. I just want to stop whatever.

I want to stop thinking of my lack of money,
I want to stop thinking of my non-existent ties with religion,
I want to stop thinking of how I've been neglecting my studies,
I want to stop thinking of how I keep draining my parents' money and energy.

I should and I can do something about the above, but right now I just don't want to. I just want to leave those sources of pressure behind. Like I just want to cut of all ties with them, and even though "the only way out is through", right now I only see one route: death.

At the moment I'm not that sad or angry at anything, I'm just tired at all these thoughts. Tired of the effects of whatever I'm doing and not doing.

Seems silly to be exhausted about all these little shit when I'm not even 20 yet, but yeah. I guess I'm giving up.

Like how Kenny from The Walking Dead said he felt peaceful when he was about to die; that's exactly how I want to feel. Peaceful, to be taken away from all this mess, instead of being awake every morning and having to fight this shit everyday.

I'm not gonna attempt anything, don't worry. I just wish I could be taken away to oblivion, just floating around in space and time, taken away by neither floods nor wind. Nothing to care about.

Death by roots

A boy and a girl. About my age. Each on either side of me, frowns on their faces and arms wrapped around themselves.

The country was in ruins. The world as we knew it, gone. People couldn't be trusted. I'm not sure they were even people anymore; everyone was empty, vacant, haunted by something that couldn't be exorcised.

The ghosts came after us as much as the 'people' did. We were running every minute, trying our damndest to escape the monstrosities all around us.

We ran and we ran, but we couldn't escape.

I was holding her hand, running as fast as we could, when a voice above us hollered; "You can't get too far away from each other, or the one left behind gets turned to dust!"

We looked back to see our other companion fade to dust as promised; his clothes fell to the ground, and as we looked back in horror, a tree grew in his place. Roots crawled all around, branches and twigs grabbed at his clothes and kept them bound to the stone where he fell.

____

We were being taught how to bury the dead. A man stood in front of us, filling in a hole with dirt, telling us to be careful with our movements. 

He came over to me and with a piercing glare, asked if I had someone I needed to bury. I pretended I didn't know what he was talking about, but he didn't keep his eyes off me. 

I went over to one of the tombstones in the cemetery we were at, looked at the poem written on it. The man came over again, said; "You have to bury him despite his state as dust, because his roots need to grow underneath where they belong."

He stabbed the point of his sword onto a metal that lies on top of the grave; a piece of metal that beeped red as soon as he did that. A bomb that was going off, threatening to blow the bodies beneath the soil to bits; and me too, if I stayed.

____

I hadn't had time to run. 

I was flying once again, only in a broken state. My neck was still twisted, my legs were still broken. My hair still flowed gently with the breeze.

No sound could be heard except the whispering of the wind in my ears. Maybe I'd gone deaf from the explosion at the graveyard. 

One thing's for sure, I was at peace as the wind carried me. I didn't trust that it'd bring me somewhere safe but I savoured the moment of being in its arms. 

A tree had grown to the height where the wind took me. It would have been beautiful if it wasn't for its fast growing rate; it was shooting into the sky faster than a bullet. Faster than me.

Among the evergrowing bark of the tree, I caught a glimpse of a face inside it. A torso lied in the middle of it, branches growing where its limbs would have been, where its head would have been. 

A voice said to me, like a narrator from a movie or a book: "And finally, she managed to catch the most beautiful sight in all of history; her soulmate growing in his element, becoming one with the trees and keeping in touch with his roots."

I realised that if we died intertwined with our Types, an explosion would be one way. I just had to wait for the fire to take me from the inside like how the trees had done with my soulmate; wait for the flame to eat me, lick my entirety and continue burning from my charred skin. 

____

I woke up with a fever. 

These 3 dreams convinced me that my soulmate is Grass-Type or dead or both. 

Been a while since I updated about my dreams. I wish I could understand them better instead of declaring war back on them. 

Dropped

Raising my arms and letting my feet go light;
Closing my eyes shut despite my fear of the night.
Having faith in the breeze running through my hair;
Allowing it to lift me and take me anywhere.

Hanging in the eagle's arms, hands around its neck;
Not an inch afraid, believing it's got my back.
Hair over its shoulders as I'm brought across the skyline;
The pair of wings on its back is as good as mine.

Taking me away to places new and old;
Faith to protect me from the fall or cold.
Caught up in the euphoria and in your laughter;
Forgetting the possibility of what would come after.

The wind turns into ice sliding down my spine;
Shards of cruelty stabbing into the heart that's mine.
The arms around me quickly releasing their hold;
I didn't know the flames of Hell could be so cold.

Broken legs and a twisted neck as I hit the ground;
Continuously admiring you in flight, withholding all sound.
Puddle of blood the only reminder I was once alive;
A raging fire, once in control over this knife.
Watching your wings being your strength to be gone;
Your happiness and freedom being the last I set eyes on.

____

I believed in the wind.
I was scared it'd let me go again like it did, but I dismissed the thought.
I wanted to believe in it more than fear it.

I was brave enough to let it take me, yet I'm too weak to handle being dropped.
I'm that stupid.

But it's okay. As long as the little birdie goes on being free, letting its wings take it wherever it wants.
Seeing a bird fly free is always a beautiful sight, and same goes for you.
Letting you go for the third time.

I thought you'd stay this time.
I finally realised I needed you like how a fire needs the wind to keep it under control.
But.
A fire can't embrace a bird.
And I'd want you to fly free and choose who to love instead of having your wings charred by my flames.

It's really okay.

The world through my eyes

I wonder how life was like before life.

How I was formed in my mother. How tiny I was. How fragile I was; how my parents took special care of me before I was born, how my big brother might have loved me before he even saw me.

I wonder how my family was like, while I was forming inside of her. How my grandmother and father and big brother might have put their ears to her stomach, trying to listen to my voice. Have they ever promised themselves to continue listening to me, even after I was born?

What was it like to learn how to walk? How to talk? My whole life I was on my feet, I've forgotten how it must have been like to struggle on limbs of my own. How it must have been like to use my vocal chords for the first time.

Everything I did back then must have cost a lot of pain. Whatever I was doing or feeling for the first time; it must have been unusual to a fragile being like I was. Maybe that's why I kept crying.

How did my mother ever teach me the things I know today? What was it like to have no idea what a colour is? Who taught me that the sky would always be blue?

It's strange to imagine life in a different way. To imagine myself not knowing the things I know now; not doing the things I do now; not loving the things I love now.

Bliss without pain is a book without stories; a world where you don't cry or feel hurt sounds appealing, but can you imagine not knowing what pain is?

Maybe nobody taught me anything that I know now. Maybe all they did was show me the world, and from there I took my own steps. From there, I took liking in my own favourite things and decided what was beautiful and what was not.

Imagine a place where people told you what to love.
Maybe you are living in there right now.

Maybe I am considered lucky to love things that others don't.
Because it's a reminder that I grew up seeing the world through my own eyes, and not through others'.

A person can truly be called an inspiration if she makes others want to see the world through her eyes.
I want to be one, to make people want to imagine the world I see it. But I also want everyone to learn to see things their own way.

I wish I could be a warm flame to the people I love, and also a spreading wildfire to everyone else, to ignite the spark to discover things their own way.

A new beginning

No more drowning, but a spirit is still latched on my back. 

Petals still linger, but a new seed has been planted. 

No more gentle breeze. I am gone with the wind. 

I am high in the sky along with the eagle, arms wrapped around his neck as he brings me to places old and new. I've held onto this pair of wings before, yet it all seems like a new world. 

Half a year was enough to change someone. But right now, I am the only one who is changed. I wish I had brought him along during that period, but it was he who had left. Now, he is the one lingering behind.

I have to adapt to the change of having many people at once; when I was with him before, I didn't have friends of my own, and I didn't have my parents. Right now, just as I was adapting to having both of those, I have to live with him too. 

Don't get me wrong; I'm more than happy to have this wind in my hair again. It's just difficult to adjust to this lifestyle, of being wanted by many loved ones at the same time. 

I'm proud of myself for not being clingy anymore, for having friends of my own and not forcing you to meet me everyday, but I am sorry if I am negligent. 

I'm taking your hand and allowing you to bring me where you want to, but remember that you are not only bringing me, but my friends and parents too. 

I hope you can adjust to the changes I've made within myself the period you were gone. 

I didn't mean to change; if I'd known you wanted to come back, I would have stayed where I was. 

Now, you have catching up to do. And I'm sorry for that. 

I am willing to fly with your wind even though I'd drop dead to the floor if you decide to let go of me again.

I am willing to plant a new seed, right next to the flower where you used to live with.

I am brave enough to try again. 

I hope it goes well this time. I hope I do not burn you or tire you out, and just keep you warm instead. I'm a little scared, but I'd do anything to keep this fire burning. 

An old flame, a new beginning. 

Two valuable hearts

I was once again unexpectedly the right person. I was somebody's light at the end of the tunnel, the source of happiness without even knowing it.

Once again, it was all wrong, because there is already a girl whom he belongs to.
I am always coming at the wrong time. Or maybe it's just fate placing me where it wants so I can be swept by the wind no matter what.

Then it makes fate cruel. To let two people cross paths, lock eyes and fall in love, only to tear them apart, like tangent lines who meet once and then parted forever.

I did not want the block of Ice to catch a cold from the thoughts in his own head; melted him into water so he could be needed by everyone and flow anywhere he wants without difficulty. Had the potential to destroy me with one wave, but he didn't. Helped me realise that the ocean and its secrets are not so scary after all.

I did not realise the Ghost was watching over me the whole time. He stayed at the very spot he died, right next to the person who killed him, and silently protected me the whole time. I know how it must feel, to be ignored and seen through and gone unnoticed. Wanted to exorcise him from his haunting but did not expect his spirit to grow so attached to me.

I am sorry for breaking your hearts.
You have drowned me, you have haunted me, and now I am burning you but it still does not appease me.

I did not mean to make you fall for me.

I have chosen to go with the wind. What started as a breeze had turned itself into a tornado, sweeping me off my feet.
I admit, I like having the wind in my hair, but whenever the wind goes, it always leaves my hair in a tangled mess.
I admit, I am scared it will happen again.
But I am brave enough to try.

Again, I am sorry for melting the Ice and for taking away the Ghost from the place it has to be in. I know it is silly to cry in the place of the people I've hurt. To me, it's like how I imagine myself in the place of the characters in the books I read, and still end up getting emotional about their predicament, even though it is not my place.

The only difference now is that I am the cause of the pain these people are feeling. It hurts more to know I am the cause of heartbreak than to be heartbroken myself.

For tonight, let me mourn the pain of the Ice and the Ghost. I can't be so selfish as to be happy while they are shattered; for now, let me cry for them, feel the sadness they are trying hard not to show.

Your hearts are so precious and I am so sorry for breaking them; rest assured your feelings don't mean nothing, they're worth enough for me to mourn for. I will never forget both of you.

I will never forget Ghost, the few moments of intimacy between us, while it lasted.

Nine, a helix in the left ear and hair over his eyes; 
Neglected by whom he belongs to, a part of me dies. 
Face cupped in his hands, taking in all his scent;
For us to be together, to be it was never meant. 

They are

He is blades of Grass, swaying in the breeze. A single flower left in the field, continuing to stay in his place even when the others were getting picked by little girls passing by. 

He is a venus flytrap, embracing you for a moment, only to shut on you and devour you whole. 

He is Ice, with a cold heart that took a while to freeze. A longing to melt into Water, constantly going near the flame for warmth only to drown her. 

He is the ocean and its darkest secrets, pulling you down and robbing you of all your breath. 

He is the wind, Flying high in the clouds, not caring about anyone who tries to bring him down. He is free to be who he is, free from all anger and grudge and negativity. 

He comes and goes, sweeping you off your feet one minute and gone the next. 

He is a bottle of Poison, feeding her all his goodness as well as his chemicals. He kills her slowly and silently, feeds on her love and drains her of her strength. 

He doesn't realise he is soaking her wings with his Poison, and without those wings, he may as well be dead. 

She is a Fairy with fragile wings that took years to build. All she wants is to give him all her love, so willing to carry all his weight even when her wings weren't strong enough for the both of them. 

She doesn't realise she is drinking in all his goodness as well as his Poison. 

He is a Ghost, lingering around where he died, continuing to protect the people he loved. He is mistaken for an evil spirit, forced to be exorcised, when all he was is lonely. 

He doesn't realise he could just let the words go through him without hurting him. 

He is Rock-hard stubborn, never allowing anything to get into his head. He takes pride being who he is, unaware he is leaving bruises on the heads he's knocked. 

Returning to someone you left

You don't know how she was found, but she'd always been there.

You first met her in December of 2012, when she was drowning in her pain. She was always putting up a brave front, you couldn't see what was wrong.

She struggled whenever you tried to embrace her, even though all you wanted was to rid of the pain for her. She always ran whenever she heard you coming, afraid you'd pick her up, because she knew you'd leave like everyone else.

Eventually you got her familiarised with you; you started knowing what she liked to eat or do, how she felt without her saying anything. She stopped struggling whenever you kissed her on her head. She grew attached to you and could not go very long without you.

Everyday she waited for you to come home, wanting you to embrace her like you always did at the start. You loved her so, always feeling warm with her around. Sometimes she'd run around crazy, or hyper, destroying whatever came her way, until she'd collapse of lethargy. All she wanted was your attention, even if she couldn't show it properly.

You stayed by her side for a year, until that day in January when you decided to leave, to go back where you came from. To go back to the person you were before you met her, before you reached out to her, before you loved her.

Today, you continue missing her. You find yourself still thinking of her, missing her, six months after you abandoned her. A part of you regret the decision of going back to the life before her, and yet you know you need to have this new start.

You meet her again after half a year; there she is, as usual, waiting patiently for you to come home.

She stares at you in awe as you approach her, that longing in you to sweep her off her feet like you used to everyday. You embrace her, and she allows it, and she looks up at you with those hopeful eyes. She doesn't look one bit mad at you for abandoning her; she looks like all she cares about is the fact that she's right there in your arms.

You talk to her like you always did, and she listens like she always did. She watches you eat as you both sit underneath the little things she finds fascinating; occasionally smiling in a purr when you wrap an arm around her.

You stare at her while she laughs with her eyes, and you tell her how much you missed her. You stroke her fur and rub her belly, laughing at how she loves it and you tell her how she's always been the most beautiful cat you've ever met.

Anis, my babygirl from Paya Lebar; remembering how I first loved her when she was going through her operation in December 2012, how she'd come into my room whenever I came home, how I'd left her in January this year, two days after my break-up, going back to Pasir Ris and missing her every single day.

Even today I can't go back to her forever; Pasir Ris is my home too, and I can't be with her everyday. In a way, I've to let go of her. I hope she understands that I can't be hers alone; though, rest assured I may meet other cats out on the street but she will always be the one I love most.

-This post has a metaphor which only the wind might understand. Haha. 

My constant falling in love

One, an extra middle tooth with an arm bandaged;
I believed with my heart first love couldn't be damaged.
2010, 2011, awaiting by the door;
2012, unsaid words, changed reasons, poof no more.

Two, video cameras and loving classmates;
Trying to forget for each other's sakes.
But a girl he used to love, he wanted to kiss;
With a wave of his hand, I was dismissed.

Three, a different soul under a same face;
A constant presence during the difficult phase.
Lust mistaken for care and concern;
Not getting the loss back, lesson learnt.

Four, crooked teeth, lines above the smile;
Held hands and fought for love far longer than a while.
Convinced and believed, worked hard for forevermore;
Until the day "I just don't love you anymore."

Five, a ruler taller and a love for writing;
Fears and dreams over the phone at 3 in the morning.
A hand to hold whilst sober, I couldn't be his;
For there was a girl who long already is.

Six, who is passionate with his heart for flight;
Never letting priorities and dreams out of sight.
Always so grateful for his being awakened;
Always doing his best, for his days are numbered.

Seven, a single flower left in the field;
The longing to hide behind his innocence, use as a shield.
But a raging fire can't embrace such a fragile being;
Beautiful as his own, couldn't have a ruin clinging.

A second chance, Four times two makes Eight;
His love never forgotten, he thinks we're joined by fate.
Two steps into a new beginning, he decides he isn't ready;
I hide my upset, understand and accept whatever his need.

Nine, ten, eleven, twelve;
Before others, love yourself.
Four, three, two, one;
After seven, I think I'm done.

Nineteen years and counting, fading is my limelight;
I should stop falling unless I know he's the right.
If unsure what you're drawing, first trace with a pencil;
So no ink and blood is wasted on the wrong people.

Pyrophilia

Disclaimer: the following blog post is full of metaphors. If you know who are the people I'm referring to as flowers etc, then maybe you can get a grasp of what I'm trying to say here. If not, then fine. Like I said, speaking in metaphors is a good way to make people stay away from me. 

I've realised how my existence has caused harm to many people's lives. If you remember how the introduction in Avatar: Legend of Aang goes; "Then everything changed when the Fire Nation attacked." 

I am that fire; and if I hadn't come into presence, peace would have been reserved. Meeting with me intertwined the lives of people who otherwise wouldn't have had anything to do with each other anymore.

If it weren't for me, the flower's roots would not have been threatened by the angry breeze. If it weren't for me, the wind would not have stirred a ripple in the pond. If it weren't for me, the water would not be overflowing with dried leaves. If it weren't for me, these lifeforms would have continued living in peace.

And if you look around, you'll realise that every one of these elements are constant. Trees, water, wind; they make up your everyday life. They're not a threat. Most of the time if you see a fire, it means there's danger. Even the sun, which presence is the most vibrant, is disliked by everyone because of its heat.

The heart of a fire is like the eye of the storm; a calm in the middle of the chaos, helplessly watching the destruction its arms are causing.

The fire has uprooted one of two flowers who were left on the field.
The fire has pulled out a few of the remaining flower's petals.
The fire has melted the ice that took years to freeze.

The fire has caused nothing but trouble within the lives of these 3. 

A raging fire needs to be destroyed. But a fire does not purposely burn down the forest when all it wants is to embrace a flower. 

A fire destroys everything in its path because it is too scared to open its eyes and see where it is going.
A fire is lonely because when it burns, people run.
A fire does not show its sadness because flames are meant to be blazing red and not blue.

Perhaps a beat of wings is what a flame needs. A beat of wings that would not completely destroy the fire like how water would, but one that would keep it under control, making sure it doesn't get too big.

A beat of wings that is not a whirlwind, but not a breeze either; just enough to help the fire cool down a little, to just exist as a warm flame.

That's what I need. I need the wind; a small gust of air that would blow at me and remind me to keep it down if I get too angry.

I have nothing in return for you other than to give you a purpose, which I hope you have been looking for; but I need you. I'm so tired. Please give me your strength.

Notions

Commend me for having the balls to write this. It would kill me to write this, yet it's a lot more painful to keep it inside. There was a feud over a blog post, and then there were raised voices over a few tweets. I don't know... I can't describe this feeling. It isn't loss, because I never had him to begin with.

The more books I read, the more I realise that big brothers betraying their little sisters are a common plot twist. I hate it. It reminds me of my own predicament. He was never even my friend, yet I feel so damn betrayed by the way he's treated me all these years.

I don't know when he changed, or why, but he's hated me all along, no matter what I do. Sure, I've been annoying as heck but I thought that's what siblings are made to be.

I tried to hate him. I guess the hatred was dripping all over the surface but it never really took my whole heart. I convinced myself I hated him with all my soul, and it was easy especially during the period when I was living in Paya Lebar.

It was only when I realised how much he hated my presence here at Pasir Ris did I want to try again. My main drive was my parents, but I also wanted to be the same person to both my brothers, not just a loving sister to my younger one and a hateful person to the other. And, well, I've always wondered what it was like if I was close with my elder brother. Sometimes I can't help but wonder if he ever looks at me and questions what I like.

I kinda still genuinely hate him, but it's undeniable that I'm sad to see him going. I failed to bring him back. I don't know if he will ever know something simple about me like my favourite colour.

But it's okay because he's obviously happy. I've never seen him radiate with happiness like he seems to be these days, and I shouldn't care about how I'm not the source of it. I shouldn't care about how his happiness is pain to all of us, because it's his life. I should be glad he doesn't seem to have a care in the world.

Been listening to Notions / The Ready Set on repeat, because I can't help but be reminded of him and his girlfriend when I listen to it. How he loves her so, and how we can't do anything about it but bask in the shine of their togetherness.

Diary of the coldest heart

The few months with her have been the best for me.
Nothing lasts forever.
And so doesn't our complicated yet unique relationship.

I love everything about her. From her smile to the way she sleeps... Simply everything.

I love her hair. How it flows in the wind as if she's a female movie star or something. I love her lips. God, I feel as if I could kiss them 24/7 even if it meant my lips would be swollen and bleeding. I really don't care; I just want her lips on mine all the time.

I love the bracelets on her left hand. Full of memories and gratitude. It's nice to know I belong somewhere. I love the way she giggles; everytime she does, all my problems would go away just like that. I love her lame jokes because they make me forget everything.

If we'd known each other longer I would have fallen for her. Maybe I already did, but unfortunately it's too late.

I want to say I'm sorry for all the mistakes I've done to her. I won't be surprised if she doesn't text me anymore because I feel like I've been a burden to her. She says she appreciates it but I don't know if she meant it.

I've not been the best person to her but I'll always be there for her. That's all I can do.

Deep down I don't want her to go but I'm sure she has her reasons. I just hope she remembers to be happy. I love her.

____

I never thought I'd have power to break people's hearts; apparently I do. I'm well aware when I hurt someone even if I look like I don't care about their feelings.

Whenever I break someone's heart, I give up a part of mine as well, never to be gained back. I've symbolised a few people I've hurt through my piercings, even if they were the ones who left me, just to show that their feelings meant something to me.

And in the last week, I learnt that people who left are sometimes more affected by it than we are.

I have a lot more to say to this block of ice but I feel like there's no use because I can't get through his barrier anymore. He claims he loves the cold, so obviously he doesn't need my presence. Even if he wants warmth, I'm not his for him to rely on forever; I'm not the only flame in the world.

We can't click because he can't accept the truth, my honest opinion about his relationship with the outside world. He doesn't accept that there are people who think differently from him, and that's why he's better off alone, even if he hides the fact that he doesn't like the solitude.

Maybe he doesn't even need a flame. Maybe all he needs is another block of ice, one that's willing to stay cold with him forever. As much as I hate him, I'm not gonna remain cold just to pass on the negativity. I'd rather go away and give my warmth to someone else.

Over-excited post about yesterday

After we'd spent last June doing our 6th annual reunion, the girls and I met up again yesterday. The other 3 girls couldn't make it because of school, so it was just the 4 of us, and we only realised it was Reunion again when we met up xD

I met Shushan at Dover station, where her school is, and we took the train to Bedok; our initial meet-up was Changi City Point, which is at Expo, but we were still early so we took a walk around first.

So Bedok Mall is awesome *.* The first time I went there, most of the shops weren't open yet so I was still in for a surprise. We visited the 50-cent sushi shop, where every sushi was going for 50 cents and you just picked what you want. My mom always bought me those but I never saw the shop myself!

And... there was a store full of Pokemon plushies. A piece of heaven as I called it. Gosh, I would have bought them all if I could, especially all the Eeveelutions and the pillow that is Meowth's face! Of course, I only left with an Espeon plushie ^^

Once Siying and Sabrina were on their way, Shushan and I got on the train back to Tanah Merah and then on to Expo. I've always liked looking at the railway tracks surrounding Tanah Merah, Jurong East, and Ang Mo Kio. A fascination only I would understand.

So the 4 of us found a place at the food court in Changi City Point, and I had so much difficulty deciding what to eat. I wanted chicken chop but there weren't any so I got myself curry rice from the Japanese food stall :p

There was a Metro sale at Expo so we decided to just check it out for a while. Everyone was split up the moment we entered, just gallivanting around and looking at different shit xD We got together finally at the confectionery section.

Samples were everywhere and we were pretty much having a feast with all the free food! We were even given ice-cold jelly from the sample lady, and I ended up buying the lemon-flavoured one. Because jelly is good.

Although I tasted so many good stuff, I only bought that lemon jelly and some butterfly biscuits (my fave). We all shared our purchases, because most of them were "2 for $3", things like that.

We got out to see that it was 8.30 pm, when I'm pretty sure we entered around 6 or so. We were in there for two hours!!!

Still, we sat at Texas Chicken to lepak for a while, rest before our bus journey. On the way to the bus stop, we had a lot of stupid moments, talking shit and laughing our ass off haha. Then we took 12, all of us alighting at different bus stops; me right to the end.

So there we have it, how my day was yesterday! I believe it's been a while since I actually blogged about something simple like a day I had and enjoyed :3

Top 5 fears

I've been watching some videos about natural disasters, man-made disasters, shootings, all that stuff. This channel makes top 10 lists of such things, as well as lists of other scary things. I've always been a fan of this channel but everything I've been watching on it has been terrifying me. [gives me a thrill though]

So thinking back, I realised that despite being a nineteen-year-old who's gone through stupid shit, I sure have a lot of equally stupid fears.

1. Dolls
Everytime I'm dragged into Toys R Us, be it by my brother or friends, I'd always avoid the girls' toys section. Seeing dolls makes me nauseous, especially the big ones that resemble babies. On the other hand, the regular Barbie dolls creep me out; they make me feel like there's a real girl underneath the plastic skin somehow.

All in one, dolls scare the shit out of me, especially ever since my family got so obsessed with the Chucky movies. I'll always have the fear that they'd come to life, or take over mine. And the creepypastas I've been reading doesn't help. Hah.

2. Being alone
I don't mean this in the psychological or emotional or whatever way. I mean this physically. I always get the feeling I'm being watched, and that whatever it is watching me will never get me unless I'm left alone. In my whole life, I've always tried not to be in a room on my own, especially at night. I'd always get my mom or my little brother or my granny to accompany me wherever I am.

The times that I have to be alone, I'd always be on the edge of my seat, making sure I was ready if anything were to come from the shadows or window. I hate sleeping alone because I'd think of the worst whenever I awaken in the middle of the night. [and not to mention my dreams, but that's another story]

I guess you could call it paranoia, or vivid imagination. Either way, I'd always think that something would devour me if I'm left alone when the daylight is gone.

3. Tsunamis
The ocean is a scary place. I'd say I'm afraid of water but I'm not exactly fearful of the rain, I just don't particularly like it. If the ocean and its secrets aren't scary enough, having giant waves devour and destroy my homeland is ten times more terrifying.

When the tsunami in 2004 struck, I was so scared of going to the beach, even if it was just Pasir Ris Park. I was bawling when my mom brought me there; I was so convinced that a tsunami would come and destroy me.

That fear stays with me even til now. My dislike of water means I don't exactly know how to swim, which makes the possibility of a tsunami even scarier. It doesn't help that Singapore is tiny and surrounded by water. I can't imagine what would become of me if a giant wave were to hit.

4. Loud noises
As if heavy rain wasn't bad enough, the sound of thunder scares me just as bad. Thunderstorms in the middle of the night are frequent, and those put me at my worst. I also can't stand voices being raised. It intimidates me; either I'd curl up and shiver out of fear, or, if the voice was directed at me, raise my own voice back and that would in turn scare me more.

I stick to libraries, avoid karaoke, hate arcades, and I can't imagine why would anyone ever want to go clubbing. Anywhere with loud noise, count me out. The only times I'd accept having something blasting into my ears is when I have my earpiece plugged in.

5. Dogs
When I was young, the neighbour's dog pounced on me just as I got out of the lift at my house. I screamed my balls off but it stuck to me, I was so terrified, I was only a little girl. The dislike remains, and a little of the fear too, because every time I saw a dog from afar, I'd make a face in disgust. But if it even so little as jerk towards me, I'd run in the other direction.

So there you have it. My top 5 fears if I can say, things I've shied away from as far back as my little girl days. I have quite a few more actually, tiny things like bees and cockroaches, and the impulse for destroying things [this is another story] but I felt like they weren't that bad as the ones above.

Ramadan 2014 reflection

It's the last day of Ramadan for this year. Could've sworn the fasting month only started yesterday. Although I'd managed to have my first buka there, I'd barely spent any time at Paya Lebar this year. It's bittersweet, because even though I hadn't been there with my granny, at least I managed to be with my parents and brothers.

This year's fasting month has been interesting, even when the rest of the year wasn't so eventful. Laughter was shared, voices were raised, people were hugged, tears were shed. All in the time and space of one month.

After many years, I'm back with my parents. Part of me feels like I shouldn't be on my knees apologising to them tomorrow, because... I still feel like they're the ones who wronged me. They were the ones who kicked me out after all, who never made the effort to bring me back.

I know I shouldn't be thinking of them that way, after the whole fasting month that we've been through together. Fixing my bookshelf together, trips to Tampines and Geylang, and even an emotional roller-coaster just 10 minutes before buka time.

Only when I came back did I finally realise that my mom loved me after all. The past decade or so, I was so convinced that she hated me for not turning out as a perfect daughter.

I'm closer than ever with my little brother, and that makes me glad to be back. However, 2014 is just yet another addition to the collection of years that I failed to bring my elder brother back into close terms with me. And I know this is the last year I could ever try, because he's gonna be gone by his 23rd birthday.

The gust of wind that took my flame out at the beginning of this year, blew at my hair again during this Ramadan. It was an unexpected gash of cold, one that I could not take but still embraced with open arms. And I'm glad I did, because it made me realise many things which I wouldn't have had guts to admit.

This wind's presence helped me realise that I had to tell someone if I didn't like him. That I had to admit it if I still thought of someone else. After a long game of charades, I finally had the guts to say "I don't like you that way, and I can't be with you that way."

This year's Ramadan made me think twice about giving up my religion. For the whole year, I've toyed with the idea of being an atheist. Reading the texts from my Heroine members, listening to the takbir raya, realising it was God who helped make the things that happened happen; all these events have put me through more consideration into hugging my own religion again. I should be glad I was born a Muslim, and I think it's time I start to embrace it.

The flame, the flower and the block of ice

He, who is delicate like a flower, standing out amongst the blades of grass. He continues to sway gently even in heavy winds, while everyone around him was getting uprooted in the slightest breeze.

She, rampant flames, running crazy and eating everything up alive. Destroying a pure, innocent flower and proceeding to touch the one who was left next to it.

You, clear water, reflecting the monster in everyone who looks deep into you. Constantly going with the flow, changing shape to adapt to whatever situation, swiftly avoiding being stuck anywhere or in anyone.

This is the story of a flower, a flame, and a block of ice.

Once upon a time, there lived an angry flame who could not control her gift. She had the gift of fire, in which she could choose between being a flame that keeps people warm, or being an angry one that destroys everything in its path. She could not help it, but she chose to be the one that destroys.

The flame fell in love with a flower, a flower whom she'd spotted in a field of grass. For a moment, the beauty and innocence of this flower made her forget what she was. She wanted to embrace him more than anything, forgetting that her heat would only kill the fragile being.

It was only when a block of ice entered the flame's life did she realise how dangerous she was to the flower.

She knew she was danger to the ice too, though, but the ice didn't seem to mind. In fact, he seemed to enjoy being in her heat, even when she realised he was starting to melt, slowly but surely.

The flame left the flower alone, not wanting to destroy him, only admiring him from afar. She talked to the ice everyday, noticing how he was melting more each day, becoming less ice and more water.

She wanted to keep melting him, for fear should he ever catch a cold. She wanted him to become water, so he could flow through anything and be needed by everyone. For once, she felt what it was like to be a warm fire than an angry one.

Alas, she realised that the presence of the block of ice was doing more harm than good to her. The more water he was, the more their friendship threatened her. She knew that once he embraced her, she would die.

The flame did everything she could to chase the water away; even turning him back into a block of ice was fine. All she could care about was her own life; she wanted to keep being a strong flame. She felt like the block of ice was throwing her help back into her face. She melted him because she wanted what's best for him, but it turned out he was destroying her instead.

Being with the ice reminded her of her vicious side, of how she cared more for herself than anyone else. Looking at him in his water state reflected to her the ugly being she was inside.

Looking at the flower reassured her that she could be a warm flame, not an angry one, if she wanted to. That she could be the sun for the flower, giving him the life he needed, even when he wouldn't give her anything in return.

Goodbye moths

Mom says that if a moth lingers around your house, it's a sign that you are getting a visitor.

God knows when I started having a liking for moths and butterflies. I don't remember myself, but I know it's been a very long time... The butterflies drawn all over my diaries from then, and a moth-adorned tee I've been wearing since 2009 being some of the many proof of this obsession.

When people were tweeting about seeing moths everywhere, I got mad at how everyone reacted to them negatively, thinking they were bothersome and disgusting. It infuriated me; humans are way more disgusting than those little winged critters.

I was also saddened by the fact that I hadn't seen any for myself. A few weeks passed and I still hadn't caught sight of even one, despite how I looked hard everywhere, careful not to miss a chance of seeing any.

The first time I saw a moth was right outside my Pasir Ris house, just as I was leaving for Paya Lebar. I stared at it for a good 3 minutes, just admiring it and wondering of the things it'd seen and gone through before it got there. It looked so gorgeous up there on the wall, I felt like I spent so long looking for it that I totally underestimated its beauty.

It took me a while to see another moth; this one greeted me at the doorstep of my Pasir Ris home on the first day of Ramadan. I noticed one of its wings was bent at a weird angle [uhm yeah, when I said stare, I really do stare at moths, enough for me to notice that small detail] and it was having difficulty flying.

The last time I saw one of those moths was this morning. This one could not fly at all. Its wings were fluttering like crazy but it barely lifted off the ground. Instead it 'crawled' across the floor; it looked so pathetic and sad, but I knew I couldn't do anything for it.

The state of each moth I'd seen grew increasingly pathetic. The next time I'd see it would probably be never because moth season is going to be over.

By now, everyone else has stopped talking about moths. They're noticed for a while, only to disappear and be forgotten again. I'll always remember moths, even when their pretty counterparts, butterflies, are always around to admire. As dull as they look, they're just beautiful as their own.

3 deaths I've dealt with

I hated him. 

He was annoying, he kept picking on me and stealing all our toys, but I put up with him because he was my cousin. He was always looking for trouble if it hadn't come looking for him first. I remember how the last straw for my elder brother was how he broke his skateboard in half.

One day, he disappeared. I didn't know where he went, nobody told me; it was so quiet without him around, and it felt strange. When I finally had the guts to ask my aunt where was he, she told me: "He's gone upstairs."

I, as a six-year-old, didn't know what it meant, but I recall how I actually pictured him floating in the sky and up above the clouds. I'd thought it was a pleasant thing, and I felt happy for him.

Only now more than a decade later do I understand, fixing together the pieces: my aunt's reminiscing to my eighteen-year-old-self, to that sentence she had said to me when I was a kid.

____

I barely knew who she was.

A long car trip in Malaysia, with my only friend being this bird in a birdcage, a little mechanical one that would chirp whenever I flipped the switch hidden in its feathers.

My mom was bringing us visiting. We visited the same hospital a few times, this memory focusing on a girl about twelve or so, sitting up in the hospital bed. She was pale and weak, but I was too young to be told what she was sick from.

On the last visit, she took a liking to my bird in the birdcage. She would stare longingly at it, and my mom eventually prompted me to offer it to her as a gift. I was a small child, I didn't know what kindness was, and I was selfish. I kept quiet and kept a sulk on my face as a way of saying no.

We no longer visited her. She passed away some time later, me still not knowing of what illness exactly.

____

I didn't get to say goodbye.

All my life, my grandmother's taken care of me. She knows everything about me, whereas I've only seen her life through the stories she tells me everyday.

She's the youngest among her siblings. She's also the most active and healthiest, always smiling to the relatives. Weddings are a frequent form of family gathering because of these many relatives. We would always spend a few nights in Johore to attend these, and I did enjoy meeting all the people I seldom see.

I never exactly talked to them but I recognised their faces, always ready to take the hands of the elderly to kiss as greeting and goodbye.

During a wedding in September of 2012, I met these many relatives as usual. I'd kiss the hands of her sister and brother, both of whom I know weren't even aware of what my name is.

However when me and my mom were leaving, I hadn't managed to kiss my grandmother's brother's hand. I remember how I realised when I was already in the car and looking at him in the distance. I recall how I shamelessly told myself; "Nevermind, next time, I won't forget to kiss his hand goodbye."

About 2 weeks later we got news that he'd passed away.

____

There'd been too many moments in my life where death came when least expected, when the last few moments with them were filled with regret. I'd be grateful that I've never gone through the passing of someone very close to me, but the above 3 incidents have never left my mind.

I should have gotten to know my cousin better,
I should have given the sick girl my birdcage,
I should have gone out of the car and kiss my granduncle's hand goodbye.

"Life is pleasant. Death is peaceful. It's the transition that's troublesome."

3 passing thoughts

1. Motion is impossible. When an arrow is shot, it moves within time; time is made up of many tiny little moments, and in each moment, the arrow is still. Thus the impossibility of motion. You are like a bunch of photographs taken in each millisecond and put together to form a show.

2. A universe is created with each decision you never made. A whole infinity of universes exist, where the things that never happened to you in the past, happened. While the real you chose to have tea, another universe is created whereby you chose coffee. That universe splits into more separate universes, one in which you chose to put sugar in it, the other in which you did not. In other words, in another universe out there, there's another you living the life you never had because they chose better decisions than you did.

3. When reading a first-person novel or anything, you can't be absolutely sure that what you're reading is the truth to the story. What the protagonist retells to you isn't for sure the truth; she could have modified the truth for all you know, and that modification is the story you are reading and have gotten emotional over. Would you know? How true are all the books you've read so far?

Just a few thoughts I had. Don't hold any of them against me.

What if you woke up and realised

You weren't missing her as much as you used to;
The flame that was burning for her had turned blue.
She wasn't moving you the way she was before;
You just didn't love her anymore.

You woke up the next morning without her in your head;
No recollection of all the things she had said.
Forgotten the things she had done for you;
Forgotten the days she had planned for two.

A veil across your eyes to her good side;
Yet convinced it was all along that you'd been blind.
Two arms wrapped around yours, tears down your uniform;
No guilt in you, walked away from your own storm.

What if you woke up to remember why you loved her;
Would she again become part of your desire?
Would you walk with her again no matter how your legs tire;
Would you ignite again, that fire?

Would it be shrugged off as just another regret;
Would she be no more than just a girl you met?
Would it sadden you to realise what you've lost;
Or would it no longer dare be again in your thoughts?

____

Just a thought. Someone left me because 'I just don't love you anymore' [swear I can never forget this stupid sentence] , so I was just wondering how he'd feel if one day, he suddenly remembered why he loved me. Nothing more than a curious thought.

For my brother

This one may seem like random chunks of footage put together, but each image used for each line of the song has a meaning behind it. I like telling stories, and this is another way of doing it, just that my videography is kind of hard to understand sometimes, heh.

I'm just gonna explain briefly what's the meaning behind this short video I just made.

"When I turn jet-black, and you show off your light" and "I live to make you shine" poke hard at me about our differences. How he's so well-liked by everyone around him while I'm invisible to people. How my love for books and writing is what makes me shy away from reality, and that is why he's able to stand out compared to me.

"You can skyrocket away from me / and never come back if you find another galaxy. Far from here with more room to fly"
How he is never home, and always up and about, and how he's found love in someone else rather than me. How it's okay as long as he's happy.

I have reasons for using certain footage for a certain line, and they may seem silly which makes me not want to share them... But I don't like the idea of people seeing these shots as random either, so I'll just share 3.

• The page turning to chapter eighteen: "Ebbing and flowing and pushed by a breeze"; because it took me a while to accept that he is like that. I finally learn to let go of the memories, knowing he would never change back to the person I knew. That's when I can finally turn 18, and forget the childhood we'd shared. 
• The shots of Pasir Ris; our primary school. It's the last thing the both of us have had in common.
• The break, or the instrumental part, whatever it's called: my bed frame, because when he was younger, he used to sleep in my room with me; shoes belonging to him and his little sister and brother, because our footprints are the only thing of ours that make contact with each other. 

I find it hard to explain actually, haha. But there you go. A video for my brother which I don't think he'd ever understand, video or lyrics. But it's okay. I like it.

The brother I knew has been fading over the horizon since a long time ago, but I only know now that he's already gone.

5 things that make me Fire-Type

Disclaimer: I love Fire-Type Pokemon, but for the first generation, I adore Squirtle the most. I can't stand Charmander and its evolution line, especially Charizard. I detest Charizard, only because it's way too overrated. Fire-breathing dragon? You can get those anywhere. But where else could you find a giant turtle with canons and a dinosaur with plants on its back?

So. 5 reasons why, if I were a Pokemon, I'd most probably be a Fire-type. We shall touch on the surface first. 

1. I like heat. If you've read yesterday's post, you should be aware of that heh. I can't stand the cold, and call me crazy for this but I absolutely love being in the sun, no matter how hot it gets. And I like fire, always flicking a lighter in the past, though I haven't had one of those in ages. 

2. I can't stand water. As silly as it sounds, I hate anything that involves me being near the element. I get miserable at the slightest drizzle, I hate going swimming [I've always avoided it on the holidays my mom brought me on], and I don't stay too long in the shower either. I can never forget my 15th birthday, when the girls gave me a water birthday bash. Water destroys me. 

Okay, now for the 'deeper' reasons. Gosh, you're gonna think I'm silly. 

3. I associate anger with fire, and my anger is one of my biggest flaws. I get angry easily especially if I think someone is trying to pick a fight with me. I'll keep arguing until it subsides, because if you set something flimsy on fire, the flames will keep spreading and who knows when it'll stop. That's just how I am. 

4. Passion. Another factor that defines me. For me, I see fire in passion. You're determined to do something, flames will appear behind you on cue. Flames appear in your eyes. Or am I the only one who sees this? [I see this in anime though] 

5. Last but not least, simply said: I am fire. I am flames running around crazy, destroying everything in my path. I am in no control, burning anyone who touches me. 

With all that said, Blaziken is the best. Combusken is second best only because that chicken meat of its looks so damn tasty. And then there's Delphox because it's Fire/Psychic which is the best combination ever. 

Diary of the coldest girl

Monday, 30th June. 

The cold has been getting to me. I'm wearing a cardigan atop my black jeans, but I'm still freezing. Even my fingertips aren't spared; they poke out of my sleeves a little, and that is enough to send an army of shivers up my arms.

It started this morning when I was on my way to the bus stop. There I was, waiting for the traffic light to turn green, when I felt a sudden gash of cold. I shivered, wrapped my arms around me and prepared for the next cold hit, but nothing came.

The classrooms had seemed colder than usual, and even my usual spot at the library was unusually cold.

Here I sit on the MRT, on my way home to Pasir Ris. I still feel cold, and for some reason nobody else seems to be feeling it. I watch a girl opposite me take off her jacket, like she's just started to feel too warm. Meanwhile, I shiver from another sudden jolt of cold.

Tuesday, 1st July. 

I've dug out and washed the hoodies I'd worn from years before, and I decide to wear one of them. It's been a while since I wore one; this one's a little small but it'll do. I want to be prepared for any sudden cold today. It should be better than my thin cardigan.

The bus ride to school is cold enough with the strong air-conditioning and the fact that it's 6 in the morning, and there's no sun. I repeatedly pull my sleeves to cover my hands up to the fingertips but to no avail. Another harsh day in the cold lies ahead for me, it seems.

And I'm right. The first thing that greets me in the classroom is a strong hit of the air-conditioning. I manage to survive the first class, but the torment just continues in the one after. Even on other days, this particular classroom has always been cold. Now it just feels ten times worse. I can hardly concentrate, so I decide to sleep through.

I have a 3-hours break after this class, and I head on to my usual spot in the library since I'm not having lunch. [it's the fasting month.] It's the last desk in a row of three, among the many rows of desks. It's always been cozy enough for me, but these past two days... Not so much.

I try to ignore the cold, and it works for some time, but about half an hour before my next class starts, I start to shiver like mad. It goes up my arms and down my whole body, and I can't stop myself from jerking in reaction to the cold. Even the heat from my laptop's charger is not enough to help me regain composure.

It doesn't get better during the last lecture. Just a few seconds in the classroom, and I start to shiver again. My seat is near the source of the air-conditioning for this class, but it's never been this cold! And even with my thick hoodie...! I get up, out the door, and stare at myself in the toilet mirror.

I get back to see that every other kid in class had gotten themselves something to eat. A can of Pringles there, a wrap of the sandwich I like there, and I need not see what the rest are eating, because the mix of scents in the air already tells me. I'm starting to crumble and it's only the third day of the fasting month.

I fall asleep for the rest of the lecture, trying my damndest to ignore the cold that continued hitting me even with my arms wrapped around me and my backpack.

I take the MRT home again because I don't want to suffer in the cold during my usual long bus journey. It's the first time I'm dreading being on a bus. God. I just want to go home and curl up in a ball under my blankets.

Wednesday, 2nd July.

I've ditched my hoodies and decided to wear a warm knit sweater today instead.

It still feels weird that nobody else seems to be feeling this sudden harsh cold the way I do. I can't help but to take it personally, like the element of ice has taken a dislike for me, or the sun doesn't want to be my friend anymore.

The cold still attacks me on my way to school. The sun is out today, and I bare my arms to catch a glimmer of its warmth through the window; still, the cold wins.

I leave school at half past 3 and arrived at Paya Lebar station an hour later. I sit on a bench, sighing, and rest my chin on my hand. The lady beside me stands from her seat, though no bus is in sight. She's decided to stand toward the back of the bus stop instead.

Seconds pass and more people do the same. I start to wonder what's amiss, and I realise it's because the sun was at its peak, blazing hot, directing right at the benches on the bus stop. Directing right at me.

I stare at the sun for a while, before I look away and blink my eyes. By this time, I'm the only waiting passenger who is seating on a bench; everyone else has taken shade at the back of the bus stop. I grin and face back towards the sun, soaking in all of its heat. When was the last time the sun touched me like this? It feels so good.

I visit Paya Lebar for a while before heading off back to Pasir Ris, where I'm currently staying at.

And I discover the weapon against the cold; the warmth of a home. The ice that I felt on my body the past three days fades with each minute I sit beside my granny, with one of the cats on my lap.

____

The past 3 days, I've felt nothing but cold, the moment I stepped out of my Pasir Ris housing estate on Monday morning. Gosh, you have no idea how horrible it was... I swear, even my fingertips felt like icicles, even when I was outside an air-conditioned room/bus/MRT.

I didn't feel sick, I just felt cold, so unusually cold, all over and under my skin. It was probably the weather, but I love the fact that the sun decided to shine upon me only when I was in Paya Lebar. Doesn't that mean something.

Found love in a hopeless place

Love was found in a hopeless place.

The first time I saw him, he was looking so beautiful, standing in the middle of the road. He looked at me like he thought I was beautiful too. He looked like he was made to stand there, and I admired him for that because I loved the roads. 

We both felt like we were made for each other. We both felt most belonged on the roads more than anywhere else; we found love in each other through our belonging nowhere. He didn't talk much but he spoke to me through his eyes and smiles, and the way he brushed my hair away from my face. 

The second time we met, we climbed up onto a rooftop that was in plain sight of everyone, and looked at all the people passing by. We judged them, we wondered about their life stories, what could possibly make them laugh or cry at night.

When people started to turn and look at us instead, we decided to give them something to judge by kissing each other. The looks of disgust and disgrace given to us only made us burst out into belly-clutching laughter each time. 

The third time we met, love was made in the middle of the road. It was 3 in the morning, and my back was against the asphalt that I've only stepped on my whole life. The texture of the road left marks down my back and on his knees, but they didn't stay very long.

He didn't stay very long either. He died after our third and last meeting.

And I didn't stay very long myself. I didn't even have time to mourn for him, because I had to wake up and go back to the real world.

____

Had this dream like a month ago, and it still bothers me somehow. I woke up feeling a strong presence, like he was there in my room. Like it's God's way of informing me that my soul mate has died and I will truly be alone.

First Ramadan

Everyone's always looking forward to Ramadan every year. [insert 3 things that people look forward to in the fasting month which I usually don't care about] Me, on the other hand... I feel like the Christmas Grinch, Ramadan version.

I don't know man, I just dread it more and more each year. It's like a time for 'family', and because I'm so sensitive when it comes to issues about family, I easily crack and end up not enjoying a time of togetherness.

This year, the problem lies in the fact that I have two homes now. First day of break fast is always for family; Mom wanted me at Pasir Ris, but I didn't want to. Told her how I felt. How Paya Lebar is my home too, that the people there are my family too. Glad she understood my choice.

Though, excuse me if I seem like a hypocrite myself right now, but I hate how the asshole of a big brother of mine did not break fast with the family. As usual. I don't mind if it's because he's working like my dad is, but I bet he's gone out to eat with friends or girlfriend instead. If I see him tweet shit like "First day of buka is a must to be with family", I will personally chop his fucking head off.

So, I shall blog about yesterday now.

I made my way to Paya Lebar to know that my aunt had gone to Johore. So glad I made it, because my grandma would've been all alone otherwise.

We had jemput-jemput ikan billis, with 4 nuggets to the side for me because she knows I love them. The reason why I chose Paya Lebar?: for its simplicity. Mom would have made a ton of things to eat and most of the time I can't finish my share.

So after a whole day of being careful I do not accidentally eat or anything, guess what happened? Like 10 minutes before buka time, Granny passed me my cuppa iced milo, and the idiot me. Out of habit, I took a sip right out of my mug.

It was only when I was swirling it around my mouth did I realise. I didn't know whether I should spit or swallow!!!! In the end I did the latter and just giggled to myself and kept quiet when granny walked in. Ugh, I am such a blurblock ._.

I ate potato chips afterwards, while playing with the kitties. Granny was getting mad at my cat best friend Anis, about how she was always hiding somewhere and not coming into the room when I wasn't around, and only appearing when I'm home hehe.

Fell asleep for about 2 hours before waking up to go back to Pasir Ris.

Got to my doorstep to see a swallowtail moth waiting for me. During this whole moth season, I'd looked long and hard for moths but were never greeted any, until that night at Pasir Ris, probably about a month ago now. That was the first and last moth I'd seen, but it never failed to make me smile to think about it.

It fluttered about me for a bit while I was unlocking the door, and I was careful not to let it in. My parents and brothers wouldn't like it, as much as I would love to invite that moth in. One of the many factors that make me the black sheep of the family.

This morning I thought I saw the same moth by the letterboxes at the void deck. It fluttered the same way as last night's one, and I recognised the way one of its wings bent a little weirdly. I didn't see it when I reached home from school, unfortunately.

I think I can honestly say: I miss the days when I was a pure Paya Lebar girl. Although it's been just a few years, that place was the one that saved me. Pasir Ris breathed into me a life, but Paya Lebar was the one that saved my life, taught me to breathe.

A wise man said, It doesn't matter where you came from, what matters is where you choose to be.

I am a murderer.

I am a murderer.

I kill them all in the same fashion, by putting a knife deep into their hearts, twisting the blade and hearing the melody of their screams. I only stop in dead silence.

I hang their corpses in the doorway of my bedroom, tied to the ceilings in vines. The thorns cut deep into their bodies; into their arms, their throats, their eyes.

Their blood drips on me everyday. I take no notice of it when it happens, but I know I am stained red with what I've done to other people. Others see me as a blood-soaked girl, because I am covered head to toe with this thick red liquid.

I've given up on cleaning myself. I resort to pretending that I am clean, that this blood all over me is an illusion created by the souls of the people I've killed.

The few who have tried to wipe the blood from me ended up the same way as my victims. What was just an act of kindness brought them to their death instead.

I find solace in putting a knife into kind hearts, hearing their screams of pain and agony, listening to how they put their trust in me to put my weapon down.

I'm blissfully aware that what I've done to others drips on me everyday, and the smell lingers around me. I let that scent float around me as a warning; the few who stubbornly come over do not have the right to blame me, for I have signs all over me to stay away.

I am a murderer.

Confessions of a bibliophile

I am in dilemma right now. Deep turmoil. My heart is indecisive. I don't have much time left, and I need to make a decision fast.
I'm not sure what book to read next.

Don't know if you know this, but it's a library here in my bedroom [Pasir Ris]. All these books sitting on my shelves, many amazing ones, many more unread ones. Here I stand, staring at each and every one of them, wondering which one I should check out.

So for the month of June, I've bought myself 5 books, which is actually a huge improvement from the previous months. They're all contemporary genre, which simply means a story set in the real world, about normal lives, normal people. A contrast to the many fantasy books I bought last month. [I don't actually read fantasy very much]

It kinda sucks to not know which book to start on. I should read a book I bought a long time ago which I never got around to reading, yet I don't feel the mood for that particular book. Am I the only one who feels this way?

I've been reading a lot of contemporary this month, maybe because I just wanted to soak in the cuteness of a first love, the support from a loving family, or a road trip on discovering who you are. I've missed having a normal life.

Anyway, just thought I should blog a little something... Been too long since I let my fingers fly around the keyboard like this. It feels good, though nothing can compare to the way my hand moves when I'm writing in my diary.

I've gotten a little too addicted to books. In the past I was fine with just borrowing them from the library. But now that I've learnt how to save and shit, I find myself spending a little too much on books. Heh. *sheepish grin*

I love Booktube. It's a community of Youtubers who make videos about books; book recommendations, book reviews, book hauls. They're the only Youtube-famous people who share the same love with me. They understand my desire to collect books too, the only difference being that they can afford more than I can.

I love physical books. I like the sound of the page turning, I like the smell of its pages. I don't read any e-books or Wattpad or whatnot, because it's just not the same as a real book.
I love how I'm holding an entire world in my hands.
I love the thought of how a knife is hidden in the pages, waiting to stab me in the heart when I get there, again and again.

A lot of books have killed me, this I can't deny. [and honestly The Fault In Our Stars isn't as painful as many other books I read] I love every book that I've read, even long after I finished it. I never forget their stories like how people easily forget mine.

2012 was when I read the most; I was reading a new book every 2 days, believe it or not. They were my only friends at the time, old friends who came to me asking if I was okay, even when I had neglected them before. [just like how writing was]

I wanted to write more about how I've loved reading since I was a kid, and have never stopped since, and how books mean the world to me but I think that's enough for this post haha. I should get back to reading, I have more than 30 unread books, and that is so shameful of me. *another sheepish grin*

A war with my dreams

I didn't want to talk about this to anyone because people would just think I'm crazy.

My dreams have been getting weird. I have no other way to put it, but they're starting to have minds of their own. Like how a doll suddenly gains ability to move around.

As if it wasn't enough that they've been dark, violent, bloody; now it feels like they want to take over me. Like they want to be real instead of just dreams. Like how Pinocchio was a puppet who wanted to be a real boy.

Just a while ago, they started to come at times of the day when they were least expected. Then they started to come more and more consistent and frequent. I'd wake up from a dream that seemed to have gone on for days, only to see that 10 minutes have passed since I fell asleep.

My dreams were improving like how movies improved in time. They were becoming 4-dimensional, or 5-dimensional, or whatever. I've been starting to feel the effects of what my dream-self went through in the dreams. I've felt cold when I woke up from a dream with snow. A headache from a dream where I was shot in the head. Little things like that.

A few nights ago, I had this dream where I was surrounded by fire, and at the same time being rained upon. I had a high fever the day after, the kind of fever you'd develop when you get caught in hujan panas [not sure what it's called in English, but it's kinda 'rain when the sun is still out'].

This morning, I woke up vomiting non-stop, and my stomach was hurting so bad.
I had just woken up from a dream in which I was pregnant.

I told myself I've grown used to all these dreams, but they're still scary nonetheless. What scares me is how they're starting to control me. The line that divides reality and Dreamworld is fading, and my dreams seem to be winning this war right now.

My thoughts don't control my dreams anymore.
My dreams control my thoughts. 
They're getting into my head and I've no idea how to get them out.

I've been happy these past 2 months or so, really I have. So I have no reason to dream of such miserable things, because I haven't had sad thoughts. It feels like, the dreams I have need misery to feed on, and are angry to know that I've been happy, because they're hungry.

Someone told me he's had nightmares about me, three nights in a row. We've never talked personally with each other. We've not talked or met for a long time in fact, and we were never even close, so it was strange for him to be getting bad dreams about me.

It makes me feel overpowered by something so damn weak like dreams. What does my Dreamworld want? What is it trying to tell me, or do to me? It drives me crazy thinking of how it's acting on me right now. It's a mystery that can never be solved. A case that people would just laugh at and forget.

I really don't like sleeping anymore, because of all these bad dreams. Nightmares that leave lasting impacts on me through the whole day, screaming for attention and desperately wanting me to be miserable. God. It's tiring. I won't be surprised if I die in my sleep anytime soon.

Then again I really want to fight back. If they really do feed on my agony and pain, then all the more I should be happy and positive in order to get rid of them. I shouldn't let these things get to me; what comes from Dreamworld should stay in the Dreamworld. Stay at the back of my head, and don't come out ever.