Done

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

I should not have taken that bloody picture.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I think I deserve...

Yea, I'm exhausted right now, but this blogging thing has always been the one to rekindle my energy.

I learnt cashiering at work today, more than a year after I started out at this job. So far, it's fairly easy but it's tiring, considering the fact that I also have to take care of my own department and any which doesn't have staff. I still feel underpaid, but what am I to do?

Really sucks that I'm working so hard in this company and the area manager not only doesn't see it or appreciate it, but doesn't even know my bloody name.

I loved this job because I can handle anything (again, if you dismiss the HOD stuff) and I'm really fully invested in it, making sure everything is done and perfect (even though it isn't my job) and ensuring all the customers I serve get what they wanted (even though they don't say thank you).

And honestly, working in this underpaid job is still way better than being in poly. I just can't study, and I'd rather be in a place where I'm useful than sit down somewhere where I don't know anything.

Popular was a lovely job, but I think I deserve better. Perhaps I'm just waiting for the day when I finally have the balls to leave and to try out for SMRT, or when I finally have enough money to get a diploma to get a better job, or when I stop being shy and make those videos I wanna make, or when I take back my love for writing and write that book I've been dreaming about.

Some things that I think I deserve:
(1) A higher salary, please?
(2) All the books in the world that I want. (and space in my room for them)
(3) At least an entire week off.
(4) More views on this blog and more money on the Nuffnang that I've had since 2012.
(5) A friend.

20 JUN 2016

Tried to write about this in my diary, but my hands were shaking too much.

I saw an accident site on the Tampines Expressway tonight. Traffic jams kinda make me nervous, because they remind me of the road to and fro Woodlands Checkpoint and Malaysia customs, and I'm not used to it.

I was stuck in traffic for 2 hours, when usually it would take me just an hour tops from Woodlands interchange to my Pasir Ris house. Seeing the many cars and buses stuck in one place kinda scared me. What more, seeing the actual overturned truck and all its sand spilled out.

Everyone on the bus was turning his or her head to look as we passed by.

Am I considered sheltered??? Because I'm seriously not used to seeing such things here in Singapore. I can't stop thinking about it.

Sometimes I realise that I'm taking my country for granted. Not just me really, but almost all the other kids here. Right? They don't realise how safe we are, from gun violence or natural disasters. I wish it would stay this way forever, but when the end of the world comes, we could all be gone in one sweep of a tsunami.

After listening to my other half's religious theories, that day is sooner than we expect.

Can't do anything about it.

Titling this post the date since this was originally supposed to be a diary entry /:

All. Time. Low.

Blogger just asked me: "Why not blog in Malay?" I'd show it to you but I don't like pictures on my blog and I've no idea how to do a screenshot on my laptop anyway. 

This year, I set my reading goal to be 70 books. Well, we're not even halfway through the year yet and I've already read 64. I should probably take a break because Goodreads says I'm 32 books ahead of schedule... 

Well I'm not here to talk about the books I've read. In fact I'm not entirely sure why I'm here; whenever one doesn't know what to write, people say "just write how you're feeling." Well I'm feeling down but I'd rather not stain this page with anymore sad stuff. Good vibes, right? 

The first time I made a blog, I was 11 years old. I was so addicted I made a blog for every single thing that I liked: 1 for my anime stuff, 1 for the manga that I was drawing at the time, 1 for the dreams I had at night, 1 personal one. Just imagine the 2016 me, having maybe 4 blogs, 1 personal, the other 3 each for books, MRTs, and dreams??? 

Then in 2007, I made yet another one, but I stuck to it. And that is this very blog you are reading right now =) 

If confidence gets you beauty, is passion supposed to get you recognition for your hard work? It should both work the same way, and yet they don't apply to me. I'm sick of it. That's why I kept quitting this blogging thing again and again over the years, especially from 2013 onwards. It's just too hard for my self-esteem. I hope I'm here to stay this time.

I've lost a lot the past three years, and like an inspiring person I wanna say "but I gained a lot at the same time"... but I won't. Because I didn't. Just stuck staying loyal to the things that won't get me anywhere. Stuck at 300 followers. Stuck at 95 cents on my Nuffnang despite trying everything I could for the past 4 years. Stuck in a 1.2k salary job while doing the work of 4 departments. 

What can a girl like me do anymore??? I don't wanna cake my face with make-up to get followers. I don't wanna spend all my salary on a HD camera to make better videos because nobody will still watch it if I'm not pretty (!!!!!!). I don't wanna suddenly start singing everyday in case my voice suddenly becomes beautiful and I can earn money from it. Ha ha ha. What a joke. 

Now you know it... That I'm at an all time

low low low low low low low low low low 

Why I can never be pretty

The word "confident" makes me cringe. To think that such a word exists? How is it possible for one to walk with their chin held high, knowing well enough they don't even meet the beauty standards of their society?

Maybe not they. But just me. 

I talked about how I'm lacking in looks to my other half and his best friend yesterday, in my favourite place after all the libraries and bookstores of the world--the MRT. There I was, seated between them and going on about what I see makes the beauty standards in this damn society. 

(1) I don't have eyebrows. If beautiful eyebrows are the eyebrows that every single girl on Instagram seems to have, those thick black ones that are sharp on one side and faded on the other: then I'm afraid I don't have any. And that's the first and most important reason why I'm not pretty. 

(2) My teeth are neither straight nor white. Just a few months of light smoking, 4 years ago, and the stains remain forever. My front teeth are humongous, and they're too crooked to match the definition of beautiful. 

(3) I am too tall to be anything. The other girls here in my country are what you'd call petite; and they pretend to be embarrassed of it but anyone could tell they think their lack of height makes them stand out in a positive way. Me? I just get called lamppost and hantu galah.

(4) I have too-small boobs. Those shorter girls I'd mentioned? They're blessed with ample chest, made to look huge thanks to their lack of height. What more when they still wear those push-up bras beneath see-through tees. Makes both girls and boys loco. 

(5) I don't have nice clothes or hair. Pretty is when you have long brown hair, black roots starting to show and still making you look stunning. Your pictures are always with different outfits, from the hairstyle all the way down to the shoes. Me? I am in the same black cardigan everyday and I don't remember the last time I even tied my hair in a ponytail, and that doesn't make me pretty.

(6) I can't sing. I don't have any artistic talent. And apparently this adds to your beauty if you can or do.

(7) Either a headscarf makes you pretty, or a revealing outfit showing off all your curves makes you pretty. There is no in-between. If you cover your legs and tummy and shoulders everyday but you're not donning the hijab, you're not to say you're beautiful. Because you're not. Maybe not "you". But just "me".

Honestly the list goes on and on. And although most of them sound ridiculous coming out of my mouth, it's what I've observed on social media, in this god-forsaken society. It's what gives you friends. It makes me sad, that I don't look like the girls that are praised just for breathing. 

I may have an other half who tells me everyday he thinks I am pretty, but he is no one compared to the many other people who know I'm not, including me. Even if I do have talent, what good would it be against the girls of today's, this country's, society?

Do you remember me?

One pair of legs tangled in the sheets
Two in the morning twenty-six
Slow sighs escape from the lips
At being a page one simply skips

Do you remember me?
Not one to forget or forgive easy
Still know the culprit of your pain
While it is unfamiliar to you, my name

Remember when we first met?
You still wore glasses, head in a hat
The only station with 3 lines
Your obsession with astrological signs

I remember the hands on my shoulders
Pushing me in the absence of my brothers
Down hills laughter ringing through trees
A relationship ends, all friendships cease

Remember how you cried at the atrium?
Your white tee and jacket of denim
3 years on, your graduation ceremony
I don't think you even remember me

Do you remember our day at Woodlands?
Lost in the North, twists and turns
Do you still watch the videos we made?
Fading, fading, fading, your memory dead.

Remember our first words exchanged?
A few giggles and awkward smiles managed
I know you don't remember our better
When the sin against you is still greater

I remember us underneath Dover
Like a bunch of drunk kids except sober
Your endless supply of band tees
Last seen on the bus bound for Tampines

Watching as footsteps went separate paths
Lying down under your photographs
None of them would remember me
A person lesser than a nobody.

Please appreciate me

There was once a time three years ago when I tried to ace my modules, because I wanted to work in SMRT, and I thought my course would give me a chance in it. But of course it isn't my fate, because I'm just too stupid, or lazy, or unmotivated, it doesn't matter.

Two years later I found a job which I deemed the best in the world. I got to work with books and stationery in a bookstore that was a huge part of my childhood. Even though I was eventually moved to the Multimedia department, I was so grateful for my place in this job, to the extent of pasting my confirmation letter from the company up on my wall.

What made me love this job is the fact that I am able to tackle anything that comes at me, as long as it's within my means. Whatever a customer asks for I am always able to answer, be it which department as long as it isn't Chinese. A place where I'm finally better than everyone else, if you exclude the HOD stuff of course.

A year on and I realise that my passion is getting taken advantage of. My dad always says this Malay saying which roughly translates to "give your face and they'll step on your head" which really does make sense. And I'm only now knowing it.

It drives me mad when everything is thrown at me. It drives me mad when I have to take care of more than 2 departments because the rest are not doing anything, or throwing their customers at me because they don't know what they're looking for. My one Malay colleague once said: "Tu lah... Siapa suruh pandai sangat." I guess it is my fault for loving this shitty ass job too much.

It feels worse than being in a relationship where you're not appreciated. It feels worse than studying your hardest only to just borderline pass your exams.

One day, I may just leave. Sometimes when I'm so mad at everything that goes down at work, I plan my resignation letter. Most other people probably copy-paste theirs from some website, but I'd be sure to personally write mine.

You have a staff who loves working with your company, who gets excited when she's given assignments at other outlets or at your HQ. Who never once complained about being underpaid. But when you don't even realise my hard work and only count my effort via the compliments I get, I know I deserve more.

It's only been a year since I've worked here, and I already feel so much stress. It all comes from love; I love this job, I can't change that. I've worked so hard to transform my department from the rat's nest it was before I came, to this neat shit that would please a person with OCD. (but apparently not enough to please the Area Manager so yeah)

Please appreciate me, and don't step all over my head. That's all I ask. Continue not doing so and you may just lose the one person who genuinely loved everything about you, as a customer in childhood and as an employee in adulthood.

The things that make me

I just felt like... typing away. God forbid I use the word 'writing'. 

What are the things that make me happy? Books. Work. Trains. Cats. My colleagues, my other half, and my grandmother. I keep trying to remind myself I do have purpose to live, but it doesn't make it anymore easier.

I am a shallow person in the way I keep wishing to be pretty and popular. I want to embrace the fact that I'm 'different', but it's hard when nobody else likes you for who you are. I'm the one who is difficult; everyone else is normal, and I'm too lowly for them. Right?

That's why work is the only place where I'm happy. I feel like the Avatar, master of all four elements, in the way that I not only know things about my department, but all 4 departments at work, haha. (I can't know about Chinese dept. because well... I'm Malay.)

It makes me feel good about myself to find a place where I'm better than everyone else and where I know how to settle anything that comes my way. The last time I felt this was in English class back in secondary school, where I'd be sleeping the whole lesson and still get the highest score for all the English exams :)

People like me, it's not easy to find such a place. My community, the people of my race and age, they taught me that only the pretty, popular, and the good singers or artists get everything. Writing didn't get me anything, even if I was good at it, because I am not any of those. A pretty girl who can sing writes a shallow piece of "poetry" (that has like 50 grammatical errors) and she gets so much praise. Right?

Another thing that makes me happy is trains: the MRTs in my beloved Singapore, to be more precise, and I think they are beautiful. I love this country and everything in it, and I hate traveling past the borders. Much to the contrast of other people...

I am obsessed with the announcements you hear in the trains, and I always try my hardest to memorise them, be it their words and the announcer lady's tone.  Even in the midst of a conversation with my other half, when the announcement ding comes on, I will stop and recite whatever that comes on. (provided it's in English!)

Why? Because I enjoy it and it makes me happy. My favourite lines of all are The train approaching Platform A will end its service at Jurong East Platform D and If you see any suspicious looking person, or article: please inform our staff, or press the Emergency Communication button, located at the side of the train doors. :)

And cats. They are my friends, even if we don't speak the same language. Just being able to touch them makes me happy, even if I can't bring them home, hah. It makes me happy when I call out to them and they come over to me so enthusiastically, instead of ignoring me or running away.

There's this cat around my house area whom I first met last June or July, and she was really arrogant and always hissed and glared at me if I so much as looked at her. I kept trying to get her to like me, and finally last month I managed to do so, by slowly approaching her and letting her smell my hand.

Now every single day when I get home from work, she'll look at me with her huge round eyes and nudge my foot with her head. After maybe 2 minutes of petting her, I'll get up to leave and she'll follow me. It makes me happy to see how she used to be a bitch and now she's so loving towards me.

Last but not least are all the books in the world. They are all beautiful, even if I have never met them. Whether they are old or new. They're better than people, and they understand me and love me more. They are road trips in the comfort of your own bedroom.

Perhaps I have read more books than I have had human friends, and I think that's just alright. When a person hurts you, they could scar you for life; whereas if a book hurts you, you learn an important lifelong lesson that stays with you forever.

I am trying my hardest to embrace the fact that I do not fit with others. That I do not have friends other than my colleagues and other half and the cats and books of the world. That I am not pretty, or don't wear cute clothes, or can't sing. I am perfectly fine with all that and I've already found my place in this world.

Right?

Parents Day Writing Contest entry

They say our parents make us who we are today.

I don't know who "they" are, but they're right.

Who I am today, it's credits to the couple who taught me the most: my mother and my father.

I am the only girl in the family, growing up with 2 brothers, one elder and one younger. I grew up being the princess of my parents' eyes, and yet I turned out to be a girl who never wears skirts; instead, a girl who is running around everyday in jeans and sneakers.

When I was in primary school, my father used to show me his wallet all the time, full of merely $2 notes. He would tell me he'd spent most of his money on our school allowances, on my mother's groceries, on the electricity and water bills.... My mother, on the other hand, would spend her money like it was water from a tap. Restaurants, shopping, holidays, pretending her debts didn't exist. My brother, despite having had a full time job for about 5 years now, have never given them a single cent. They depended on me financially for their own reasons, thus they taught me that having money is more important than anything else.

The year I turned 17 was the year  I grew quiet, shunned myself from friends and classmates, made myself the constant target of discipline masters, refused to go to school every morning. My parents chose to see it as a rebellion of some way, assuming the reasons of my attitude without sitting down to talk to me first. They taught me that there's no reason for me to confide in anyone about my problems; they wouldn't care, and even if they do just let them assume.

At the end of the year, they couldn't take it anymore. My father kicked me out of the house, his exact words having been "I disown you." He taught me that blood is not that much thicker than water after all; with a snap of your fingers, a daughter can be cut out of your life as you please.

My whole 2 years away from them, my parents never once called me or visited me at my aunt's place. Not for my birthday, not for Hari Raya, not just to say they missed me. They taught me that our ego and pride are more important than admitting you miss someone, than even saying a simple sorry.

When my sister-in-law gave birth to a baby girl, my parents cooed over her, made such a big fuss over her. They called her the names that they used to call me; sayang, princess, princess of the family. When she turned one, they wrote her a birthday wish that was exactly the same as the one they gave me for my past birthdays. They taught me that anyone can be replaced; out with the old, in with the new.

I didn't start my polytechnic life with this couple who raised me from birth. Instead, the couple who paid for my new laptop and school fees was my aunt and uncle. My mother and father, they taught me that the words "mother" and "father" may not necessarily refer to the ones who gave you your life. That the word "family" may not always refer to the ones you grew up with.

While true that our parents make us who we are, sometimes it's not in the most perfect way.

Here I am, the person that I am today, the shape of my parents' hands making me: a person who writes her feelings and problems onto Post-its and paste them onto the wall instead of talking them out with someone.

A person who cut off her friendships with her secondary school friends, assuming they didn't need her anymore because they have their new polytechnic ones.

A person who would sooner cut off her finger than say sorry, even when in the wrong; who treasures her pride and ego more than her relationships.

A person who would rather starve herself than spend $5 on a proper meal, because having and saving money is more important than her own life.

A person who doesn't value her parents and brothers above all else, because blood is not that much thicker than water at all.

A person who calls work instead of her house "home", who regards her colleagues instead of her parents and brothers a "family", because they just don't seem as such.

This is the person that my parents have made me today, their flaws more moulded into me than their strengths.

What for

I miss the times when I only had one option to go at the end of the day. When I didn't have to ask myself which house am I going home to today, when will I be sleeping over at the other? How I wish I didn't go back. I hate this house.

Working full time, I am obliged to give my parents money which is what I have been doing, albeit the fact that my father rejects it because of his ego, hence I always gave his share to my mom instead. But the longer I keep giving her money, the more she asks me and the less she bothers to ask her first son.

Her first FUCKING precious son. The motherfucker who leaves his plates to rot at the side of the sink the whole day because he doesn't know how to wash them; the motherfucker who hasn't given a single cent to our parents after like 5 years of working full time; the motherfucker who keeps showing to the world how he "loves" his family but in actual fact treats them like fucking shit. THE MOTHERFUCKER WHO IS STINGY, USELESS, AND A HYPOCRITE ALL AT ONCE. AND ALSO A MENTALLY RETARDED FUCK. WHAT A RECORD!

What am I even working so hard for? What the hell do I even want to save 10 fucking thousand for? To have it all robbed away by a couple who doesn't even appreciate me? The mother who is taking all the money I am giving her for granted, the father who is too egoistic to even regard me even after 8 months?

They've forgotten me anyway, that pair. They've replaced me with my niece, calling her the things they used to call me. Is it because I'm 21 and too old for that? Is it because they don't love me anymore, or grown to see me as invisible? Is it because I'm not forgiven for losing my own?

What am I working so hard for? I'm gonna fucking die anyway. This family has no point, all this saving money has no point, even my relationship has no point. Why should I even fight for anything when I can't be bothered to fight for my own life?

Letter to beloved

I have lost interest and I want to leave.

When I first laid eyes on you, I liked you.
I got to know you, and I wanted to stay with you.
I saw all your flaws, and I accepted you.
I loved you, your beauty that nobody else appreciated.

But all that is gone.

I don't miss anymore the way you kiss me on my face the few times you were there when I woke up.

I don't love anymore the way you make my heart beat fast.
The way you mess up my hair.
The way you make my tummy ache with butterflies.

I don't see my future with you anymore. I don't see any purpose of staying. I hate your flaws so much, and I don't love you anymore.

I tried so hard to get you to love me back but you choose to give your love to everyone else. I'll give you up to them, these people that don't even accept you.

You are the sun, the wind, the waters, the trees. You are long gone, and I don't want to stay anymore. The people that you harbour are ruined, not only do they not love you but they don't love me either. They don't love each other. They don't love what you give them.

I hate you for not giving me what I've given you and I am waiting for the perfect moment to leave. There is nothing for me to stay for anymore.

This is my letter to this world that I've lost interest in and don't love anymore.

Her

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

Her.
because
you
didn't
want
HER.

Who am I?

Are you happy?

I think we're really fake.

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

After all my sacrifices,

to which you've just said

"what sacrifices? you call that a sacrifice?"

you don't even notice me.

You don't realise my existence,

what more my importance.

I don't feel like I belong with you.

Your friends don't accept me now

your family won't accept me future.

Even I don't accept myself.

Who am I to you?

I don't belong to you.

Or more so you don't belong with me.

You should go free

for you are the wind, after all.

You shouldn't be with me

and I need to let you go.

I thought I belonged, but I didn't.

Cheering competition, apology won hearts over

A gifted camera, sweat-soaked PE shirts, soccer

2012, half left behind, groups falling back

2013, own paths, no effort to contact 

I thought I belonged with 4/2 2011,
and 5/1 2012,
but I didn't.

First day of school, in the auditorium, shy

Sitting in a circle, awkward, block 5

Age, race, country of origin, different

They moved forward and I didn't

I thought I belonged with 1A1 2013,
but I didn't.

People never met, like a family from the start

Random name that grew on our hearts

Singing happy birthday, in baju kurung, midnight

Bad blood with one, with all I am not right

I thought I belonged with Heroine,
but I didn't.

5 years of high school past, promises made

2015, making plans, no replies, nothing said

She with her projects, she with her art, she with her dancing

Photo of 7 girls, just the same as nothing

I thought I belonged with my secondary school best friends,
but unfortunately
I didn't.

April first, to earn money for what I don't want

Opening up after a day, a week, month

Laughter spread, anger shared, sadness felt

Loved, accepted, hope for this candle not to melt

I thought I belonged with my colleagues at Popular,
and I did.

I do. 

Taking a break from you

I

don't

understand

how

you

can

treat

me

like

this

It's

clear

how

less

you

love

me

than

you

think

On the nights I search for you

I

don't

think

we

are

meant

for

each

other

I 
think
my
soulmate
is
not
you
but
my
daughter

Found on a Gelare receipt

I

am

sorry

for

stealing

you

from

your

friends

I 

am

sorry

they

don't

even

say

hi

to

me

when

we

bump

into

them

I 

am

sorry

for

not

being

society's

standard

of

pretty

I

am

sorry

for

not

being

your

mother's

standard

of

perfection

for

you

I

am

sorry

I

find

myself

ugly

I

do

not

believe

your

words

what

you

see

in

me

Found on an Auntie Anne's wrapper

There

is

this

mechanism

in

me

that

will

always

feel

relieved

when

I

meet

the

little

flower

for

he

was

the

very

first

person

I'd

set

eyes

on

after

being

suffocated

by

a

ghost.

Found on a flower

Remember

when

your

little

flower

asked

you

"does

he

ever

use

force

on

you"

and

you

said

no

because

you

were

just

defending

the

person

you

call

your

other

half

I didn't realise I was in so much pain

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I am the ugliest person on earth.

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

I threw you away.

For people who couldn't care less about me.

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

and none of them are even here for me.

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

My breathing gets harder each time.

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

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

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

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

And no one understands.

I am this close to putting myself into oblivion.

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

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

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

Just fucking kill me already. 

Please stop visiting.

I do not want to blog anymore. Then again how many times have I done things I didn't want to?

Been feeling really moody today, and I wish it was as simple an explanation as PMS. Which my body still hasn't gotten used to again.

I've been getting irritated with little girls lately, and I got home today to see my bulletin board wrecked by my niece.

It was my first time in life placing my head in my hands from the stress. I thought they only did this in movies.

When she was born, I told myself I would be the best aunt ever. Now I'm terrified of being the aunt whom you never get to see at all, who avoids family gatherings because of her own emotional problems.

I heard of girls who cut their hair short as a symbol of their just breaking up with someone precious. I cut mine for a loss infinite times worse.

And then I traded this loss for ink, etched onto my tummy, the very spot where your head once was. I don't care that it is permanent, because so is your death.

You would have been a September girl, just like me.

I'd give up the world for you. I'm willing to see the world end, if it means I get to hold you for a minute or even less.

I miss you always, but I wish you would stop visiting. I love you, but I'm really tired.

Not blogging anymore

I see no need of keeping this page, so I am not gonna write in anymore.

Maybe I will come back in the future, maybe not. Either way, I'm not going to delete any posts or this blog itself because there're too many memories dear to me.

I loved doing this, I really did and perhaps I still do, but for now there is no purpose in me putting finger to keyboard. For now, it is either pen to paper or key to lock, feelings kept in a box.

I know one person I will be making sad, and I hold true my word of never forgetting anyone, good or bad memories shared with them.

Shall stop here. Don't love this world to ruins.

Having a daughter and losing her

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My over-enthusiasm with books

As you must know by now I work at Popular, my happiest place on Earth since childhood. I love books, but unfortunately, being in the Multimedia/CD-Rama department, I don't work alongside them much.

I do get to interact with books, namely the times when there's nothing to do and no customers to serve. It's not my department, but I can't stand looking at the messy shelves. At the same time I rearrange them, of course I'd thumb through some books, read a little here and there.

There are some days when only one out of the two English books department staff are working. Those days, when they're on their break and the cashier pages for English department staff, I'd go and see what's up.

Well I can say I do have potential to be in this department, heh. However it's not good for me, because sometimes I tend to get a little too excited.

When a customer asks for a book that I've heard of, I get excited.
When a customer asks for a book that I myself have been wanting to read, I get more excited.
When a customer asks for a book that I have already read, I get even more excited.

I tend to be over-enthusiastic. The other time someone asked my colleague for help, who in turn came to me, handing me a piece of paper with the book the customer wanted. It was The 5th Wave! I just read it in February, and I loved it, and of course I got excited when I saw it.

And not only that but I knew exactly where to find it. Because I knew the author is one thing, but I knew because I've spent about 80% of my free time walking through the shelves of the English books, and I've seen every book in every nook and cranny. *proud smile*

It was worse when the customer asked me about the book; "This is the first book right? There's a second book?" I straightway answered "YES! The second one is called The Infinite Sea, and there's also the third book coming out later this year," blah blah blah. I just can't help it.

Another time, this kid kept coming to me and asking about books, and I was more than excited to help him. I love it when kids read books, heh. When he got the 3 books he wanted, I asked him if there was anything else I could help him with.

"I think that's it, I have 3 books already," and the temptation to say "THREE BOOKS ISN'T ENOUGH, KID" was just too high. I loved that kid already, the way he clutched his books to his chest.

That same day, a father came to me with his son, asking about Captain Underpants. I exclaimed a very excited "Oh! Let me show you," to which the father said, "See, she immediately knew what was Captain Underpants!"

I couldn't have said it more excitedly: "Of course I know, it's my childhood!"

This over-enthusiasm can be a little embarrassing sometimes though. Just like yesterday, a customer came asking about The Kite Runner. I've read that, I loved it, the main character shares the same name as my other half... Of course I knew where to find it.

After passing it to her, she asked for another book. "A Thousand..." she started, but I straightway took out A Thousand Splendid Suns, by the same author as The Kite Runner, and shoved it in her face. But no, it wasn't the book she was about to say, and that was just embarrassing.

I really do love my job and gathering all these moments to share. My colleagues have called me crazy after I said I wanted to work here until the day I die, heh *sheepish grin*

Whitesands has destroyed my places of childhood, the Popular outlet and the library. But here I am working in a Popular as a teenager, and I would love to bring this legacy along into my adulthood as well. Who knows, I might be a manager in the future ^^

A mother is still a mother

Today I wondered, would Singaporeans give up their seats on the train if they see a heavily pregnant teenager? Or would they just judge her and punish her for her actions by letting her stand? Something silly to ponder about, as usual.

When I was young there were many kittens at the coffeeshop below, as well as the wet market when it wasn't a Shengsiong yet. I always caught one and brought it home, played with it for a day before sending it back at night.

This one day I saw some people gathering around a box, and I looked in to see a kitten which eyes and ears hadn't even opened yet. Me being an innocent kid who didn't know anything, I brought it home like I did with the other kittens.

I'm not sure why but I didn't bring it back that same night, and instead made it a bed out of a box and kept it overnight. It meowed the whole night, loudly and shrieking, and my mom told me to bring it back downstairs the next morning.

So what I remember happened is this: a cat had overturned all the beer cartons at the coffeeshop, frantically looking for the newborn I had brought home.

I recognised that particular cat as the garang one, as my little brother and I always called her, because not only was she sombong as heck but she was good at glaring and hissing at whoever came towards her. She was a million times more untouchable without her baby.

Something I read somewhere before; a cat can have different coloured kittens at once, because she can still get pregnant by other male cats when she already is. A litter of kittens have the same mother, but not always the same father.

Cats going through fires to save their offspring; lionesses fighting their partners, the very king of the jungle, to prevent them from eating their cubs; your own mother saying she's full even when she's not, to let you have the last bit of her food.

Tomorrow is my sister-in-law's first Mother's Day being a mom. Something happened along somewhere that made me envious of mother-daughters instead of couples, and I can't help thinking all the time what it'd be like to have a little girl I can call mine. I have found the perfect other half, I can't help thinking of having the perfect second me.

That's all I have to say about Mother's Day. It's not just about my own mother, but also my grandmother, and any woman who's had a life growing inside her womb.

A mother is a mother, whether it's a four-legged animal whose babies are from different fathers, or a young girl who mistakenly gave her body to someone she thought loved her.

Customers, love them or hate them

Good evening from Elias Road, your reporter for today is none other than E'indah Nadhirah, the girl with 6 cats and an addiction to bread.

Today is labour day, and seeing how I haven't been blogging for a really long time, [my fingers are feeling a bit more awkward and unnatural than usual typing on my laptop] I'm gonna write something related to today... I think.

From 2011 to now I've worked 5 part-time jobs, my current being Popular bookstore. Today also makes it a month since I started working there, so why not share my experiences thus far?

So first of all, I consider this a dream come true. Well, one of my many dreams to be exact. It isn't exactly Kinokuniya, which is honestly my most favourite big bookstore in Singapore, but I guess we all start somewhere.

I'm not even taking care of books in Popular though. My first 2 weeks or so, I was put in Stationery department. I treated the stationery like my children; put them up nicely when new stocks came, made sure they're put where they belonged if they strayed, dusted them whenever I could.

In actual fact I wanted to mess everything up because I can't stand neat things if you remember, but for this case I was almost developing OCD for stationery. I always got frustrated when I returned back to work after y l2 days off, because my children--stationery--were always in a mess.

If you go Popular you might hear the announcement bell and a voice saying: Paging for stationery staff, please proceed to cashier counter, thank you. or anything that goes like that. They do that to call certain staff when a customer queries at the counter about something in that respective department.

When I first started off at Stationery I didn't like to go because I was new and was afraid I wouldn't know what the customer would be looking for. That changed along the way, I started to get excited when they paged for stationery, and I always volunteered to go.

I love having something to do at work, even more so if there's so much to do that time flies by without me even realising it. I get really sleepy if there're no customers or new stocks to do.

Customers are really great sometimes, I mean when they're nice and especially when they say thank you. I automatically like you if you say thank you; it makes serving you worthwhile and sincerely a pleasure. I get a little broken inside when I can't help someone find something they need, mostly because we don't have it or they don't like what we have.

However I've found quite a few bits about customers that quite irritate me. First is when they not only ask rudely, but they also don't say thank you. But that's fine because I forget it in a while.

Second, when customers show me a specific pen and asks me "Do you sell this pen?" it's worse if they show me just a picture. We have hundreds of pens, you really can't expect me to know all of them. At most I can do is search for them physically, which they can do themselves.

Third, when I'm serving someone already and another customer pops out of nowhere and starts asking for help. I'm not mad that you asked me for help, it's just that I'm clearly helping another customer already, and all customers are equally important so you're putting me on a spot.

Fourth is something that is not only irritating, but sometimes hurtful, sometimes both. Back when I worked at the bakery customers were always mistaking me for a Chinese girl, Chinese people speaking really fast Mandarin to me and Malays speaking really awkwardly because they can't find the English word for something. They were always surprised to know I am Malay.

I've had a few similar racial problems here at Popular too, the most common one being Chinese people suddenly coming to me and rapping in their language about something they're looking for. Sometimes I don't have the heart to interrupt, so I try to catch a few words I understand. If not, I feel worse if I have to tell them they just wasted their breath because I didn't get a single word.

The thing that hurts most from Chinese customers is when they immediately just walk away when I say, "Sorry, but can you speak English?" I've gotten this a few times. They don't even say nevermind, it's okay, they just walk away and look for my other colleague. I understand that they can't speak English but they don't have to be so mean like that.

There was this one woman whom I was serving for the previous 5 minutes or so, answering her many questions about a product. In the midst of my explaining, my colleague from Text/Assessment department walked by and she immediately left me hanging and went over to him and asked him about that same product.

The same with suppliers; this one incident, the suppliers for the copier paper arrived and asked me in Mandarin, which I understood, whether "The boxes can put here?" I said in English, yes yes can put here. They asked again, clearly not understanding a single word of English, so I just repeated but with hand motions this time.

They just looked at me with their blank stares, looked almost irritated, and one of them opened the office door and asked my colleague in Mandarin, "The boxes can put here?" and then he looked at his colleague and said, yes yes can put here. I almost wanted to scream THAT WAS WHAT I FUCKING SAID TWICE!!!!

As for my own race, I find it really rude when Malays make comments about someone standing beside them, whether or not that said person understands what they're saying. If someone looks like Chinese, it does not mean they are Chinese, and even if they are, it does not mean they don't understand Malay. You don't just make comments about the way someone looks or dresses or smells when they're right in front of you.

This one time I was sitting right at the back of the store on the floor, checking stocks that just arrived, price tagging and all that stuff. These 2 Malay guys caught sight of me, and one of them commented right beside me in this rude sarcastic tone: "Kesian eh, mesti penat dia kerje." and they both laughed like it was the funniest thing ever.

By the time I looked up I only managed to glare at one of them, and he said, "Eh janganlah dia marah oi," still laughing, to which his friend yelled over the aisle, "Sorry!" in that really insincere joking tone. It may seem small to you but if you were in my shoes... ):

And then came that horrible day when they took me away from my children...
when they transferred me to Multimedia/CD-Rama department.

Even til now I'm still learning a lot about Multimedia, especially all about the products. There're only 2 people in this department, which are basically the HOD and me.

The thing that irritates me the most about this department... when customers ask me questions as if I use every single product there is. I know just as much as you do, which is what's stated on the box or cover of the item. Just because I'm selling it doesn't mean I've used it before or am using it myself; whether or not I am new to this department, you can't expect me to know anything beyond what's written on the packaging.

So far I've only had 3 customers that almost got to my nerves while in Multimedia, two of which just happened yesterday: the man who kept asking me about the range extenders knowing he wouldn't buy any, getting pissed when I said truthfully I wasn't sure the answers to his questions; the woman who wanted to exchange a bag that had a tiny tear, one minute saying she wanted this next minute saying she wanted that and was so sensitive and indecisive.

The last one being this woman who stood at the edge of one of the Multimedia aisles, asking my colleague something. Because she is from Chinese books department, my colleague came over to me and asked for help about what the customer was looking for.

She stood at that exact spot, at the edge of the aisle, the whole time, even when I came over to her. She asked if we had those remote controls used to change slides during presentations. Because I'd never seen them and it was just a few days being in Multi, I just said so confidently oh no... we don't sell that. without realising we do, and they were right next to me.

The woman saw them first, that moment when I saw the look on her face change. She looked at me with that are you fucking kidding me/are you fucking stupid face and pushed past me to look at the blasted remote controls, which I just realised were there.

I laughed and said "Oh yeah they're here I didn't realise..." tried to make a joke out of it and explain that I was new, and she just completely ignored me. She thought I was stupid for not realising they were right next to me, but who was the one who just blindly stood at the edge of the exact aisle which contained the things she was looking for? Shove those remote controls up your xoxo

This just turned into a rant about customers.
I think it's long enough to make up for the entire month I didn't blog, so there you go.

Why I will not read Harry Potter

I've been wanting to read the Harry Potter books for a while now. Everyone who's read it has loved it and I know hardcore HP fans everywhere, so I thought I'd give it a try myself.

I thought of buying the entire boxset of the 7 books but I wasn't willing to pay full price, and when I saw someone selling it for 50, I immediately asked about it but it was on reservation. The books aren't so easy to find at the library either because they're always on loan.

However after some thinking as well as some reading of other series due to the hype around it, I decided that I am not gonna read Harry Potter after all, and I'm not going to try either. I've come up with 3 valid reasons so if you're a fan and you're reading this, please don't get mad at me.

1. It's not exactly my favourite genre.
In fact it's probably my least favourite. According to Wiki, the Harry Potter novels fall under the category of fantasy literature. They contain a few aspects of other genres but they're mainly categorised as fantasy. Never been exactly my thing.

I've liked books since I was a kid, and the HP books have been around since forever, even before the time I first started reading. There must have been a reason why I didn't pick it up despite it being everywhere; why my mother bought me all kinds of books that I liked but never Harry Potter. We both just knew it wasn't my thing.

And to tell the truth, wizards and witches don't exactly appeal to me. I'd read about werewolves, sure, and even a little sprinkle of vampires is okay but witchcraft and wizardry... Nah. [I watched the first film and was dragged to the fourth with my cousin, both movies of which I just did not enjoy.]

2. They're best read growing up. 
I know a few Booktubers who read the books in their late teens and even early 20's. The most common complain they have is always "I should have read the books as a kid."

As someone who's turning 20 I don't think I should be reading middle grade books anymore. I read Percy Jackson last year, and while I enjoyed them a part of the experience was a bit spoilt due to the main characters being 12.

The main characters in HP grow older and wiser in the books, that I know, but I don't find myself relating to growing characters if I don't grow up with them. Is it just me? For now the youngest a character should be for me to enjoy the book would be at least 16.

3. I know a lot of what happens. 
With fans and fan accounts everywhere there are spoilers every corner of Twitter. I know who dies, what who secretly is, who betrays who, yadda blah. Personally I wouldn't read a series I've been spoilt for; there won't be any emotional impact because I'd be expecting and waiting for it to happen.

The HP fandom is a strong one, to the extent that it's spoilt me on too many accounts. I got spoilt for The Mortal Instruments series quite hard, and that's probably why I'm not enjoying it even though I loved The Infernal Devices.

So no, I am not gonna read a series where I know exactly what's gonna happen here, there, and in the end.

Nephew, one day old forever

Unknown number flashing across the screen;
"E'indah, where on earth have you been?"
Cat lying in the sun witness to that phone call;
I, tears streaming down like a waterfall.

Lifting her cats lovingly in the air;
Putting powder down my back after pushing aside my hair.
Crosses borders for her first grandchild at the instance;
My grandmother, witness to his pale face in a halo of radiance.

Her tin of food never going unfed to any cats;
Staying up late at her table, sewing booties and hats.
"It's going to be a boy!" once she excitedly says;
My aunt, the one to bury, last to kiss his cold face.

His motorcycle adventures once on the newspaper;
Years ago, telling his stories with bits of dry humour.
There in support of her, to rid of her tears and bile;
My cousin and his wife, the loss of their first child.

Pushing out of her womb, one month short of nine;
Not even a struggle to escape, not a single cry.
To walk, to grow, to play with my niece, never;
My nephew, one day old, forever.

Cousins

I don't remember the first time we talked,
the first time we laughed,
or even the first time we met.

We've just always been together.

I don't remember when we stopped being awkward or if we ever were,
when we started to look for each other immediately after we arrive,
when we became so comfortable with each other.

We've always been best friends.

You and the rest,
how I loved spending time with all of you,
being moody when it's time to go home,
imagining my action figures were all of you on the days we didn't meet.

The older ones would bring us to the void deck,
lit sparklers for us which we pretended were big fireworks.
The period when heelys were the trend,
all of us had our own pair and there we went,
zipping all over the place in our wheeled sneakers.

At least one of us would always have a deck of Uno cards,
and Stress was our favourite game,
how proud I'd been to be beating everyone at it.

I had so much stamina as a kid, running here and there,
trying to escape from the 'catcher'
or hiding from the seeker.

I was always talking non-stop, my mouth going on like a rocket,
all of us bouncing with chatter and laughter,
our gathered voices all around the house until the adults scolded us.

Sleepovers were of no exception.
I wasn't so independent as a kid and I didn't like to be far from my parents,
but I always wanted to stay over your house when invited.

Your neighbour from the 6th floor which you always gossiped about,
the pineapple playground which was your then crush's favourite spot,
making you stay awake to conjure up stories for me,
I remember them and more.

Being with all of you,
family gatherings like such,
were what gave me life back then.

But then,
like what everyone does eventually,

you all

grew

up.

Everyone was becoming more vain and self-conscious,
constant worrying about their hair, not wanting to wear baju kurungs anymore.
We'd go down not to play with sparklers anymore,
but to buy cup noodles, blast rap songs, smoke cigarettes.

I was slower than all of you.
I didn't care about being forced to wear baju kurungs,
while all of you showed up in jeans and shirts,
even you, my only girl cousin.

I became shy, not interacting much with adults or the younger kids,
much less all of you.
Everyone was singing the same songs,
talking about the same things,
remembering the same inside jokes,

except me.

I was probably the only one
who didn't know what all of you were talking about or singing.

I was gone for 2 years, vanished from all family gatherings,
and I come back as if I've survived a kidnapping and have had my tongue cut.

Now, on the few times I see you,
you would greet my parents and kiss their hands in respective greeting,
I would look at you, hoping you'd notice me,
because I want to smile at you and wave,
despite the fact we don't talk anymore.

You'd greet them, and walk away.
You don't even make eye contact with me anymore.

I'd sit on my own or with my own family,
while all of you are gathered together and still interacting with one another.
I'm glad you're all still talking, even though I'm not part of it,
and I wish not to be,

because cousins or not,
I think it's a fact that I don't fit in,
and that I have my own place to go.

Lukewarm milk tea

There was an announcement as I was walking through the engineering blocks of my school: the results for our final exams were to be released in 3 days.

I stopped in my tracks like everyone else did, to listen, and while they continued to walk after the announcement was over, I stayed in my place. To pray. I placed my hands together and prayed for the results of the exams I didn't put my everything into.

Afterwards, I went searching for milk tea. The ones at the sandwich shop and Co-op weren't cold and somehow I was just insanely desperate for an iced cold drink. My throat was parched and lukewarm wasn't gonna do it.

There was a Cheers between the poolside canteen and the pool, and no, they weren't cold there either. I just took one anyway, left the shop and walked around it, where there was this narrow pathway surrounded by tall walls.

My view changed from first to third person. I was looking at my own face, drinking my lukewarm drink, even though I could still feel the liquid going down my throat. It was starting to feel like fire, and I watched my own face, noting my facial expressions.

My face started to distort, going to and fro a horrible crying face and my normal face, within milliseconds of each other, like a glitch. It went on and on, and I vaguely heard a baby crying in the background.

Slowly the view panned out to show me on a screen, with freaking Pewdiepie at his little window in the corner. Another window appeared beside my face, right where my throat is, showing a long bone of some sort. It broke into vertical half, forming jagged edges that rubbed against each other.

Apparently Pewdiepie was controlling the movement of the bone in my throat. I'm not sure what it's called, the gullet?, if that's even a bone? [the trachea, just checked Google.] He was yelling in amusement like he always did, that mock evil tone whenever he tortures a character.

Well he was torturing me. I was staring at my own face, but I continued to feel the pain that this seemingly virtual character was going through. My faces kept changing, and it reminded me of a demon possession. He wouldn't stop controlling the pieces of my trachea grinding against each other, sharp edges stabbing the inside of my throat.

I watched myself on screen clawing at my throat, gasping for air, slowly falling to my knees. I watched all that while feeling the movement on my own body, it's indescribable but I see it all in my head right now. I don't think anyone is getting my descriptions right now but it was terrifying... And yeah, Pewds just kept laughing.

Of course, I woke up taking in a deep breath of air myself, and saw that it was nearly 6. I couldn't sleep back after that, and I just stayed awake, waiting for the sun to come up.

Why I'm crying after watching The Giver

I once said that the first rule of life was to read the books before the movies. Huh. I broke that rule a few times over the past few years, with Catching Fire [didn't even watch the first movie before it] and If I Stay and City of Bones.

Despite that I think it's a good idea to watch films before reading the books, so that instead of hating the movie adaptation after you loved the book, you'll enjoy the movie on its own, and then love it even more when you read the book. Makes sense? My logic anyway, and I came to realise it's true.

So anyway I just finished watching The Giver, and yep I never read the book. Was supposed to, back in sec 2 for literature but I never did. No regrets, because I already think the film is great.

I've always believed dystopian societies are scary, a society where everything is in control. Hunger Games, the thought of children being thrown in an arena to kill one another. Divergent, where you are allowed to only be selfless, or honest, or intelligent, and never more than one.

And also The Program, where you are not allowed to even mourn the death of a friend, because they'll think you're depressed and suicidal and put you through this thing called the 'program' to avoid having you commit suicide. Quite an underrated dystopian book.

The idea of a world without feelings, or pop culture, art, music, a world where the animals you see now are considered mythical creatures. When Jonas first saw colour I was already crying a few tears, because I don't ever want to live somewhere without the blues of the sky or the greens of the trees, or even just the reds of apples.

All the time, I see people who have been hurt say they don't want to feel anymore, They don't want their emotions because they don't want to be hurt, but really... Seeing the actors faking their lack of emotion is enough to make me tear up, imagine being without the ability to love or to cry.

Imagine not knowing what a kiss is, never receiving or giving one. Imagine not being able to cry when you've lost a loved one. Honestly, to me, the ability to cry is a blessing. Sadness is a blessing, and if you can feel it, you're really lucky.

Imagine not knowing what books and music are, imagine a world where nobody dances. I think it's really sad and you can't deny it. A world where everybody is the same, dresses the same, obeys the same rules and have their entire lives laid out in front of them.

I love that in reality, people dress differently and are able to express themselves. And not just their clothing, but they're able to write, or make music, or create art as their way of expression. I love that not everyone is smart, not everyone knows what they want to do in their future.

Believe me when I say I am one who does not stand for perfection, heh. I cannot stand neatly arranged stuff, and I guess that applies to a perfect society too.

I love the differences in the world, I love the different seasons and climates every country has, and I love the existence of art and music and literature, and I love the animals roaming on this planet, from the largest of elephants to the most domestic of cats.

I love the different skin colours, religious beliefs and practices everyone has, I love how not everybody is the same level of intelligent and how everyone excels in different areas in school or talent. I love how people are different and do different things.

Yes I can imagine a world without all these. And that's what makes me appreciate all of it, even the pain and disorder and death that it brings. It makes me appreciate being where I am and who I am, here in a small country where tsunamis can't reach, as this girl who is invisible to everyone but who sees every inch of the world like it's her back garden.

Watching The Giver has made me love the world even more than I already do, made me appreciate being alive more than ever, and I wish everyone could see things the way I do, even though they never will.

Thinking ahead

Wow I haven't been blogging much. Wow I haven't been doing anything else other than staring at my school books and thinking about my studies.

I don't see a point in studying for my final exams, because I already sort of know my fate. I already know I am going to fail all of them, and definitely am gonna be dismissed while I'm at it.

I have no problems with that, though after 3 of my very good friends withdrew from school, I'd told myself I will keep going until I graduate in their honour. Seeing how I've been doing, that seems quite the joke now.

I studied like hell for my programming final exam though, but deep inside I knew the actual paper would be a million times harder. That's what this shit school does, make you do all these revision papers, make you confident you can do it when you're able to get your answers correct, and then make the exam paper worlds apart from all that practice.

I got so angry when I saw the paper, and though I did try my best, it was as good as giving up. And with my next final paper being Engineering Maths, I know I can't do it. (this part was written on Monday. It's Wednesday now and yep, I screwed up yesterday's paper, though I never left any blanks...)

You can't sugarcoat life for me, and the truth sucks but I have to deal with it. I can't keep telling myself or accepting other people's words of "You can do it lah, you won't be dismissed lah, just try" because only I know what I've done.

I have thoughts of taking private O's, to retake my Humanities and Maths and then try to get into another course that I'd do better in. I can't take all this calculations anymore. Throw me into a course with reports due every week or something, I don't care. I'd do it more willingly than face all these numbers!

I know what I'd do if I get dismissed again, but I'm not sure how to let my mom know. She doesn't seem to want to believe it'll ever happen, and I also can't stand to think of what my aunt and grandmother would say. I hate adults and their logic, they'll think I want to STOP studying if I say that I just want to CHANGE direction. Ugh the pressure.

Well I guess I'd just try. What else can I do? Sometimes I wish I could go back to Year 1 anytime I want just so I could do all the same shit again and again until I pass, and then go on to the next semester and do the same.

Then again, as much as I wish I could go back, I'd rather just speed up everything right now and just get it all over and done with, fast forward the school stuff and let time go back to normal when I'm 23 or something.

I sound stupid ridiculous but whatever, I'm done with engineering, I'm done with school. Definitely not done with life though, still very much in love with taking buses and riding MRTs and bathing in the sun and laughing and crying, you name it.

Oh and also, you shouldn't stereotype or whatever it's called... Just because I'm in poly doesn't mean I'm smart, and just because I'm in poly doesn't mean I'm doing really well in school, blah blah blah. Now I know how it feels like to be pressured, but for all the different ways than other students. I HATE IT.

Just because

Just because you're skinny doesn't mean you eat too little.
Just because you're fat doesn't mean you eat too much.

Just because you're tall doesn't mean you should be a model.
Just because you're short doesn't mean you can't do a lot of things.

Just because you're a girl doesn't mean you wear make-up.
Just because you're a boy doesn't mean you can't be heartbroken.

Just because you're in ITE doesn't mean you're stupid.
Just because you're in poly doesn't mean you're smart.

Just because you're the only daughter doesn't mean you have to do all the chores in the house.
Just because you're the only son doesn't mean you have to be toughest in the family.

Just because you don't believe in God doesn't mean you don't respect other people.
Just because you grew up in a religious household doesn't mean you won't make mistakes.

Just because you're quiet doesn't mean you're sad.
Just because you're laughing at everything doesn't mean there's nothing bothering you.

____

I just made this video, because I've always thought this song was worth sharing, from the very first time I heard it about 5 years ago.

If you listen to its lyrics you'll deduct that it's all about sharing your stories. About how you shouldn't hold it in because you know it'll kill you. Just let it out if you feel something, be it happy or sad.

I used footage of things from my room, because your bedroom is where you usually keep your feelings in. It's where you have the most thoughts and tears, where the punching and cutting happen. Where all your stories are contained, really.

And also, to emphasise my point, there's a story behind every object in my room, and there are meanings as to why I placed a certain shot to a certain lyric line ^_^

A bit of social anxiety left

So the whole back row in my Thursday EG2 lecture are unrelated people. Most of us being repeats who have no one that we know in that classroom, we sit together but we have nothing to do with each other.

Today there was only one other kid and I, 2 out of the usual 5 people. One of them is my UR classmate that has never talked to me personally before, another being a classmate whom I've been in the same classes with since last sem. [Ok so maybe in a way we are related in life but still]

As usual once we were dismissed I was the first out of class while everyone was still taking their time to pack and chit-chat. I saw someone struggling to open the door, and since I was walking out I helped her, thinking she wanted to come in or something.

I didn't recognise the girl on the other side as one of my lecture classmates, so I thought she was looking for someone in my class. But she started talking to me. I didn't quite catch what she said, and she repeated: "Have you finished class?"

A little confused, I answered that yeah, I'm done, and she responded with this smile on her face: "Can you help us take a picture?" and I was like oh shit... Me?

Of course me. Because I just had to be the first out of the class ._.

So I walked into the opposite classroom with her, where her classmates were gathered at the front of. By this time I was freezing and really badly wanted to pee, and because I felt out of place I started to shiver. My knees and hands were shaking, and I had to put down my laptop just to be able to hold the girl's phone.

I guess I still had a bit of that social anxiety huh?

Once everyone was looking at me smiling I quietly said: "1... 2... 3..." and when I got to 2 my lips were already quivering, it just felt so scary suddenly, being in the middle of everyone's attention. I took another one, telling them to "Okay, this one with posing ah."

Their teacher threw more attention onto me by stating: "Hey, why don't you smile while taking our picture??" which kinda didn't make sense cause I'm not in the picture, why should I be smiling? But that comment just made me smile a little, which made my knees shake a lot more.

When I was done snapping the pictures I said Okay, done, and the teacher said again: "You need to smile more, you look so beautiful when you smile!" so I said thank you, and the girl from before said cheerfully too as I was leaving, "Thank you!" and a chorus of thanks from the others came as well.

And oh god... My knees and hands were shaking so bad, lips quivering like I was about to cry. I said welcome with a smile but I really hope they did not see me shaking. And I really hope the photos did not turn out blurry, no thanks to my shaking hands.

That was quite an experience in less than 3 minutes. Who would have thought I'd still have a bit of that anxiety from years ago? My god... It was so scary, I swear.

And then I walked to the atrium and had sudden diarrhea and now I feel like vomiting until I can shake no more x_x

READ ONLY IF U WANNA FEEL GUILTY

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thoughts harboured from If I Stay

You know, I love books but to be perfectly honest I'm embarrassed when reading a well-known and popular novel in public. Shit like The Fault In Our Stars or anything by John Green, I find myself not wanting to be caught dead reading those.

I'd wait until the hype around it is dead before I even pick up reading it, and same goes for If I Stay. I started reading it today though I'd watched the movie when it came out. And now I'm embarrassed to say I am one of those girls who loves this book and its film.

The book itself touched me especially thinking about my parents and little brother, the love of my life and my passions and dreams. I pictured mommy and dadda gone, dead on impact, bodies being zipped up in a black bag. I imagined 'Aamir in a bed, tubes plugged into him and his heartbeat beeping from a machine.

And then I imagined if it was me in Mia's place, caught between the choices of staying and leaving. I thought of my dreams of becoming a writer, unfulfilled as long as I don't wake up. I thought of a world without my parents and little brother, how I'd have no will to live without them.

I remember when I so badly wanted an oblivion last year. How I wanted so badly to die more than anything, not caring about whether I was even ready to meet my maker. That changed when I realised the beauty of life, all its happiness and heartbreak, all its laughter and pain.

I picture myself gone, and I can't stand the thought of those few people who would visit my page in hopes that I'd written a new post, the friends I've stopped talking with who might wish they could talk to me again.

The thought of my books sitting on my shelves, collecting dust as no one reads them, the cats at the carpark waiting for the strange girl who would talk to them, the lecturers calling out my name for attendance and asking my equally clueless classmates about my whereabouts.

The thought of my grandmother and aunt in the hospital room crying over the potential loss of their granddaughter/niece. The thought of 'Aamir holding my hand, praying for me to wake up, my best friends from secondary school sitting at my bedside talking to me.

I have tears in my eyes just thinking of these images. The thought of leaving everything behind itself is painful, even though I'm already sick and tired of some things, like school and work.

Maybe this isn't just a constant reminder for myself, but everyone should know that life is worth it. Continuing to live your life shouldn't even be a choice, it's definite you have to keep going as long as you're able to.

I don't have the balls to say this to you straight, but pain and happiness are part of each other and you can't live with only one of them. You may be in deep sadness tonight but I'm sure within this week you've had moments where you laughed like there was no such thing as heartbreak.

The next time you shed blood, remember that it's a sign of life. That blood that slides down your arm is a sign that you're alive, and as long as you breathe, continuing your life as it is will always be worth it. You need to keep feeding your hope instead of giving so much attention to your pain.

Don't throw your life away, because even if the boy you like doesn't care, even if you think your parents don't, even if none of your friends ever asks if you're okay, you will always have family, and it doesn't have to be people because what you want to do in life is also enough reason to keep fighting.

I sound like I'm babbling but everything I've written has been harboured from my heart. I have tears in my eyes now and I'm trying hard not to let any drip. I'm writing this for myself, for a certain girl that I know is in pain, and for anyone else who feels like there's no more hope.