Such a lazy day. I woke up to see my grandma gone to Johore. Well, that was fine, and then I got up and took a shower... And came back to my phone to see 5 missed calls from four minutes before. This feeling sucks!
There are many different kinds of "miss". There's the kind where you are longing for someone who's far away. You're longing for their touch, for their comfort, for their kiss. Then there's the kind where you're longing for the person who isn't who they are anymore; someone who used to be your best friend, who is now just someone you see everyday.
And then, there is... The "coincidence" kind of miss. The type where your other half who lives far away, comes to a city near you but you aren't able to meet him. The type where you are now standing where he stood ten minutes earlier. The type where you were waiting hours for someone who arrived just as you gave up and left.
You know when I was younger, I would always wake up early on the weekends to send my mom off to work. Back then she was working office hours everyday and my grandmother still lived with us. I would hear them talking and this would wake me up around 8, and I would get up from bed and walk to the kitchen where they were.
Sometimes I wouldn't wake up on time. I would wake up to see that she was already gone. When there were those days where I'd missed my mom, I would cry. I really cried.
Well anyway, the prince's internet is down til tomorrow. And he lives in Malaysia, which means he can't text or call me with his phone, and his 3G is also pretty much useless. All he can do is call me with a number that's like 10 digits long.
Oh well, I feel like we're back in the 90s when the girl would wait by the phone for the lover to call! And why can't I call him myself, you ask? Maybe because his house phone has a cord and I'm afraid his mom would answer. Yes! Just like in those days back in primary school whenever I rang up a crush! I'm not sure why it makes me feel so blissful, more than I should.
Have I told you that I spent the day before yesterday with him as well as my best friend? Siying and I had a job interview at CC11 Tai Seng, which were unfamiliar to the both of us although it's only 2 stations away from me on the Circle Line.
The rain had gotten a little heavier by the time we got there. We saw the building on the other side of the road; letters spelling out Charles & Keith displayed right at the top. Ran in the rain, we did, in our dress [Siying's] and skirt [mine]. By the time we were halfway through we realised there were two C&K buildings. And, apparently, it was the one which was further from where we had made it to.
Ran in the rain again we did; okay not really run because damn, I wasn't very comfortable in the maxi skirt which I had forced myself to wear. And Siying's sandals were slippery, so we kind of walked briskly. By the time we made it to the further building, our hair was a mess and my skirt was stained darker where the raindrops fell upon.
I felt so adventurous, I really did! I just kept thinking that it would have been more fun in my jeans and Converse sneakers. *shrugs and grins sheepishly*
After the interview [which went well apart from the fact that I felt shadowed by my best friend] we walked out of the building greeted by harder raindrops, stronger winds, and harsh coldness. Goodness! I really wanted so badly to wear jeans at that moment! My skirt was flying around and it did not look cool at all. [Oh, I had a pair in my bag but Siying wouldn't let me change]
We walked back to Tai Seng station in the rain, a shorter route since we knew where to go already. Followed her to the Tampines post office for her to collect yet another parcel. I still feel sad about my Pikachu thumbdrives which had "gotten lost in the mail".
I was shameless enough to completely lepak at her house for a while, even trying on her clothes. I fucking love the way her sheer top matches with my tank top. Oh goodness. And she also said that I looked like a pretty Malay woman. Damn. What would I do to get back my Cotton On sheer top.
I had so many outfits on me that day! I was wearing a long-sleeved top with a tank underneath, and a maxi skirt with shorts underneath. And not to forget the maroon skinnies in my bag.
Well I made my way to Bishan afterwards and changed yet again into my skirt. I sat waiting for the prince who just finished his gym session, and when he saw me he was pleasantly surprised; "You look so nice!!" and he also said I seemed to have matured hehehe.
During our meal though, of course we started to be ourselves again, and he even said, "Dress so mature but still a kid." aww man he is such a bitch but I love him all the same.
We took the Circle Line train back to Paya Lebar where we took a walk through Geylang only to realise that the tailor was closed, so he decided to send me home instead. Right to the point where we kissed... It was magic. And even the prince said so.
And I just realised that I'd spent a day with two wonderful people but took a photo with neither of them.
Thursday, September 12, 2013
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
The significance of 11th September.
It's the 11th of September.
The most famous this date is for, is of course the tragedy of the World Trade Center. History was written, lives were lost, heroes were recognised. It happened in more than a decade ago in 2001, and today makes it its 12th anniversary. Of course, me being a Singaporean, this event is not entirely significant to me, although it is to America.
Today also makes it 8 months since the prince and I got together. I know celebrating a relationship by months is silly, but I've never lasted this long with someone. The longest which the prince had lasted was 7 months... He and I nearly stopped our relationship in that duration too. Today means a lot because we've been through so much in the last month.
Most of all, today is my mother's 49th birthday. I don't always remember her age like this; all I remember is, she's a year older than Singapore.
I still remember her previous birthday, like it was just yesterday. I had asked her out for dinner, and she agreed but the plan was cancelled when the both of us fell asleep. It was evening by the time I woke up; she told me she fell asleep and that there was no need to go out. She went back to her slumber right after.
I on the other hand, felt bad so I sneaked out afterwards and headed to Tampines to get her a cake. This confectionery in particular was her favourite; she was always commending on the strawberry cakes. That was what I got. It was expensive, but it was alright because she liked it.
I remember texting my brothers, telling them to pay a portion of it. Even five dollars was fine; of course, my little brother was alright with it but the scumbag of the elder brother never paid for it. The reason why I wanted to split the bill and claim money from them was just so I could tell our mom that the cake was from us.
That was alright, but I got home to see my mom being in a bad mood. I decided to wait til dad came home for us to reveal the cake, and maybe her mood would have softened a bit as well by then. I was wrong.
By the time she decided to talk to all of us, it was close to midnight. When she saw the cake, her face never changed; she remained scowling and the first thing she said was, "I was waiting for someone to bring me out to dinner. This is such a disappointment."
Knowing my brothers, I'm honestly not sure if anyone would get her a cake this year. I definitely wouldn't be able to. And no. I do not want to either.
The most famous this date is for, is of course the tragedy of the World Trade Center. History was written, lives were lost, heroes were recognised. It happened in more than a decade ago in 2001, and today makes it its 12th anniversary. Of course, me being a Singaporean, this event is not entirely significant to me, although it is to America.
Today also makes it 8 months since the prince and I got together. I know celebrating a relationship by months is silly, but I've never lasted this long with someone. The longest which the prince had lasted was 7 months... He and I nearly stopped our relationship in that duration too. Today means a lot because we've been through so much in the last month.
Most of all, today is my mother's 49th birthday. I don't always remember her age like this; all I remember is, she's a year older than Singapore.
I still remember her previous birthday, like it was just yesterday. I had asked her out for dinner, and she agreed but the plan was cancelled when the both of us fell asleep. It was evening by the time I woke up; she told me she fell asleep and that there was no need to go out. She went back to her slumber right after.
I on the other hand, felt bad so I sneaked out afterwards and headed to Tampines to get her a cake. This confectionery in particular was her favourite; she was always commending on the strawberry cakes. That was what I got. It was expensive, but it was alright because she liked it.
I remember texting my brothers, telling them to pay a portion of it. Even five dollars was fine; of course, my little brother was alright with it but the scumbag of the elder brother never paid for it. The reason why I wanted to split the bill and claim money from them was just so I could tell our mom that the cake was from us.
That was alright, but I got home to see my mom being in a bad mood. I decided to wait til dad came home for us to reveal the cake, and maybe her mood would have softened a bit as well by then. I was wrong.
By the time she decided to talk to all of us, it was close to midnight. When she saw the cake, her face never changed; she remained scowling and the first thing she said was, "I was waiting for someone to bring me out to dinner. This is such a disappointment."
Knowing my brothers, I'm honestly not sure if anyone would get her a cake this year. I definitely wouldn't be able to. And no. I do not want to either.
Tuesday, September 10, 2013
Songs from other perspectives.
Songs from the perspective of someone else are actually more saddening than the ones that you relate to yourself. Sure, you've listened to songs of heartbreak while getting over your break-up, or songs about 'home' while you're on a walk from that empty house. It gets to you, it makes you sad. Yes.
But honestly, I get sadder when I listen to songs from the perspective of other people.
How many times have I felt so sad when I listened to past hits like "Come Home", or "Where'd You Go", wondering if that was how my parents felt back in Pasir Ris?
Come home, come home; I've been waiting for you, for so long, so long.
Where'd you go? I miss you so; feels like it's been forever since you've been gone.
And what about the times when I felt like crying when I thought of 'Aamir in Bruno Mars' shoes in "When I Was Your Man"? I couldn't even imagine him being without me. When he broke up with me for the first [and last, I hope] time, I listened to "I'd Hate To Be You When People Find Out What This Song Is About" on repeat; "And I'm sorry; this wasn't easy. When I asked you believed me, you never let go; but I let go." It was just as difficult for him as it was for me.
Not to forget the perspective of your future self.
I've been through the emotional state of "Wish You Were Here"; I wouldn't want to go through that heartbreak again. I think of myself being alone again, and just by listening to this song, I'd make sure I treat the prince right so I wouldn't have to wish for him to be here again.
And what about the song which Skylar Gray wrote for the grandfather which she never managed to say goodbye to? I would never want to be without my grandmother. Whenever I listen to this song, I'd want to treasure every moment I have with her; no... I can never change the fact that she will one day be without me.
I just listened to "Wrecking Ball", and yes, it reminds me of the prince. I love him so much, and I can't forgive the way I treated him. He must have been so hurt. And I'm sorry. I just had a date with him, and everything went well, but I'm going to keep trying to make him happy everyday.
Try listening to songs which are from the perspectives from other people. From those close to you. From your future self. You may be surprised at how much more sadder they are. They are able to make you think twice before treating someone this way, or that. They help you get so scared of losing them, being in a world without them, that you'll finally learn how to treasure every moment with these people.
But honestly, I get sadder when I listen to songs from the perspective of other people.
How many times have I felt so sad when I listened to past hits like "Come Home", or "Where'd You Go", wondering if that was how my parents felt back in Pasir Ris?
Come home, come home; I've been waiting for you, for so long, so long.
Where'd you go? I miss you so; feels like it's been forever since you've been gone.
And what about the times when I felt like crying when I thought of 'Aamir in Bruno Mars' shoes in "When I Was Your Man"? I couldn't even imagine him being without me. When he broke up with me for the first [and last, I hope] time, I listened to "I'd Hate To Be You When People Find Out What This Song Is About" on repeat; "And I'm sorry; this wasn't easy. When I asked you believed me, you never let go; but I let go." It was just as difficult for him as it was for me.
Not to forget the perspective of your future self.
I've been through the emotional state of "Wish You Were Here"; I wouldn't want to go through that heartbreak again. I think of myself being alone again, and just by listening to this song, I'd make sure I treat the prince right so I wouldn't have to wish for him to be here again.
And what about the song which Skylar Gray wrote for the grandfather which she never managed to say goodbye to? I would never want to be without my grandmother. Whenever I listen to this song, I'd want to treasure every moment I have with her; no... I can never change the fact that she will one day be without me.
I just listened to "Wrecking Ball", and yes, it reminds me of the prince. I love him so much, and I can't forgive the way I treated him. He must have been so hurt. And I'm sorry. I just had a date with him, and everything went well, but I'm going to keep trying to make him happy everyday.
Try listening to songs which are from the perspectives from other people. From those close to you. From your future self. You may be surprised at how much more sadder they are. They are able to make you think twice before treating someone this way, or that. They help you get so scared of losing them, being in a world without them, that you'll finally learn how to treasure every moment with these people.
Monday, September 09, 2013
Money problems!!
If there's a horror story that's shorter than the one about the last man on Earth hearing a knock on the door, it's my bank account balance.
As you may know, I've not been getting any allowance from anyone for this whole year. It was fine at first because I had a job, right to the point where I couldn't handle my lady boss anymore and quit right after I finally stood up for myself. It was also my exams period and she wouldn't allow me to work just one day a week, although she had mentioned so many times that she would understand if I had to. [Full story here or here but whatever]
Well, I managed to stock up on my finances during Hari Raya, so that went well for a while. Of course, there was something called lunch which I had to provide myself for, and I, embarrassingly, spent a lot on that. There were also movies to watch with the prince and books to read and transport fees... Don't blame me for my declining finances.
So a while back I actually discovered that I don't have to pay for my school fees anymore. My aunt had managed to apply for some Mendaki thing, so I'm really thankful for that, Alhamdullilah. Because of this, I feel bad for accepting anymore money from my aunt so that's why I decided to juggle my own finances. I'm not getting allowance from her.
My parents have obviously washed their hands off of me. I've not gotten a single cent from them for the past 9 months now. Not even when I asked, not even when they knew I was going to start in tertiary education soon. I didn't mind, really I didn't. But this is what pissed me off...
During Hari Raya, my father's many siblings had already set my envelopes of money for me. I'm not sure what the English word is, but you know 'kirim'? Yes, my paternal aunties and uncles and some other relatives had passed money to Mother, to be passed on to me as 'kirim'. As I'd expected, she decided to keep this money for herself.
I know this, because
1. I asked my little brother. Yes, he did receive my envelopes to be passed on to me.
2. Mother admitted [or more like announced] to my grandmother over the phone.
3. I know her. I know my Mother.
Where is the integrity? She's sweet enough to have denied me of allowance for the past year. And now she wants to keep the money which is meant for me. Such a sweet mother! :-)
My remaining money also went to sleeping pills, after a whole week of not sleeping. [I swear. Not a single wink] And during the time when 'Aamir and I separated, I'd spent my remaining money on alcohol. Fuck that!
I've also gotten really pissed at 'Aamir recently, for spending so much to feed his gaming. We've been meeting lesser so it's a good way to save up some money, but with him gaming 24/7... Sigh. I can't help but worry for his finances as well.
Alright, well, I've been looking for a job okay? I have an interview tomorrow, for some retail job, with my best friend Siying. In sha Allah I will get this job, because I really don't want to burden my aunt and grandma anymore. I'm so useless staying here at home so I might as well go out and look for money to support myself.
Okay that's it for now. Since I don't have any readers at all now, this new link being a secret and shit, the pressure from society is off and I can keep my posts short and sweet, whoop whoop. Though I'm still considering if I should start posting pictures in here again.
As you may know, I've not been getting any allowance from anyone for this whole year. It was fine at first because I had a job, right to the point where I couldn't handle my lady boss anymore and quit right after I finally stood up for myself. It was also my exams period and she wouldn't allow me to work just one day a week, although she had mentioned so many times that she would understand if I had to. [Full story here or here but whatever]
Well, I managed to stock up on my finances during Hari Raya, so that went well for a while. Of course, there was something called lunch which I had to provide myself for, and I, embarrassingly, spent a lot on that. There were also movies to watch with the prince and books to read and transport fees... Don't blame me for my declining finances.
So a while back I actually discovered that I don't have to pay for my school fees anymore. My aunt had managed to apply for some Mendaki thing, so I'm really thankful for that, Alhamdullilah. Because of this, I feel bad for accepting anymore money from my aunt so that's why I decided to juggle my own finances. I'm not getting allowance from her.
My parents have obviously washed their hands off of me. I've not gotten a single cent from them for the past 9 months now. Not even when I asked, not even when they knew I was going to start in tertiary education soon. I didn't mind, really I didn't. But this is what pissed me off...
During Hari Raya, my father's many siblings had already set my envelopes of money for me. I'm not sure what the English word is, but you know 'kirim'? Yes, my paternal aunties and uncles and some other relatives had passed money to Mother, to be passed on to me as 'kirim'. As I'd expected, she decided to keep this money for herself.
I know this, because
1. I asked my little brother. Yes, he did receive my envelopes to be passed on to me.
2. Mother admitted [or more like announced] to my grandmother over the phone.
3. I know her. I know my Mother.
Where is the integrity? She's sweet enough to have denied me of allowance for the past year. And now she wants to keep the money which is meant for me. Such a sweet mother! :-)
My remaining money also went to sleeping pills, after a whole week of not sleeping. [I swear. Not a single wink] And during the time when 'Aamir and I separated, I'd spent my remaining money on alcohol. Fuck that!
I've also gotten really pissed at 'Aamir recently, for spending so much to feed his gaming. We've been meeting lesser so it's a good way to save up some money, but with him gaming 24/7... Sigh. I can't help but worry for his finances as well.
Alright, well, I've been looking for a job okay? I have an interview tomorrow, for some retail job, with my best friend Siying. In sha Allah I will get this job, because I really don't want to burden my aunt and grandma anymore. I'm so useless staying here at home so I might as well go out and look for money to support myself.
Okay that's it for now. Since I don't have any readers at all now, this new link being a secret and shit, the pressure from society is off and I can keep my posts short and sweet, whoop whoop. Though I'm still considering if I should start posting pictures in here again.
Sunday, September 08, 2013
As long as the prince is happy.
Every time I screw something up, the first thing I'd do would be to write. That's why I'm here right now.
I've always hurt the prince. I know this, because afterwards I will try to make him happy again. My secret is as you've expected... When he's angry, I write. A long text, a diary entry, a blog post... I just write to prove my point to him that I will always fight like this for him.
I know I may not be a darling everyday. But that's just what makes us; whenever I'm being mean, or angry, or just scowling, the first thing he'd do is irritate me. I really love the way he annoys me, and I may seem really pissed sometimes but actually, most of the time I'm happy he's like this. Maybe I just love this side of him so much that I scowl on purpose just to bring it out.
On the other hand, when he's pissed at me, I'll always try my damndest to cheer him up. I may babble with my stories, I may send an excessive amount of texts and emoticons, but fuck it, it's all for him to be happy again. When he's angry in person though, I must admit I get scared. I dare not talk to him, and, well. Idk. The most I can do is hold his hand until he feels better.
I can see that he's getting tired of me. But I'm trying so hard to not feel that way about him either. I've promised him never to leave; and because of this promise, I am never letting him go, even if he claims it will make him happy. That's why the only thing I can do now is to be there and assure him that I will be a better girlfriend not in the future, but starting now.
Back in the days when he was trying so hard to get my attention and to make me happy, he told me he would never give up on me. And he never did. He always did his best to make me smile, to change me, to make time for me. It's my turn to do something for him. He's given up, but I never will. I would always fight for him. Always.
I've always hurt the prince. I know this, because afterwards I will try to make him happy again. My secret is as you've expected... When he's angry, I write. A long text, a diary entry, a blog post... I just write to prove my point to him that I will always fight like this for him.
I know I may not be a darling everyday. But that's just what makes us; whenever I'm being mean, or angry, or just scowling, the first thing he'd do is irritate me. I really love the way he annoys me, and I may seem really pissed sometimes but actually, most of the time I'm happy he's like this. Maybe I just love this side of him so much that I scowl on purpose just to bring it out.
On the other hand, when he's pissed at me, I'll always try my damndest to cheer him up. I may babble with my stories, I may send an excessive amount of texts and emoticons, but fuck it, it's all for him to be happy again. When he's angry in person though, I must admit I get scared. I dare not talk to him, and, well. Idk. The most I can do is hold his hand until he feels better.
I can see that he's getting tired of me. But I'm trying so hard to not feel that way about him either. I've promised him never to leave; and because of this promise, I am never letting him go, even if he claims it will make him happy. That's why the only thing I can do now is to be there and assure him that I will be a better girlfriend not in the future, but starting now.
Back in the days when he was trying so hard to get my attention and to make me happy, he told me he would never give up on me. And he never did. He always did his best to make me smile, to change me, to make time for me. It's my turn to do something for him. He's given up, but I never will. I would always fight for him. Always.
Saturday, September 07, 2013
Hiding out for the time being.
Hello.
Yes. I am still blogging. But not on 109blackaxes anymore. I've changed my link, though just slightly. I'm taking a long break from the eyes of others. I think Siying would be the only one to see this. I don't know if I should let 'Aamir know as well.
I met him yesterday, and no, everything was fine between us. Just that, he told me, that one of his classmates from secondary school had read my blog and told Luke that I was an 'attention-seeker'. I know that I somewhat am, but, for someone who had followed me on Twitter and said "i love reading her blog, it's so relatable", I can't help but feel betrayed by this person whom I had wanted to consider a friend.
I've lost quite a number of followers during my tipsy tweeting. There's also something called stats and yes, I have been losing page views. I'm not sure who even reads my blog anymore. I've never had many readers to begin with. And deep inside I know I'm not that welcomed by the society... I know nobody would read this blog as long as I am the one who writes it.
Part of me also tells me that I'm not well-received by others because they don't think I belong. Like I'd said, I'm always hanging in between. This includes the society thing. Am I part of the Malay society or not? I'm gonna babble here. But no, I don't think I can be considered part of it because I hang out with more Chinese people, and I also don't talk or act like a 'typical Malay', in my opinion... Or do I? Sigh.
Or maybe because my brother already has a place in the Malay society, and that there aren't any more spaces for a little sister. Idk. I can go on with the possibilities of why people don't read my blog, but the bottom line is that I just don't belong in this society.
Sometimes I wish I'm a Chinese here. Sometimes I think it's because there are so few Malays in Singapore that everyone can so easily decide who belongs and who doesn't, just by making one glance into the society. Maybe that's why there aren't any Malay Singaporean bloggers. Chinese Singaporeans seem to be more open and less judgmental. Idk. Am I making sense? I think I am. But maybe not to you.
It also isn't helping not to have a fashion sense. Like I'd said; you either cover up, or you don't. And with every girl in this country following current trends, nobody is going to read my blog, knowing that I can't do any fashion shit or help them style shit. You know what I mean???
What the fuck am I babbling though? Yes, I know I have no place in society. That's why I'm just going to hide out here if I want to continue doing what I love... Yes. Hell yes I want to continue blogging and writing. I'm just taking this break from other people. [Though I just said nobody reads it anyway... But nevermind. Sigh sigh]
I've been spending the day discovering fashion Youtubers from outside of Singapore, and I'm really envious of their ability to dress themselves up. I'm not only short of confidence, but I also have neither money nor approval from the grandmother to dress however I want.
Just today I told her that I wanted to buy stockings so I could wear it with some dresses that I've never got to wear... And the first thing she said was, "NO. IT WOULD BE AN EYESORE." Oh grandma, the reason why I even want stockings is because I want to cover up my legs the way you want me to.
I'm close to wanting to return to Pasir Ris just so I could leave the house wearing what I want. I'd like to experiment too okay? I'd like to wear shorts and short skirts and sleeveless tops or sheer tops too. I live in Singapore damn it... I'd want to wear dresses without the stockings without waiting for rainy days to use as opportunity.
That's all for now I guess. For now, only Siying can read my entries. Well, I'm gonna use this to rant occasionally as well then. I hope nobody finds this. I just added two ii's at the back of my old link, but you know what they say: "The safest place is the most dangerous place." (;
Yes. I am still blogging. But not on 109blackaxes anymore. I've changed my link, though just slightly. I'm taking a long break from the eyes of others. I think Siying would be the only one to see this. I don't know if I should let 'Aamir know as well.
I met him yesterday, and no, everything was fine between us. Just that, he told me, that one of his classmates from secondary school had read my blog and told Luke that I was an 'attention-seeker'. I know that I somewhat am, but, for someone who had followed me on Twitter and said "i love reading her blog, it's so relatable", I can't help but feel betrayed by this person whom I had wanted to consider a friend.
I've lost quite a number of followers during my tipsy tweeting. There's also something called stats and yes, I have been losing page views. I'm not sure who even reads my blog anymore. I've never had many readers to begin with. And deep inside I know I'm not that welcomed by the society... I know nobody would read this blog as long as I am the one who writes it.
Part of me also tells me that I'm not well-received by others because they don't think I belong. Like I'd said, I'm always hanging in between. This includes the society thing. Am I part of the Malay society or not? I'm gonna babble here. But no, I don't think I can be considered part of it because I hang out with more Chinese people, and I also don't talk or act like a 'typical Malay', in my opinion... Or do I? Sigh.
Or maybe because my brother already has a place in the Malay society, and that there aren't any more spaces for a little sister. Idk. I can go on with the possibilities of why people don't read my blog, but the bottom line is that I just don't belong in this society.
Sometimes I wish I'm a Chinese here. Sometimes I think it's because there are so few Malays in Singapore that everyone can so easily decide who belongs and who doesn't, just by making one glance into the society. Maybe that's why there aren't any Malay Singaporean bloggers. Chinese Singaporeans seem to be more open and less judgmental. Idk. Am I making sense? I think I am. But maybe not to you.
It also isn't helping not to have a fashion sense. Like I'd said; you either cover up, or you don't. And with every girl in this country following current trends, nobody is going to read my blog, knowing that I can't do any fashion shit or help them style shit. You know what I mean???
What the fuck am I babbling though? Yes, I know I have no place in society. That's why I'm just going to hide out here if I want to continue doing what I love... Yes. Hell yes I want to continue blogging and writing. I'm just taking this break from other people. [Though I just said nobody reads it anyway... But nevermind. Sigh sigh]
I've been spending the day discovering fashion Youtubers from outside of Singapore, and I'm really envious of their ability to dress themselves up. I'm not only short of confidence, but I also have neither money nor approval from the grandmother to dress however I want.
Just today I told her that I wanted to buy stockings so I could wear it with some dresses that I've never got to wear... And the first thing she said was, "NO. IT WOULD BE AN EYESORE." Oh grandma, the reason why I even want stockings is because I want to cover up my legs the way you want me to.
I'm close to wanting to return to Pasir Ris just so I could leave the house wearing what I want. I'd like to experiment too okay? I'd like to wear shorts and short skirts and sleeveless tops or sheer tops too. I live in Singapore damn it... I'd want to wear dresses without the stockings without waiting for rainy days to use as opportunity.
That's all for now I guess. For now, only Siying can read my entries. Well, I'm gonna use this to rant occasionally as well then. I hope nobody finds this. I just added two ii's at the back of my old link, but you know what they say: "The safest place is the most dangerous place." (;
Wednesday, September 04, 2013
Why it's difficult for me to dress up.
*ahem* Hi. I know I've already blogged today, but, well, I was bored. And if you really love doing something you wouldn't mind doing it many times, yeah? (;
So I've always been writing. If you're a loyal reader of mine, you'd know this. If you're a good friend of mine who have been close with me since forever, then you'd know that I used to post pictures all the time before I started to get serious on all the words.
Well I have news for you. Still no pictures for you today! I'm sorry okay but I really look up to my blog and I don't want to stain it with anymore pictures of myself. You can however follow me on Instagram @ _109TH because why the fuck not? And I will notice if you follow me, and I will follow back, because that's how unpopular I am.
I'm here now to talk about something I lack... Fashion! As most of you know, I'm always wearing skinny jeans and cardigans. I know skinnies have been out of date for years now but I really don't care and I honestly love wearing them. I boast that I actually have 10 pairs of that shit with me here in Paya Lebar, although I don't wear about 3 of them anymore because I've been wearing the new ones ever since I started school.
I also absolutely love cardigans, and I have four of that although I'm always wearing the pink one because it matches with my tshirts easily. And yes... I have a ton of t-shirts, mostly graphic ones from Ministry of Clothing.
Alright, so the real problem is... I wish I can do something to my sense of clothing. Okay, I have the intention to change how I dress and shit, but you have no idea about all the problems that can come with this simple longing. We all know I lack confidence, that's one thing. We also know I don't get any allowance from anyone and that I'd rather pay for food instead of all that expensive clothes. Yes.
Another problem? My grandma wouldn't let me out of the house in something short. I have a few skirts at my old house in Pasir Ris, and I've worn them quite plenty of times last year. Also a drastic change because I've liked skinnies since years before. They're slightly above the knee but to my grandmother, of course that's short. If I have them here I honestly would have no problem wearing them out if it isn't for my granny.
Also, I don't have any wardrobe here in Paya Lebar. Most of my clothes are crashed onto a bag, with my tshirts and jeans stacked on top of that. I do have a few clothes which are not t-shirts, but I've honestly no idea where they are!!! My granny has a habit of cleaning my belongings without telling me, and shifting things around. And when I ask her if she's seen this shirt, or that shirt, she would have no idea.
I've been looking for my Cotton On sheer top which I bought for 40 bucks about a week before I started school in April. And yes, that shit is missing now. I'm not angry at my granny, but sometimes I wish I have a wardrobe of my own that was mine, with the understanding that no one else is to touch my clothes. *sob*
And you know, sometimes I wish I can go out without my cardigan. I love the sun. But I get scared of the cold, and I'm always wearing my cardigan "just in case". Just in case what??? Just in case it rains and I would need something to keep me warm. Just in case we're going to watch a movie and it's cold in. Just in case we're going someplace with nicely dressed teenagers so that I won't look sloppy in just a t-shirt. Yes.
And footwear! I've been wearing sneakers all my life. I have a pair of wedges back at Pasir Ris, which my cousin bought for me but I'd only managed to wear them once. I'm not only clumsy, but what for wear those if your boyfriend is of the same height as you? No... it doesn't feel right. And I already feel like a monster beside petite girls. What's more, I wouldn't want to stand out that much from the crowd.
So you see the problems I have in dressing differently other than my self-esteem?? Yes. It's that tough for me to dress myself up.
Take a trip to EW1 tomorrow to see my secondary school teachers? Yes? No?
So I've always been writing. If you're a loyal reader of mine, you'd know this. If you're a good friend of mine who have been close with me since forever, then you'd know that I used to post pictures all the time before I started to get serious on all the words.
Well I have news for you. Still no pictures for you today! I'm sorry okay but I really look up to my blog and I don't want to stain it with anymore pictures of myself. You can however follow me on Instagram @ _109TH because why the fuck not? And I will notice if you follow me, and I will follow back, because that's how unpopular I am.
I'm here now to talk about something I lack... Fashion! As most of you know, I'm always wearing skinny jeans and cardigans. I know skinnies have been out of date for years now but I really don't care and I honestly love wearing them. I boast that I actually have 10 pairs of that shit with me here in Paya Lebar, although I don't wear about 3 of them anymore because I've been wearing the new ones ever since I started school.
I also absolutely love cardigans, and I have four of that although I'm always wearing the pink one because it matches with my tshirts easily. And yes... I have a ton of t-shirts, mostly graphic ones from Ministry of Clothing.
Alright, so the real problem is... I wish I can do something to my sense of clothing. Okay, I have the intention to change how I dress and shit, but you have no idea about all the problems that can come with this simple longing. We all know I lack confidence, that's one thing. We also know I don't get any allowance from anyone and that I'd rather pay for food instead of all that expensive clothes. Yes.
Another problem? My grandma wouldn't let me out of the house in something short. I have a few skirts at my old house in Pasir Ris, and I've worn them quite plenty of times last year. Also a drastic change because I've liked skinnies since years before. They're slightly above the knee but to my grandmother, of course that's short. If I have them here I honestly would have no problem wearing them out if it isn't for my granny.
Also, I don't have any wardrobe here in Paya Lebar. Most of my clothes are crashed onto a bag, with my tshirts and jeans stacked on top of that. I do have a few clothes which are not t-shirts, but I've honestly no idea where they are!!! My granny has a habit of cleaning my belongings without telling me, and shifting things around. And when I ask her if she's seen this shirt, or that shirt, she would have no idea.
I've been looking for my Cotton On sheer top which I bought for 40 bucks about a week before I started school in April. And yes, that shit is missing now. I'm not angry at my granny, but sometimes I wish I have a wardrobe of my own that was mine, with the understanding that no one else is to touch my clothes. *sob*
And you know, sometimes I wish I can go out without my cardigan. I love the sun. But I get scared of the cold, and I'm always wearing my cardigan "just in case". Just in case what??? Just in case it rains and I would need something to keep me warm. Just in case we're going to watch a movie and it's cold in. Just in case we're going someplace with nicely dressed teenagers so that I won't look sloppy in just a t-shirt. Yes.
And footwear! I've been wearing sneakers all my life. I have a pair of wedges back at Pasir Ris, which my cousin bought for me but I'd only managed to wear them once. I'm not only clumsy, but what for wear those if your boyfriend is of the same height as you? No... it doesn't feel right. And I already feel like a monster beside petite girls. What's more, I wouldn't want to stand out that much from the crowd.
So you see the problems I have in dressing differently other than my self-esteem?? Yes. It's that tough for me to dress myself up.
Take a trip to EW1 tomorrow to see my secondary school teachers? Yes? No?
No, I was not drunk.
Like I'd expected, September didn't go off to a good start. First things first, the prince left me. Of course, the prince would never part with his duties to fall in love with a servant... That's what I thought.
To relieve the tension, I bought a shitload of alcohol and drowned away my sorrows. Or at least I tried to. At first I wanted to smoke but my dear friends were deeply against it because of health issues. Siying and Shushan would rather have me drink, although Sabrina was against that because she and I are Muslims.
At that point of time I really didn't care about anything. I just wanted to do something wrong. As if the mistake I had made against the prince was not enough.
I was a mess on Monday afternoon. The worst part about getting tipsy for me is the fact that I can remember everything I am doing. The first gulp I tried to take went into my nose instead, for some reason. I remember being forced to eat; Siying went off to get me epok-epok from Old Chang Kee, although I'd rather the chicken wing and I remember saying so.
"Take 3 bites that make me happy and then you can drink." she said, while grabbing my newly bought bottle and hiding it behind her back.
By the way, I have low alcohol tolerance. Just a few sips can make me go insane. Maybe it's something to do with my emotions as well, but whatever. At least I don't puke.
I ate the burning hot epok-epok and it was delicious but I couldn't enjoy it much. I was anticipating my alcoholic reward, and I was still emotional about the prince. I had snot and tears all over my food but I still munched on it. I was a wreck! I was angry at myself for crying; "the prince told you never to cry anymore!" the voice in my head kept screaming at me.
When I finished everything, every bottle of vodka and rum and shit like that, I started to babble and spill my heart to the girls. [Sabrina left early because she didn't want me to drink in front of her but she didn't want to restrict me from drinking.] I couldn't control my tears, and I remember so clearly burying my head on the steps of the stairs and bawling like a baby, and refusing to get up.
The girls said I wasn't walking straight either. This I deny, because I'm very sure I was walking just fine. I remember! I even managed to go to the toilet on my own.
Shushan brought me to EW1 Pasir Ris, where I went to Cotton On and bought myself shades. I wanted to cover my eyes because they were puffy from crying and from my lack of sleep. I was hideous. Who cares that it was nighttime and people were staring at me? At least nobody would recognise me, and for me to be in that town, shades were essential to conceal my identity. Whatever.
I made my way to the Cold Storage at NS9 Woodlands on Tuesday afternoon. I wanted to get vodka but honestly I was scared. There wasn't anyone to take care of me, and Shushan was on the phone warning me against it too. But I thought of the prince, and I got angry, and I just took whatever I wanted and headed to the counter.
Thanks to my navigational memory I remembered the way to Woodlands Waterfront. Okay fine so I forgot what bus to take at first [but I remembered the berth, it's the first berth that you turn left to when you go down the escalator that's on the right side of the lift if you put your back to the entrance of Causeway Point. Navigational memory.] but my fondness of looking out the window helped me remember where to alight.
I walked right at the end, and thankfully for me there weren't many people there. I remember hearing breathing sounds on my left when I was sitting there, but I thought nothing of it. I've gotten used to it. I looked at the Zon hotel, remembering how I used to sit at the windowsill all day despite my mother telling me to go out and drink posh coffee at the Starbucks or something.
Just a half bottle down and I was already getting emotional. I started to cry. I sat there for hours, just dazing, and I took out my diary with the intention of telling it things which I can no longer tell the prince. But I didn't have the strength. Looking back at my poor diary now, two of its pages have been scrawled all over with my kiddish handwriting.
I remember calling a few people but refusing to talk when they answered. I only managed to make a sound when Mel answered her call, although it was just a mass of ugly sobs. I told her where I was, and I told her what bus I took and what was the last thing I had seen outside the window before I alighted. I really thank God for this navigational gift. [though I'm sorry for drinking, but that's another story.]
The worst part of yesterday was how I still managed to tweet. Okay I was staying away from my timeline because I was sure people were gonna start indirects at me, and I also refused to reply anyone on my interactions. But I was tweeting away, fine at first but typos appearing a few minutes later. Forgive me for that if you had witnessed it.
Members of the public had actually came over to me twice and asked me if I was okay. The Chinese jogger pointed behind me and said with a smile, "I think you should look there instead. There's a better scenery." and he was right. The sun was setting. But because of my metaphorical habit, I got sad about it. I remembered my fear of nighttime, and I forgot that things don't last forever.
That was when Mel came. I refused to look at her because I was so fucking ugly and I couldn't stop crying when I felt just her presence. I told her everything from my heart, and it was better for her because, being his classmate and a best friend, she had already heard the prince's side of the story.
"He's not your world," she said, and I hung my head, as she continued, "No, girl, hold your head up and look at me. He's not your world."
"He is. Everything I do, every small thing I do, it's all for him. I really love him..." I mumbled, in between sobs and sniffles. "He liked that gummy lollipop from Times, and he announced that he wanted to eat one of that everyday. If I don't love him, I wouldn't have remembered that one sentence. I wouldn't have spent my last few days looking for a box of that so he could really eat one of that everyday." and I put my head against the fence and started bawling again.
I told her everything I've ever done for him. And how I've always kept my promises to him, not immediately but always eventually. I admitted my mistake, but I explained it. How I'd wanted to leave sometimes but still stayed because I learnt how to think properly before making such decisions.
Yes, I really remember everything. I remember putting on shades when walking back from the jetty, because I was convinced everyone was looking at me and laughing. I remember wanting to recite the East West and Circle Lines to Mel. I remember laughing for no reason. But most of all I remember Mel holding my hand as we walked out together.
We took the bus back to Woodlands, where we got a cab at the taxi stand. I remember insisting on taking the second cab because the one in front was the expensive one. I told the driver where my home was, and I laid myself down on Mel's lap. I was tired.
I remember everything. Memories are easy to emboss into your head, especially if you have your five senses. And no... I was not drunk.
Back home, I drank a whole bottle of iced water, and I swear plain water has never tasted so good. I took a shower and took Wudhu, and talked to God for a while.
Siying asked me to re-install Viber, because the prince and I were having trouble communicating through Whatsapp, so I did. We talked it out, and, tadah. The prince and I are fine as a feline now. Although the both of us are still pretty much shaken, almost traumatised.
I learnt something through this ordeal. I've always thought "Nobody cares unless you are beautiful or dead." It's true to a certain extent, but you've also got another way of making people care: believe you are beautiful; or do something inspirational with yourself that makes people remember you while you are alive. For me, it's writing. I'm still working on that but I'll make sure people know me for my passion and not through death.
And for those who are suicidal, there are lots of humans on this Earth who care. If I had decided to kill myself back there on Woodlands Waterfront, I'd probably make it onto the news. What would the Chinese jogger and the Malay guy who asked if I was okay think if they see that? They'd be shattered. They were that close to saving you, but they didn't. How do you think they'd feel? It'd haunt these people who cared.
I'm going to publish this post now before I start to babble.
To relieve the tension, I bought a shitload of alcohol and drowned away my sorrows. Or at least I tried to. At first I wanted to smoke but my dear friends were deeply against it because of health issues. Siying and Shushan would rather have me drink, although Sabrina was against that because she and I are Muslims.
At that point of time I really didn't care about anything. I just wanted to do something wrong. As if the mistake I had made against the prince was not enough.
I was a mess on Monday afternoon. The worst part about getting tipsy for me is the fact that I can remember everything I am doing. The first gulp I tried to take went into my nose instead, for some reason. I remember being forced to eat; Siying went off to get me epok-epok from Old Chang Kee, although I'd rather the chicken wing and I remember saying so.
"Take 3 bites that make me happy and then you can drink." she said, while grabbing my newly bought bottle and hiding it behind her back.
By the way, I have low alcohol tolerance. Just a few sips can make me go insane. Maybe it's something to do with my emotions as well, but whatever. At least I don't puke.
I ate the burning hot epok-epok and it was delicious but I couldn't enjoy it much. I was anticipating my alcoholic reward, and I was still emotional about the prince. I had snot and tears all over my food but I still munched on it. I was a wreck! I was angry at myself for crying; "the prince told you never to cry anymore!" the voice in my head kept screaming at me.
When I finished everything, every bottle of vodka and rum and shit like that, I started to babble and spill my heart to the girls. [Sabrina left early because she didn't want me to drink in front of her but she didn't want to restrict me from drinking.] I couldn't control my tears, and I remember so clearly burying my head on the steps of the stairs and bawling like a baby, and refusing to get up.
The girls said I wasn't walking straight either. This I deny, because I'm very sure I was walking just fine. I remember! I even managed to go to the toilet on my own.
Shushan brought me to EW1 Pasir Ris, where I went to Cotton On and bought myself shades. I wanted to cover my eyes because they were puffy from crying and from my lack of sleep. I was hideous. Who cares that it was nighttime and people were staring at me? At least nobody would recognise me, and for me to be in that town, shades were essential to conceal my identity. Whatever.
I made my way to the Cold Storage at NS9 Woodlands on Tuesday afternoon. I wanted to get vodka but honestly I was scared. There wasn't anyone to take care of me, and Shushan was on the phone warning me against it too. But I thought of the prince, and I got angry, and I just took whatever I wanted and headed to the counter.
Thanks to my navigational memory I remembered the way to Woodlands Waterfront. Okay fine so I forgot what bus to take at first [but I remembered the berth, it's the first berth that you turn left to when you go down the escalator that's on the right side of the lift if you put your back to the entrance of Causeway Point. Navigational memory.] but my fondness of looking out the window helped me remember where to alight.
I walked right at the end, and thankfully for me there weren't many people there. I remember hearing breathing sounds on my left when I was sitting there, but I thought nothing of it. I've gotten used to it. I looked at the Zon hotel, remembering how I used to sit at the windowsill all day despite my mother telling me to go out and drink posh coffee at the Starbucks or something.
Just a half bottle down and I was already getting emotional. I started to cry. I sat there for hours, just dazing, and I took out my diary with the intention of telling it things which I can no longer tell the prince. But I didn't have the strength. Looking back at my poor diary now, two of its pages have been scrawled all over with my kiddish handwriting.
I remember calling a few people but refusing to talk when they answered. I only managed to make a sound when Mel answered her call, although it was just a mass of ugly sobs. I told her where I was, and I told her what bus I took and what was the last thing I had seen outside the window before I alighted. I really thank God for this navigational gift. [though I'm sorry for drinking, but that's another story.]
The worst part of yesterday was how I still managed to tweet. Okay I was staying away from my timeline because I was sure people were gonna start indirects at me, and I also refused to reply anyone on my interactions. But I was tweeting away, fine at first but typos appearing a few minutes later. Forgive me for that if you had witnessed it.
Members of the public had actually came over to me twice and asked me if I was okay. The Chinese jogger pointed behind me and said with a smile, "I think you should look there instead. There's a better scenery." and he was right. The sun was setting. But because of my metaphorical habit, I got sad about it. I remembered my fear of nighttime, and I forgot that things don't last forever.
That was when Mel came. I refused to look at her because I was so fucking ugly and I couldn't stop crying when I felt just her presence. I told her everything from my heart, and it was better for her because, being his classmate and a best friend, she had already heard the prince's side of the story.
"He's not your world," she said, and I hung my head, as she continued, "No, girl, hold your head up and look at me. He's not your world."
"He is. Everything I do, every small thing I do, it's all for him. I really love him..." I mumbled, in between sobs and sniffles. "He liked that gummy lollipop from Times, and he announced that he wanted to eat one of that everyday. If I don't love him, I wouldn't have remembered that one sentence. I wouldn't have spent my last few days looking for a box of that so he could really eat one of that everyday." and I put my head against the fence and started bawling again.
I told her everything I've ever done for him. And how I've always kept my promises to him, not immediately but always eventually. I admitted my mistake, but I explained it. How I'd wanted to leave sometimes but still stayed because I learnt how to think properly before making such decisions.
Yes, I really remember everything. I remember putting on shades when walking back from the jetty, because I was convinced everyone was looking at me and laughing. I remember wanting to recite the East West and Circle Lines to Mel. I remember laughing for no reason. But most of all I remember Mel holding my hand as we walked out together.
We took the bus back to Woodlands, where we got a cab at the taxi stand. I remember insisting on taking the second cab because the one in front was the expensive one. I told the driver where my home was, and I laid myself down on Mel's lap. I was tired.
I remember everything. Memories are easy to emboss into your head, especially if you have your five senses. And no... I was not drunk.
Back home, I drank a whole bottle of iced water, and I swear plain water has never tasted so good. I took a shower and took Wudhu, and talked to God for a while.
Siying asked me to re-install Viber, because the prince and I were having trouble communicating through Whatsapp, so I did. We talked it out, and, tadah. The prince and I are fine as a feline now. Although the both of us are still pretty much shaken, almost traumatised.
I learnt something through this ordeal. I've always thought "Nobody cares unless you are beautiful or dead." It's true to a certain extent, but you've also got another way of making people care: believe you are beautiful; or do something inspirational with yourself that makes people remember you while you are alive. For me, it's writing. I'm still working on that but I'll make sure people know me for my passion and not through death.
And for those who are suicidal, there are lots of humans on this Earth who care. If I had decided to kill myself back there on Woodlands Waterfront, I'd probably make it onto the news. What would the Chinese jogger and the Malay guy who asked if I was okay think if they see that? They'd be shattered. They were that close to saving you, but they didn't. How do you think they'd feel? It'd haunt these people who cared.
I'm going to publish this post now before I start to babble.
Sunday, September 01, 2013
I've never belonged anywhere.
I've never belonged anywhere.
Honestly, even when the girls have accepted me back, sometimes I feel like I don't have the rights to be in their circle. I had, after all, abandoned them for more than a year, after four years of friendship. Where does that put me? My action was heartless.
And why did I skip school a lot when I left this clique of girlfriends? Because I didn't have friends, obviously because the class was already full of their own cliques. I never belonged anywhere. Even when I had spent my time in Sec 4 recording our memories, even when the guys and the other girls from the class had approached me to be in the camera, I was not part of them. In 2012, I was just a classmate who had decided to isolate herself.
There was also a time when I realised that I was close to a social outcast, even when I had tried so hard to be normal when I went into tertiary education. Even my closest friends managed to get along with the rest of the class; and, deep inside, I knew that everyone accepted everyone except for me. They rejected me, whether or not I was being myself.
Even when I hung out in the usual clique of five, I obviously didn't belong. Three different races together, but we were a strength of odd number, and one of us was bound to be left out. It was always me. Maybe because I was the only Malay. Where did I stand? Nowhere. I was invisible.
When the prince brings me out with his friends, I'm always more than happy because it means a lot if your other half introduces you. And don't get me wrong, I really enjoy the company of his tertiary mates, but again, despite knowing they accept me, I am well aware that I don't belong.
Not to mention my trips to Geylang, especially if I'm alone. During Ramadan I frequently headed to Geylang, and yes, I feel like I don't belong. I've always been mistaken for a Chinese, and due to my anxiety, I'm always thinking that the Malays around me would be wondering of my presence there.
And what about my fashion sense? I'm not a fashionista, definitely not the kind who follows current trends. But I love wearing skinnies and cardigans, something which covers my arms and legs. Where does that put me in this society? It's not like I wear headscarves either. You either cover up, or you don't. I'm stuck in the middle. I don't belong anywhere.
Back when I was still a Pasir Ris girl, it never felt like I belonged in my family either. My parents were very open people, always making their respective workplaces lively. And while my brothers have always been, well, boys, either on their PS3 or at the void deck playing soccer, I would sit in a corner quietly reading a book.
Right from my childhood I've always been best friends with a girl cousin from my father's big family. He had many siblings, which means we had a lot of cousins. Among all of them, the closest to me were of course those of the nearest age group. The girl cousin and a boy cousin are of the same age, while another boy cousin is a year younger than us. It was almost always the four of us.
But maybe because the girl cousin was the link. If she wasn't able to attend a family gathering, or if her family hadn't turned up yet, I would remain in a corner minding my own business while the two boys sat at the other side of the house talking with each other. It was only after the girl cousin came that she would pull the four of us together.
The boy cousin of the same age just followed me on Instagram today, and after doing a bit of stalking, I realised I was right. He had taken a picture with the girl and the other boy cousin, caption saying that they've always been his favourite cousins. I never belonged.
Never. Not anywhere.
Not a great post to start off the month, but whatever. To heck with it, nobody's going to read this anyway. I'll write tomorrow if I have anything to say about the oh-so-joyous month of September.
Saturday, August 31, 2013
Best friends for life.
Upon first meeting, they are nothing but mere strangers. You don't know a thing about them, and they are clueless about who you are.
As time passes by though, you open up to them, and they open up to you. You feel comfortable with one another, be it in a group or just one person. You tease them, you make them laugh, you comfort them, you stick up for them, you tell them your secrets; their mirroring your actions is what creates the memories with them.
They accept you for who you are no matter how bullshit your attitude and problems get.
Who are they? They are your friends.
I've known these girls since we were all in Sec 1. I had my own differing opinions towards each and every one of them, and most of them were just judgments. As i got to know them, I realised they were totally cool, and I looked forward to going school everyday. it was a good start to secondary school!
The years passed and girls came and left my life, with drama and gossip accompanying the cliques that formed in the classroom. Three years into secondary education, and we had formed a certain bond among the 8 of us.
It was our differences that made us one. We were multi-racial, we went to different classes, we had different fashion sense, we had conflicting opinions and clashing personalities, but we got along. We had recess and lunch together, we went on outings and we took photos together. All 8 of us. We made promises to be together for life.
Came 2012, when one of those girls made a move and stupidly left the friendship. Disaster after disaster followed suit her action, be it among the remaining 7 or between her and them, or just her alone. To me, we were sturdy when we were 8, but because a pillar crumbled, the rest of the building made way due to lack of support.
I was that crumbled pillar. I was the one who had decided to leave behind this beautiful friendship.
One of the 7 girls I had left behind was my ultimate best friend. She had always been there for me, and I always told her we'd be friends forever, always making plans with her to travel the world and go on road trips together. This changed when I left. We weren't friends anymore, and we didn't exactly appreciate each other's existence. We used our blogs to attack and defend ourselves [though I'm pretty sure she was the one who did most of the attacking].
Just this year, about four months ago in April, she decided to unblock me from Twitter and chatted me up through direct messaging. I gave her my number, and we caught up with each other; what school and course were we in, shit like that. We met up one Friday evening, after I finished work, to the rooftop of Tampines Mall, just sitting down and talking.
If she hadn't approached me first I wouldn't have ever bothered to make amends. We put the past behind us, and I started to make contact with the rest of the girls. I found out that after everyone went on to tertiary education, one of the other pillars had also given way, silently. Those who remained actually knew, way before graduation, that they were going to be left with 6, if I hadn't returned.
Yesterday was our first time in a long time gathering together again, the remaining 7 of us. Upon union, we gave hugs and one of them whom I hadn't seen in 8 months whispered to me; "Welcome back." I was glad to be.
One of my Poly classmates had drilled into my head the fact that secondary school friends are the ones who will stay with you. I haven't even spent half a year in tertiary education but I've already learnt the hard way that he was right.
I will never understand why we can never have precious friendships in Poly like how we did in secondary school. All I know now is the fact that the only ones who will ever completely accept me over and over again are these girls. Our building was demolished, but it didn't matter. We rebuilt our friendship, we forgot and forgave, and although we are one girl short, we can grow a million times stronger than before. This is just the beginning of our story, the common bond which seven uniquely beautiful ladies share.
And to my best friend: if you remember, the few blog posts I had written before I left you guys... I did say I was just going on a journey and that I will be back. I wasn't sure when, and I also had doubts whether I would even be, but I said I'll eventually return to this friendship. Well, look who's home.
As time passes by though, you open up to them, and they open up to you. You feel comfortable with one another, be it in a group or just one person. You tease them, you make them laugh, you comfort them, you stick up for them, you tell them your secrets; their mirroring your actions is what creates the memories with them.
They accept you for who you are no matter how bullshit your attitude and problems get.
Who are they? They are your friends.
I've known these girls since we were all in Sec 1. I had my own differing opinions towards each and every one of them, and most of them were just judgments. As i got to know them, I realised they were totally cool, and I looked forward to going school everyday. it was a good start to secondary school!
The years passed and girls came and left my life, with drama and gossip accompanying the cliques that formed in the classroom. Three years into secondary education, and we had formed a certain bond among the 8 of us.
It was our differences that made us one. We were multi-racial, we went to different classes, we had different fashion sense, we had conflicting opinions and clashing personalities, but we got along. We had recess and lunch together, we went on outings and we took photos together. All 8 of us. We made promises to be together for life.
Came 2012, when one of those girls made a move and stupidly left the friendship. Disaster after disaster followed suit her action, be it among the remaining 7 or between her and them, or just her alone. To me, we were sturdy when we were 8, but because a pillar crumbled, the rest of the building made way due to lack of support.
I was that crumbled pillar. I was the one who had decided to leave behind this beautiful friendship.
One of the 7 girls I had left behind was my ultimate best friend. She had always been there for me, and I always told her we'd be friends forever, always making plans with her to travel the world and go on road trips together. This changed when I left. We weren't friends anymore, and we didn't exactly appreciate each other's existence. We used our blogs to attack and defend ourselves [though I'm pretty sure she was the one who did most of the attacking].
Just this year, about four months ago in April, she decided to unblock me from Twitter and chatted me up through direct messaging. I gave her my number, and we caught up with each other; what school and course were we in, shit like that. We met up one Friday evening, after I finished work, to the rooftop of Tampines Mall, just sitting down and talking.
If she hadn't approached me first I wouldn't have ever bothered to make amends. We put the past behind us, and I started to make contact with the rest of the girls. I found out that after everyone went on to tertiary education, one of the other pillars had also given way, silently. Those who remained actually knew, way before graduation, that they were going to be left with 6, if I hadn't returned.
Yesterday was our first time in a long time gathering together again, the remaining 7 of us. Upon union, we gave hugs and one of them whom I hadn't seen in 8 months whispered to me; "Welcome back." I was glad to be.
One of my Poly classmates had drilled into my head the fact that secondary school friends are the ones who will stay with you. I haven't even spent half a year in tertiary education but I've already learnt the hard way that he was right.
I will never understand why we can never have precious friendships in Poly like how we did in secondary school. All I know now is the fact that the only ones who will ever completely accept me over and over again are these girls. Our building was demolished, but it didn't matter. We rebuilt our friendship, we forgot and forgave, and although we are one girl short, we can grow a million times stronger than before. This is just the beginning of our story, the common bond which seven uniquely beautiful ladies share.
____
Thursday, August 29, 2013
Some thoughts of mine.
Here are a few of my thoughts which I had meant to share with the prince yesterday but didn't manage to.
As I'd mentioned some time ago, I've been getting tired of those Tumblr photos of what girls are expecting from guys, what guys should do for girls, shit like that. These photos tell girls to choose the right guys; the guys who would 'text you good morning and good night everyday', 'call you just to tell you they are thinking of you', 'give you their shoulder to cry on and arms to wrap around you'. And I'm not referring to boyfriends, just boys in general.
There are also those kinds which start off with "Guys, if you really want a girl, do this:", shit like that. Well, with the help of these photos or quotes, even the typical douchebags would be able to charm girls. This very fact confuses me and got me thinking. Are these really helping assholes to become nicer and more charming, or are they just dressing the wolves up as sheep?
What if guys are like, "Okay, I'll just wish her good morning and good night everyday without fail. She's bound to take me seriously and shit! Hohoho!" and then he charms you, and you're like "Awww, he's so sweet by doing this" blahblahblah, but you'll never know if it's really sincere or if he's just trying to play nice in order to fool you, because he knows it's what you girls want.
Am I making sense? I've been haunted by this for a week. Shouldn't you stop posting your expectations on Twitter or Tumblr, just to protect the 'secret' of what we want from guys? This way, wouldn't we really know who is hell-bent and sincere and persistent on being with us? Well if you are different from other girls then I'm glad you've escaped the trap of expectations.
Another thought of mine is about my religion. I've only recently started reading about it. And for all I know, we all have something called 'jodoh'.
"Sekuat mana kita setia,
Sehebat mana kita merancang,
Selama mana kita menunggu,
Sekeras mana kita bersabar,
Sejujur mana kita menerima kekasih kita,
Jika Allah Subhanahu Wata' Ala tidak menulis jodoh kita bersama kekasih kita;
Kita tetap tidak akan bersama dengannya."
First things first it scares me. What if I invest in all my effort, energy, patience, love, care, time, in my relationship with the prince, only to still have him leave like the rest just because God didn't want us together? I thought it was really mean of God.
Another thing which I'd thought of... So what if you're together with someone who is in a terrible state of depression, and you've done all you can for him. What if you think he's getting better but then one day he died of suicide? That means that God doesn't want you to be with him right? So are you trying to tell me that God played out that suicide, just to prevent you from being together?
I don't know... I just had these thoughts. Like I'd said, I just recently started reading on my religion, so I don't know much. I don't need a lecture but correct me if I'm wrong and clear my doubts for me maybe?
Anyway, I'm going out with the girls tomorrow. And by girls, I mean the ones I had left when we were in Sec 5. [I'm pretty sure you've read my story by now] I'm glad I had the chance to reunite with all of them, because they're all wonderful people and I've missed the times we've spent.
I stayed home for the whole of today and I was rummaging through my mess at the corner of the room when I bumped into an old camera of mine. Someone from my past had given it to me about two years ago; it was dusty but still functioning.
I'm not even sure if people still read my blog, but I'll keep doing this. I do get upset over the fact that I can't get anything out of what I love, especially money, because I really need it; but writing and blogging is my passion and I should never let anything get in the way of that.
As I'd mentioned some time ago, I've been getting tired of those Tumblr photos of what girls are expecting from guys, what guys should do for girls, shit like that. These photos tell girls to choose the right guys; the guys who would 'text you good morning and good night everyday', 'call you just to tell you they are thinking of you', 'give you their shoulder to cry on and arms to wrap around you'. And I'm not referring to boyfriends, just boys in general.
There are also those kinds which start off with "Guys, if you really want a girl, do this:", shit like that. Well, with the help of these photos or quotes, even the typical douchebags would be able to charm girls. This very fact confuses me and got me thinking. Are these really helping assholes to become nicer and more charming, or are they just dressing the wolves up as sheep?
What if guys are like, "Okay, I'll just wish her good morning and good night everyday without fail. She's bound to take me seriously and shit! Hohoho!" and then he charms you, and you're like "Awww, he's so sweet by doing this" blahblahblah, but you'll never know if it's really sincere or if he's just trying to play nice in order to fool you, because he knows it's what you girls want.
Am I making sense? I've been haunted by this for a week. Shouldn't you stop posting your expectations on Twitter or Tumblr, just to protect the 'secret' of what we want from guys? This way, wouldn't we really know who is hell-bent and sincere and persistent on being with us? Well if you are different from other girls then I'm glad you've escaped the trap of expectations.
Another thought of mine is about my religion. I've only recently started reading about it. And for all I know, we all have something called 'jodoh'.
"Sekuat mana kita setia,
Sehebat mana kita merancang,
Selama mana kita menunggu,
Sekeras mana kita bersabar,
Sejujur mana kita menerima kekasih kita,
Jika Allah Subhanahu Wata' Ala tidak menulis jodoh kita bersama kekasih kita;
Kita tetap tidak akan bersama dengannya."
First things first it scares me. What if I invest in all my effort, energy, patience, love, care, time, in my relationship with the prince, only to still have him leave like the rest just because God didn't want us together? I thought it was really mean of God.
Another thing which I'd thought of... So what if you're together with someone who is in a terrible state of depression, and you've done all you can for him. What if you think he's getting better but then one day he died of suicide? That means that God doesn't want you to be with him right? So are you trying to tell me that God played out that suicide, just to prevent you from being together?
I don't know... I just had these thoughts. Like I'd said, I just recently started reading on my religion, so I don't know much. I don't need a lecture but correct me if I'm wrong and clear my doubts for me maybe?
Anyway, I'm going out with the girls tomorrow. And by girls, I mean the ones I had left when we were in Sec 5. [I'm pretty sure you've read my story by now] I'm glad I had the chance to reunite with all of them, because they're all wonderful people and I've missed the times we've spent.
I stayed home for the whole of today and I was rummaging through my mess at the corner of the room when I bumped into an old camera of mine. Someone from my past had given it to me about two years ago; it was dusty but still functioning.
I'm not even sure if people still read my blog, but I'll keep doing this. I do get upset over the fact that I can't get anything out of what I love, especially money, because I really need it; but writing and blogging is my passion and I should never let anything get in the way of that.
Tuesday, August 27, 2013
Past week's memories and lessons!
Monday, 19th August, 2013.
Just as I told the prince about lunch which I had asked my classmate out for, she broke the news to me that she wasn't able to make it. She told me her reasons, and I understood, but I couldn't help feeling sad. It did after all took courage for me to ask her out.
'Aamir told me to head to his school instead, which I did right after I ended my last exam of the semester. He brought me to sit with his classmates; they were all seated at separate tables, and as I proceeded to sit next to the prince, I waved a shy hello to those at the other table.
I followed Mel to get our drinks, and as we were queuing up she told me about how I looked better with this hairstyle. We talked about self-esteem, confidence, things like that. Sometimes I don't understand the way I look at myself either.
After their lunch, 'Aamir and his classmates made their way up to the third storey, and honestly, I've never been that far in their school before.
Yazid came along and the first thing he said to me was, believe it or not; "nice hairstyle today." I was taken aback, but still, thank you very much. I had no regrets putting my fringe away that day, after so many years of hiding my eyes!
Remember when I said that friends are what protect you from the eyes of society? With them around, I didn't feel out of place in the school that was bustling with uniformed teenagers. It feels a lot safer with friends than being alone. It feels like you belonged somewhere. Try being in a polytechnic in your ITE uniform, or try being in an ITE college, wearing plainclothes and carrying your laptop. Wouldn't you feel out of place, and that people around you were judging you, thinking who the hell gave you the rights to be there?
After their lunch, 'Aamir and his classmates made their way up to the third storey, and honestly, I've never been that far in their school before.
Yazid came along and the first thing he said to me was, believe it or not; "nice hairstyle today." I was taken aback, but still, thank you very much. I had no regrets putting my fringe away that day, after so many years of hiding my eyes!
Remember when I said that friends are what protect you from the eyes of society? With them around, I didn't feel out of place in the school that was bustling with uniformed teenagers. It feels a lot safer with friends than being alone. It feels like you belonged somewhere. Try being in a polytechnic in your ITE uniform, or try being in an ITE college, wearing plainclothes and carrying your laptop. Wouldn't you feel out of place, and that people around you were judging you, thinking who the hell gave you the rights to be there?
They went off for their last class of the day, and I headed to Choa Chu Kang to do a little bit of reading, and I was getting to the climax chapter when I received a call from 'Aamir. He told me to head back because he couldn't go to the gym after all; after a bit of persuasion, I reluctantly made my way to the bus interchange to catch a bus back to his school.
The prince bought me chicken rice, which I ate alongside his classmates. I honestly had quite a few laughs with them, especially when Farhan was teasing Yazid non-stop!
As promised, 'Aamir sent me home. We stopped at Bishan for a while to get strawberry rolls and peach tarts which we munched on while walking, before getting back on the Circle Line train back to Paya Lebar. He was annoying as fuck, of course; but that was just what made me smile and laugh on the inside.
I didn't tell my grandmother that it was already my holidays. Instead, I'd told her that I had to be in school by 12. I went to Jurong East library where I sat for about three hours, reading about nothing but The Conjuring on the net.
I knew from the start that the Annabelle doll had nothing to do with the Perrons' haunting. And, I also wanted to put an end to my sleepless nights; I thought that by proving to myself that the true story the film was based on was not true at all, I'd be able to sleep peacefully again.
By the time my blog post was done, I was starving. The prince wasn't in Singapore and the girls were scattered everywhere around Singapore except where I was.
Eventually I asked one of 'Aamir's classmates out; Naqib. He shares the same name as the elder brother which I so deeply hate; yet owns care for me that is complete opposite to what my own blood feels for me.
He was with his girlfriend Diyanah, also one of 'Aamir's classmates, at Lavender. After doing a little bit of calculation I deducted that the midpoint was EW17; Tiong Bahru. That was where we met.
It started off fine, apart from the fact that I'd made them wait for about 45 minutes. Deeply sorry about that! I waited for them to buy their food before I went to get mine, and honestly, that was when the atmosphere dropped.
When I was approaching our table with my tray, I couldn't help overhearing Diyanah's stern tone and the look of remorse and anger on Naqib's face. I didn't catch what she was saying but I could already sense the tension hanging in the air.
The three of us sat in silence for the whole meal. Anyone with social anxiety would know how I felt then; not only the awkwardness, but also the feeling of being a third wheel, and as well as the paranoia that the both of them were not exactly rejoicing at my presence. If I hadn't been there, it would have probably been better for them to resolve the issue. If I hadn't appeared with my food and sat down with them, they could have continued their argument and eventually solved the problem. That was what I felt.
Things got better when we were walking back to the MRT station though. Naqib teased me about my outfit, telling me to change, while Diyanah stood up for me, as always. They alighted at Outram Park while I continued on to Paya Lebar, where I had a nap til meh.
Another solitary escapade to Jurong East. I sat at the library reading instead of researching; I didn't know what to write about. I read a few chapters of Kite Runner. At the same time, the prince was apparently moody and upset about something, but even after a few persuasions, he wouldn't tell me why or even talk to me.
For him not to have chosen to talk to me really upset me in return. So I wrote about it. I wrote about my feelings, of having him bottle his feelings up rather than run to his other half about his problems like how I always did.
He called me right after, and just like that, we met up for an early dinner. He also gave me a voucher for Times bookstore, which Mel had passed to him to present to me. We spent some time in the bookstore but I didn't dare buy anything because I wanted to take my time looking properly.
So I got home, and guess what? My cousin Kak Siti was there; we were all going to visit my grandfather for Hari Raya. The first thing I got happy about was the fact that I could finally wear a baju kurung!
From the first day of Syawal this year, I hadn't had the opportunity to wear the traditional Malay costume. Everyday Instagram was filled with other people donning their baju kurung, and I was sad because I didn't get to wear any, so I'm really grateful for the opportunity!
An entire morning in the library lead to a dozen tabs opened on my laptop; my research topic for the day was films that were based on true stories. I was experimenting; after a long time of thinking I settled on three films from early 1990's.
I didn't get to complete the post before I had to rush to Choa Chu Kang to meet two of my blog readers. They've given me words of encouragement and have always been my support from the very moment they started reading this blog of mine, and it was my honour to be able to meet them.
Both Nurasilah and Nazirah were beautiful in their own way, although I know that they still see flaws in themselves even if I call them that. It was our first time meeting and we probably had a lot of things to ask one another, but due to all of us being socially awkward, it was a rather quiet lunch apart from the occasional random questions.
We only loosened up when we headed to the rooftop to take a few pictures, like what all girls do. We had a few laughters, and I managed to ask them a few questions about themselves and their opinions. It was a pity that I had to go off about two hours after we met up.
My next destination was Woodlands, where 'Aamir fetched me just as I tapped out of the gantries. He stared at me wide-eyed, still looking handsome though, and the first thing he asked was, "what's with the red eyes??"
So I told him how my cat had played with the casing of my transparent ones til it went missing, and that I had no choice but to wear my red lens.
The prince carried my laptop case for me and took my hand with his free one, and we walked up and into Swenson's, where his secondary school classmates were waiting. I was insecure, but he told me I was already looking fine and that his friends were dying to meet me.
I've met Syazryna once before, on one of the few dates 'Aamir and I had, while it was the first time meeting Siti Hanna. I was really shy, and I was feeling so ugly! But 'Aamir, being with familiar friends, managed to loosen the atmosphere, adding laughter to the conversations and meal.
I loved the mussels, which I kept pestering 'Aamir to open for me, and Syazryna even managed to order in an extra chocolate fondue for dessert!
I'd wanted to pay for the bill too, but Syazryna wouldn't hear of it. While the girls had their backs on us, I looked at their outfits and told 'Aamir about how I wished I had the guts to dress up for school days like it was a norm for me.
I thanked Syazryna before we parted, and 'Aamir and I made our way to the library next.
So this was where he pissed me off. He had my laptop, and went to sit at a corner of the library first, while I looked at some of the books at the literature section. By the time I found him he already had my laptop open. I sat beside him and the first thing he said was, "Oh I closed all your windows already."
That drove me mad! Meaning to say, he cleared all the research I had painstakingly found on the net!
I didn't say anything, but I gave him the look. Being with me for seven months, he knew what it meant, and his expression changed into an apologetic one. It pissed me off more that he was giving excuses. "How would I know?? There wasn't any Internet connection anyway!!"
So I told him, "This isn't your laptop. It's basic courtesy that when you're using someone's laptop, you don't close any of their windows, whether or not there's Internet connection. And the least you could do was ask me first!"
I was so pissed that I didn't have the mood to even read. On the other hand, 'Aamir had turned on Youtube and was giggling away next to me. He later even had the cheek to start gaming on my laptop! Ugh!
But as always, I forgave him. He got butterscotch ice-cream [which I didn't really like though] and sent me off to the gantries, where I got on the train to Jurong East before changing to the East West train towards Paya Lebar.
And my "ask.fm friend" finally made his identity no longer a secret.
Another morning at Jurong East library. By the time I reached my usual place by the windows, it was already noon. I quickly plugged in my laptop and started my research from scratch; thank goodness I had written a bit about what I had found in my little journalist notebook. Referring to it, I managed to remember a few of the subjects which I had Googled for my blog post.
Half an hour later I still wasn't done with my writing, but I already had to go off to Tiong Bahru to meet a friend. He whom I once called my best friend, only to know that he hadn't regarded me the same. Honestly the most wonderful friend I had made in poly, none other than the unamused Shafie.
It took me guts to ask him out as well, because I was afraid of rejection, which I was sure would be the verdict. But I'm really grateful he said yes.
The first thing he asked me was, "Does 'Aamir know you are with me?" It may seem nothing to you, but it was pretty sweet for him to have asked that. We had an awkward lunch, though I managed to ask questions to 'update' me on his well-being and his life.
And a bird dropped a bomb on me! The plop sound and the wet feeling on my head, and I looked up to see a bird's asshole in my view. I swear I wanted to cry! I whined to Shafie about it but I was so embarrassed!! But I went to the sink to clean it off, and when I came back I just wanted to leave already.
I haven't walked under the sun for ages, so he decided to bring me for a walk towards Redhill station. If you realise something, the atmosphere always loosens up only after the lunch. I'm not sure why, maybe there is a scientific reason for it but whatever.
I started to babble about my stories and theories; I had missed the sarcastic remarks which he always made whenever I talked like I was so smart.
"You know the best way to see if someone cares is, when you guys are walking on the sidewalk next to the road, and the person walks on the outer side of the sidewalk..."
"You told me this before."
"So how? Did it change your life?" I asked excitedly.
He didn't answer, but the corners of his mouth were turned up a little, like he was trying not to even smile.
We walked past Tiong Bahru Park, and I sheepishly asked: "If I wanted to play at the swings right now would you let me?"
"Go ahead."
"Okay, and if I asked you to push me while I'm on the swings would you do so?"
He kept quiet, before answering with that controlled smile, "You know I have a reputation to hold."
I've always liked teasing him, just to see him try his damndest to keep that unamused face of his.
Like always, he still entertained me no matter how childish I was. He wouldn't give me a tour of Tiong Bahru like I asked him to, but he still told me that that is his secondary school, and that this is where he prays every Friday; and he also stopped at the entrance of the railway tunnel so I could see how it was like if a train passed by.
And before I knew it, he had to go.
I walked around Tiong Bahru whilst waiting for another friend to turn up. I got tired after a while so I sat at Maccy D, continuing to work on my blog post, before I finally saw Wai Kit walking outside the restaurant.
The last time we met was sometime before Ramadan; and apparently there was a lot to catch up on his life after weeks of not seeing him. I admire how he's always so cheery no matter what setbacks he's got. He's always been that way from the time I knew him.
He got me iced lemon tea and we talked, and we realised that our friendship was been existing for five years; we met when I was in Sec 1, while he was in Sec 2. He was still grunting in disbelief; "Five years? Five years!?"
One more thing which I liked about talking to him was how he always had arguments to fight my words. We debated about all kinds of things, battling each other with our own opinions. Well, nobody won or lost, but I've always liked arguing with him!
I wanted to reach home before it got dark, so when it was half past 5, I told him I had to go.
"Ah go la, go la. Abandon your friend la, go la. So much for five years!"
And then he said my name, and I realised that even after all the years he still couldn't mention my name properly. So much for five years indeed!
And there we have it. It's been a while since I blogged about time spent with friends. Not only did I meet new people, but I also managed to catch up on old friends, friends of the past. This week has been one of my favourites!
I bought a long skirt at Bugis yesterday, with the help of sweet-talker Shushan. She told me I was pretty and that I would look great in it, and what's more, I've been under the pressure of the prince and my aunt and my grandmother to try wearing a long skirt instead of jeans! This shall be a step towards experimenting with myself. Well, my youth isn't forever; I can't start wearing bright colours and skirts and dresses when I'm old already right?
I've a few appointments made this week already, with the girls on Friday evening and the prince next Monday. I am under pressure of wearing the new skirt for both dates! But the voice in my head tells me, "You can't start off wearing skirts by wearing the same one for two outings in a row! People will laugh at you and say eeew she's trying too hard to change her looks!" Yes, the voice in my head is very cruel.
Also, two nights ago my good friend Naqib taught me something; if it's a passion, why do you care about what others think of it?
I don't have to give a shit if people read my blog or not. I write and blog from the bottom of my heart; it doesn't matter who stumbles upon it, who likes it and who doesn't. Like how my new friend Nazirah has the talent of writing songs but she doesn't show her gift to the world. Like how Pearl and Siying are wonderful bloggers and artists but shove neither of their talents up the noses of other people.
Thank you for reading, I appreciate that you took the time to read this lengthy post of mine!
The prince bought me chicken rice, which I ate alongside his classmates. I honestly had quite a few laughs with them, especially when Farhan was teasing Yazid non-stop!
As promised, 'Aamir sent me home. We stopped at Bishan for a while to get strawberry rolls and peach tarts which we munched on while walking, before getting back on the Circle Line train back to Paya Lebar. He was annoying as fuck, of course; but that was just what made me smile and laugh on the inside.
Tuesday, 20th August, 2013.
I knew from the start that the Annabelle doll had nothing to do with the Perrons' haunting. And, I also wanted to put an end to my sleepless nights; I thought that by proving to myself that the true story the film was based on was not true at all, I'd be able to sleep peacefully again.
By the time my blog post was done, I was starving. The prince wasn't in Singapore and the girls were scattered everywhere around Singapore except where I was.
Eventually I asked one of 'Aamir's classmates out; Naqib. He shares the same name as the elder brother which I so deeply hate; yet owns care for me that is complete opposite to what my own blood feels for me.
He was with his girlfriend Diyanah, also one of 'Aamir's classmates, at Lavender. After doing a little bit of calculation I deducted that the midpoint was EW17; Tiong Bahru. That was where we met.
It started off fine, apart from the fact that I'd made them wait for about 45 minutes. Deeply sorry about that! I waited for them to buy their food before I went to get mine, and honestly, that was when the atmosphere dropped.
When I was approaching our table with my tray, I couldn't help overhearing Diyanah's stern tone and the look of remorse and anger on Naqib's face. I didn't catch what she was saying but I could already sense the tension hanging in the air.
The three of us sat in silence for the whole meal. Anyone with social anxiety would know how I felt then; not only the awkwardness, but also the feeling of being a third wheel, and as well as the paranoia that the both of them were not exactly rejoicing at my presence. If I hadn't been there, it would have probably been better for them to resolve the issue. If I hadn't appeared with my food and sat down with them, they could have continued their argument and eventually solved the problem. That was what I felt.
Things got better when we were walking back to the MRT station though. Naqib teased me about my outfit, telling me to change, while Diyanah stood up for me, as always. They alighted at Outram Park while I continued on to Paya Lebar, where I had a nap til meh.
Wednesday, 21st August, 2013.
For him not to have chosen to talk to me really upset me in return. So I wrote about it. I wrote about my feelings, of having him bottle his feelings up rather than run to his other half about his problems like how I always did.
He called me right after, and just like that, we met up for an early dinner. He also gave me a voucher for Times bookstore, which Mel had passed to him to present to me. We spent some time in the bookstore but I didn't dare buy anything because I wanted to take my time looking properly.
So I got home, and guess what? My cousin Kak Siti was there; we were all going to visit my grandfather for Hari Raya. The first thing I got happy about was the fact that I could finally wear a baju kurung!
From the first day of Syawal this year, I hadn't had the opportunity to wear the traditional Malay costume. Everyday Instagram was filled with other people donning their baju kurung, and I was sad because I didn't get to wear any, so I'm really grateful for the opportunity!
Thursday, 22nd August, 2013.
I didn't get to complete the post before I had to rush to Choa Chu Kang to meet two of my blog readers. They've given me words of encouragement and have always been my support from the very moment they started reading this blog of mine, and it was my honour to be able to meet them.
Both Nurasilah and Nazirah were beautiful in their own way, although I know that they still see flaws in themselves even if I call them that. It was our first time meeting and we probably had a lot of things to ask one another, but due to all of us being socially awkward, it was a rather quiet lunch apart from the occasional random questions.
We only loosened up when we headed to the rooftop to take a few pictures, like what all girls do. We had a few laughters, and I managed to ask them a few questions about themselves and their opinions. It was a pity that I had to go off about two hours after we met up.
My next destination was Woodlands, where 'Aamir fetched me just as I tapped out of the gantries. He stared at me wide-eyed, still looking handsome though, and the first thing he asked was, "what's with the red eyes??"
So I told him how my cat had played with the casing of my transparent ones til it went missing, and that I had no choice but to wear my red lens.
The prince carried my laptop case for me and took my hand with his free one, and we walked up and into Swenson's, where his secondary school classmates were waiting. I was insecure, but he told me I was already looking fine and that his friends were dying to meet me.
I've met Syazryna once before, on one of the few dates 'Aamir and I had, while it was the first time meeting Siti Hanna. I was really shy, and I was feeling so ugly! But 'Aamir, being with familiar friends, managed to loosen the atmosphere, adding laughter to the conversations and meal.
I loved the mussels, which I kept pestering 'Aamir to open for me, and Syazryna even managed to order in an extra chocolate fondue for dessert!
I'd wanted to pay for the bill too, but Syazryna wouldn't hear of it. While the girls had their backs on us, I looked at their outfits and told 'Aamir about how I wished I had the guts to dress up for school days like it was a norm for me.
I thanked Syazryna before we parted, and 'Aamir and I made our way to the library next.
So this was where he pissed me off. He had my laptop, and went to sit at a corner of the library first, while I looked at some of the books at the literature section. By the time I found him he already had my laptop open. I sat beside him and the first thing he said was, "Oh I closed all your windows already."
That drove me mad! Meaning to say, he cleared all the research I had painstakingly found on the net!
I didn't say anything, but I gave him the look. Being with me for seven months, he knew what it meant, and his expression changed into an apologetic one. It pissed me off more that he was giving excuses. "How would I know?? There wasn't any Internet connection anyway!!"
So I told him, "This isn't your laptop. It's basic courtesy that when you're using someone's laptop, you don't close any of their windows, whether or not there's Internet connection. And the least you could do was ask me first!"
I was so pissed that I didn't have the mood to even read. On the other hand, 'Aamir had turned on Youtube and was giggling away next to me. He later even had the cheek to start gaming on my laptop! Ugh!
But as always, I forgave him. He got butterscotch ice-cream [which I didn't really like though] and sent me off to the gantries, where I got on the train to Jurong East before changing to the East West train towards Paya Lebar.
And my "ask.fm friend" finally made his identity no longer a secret.
Friday, 23rd August, 2013.
Half an hour later I still wasn't done with my writing, but I already had to go off to Tiong Bahru to meet a friend. He whom I once called my best friend, only to know that he hadn't regarded me the same. Honestly the most wonderful friend I had made in poly, none other than the unamused Shafie.
It took me guts to ask him out as well, because I was afraid of rejection, which I was sure would be the verdict. But I'm really grateful he said yes.
The first thing he asked me was, "Does 'Aamir know you are with me?" It may seem nothing to you, but it was pretty sweet for him to have asked that. We had an awkward lunch, though I managed to ask questions to 'update' me on his well-being and his life.
And a bird dropped a bomb on me! The plop sound and the wet feeling on my head, and I looked up to see a bird's asshole in my view. I swear I wanted to cry! I whined to Shafie about it but I was so embarrassed!! But I went to the sink to clean it off, and when I came back I just wanted to leave already.
I haven't walked under the sun for ages, so he decided to bring me for a walk towards Redhill station. If you realise something, the atmosphere always loosens up only after the lunch. I'm not sure why, maybe there is a scientific reason for it but whatever.
I started to babble about my stories and theories; I had missed the sarcastic remarks which he always made whenever I talked like I was so smart.
"You know the best way to see if someone cares is, when you guys are walking on the sidewalk next to the road, and the person walks on the outer side of the sidewalk..."
"You told me this before."
"So how? Did it change your life?" I asked excitedly.
He didn't answer, but the corners of his mouth were turned up a little, like he was trying not to even smile.
We walked past Tiong Bahru Park, and I sheepishly asked: "If I wanted to play at the swings right now would you let me?"
"Go ahead."
"Okay, and if I asked you to push me while I'm on the swings would you do so?"
He kept quiet, before answering with that controlled smile, "You know I have a reputation to hold."
I've always liked teasing him, just to see him try his damndest to keep that unamused face of his.
Like always, he still entertained me no matter how childish I was. He wouldn't give me a tour of Tiong Bahru like I asked him to, but he still told me that that is his secondary school, and that this is where he prays every Friday; and he also stopped at the entrance of the railway tunnel so I could see how it was like if a train passed by.
And before I knew it, he had to go.
I walked around Tiong Bahru whilst waiting for another friend to turn up. I got tired after a while so I sat at Maccy D, continuing to work on my blog post, before I finally saw Wai Kit walking outside the restaurant.
The last time we met was sometime before Ramadan; and apparently there was a lot to catch up on his life after weeks of not seeing him. I admire how he's always so cheery no matter what setbacks he's got. He's always been that way from the time I knew him.
He got me iced lemon tea and we talked, and we realised that our friendship was been existing for five years; we met when I was in Sec 1, while he was in Sec 2. He was still grunting in disbelief; "Five years? Five years!?"
One more thing which I liked about talking to him was how he always had arguments to fight my words. We debated about all kinds of things, battling each other with our own opinions. Well, nobody won or lost, but I've always liked arguing with him!
I wanted to reach home before it got dark, so when it was half past 5, I told him I had to go.
"Ah go la, go la. Abandon your friend la, go la. So much for five years!"
And then he said my name, and I realised that even after all the years he still couldn't mention my name properly. So much for five years indeed!
____
I bought a long skirt at Bugis yesterday, with the help of sweet-talker Shushan. She told me I was pretty and that I would look great in it, and what's more, I've been under the pressure of the prince and my aunt and my grandmother to try wearing a long skirt instead of jeans! This shall be a step towards experimenting with myself. Well, my youth isn't forever; I can't start wearing bright colours and skirts and dresses when I'm old already right?
I've a few appointments made this week already, with the girls on Friday evening and the prince next Monday. I am under pressure of wearing the new skirt for both dates! But the voice in my head tells me, "You can't start off wearing skirts by wearing the same one for two outings in a row! People will laugh at you and say eeew she's trying too hard to change her looks!" Yes, the voice in my head is very cruel.
Also, two nights ago my good friend Naqib taught me something; if it's a passion, why do you care about what others think of it?
I don't have to give a shit if people read my blog or not. I write and blog from the bottom of my heart; it doesn't matter who stumbles upon it, who likes it and who doesn't. Like how my new friend Nazirah has the talent of writing songs but she doesn't show her gift to the world. Like how Pearl and Siying are wonderful bloggers and artists but shove neither of their talents up the noses of other people.
Thank you for reading, I appreciate that you took the time to read this lengthy post of mine!
Sunday, August 25, 2013
Declining self-esteem.
About 7 months ago I met 'Aamir, and what came with this special companion was his many friends. I'm grateful I met him, because when I did, I made friends with his classmates from secondary school as well as his current coursemates. But that's not the main topic of this post.
Among his secondary school friends was his best friend Luqman, or more affectionately known as Luke. I dare say that today, Luke and I are very good friends even without 'Aamir as the mutual wall; but again, this special friendship is not what I am about to write about.
'Aamir had told me that Luke's English was good too. Sometimes I went to him complaining about having too little people reading my blog. He did read it, but he once said, about a month ago: "What irritates me the most about your blog is the fact that you don't write in proper Caps lock when you start a new sentence."
I went against his suggestions of trying to type in proper Caps. "You just have to press shift each time you start a new sentence, what's so difficult about that?"
I gave him the excuse that if I wrote as such, my text would look copied and pasted, especially my posts that had research and shit. This is actually my first post in years that has its words properly capitalised. [There were a few in February and April this year, but that was because I was blogging on my phone]
So let's now proceed with what I was here for.
Every girl is self-conscious, whether or not you have tens of likes on your selfies on Instagram. I've long accepted the fact that I'm not as pretty as those other girls out there, though I still post pictures of myself on Instagram and I'm still being called beautiful by my grandmother and boyfriend everyday.
Just yesterday I was having fun taking pictures of myself in my new top; it was sort of peplum and I'd never worn such things before. I felt better about myself, after years of thinking otherwise. I thought I could finally go out in something other than t-shirts.
However this morning I did a mistake of stalking other girls' Instagram profiles. And I swear to you, that this mistake was fatal. Not only did it kidnap my self-esteem, but it also tortured my self-conscious almost to the point of death. Right now, my confidence is hanging on a thread, and I'm not sure if I can ever save it.
Maybe they are pretty because their teeth are straight.
Maybe they are pretty because they have dimples.
Maybe they are pretty because they wear skirts and crop tops and dresses and shit.
Maybe they are pretty because they follow current trends.
Maybe they are pretty because their hair is pushed away from their eyes.
Maybe they are pretty because they show off their legs.
Maybe they are pretty because they have curls or highlights in their hair.
Maybe they are pretty because they have big brown eyes.
Maybe they are pretty because they wear tudung.
Maybe they are pretty because they are petite.
The list goes on, but simply put, maybe they are just pretty because they are not me, and I am not pretty because I am not them.
Not being pretty has many setbacks other than the low self-esteem. I'm not popular because I am not pretty, and by popular, I mean more-than-50-likes-on-Instagram/more-than-500-followers-on-Twitter/dozens-of-people-reading-my-blog kind of popular.
And through this lack of popularity, I do not gain recognition for my writing. Many other girls have blogs, which are always visited and read simply because they are pretty and popular. I do not mean to brag, but I think my blog posts are a lot more sincere than these girls'. I write about my life, and, well, just life. Even if I'm not pretty; I just know how to write.
Today I bumped into a few more blogs owned by other pretty girls. And I am scared. Most of their English is good, and it made me realise that my writing isn't as marvelous as I thought it to be. Now I'm not only self-conscious about my looks; I also have low self-esteem about my blog, and my writings.
Who knows, that maybe all this while, when I've published my blog posts on Twitter, my followers were rolling their eyes and saying in their heads, "oh please, not her blog again." Maybe those people who even read it were thinking that what I wrote did not make sense, and that my hardships were just bullshit to draw in attention.
I really want to be known more, just for my writing. Like a classmate of mine had just tweeted; "Girls want attention. Women want respect." I do want respect. For my blog. But I don't even have attention, because I don't have looks. You may think I'm babbling but this is how I really see it; that nobody will ever read my blog because I don't have the attention on my face.
Why am I thinking like this? Because I am not pretty, and that because of this, I am denied respect for my talent. This is really what I think is going on behind the doors of society. I can't change anything about it. I've accepted that I'm not as pretty as you, or your sisters, or your best friends, or your girlfriends or crushes. And without looks, where do I stand?
Among his secondary school friends was his best friend Luqman, or more affectionately known as Luke. I dare say that today, Luke and I are very good friends even without 'Aamir as the mutual wall; but again, this special friendship is not what I am about to write about.
'Aamir had told me that Luke's English was good too. Sometimes I went to him complaining about having too little people reading my blog. He did read it, but he once said, about a month ago: "What irritates me the most about your blog is the fact that you don't write in proper Caps lock when you start a new sentence."
I went against his suggestions of trying to type in proper Caps. "You just have to press shift each time you start a new sentence, what's so difficult about that?"
I gave him the excuse that if I wrote as such, my text would look copied and pasted, especially my posts that had research and shit. This is actually my first post in years that has its words properly capitalised. [There were a few in February and April this year, but that was because I was blogging on my phone]
So let's now proceed with what I was here for.
Every girl is self-conscious, whether or not you have tens of likes on your selfies on Instagram. I've long accepted the fact that I'm not as pretty as those other girls out there, though I still post pictures of myself on Instagram and I'm still being called beautiful by my grandmother and boyfriend everyday.
Just yesterday I was having fun taking pictures of myself in my new top; it was sort of peplum and I'd never worn such things before. I felt better about myself, after years of thinking otherwise. I thought I could finally go out in something other than t-shirts.
However this morning I did a mistake of stalking other girls' Instagram profiles. And I swear to you, that this mistake was fatal. Not only did it kidnap my self-esteem, but it also tortured my self-conscious almost to the point of death. Right now, my confidence is hanging on a thread, and I'm not sure if I can ever save it.
Maybe they are pretty because their teeth are straight.
Maybe they are pretty because they have dimples.
Maybe they are pretty because they wear skirts and crop tops and dresses and shit.
Maybe they are pretty because they follow current trends.
Maybe they are pretty because their hair is pushed away from their eyes.
Maybe they are pretty because they show off their legs.
Maybe they are pretty because they have curls or highlights in their hair.
Maybe they are pretty because they have big brown eyes.
Maybe they are pretty because they wear tudung.
Maybe they are pretty because they are petite.
The list goes on, but simply put, maybe they are just pretty because they are not me, and I am not pretty because I am not them.
Not being pretty has many setbacks other than the low self-esteem. I'm not popular because I am not pretty, and by popular, I mean more-than-50-likes-on-Instagram/more-than-500-followers-on-Twitter/dozens-of-people-reading-my-blog kind of popular.
And through this lack of popularity, I do not gain recognition for my writing. Many other girls have blogs, which are always visited and read simply because they are pretty and popular. I do not mean to brag, but I think my blog posts are a lot more sincere than these girls'. I write about my life, and, well, just life. Even if I'm not pretty; I just know how to write.
Today I bumped into a few more blogs owned by other pretty girls. And I am scared. Most of their English is good, and it made me realise that my writing isn't as marvelous as I thought it to be. Now I'm not only self-conscious about my looks; I also have low self-esteem about my blog, and my writings.
Who knows, that maybe all this while, when I've published my blog posts on Twitter, my followers were rolling their eyes and saying in their heads, "oh please, not her blog again." Maybe those people who even read it were thinking that what I wrote did not make sense, and that my hardships were just bullshit to draw in attention.
I really want to be known more, just for my writing. Like a classmate of mine had just tweeted; "Girls want attention. Women want respect." I do want respect. For my blog. But I don't even have attention, because I don't have looks. You may think I'm babbling but this is how I really see it; that nobody will ever read my blog because I don't have the attention on my face.
Why am I thinking like this? Because I am not pretty, and that because of this, I am denied respect for my talent. This is really what I think is going on behind the doors of society. I can't change anything about it. I've accepted that I'm not as pretty as you, or your sisters, or your best friends, or your girlfriends or crushes. And without looks, where do I stand?
Friday, August 23, 2013
3 horror movies based on true events.
two days ago, i did research on the Conjuring and the Warren demontologists, [see two posts before] and it was deemed 'interesting'. i found it to be so too; and thus, my job for the holidays shall be researching rumours that you may or may not have heard of, about movies that you might have watched.
because why the fuck not? like i'd said, i wouldnt be able to watch a movie based on a true story without reading everything about the said true story. would you?
so all morning [yesterday's and today's] til now i've been sitting here reading about some movies from the past which were actually, though loosely, based on real-life accounts.
if you remember the Chuckie doll from Child's Play; a serial killer uses voodoo rituals to transfer his soul into a doll, possessing the child's toy and going around attacking people. [thanks to Google, because i forgot half the plot of this movie]
yes. it wasn't just imagination. whatever that is portrayed in the film is not necessarily from reality; just inspiration. and for this film which may have been a huge part of your childhood, its inspiration comes from a Robert doll.
the year is 1906, and Robert Eugene Otto was given a doll from his servant, who despised the family. she was skilled in black magic and voodoo, and of course, soon after, Eugene's family began to believe that there was something eerie about the doll.
[it was named Robert, so from here on, i shall label Robert as the doll and Eugene as the boy to avoid confusion]
Eugene started talking to himself in his room, and his parents also heard the doll speaking back; at first they thought it was the boy answering himself in changed tones, but later believed that the doll was talking. strange encounters just increased from there.
Eugene would start screaming in his sleep and crashing noises would be heard from his room at night, and his parents would rush to see furniture turned over, and him crouched in a corner, pointing to the Robert doll and yelling; "he did it!"
neighbours claimed to see the doll moving from window to window, and sometimes Eugene's parents would hear it emit a terrifying giggle, and running from door to door. after all these strange experiences, Robert was taken and left in the attic.
when Eugene got married, he dusted off the doll and brought the doll down from the attic, much to his wife's dismay. he spent all his time with the doll, although his wife had a bad impression of it from the very start. even when Eugene was ill, he spent his last breaths locked in the room with his doll; instead of spending time with his wife.
he died in 1974, and his wife left the house, leaving behind the doll after planting a whole load of boxes on it.
a new family moved in, including a ten-year-old girl who became the new friend of the Robert doll. soon after though, she too began screaming in her sleep, and claimed that the doll was trying to kill her. even many years later, she still stuck to the fact that she had indeed gotten attacked by the doll.
Robert continued attacking people, sometimes locking them in the attic. he was also found at the foot of the owners' bed, holding a kitchen knife with a scowl. [just like your best friend Chuckie...]
today, he is kept and locked in a glass case, in a museum; where he continues to scowl and plan mischievous deeds. you may take a picture of him only when you've gotten his permission. ask him politely, and proceed if his head tilts a little to the side.
if he doesnt give you permission but you still snap anyway, he'd curse you and your family, as well as the families of whoever had followed you to the museum. well, it's just rumours, but you can always try for yourself.
another film which was based on a real life account; Nightmare on Elm Street. of course, the burned figure that is Freddy doesnt exist in reality, but the movie's director had read in the newspapers about a physician's son, which inspired his film.
at the age of 20, a boy was having nightmares, and refused to sleep because he was too terrified; "i have a lot of nightmares but these are different." he stayed awake for about six days, refusing to go to sleep. he strongly believed something was trying to kill him in his sleep.
his family was worried; they had given him sleeping pills but they never seemed to work. one day, he was watching television when he fell asleep on the couch; he was so exhausted til he just dozed off. he was brought to his bedroom, laid to bed, and everyone thought it was all over.
at night though, screams were heard from his bedroom. before his parents got to him, he was dead in his bed. his closet was filled with sleeping pills which he had spat back out.
when director Wes Craven read about this, he immediately thought; "hey, this is gonna make a great movie.", which brought the film A Nightmare On Elm Street. not sure if you've watched it, but i did, once, in the company of my parents and cousins. [and afraid to sleep at night, yes]
there was also a period of time when young men from Laos, Cambodia and Vietnam were dying in their sleep. it was also recorded in our very own Singapore, between 1982 and 1990. healthy Thai men were dying in their sleep as well; it was soon known as "sudden unexpected death syndrome".
according to folklore, there was a malign spirit dab tsuam, which takes on the form of a woman who takes your breath from you as you sleep. the name roughly means "to sit upon", and men often went to bed dressed as a female so as not to attract the spirit's attention.
last but not least; The Hills Have Eyes. i've heard about this one, had watched my cousins and brother watching it, while i cowered in the corner with a book, pretending not to hear the screams from the television.
it apparently involves cannibalism; and yes this is another film based on a true story. i've written about this last because i've made the prince research about this as punishment for closing all my research tabs last night. didnt want to write this until he recites me everything about it, but he's too slow, so here you go.
Alexander "Sawney" Bean; semi-mythical head of a clan from 15th/16th Century Scotland, known for his mass murdering and cannibalism.
Bean had ran away with a vicious woman, and they took lodging in a coastal cave, where they lived undiscovered for some 25 years. they had children and grandchildren, most of which were born through incest, or, sexual intercourse between family members.
to survive, they hunted and killed none other than human beings. the clan sneaked around at night, targeting individuals or small groups. their bodies were dragged back to the cave, and sometimes the clan just left unwanted, or 'unedible' parts around. body parts would wash up on the shore.
the villagers nearby were disturbed, of course. the disappearances and washed up body parts didnt go unnoticed. but the Beans were so skilled with their ambushes that the villagers were unaware that the murderers were in fact living nearby.
search parties were launched to find the culprit, and the cave was also glanced at, but the men refused to believe that anything human could live in it. they suspected the innkeepers, who were always the last to have seen the victims alive.
one night, the Beans ambushed a man and a wife who were riding on a horse, but the man was skilled in combat, and at least managed to stall time. before the clan could do anything more, a large group of other men appeared, and they just fled.
but their existence was exposed. more search parties, into the telltale cave this time; the Beans were captured and taken in chains to the Tolbooth jail in Edinberg, where they were prosecuted without trial. the men were hanged, drawn, and quartered: kind of a normal punishment for high treason.
just side facts, but for men who have committed acts which were strongly against the law or nation, they were first hanged, most of the time to the point of death, put through disembowelment, emasculation [google for the meanings of these words; i don't think i'd want to put in the details here on my baby blog] and body parts were dismembered. the women were burnt, due to modesty issues.
in another town nearby called Girvan, there was another legend in which one of Sawney's daughters left the clan, settled there, and planted a Hairy Tree. after the Beans' prosecution, her identity was revealed and angry locals hanged her from the tree.
some more additional facts: local legends in the town of Girvan today, says that you can hear the sound of a hanging corpse while standing beneath the boughs. the exact location of the tree is unknown but searches have been launched to hunt it down.
so there you have it! three films which you may or may not heard of or watched, which were inspired by real life accounts. i'm not sure if anyone have read this post to the very end, but i hope you enjoyed this one.
imagination have limits too. nobody has great creativity like our creator himself. our stories are based of his creations, not ours. most films and books are inspired by what God made happen, not us measly humans. [i hope i dont seem bullshit with these sudden God references.]
forgive me if my posts have been boring lately. just testing out different topics to see what draws in more audience. i'm really doing my best to get my writing appreciated okay!
thank you for reading.
because why the fuck not? like i'd said, i wouldnt be able to watch a movie based on a true story without reading everything about the said true story. would you?
so all morning [yesterday's and today's] til now i've been sitting here reading about some movies from the past which were actually, though loosely, based on real-life accounts.
if you remember the Chuckie doll from Child's Play; a serial killer uses voodoo rituals to transfer his soul into a doll, possessing the child's toy and going around attacking people. [thanks to Google, because i forgot half the plot of this movie]
yes. it wasn't just imagination. whatever that is portrayed in the film is not necessarily from reality; just inspiration. and for this film which may have been a huge part of your childhood, its inspiration comes from a Robert doll.
the year is 1906, and Robert Eugene Otto was given a doll from his servant, who despised the family. she was skilled in black magic and voodoo, and of course, soon after, Eugene's family began to believe that there was something eerie about the doll.
[it was named Robert, so from here on, i shall label Robert as the doll and Eugene as the boy to avoid confusion]
Eugene started talking to himself in his room, and his parents also heard the doll speaking back; at first they thought it was the boy answering himself in changed tones, but later believed that the doll was talking. strange encounters just increased from there.
Eugene would start screaming in his sleep and crashing noises would be heard from his room at night, and his parents would rush to see furniture turned over, and him crouched in a corner, pointing to the Robert doll and yelling; "he did it!"
neighbours claimed to see the doll moving from window to window, and sometimes Eugene's parents would hear it emit a terrifying giggle, and running from door to door. after all these strange experiences, Robert was taken and left in the attic.
when Eugene got married, he dusted off the doll and brought the doll down from the attic, much to his wife's dismay. he spent all his time with the doll, although his wife had a bad impression of it from the very start. even when Eugene was ill, he spent his last breaths locked in the room with his doll; instead of spending time with his wife.
he died in 1974, and his wife left the house, leaving behind the doll after planting a whole load of boxes on it.
a new family moved in, including a ten-year-old girl who became the new friend of the Robert doll. soon after though, she too began screaming in her sleep, and claimed that the doll was trying to kill her. even many years later, she still stuck to the fact that she had indeed gotten attacked by the doll.
Robert continued attacking people, sometimes locking them in the attic. he was also found at the foot of the owners' bed, holding a kitchen knife with a scowl. [just like your best friend Chuckie...]
today, he is kept and locked in a glass case, in a museum; where he continues to scowl and plan mischievous deeds. you may take a picture of him only when you've gotten his permission. ask him politely, and proceed if his head tilts a little to the side.
if he doesnt give you permission but you still snap anyway, he'd curse you and your family, as well as the families of whoever had followed you to the museum. well, it's just rumours, but you can always try for yourself.
another film which was based on a real life account; Nightmare on Elm Street. of course, the burned figure that is Freddy doesnt exist in reality, but the movie's director had read in the newspapers about a physician's son, which inspired his film.
at the age of 20, a boy was having nightmares, and refused to sleep because he was too terrified; "i have a lot of nightmares but these are different." he stayed awake for about six days, refusing to go to sleep. he strongly believed something was trying to kill him in his sleep.
his family was worried; they had given him sleeping pills but they never seemed to work. one day, he was watching television when he fell asleep on the couch; he was so exhausted til he just dozed off. he was brought to his bedroom, laid to bed, and everyone thought it was all over.
at night though, screams were heard from his bedroom. before his parents got to him, he was dead in his bed. his closet was filled with sleeping pills which he had spat back out.
when director Wes Craven read about this, he immediately thought; "hey, this is gonna make a great movie.", which brought the film A Nightmare On Elm Street. not sure if you've watched it, but i did, once, in the company of my parents and cousins. [and afraid to sleep at night, yes]
there was also a period of time when young men from Laos, Cambodia and Vietnam were dying in their sleep. it was also recorded in our very own Singapore, between 1982 and 1990. healthy Thai men were dying in their sleep as well; it was soon known as "sudden unexpected death syndrome".
according to folklore, there was a malign spirit dab tsuam, which takes on the form of a woman who takes your breath from you as you sleep. the name roughly means "to sit upon", and men often went to bed dressed as a female so as not to attract the spirit's attention.
last but not least; The Hills Have Eyes. i've heard about this one, had watched my cousins and brother watching it, while i cowered in the corner with a book, pretending not to hear the screams from the television.
it apparently involves cannibalism; and yes this is another film based on a true story. i've written about this last because i've made the prince research about this as punishment for closing all my research tabs last night. didnt want to write this until he recites me everything about it, but he's too slow, so here you go.
Alexander "Sawney" Bean; semi-mythical head of a clan from 15th/16th Century Scotland, known for his mass murdering and cannibalism.
Bean had ran away with a vicious woman, and they took lodging in a coastal cave, where they lived undiscovered for some 25 years. they had children and grandchildren, most of which were born through incest, or, sexual intercourse between family members.
to survive, they hunted and killed none other than human beings. the clan sneaked around at night, targeting individuals or small groups. their bodies were dragged back to the cave, and sometimes the clan just left unwanted, or 'unedible' parts around. body parts would wash up on the shore.
the villagers nearby were disturbed, of course. the disappearances and washed up body parts didnt go unnoticed. but the Beans were so skilled with their ambushes that the villagers were unaware that the murderers were in fact living nearby.
search parties were launched to find the culprit, and the cave was also glanced at, but the men refused to believe that anything human could live in it. they suspected the innkeepers, who were always the last to have seen the victims alive.
one night, the Beans ambushed a man and a wife who were riding on a horse, but the man was skilled in combat, and at least managed to stall time. before the clan could do anything more, a large group of other men appeared, and they just fled.
but their existence was exposed. more search parties, into the telltale cave this time; the Beans were captured and taken in chains to the Tolbooth jail in Edinberg, where they were prosecuted without trial. the men were hanged, drawn, and quartered: kind of a normal punishment for high treason.
just side facts, but for men who have committed acts which were strongly against the law or nation, they were first hanged, most of the time to the point of death, put through disembowelment, emasculation [google for the meanings of these words; i don't think i'd want to put in the details here on my baby blog] and body parts were dismembered. the women were burnt, due to modesty issues.
in another town nearby called Girvan, there was another legend in which one of Sawney's daughters left the clan, settled there, and planted a Hairy Tree. after the Beans' prosecution, her identity was revealed and angry locals hanged her from the tree.
some more additional facts: local legends in the town of Girvan today, says that you can hear the sound of a hanging corpse while standing beneath the boughs. the exact location of the tree is unknown but searches have been launched to hunt it down.
so there you have it! three films which you may or may not heard of or watched, which were inspired by real life accounts. i'm not sure if anyone have read this post to the very end, but i hope you enjoyed this one.
imagination have limits too. nobody has great creativity like our creator himself. our stories are based of his creations, not ours. most films and books are inspired by what God made happen, not us measly humans. [i hope i dont seem bullshit with these sudden God references.]
forgive me if my posts have been boring lately. just testing out different topics to see what draws in more audience. i'm really doing my best to get my writing appreciated okay!
thank you for reading.
Wednesday, August 21, 2013
I now know where i stand.
i'm always lonely.
i don't have friends to lunch with in poly; my secondary school friends are always on the other side of Singapore; i don't have siblings to laugh with anymore; i don't have a mother to go shopping with.
if you realise, the things i used to do with them everyday can now only be done with you. because; how many times have i emphasised; i only have you.
i also stopped writing in my diary because i always talked to you instead.
when i'm angry, or upset, at the slightest things, the only place i want to be is with you. you know, you may be irritating as fuck sometimes but the bottom line was that you never failed to make me happy again.
whenever i had problems, be it in school or in my head, the first person i'd run to was you. if the problem was about you, i'd either keep it to myself, or, yes, talk to you about it. because you're my only solace. when i'm having a bad day, i'd want to meet you, because i know it was the only way to make me feel better.
on the other hand... when you have something on your mind, you'd rather not tell me. you'd be angry, or moody, or upset all of a sudden, and you will never tell me why. maybe you see me differently than how i see you. maybe you don't find me to be a source of comfort like how i see you. this hurts me deeply.
i wish i can be there for you like how you were always for me. i don't know what's the problem with you today, and i was a second away from being angry at your silence, but i've been biting my lip, holding my thumb back from my phone keypad.
you once told me, that when you lose interest in someone, the first thing you'd ask from them is space. this is what you've just asked from me. you've no idea how afraid i am to lose you, because really. i only have you.
i still wish you'd tell me what's the problem today. you taught me to put myself in other people's shoes; here i am, obeying your statement, trying my best not to piss you off any further. and, if i were in your shoes, i'd want to run to me, and tell me what's wrong.
and what about you as well? put yourself in my shoes? i'm lonely. i wish you'd talk to me. if you were in my shoes, wouldnt you want to be there for you and listen to you? that's what you once said; that you're my boyfriend, and you deserve to know when there's something wrong.
i don't know where i stand with you sometimes. you have so many friends, so many people whom you call 'best friends'. of course you wouldnt talk to me. but i still wish you would.
give you all the space you need then. now i know where i fucking stand.
trying so hard not to cry right now. how i feel the strong urge to just leave you today. but we all know that at the end of every other day, i'd always run back to you no matter what. but please stop taking my loneliness for granted.
i don't have friends to lunch with in poly; my secondary school friends are always on the other side of Singapore; i don't have siblings to laugh with anymore; i don't have a mother to go shopping with.
if you realise, the things i used to do with them everyday can now only be done with you. because; how many times have i emphasised; i only have you.
i also stopped writing in my diary because i always talked to you instead.
when i'm angry, or upset, at the slightest things, the only place i want to be is with you. you know, you may be irritating as fuck sometimes but the bottom line was that you never failed to make me happy again.
whenever i had problems, be it in school or in my head, the first person i'd run to was you. if the problem was about you, i'd either keep it to myself, or, yes, talk to you about it. because you're my only solace. when i'm having a bad day, i'd want to meet you, because i know it was the only way to make me feel better.
on the other hand... when you have something on your mind, you'd rather not tell me. you'd be angry, or moody, or upset all of a sudden, and you will never tell me why. maybe you see me differently than how i see you. maybe you don't find me to be a source of comfort like how i see you. this hurts me deeply.
i wish i can be there for you like how you were always for me. i don't know what's the problem with you today, and i was a second away from being angry at your silence, but i've been biting my lip, holding my thumb back from my phone keypad.
you once told me, that when you lose interest in someone, the first thing you'd ask from them is space. this is what you've just asked from me. you've no idea how afraid i am to lose you, because really. i only have you.
i still wish you'd tell me what's the problem today. you taught me to put myself in other people's shoes; here i am, obeying your statement, trying my best not to piss you off any further. and, if i were in your shoes, i'd want to run to me, and tell me what's wrong.
and what about you as well? put yourself in my shoes? i'm lonely. i wish you'd talk to me. if you were in my shoes, wouldnt you want to be there for you and listen to you? that's what you once said; that you're my boyfriend, and you deserve to know when there's something wrong.
i don't know where i stand with you sometimes. you have so many friends, so many people whom you call 'best friends'. of course you wouldnt talk to me. but i still wish you would.
give you all the space you need then. now i know where i fucking stand.
trying so hard not to cry right now. how i feel the strong urge to just leave you today. but we all know that at the end of every other day, i'd always run back to you no matter what. but please stop taking my loneliness for granted.
Tuesday, August 20, 2013
The Conjuring and the Warren demontologists.
the first time i saw its movie poster was early this month. soon after, everyone on my timeline was talking about it; saying how much they really wanted to watch this new horror film. when they heard it was based on a true story, it just sparked their interest further, firing up their desire to catch this movie.
this is The Conjuring. and today, people are still talking about it, posting pictures of the Annabelle Doll, movie stills, scaring each other about scenes from the movie.
i've read about the Annabelle Doll in the early month of Ramadan this year, on my trustworthy Facebook friend, a page telling tales of the bizarre, hauntings, and strange objects. among these stories was the one of the Annabelle Doll. this is what i understood of it.
a student nurse named Donna had been given a raggedy Ann doll for her birthday. back in those days, Ann/Andy dolls were of the rage and every girl wanted them. she was thrilled for this gift. she and her roommate Angie treated it like a friend.
the doll soon began developing a life of its own. it started off changing positions; it would be left laid down, only to be sitting when Donna came into the room again. eventually it began moving around on its own, and was always found in a room different from where it had been left.
the most chilling sight was when they returned to see that the doll was sitting on a chair, upright. it was impossible. the doll's legs were too flexible to support its own weight.
Donna seeked help from a priest. apparently a young girl named Annabelle had been murdered, lifeless body found when she was seven, on a field where the house now stood. its spirit had taken a liking for the Ann doll and therefore took residence in it. upon knowledge, Donna and Angie gave permission for the spirit to stay in the doll as long as it stopped doing creepy things.
everyone seemed happy at the arrangement. except for Lou, the friend that had been staying with Donna and Angie. he claimed that the doll had tried to strangle him when he was sleeping at night. notes in childish scribbles were found; "help", "help Lou", and claw-marks formed on Lou's back.
again, they called for help. they were told that spirits do not possess objects. they'd rather take on human form. Annabelle was just taking temporary residence in the Ann doll before it attempts to possess its human target; Lou.
the demonologists featured in The Conjuring; Ed and Lorraine Warren, were also called in to investigate. they had taken the Ann doll, where it remains imprisoned in a glass case. "Positively Do Not Open", a note on its window says.
and no... this doll has nothing to do with the family of five daughters from the movie. the only thing these cases have in common were demon possession and Ed and Lorraine Warren.
so the question: is The Conjuring really based on a true story?
one of the Perron sisters; Andrea, had written, quote: "On behalf of my entire family, thank you for the fine and balanced reporting in this article. For the purpose of clarification, “The Conjuring” IS based on a “true story”…our story. However, the film is not based on my trilogy “House of Darkness House of Light”. It is, instead, based upon the case files of Ed & Lorraine Warren. They conducted an investigation of our home between 1973-74 and the movie tells our story from their perspective."
i can't say for sure because i never really watched the movie [was closing my eyes the whole time], but the film version did exaggerate here and there, beginning with the Annabelle doll. who knows if the whole story was of exaggeration too? isnt that what filmmakers are supposed to do, in order to draw an audience?
and the film is based upon the case files of investigators Ed and Lorraine Warren. they are famous names in the horror world, stated to have investigated over 10,000 cases, the most mentioned being the Amityville hoax.
this story took place in another house, 112 Ocean Avenue, with the Lutz family. a family of seven, the DeFeo family, resided there about a year before they did. the eldest son, 24 at the time, had murdered his parents and his four younger siblings, aged 9, 12, 13, and 18.
he claimed to have not been aware as he was murdering his family. he casually went to work, and when he returned home to see his family drowned in blood in their beds, he called the police telling them frantically of his discovery.
it was said that he had been possessed by demons, and that he was truly innocent of these murders.
came the Lutz family. they had their share of unworldly encounters. George Lutz would wake up at 3:15 in the mornings; the estimated time that the DeFeo murders had taken place. Kathy Lutz had dreams where she found out the order of the killings and the rooms in which they occurred. the Lutz children began sleeping on their stomachs; that was how the bodies of the DeFeos were found.
there was a book written about this; The Amityville Horror. however, its author soon admitted the whole story to be a work of fiction created together with the Lutz family and a priest. the priest too admitted it to be fake. because the Warrens had done their part of investigation, they were highly associated with the hoax.
so it can't be wrong for people to think that the Conjuring is not based on a true story, because the Warrens were involved. there was also no link in the Annabelle doll and the Perrons' house haunting.
i did some research on the witch Bathsheba, featured in the horror film as well. from what i understood, her being a witch may or may not be true. an infant had died in her care, with its skull being punctured by a sewing needle. it was said that she sacrificed her child to the demon.
later on Carolyn Perron was lying on her couch when she suddenly felt a pain in her calf; it started to drip blood where the pain was felt. there were no bees that could have hurt her, and the wound looked like it had been punctured by a sewing needle. Lorraine Warren believed that the witch had taken her murder tool with her when she died.
they said that the witch had sacrificed all her children to the devil, but this was not entirely true. she had a son whom she watched becoming a farmer, a husband, and a father. her witchcraft was also known to be just folklore.
for the special 'power' that Lorraine had possessed as seen in the movie, it is true. she started seeing bright lights around other people when she was 12; she had told a nun about it, and was punished instead of being helped. her daughter Judy has also inherited this gift.
the Warrens never charged money for their services. this fact confuses me. they wouldnt take all the trouble to hold exorcisms and investigations if the hauntings are just hoaxes. on the other hand, they were probably just doing this in kindness; they just wanted to help the families that were being haunted, out of sincerity.
so how true is the story which The Conjuring is based on? and how reliable are the demontologists Ed and Lorraine Warren?
it is a Tuesday afternoon and here i sit at Jurong East library. first day of vacation, and this is how i spend it; by pretending to be a journalist. i havent even had breakfast, or lunch for that matter.
there are a dozen other articles on the net, regarding the stories behind The Conjuring. a million times better than what i just wrote. you can always do some research on your own. the above is just what i understood of it.
even as my cursor lingers above the 'publish' button, i still feel displeased at this blog post of mine. it doesnt feel satisfying. but nevermind. i'm just an amateur journalist [a wannabe, even], putting my heart and soul into my research, although i don't get satisfying results from it...
you can never watch a movie "based on a true story" without researching every single detail about this story. nope. definitely not me. and thus, i present to you this post of mine. i hope you enjoyed it, thank you for reading.
this is The Conjuring. and today, people are still talking about it, posting pictures of the Annabelle Doll, movie stills, scaring each other about scenes from the movie.
i've read about the Annabelle Doll in the early month of Ramadan this year, on my trustworthy Facebook friend, a page telling tales of the bizarre, hauntings, and strange objects. among these stories was the one of the Annabelle Doll. this is what i understood of it.
a student nurse named Donna had been given a raggedy Ann doll for her birthday. back in those days, Ann/Andy dolls were of the rage and every girl wanted them. she was thrilled for this gift. she and her roommate Angie treated it like a friend.
the doll soon began developing a life of its own. it started off changing positions; it would be left laid down, only to be sitting when Donna came into the room again. eventually it began moving around on its own, and was always found in a room different from where it had been left.
the most chilling sight was when they returned to see that the doll was sitting on a chair, upright. it was impossible. the doll's legs were too flexible to support its own weight.
Donna seeked help from a priest. apparently a young girl named Annabelle had been murdered, lifeless body found when she was seven, on a field where the house now stood. its spirit had taken a liking for the Ann doll and therefore took residence in it. upon knowledge, Donna and Angie gave permission for the spirit to stay in the doll as long as it stopped doing creepy things.
everyone seemed happy at the arrangement. except for Lou, the friend that had been staying with Donna and Angie. he claimed that the doll had tried to strangle him when he was sleeping at night. notes in childish scribbles were found; "help", "help Lou", and claw-marks formed on Lou's back.
again, they called for help. they were told that spirits do not possess objects. they'd rather take on human form. Annabelle was just taking temporary residence in the Ann doll before it attempts to possess its human target; Lou.
the demonologists featured in The Conjuring; Ed and Lorraine Warren, were also called in to investigate. they had taken the Ann doll, where it remains imprisoned in a glass case. "Positively Do Not Open", a note on its window says.
and no... this doll has nothing to do with the family of five daughters from the movie. the only thing these cases have in common were demon possession and Ed and Lorraine Warren.
so the question: is The Conjuring really based on a true story?
one of the Perron sisters; Andrea, had written, quote: "On behalf of my entire family, thank you for the fine and balanced reporting in this article. For the purpose of clarification, “The Conjuring” IS based on a “true story”…our story. However, the film is not based on my trilogy “House of Darkness House of Light”. It is, instead, based upon the case files of Ed & Lorraine Warren. They conducted an investigation of our home between 1973-74 and the movie tells our story from their perspective."
i can't say for sure because i never really watched the movie [was closing my eyes the whole time], but the film version did exaggerate here and there, beginning with the Annabelle doll. who knows if the whole story was of exaggeration too? isnt that what filmmakers are supposed to do, in order to draw an audience?
and the film is based upon the case files of investigators Ed and Lorraine Warren. they are famous names in the horror world, stated to have investigated over 10,000 cases, the most mentioned being the Amityville hoax.
this story took place in another house, 112 Ocean Avenue, with the Lutz family. a family of seven, the DeFeo family, resided there about a year before they did. the eldest son, 24 at the time, had murdered his parents and his four younger siblings, aged 9, 12, 13, and 18.
he claimed to have not been aware as he was murdering his family. he casually went to work, and when he returned home to see his family drowned in blood in their beds, he called the police telling them frantically of his discovery.
it was said that he had been possessed by demons, and that he was truly innocent of these murders.
came the Lutz family. they had their share of unworldly encounters. George Lutz would wake up at 3:15 in the mornings; the estimated time that the DeFeo murders had taken place. Kathy Lutz had dreams where she found out the order of the killings and the rooms in which they occurred. the Lutz children began sleeping on their stomachs; that was how the bodies of the DeFeos were found.
there was a book written about this; The Amityville Horror. however, its author soon admitted the whole story to be a work of fiction created together with the Lutz family and a priest. the priest too admitted it to be fake. because the Warrens had done their part of investigation, they were highly associated with the hoax.
so it can't be wrong for people to think that the Conjuring is not based on a true story, because the Warrens were involved. there was also no link in the Annabelle doll and the Perrons' house haunting.
i did some research on the witch Bathsheba, featured in the horror film as well. from what i understood, her being a witch may or may not be true. an infant had died in her care, with its skull being punctured by a sewing needle. it was said that she sacrificed her child to the demon.
later on Carolyn Perron was lying on her couch when she suddenly felt a pain in her calf; it started to drip blood where the pain was felt. there were no bees that could have hurt her, and the wound looked like it had been punctured by a sewing needle. Lorraine Warren believed that the witch had taken her murder tool with her when she died.
they said that the witch had sacrificed all her children to the devil, but this was not entirely true. she had a son whom she watched becoming a farmer, a husband, and a father. her witchcraft was also known to be just folklore.
for the special 'power' that Lorraine had possessed as seen in the movie, it is true. she started seeing bright lights around other people when she was 12; she had told a nun about it, and was punished instead of being helped. her daughter Judy has also inherited this gift.
the Warrens never charged money for their services. this fact confuses me. they wouldnt take all the trouble to hold exorcisms and investigations if the hauntings are just hoaxes. on the other hand, they were probably just doing this in kindness; they just wanted to help the families that were being haunted, out of sincerity.
so how true is the story which The Conjuring is based on? and how reliable are the demontologists Ed and Lorraine Warren?
it is a Tuesday afternoon and here i sit at Jurong East library. first day of vacation, and this is how i spend it; by pretending to be a journalist. i havent even had breakfast, or lunch for that matter.
there are a dozen other articles on the net, regarding the stories behind The Conjuring. a million times better than what i just wrote. you can always do some research on your own. the above is just what i understood of it.
even as my cursor lingers above the 'publish' button, i still feel displeased at this blog post of mine. it doesnt feel satisfying. but nevermind. i'm just an amateur journalist [a wannabe, even], putting my heart and soul into my research, although i don't get satisfying results from it...
you can never watch a movie "based on a true story" without researching every single detail about this story. nope. definitely not me. and thus, i present to you this post of mine. i hope you enjoyed it, thank you for reading.
Monday, August 19, 2013
Unknowingly disappointing someone.
you know, back in secondary school my teachers were always doing their best for us, in order to motivate and make sure we understood what is going on. if we were to sleep, they'd wake us up, and also call us to stay back after class for extra lessons.
they kept telling us to be grateful. they told us, that in poly life, none of the teachers were gonna do that. none of the teachers would give a shit if we slept in class, if we could focus or not, if we understood or not. i graduated from secondary school and moved on to Ngee Ann Poly believing this.
but who would've thought; what they had told us was wrong. my lecturers weren't as mean as i thought. they weren't just nice; my EG1 teacher bothered to single me out because i was lagging behind. some of you may find it annoying, but at least they noticed that you need extra guidance.
my EMPTS teacher also bothered to come over to my table and ask me to try again, when he saw that i had given up and had laid slumped in front of the oscilloscope. he'd come over again and again to explain to me how to work that damn machine, but i still shamelessly didnt try again.
in the end, i handed in empty worksheets for that lesson, and stopped turning up completely for this module. a classmate just recently returned me my worksheets, which i had just chucked into my backpack without any second glances.
just a few days ago, i was looking through the mess of my notes, when i bumped into these worksheets again. what i had left blank all those weeks ago, had been filled in with red ink.
my EMPTS teacher had completed the worksheet for me. it may be a small gesture, but it really means a lot. he had bothered to fill in what i had left blank, perhaps in the hopes that i'd come back and try again. it hurts me in a way you can't imagine; to have disappointed someone and only realising it. you gave them the impression that you didnt care about their efforts.
and then there's my EngMec teacher. right from the start, he has always been trying to help me. i never paid attention to the base chapter. he had taken the effort to look for me in the middle of a lesson [not his] and requested that i come look for him for extra guidance because he realised i wasnt doing well.
i was reluctant; i was still in my daydream mood and didnt feel like it. but i went, and thanks to that, i got the base of this module. the rest of the topics came easy, though i still went for consultations here and there.
the thing about him was, he bothered to go the extra mile. he called a bunch of us over to sit with him and revise through the questions again and again til we got it. he held consultations for us to come and busy him with queries, and he was more than happy to help us; always had that smile on his face.
he asked if there were any problems when he saw me sleeping in class. i told him i had to work; just that simple truth, and he was always talking to me, asking me how things were going between work and studies.
one day i told him that i had to work because of the issue with my parents. he took the initiative to call the school counsellor to talk to me. and when the class was noisy as fuck [as per normal] during one of his lectures, he had stopped teaching just to talk some sense into everyone.
"if you don't want to listen, at least learn to keep silent. all of you are fortunate to have your parents paying your school fees. but there are some of your schoolmates who have to work to pay for themselves. they know how difficult this is, and they are really trying to listen in class; the least you could do is respect these people."
on the last day of tutorial, he actually brought a camera to class and told us to take a class photo together.
today, i sat for my EngMec exam. and i'm sorry to say but i've disappointed this teacher once again.
just imagine your teacher, sitting down, staring into space and thinking of you as you sit for your exam. what would he be doing as you handed in a blank answer paper and left the exam hall an hour before the exam ends?
he's probably thinking of you, thinking of all the time he had helped you, held consultation sessions so you could come and ask him questions. so he could help you, because he wanted the best for you. he'd be thinking of his faith in you, believing that you can do your best.
while you, in the exam hall, stare at the questions, decide that you cant do them, write your seat number and student id number, and raise your hand without a single thought. and you leave the hall, looking forward to your vacation, without realising that you have disappointed someone.
tell me how that doesnt hurt you? look me in the eye and tell me you don't give a shit?
unknowingly disappointing someone; letting someone down without even realising it. that's just one of the shittiest feelings in the world.
they kept telling us to be grateful. they told us, that in poly life, none of the teachers were gonna do that. none of the teachers would give a shit if we slept in class, if we could focus or not, if we understood or not. i graduated from secondary school and moved on to Ngee Ann Poly believing this.
but who would've thought; what they had told us was wrong. my lecturers weren't as mean as i thought. they weren't just nice; my EG1 teacher bothered to single me out because i was lagging behind. some of you may find it annoying, but at least they noticed that you need extra guidance.
my EMPTS teacher also bothered to come over to my table and ask me to try again, when he saw that i had given up and had laid slumped in front of the oscilloscope. he'd come over again and again to explain to me how to work that damn machine, but i still shamelessly didnt try again.
in the end, i handed in empty worksheets for that lesson, and stopped turning up completely for this module. a classmate just recently returned me my worksheets, which i had just chucked into my backpack without any second glances.
just a few days ago, i was looking through the mess of my notes, when i bumped into these worksheets again. what i had left blank all those weeks ago, had been filled in with red ink.
my EMPTS teacher had completed the worksheet for me. it may be a small gesture, but it really means a lot. he had bothered to fill in what i had left blank, perhaps in the hopes that i'd come back and try again. it hurts me in a way you can't imagine; to have disappointed someone and only realising it. you gave them the impression that you didnt care about their efforts.
and then there's my EngMec teacher. right from the start, he has always been trying to help me. i never paid attention to the base chapter. he had taken the effort to look for me in the middle of a lesson [not his] and requested that i come look for him for extra guidance because he realised i wasnt doing well.
i was reluctant; i was still in my daydream mood and didnt feel like it. but i went, and thanks to that, i got the base of this module. the rest of the topics came easy, though i still went for consultations here and there.
the thing about him was, he bothered to go the extra mile. he called a bunch of us over to sit with him and revise through the questions again and again til we got it. he held consultations for us to come and busy him with queries, and he was more than happy to help us; always had that smile on his face.
he asked if there were any problems when he saw me sleeping in class. i told him i had to work; just that simple truth, and he was always talking to me, asking me how things were going between work and studies.
one day i told him that i had to work because of the issue with my parents. he took the initiative to call the school counsellor to talk to me. and when the class was noisy as fuck [as per normal] during one of his lectures, he had stopped teaching just to talk some sense into everyone.
"if you don't want to listen, at least learn to keep silent. all of you are fortunate to have your parents paying your school fees. but there are some of your schoolmates who have to work to pay for themselves. they know how difficult this is, and they are really trying to listen in class; the least you could do is respect these people."
on the last day of tutorial, he actually brought a camera to class and told us to take a class photo together.
today, i sat for my EngMec exam. and i'm sorry to say but i've disappointed this teacher once again.
just imagine your teacher, sitting down, staring into space and thinking of you as you sit for your exam. what would he be doing as you handed in a blank answer paper and left the exam hall an hour before the exam ends?
he's probably thinking of you, thinking of all the time he had helped you, held consultation sessions so you could come and ask him questions. so he could help you, because he wanted the best for you. he'd be thinking of his faith in you, believing that you can do your best.
while you, in the exam hall, stare at the questions, decide that you cant do them, write your seat number and student id number, and raise your hand without a single thought. and you leave the hall, looking forward to your vacation, without realising that you have disappointed someone.
tell me how that doesnt hurt you? look me in the eye and tell me you don't give a shit?
unknowingly disappointing someone; letting someone down without even realising it. that's just one of the shittiest feelings in the world.
Sunday, August 18, 2013
Bloggers are people who WRITE.
i've always wondered why some people are called "bloggers". sometimes it feels like these people are not worthy of the title. i for one, grew up believing that bloggers are people who write and share stories. because that's what i've always been doing with mine, as well as some other people i know.
but it seems different now. people are being called "bloggers" not for their writing anymore. the people who fall into this privileged category are teenaged girls who use their blogs to post selfies, outfits, and are sponsored by blogshops.
these girls are being recognised for their looks, not for their writing. the compliments they are getting are just focusing on their looks. "she's gorgeous", "she's so pretty", "so beautiful", blablabla. have they been praised "wow, her writing is good."?
[i'm not really talking about anyone in particular, i'm just saying in general.]
many other girls are also getting recognition for their selfies and ootds on Instagram, 'relatable' tweets [that are in horrible English most of the time].
alright, i understand that i dont have the looks and i dont have good tweets or an updated fashion sense, but sometimes i do wish i'd get more recognition for my writing. and not just me, but also those other people who actually sit down and spend their time writing, putting their heart into their blog posts.
i have two good friends from my secondary school, these two beautiful ladies who write in their blogs as well. both of them are artistic as well as loyal bloggers. their entries are real; they write about the dreams they had at night, the bad days they went through, and one of them travels a lot and writes about this too.
i also have a Twitter follower, and although we've never met, she's been a wonderful support, and she blogs too. she writes about her sadness, the pain she's watching others suffer, things about this world which she would never understand.
all of these people are wonderful bloggers, right here in the tiny island of Singapore. why do they not gain respect and recognition for that too? why give more and more spotlight to those who already have hundreds of likes for their instagram selfies?
why do blogs that already have sponsors still get the limelight? what about the poorer bloggers like me? i can't afford to be a regular customer at posh blogshops, so i cant be sponsored by them [if that's the way it works], so where the hell do i stand? that's right, just my writing alone.
if you noticed, i've completely stopped posting pictures on my blog posts. i also seldom wrote names in my blog posts, because i wouldnt mind being anonymous. because writing is all i want to be known for. not my face; my words.
i've talked about this so many times, but still, nobody ever notices me. it's like how Adele is known for her voice, not her body, because her talent is her songs.
and i thought that's what Blogger is for. that's what these online journals are for. they're for us to write. they're not a model agency for little girls to advertise their outfits and their sponsors and shit like that.
it's for the people who are in pain, to release their sadness. it's for the days we spent, laughing with our friends and family, for the reminiscing of all things lost, and at the same time the embracing of new memories to come. that's what blogging is for.
if all those fashionista "Bloggers" [really, some don't even deserve such a meaningful name] want to keep blogging, i suggest you keep it strictly to words, and pictures which are related to those words. because that's what freaking Blogger was used for since my early blogging days.
i don't care if times have changed. some people still suffer from their misery at home, or at school, or in their heads. they need the support more than the fashionistas do.
it's unfair to all of us who really use our time to sit down and write. this is what i do everyday. maybe it's society's fault, for choosing to give attention to the pretty ones. why? i want it to stop. i really want to be someone, known just for my words, complimented for my blog posts, and not for my face. i don't give a damn if people say i'm ugly, as long as you sit down, read what i write, and if you enjoy it, say that you enjoy it.
[with all this said and done, i do have a fair share of selfies, but at least i keep these strictly to Instagram and not my dearest blog. this treasure of mine labelled 109blackaxes.blogspot.com is only meant for the precious gold and pearls that come in the form of my words.]
thank you for reading.
but it seems different now. people are being called "bloggers" not for their writing anymore. the people who fall into this privileged category are teenaged girls who use their blogs to post selfies, outfits, and are sponsored by blogshops.
these girls are being recognised for their looks, not for their writing. the compliments they are getting are just focusing on their looks. "she's gorgeous", "she's so pretty", "so beautiful", blablabla. have they been praised "wow, her writing is good."?
[i'm not really talking about anyone in particular, i'm just saying in general.]
many other girls are also getting recognition for their selfies and ootds on Instagram, 'relatable' tweets [that are in horrible English most of the time].
alright, i understand that i dont have the looks and i dont have good tweets or an updated fashion sense, but sometimes i do wish i'd get more recognition for my writing. and not just me, but also those other people who actually sit down and spend their time writing, putting their heart into their blog posts.
i have two good friends from my secondary school, these two beautiful ladies who write in their blogs as well. both of them are artistic as well as loyal bloggers. their entries are real; they write about the dreams they had at night, the bad days they went through, and one of them travels a lot and writes about this too.
i also have a Twitter follower, and although we've never met, she's been a wonderful support, and she blogs too. she writes about her sadness, the pain she's watching others suffer, things about this world which she would never understand.
all of these people are wonderful bloggers, right here in the tiny island of Singapore. why do they not gain respect and recognition for that too? why give more and more spotlight to those who already have hundreds of likes for their instagram selfies?
why do blogs that already have sponsors still get the limelight? what about the poorer bloggers like me? i can't afford to be a regular customer at posh blogshops, so i cant be sponsored by them [if that's the way it works], so where the hell do i stand? that's right, just my writing alone.
if you noticed, i've completely stopped posting pictures on my blog posts. i also seldom wrote names in my blog posts, because i wouldnt mind being anonymous. because writing is all i want to be known for. not my face; my words.
i've talked about this so many times, but still, nobody ever notices me. it's like how Adele is known for her voice, not her body, because her talent is her songs.
and i thought that's what Blogger is for. that's what these online journals are for. they're for us to write. they're not a model agency for little girls to advertise their outfits and their sponsors and shit like that.
it's for the people who are in pain, to release their sadness. it's for the days we spent, laughing with our friends and family, for the reminiscing of all things lost, and at the same time the embracing of new memories to come. that's what blogging is for.
if all those fashionista "Bloggers" [really, some don't even deserve such a meaningful name] want to keep blogging, i suggest you keep it strictly to words, and pictures which are related to those words. because that's what freaking Blogger was used for since my early blogging days.
i don't care if times have changed. some people still suffer from their misery at home, or at school, or in their heads. they need the support more than the fashionistas do.
it's unfair to all of us who really use our time to sit down and write. this is what i do everyday. maybe it's society's fault, for choosing to give attention to the pretty ones. why? i want it to stop. i really want to be someone, known just for my words, complimented for my blog posts, and not for my face. i don't give a damn if people say i'm ugly, as long as you sit down, read what i write, and if you enjoy it, say that you enjoy it.
[with all this said and done, i do have a fair share of selfies, but at least i keep these strictly to Instagram and not my dearest blog. this treasure of mine labelled 109blackaxes.blogspot.com is only meant for the precious gold and pearls that come in the form of my words.]
thank you for reading.
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