Sunday, March 23, 2014
Three houses in three minutes
Finally got around to recording and editting videos!
I'm not sure if the quality is good as on the computer, but you can watch this on your phone as well and that's awesome! Compared to my previous videos in 2011.
I realised I had quite a lot of random recordings on my camera and phone, so I decided to make a montage with all of the footage. My initial idea was to make a "Two Weeks In Pasir Ris" video, but I didn't manage to record enough solely in Pasir Ris.
Since I was spending a lot of time to and fro, I thought, why not make a montage of all three houses? So there you go!
I may be making a lot of these videos in time to come, because why the fuck not? This channel needed its life back anyway, though I've privatised a lot of my 2011 videos because they were mostly embarrassing. Sure, good memories, but embarrassing nonetheless.
My wanting to make videos again has been on for a long time already, I just never managed to do it for real. Holidays+Boredom+Love for the roads was a good combination for me.
A little background story on this video:
Pasir Ris, the place of relaxing and lepak, thus all the simple shots of the house and things that help me overcome boredom. [and a trip to the airport]
Paya Lebar, where the cats are, and when I managed to explore the Mountbatten area with my brother, who was my guest at the time.
Johor Bahru, where the renovations are done and I was running around because the house looked so fabulous.
Friday, March 21, 2014
Fight, because flight is instant death
I'm not sure how to start this because I don't remember where it all began. I was with him, someone who held my hand for a year but decided to let me go in a matter of days. I'm pretty sure we all know his name now. I'll never forget it, because it stirs all kinds of emotions in me, from bliss to anger, and it brings joy and grudges.
The thing with my dreams is, they're really unpredictable. I don't understand the pattern in them; sometimes they're funny, sometimes they're bloody. Sometimes they make zero sense, sometimes they blow my mind about something I was once clueless about in the past. This time, my dreams decided to bring back something which I'd never thought of in such a long time.
It's only been about two months since he left. I've cried, I've screamed, I've walked in a daze on the roads, I've drank half my health away. The pain was over when I found my new love, the expressways of my country. The loneliness was gone when I reunited with my parents and met Heroine. It was all over.
I never thought of him anymore. Still, my mind decided to stir up a dream about him.
The difference about the 'him' in the dream was how willing he was to explore new corners with me. In reality, he never wanted to go further than bus interchanges that had buses to Johore.
We were somewhere on the purple line, though I'm not sure which station exactly. The initial plan was to catch a movie, and we had to walk through this institution to get to the cinema. Some kind of weird school.
...The 'he' in the dream was exactly as I remember him. He displayed exactly the qualities which had made me fall head over heels, made me stay, made me devastated to have to let him go. I'm just saying. Not that it bothers me.
I bumped into this huge middle-aged man, who I later learnt was the Headmaster of the school. He made all the people there sit in this long line, including 'him' and I. I saw one of the students' notebook, in which she had carved onto the cover for her friend next to her to read: "Fight or flight, in which is death".
The Headmaster saw us engrossed with the cover of this notebook, and he snatched it out of us. The girls in front of me held their breath, hoping he couldn't make out the words on the cover. He didn't, but he was not happy with us. Me, especially, for some reason.
When he walked away, the girls whispered to me about an uprising. About how they'd been locked in this school for many years, forced to be slaves and to study all day, everyday. About how they've been planning to fight back for their rights, for their stolen lives. About how the plan for this rebellion was to "Fight, because flight ensures death."
What bothered me most was how, apparently, 'he' and I were also part of this school already, made slaves for having trespassed the school property. That was what made me choose to fight; because flight was instant death. [I didn't know what way exactly, but it was what scared the students there]
That was what I did. I went against whatever the Headmaster said. I refused to do anything he asked. Another boy followed suit. Eventually the Headmaster realised our constant defying, and took us into this single room, just a box across the street of where everyone else was.
The Headmaster told us to surrender ourselves; and by that, he meant he wanted us as a sacrifice. He demanded we gave up our heads, literally. As he was talking away, the other boy made signals to me for us to try and run. It was a good idea, but I remembered the 'Fight or Flight' thing, about how running away leads to death.
In the end, the idiot boy made a run out the door. Because the Headmaster couldn't react in time, he decided to vent it on me. My hair was pulled, my face was slapped. He pulled me to the pillory, trying to secure my head and hands in the woodwork. All I could do was struggle to release his latch on me.
Eventually I managed to escape his grasp, and it was my turn to run out the door. I totally forgot about the whole "Fight, because if you run, you die" theme, and just as I was about to run back across the street to everyone else was, I realised something odd.
Everyone was dead. Even my prince, who was sprawled on the floor, a pool of blood forming out of his neck.
I ran to him first, and tried to awaken him, although he was obviously dead. I held him in my arms, but it wasn't long before I realised the monsters coming for me. They were these completely black and white monsters, thin strands on their heads being their only hair. They were human, but they were not. And humans definitely did not float around corpses the way these things did.
One got to me, and I let out a scream just as I was brought back to the scene in which I ran out the door. Yep, I was brought back in time. This time, I didn't stop to hold the 'he' in my arms. This time, I decided to run to the wall, scale it, and made a run for it. This time, I lived.
Honestly, the part that bothers me most, is not the cold, or the dark, or the bloody, but his presence. It may be just a dream, but it bothers me so bad I haven't stopped thinking of it since I woke up. I haven't stopped thinking of him, to be exact.
And I just realised I called him my prince again. Mm, not gonna change that.
The thing with my dreams is, they're really unpredictable. I don't understand the pattern in them; sometimes they're funny, sometimes they're bloody. Sometimes they make zero sense, sometimes they blow my mind about something I was once clueless about in the past. This time, my dreams decided to bring back something which I'd never thought of in such a long time.
It's only been about two months since he left. I've cried, I've screamed, I've walked in a daze on the roads, I've drank half my health away. The pain was over when I found my new love, the expressways of my country. The loneliness was gone when I reunited with my parents and met Heroine. It was all over.
I never thought of him anymore. Still, my mind decided to stir up a dream about him.
The difference about the 'him' in the dream was how willing he was to explore new corners with me. In reality, he never wanted to go further than bus interchanges that had buses to Johore.
We were somewhere on the purple line, though I'm not sure which station exactly. The initial plan was to catch a movie, and we had to walk through this institution to get to the cinema. Some kind of weird school.
...The 'he' in the dream was exactly as I remember him. He displayed exactly the qualities which had made me fall head over heels, made me stay, made me devastated to have to let him go. I'm just saying. Not that it bothers me.
I bumped into this huge middle-aged man, who I later learnt was the Headmaster of the school. He made all the people there sit in this long line, including 'him' and I. I saw one of the students' notebook, in which she had carved onto the cover for her friend next to her to read: "Fight or flight, in which is death".
The Headmaster saw us engrossed with the cover of this notebook, and he snatched it out of us. The girls in front of me held their breath, hoping he couldn't make out the words on the cover. He didn't, but he was not happy with us. Me, especially, for some reason.
When he walked away, the girls whispered to me about an uprising. About how they'd been locked in this school for many years, forced to be slaves and to study all day, everyday. About how they've been planning to fight back for their rights, for their stolen lives. About how the plan for this rebellion was to "Fight, because flight ensures death."
What bothered me most was how, apparently, 'he' and I were also part of this school already, made slaves for having trespassed the school property. That was what made me choose to fight; because flight was instant death. [I didn't know what way exactly, but it was what scared the students there]
That was what I did. I went against whatever the Headmaster said. I refused to do anything he asked. Another boy followed suit. Eventually the Headmaster realised our constant defying, and took us into this single room, just a box across the street of where everyone else was.
The Headmaster told us to surrender ourselves; and by that, he meant he wanted us as a sacrifice. He demanded we gave up our heads, literally. As he was talking away, the other boy made signals to me for us to try and run. It was a good idea, but I remembered the 'Fight or Flight' thing, about how running away leads to death.
In the end, the idiot boy made a run out the door. Because the Headmaster couldn't react in time, he decided to vent it on me. My hair was pulled, my face was slapped. He pulled me to the pillory, trying to secure my head and hands in the woodwork. All I could do was struggle to release his latch on me.
Eventually I managed to escape his grasp, and it was my turn to run out the door. I totally forgot about the whole "Fight, because if you run, you die" theme, and just as I was about to run back across the street to everyone else was, I realised something odd.
Everyone was dead. Even my prince, who was sprawled on the floor, a pool of blood forming out of his neck.
I ran to him first, and tried to awaken him, although he was obviously dead. I held him in my arms, but it wasn't long before I realised the monsters coming for me. They were these completely black and white monsters, thin strands on their heads being their only hair. They were human, but they were not. And humans definitely did not float around corpses the way these things did.
One got to me, and I let out a scream just as I was brought back to the scene in which I ran out the door. Yep, I was brought back in time. This time, I didn't stop to hold the 'he' in my arms. This time, I decided to run to the wall, scale it, and made a run for it. This time, I lived.
Honestly, the part that bothers me most, is not the cold, or the dark, or the bloody, but his presence. It may be just a dream, but it bothers me so bad I haven't stopped thinking of it since I woke up. I haven't stopped thinking of him, to be exact.
And I just realised I called him my prince again. Mm, not gonna change that.
Sunday, March 16, 2014
Chased, stripped, drugged
I was coming out of the shower when we got attacked. I don't remember who I was with, because they were all killed by the bullets that showered onto the house we were hiding in. I entered the scene of the chaos naked, just as the shooters, who were on tanks, disappeared around the corner.
I struggled into my clothes just as the remaining survivors struggled to get out the door. They demanded we get out of there, but that we all had to split ways. For some reason, their way of separating was by leaving just me to fend for myself. What could I say?
So all alone I was, not that it'd bothered me. I was wary, keeping alert of the shooters from before. The places I'd passed and streets I'd walked were deserted as hell.
I got to this shophouse full of flowers, and a woman who seemed to be the florist. Her shop was the only one lighted while the neighbouring shops were all closed, dark, and abandoned.
I was about to get comfortable when she told me 'the enemies were coming' and that I had to make a run for it. For some reason, she didn't seem scared; like those people with the guns were only after certain people, or maybe just me.
Whatever it was, I took her advice and went out the back door, through this garage, where unfortunately for me one of the bad guys was already waiting. I think I was drugged, because I don't remember much from this, or if I made any movement at all.
I was forcefully stripped naked, and had something sharp enter me through my skin everywhere. These were the only things I could remember. I cried, but I couldn't struggle because my movements were restricted by whatever drug I'd been given.
My assaulter disappeared soon after, but I was left bleeding on the floor of the florist. I struggled to get up and put on my clothes again, and walked out the door of the garage.
The chase wasn't over. People were still after me, and I kept running but I would always be stopped by someone from this weird gang, who would drug me and force something sharp through my skin, into my body. Every corner I turned, one of them was there, waiting to do the same to me.
It happened about five times, the pain shooting up my arms and down my legs. Such pain it was, I can't forget... Then my mind decided to wake up, three and a half hours after I'd fallen asleep.
If you're new to this blog of mine, just letting you know that I've always been having strange dreams. Bad dreams, to be exact, scary enough but too regular and normal to be labelled 'nightmares'. They're dark, violent, bloody, and constant.
I can figure out a meaning for this recent bad dream, but I figure it's too complex to state without explaining, and an elaboration for this would take far too long to be put in this together, so scratch it.
I struggled into my clothes just as the remaining survivors struggled to get out the door. They demanded we get out of there, but that we all had to split ways. For some reason, their way of separating was by leaving just me to fend for myself. What could I say?
So all alone I was, not that it'd bothered me. I was wary, keeping alert of the shooters from before. The places I'd passed and streets I'd walked were deserted as hell.
I got to this shophouse full of flowers, and a woman who seemed to be the florist. Her shop was the only one lighted while the neighbouring shops were all closed, dark, and abandoned.
I was about to get comfortable when she told me 'the enemies were coming' and that I had to make a run for it. For some reason, she didn't seem scared; like those people with the guns were only after certain people, or maybe just me.
Whatever it was, I took her advice and went out the back door, through this garage, where unfortunately for me one of the bad guys was already waiting. I think I was drugged, because I don't remember much from this, or if I made any movement at all.
I was forcefully stripped naked, and had something sharp enter me through my skin everywhere. These were the only things I could remember. I cried, but I couldn't struggle because my movements were restricted by whatever drug I'd been given.
My assaulter disappeared soon after, but I was left bleeding on the floor of the florist. I struggled to get up and put on my clothes again, and walked out the door of the garage.
The chase wasn't over. People were still after me, and I kept running but I would always be stopped by someone from this weird gang, who would drug me and force something sharp through my skin, into my body. Every corner I turned, one of them was there, waiting to do the same to me.
It happened about five times, the pain shooting up my arms and down my legs. Such pain it was, I can't forget... Then my mind decided to wake up, three and a half hours after I'd fallen asleep.
If you're new to this blog of mine, just letting you know that I've always been having strange dreams. Bad dreams, to be exact, scary enough but too regular and normal to be labelled 'nightmares'. They're dark, violent, bloody, and constant.
I can figure out a meaning for this recent bad dream, but I figure it's too complex to state without explaining, and an elaboration for this would take far too long to be put in this together, so scratch it.
Saturday, March 15, 2014
The airport and ghosts of the past
The first time I took an airplane was in 2009, to Kuching, Sarawak, a country full of history, enough for me to love it there. That's my first memory of flying, but I don't remember how I started loving aeroplanes in general.
I'd been reading my diaries from 2010, where I'd drawn lots of aeroplanes all over. I also have dozens of aeroplane paper clips, holding up old pictures in these notebooks, in a box in my drawer, just everywhere.
There was also this poem in one of Haruki Murakami's books, written in one of his short stories called "Aeroplane". I don't remember how exactly it went, but I know I was fascinated with that poem then, a poem which made zero sense to me.
There's also something about the airport, this vibe that makes me stay, even without doing anything. Like a home. 2012 was when I frequently went there, sitting at Dunkin Donuts, just writing away. Occasionally I'd head to the viewing plaza, but then I wouldn't write much because I'd be staring at planes instead.
The airport was also where I'd first met the one who used to mean the world to me. Where the 'love at first sight' magic had happened between the both of us. It was also where, 8 months later, I'd fetched him from his arrival from Bali, when he said he'd realised that we couldn't live long without each other. (that was what he said, I'd explain but psshhh.)
When we broke up, the airport became a place I tried to avoid. I just kept thinking that the memories would be too overwhelming, that I'd be too weak to handle it.
Just like with the North, I was wrong.
I paid a visit to the airport today, after a long time. I walked where I'd walked with him, but it really didn't scare me. It didn't bother me anymore; sure, the ghosts of the past walked alongside me but I just minded my own business and smiled at them. Don't cry because it's over; smile because it happened.
Now that another fear is down, I hope I can get back in good terms with the airport again. It's peaceful, you see all kinds of different people, doing different things, and you can just walk along anywhere in the airport, just being yourself, without looking out of place.
On a side note, I may love the airport, and aeroplanes, and exploring and travelling around Singapore, but I don't find myself wanting to travel the world. The interest is just not there. I feel contented enough with Singapore's roads. Yes, pretty sure that makes me weird.
And I apologise if this post is out of place, considering the recent chaos with the missing plane. It's just not my style to write about current affairs, something that everyone is talking about. I'll try one day though, okay???
Slowly letting go of 2013, slowly working hard to gain recognition for my writing.
I'd been reading my diaries from 2010, where I'd drawn lots of aeroplanes all over. I also have dozens of aeroplane paper clips, holding up old pictures in these notebooks, in a box in my drawer, just everywhere.
There was also this poem in one of Haruki Murakami's books, written in one of his short stories called "Aeroplane". I don't remember how exactly it went, but I know I was fascinated with that poem then, a poem which made zero sense to me.
There's also something about the airport, this vibe that makes me stay, even without doing anything. Like a home. 2012 was when I frequently went there, sitting at Dunkin Donuts, just writing away. Occasionally I'd head to the viewing plaza, but then I wouldn't write much because I'd be staring at planes instead.
The airport was also where I'd first met the one who used to mean the world to me. Where the 'love at first sight' magic had happened between the both of us. It was also where, 8 months later, I'd fetched him from his arrival from Bali, when he said he'd realised that we couldn't live long without each other. (that was what he said, I'd explain but psshhh.)
When we broke up, the airport became a place I tried to avoid. I just kept thinking that the memories would be too overwhelming, that I'd be too weak to handle it.
Just like with the North, I was wrong.
I paid a visit to the airport today, after a long time. I walked where I'd walked with him, but it really didn't scare me. It didn't bother me anymore; sure, the ghosts of the past walked alongside me but I just minded my own business and smiled at them. Don't cry because it's over; smile because it happened.
Now that another fear is down, I hope I can get back in good terms with the airport again. It's peaceful, you see all kinds of different people, doing different things, and you can just walk along anywhere in the airport, just being yourself, without looking out of place.
On a side note, I may love the airport, and aeroplanes, and exploring and travelling around Singapore, but I don't find myself wanting to travel the world. The interest is just not there. I feel contented enough with Singapore's roads. Yes, pretty sure that makes me weird.
And I apologise if this post is out of place, considering the recent chaos with the missing plane. It's just not my style to write about current affairs, something that everyone is talking about. I'll try one day though, okay???
Slowly letting go of 2013, slowly working hard to gain recognition for my writing.
Thursday, March 13, 2014
The bright side of darkness
You know how everyone tells you to 'look on the bright side' every time something shitty happens to you? Yeh, it gets annoying because you think there is no such thing, but over time I realise that there is.
About one and a half months ago, my good friend from my Comiss class said to me: "You'll have everything when you have nothing." Thinking back, it made a lot of sense.
You see, the darkness is where there are the most possibilities. Turn off your bedroom lights, keep it quiet for a while, and in no time your imagination starts getting wild. You think of ghosts. You think of serial killers. Stuff like that, lurking in the darkness.
Likewise, when you are stripped of everything, that's when you will gain the most. You have the highest possibility of flying when you are at the bottom of your life. Anything can happen now that you are nothing. Simpler put, it's a rebirth.
If I hadn't been kicked out by my parents last two years, I wouldn't have discovered the amazing thing about MRT lines and roads, and expressways.
If I hadn't been dumped last two months, I wouldn't have returned to my parents, and I wouldn't have tried to socialise in these Whatsapp groups.
The next time I fall again, I shouldn't be so bummed out about it. I should take it as a chance to try new things. Being away from my parents opened my eyes to the roads of Singapore. Being away from boyfriends gave me freedom to meet all kinds of amazing new people.
Being in a shitty life is what brought me to see the beauty of being me.
Being in the darkness is what showed me the bright lights.
About one and a half months ago, my good friend from my Comiss class said to me: "You'll have everything when you have nothing." Thinking back, it made a lot of sense.
You see, the darkness is where there are the most possibilities. Turn off your bedroom lights, keep it quiet for a while, and in no time your imagination starts getting wild. You think of ghosts. You think of serial killers. Stuff like that, lurking in the darkness.
Likewise, when you are stripped of everything, that's when you will gain the most. You have the highest possibility of flying when you are at the bottom of your life. Anything can happen now that you are nothing. Simpler put, it's a rebirth.
If I hadn't been kicked out by my parents last two years, I wouldn't have discovered the amazing thing about MRT lines and roads, and expressways.
If I hadn't been dumped last two months, I wouldn't have returned to my parents, and I wouldn't have tried to socialise in these Whatsapp groups.
The next time I fall again, I shouldn't be so bummed out about it. I should take it as a chance to try new things. Being away from my parents opened my eyes to the roads of Singapore. Being away from boyfriends gave me freedom to meet all kinds of amazing new people.
Being in a shitty life is what brought me to see the beauty of being me.
Being in the darkness is what showed me the bright lights.
Wednesday, March 12, 2014
Breaking free / 2000th post!
I told myself Thursday would be the last time I'd ever meet him. But after all that talk about standing up for what you really want, I couldn't just leave him alone. Because like I'd said, honesty is important, and I couldn't deny that I really like him. I couldn't avoid him.
I used to love the North, especially Woodlands, but I'd had to avoid it ever since my recent break-up, only because of the haunting memories. The last time I'd gone there, I was being a drunk fucktard who was texting and calling up everyone I'd wanted attention from.
First thing that helped me out of this 'fear' was bus 168, which I'd taken from Tampines' retail park. The best part of this bus journey is basically, well, start to finish.
Pretty sure you know how much I love the expressways of Singapore; the thing about 168 is that it goes on the Tampines Expressway and the Seletar Expressway. Just two highways, but it's a big deal to me. When it exited the SLE and went on Woodlands land, it just got better; the fact that it didn't scare me as much as I'd thought.
I still didn't know the layout of Woodlands bus interchange though, shamefully. I'd walked one round only to have him jumping on me from the back by surprise, and leading me back all the way to the berth where I'd alighted at.
He got me iced chocolate, which was a request he'd owed me from Thursday. Just when I thought I'd never meet him again! Hehe. We were being clueless idiots at Starbucks, though the sales dude was nice to us.
Our date today was just at the Waterfront all day, waiting for the sunset. We played swings, ran from one end to the other of the jetty, read our books with the wind blowing through our pages. Most of all, we talked. I'd sworn never to tell my story beyond 2014 to anyone new, but as always, I made him an exception. He didn't judge me anyway, so all was good.
He is so alike me, I couldn't help noticing. The problem with him is just the same as the problem with me back then, so I hope I'd managed to bring the light to him by sharing my own experience.
My darling, you aren't the only one in a tough spot. You aren't the only one who has to make a difficult decision here. I'm torn between too. I'm torn between loving you or leaving you, as you very well know.
Stand up for what you want. That's what I'd always told you. Choose what makes you happy, not because you don't want to hurt someone, or whatever. Stand up for yourself. That's what would make me want to love you.
But thinking of it, I don't want your girl to feel this way. I know how it feels like to lose a love you've spent so long nurturing, a love you've sacrificed for and invested your energy on. It was only a one-year relationship for me and I already felt like shit when he left; how would your girl feel, considering the fact that your relationship has been on for two years?
I should leave. I'm well aware of this. But if I do, I'd be hurting you. And you're the one I'm in love with, not your girl, so I should be caring about your feelings more, right? As sick as it sounds, isn't that the way feelings work? I don't know.
But yeah, you aren't alone. I'm in a tight spot together with you. See the beauty of this mess, is that what you choose will be my choice, and what I choose will be yours.
We parted at where we met, and again, I took my 168 and flew on my expressways. Lucky for me, there were two buses that came at the same time, and I managed to snag the empty one; the ride throughout was peaceful as fuck. I sat hugging my knees for a solid half an hour or so, just marveling at the beauty of Singapore's expressways.
Unlike 2012, I've been strong throughout this break-up. I'm proud of myself for having made it this far, for throwing away my fears to make space for hope. I'll never forget the joys of the relationship with the boy from Johore, but it looks like I'll never cry over the loss again either.
I'm gaining strength as the years pass and experiences grow.
The presence of friends helps. That's what I'd learnt, and it was a big mistake to have let go of my only friends in 2012. So, thank you to whoever's been there for me through this break-up, be it just once or twice or up to today. I'm grateful for you; you know who you are.
P.s. This is my 2000th post! Can you believe I've written that many entries in this little blog of mine? I don't, either! Well, 109blackaxesii just recently celebrated her 6th birthday last November anyway. Hehe. May she progress onward! May she make me proud someday!
I used to love the North, especially Woodlands, but I'd had to avoid it ever since my recent break-up, only because of the haunting memories. The last time I'd gone there, I was being a drunk fucktard who was texting and calling up everyone I'd wanted attention from.
First thing that helped me out of this 'fear' was bus 168, which I'd taken from Tampines' retail park. The best part of this bus journey is basically, well, start to finish.
Pretty sure you know how much I love the expressways of Singapore; the thing about 168 is that it goes on the Tampines Expressway and the Seletar Expressway. Just two highways, but it's a big deal to me. When it exited the SLE and went on Woodlands land, it just got better; the fact that it didn't scare me as much as I'd thought.
I still didn't know the layout of Woodlands bus interchange though, shamefully. I'd walked one round only to have him jumping on me from the back by surprise, and leading me back all the way to the berth where I'd alighted at.
He got me iced chocolate, which was a request he'd owed me from Thursday. Just when I thought I'd never meet him again! Hehe. We were being clueless idiots at Starbucks, though the sales dude was nice to us.
Our date today was just at the Waterfront all day, waiting for the sunset. We played swings, ran from one end to the other of the jetty, read our books with the wind blowing through our pages. Most of all, we talked. I'd sworn never to tell my story beyond 2014 to anyone new, but as always, I made him an exception. He didn't judge me anyway, so all was good.
He is so alike me, I couldn't help noticing. The problem with him is just the same as the problem with me back then, so I hope I'd managed to bring the light to him by sharing my own experience.
My darling, you aren't the only one in a tough spot. You aren't the only one who has to make a difficult decision here. I'm torn between too. I'm torn between loving you or leaving you, as you very well know.
Stand up for what you want. That's what I'd always told you. Choose what makes you happy, not because you don't want to hurt someone, or whatever. Stand up for yourself. That's what would make me want to love you.
But thinking of it, I don't want your girl to feel this way. I know how it feels like to lose a love you've spent so long nurturing, a love you've sacrificed for and invested your energy on. It was only a one-year relationship for me and I already felt like shit when he left; how would your girl feel, considering the fact that your relationship has been on for two years?
I should leave. I'm well aware of this. But if I do, I'd be hurting you. And you're the one I'm in love with, not your girl, so I should be caring about your feelings more, right? As sick as it sounds, isn't that the way feelings work? I don't know.
But yeah, you aren't alone. I'm in a tight spot together with you. See the beauty of this mess, is that what you choose will be my choice, and what I choose will be yours.
We parted at where we met, and again, I took my 168 and flew on my expressways. Lucky for me, there were two buses that came at the same time, and I managed to snag the empty one; the ride throughout was peaceful as fuck. I sat hugging my knees for a solid half an hour or so, just marveling at the beauty of Singapore's expressways.
Unlike 2012, I've been strong throughout this break-up. I'm proud of myself for having made it this far, for throwing away my fears to make space for hope. I'll never forget the joys of the relationship with the boy from Johore, but it looks like I'll never cry over the loss again either.
I'm gaining strength as the years pass and experiences grow.
The presence of friends helps. That's what I'd learnt, and it was a big mistake to have let go of my only friends in 2012. So, thank you to whoever's been there for me through this break-up, be it just once or twice or up to today. I'm grateful for you; you know who you are.
P.s. This is my 2000th post! Can you believe I've written that many entries in this little blog of mine? I don't, either! Well, 109blackaxesii just recently celebrated her 6th birthday last November anyway. Hehe. May she progress onward! May she make me proud someday!
Monday, March 10, 2014
He was never mine
Knees hugged to her chest
Nothing on her mind but this mess.
Energy taken away by this fight
The only rest being a bus ride.
No matter how beautiful are their eyes
When it's time, make the sacrifice.
No matter how hard it tears you like so
If you love someone, let them go.
Don't cry, you did what you had to
The reward for it will come for you.
Even though you were never his
At least you got to feel what love is.
Just a little poem I wrote a few days ago, the day after we last met. Was a little depressed I'd say, listening to the same songs over and over, lying in bed and crying, thinking about you, about me, about what we could have been.
That phase is over, and I'm fine as a feline now! Now I know how it feels like to be in love by letting someone go when you have to. No greater love than in sacrifice and letting them decide what they'd like on their path.
Love at first sight, like falling for someone you just met at the airport, knowing you would never meet them again. It feels just the same.
Nothing on her mind but this mess.
Energy taken away by this fight
The only rest being a bus ride.
No matter how beautiful are their eyes
When it's time, make the sacrifice.
No matter how hard it tears you like so
If you love someone, let them go.
Don't cry, you did what you had to
The reward for it will come for you.
Even though you were never his
At least you got to feel what love is.
____
That phase is over, and I'm fine as a feline now! Now I know how it feels like to be in love by letting someone go when you have to. No greater love than in sacrifice and letting them decide what they'd like on their path.
Love at first sight, like falling for someone you just met at the airport, knowing you would never meet them again. It feels just the same.
Friday, March 07, 2014
Our infinity within the numbered days
Years ago, in 2012, I made a post about the things I found attractive in a guy; crooked teeth, loneliness, a reading hobby, a flair for writing. I'd fall in love immediately with someone of these qualities, but I thought it'd be impossible to meet someone that perfect.
When I broke up recently, people were telling me I'd meet someone better. I refused to believe it because I loved the qualities that guy had possessed: an openness to be himself, a sense of humour, honesty in letting you know how much you meant to him.
What would have been better? A guy who had the qualities from both the above paragraphs. Impossible for me to meet someone that perfect right? I did, though. I met such a guy, who also had a gorgeous smile and, at 185 cm, is also a ruler taller than me.
He noticed me first, before I realised his perfections. The thing is, he had his own affection towards the roads as well. I wasn't the only one who felt at home on the roads. Not only that, but we had so much in common, most of all his love for books and writing. Yes, I've met a tall, cute guy who likes reading and writing.
It wasn't just common interests; the way we looked at life was similar too. The way we felt, in general. Most of the time, we could sense what the other was thinking, or doing, almost like we were connected to each other by a umbilical cord. Like we were twins.
He didn't have many friends of his own, but when we first met, he was friendly, open, and he was just being himself. I really liked that. There was no awkwardness and I found it comfortable to be open with him as well.
Not to be cheesy, but it was love at first sight with this guy. The last time I'd felt that was a year ago, with the same guy who only recently dumped me. Of all the boys I'd mingled with since then, there were never any which I felt love at first sight, not even the date from weeks ago with Arabic blood, who was the type who could turn heads on the streets because he's that good-looking. But I just didn't feel that toward him.
We went to town yesterday, on what we called a 'bookstore date', since buying books was our main intention of going out. Of course, it turned out to be a date just in itself, because we had sushi for lunch, caught a movie, and took a walk through town with my hand in his. And have I mentioned I wore a dress? Hah.
Every time we passed a mirror, I couldn't help but pull him to look at our reflection and say, "Look. We're so cute together." because I think we really were. We looked sexy too, because we were both so tall. Hehe.
I wish I could blog more in details, but I guess only he and I are the only ones who would know the memory we created yesterday. The laughs, and the sadness.
I've only known you for a while, but I can honestly say, that I'm in love with you.
Of course, in every love story there's always the part that's fucked up. In this case, it's the fact that this guy has a girlfriend. They've been together for two years. I'm the third party, the lowest of all the lowest scum.
That's why, at the end of yesterday I had to tell him that that'd be the last time we could ever meet. Making him choose wasn't the way to go; I'm the third wheel, so of course I'm the one who has to make the sacrifice, despite the fact that he himself had fallen for me too: "Where else could I ever find a girl who's also in love with writing?"
As much as I hadn't wanted to, I had to leave. It hurt him, and it made me cry, but I couldn't risk being with him any longer because that would just hurt all three of us a lot more. I'd fall harder, knowing I could never have him, and he'd fall harder, knowing he could never leave the girl he's already with.
We've been playing these little games where the loser has to do a request for the winner; his last request for me was a whispered, "Kiss me hard before you go.", before he broke into a song about summertime sadness.
How could I have said no to that? It was the first and last time I kissed someone so perfect. The first time, in a long time, that I'd been shown love and affection from a guy while I was still sober.
The time spent was magical while it lasted. It was wrong, but love hurts whether it's right or wrong doesn't it?
In a way, he was my Augustus Waters; he'd given me our own infinity within the numbered days before it all had to be over.
When I broke up recently, people were telling me I'd meet someone better. I refused to believe it because I loved the qualities that guy had possessed: an openness to be himself, a sense of humour, honesty in letting you know how much you meant to him.
What would have been better? A guy who had the qualities from both the above paragraphs. Impossible for me to meet someone that perfect right? I did, though. I met such a guy, who also had a gorgeous smile and, at 185 cm, is also a ruler taller than me.
He noticed me first, before I realised his perfections. The thing is, he had his own affection towards the roads as well. I wasn't the only one who felt at home on the roads. Not only that, but we had so much in common, most of all his love for books and writing. Yes, I've met a tall, cute guy who likes reading and writing.
It wasn't just common interests; the way we looked at life was similar too. The way we felt, in general. Most of the time, we could sense what the other was thinking, or doing, almost like we were connected to each other by a umbilical cord. Like we were twins.
He didn't have many friends of his own, but when we first met, he was friendly, open, and he was just being himself. I really liked that. There was no awkwardness and I found it comfortable to be open with him as well.
Not to be cheesy, but it was love at first sight with this guy. The last time I'd felt that was a year ago, with the same guy who only recently dumped me. Of all the boys I'd mingled with since then, there were never any which I felt love at first sight, not even the date from weeks ago with Arabic blood, who was the type who could turn heads on the streets because he's that good-looking. But I just didn't feel that toward him.
We went to town yesterday, on what we called a 'bookstore date', since buying books was our main intention of going out. Of course, it turned out to be a date just in itself, because we had sushi for lunch, caught a movie, and took a walk through town with my hand in his. And have I mentioned I wore a dress? Hah.
Every time we passed a mirror, I couldn't help but pull him to look at our reflection and say, "Look. We're so cute together." because I think we really were. We looked sexy too, because we were both so tall. Hehe.
I wish I could blog more in details, but I guess only he and I are the only ones who would know the memory we created yesterday. The laughs, and the sadness.
I've only known you for a while, but I can honestly say, that I'm in love with you.
Of course, in every love story there's always the part that's fucked up. In this case, it's the fact that this guy has a girlfriend. They've been together for two years. I'm the third party, the lowest of all the lowest scum.
That's why, at the end of yesterday I had to tell him that that'd be the last time we could ever meet. Making him choose wasn't the way to go; I'm the third wheel, so of course I'm the one who has to make the sacrifice, despite the fact that he himself had fallen for me too: "Where else could I ever find a girl who's also in love with writing?"
As much as I hadn't wanted to, I had to leave. It hurt him, and it made me cry, but I couldn't risk being with him any longer because that would just hurt all three of us a lot more. I'd fall harder, knowing I could never have him, and he'd fall harder, knowing he could never leave the girl he's already with.
We've been playing these little games where the loser has to do a request for the winner; his last request for me was a whispered, "Kiss me hard before you go.", before he broke into a song about summertime sadness.
How could I have said no to that? It was the first and last time I kissed someone so perfect. The first time, in a long time, that I'd been shown love and affection from a guy while I was still sober.
The time spent was magical while it lasted. It was wrong, but love hurts whether it's right or wrong doesn't it?
In a way, he was my Augustus Waters; he'd given me our own infinity within the numbered days before it all had to be over.
Wednesday, March 05, 2014
My creepy bedroom
If you've been reading my blog since last year, I'm pretty sure you've read the post about how I'm really just a coward despite going through so much. [link]
So I've been wanting to write about this one thing in my everyday life which is actually creepy, but which I've gotten used to, that's why it doesn't scare me much: my bedroom.
The whole year I was at Paya Lebar, none of my family members slept in my room, despite there being a comfortable double bed which I'm pretty sure my dad would have liked. If not, my little brother would have, because it's about time he sleeps on his own anyway.
When questioned, he simply said, "Honestly, your room has this creepy atmosphere about it, which I just can't describe."
I didn't deny or think he was crazy, because I knew what he was talking about. Before I left in 2012, it was where I sat crying and cutting and doing other crazy things in lieu with my depression back then. Perhaps the tension in my bedroom was caused by those haunting emotions and memories.
As if those demons weren't enough, I'm pretty sure that more have settled in here during my absence since then. What more with nobody coming in here the whole year, how its door remained shut for the whole year.
I doubt the windows were ever open either, because of the mosquitoes constantly coming in, and the howling of the wind that sounds too creepily unnatural.
Yes, when I came back here to Pasir Ris about a month ago, I could feel a difference, like it had gotten more abandoned and dark. I'm not sure how to describe it either, it's just a difference I felt in something I'd grown accustomed to.
I just find it amazing that despite being such a coward who finds a need to sleep in my parents room each time I see just a scary picture, I'm the only one who can handle the pure creepiness of my own room. And yes, I'd like to know what is it that makes my room hella creepy, that even my parents feel it.
So I've been wanting to write about this one thing in my everyday life which is actually creepy, but which I've gotten used to, that's why it doesn't scare me much: my bedroom.
The whole year I was at Paya Lebar, none of my family members slept in my room, despite there being a comfortable double bed which I'm pretty sure my dad would have liked. If not, my little brother would have, because it's about time he sleeps on his own anyway.
When questioned, he simply said, "Honestly, your room has this creepy atmosphere about it, which I just can't describe."
I didn't deny or think he was crazy, because I knew what he was talking about. Before I left in 2012, it was where I sat crying and cutting and doing other crazy things in lieu with my depression back then. Perhaps the tension in my bedroom was caused by those haunting emotions and memories.
As if those demons weren't enough, I'm pretty sure that more have settled in here during my absence since then. What more with nobody coming in here the whole year, how its door remained shut for the whole year.
I doubt the windows were ever open either, because of the mosquitoes constantly coming in, and the howling of the wind that sounds too creepily unnatural.
Yes, when I came back here to Pasir Ris about a month ago, I could feel a difference, like it had gotten more abandoned and dark. I'm not sure how to describe it either, it's just a difference I felt in something I'd grown accustomed to.
I just find it amazing that despite being such a coward who finds a need to sleep in my parents room each time I see just a scary picture, I'm the only one who can handle the pure creepiness of my own room. And yes, I'd like to know what is it that makes my room hella creepy, that even my parents feel it.
Monday, March 03, 2014
The crust, the mantle, and the core
"He only likes me because he thinks I'm pretty; he doesn't know me on the inside."
It ain't as simple as that anymore. Truth is, we not only have an 'outside' and 'inside', but we have three layers. Just like the Earth, we have the crust, the mantle, and the core.
Our crust is our exterior, what others see at first glance. Our looks, simply. Our physical perfections, the tiny flaws on your face that you were born with. Or the things we do, acts that make people do this thing called 'judge' you.
Our mantle is what's just below the surface. Approach someone, talk to them for a while, and you might reach their mantle; who they actually are. He who frowns all the time has a good sense of humour. She who is always dressed down has a flair for fashion design. Things like that. Little things that you'll grow to love and accept because it's just who they are in front of you.
And then there's our core, the innermost layer. This is where our past and dirty secrets lie. This is where it's determined who survives you and who doesn't. Only those who can handle the heat of your core would be willing to stay no matter how it hurts them.
Truth is, I've not exposed my core to anyone new as of 2014. If you'd just met me and are reading this now (you know who you are), you don't know me. Sure, you may like me because I'm a writer like you, you may like me because I share common interests with you. You may like me because I use proper language even when I'm texting, you may like me because I'm a bookworm. You may be attracted to me because I'm quote 'different from other girls', but that's just my mantle.
I'm pretty sure you can't handle my core. Heck, you're not even halfway there. The one person who made it ended up leaving, dirtying this core of mine even more. Sure, you've made it past the crust, you've sat on my mantle, but I don't want any of you to be coming near my core. Thinking about it, I think I should just push everyone the fuck away.
And yes, I've said it before but I shall say it again: I hate being caught in between. If there are two parties with equal pros and cons, heck it I'd rather pack up and move forward, and be alone.
Nobody is ever gonna put you first. That's your job; putting you as an individual before anyone else. I think I've seen Merlissa's point: I have to start doing things for myself, and myself alone, because no one repeat no one will ever see you as important. Apart from you.
So I guess I shall just keep my core to myself. Everyone else, back off from it.
P.s. I'm not a Science freak so I'm sorry if my metaphor clashes with the scientific reality. But you get the idea, right?
It ain't as simple as that anymore. Truth is, we not only have an 'outside' and 'inside', but we have three layers. Just like the Earth, we have the crust, the mantle, and the core.
Our crust is our exterior, what others see at first glance. Our looks, simply. Our physical perfections, the tiny flaws on your face that you were born with. Or the things we do, acts that make people do this thing called 'judge' you.
Our mantle is what's just below the surface. Approach someone, talk to them for a while, and you might reach their mantle; who they actually are. He who frowns all the time has a good sense of humour. She who is always dressed down has a flair for fashion design. Things like that. Little things that you'll grow to love and accept because it's just who they are in front of you.
And then there's our core, the innermost layer. This is where our past and dirty secrets lie. This is where it's determined who survives you and who doesn't. Only those who can handle the heat of your core would be willing to stay no matter how it hurts them.
Truth is, I've not exposed my core to anyone new as of 2014. If you'd just met me and are reading this now (you know who you are), you don't know me. Sure, you may like me because I'm a writer like you, you may like me because I share common interests with you. You may like me because I use proper language even when I'm texting, you may like me because I'm a bookworm. You may be attracted to me because I'm quote 'different from other girls', but that's just my mantle.
I'm pretty sure you can't handle my core. Heck, you're not even halfway there. The one person who made it ended up leaving, dirtying this core of mine even more. Sure, you've made it past the crust, you've sat on my mantle, but I don't want any of you to be coming near my core. Thinking about it, I think I should just push everyone the fuck away.
And yes, I've said it before but I shall say it again: I hate being caught in between. If there are two parties with equal pros and cons, heck it I'd rather pack up and move forward, and be alone.
Nobody is ever gonna put you first. That's your job; putting you as an individual before anyone else. I think I've seen Merlissa's point: I have to start doing things for myself, and myself alone, because no one repeat no one will ever see you as important. Apart from you.
So I guess I shall just keep my core to myself. Everyone else, back off from it.
P.s. I'm not a Science freak so I'm sorry if my metaphor clashes with the scientific reality. But you get the idea, right?
Friday, February 28, 2014
A new family
Okay, my stats have been shit. People have been coming in regularly to check but be disappointed to see no new posts. And with no new posts, I don't get audience either. So.... I shall now write a little something. What about exactly?
I think I shall blog about social life, shouldn't I? It's been a while. [because it's been non-existent]
They always tell me to make friends. They know I don't have many at school, I spend my lunches alone and the few friends I did hang out with are the ex's friends. So, yeah: make friends. Easy, right?
Wrong. It was difficult as hell. Like I'd said, I'm no longer in the same classes as my Sem 1 classmates, and since I repeated modules, I had to be placed in classes that had been together before, leaving me out of their circle. Okay, so, apart from my lovely Shihui and the occasional laughters with Loy and Aloysius, I hadn't had any other friends in school.
In the end, I had to resort to something new in order to socialise, and that was to retweet one of those "Retweet and I'll add you to this Whatsapp group!", give my number to a stranger called The Admin, and BOOM. You now have new friends.
A long time ago, I'd seen these things, and I thought they were super silly. Only after going through the experience firsthand, making new friends, meeting new people, did I know that whoever first thought of this is a genius.
I've met so many new friends, it's so amazing. Not only that, but these people are so awesome, in their own ways, each and every one. We've known each other only for, what, a few weeks, but it feels like we've been together for our whole lives. I feel like we're a family, and I'm glad that I'm not the first to mention this, and that they feel the same too.
Even the first time we met, it hadn't been awkward. We teased one another like siblings and laughed like there was no tomorrow. I couldn't remember the last time I'd laughed til my belly ached like that.
Maybe 2014 wouldn't be so bad after all. The start of something new, no? Yes, I remember how I'd lost a good friend the last time I said this, but hey. Think positive right? I think the new year has just begun, and I'm looking forward to spending every day of it with you people.
I still have problems finding out where home is, but for now, home is with you guys.
I think I shall blog about social life, shouldn't I? It's been a while. [because it's been non-existent]
They always tell me to make friends. They know I don't have many at school, I spend my lunches alone and the few friends I did hang out with are the ex's friends. So, yeah: make friends. Easy, right?
Wrong. It was difficult as hell. Like I'd said, I'm no longer in the same classes as my Sem 1 classmates, and since I repeated modules, I had to be placed in classes that had been together before, leaving me out of their circle. Okay, so, apart from my lovely Shihui and the occasional laughters with Loy and Aloysius, I hadn't had any other friends in school.
In the end, I had to resort to something new in order to socialise, and that was to retweet one of those "Retweet and I'll add you to this Whatsapp group!", give my number to a stranger called The Admin, and BOOM. You now have new friends.
A long time ago, I'd seen these things, and I thought they were super silly. Only after going through the experience firsthand, making new friends, meeting new people, did I know that whoever first thought of this is a genius.
I've met so many new friends, it's so amazing. Not only that, but these people are so awesome, in their own ways, each and every one. We've known each other only for, what, a few weeks, but it feels like we've been together for our whole lives. I feel like we're a family, and I'm glad that I'm not the first to mention this, and that they feel the same too.
Even the first time we met, it hadn't been awkward. We teased one another like siblings and laughed like there was no tomorrow. I couldn't remember the last time I'd laughed til my belly ached like that.
Maybe 2014 wouldn't be so bad after all. The start of something new, no? Yes, I remember how I'd lost a good friend the last time I said this, but hey. Think positive right? I think the new year has just begun, and I'm looking forward to spending every day of it with you people.
I still have problems finding out where home is, but for now, home is with you guys.
Sunday, February 23, 2014
The Friday 'date'
Do you remember? You told me to blog about our little date, so here. You. Go.
A little background story: I'm not sure how do I answer "How did you meet?" because I really have no idea how. But he approached me in a good way, he was charming and shit, he stayed up all night reading my blog posts, with the intention of wanting to know more about me. He read about my past, and he still said "I still want you in my life." OK.
So Friday. We were supposed to meet at 2, after his Friday prayers but it turned out my exam was starting at 3, not 10 as I'd thought. The 'date' was cancelled and was replaced with a short meeting; instead of watching a movie, we were just gonna hit the court and then dinner afterwards.
He was sad about it, and I didn't like the feeling of having disappointed someone. He just said he'd be grateful as hell to just see me even if it was only for a while. So despite my exam ending a little too late, I told him Okay, I'll do my best to come for you.
On Friday, after my exam, I headed to Bishan. I was just keeping my promise; it was bad of me to have to cancel the plan, so it was the least I could have done to make up for it.
So here's what happened: the only times we interacted was walking to and fro the basketball court and Bishan station, because he was playing basketball while I sat at the side. Okay, got that, and then I couldn't stay for dinner because it was already late.
When we parted we gave a goodbye hug and I didn't think much of it, apart from the melting sensation because Finally a hug from someone way taller than me! and His smile is so cute!
So I got back to Paya Lebar, told him I've made it home, and he also texted when he was home. Before, he would text me literally every minute he was online, but that night he didn't. I didn't really think too much into it, but the next morning I decided to be all "Morning", to him. No reply. So that was it.
Blahblahblah, the day passed and night came, and then he sent me a long text explaining why he didn't talk to me. He just felt 'ashamed' that he'd made me wait for nothing, and that he felt he had 'used' me. Of course, me being me I just sent back a long text explaining why it didn't bother me, and that next time he should just be honest about it.
If y'all follow me on Instagram I'm pretty sure you've seen my drawing of "Dreamboy's dream team", because the first time we talked, he told me his top 6 favourite Pokemon. I just thought I'd draw that for him because I was bored anyway.
You'd think he'd be touched, and well yeah he was, he went all teary-eyed and was like, "You didn't miss out a single member of my favourite Pokemon (':" OK. You'd think he'd melt and shit, and be like OMAIGOD I LIKE YOU YOU'RE SO SWEET I WANNA BE CLOSER TO YOU but nope.
"But I've got no feelings for you anymore cause I feel bad about myself for doing what I'm not supposed to. I'm honestly sorry" was what I got instead :-)
So seriously, I've no idea what guys want??? He flirted with me first and seemed so honest and sincere but then just ended up being like your typical douchebag. ZzzzzzzZZZZZZzzzzZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ. You may be cute but that's inexcusable.
Okay, I may have screwed things up with the previous guys, like my awesome SP friend, but this date, I swear I never once did anything wrong. I was keeping a promise, I personally asked if anything was wrong when he didn't reply, I texted him with all honesty when he finally did. So leave me alone on this one because really I didn't contribute to its falling apart.
A little background story: I'm not sure how do I answer "How did you meet?" because I really have no idea how. But he approached me in a good way, he was charming and shit, he stayed up all night reading my blog posts, with the intention of wanting to know more about me. He read about my past, and he still said "I still want you in my life." OK.
So Friday. We were supposed to meet at 2, after his Friday prayers but it turned out my exam was starting at 3, not 10 as I'd thought. The 'date' was cancelled and was replaced with a short meeting; instead of watching a movie, we were just gonna hit the court and then dinner afterwards.
He was sad about it, and I didn't like the feeling of having disappointed someone. He just said he'd be grateful as hell to just see me even if it was only for a while. So despite my exam ending a little too late, I told him Okay, I'll do my best to come for you.
On Friday, after my exam, I headed to Bishan. I was just keeping my promise; it was bad of me to have to cancel the plan, so it was the least I could have done to make up for it.
So here's what happened: the only times we interacted was walking to and fro the basketball court and Bishan station, because he was playing basketball while I sat at the side. Okay, got that, and then I couldn't stay for dinner because it was already late.
When we parted we gave a goodbye hug and I didn't think much of it, apart from the melting sensation because Finally a hug from someone way taller than me! and His smile is so cute!
So I got back to Paya Lebar, told him I've made it home, and he also texted when he was home. Before, he would text me literally every minute he was online, but that night he didn't. I didn't really think too much into it, but the next morning I decided to be all "Morning", to him. No reply. So that was it.
Blahblahblah, the day passed and night came, and then he sent me a long text explaining why he didn't talk to me. He just felt 'ashamed' that he'd made me wait for nothing, and that he felt he had 'used' me. Of course, me being me I just sent back a long text explaining why it didn't bother me, and that next time he should just be honest about it.
If y'all follow me on Instagram I'm pretty sure you've seen my drawing of "Dreamboy's dream team", because the first time we talked, he told me his top 6 favourite Pokemon. I just thought I'd draw that for him because I was bored anyway.
You'd think he'd be touched, and well yeah he was, he went all teary-eyed and was like, "You didn't miss out a single member of my favourite Pokemon (':" OK. You'd think he'd melt and shit, and be like OMAIGOD I LIKE YOU YOU'RE SO SWEET I WANNA BE CLOSER TO YOU but nope.
"But I've got no feelings for you anymore cause I feel bad about myself for doing what I'm not supposed to. I'm honestly sorry" was what I got instead :-)
So seriously, I've no idea what guys want??? He flirted with me first and seemed so honest and sincere but then just ended up being like your typical douchebag. ZzzzzzzZZZZZZzzzzZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ. You may be cute but that's inexcusable.
Okay, I may have screwed things up with the previous guys, like my awesome SP friend, but this date, I swear I never once did anything wrong. I was keeping a promise, I personally asked if anything was wrong when he didn't reply, I texted him with all honesty when he finally did. So leave me alone on this one because really I didn't contribute to its falling apart.
Saturday, February 22, 2014
Dreams are possible!!!
A long time ago, a friend of mine said: "My mother told me that whatever you dream of, will always be the direct opposite in reality."
He was talking about the dreams you have at night. And for all I know, he isn't the only one who strongly believes in this. I have a bunch of others who say this same line each time I tell them about a dream I had at night.
But I'd like to beg to differ. Around October last year, I'd dreamt of walking to my Pasir Ris house in the night, the only light being the streetlamps, texting the best friend of the asshole who dumped me. Just his best friend, while he himself was mentioned nowhere in that particular dream.
And then meanwhile in reality, just a month ago, I was returning to my parents' place late at night. Of course, I'd already been dumped by that asshole, but yep. His best friend was there, texting me during my whole journey from Paya Lebar to Pasir Ris, til I fell asleep.
It may be nothing, but it's still a dream come true wasn't it?
Even if it's true that reality will be the opposite of what you dreamt of, it doesn't mean it will happen. If you really want it to come true, you'd put in effort. Like how I told my friend that I dreamt of a crush asking me out, and she immediately said: "To be honest, what happens in real life will always be the opposite of what you dream of." as a way of saying that this dream wouldn't come true.
But hey? The opposite of being asked out, is asking someone out. Do I not make sense? It still can happen if you twist the situation and put in effort to make it reality.
What about the dreams you have in reality, the ambitions you're chasing?
There was this one time, in my childhood, I'm not sure how long ago it was. I was watching this show where Nick Cannon shyly confessed his celebrity crush being Mariah Carey. I didn't take much notice, but then a few months or maybe years later BOOM, there was this other show where Nick was shown a picture of Mariah and he immediately gushed: "Aww man that's my wife man, I love her!"
My mind straightway transported to the last time I saw this guy on TV, when he only confessed to his wife being a crush. I was dumbfounded as to what the hell happened in between these two moments!? Still, it was a pleasant surprise, like anything can happen huh?
Another moment back in my childhood, when my mom was telling me a story; she had a conversation with the youngest daughter from next door, who is 3 years older than me. The girl was practising her posture and the way she walked, because, my mother learnt, it was her dream to be an air stewardess.
At that time I was really young, probably about mid primary school. I didn't take notice, but again, many years later something else happened that made me think of that moment.
Just a few days ago, maybe two weeks back, my mother and I were waiting for the lift when she pointed to our neighbour's laundry. "Do you wanna be a stewardess too?"
I looked to see that there was the Singapore Airlines uniform hanging out to dry. I straightway exclaimed: "Who's the stewardess!?" and when I learnt that it was their youngest daughter, I was once again pleasantly shocked.
Dreams can come true huh? Your crushes can be your boyfriends and your ambitions can be your sources of income!
He was talking about the dreams you have at night. And for all I know, he isn't the only one who strongly believes in this. I have a bunch of others who say this same line each time I tell them about a dream I had at night.
But I'd like to beg to differ. Around October last year, I'd dreamt of walking to my Pasir Ris house in the night, the only light being the streetlamps, texting the best friend of the asshole who dumped me. Just his best friend, while he himself was mentioned nowhere in that particular dream.
And then meanwhile in reality, just a month ago, I was returning to my parents' place late at night. Of course, I'd already been dumped by that asshole, but yep. His best friend was there, texting me during my whole journey from Paya Lebar to Pasir Ris, til I fell asleep.
It may be nothing, but it's still a dream come true wasn't it?
Even if it's true that reality will be the opposite of what you dreamt of, it doesn't mean it will happen. If you really want it to come true, you'd put in effort. Like how I told my friend that I dreamt of a crush asking me out, and she immediately said: "To be honest, what happens in real life will always be the opposite of what you dream of." as a way of saying that this dream wouldn't come true.
But hey? The opposite of being asked out, is asking someone out. Do I not make sense? It still can happen if you twist the situation and put in effort to make it reality.
What about the dreams you have in reality, the ambitions you're chasing?
There was this one time, in my childhood, I'm not sure how long ago it was. I was watching this show where Nick Cannon shyly confessed his celebrity crush being Mariah Carey. I didn't take much notice, but then a few months or maybe years later BOOM, there was this other show where Nick was shown a picture of Mariah and he immediately gushed: "Aww man that's my wife man, I love her!"
My mind straightway transported to the last time I saw this guy on TV, when he only confessed to his wife being a crush. I was dumbfounded as to what the hell happened in between these two moments!? Still, it was a pleasant surprise, like anything can happen huh?
Another moment back in my childhood, when my mom was telling me a story; she had a conversation with the youngest daughter from next door, who is 3 years older than me. The girl was practising her posture and the way she walked, because, my mother learnt, it was her dream to be an air stewardess.
At that time I was really young, probably about mid primary school. I didn't take notice, but again, many years later something else happened that made me think of that moment.
Just a few days ago, maybe two weeks back, my mother and I were waiting for the lift when she pointed to our neighbour's laundry. "Do you wanna be a stewardess too?"
I looked to see that there was the Singapore Airlines uniform hanging out to dry. I straightway exclaimed: "Who's the stewardess!?" and when I learnt that it was their youngest daughter, I was once again pleasantly shocked.
Dreams can come true huh? Your crushes can be your boyfriends and your ambitions can be your sources of income!
Friday, February 21, 2014
Basket of moss
I don't know how I found you, but I'm glad I did. It was a room, at the back of a house, with a secret door which I had stumbled upon. A secret door where lain beyond was you.
You were a prisoner there, it was a small space with a mattress and bookshelves all around, cramped full of unimportant things. You were lying on the mattress, sitting against the wall, looking so pale and weak I thought you were going to die.
I had to go over to you and hold you in my arms so tightly, before you even realised I was there. Your eyes were so dead they scared me; they have never looked that empty.
You wouldn't talk, but somehow I figured you were just starving. I found a box of muffins in the kitchen of the house, which I brought back to you. You finished everything and I guess you were so thankful for me, because afterwards you wouldn't allow me to leave you alone.
You still refused to say anything but you made me stay there with you, making sure I was there each time you woke up. I couldn't bear to leave you alone anyway, not after seeing how you were caught up in that tiny hole all on your own the whole time.
I'm not sure how long we stayed there, just me against the wall, stroking your hair while you laid on my lap with your arms around me. You were like a child, and I so badly wanted to stay with you forever.
Soon, your captor returned. He went on a rage at seeing me there, and he grabbed at your hair, pulling you up to wake you. I tried to protect you, by fighting back against your captor but he just kicked me out of the secret room and locked the door behind him.
There was a lot of banging noise from the inside, and when the door opened again, your captor walked out with a death glare for me. You refused to even look me in the eye, as you walked out of your room with a backpack. Presumably that was your first time in a long time leaving that hellhole.
Your captor looked at me and told me he was bringing you to another place. A special place, fit only for a person like you. I wanted to protest, I wanted to bring you with me, because I could see he was torturing you but the look in his eyes dared me not to even speak.
And I'm sorry, that I let you down. I let you go with him, right when I thought you're safe with me. I didn't fight for you. I just let you walk away, with your head hung low, right on the tail of that bloody asshole.
I wish I can be there for you. It may be just a dream, but I feel like something's bothering you, like you're in trouble or buried in lots of problems that you can't talk to anyone about.
I know for a fact that if I approach you, you'll just push me the fuck away, but bloody hell you know I meant it when I told you I'll always be here for you if he ever gives you problems or neglects you.
If you think the "you" in the above story was referring to the asshole who dumped me, you've got it all wrong. You'd know who it is only if you really read into every single detail and if I've talked to you about my feelings about my relationship with this person, so, I guess only he himself would know who "you" is. Meh.
P.s. Refer to the Victorian flower language.
You were a prisoner there, it was a small space with a mattress and bookshelves all around, cramped full of unimportant things. You were lying on the mattress, sitting against the wall, looking so pale and weak I thought you were going to die.
I had to go over to you and hold you in my arms so tightly, before you even realised I was there. Your eyes were so dead they scared me; they have never looked that empty.
You wouldn't talk, but somehow I figured you were just starving. I found a box of muffins in the kitchen of the house, which I brought back to you. You finished everything and I guess you were so thankful for me, because afterwards you wouldn't allow me to leave you alone.
You still refused to say anything but you made me stay there with you, making sure I was there each time you woke up. I couldn't bear to leave you alone anyway, not after seeing how you were caught up in that tiny hole all on your own the whole time.
I'm not sure how long we stayed there, just me against the wall, stroking your hair while you laid on my lap with your arms around me. You were like a child, and I so badly wanted to stay with you forever.
Soon, your captor returned. He went on a rage at seeing me there, and he grabbed at your hair, pulling you up to wake you. I tried to protect you, by fighting back against your captor but he just kicked me out of the secret room and locked the door behind him.
There was a lot of banging noise from the inside, and when the door opened again, your captor walked out with a death glare for me. You refused to even look me in the eye, as you walked out of your room with a backpack. Presumably that was your first time in a long time leaving that hellhole.
Your captor looked at me and told me he was bringing you to another place. A special place, fit only for a person like you. I wanted to protest, I wanted to bring you with me, because I could see he was torturing you but the look in his eyes dared me not to even speak.
And I'm sorry, that I let you down. I let you go with him, right when I thought you're safe with me. I didn't fight for you. I just let you walk away, with your head hung low, right on the tail of that bloody asshole.
____
I know for a fact that if I approach you, you'll just push me the fuck away, but bloody hell you know I meant it when I told you I'll always be here for you if he ever gives you problems or neglects you.
If you think the "you" in the above story was referring to the asshole who dumped me, you've got it all wrong. You'd know who it is only if you really read into every single detail and if I've talked to you about my feelings about my relationship with this person, so, I guess only he himself would know who "you" is. Meh.
P.s. Refer to the Victorian flower language.
Wednesday, February 19, 2014
My own battles
Everyone is battling their own wars, I'm pretty sure. Just that, not everyone shows it to the world. Not saying I'm one of those people, because I obviously have a blog and Twitter which I regularly update about my woes and shit.
The DAELN battle
At the start, it was all okay, I understood every little shit the lecturer was going through. As time passed, I started to lose concentration, and was basically going to class only for attendance. It didn't help when I got dumped, and when I was regularly drinking in morning classes.
Tutorials didn't help. I was in a class full of people who have known each other before, and who were always crowding around the teacher with their own questions. My social anxiety refrained me from picking up courage to ask questions myself, and it didn't help that I was seated right at the back.
I was lucky enough that my advisor, who is also my tutorial teacher for the module, bothered to reach out to me when he saw how I was struggling. He asked me about my personal problems, some of which I told, and he understood my lack of focus. He wanted to help me.
He spent an entire day going through the basics of DAELN with me, not once but twice, the first time with my other classmate and the second just me alone. The latter was on the day of my retest for the subject, as I'd failed the real common test.
Alas, I screwed up the retest as well. In fact, I got way lower marks for it than the original common test. I was so ashamed with myself when he threw the paper at me, asking me to sign it. He asked me why had I done worst, but I couldn't answer.
That was it. Ever since I screwed the retest, I was too afraid to ask him for help already. Shamelessly, I've been falling asleep in his classes, and not turning up for the lectures at all.
That's why the past few days, I'd been trying my damndest to learn this module from scratch all by myself. Its exam is around the corner, but I believed I could do it. I didn't have any friends from the same module to teach me, I know a few guys but this voice in my head just tells me, "Don't ask them. You don't have the rights to ask them, because you are nothing to them and they will think you're crazy to ask them for help when you've never talked to them before."
But it looks like the war is over already, and that I've lost. I've given up, and shall accept my fate of having to repeat this module next semester.
The alcohol battle
I dropped this habit already, once back in 2013 thanks to the asshole whose name we all know now. It was that easy then, so why is it extra difficult now?
Perhaps it's the fact that I'm already legal and now I can buy that shit literally anytime I want, not like back then when only my regular 7-11s would allow me to pass. But maybe it's also the fact that now, I'm a lot more broken than then, since this breakup was such a shock that it caused me to blow into pieces.
Quitting is harder than you think. Without it, I thirst in a way you can't imagine. I drink it for breakfast, for lunch, for dinner if I could afford that. I was treating it more precious than water, more thirst-quenching and more important than water.
Not saying that drinking makes me forget him, it just makes me so sad that I'm happy. Does that make sense? When I say I remember everything when I'm tipsy, I really meant it. It makes me happy to be miserable, to be walking in zigzags, just because. Like how The Script motivated me, "If he sees how much I'm hurting, he'd take me back for sure."
How wrong I was. Not only did he not come back, but I also chased away so many good friends because of this habit. So many people I've not talked to for so long, the last time I hung out with them being when they had to take care of me in that miserable state.
I also can't remember the last time I held someone's hand sober. This whole time, every guy who had held my hand after that asshole who dumped me was just trying to stabilise me. I was falling, so their instinctive reaction was to hold my hand. Not because they wanted to but because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. God, I may never know what love is anymore.
I've not drank for a week, ever since the incident with my new SP friend. I'm just hoping he gives our friendship a chance, if not, the longer I go without him the faster I'm gonna return to this bad habit. Again.
The home battle
I don't know where 'home' is anymore. Home is where you are supposed to feel safe, secured, and happy. Home isn't the place you are being forced to choose to be called that name. Home isn't somewhere you have to stay in two weeks, before moving to another place that's also supposed to be 'home'.
Finding out where home is shouldn't be this hard. Sure, every kid my age has their own problems within their households, but at least, at the end of the day you have somewhere that you know you have to return to. At least you know, that this is your permanent place, with your parents, or your grandmother. At least there is only one.
It's not easy to be living two weeks here, two weeks there, back and forth like that. Why can't there be somewhere I can stay forever? Must I really choose one? It's either where I was raised, or where I was given a chance to start anew. It ain't that easy to decide on one, because. I need both.
I'm not saying these two houses I'm torn between are perfect, because I have problems in both. In the case of Pasir Ris, I feel I do not belong. It was only one year but it was enough to make me feel dislocated from my own parents and blood brothers. It doesn't help that my elder brother still doesn't acknowledge my presence after a long time of not seeing me.
In the case of Paya Lebar, I don't get what I need. My grandmother pampers me too much, ensuing my disability in growing up and being independent. The longer I stay with her, the more I'll grow to need her; and then when she has to go, what will happen to me? I won't be able to survive, so I have to start living without her, starting now.
Why can't all of us live under one roof together? Won't that solve it for me? Or is everyone too busy with their own problems to consider me? Does my family not realise how much this is taking its toll on me?
The social battle
It's not easy to make friends. It's not easy to keep friends, especially those who's seen the ugly side of you. Losing a friend by being unfollowed on Twitter because you were tweeting too much is nothing; but losing a good friend because they saw the side of you which they didn't like, even after those late night conversations to know how much in pain you are, is worse.
Maybe it was still his hypocrisy or the bloody bro code, but after getting dumped, I was also rejected by his best friend, whom I had painstakingly built my friendship with. Maybe he's painfully oblivious to my love for him, in that best friend way, because I really cared for him, more than I expected. From the day we met, I took an oath to take care of him.
And what about the other friendships I had made via my relationship with the asshole, the tertiary friends I so dearly loved? I'm never gonna have lunch with them or meet them or hang out with them anymore because the first link we had together has cut off all bridges with me. Getting too close with any of them would bring a "trying to steal ex's friends" drama shit.
Making friends with my classmates is out of the question; having repeated most of my modules, I'm put in classes who are already in their own group. Everyone in the class knows everyone except me, so of course, put the new girl aside!
I have my very good friend who's been in the same boat with me since semester 1, and I'm really appreciative of her support in helping me socially and academically, but even she has better social skills than I do. She makes other friends so easily, and most of my friends from this sem were with her help. When we part ways next semester, what's gonna happen to me?
What about in terms of relationships? Guys are assholes, am learning that the terribly hard way, yet here I am still wanting to try again, to try lending my heart to someone again and see how they'd treat it. Such a high possibility that it'll get crushed, yet I'm so willing to place it in anyone's palm. What the fuck is wrong with me?
The religion battle
I can't. I just can't. It's so hard to believe in my own God, because I keep telling myself about how He's let me down, He's let me down. I have always believed in His existence, but never in His power. I keep getting angry at Him for letting me down and hurting me all the damn time.
It ain't helping that I've been watching videos about this History and Science shit that has led me to believe that actually yeah, there might be no such thing as God at all. Put together these scientific+historical shit, and my being disappointed again and again by this 'God', and I might just find myself to be an atheist in the future.
You want me to pray? What if I told you I have, but my life still turned out like shit? All those quotes about how God won't put you through something you can't handle, that's unbelievable. I clearly can't handle this shit, so please get me the fuck out of it!
But nope, I'm still deep in the waters, where in the world are You? Nowhere. His existence is so damn questionable that it's invalid.
And that's why I'm in constant battle with my religion. I just don't know if I should believe it or not.
The mental battle
The hardest war of all is my mentality. I'm turning 19 this year, but I doubt I've been acting my age. I can't stop blaming the 'demons' in my head, when really this voice is none other than my own. Once I'm left alone, this 'voice' is the only one that talks to me. And it's gaining more and more control of me than I can help.
Not gonna touch on that much. But yeah, these are my battles, everyday ones if you could say that. I know it ain't much compared to other people who are suffering more, but everyone has their own different battles. These are mine, and it may be nothing to you, but they are each taking their own tolls on me.
I'm really tired. I wish I can go through this alone, really I do, but I think it's obvious that I depend too heavily on a special someone. Girl best friends can't do shit like that, family won't believe the pain I'm going through, religion is a battle in itself, and even writing isn't doing me much.
With a special someone, I'd discover my own strength that I never thought I'd have. Pretty unbelievable, I know. But with each relationship I've been in, I discover how willing I am to go through the bullshits of life, how strong I am to take on every obstacle that comes my fucking way.
Am I the only one who feels this?
The DAELN battle
At the start, it was all okay, I understood every little shit the lecturer was going through. As time passed, I started to lose concentration, and was basically going to class only for attendance. It didn't help when I got dumped, and when I was regularly drinking in morning classes.
Tutorials didn't help. I was in a class full of people who have known each other before, and who were always crowding around the teacher with their own questions. My social anxiety refrained me from picking up courage to ask questions myself, and it didn't help that I was seated right at the back.
I was lucky enough that my advisor, who is also my tutorial teacher for the module, bothered to reach out to me when he saw how I was struggling. He asked me about my personal problems, some of which I told, and he understood my lack of focus. He wanted to help me.
He spent an entire day going through the basics of DAELN with me, not once but twice, the first time with my other classmate and the second just me alone. The latter was on the day of my retest for the subject, as I'd failed the real common test.
Alas, I screwed up the retest as well. In fact, I got way lower marks for it than the original common test. I was so ashamed with myself when he threw the paper at me, asking me to sign it. He asked me why had I done worst, but I couldn't answer.
That was it. Ever since I screwed the retest, I was too afraid to ask him for help already. Shamelessly, I've been falling asleep in his classes, and not turning up for the lectures at all.
That's why the past few days, I'd been trying my damndest to learn this module from scratch all by myself. Its exam is around the corner, but I believed I could do it. I didn't have any friends from the same module to teach me, I know a few guys but this voice in my head just tells me, "Don't ask them. You don't have the rights to ask them, because you are nothing to them and they will think you're crazy to ask them for help when you've never talked to them before."
But it looks like the war is over already, and that I've lost. I've given up, and shall accept my fate of having to repeat this module next semester.
The alcohol battle
I dropped this habit already, once back in 2013 thanks to the asshole whose name we all know now. It was that easy then, so why is it extra difficult now?
Perhaps it's the fact that I'm already legal and now I can buy that shit literally anytime I want, not like back then when only my regular 7-11s would allow me to pass. But maybe it's also the fact that now, I'm a lot more broken than then, since this breakup was such a shock that it caused me to blow into pieces.
Quitting is harder than you think. Without it, I thirst in a way you can't imagine. I drink it for breakfast, for lunch, for dinner if I could afford that. I was treating it more precious than water, more thirst-quenching and more important than water.
Not saying that drinking makes me forget him, it just makes me so sad that I'm happy. Does that make sense? When I say I remember everything when I'm tipsy, I really meant it. It makes me happy to be miserable, to be walking in zigzags, just because. Like how The Script motivated me, "If he sees how much I'm hurting, he'd take me back for sure."
How wrong I was. Not only did he not come back, but I also chased away so many good friends because of this habit. So many people I've not talked to for so long, the last time I hung out with them being when they had to take care of me in that miserable state.
I also can't remember the last time I held someone's hand sober. This whole time, every guy who had held my hand after that asshole who dumped me was just trying to stabilise me. I was falling, so their instinctive reaction was to hold my hand. Not because they wanted to but because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. God, I may never know what love is anymore.
I've not drank for a week, ever since the incident with my new SP friend. I'm just hoping he gives our friendship a chance, if not, the longer I go without him the faster I'm gonna return to this bad habit. Again.
The home battle
I don't know where 'home' is anymore. Home is where you are supposed to feel safe, secured, and happy. Home isn't the place you are being forced to choose to be called that name. Home isn't somewhere you have to stay in two weeks, before moving to another place that's also supposed to be 'home'.
Finding out where home is shouldn't be this hard. Sure, every kid my age has their own problems within their households, but at least, at the end of the day you have somewhere that you know you have to return to. At least you know, that this is your permanent place, with your parents, or your grandmother. At least there is only one.
It's not easy to be living two weeks here, two weeks there, back and forth like that. Why can't there be somewhere I can stay forever? Must I really choose one? It's either where I was raised, or where I was given a chance to start anew. It ain't that easy to decide on one, because. I need both.
I'm not saying these two houses I'm torn between are perfect, because I have problems in both. In the case of Pasir Ris, I feel I do not belong. It was only one year but it was enough to make me feel dislocated from my own parents and blood brothers. It doesn't help that my elder brother still doesn't acknowledge my presence after a long time of not seeing me.
In the case of Paya Lebar, I don't get what I need. My grandmother pampers me too much, ensuing my disability in growing up and being independent. The longer I stay with her, the more I'll grow to need her; and then when she has to go, what will happen to me? I won't be able to survive, so I have to start living without her, starting now.
Why can't all of us live under one roof together? Won't that solve it for me? Or is everyone too busy with their own problems to consider me? Does my family not realise how much this is taking its toll on me?
The social battle
It's not easy to make friends. It's not easy to keep friends, especially those who's seen the ugly side of you. Losing a friend by being unfollowed on Twitter because you were tweeting too much is nothing; but losing a good friend because they saw the side of you which they didn't like, even after those late night conversations to know how much in pain you are, is worse.
Maybe it was still his hypocrisy or the bloody bro code, but after getting dumped, I was also rejected by his best friend, whom I had painstakingly built my friendship with. Maybe he's painfully oblivious to my love for him, in that best friend way, because I really cared for him, more than I expected. From the day we met, I took an oath to take care of him.
And what about the other friendships I had made via my relationship with the asshole, the tertiary friends I so dearly loved? I'm never gonna have lunch with them or meet them or hang out with them anymore because the first link we had together has cut off all bridges with me. Getting too close with any of them would bring a "trying to steal ex's friends" drama shit.
Making friends with my classmates is out of the question; having repeated most of my modules, I'm put in classes who are already in their own group. Everyone in the class knows everyone except me, so of course, put the new girl aside!
I have my very good friend who's been in the same boat with me since semester 1, and I'm really appreciative of her support in helping me socially and academically, but even she has better social skills than I do. She makes other friends so easily, and most of my friends from this sem were with her help. When we part ways next semester, what's gonna happen to me?
What about in terms of relationships? Guys are assholes, am learning that the terribly hard way, yet here I am still wanting to try again, to try lending my heart to someone again and see how they'd treat it. Such a high possibility that it'll get crushed, yet I'm so willing to place it in anyone's palm. What the fuck is wrong with me?
The religion battle
I can't. I just can't. It's so hard to believe in my own God, because I keep telling myself about how He's let me down, He's let me down. I have always believed in His existence, but never in His power. I keep getting angry at Him for letting me down and hurting me all the damn time.
It ain't helping that I've been watching videos about this History and Science shit that has led me to believe that actually yeah, there might be no such thing as God at all. Put together these scientific+historical shit, and my being disappointed again and again by this 'God', and I might just find myself to be an atheist in the future.
You want me to pray? What if I told you I have, but my life still turned out like shit? All those quotes about how God won't put you through something you can't handle, that's unbelievable. I clearly can't handle this shit, so please get me the fuck out of it!
But nope, I'm still deep in the waters, where in the world are You? Nowhere. His existence is so damn questionable that it's invalid.
And that's why I'm in constant battle with my religion. I just don't know if I should believe it or not.
The mental battle
The hardest war of all is my mentality. I'm turning 19 this year, but I doubt I've been acting my age. I can't stop blaming the 'demons' in my head, when really this voice is none other than my own. Once I'm left alone, this 'voice' is the only one that talks to me. And it's gaining more and more control of me than I can help.
Not gonna touch on that much. But yeah, these are my battles, everyday ones if you could say that. I know it ain't much compared to other people who are suffering more, but everyone has their own different battles. These are mine, and it may be nothing to you, but they are each taking their own tolls on me.
I'm really tired. I wish I can go through this alone, really I do, but I think it's obvious that I depend too heavily on a special someone. Girl best friends can't do shit like that, family won't believe the pain I'm going through, religion is a battle in itself, and even writing isn't doing me much.
With a special someone, I'd discover my own strength that I never thought I'd have. Pretty unbelievable, I know. But with each relationship I've been in, I discover how willing I am to go through the bullshits of life, how strong I am to take on every obstacle that comes my fucking way.
Am I the only one who feels this?
Tuesday, February 18, 2014
5 reasons why I ain't in TP
The question that I've been labeling as the most irritating these days is: "Why never go TP?", especially after I say that I live in the East. Come on, must every Eastern kid who isn't in TP be asked this same question over and over again?
This shall be my list of reasons for not being in TP despite being an East kid, though most are my own personal ones. If only I could shove this link up the noses of whoever asks me this damn question again in the future.
5. First of all, there is the O Level results. Because of my shitty ones, there weren't a lot of courses I was eligible for. I was lucky enough to be eligible for TP's Film, Sound & Video course [I think it changed its name though] but that was it, and that was the only course from TP which I'd applied for in my 12 choices. With my shitty grades, what were the odds of me being able to get that?
4. Secondly, at that point of my life when I was applying for JAE 2013, I really wanted to escape the East side. I hated my job at Loyang Point, I hated the family that kicked me out of their oh-so-perfect house, and I hated the people from my school [who mostly lived in Pasir Ris], which brings me to my next point.
3. Maybe it was just me, but from the graduating batch before mine, I could see a whole bunch of people from my secondary school were in TP. I couldn't help 'stereotyping' students as lazy people who would only go for the nearest poly, so I took the chance to go further. I didn't want to be in the same school with the same people again, not to be reminded of my last year in that hell hole.
2. These next 2 points aren't really reasons why I didn't go TP, but more like why I started to not mind going to a school on the other side of Singapore. I'm not gonna elaborate this one, but just leave it at the main point: I just liked being nearer to the asshole's school, so we were able to meet up easier and more often.
1. This number one reason ain't nothing new. As time passed, I found that I really liked taking the MRT from one side to another. This liking for MRTs grew to a love for the roads; the longer the bus journey, the more things I'd get to see outside the window.
In fact, I love going to school from my Pasir Ris house than from Paya Lebar, just because I get to be on two expressways in one bus journey. I don't mind waking up at 5 in the morning for my 8AM classes, because I grew to love the long bus journeys. I would never have met the roads, my love of my life, if I had gone to a nearby poly.
And hey, if you look at the Singapore map, the Bukit Timah area isn't that far from the East at all. People only say it's far because they look at the MRT map, where Pasir Ris is EW1 and Clementi is EW23.
I've learnt the hard way that roads of Singapore are not equivalent to the MRT map, so you can't judge distance via its place on the latter. Pretty much like how Hougang and Ang Mo Kio are on entirely different Lines on the MRT map despite being practically next to each other.
So please stop asking me Why never go TP!? in that tone, like I'm expected to go there just because I live in the East. No, just no. Stop. And if you show me a shocked face or gasp or go all "Huh so far!?" to know I live in Pasir Ris/Paya Lebar and schooling in Ngee Ann Poly, I will slap you.
This shall be my list of reasons for not being in TP despite being an East kid, though most are my own personal ones. If only I could shove this link up the noses of whoever asks me this damn question again in the future.
5. First of all, there is the O Level results. Because of my shitty ones, there weren't a lot of courses I was eligible for. I was lucky enough to be eligible for TP's Film, Sound & Video course [I think it changed its name though] but that was it, and that was the only course from TP which I'd applied for in my 12 choices. With my shitty grades, what were the odds of me being able to get that?
4. Secondly, at that point of my life when I was applying for JAE 2013, I really wanted to escape the East side. I hated my job at Loyang Point, I hated the family that kicked me out of their oh-so-perfect house, and I hated the people from my school [who mostly lived in Pasir Ris], which brings me to my next point.
3. Maybe it was just me, but from the graduating batch before mine, I could see a whole bunch of people from my secondary school were in TP. I couldn't help 'stereotyping' students as lazy people who would only go for the nearest poly, so I took the chance to go further. I didn't want to be in the same school with the same people again, not to be reminded of my last year in that hell hole.
2. These next 2 points aren't really reasons why I didn't go TP, but more like why I started to not mind going to a school on the other side of Singapore. I'm not gonna elaborate this one, but just leave it at the main point: I just liked being nearer to the asshole's school, so we were able to meet up easier and more often.
1. This number one reason ain't nothing new. As time passed, I found that I really liked taking the MRT from one side to another. This liking for MRTs grew to a love for the roads; the longer the bus journey, the more things I'd get to see outside the window.
In fact, I love going to school from my Pasir Ris house than from Paya Lebar, just because I get to be on two expressways in one bus journey. I don't mind waking up at 5 in the morning for my 8AM classes, because I grew to love the long bus journeys. I would never have met the roads, my love of my life, if I had gone to a nearby poly.
And hey, if you look at the Singapore map, the Bukit Timah area isn't that far from the East at all. People only say it's far because they look at the MRT map, where Pasir Ris is EW1 and Clementi is EW23.
I've learnt the hard way that roads of Singapore are not equivalent to the MRT map, so you can't judge distance via its place on the latter. Pretty much like how Hougang and Ang Mo Kio are on entirely different Lines on the MRT map despite being practically next to each other.
So please stop asking me Why never go TP!? in that tone, like I'm expected to go there just because I live in the East. No, just no. Stop. And if you show me a shocked face or gasp or go all "Huh so far!?" to know I live in Pasir Ris/Paya Lebar and schooling in Ngee Ann Poly, I will slap you.
Monday, February 17, 2014
Torn apart / Bludgeoned
____
T o r n a p a r t .
I'm not sure why I got so sad as I was walking down Elias Road, down to the bus stop. The whole lane I walked was part of my childhood, how my mom and I walked that same path every Wednesday to hail a cab for my ballet lessons. I'm not even 19, yet my childhood feels like decades ago.
Must be the shit I've gotten myself into. I kept thinking, God I'm only 19. Why have I gone through so much? Why had I been abandoned by my parents, why had I gotten my innocence stolen by someone who was using me, why had I been fooled to love someone who left in the end? Are these just the pains of youth? Will this pain disappear once my age doesn't start with a 1 anymore?
Couldn't help but let the tears slip down my face, like I always do. Holding back the tears were causing me more harm than good, although it just made me a lot sadder to cry like that. Just like how you have to let go of someone that's hurting you, even if it pains you as well to be without them, right?
I tried not to cry on the MRT, though I had a fun time crying like shit from EW1 to EW2 [I saw my reflection in the window opposite, I remember how horrible I looked], but at Paya Lebar's bus stop and on bus 70M, I had to curl up and resume crying crying crying like shit.
So I decided to walk around the petrol station, because there is a little pathway that I can take to my block. Turned out, that pathway and the other was closed due to construction works, and I had to walk around the entire site in the end. Of course, halfway I started to sob for whatever reasons, and more and more fucking tears escaped out of me.
Terrible night. Terrible, terrible night. I felt so torn apart. When can I stay somewhere forever? But hey, I survived. And I'm still alive today. Therefore, I am a strong person.
____
B l u d g e o n e d .
There was something heavy tucked in the back of my jeans, though it was only later that I saw it was a parang.
Cut to the next scene, where the camera zooms out of the tree, and pans across the enclosed concrete path. There's a house far up in the north, a little parking lot to the right, little benches propped against a rectangular bed of flowers that stretched across, and this huge flight of staircase that goes higher than you can see down in the south, facing the west.
There's a little boy, about aged 10, with his parents. His parents leave him alone for a while and go to their house, the longhouse at the end of the enclosed area. This is where the game begins.
A group of children, also about aged 10, enter the area from the parking lot and begin running around. The little boy from before go running after the other children, presumably just wanting to join in and play with them.
Every other kid runs away from him screaming, even before he picks up the stray parang on the ground. They scream even before he chases after them and bludgeons them to death. Even when a kid isn't moving anymore, he continues hitting until they are in pieces and there is blood and body parts everywhere.
One left standing, the last fat kid sits on the big staircase crying. The main character stands before the flower bed, supposedly deciding whether he should kill this last kid. His decision is made when the fat kid runs toward him; he violently swings the parang across his head, and as his body drops to the floor, he repeatedly hit him again and again, til it was just a mess of meat and bones and blood on the ground.
The boy looks to his right, and the camera zooms out and shoots the house in the distance, where his parents can be seen in the kitchen through the window. He runs to the house, but the camera angle stays where he was standing.
The camera zooms back to the tree from before, where I realise that, leaning against it, is my very own purple backpack with my Squirtle keychain hanging from it.
I don't know which is scarier; the fact that I was the boy, and killing all those kids... Or the fact that I was there and that I might be the next victim.
____
To relate that to reality, it's probably just telling me that whatever I do now will all come back to me in the end. If I want to think negatively, I'll have to consider the bad karma. But if I want to think positive, which I should, I'll have to think about how someday some guy will do for me more than everything I've done for that asshole who dumped me.
Hah, after I prayed for God not to give me any dreams and just a blank night, I get yet another dark dream full of bloody murder.
Guess I'll blog about my dreams more regularly now on, because you can't deny that they're so damn interesting.
Sunday, February 16, 2014
Skull's bashed in but I'm still in love
I hate what dreams can do to you. Dreams, in the sense of ambitions, can make you so desperate, and can make you so damn devastated when you know you can never achieve them. But in this case, I hate what the dreams I have at night can do to me.
I call them dreams, not nightmares, because I've had worse than what I usually get.
My little brother wanted to hide, and he decided to do that by sitting on the kitchen window. He slipped, and ended up falling over. I could hear his voice screaming, going further and further, while all I could do was stand, look over and call out to him.
I immediately dashed out and went down in the lift [we live on the 9th floor by the way], and when the lift doors opened on the first floor, my parents were there. I looked at them hopefully, but all they could say was: "I'm sorry. There was nothing we could do."
Cut to the next scene, where I was standing in a lift lobby, just me alone. It was really dark in the place and in my soul, I could feel it. I remember the place being a sort of MRT station, probably a major interchange one, because there seemed to be different Lines on different levels.
The lift was so scary, this I remember, because I was saying out loud the Al-Fatihah. It was dark as hell too, and the lift was moving so damn slow despite it only having four levels, as I'd seen the numbers on the lift buttons.
After getting out at the ground level, I continued walking, brooding shoulders and hung head, just letting the darkness eat away at me. I didn't talk to the few people that passed me by, though they greeted me with a smile.
I got to a sort of mall, where I met with none other than the asshole who dumped me and his tertiary friend. The latter spoke to me, telling me to follow them to Courts, so I did.
The Courts were on two levels, and as we went down from the fourth, I went over to the third level entrance. But they continued on to the second level's, so I just went ahead and did my own exploring. I got to this little alleyway that was hidden next to the escalator connecting the two levels, and when the asshole's friend started chasing me, asking me to join them, that was where I hid.
I was drained at this point of time, I sat in a corner of that alleyway and just cried and cried. The asshole and his friend found me, went through the door to the alleyway where I was and came over to me. His friend tried to comfort me but all I could do was hug my knees and cry.
The whole time, the asshole never talked but eventually he knelt down in front of me, looked me in the eyes and told me to stop crying. I didn't stop.
And then he started to hit me. He was bashing my skull in, banging my head against the wall, just hitting me without a sound. I just continued crying, which soon evolved to bawling. I didn't ask him to stop but when he did, he held my head and murmured, "Oh, shit." He looked at his hands and they were bloody, and I noticed a mirror in front of me, so I caught my reflection.
I was a fucking mess. My head was bleeding like crazy, blood dripping down my face along with my tears. I could feel a gap at the back of my head, where more blood was coming out from. It was literally a gap, I could push my fingers into that hole in my head and pry open my skull just like that.
"I'm sorry," he said, and he went to sit opposite me, hugging his knees as well.
I just resumed crying. I'm not sure where his friend had gone, but the asshole who dumped me, sat across from me mirroring my position and just staring back at me. And then guess what he said? He and his fucking balls, he said, "Please marry me."
I can remember the first three words so fucking clearly. What he said afterwards, I can't recall word for word, but it went along the lines of "I'm sorry, but I'll take care of you. If you screw up, I'll stay with you and we'll clean up your mess together. You won't be alone, whatever you said was right and I was wrong. I love you so much I just want to be with you no matter how messed up you are."
He was sitting next to the mirror, and I saw my bloodied face and pathetic state next to him, a reminder of what he just did to me a few minutes before. But I said yes. I said: "Okay, I will marry you."
This obviously means that I'm currently still at his disposal aren't I? I would get stripped of my everything, and when I'm left all alone he could hit me and injure me all he wants, but at the end of the day if he ever uses his charm on me I'd always fall for it.
That just sucks doesn't it.
Moving on is harder than I thought.
A side note: My dreams at night are darker than you think. The atmosphere, the places, the "camera angles", they're all out of a horror movie and then some. That's why I'm really scared of them, they can get real scary sometimes. My own words aren't enough to bring out the depth of my dreams; it's something you'll have to see for yourself in order to feel the fear that I go through every night.
Yes, these are just dreams. Words can't even begin to describe the horror of what I call "nightmares". And I can't forget how I looked like in the mirror, and the look of regret that the asshole had on his face as he was staring at me. It was a look of remorse and at the same time a look of satisfaction.
I call them dreams, not nightmares, because I've had worse than what I usually get.
My little brother wanted to hide, and he decided to do that by sitting on the kitchen window. He slipped, and ended up falling over. I could hear his voice screaming, going further and further, while all I could do was stand, look over and call out to him.
I immediately dashed out and went down in the lift [we live on the 9th floor by the way], and when the lift doors opened on the first floor, my parents were there. I looked at them hopefully, but all they could say was: "I'm sorry. There was nothing we could do."
Cut to the next scene, where I was standing in a lift lobby, just me alone. It was really dark in the place and in my soul, I could feel it. I remember the place being a sort of MRT station, probably a major interchange one, because there seemed to be different Lines on different levels.
The lift was so scary, this I remember, because I was saying out loud the Al-Fatihah. It was dark as hell too, and the lift was moving so damn slow despite it only having four levels, as I'd seen the numbers on the lift buttons.
After getting out at the ground level, I continued walking, brooding shoulders and hung head, just letting the darkness eat away at me. I didn't talk to the few people that passed me by, though they greeted me with a smile.
I got to a sort of mall, where I met with none other than the asshole who dumped me and his tertiary friend. The latter spoke to me, telling me to follow them to Courts, so I did.
The Courts were on two levels, and as we went down from the fourth, I went over to the third level entrance. But they continued on to the second level's, so I just went ahead and did my own exploring. I got to this little alleyway that was hidden next to the escalator connecting the two levels, and when the asshole's friend started chasing me, asking me to join them, that was where I hid.
I was drained at this point of time, I sat in a corner of that alleyway and just cried and cried. The asshole and his friend found me, went through the door to the alleyway where I was and came over to me. His friend tried to comfort me but all I could do was hug my knees and cry.
The whole time, the asshole never talked but eventually he knelt down in front of me, looked me in the eyes and told me to stop crying. I didn't stop.
And then he started to hit me. He was bashing my skull in, banging my head against the wall, just hitting me without a sound. I just continued crying, which soon evolved to bawling. I didn't ask him to stop but when he did, he held my head and murmured, "Oh, shit." He looked at his hands and they were bloody, and I noticed a mirror in front of me, so I caught my reflection.
I was a fucking mess. My head was bleeding like crazy, blood dripping down my face along with my tears. I could feel a gap at the back of my head, where more blood was coming out from. It was literally a gap, I could push my fingers into that hole in my head and pry open my skull just like that.
"I'm sorry," he said, and he went to sit opposite me, hugging his knees as well.
I just resumed crying. I'm not sure where his friend had gone, but the asshole who dumped me, sat across from me mirroring my position and just staring back at me. And then guess what he said? He and his fucking balls, he said, "Please marry me."
I can remember the first three words so fucking clearly. What he said afterwards, I can't recall word for word, but it went along the lines of "I'm sorry, but I'll take care of you. If you screw up, I'll stay with you and we'll clean up your mess together. You won't be alone, whatever you said was right and I was wrong. I love you so much I just want to be with you no matter how messed up you are."
He was sitting next to the mirror, and I saw my bloodied face and pathetic state next to him, a reminder of what he just did to me a few minutes before. But I said yes. I said: "Okay, I will marry you."
This obviously means that I'm currently still at his disposal aren't I? I would get stripped of my everything, and when I'm left all alone he could hit me and injure me all he wants, but at the end of the day if he ever uses his charm on me I'd always fall for it.
That just sucks doesn't it.
Moving on is harder than I thought.
A side note: My dreams at night are darker than you think. The atmosphere, the places, the "camera angles", they're all out of a horror movie and then some. That's why I'm really scared of them, they can get real scary sometimes. My own words aren't enough to bring out the depth of my dreams; it's something you'll have to see for yourself in order to feel the fear that I go through every night.
Yes, these are just dreams. Words can't even begin to describe the horror of what I call "nightmares". And I can't forget how I looked like in the mirror, and the look of regret that the asshole had on his face as he was staring at me. It was a look of remorse and at the same time a look of satisfaction.
Saturday, February 15, 2014
The spark is going
We've been hanging out the past week. We study at his school, though most of the time he's teaching me or we're both just fooling around. We've known each other for more than a year, but we've never gotten to know the other more.
He's really adorable. I love the smug smile he gives every time he manages to annoy me. I love how nerdy he looks. I love how we glance at each other without saying a word and burst into chuckles. I love the way he gives me a flying kiss when he's going off to play soccer.
Never thought I'd feel this way again. I told myself not to screw up this one. I told myself, take care of him properly no matter how hurt you are by another. I told myself, take it slow. Because I really liked him for who he was, and with him, my anger is so easily forgotten.
I've gone to new places when I'm with him, and not just literally but in a metaphorical sense too. He brings me to a certain kind of happiness that I can't describe, just as I thought I would never get up again. Even if I thought I'd move on, I never thought it would be this easy. Quick like a bullet shot to the head where you don't have to suffer.
He brought me to his clique's favourite place, which had felt like the start of something new. And on Wednesday, we were going to take the bus back to Pasir Ris [it was his turn to sacrifice his concession; his is for the MRT and mine is for the bus] when someone called to him from a car.
His friend offered to drop us to Simei, and I was reluctant at first but I just went along with it. I've always loved buses and trains, never a big fan of cars exactly. But I absolutely loved being beside him in his friend's, looking out the window, being on my roads.
The best part? We actually went on the Marina Coastal Expressway, the new expressway which just opened late last year. I didn't know until I heard his friend talking about the Marina Barrage above us, and I just had to cut in: "What expressway are we on...?"
I couldn't help getting excited, and he started teasing me, as if he didn't know my obsession with roads and expressways.
"She looks familiar," his friend remarked about me. I knew it was impossible for him to know me straightout as me, so I just told him my elder brother's name, thinking he'd know him. Surprisingly, the name meant nothing to him, but he insisted that he'd seen my face before.
He and I got to Simei, thanked his friend for the ride, and made our way to his home. I loved how I knew the way just by knowing his block name and street number.
It would have been a great day and all, if I hadn't decided to drink while walking. I told myself, just one bottle, but that taste left me wanting more so I bought another. I let him see that side of me, and I so deeply fucking regret because now he ain't talking to me.
It confuses me though. We did talk about how he'd one day accompany me drink, but only after we finish studying for the day. Which was just what happened that night; as long as I didn't drink while he was teaching me, it's fine. I really don't get it.
Still, I think I've learnt my lesson. This habit is ruining a friendship. I've said sorry and that I will quit, and that I hoped he would talk to me like normal again. I swear, if he would just text me like normal, smother me with good mornings and babes, I swear I will never ever touch alcohol ever again.
And that's what happened. My most recent heartbreak, and my most recent addition to my debate of Guys are more complicated than girls!!!
He's really adorable. I love the smug smile he gives every time he manages to annoy me. I love how nerdy he looks. I love how we glance at each other without saying a word and burst into chuckles. I love the way he gives me a flying kiss when he's going off to play soccer.
Never thought I'd feel this way again. I told myself not to screw up this one. I told myself, take care of him properly no matter how hurt you are by another. I told myself, take it slow. Because I really liked him for who he was, and with him, my anger is so easily forgotten.
I've gone to new places when I'm with him, and not just literally but in a metaphorical sense too. He brings me to a certain kind of happiness that I can't describe, just as I thought I would never get up again. Even if I thought I'd move on, I never thought it would be this easy. Quick like a bullet shot to the head where you don't have to suffer.
He brought me to his clique's favourite place, which had felt like the start of something new. And on Wednesday, we were going to take the bus back to Pasir Ris [it was his turn to sacrifice his concession; his is for the MRT and mine is for the bus] when someone called to him from a car.
His friend offered to drop us to Simei, and I was reluctant at first but I just went along with it. I've always loved buses and trains, never a big fan of cars exactly. But I absolutely loved being beside him in his friend's, looking out the window, being on my roads.
The best part? We actually went on the Marina Coastal Expressway, the new expressway which just opened late last year. I didn't know until I heard his friend talking about the Marina Barrage above us, and I just had to cut in: "What expressway are we on...?"
I couldn't help getting excited, and he started teasing me, as if he didn't know my obsession with roads and expressways.
"She looks familiar," his friend remarked about me. I knew it was impossible for him to know me straightout as me, so I just told him my elder brother's name, thinking he'd know him. Surprisingly, the name meant nothing to him, but he insisted that he'd seen my face before.
He and I got to Simei, thanked his friend for the ride, and made our way to his home. I loved how I knew the way just by knowing his block name and street number.
It would have been a great day and all, if I hadn't decided to drink while walking. I told myself, just one bottle, but that taste left me wanting more so I bought another. I let him see that side of me, and I so deeply fucking regret because now he ain't talking to me.
It confuses me though. We did talk about how he'd one day accompany me drink, but only after we finish studying for the day. Which was just what happened that night; as long as I didn't drink while he was teaching me, it's fine. I really don't get it.
Still, I think I've learnt my lesson. This habit is ruining a friendship. I've said sorry and that I will quit, and that I hoped he would talk to me like normal again. I swear, if he would just text me like normal, smother me with good mornings and babes, I swear I will never ever touch alcohol ever again.
And that's what happened. My most recent heartbreak, and my most recent addition to my debate of Guys are more complicated than girls!!!
Tuesday, February 11, 2014
Getting up
There was once I had the best Monday of the year, it was a beautiful day and then some, but I hadn't had the chance to blog about it.
That Monday in October, when everything was perfect. When I wore a long skirt to school and the one whom I'd called my world back then said I was gorgeous. When I sat on the top deck of bus 197, which ran alongside trains on the tracks between Lavender and Kallang, with the sunset on my hair. When I reached home, at Paya Lebar, to receive a call from my granny that she was on the way home after one week at Johore.
That was a perfect Monday, three months ago. Just recently, the whole beauty of that day was shattered, and I never went anywhere near the memory, just to run away from the fact that it's over.
Here came another Monday, entirely different from then: I wasn't living in Paya Lebar anymore; I didn't have any boy's hand to hold anymore; I couldn't sit on the top deck of a bus and ride alongside trains anymore.
Yesterday, I'd gone to Singapore Poly to study alongside a new buddy of mine, with his group of friends. I was alone yet I was not alone, thanks to their company. They have a sort of hideout which they called "Narnia" because of the view, and they brought me to see for myself. I can't even begin to describe my feelings when I sat there.
Thinking about it, I was sad that the perfection of my life from last year was over. I still couldn't believe that he left just like that, and that I actually went back to Pasir Ris. Two things which I'd sworn would never be. It was hard to accept that these two things had truly happened, and I couldn't help but let a few tears slip away.
As I stayed there longer alongside this other guy that cared for me at the moment, I felt a little lighter. I told myself that this is 2014. It's the start of something new, as much as I don't want to leave my previous happiness behind. It was saddening, yet hopeful at the same time. This feeling, it's hard to describe.
And then came today: for a girl who's having trouble finding out where 'home' is for her, I guess the only time where I feel at the right place is on the expressway. When you're in love, you see the beauty which others don't, like you have your own third eye. That's how I feel for my roads; no other kid my age would appreciate them like I do, and that makes me feel in a way, that they're mine alone.
It's not easy to forget; everyone tells you to move on but they don't tell you how. But I think I've figured it out myself; you move on by moving back. Go back to the life you had before, back to the person you were before you deemed yourself as happy.
You may think I'm crazy, but it makes sense to me, because "back", is back to when you didn't know what was happiness and what was not, and you'd feel contented with whatever that comes into your life.
And as usual, here I'd be writing these sentimental shit, pretty sure I'm making sense, but in reality, I won't bother to put in effort to heed my own words. But I want to try. I have so much in me to give, and I'd start by giving my best to myself.
That Monday in October, when everything was perfect. When I wore a long skirt to school and the one whom I'd called my world back then said I was gorgeous. When I sat on the top deck of bus 197, which ran alongside trains on the tracks between Lavender and Kallang, with the sunset on my hair. When I reached home, at Paya Lebar, to receive a call from my granny that she was on the way home after one week at Johore.
That was a perfect Monday, three months ago. Just recently, the whole beauty of that day was shattered, and I never went anywhere near the memory, just to run away from the fact that it's over.
Here came another Monday, entirely different from then: I wasn't living in Paya Lebar anymore; I didn't have any boy's hand to hold anymore; I couldn't sit on the top deck of a bus and ride alongside trains anymore.
Yesterday, I'd gone to Singapore Poly to study alongside a new buddy of mine, with his group of friends. I was alone yet I was not alone, thanks to their company. They have a sort of hideout which they called "Narnia" because of the view, and they brought me to see for myself. I can't even begin to describe my feelings when I sat there.
Thinking about it, I was sad that the perfection of my life from last year was over. I still couldn't believe that he left just like that, and that I actually went back to Pasir Ris. Two things which I'd sworn would never be. It was hard to accept that these two things had truly happened, and I couldn't help but let a few tears slip away.
As I stayed there longer alongside this other guy that cared for me at the moment, I felt a little lighter. I told myself that this is 2014. It's the start of something new, as much as I don't want to leave my previous happiness behind. It was saddening, yet hopeful at the same time. This feeling, it's hard to describe.
And then came today: for a girl who's having trouble finding out where 'home' is for her, I guess the only time where I feel at the right place is on the expressway. When you're in love, you see the beauty which others don't, like you have your own third eye. That's how I feel for my roads; no other kid my age would appreciate them like I do, and that makes me feel in a way, that they're mine alone.
It's not easy to forget; everyone tells you to move on but they don't tell you how. But I think I've figured it out myself; you move on by moving back. Go back to the life you had before, back to the person you were before you deemed yourself as happy.
You may think I'm crazy, but it makes sense to me, because "back", is back to when you didn't know what was happiness and what was not, and you'd feel contented with whatever that comes into your life.
And as usual, here I'd be writing these sentimental shit, pretty sure I'm making sense, but in reality, I won't bother to put in effort to heed my own words. But I want to try. I have so much in me to give, and I'd start by giving my best to myself.
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