Top 5 fears

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ramadan 2014 reflection

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The flame, the flower and the block of ice

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Goodbye moths

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

3 deaths I've dealt with

I hated him. 

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

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

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

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

____

I barely knew who she was.

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

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

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

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

____

I didn't get to say goodbye.

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

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

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

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

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

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

____

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

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

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

3 passing thoughts

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

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

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

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

What if you woke up and realised

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

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

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

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

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

____

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

For my brother

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

5 things that make me Fire-Type

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Diary of the coldest girl

Monday, 30th June. 

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

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

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

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

Tuesday, 1st July. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wednesday, 2nd July.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

____

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

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

Found love in a hopeless place

Love was found in a hopeless place.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

____

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

First Ramadan

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

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

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

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

So, I shall blog about yesterday now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I am a murderer.

I am a murderer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I am a murderer.

Confessions of a bibliophile

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A war with my dreams

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Erudite anal-probe???

Another night, another dream. Long enough and an impact that's hard. I'd managed to get a whole dream to write about this time, after getting vague dreams the whole term since school started. Meh.

Anyway, I'm starting to believe my Dreamworld is really one world in its own. I don't know how to put it in words, apart from the fact that the places I dreamt of, I don't just see them again in real life, but I see them again in separate dreams.

Just a while ago I dreamt of an apocalyptic Johore Bahru. I was in a car, looking out the window, driving along its abandoned ruins. The grounds were snow-filled, though I don't remember if there were anymore snow falling from the sky.

I believe last night I was brought back to that time and space. I remember more snow, the same ruined road, and someone mentioning that we were going 'deeper into Johore Bahru', probably further than where my dream-self had explored before.

'We' arrived at this little town [I don't recall exactly who I was with], which actually consisted of a garden, a few houses and a freaking huge school. The whole town was filled with snow, which made it difficult to walk, especially through the garden, but I made it.

We got into the compound of the school, which was deserted as hell. Not for long because a woman with a giant bell protruding out of her stomach ran over to us and started making a lot of noise by ringing the bell and yelling at the top of her voice.

One of the people I was with said that was the job of these bell-stomached people: to attract attention and alert the authorities when there are intruders. As soon as he said that, a woman appeared behind him, one who looked important, she in her suit and hands behind her back, chin held high.

We all seemed calm, though I'm pretty sure my companions were scared as fuck. She commanded us to follow her, which we did, until 2 of the boys from the 5 of us developed a plan and ran off. The remaining 3 of us didn't follow, because the woman had had her eyes on us. What's more, the fact that she had seen the other 2 boys running off but wasn't fazed by it just intrigued all of us.

She brought us into this room, chucked at the back of the school, and the first thing I noticed upon walking into it was a grown man laid on an uncomfortable-looking bed. He was naked, and he was completely stripped of his sexual organs.

I slowly looked around to see that he wasn't the only one. There was one by the door, another by our side, both laid down, naked and without any genitals. My companions who followed the woman with me were a girl and a boy, so you can imagine the look of horror on the latter.

The woman explained: "For many years, this town we live in has been in extreme poverty. Despite that, education and intelligence mean the world to us, more valuable than any amount of money or any diamond. Many of the people in our school were too poor to afford schoolbooks, but the rule of the town is that it's compulsory for everyone in our town to know the content of our books.

That is why, the only way we could spread the knowledge without spending a single cent was to circumcise these men, so we could probe into them the content of the books. What is written in these books are put into them via anus so as to transfer the information to their heads."

And she demonstrated.

I'm not even gonna try to describe it. It was too grotesque, too horrific for words.

We all watched in horror until the woman casually looked at us and said, "As long as you've touched your feet on our land for more than 10 minutes, you are considered part of us, and thus, it is necessary that you withhold the content of our schoolbooks in your heads as well."

We slowly backed up as she approached us, until the door opened behind us and our other 2 companions yelled at us to run. We didn't need them to tell us that; we bolted out the door and our feet took us, anywhere as long as we were away from the woman and the anal-probing.

We had a car, but it was parked at the outskirts of the garden and we couldn't take the risk of changing direction. It was chaos as we just, well, ran.

I got separated from my companions, and for the rest of the dream I was on my own exploring this dystopian town that was once Johore Bahru. I reached a carnival where monkeys were attempting to steal your phones. I drank at a bar where they decided who were your friends or foes by taking blood tests. I looked out the window to see that the sun was just a giant yellow spaceship with orange rings around it.

My dream-self was in disbelief that that was happening to her. It all felt too surreal, but unfortunately for her, everything that she had seen or felt was her reality. Just like how I feel when I'm on a bus, looking out the window, thinking of all that has happened to me.

Maybe that's just why my dreams take a huge toll on me. She's convinced that she's in reality when she's just in my dreams, so I wake up believing that her world is mine. I wake up still stuck in there, still messed around by the things she had seen.

Just a theory. I love theories.

And that's just the dream I had this morning. I woke up from it at 4 in the morning, feeling breathless and perspiring my head off. I don't remember what was the last thing I'd been running from really, considering the fact that running away from the woman had happened toward the beginning. There're so many gaps in my dreams most of the time.

I also can't forget the display of the men on their beds, with holes at where their sexual organs should have been. As much as I hate men, that is not a pleasant sight, and seeing them anally probed was not nice at all. Ah. My goosebumps.

Dear faggot ex

Don't think I don't have a clue that you still read my blog. Isn't it ironic that you shoot your mouth off about me not moving on when you're the one stalking my blog and shit? [I stalk your Twitter only when I know you've read my blog] I've had so much to rant about you since forever. Glad I have the chance now.

You, my dear faggot, have got to stop thinking so highly of yourself. Yeah, I'm friends with some of your friends, but does that mean I want you back? And who was the one who introduced us in the first place? Was there a rule stating that friends can't keep their friendship when the mutual friend isn't friends with one of them anymore?

You probably hate me because of my long blog post for you the other time, but I never understood why ya know. To put it in words, you've probably told your side of the story to your tertiary friends, that's why even the ones whom I liked so much and whom I thought cared for me, cut off all ties with me as well. [I can imagine you with your cuntface while you tell them your standard "She cheated on me twice!" *rolls eyes*]

They never heard my part but they already made their judgement that I am the villain. How fair is that? So let me tell my side of the story then, why don't you. Thus you can't hold it against me to write and let people see that post.

I don't understand why you even made me to be the bad guy. I cheated on you twice? Maybe the first incident is considered, not that heavy a case but at least I admit it was a huge mistake on my part, and I only allowed it to happen once before I talked to you about it, while the second can't even be classified as 'cheating'.

Secondly, I'd explained to you both incidents, I told you my feelings and why I'd done that. Thirdly, these two shit happened so long ago, long before our break-up even. In between you told me you were okay with me already, that you already put that all behind you. Fourthly, these two incidents weren't even the reason why you broke up with me.

Dude. From October up to our break-up I was trying so goddamn hard for you. I already saw that you were losing interest, but I still did my freaking best while I let you sit back and relax in the relationship. The few times you had to comfort me, was the few times I crumbled from exhaustion of doing my best for you.

Who was the one who left, clearly stating it was because he lost interest in me? Who was the one who coldly shrugged his arm off when I was begging him not to go, who said so casually, "I just don't love you anymore." Why am I the villain?

All the crazy things I did after our break-up; who wouldn't break down like that after being dumped just two days after the goddamn anniversary with a reason like yours dude? Who ever saw it coming? How would you feel if you're laughing with someone one minute, and the next, he suddenly punches you right in the face? Pretty sure your emotions would take over you, you can't deny it.

And put yourself in my place. What if you're the one who had no one except for the person you love? What if you're the one who literally has no friends in school, no parents or siblings to talk to, nobody except your other half? What if you had someone who knows everything you've gone through and supposedly understands why you need her so badly? How would you feel if you've done all you could for her because you only have her, but one day she just decides that she doesn't want you anymore, after you've been together for one year?

It hurts okay?

So why am I the villain? Why do you make me the bad guy? I never deserved any of it. I did wrong to you but at least I admitted my mistakes. You're still living in your fantasy that I'm 100% the bad guy of the story, you don't even admit how you've wronged me. Just... UGH. Who's the egoistic one?

One more thing I admit. It does suck to have your ex girlfriend liking your best friend. I know it's stupid that I've gotten a crush on him of all people, but even that in itself is nothing wrong. Again, me liking him has got nothing to do with my past relationship with you. I feel bummed out too with the fact that he's your best friend, you piece of shit, but still I only want to see him as him, not 'my ex's best friend'.

Again, you're the one not moving on. You've lost interest in me, you've broken up with me, you've stopped contacting me altogether. You doing all this should lead to you treating me as just another girl, thus you shouldn't see any problem with me going out with him. You shouldn't give a shit. I'm just another girl. Tell yourself that you faggot. Because I really am nothing to you.

I honestly don't know what exactly are your problems with me liking him, but whatever it is, I assure you you are wrong. If you think I've got any hidden intentions, I'll tell you what it is. My hidden intention is that I want to know more about him, I want to listen to him and I want to take care of him better than you ever would.

That's it. If you think I wanna get to him only to get back at you, fuck off. Ain't nobody got time for that. And Idk, a part of me has this feeling that you're thinking I've liked your best friend since the days we were still together. Well the answer is no, I didn't have feelings for him like that when I was still with you, and even if so, you lost interest in me months before you broke up with me, remember that, and that's no different.

And I told myself that if I want to be with him, I shouldn't try regarding you, not even any hate. Because although I will never have the chance of being his, I don't want to cause him the disservice of having his best friend and a girl fighting over him and shit. He means a lot to me, and I don't want to cause unnecessary trouble, though maybe I already am..

God dammit what else do I have to spit out at you... Just hate it if I leave out any important points even if it's just ranting ._.

Well, dude. Just wanna give you the good news that I've been out of your goddamned life since January, so you don't have to worry about that. Your friends don't equate to you, so me being close with a friend of yours or two doesn't make me still in your life, and it doesn't give you reason to be all "when will you fuck off from my life" just because you see me hanging out with your classmate.

I see all my friends as who they are, and it doesn't matter that you were the one who introduced them. They have names, they have their lives, they have no reason to be linked to you.

Also, nothing justifies you saying "holy shit you disgust me so much", because you are the disgusting one. If you still don't know why after reading this post of mine [which I've written only to stand up for myself] go look in the mirror and reflect on what you've forced me to do for you, you filthy piece of shit.

Any arguments, please feel free to fucking mention me.

Take me back

Take me back to that night in 1995

Before I was granted a life.

Before my hands were able to hold.

Before my shell was granted a soul.

Take me back to 2004 

Before the little body became bruised and sore.

Before the secret was given away.

Before their fights every night and day.

Take me back to 2010

Before a boy was mistaken for a man.

Before a girl gave him everything she's got.

Before he ran away with the whole lot.

Take me back to 2012

Before the best true friends were left.

Before the careless spill of the first blood.

Before home's door was slammed shut.

Take me back to January

Before I knew the life that I'm living now would ever belong to me.

Before I stopped meaning the things I say and have said.

Before I started mixing reality with the things in my head.

Joyously depressing

Today was what you could call bittersweet.

I don't really want to use that word though, because somehow it sounds sad. My day was, as I called it, joyously depressing. Like how you'd see the people in an insane asylum laughing away, unaware about their conditions.

It started with my daily morning stroll to Mountbatten station. Because first class started at 8, I had to leave my Paya Lebar house by 6. The silence was peaceful and at the same time eerie, and there weren't any cats or people around. No birds chirping. Pretty much like how solitude comforts yet kills.

When I got to school, a song called "Happy" came next on my playlist. It lifted my spirits, even when I'd been thinking of the sad things in life throughout my bus journey.

A long time ago, I read the English lyrics of this song; contrary to its joyous and upbeat tune, it's about letting go of someone who means the world to you; how you've lost yours, but that you wish they'd find their own happiness.

That's when I realised that it doesn't matter how sad your lyrics are. As long as you have a happy tune, everything will be alright. The happy is all that everyone hears and sees.

And then I had a fight with one of the few people who means a lot to me. This fag has always meant a lot, but I don't show it, and he knows that. Regardless of my newly found hatred for guys and my declared statement of I don't want to care anymore, somehow I actually do, but I don't know how to prove it.

I don't know how to show it. I don't even know if my affection for this person is good enough. Because judging from what he'd said, it looks like my presence hasn't made any impact on him for the past 2 months of our friendship. It seems that I haven't made any difference, whether or not I'm in his life. I could go on giving him the silent treatment for days and he'd never notice I was gone.

I spent my three hours lunch break completing the book I started on yesterday. It's one of those books where you have to get into it without having a clue what it's about, so I'm not gonna say much about it.

It's a funny one, yet at the same time depressing because it poked and prodded hard at me, right in the most sensitive spots of my past 18 years. I had to take a few deep breaths each time its plot twisted suddenly, had to let a few tears slip when I imagined myself in the protagonist's place.

By the time I read to its end, I couldn't hold it anymore. I tossed the book aside and ran to the toilet, where I hid in a cubicle and cried my eyes out. In the middle of my bawling, I caught my reflection [there's a mirror in every cubicle in my school's Atrium toilet] and, seeing how ugly I looked, started to laugh at my silliness.

It's just a book, I told myself. It's just a little paperback, just words in devious placements, forming sentences and paragraphs that became knives, stabbing you in the heart again and again. I smiled and wiped my tears away. It's just a book.

I didn't know whether I should label it 'better than', or 'worse than', in comparison to the book that stirred everyone else's hearts, The Fault In Our Stars. This book I'd read was better than that because its plot was not expected at all and I related to it better, but at the same time it was worse because it'd made me cry harder. [then again, if a book were to touch your heart so deeply like that, I'm pretty sure that makes it a good one]

I had to make my way to class after that, where I'd suffered a terrible book hangover. I couldn't stop thinking of the ending, of the characters, of the world through the protagonist's eyes. It felt like I was still stuck in the world of the book, still on Beechwood Island.

And then I looked down at my arms. The thin white stripes on the black background of my sleeves brought me back to 2011.

And at that moment, I lost all my senses. I didn't know what was reality anymore.
I got it mixed
with the world of the books I'd read
with the world I fantasise living in
with the alternate universe where the other 'me' was living the life I never had
with my Dreamworld
with the past.

I didn't know what was going on anymore, and that made me want to laugh
and cry
at the same time.

I'm in my own asylum. One part of me laughs too hard at the smallest things, another keeps her chin too high until only the insides of her nose could be seen, which disgusted and chased others away. The other parts are trapped in my head, yelling again and again, I'm not crazy, I want out, help me, I'm not supposed to be here. Another part yells Leave me the fuck alone. I'm fine on my own. Leave me be.

But the biggest soul of them all speaks, and immediately the rest of these voices shut up. The biggest soul in me simply says:

Today was a bittersweet day, but I wouldn't really use that word because it sounds too sad.
Today was joyously depressing.
In a way that the patients in an insane asylum would laugh like mad, unaware of their conditions.

Putting myself in others' shoes

Some things have been on my mind lately. About putting myself in other people's shoes. The past boyfriend said I never understood him, because I'd never thought about his feelings, or about the situation he was in.

Sure, most of the time I was too egoistic, but a few points of our relationship, I swear I'd placed him first without a second thought. Not gonna talk about those moments because they don't matter anymore.

He left, and ever since then I'd changed my way of thinking by placing myself in the shoes of others. Simpler said, I was just looking at myself the way others would, by looking at others through my own eyes.

I tried imagining how others looked at me. They wouldn't care, because I wouldn't care about anybody else. You could try sending some message through your tweets or retweets or favourites or whatever, but truth is, nobody would bother reading between the lines for you. Because would you do that when it comes to somebody else? I don't think so. You'd only react to somebody else's suffering if the fact's thrown right into your face.

Nobody would try to decode your life by reading your tweets, nobody would dig into your Favourites to know what secret message you're trying to convey. Nobody would Google the lyrics of the song you #np just to know how you feel. Nobody would read your blog, and even if they do, they wouldn't really care enough to know you better or to make you feel better.

Nobody would look at you and ever wonder, "Does she ever sit on a bus and cry her eyes out as she looks out the window?",  "Is she tired from having two families and two places to call home?", "Does she still feel hurt by the words I just don't love you anymore, even 5 months after a boy said that to her, and 2 years after her own parents said that to her?"

No. Nobody would care to even wonder that. As long as they see that you're fine on the surface, that's it. That's all they see in you. Because come on, that's how you see them.

What am I saying? My point is, knowing others wouldn't care, why should I care about others, really? I'm fine in my own world, because from what I can see, the rest of the world is fine the way they are too. Do I make sense?

I don't trust my life in the hands of another anymore, I don't really care anymore if people leave, I don't bother to know how others are feeling on the inside. I don't want to do things for others anymore, because I'd end up getting hurt. I'd rather hurt others, because this is my life at stake. My feelings. Not theirs.

To know that the nicest person to you was just faking it all along. To know the one whom you called your world already lost his feelings for you just when you were starting to try again. To know the one who gave birth to you thought you were ugly all along and only appreciated your uniqueness when you were gone. To know the one you really like hugged you tight like his world depended on you, only as a friendly gesture. Everyone is selfish, so why can't I be?

I almost gave way to my selflessness earlier by getting this urge to run back to NYP just to accompany a friend of mine. I'm glad I didn't, because this is a new start for me. I don't want to care anymore.