Meet my lady boss.

she's always been fierce, actually. she's always had this look in her eyes, telling people not to mess with her. she has this threatening stance, and the way she waves her spreading knife around when she's telling someone off.

meet my lady boss.

honestly i never had a bad first impression of her. i was never scared of her or anything. i just didnt like the way she treated people sometimes. sure, i hate humans too but she used to brag to me about how she'd gotten a cert for service or some shit like that.

she did treat me like her own daughter sometimes. she stood up for me numerous times, when people were discriminating me for being Malay, and her for hiring a Malay.

she knew about how i was fending for myself, because my parents werent giving me money. when school started, she decided to give me my pay weekly, instead of the usual "every 5th". i was very grateful for that, really.

she always got snacks and meals for me, and on the days i worked 12 hours, she'd thank me again and again as way of her gratitude. i was sincere in helping her, because sometimes her other workers werent very dependent. i was more than happy to aid her.

but that's the bright side of her. i have more things that i disliked about her than i appreciated about her.

for one, she may sayang me like she said she does, but upon her arrival, if she sees one little screw-up in the shop of hers, she'd stay mad at me the entire day.

and by mad, i mean mad. on her normal days, she'd talk to me nicely if i dont serve our customers up to her standards. but on her mad days, even if i do things properly, she'd find something to get irritated about and would yell like shit away at me.

and sometimes i doubt her "sayang" too. i know she talks about me behind her back. on the days i was sick, she'd gossip to my replacement about how i was lying just so i wouldnt have to work. yes, this is how she really thought of me.

i've been taking this attitude of hers for six months. the last straw was about two weeks ago, on a Sunday. Sunday mornings are when i usually work with one of my girlfriends. we call these mornings "party", because we'd really make a party out of all the bread and ingredients that were free of charge for us.

so this particular day, there was an order for about 35 curry puffs, to be ready by 1pm. this was the time that lady boss and boss usually arrives at the shop.

additional info which may aid in understanding the story later: i had checked my phone to see two missed calls from a private number, which i decided not to bother with anymore after i had chucked my phone into my pocket. because what could i do? i couldnt call back, it was private number.

my girlfriend and i had managed to bake the 35 of them on time, but we were confused about how to pack them. one big box or two small boxes? each option was flawed, in the sense that our lady boss would definitely find fault either way.

and if we asked? she was bound to get mad and say something like "you all how long work here already? this one also dont know meh?" yes, we knew the way she was.

there were no customers at the time but i'd stayed outside at the counter while my girlfriend was in the kitchen, taking out the batch out of the oven. she had called me from inside, wondering how to pack the curry puffs, and i went in to take a look.

unluckily for us, lady boss arrived a second after i had stepped in, and the first thing she did was yell, "why are the both of you inside here? then who's taking care of my counter?"

so i answered, "i just went inside." i'd said it calmly, but it just pissed her off more, and she decided to start a new argument: "why i call you so many times you never answer?"

it was then that i remembered that her phone number was a private number. "oh yeah i never see. i saw only two missed calls and it never crossed my mind that it was you."

and this simple sentence pissed the shit out of her. the following is the argument that had taken place. i'm too lazy to write this in perfect English sentences \o/ [and i speak Singlish with her too, cause my cheem English is too high a standard for her]

her: then you see already why you never call back?
me: i didnt know it was you.
her: how come you dont know is me? you dont have my number meh??
me: huh? i have la.
her: then why you never call back?
me: cause you call me is private number what.
her: what private number?? if you have my number then confirm when i call you got my name what! you never save my number is it?!
me: i did. it's just that when you call me is private number.
[at this point of time i was getting really agitated]
her: WHAT PRIVATE NUMBER!?!? *takes out her phone and shows me her calls list* you see if i call people confirm got their name what. like this one, i call you got your name what! i call Linda also, got her name what! what private number!?
me: no, no, when you call me, my phone says private number. your number from last time private number already what! *shows my log of missed calls, and shows her "private number"*
her: means you never save my number lah!
me: *shows contact book* i did, i save your number as your name, see?
her: *muka dah kalah* *waves her hand* aiyah i dont know what you talking lah! must be your phone stupid lah, call you also no have my name!
me: it's freaking private number!
[yes, i was getting really pissed and i didnt want her to get away thinking she was right.]
her: IF YOU GOT SAVE MY NUMBER CONFIRM HAVE MY NAME WHEN I CALL YOU WHAT!

she asked my girlfriend, almost pleading for her to back her up, but all she could say was, "my phone no caller ID, everyone call me also all private number."

still, my lady boss was unhappy and wasnt gonna let me get away with it. she continued making her statement to the big boss, going on and on about the missed calls, the saved contact, and private number, blah blah blah. boss didnt answer her that much though, so she just rambled on away.

i went off at 3, thank goodness, and went off to meet my boyfriend, and while we were on our way to Harbourfront to break fast with his classmates, i told him all about it.

the next morning i woke up to see texts from my girlfriend, saying that our lady boss had tested out the private number thing by calling one of our colleagues. and she realised that i was right! but of course, proud as she was, she stayed speechless and didnt say anything more about it after that.

that night i decided that i should only work on Saturdays instead of both the weekend days. my studies were declining. my lady boss had mentioned before school started, that if i could only work for one day, she'd understand because studies were important for a kid like me after all.

so i texted her, telling her that i was only able to work on Saturdays from then on. and it being the fasting month, i could only last 8-3pm temporarily. "hope you understand", i had added.

she didnt reply me straight. instead, she told my girlfriend to pass on the message to me. "eh auntie say if you can only work like that she say she rather fire you."

first thing that pissed me off, why couldnt she text me herself? she'd always been texting my girlfriend to text me when i text her. when i tried to do the same to her by texting my girlfriend to text her, she'd come to me the next working day and snap, "why you cannot give sms me yourself? why must ask your friend give sms me?"

second thing that pissed me off; her hypocrisy. she did mention that it was okay if i could only work one day a week. she mentioned it many times, in fact!

so i told my girlfriend, "hey, tell her she can't fire me. because i quit!"

and that Sunday afternoon that i had finally stood up for myself against her? it was the last day i ever worked.

so you're saying i'm ungrateful for this job? i am thankful. i really am. i just cant stand the way she treats me anymore. do you know that me and my girlfriend are the only workers who know how to work the morning shift? i was opening shop for lady boss every day during the holidays, and on weekends when i had school.

on the days i couldnt work? she was the one who opened the shop. she had to work 9 in the morning to around midnight every single weekday. shouldnt she be grateful that at least i had opened up shop for her on those days that i could?

and damn, the way she talks about me behind my back. i've always helped her when she needed staff, and i was always working alone on damn busy days. i was probably the only sincere worker she had compared to all her China girls!

so there we have it. i'm jobless now. i didnt have any regrets, and honestly i still dont. i'm just not sure how i'm gonna fend for myself now, and how am i gonna earn money during the holidays without any job? ugh, fuck me. it's okay, i'll find a way. like i always do.

Teke-teke and 50 Berkeley Square.

so a long time ago i started reading the posts off this Facebook page. i'm not sure how i found it, but the page tells of all kinds of tales from the supernatural to the bizarre and shit like that.

of all the stories i'd read, the ones i've been thinking of most are this Japanese urban legend and the "most haunted house in London".

i'd tell you about the scariest one first. well, to me, it's the most terrifying and chilling anyway. i wouldnt know about you. i talked to my grandma about it and i always asked her to fetch me from the void deck because i was so terrified. [yes, it was just recent...]

this one's called the Teke-teke. it's the ghost of a girl who got bullied during her school days, and tried to escape it by suicide. this she did on the train tracks; an oncoming train had chopped off her lower half, separating it from the rest of her body.

her ghost comes in the form of her upper body, missing her lower torso and legs. apparently she has a knack of hunting down those who resemble her bullies, and chasing them til she cuts off their lower half.

it's impossible to outrun her, and even if you do manage, she'd find you in the next three days and cut you in half.

she frequents railway tracks, because that's where she killed herself. but there'd also been cases of her appearing in classroom toilets. [the reason why i always go down to the co-op toilet instead of just heading to the classroom one...]

and her name? she doesnt have any legs; her name's derived from the sounds her palms make against the ground when she chases after you.

i dont know about you, but as if ghosts who chase after you aren't already scary enough; what about ghosts who dont use their legs? although they're slow when doing so, crawling against the floor while chasing you is scary as shit!

next, 'the most haunted house in London'; 50 Berkeley Square.

i'd spent one whole day at the library last week, just reading about this, because it seemed so very interesting! there were many stories behind it, and much confusion revolving around the differing versions but this is what i understood of it.

the monster that resides in a room on the top floor [while some say it's the second floor] has been dubbed "the Thing", and appears to be a brown mess. it must have been so ugly til whoever saw it had all been doomed to madness and sometimes death.

a maid had been sent to the haunted room to fix a bedroom, and just as she got into the room, a scream was heard. everyone rushed to the scene to find her in the corner with a shocked face, repeating over and over; "don't let it touch me, don't let it touch me."

she died in a mental hospital the day after.

one man had heard about the house, his drunkenness causing him to make a bet that these stories were nothing but "unadulterated poppycock" [yes, his exact words]. he ordered the landlord to let him stay in the room for a night, and though reluctantly, was passed the 'privilege' of taking temporary residence.

it was, in fact, his last resting place in his life. his was the first death the Thing had taken; he was found leaning against the wall with a gun in his hand, still smoky from its recent shot, with his eyes literally bulging and his mouth opened wide in shock to reveal his teeth and gums.

he was pronounced dead of fright.

many years passed and the house soon became vacant. a pair of sailors were looking for a resting place, and spotted this very house. they couldnt believe their luck; and so they decided to spend the night there.

they decided that the first floor was not suitable enough, with all the dirt and rats everywhere. so of course, they settled in none other than the haunted room.

one of them had fallen asleep easily, but the other; not so. the latter had heard the door to the bedroom opening, and a presence had slipped over to him; he tried to run but he was enveloped by the Thing as it wrapped its arms around him and strangled him to no end.

the first sailor had awakened, and he was the one who witnessed the above. he took the opportunity to run out the door and onto the street. he had sacrificed his friend for his own escape, but he never stopped running til he met a police officer.

the sailor had alcohol on his breath, he was frantic and his tale was too unreal; but the police officer followed him til they got back to the house; and what greeted them would never be forgotten.

the head of the sailor's friend had been thrown off its body, which laid in a mangled mess over the sharp fence that had pierced through it.

it was reported that the Thing that the sailor saw was slimy-looking and had some sort of tentacles. lots of investigation made a conclusion that the Thing was actually some sort of octopus that originated from the sewers.

today, the first floor of the house is inhabited by a books company. a sign has been pinned onto the wall many years ago, warning that the above floors of the house were not to be used for anything, and not even storage.

the staff of this company had undeniably met and felt certain strange presences, but the last sign of a haunting was when one of the workers' glasses got thrown out of his face and across the room as he was climbing up the stairs. that was more than a decade ago, in about 2001.

i'd like to think that the octopus had been breeding in the attic, and today, continue to live by feeding on the rats and garbage. that is some sick shit!

but of course, there are many other theories as well. it was thought to be the ghost of a little girl who had suffered abuse from her uncle, and whose ghost continues being tortured and wanting to escape.

another story tells of a man who had locked his mentally ill brother in the attic, and only fed him through a hole in the door. he was too violent to be kept anywhere else outside the room, so he stayed there til he died.

it's also said to be the ghost of a Mr Myers, a man who had gotten jilted on the day of his wedding. he was so excited for his big day that he had ordered his servants to prepare a feast. he also spent a fortune decorating the house with new dresses for his new wife and nurseries for the family he was planning.

on the day of his wedding though, his bride never turned up. he waited hours but she never came. he got so upset that he made orders to leave the feast; the cakes and food as they were. he spent the rest of his life walking through the house with nothing but a candle and a broken heart.

everyone left him to be, along with the remnants of his wedding's preparation; moths were eating at his bride's dresses and rats were scurrying across the feast that had been prepared then.

he was found dead with a heart attack; he had died of a heartbreak.

Betrayed.

i cant say anything more. all my life, words have always been what i have. what i relied on, what i went to for saviour. my diaries were my main concern when i left the house; i didnt want my parents to touch them. i kept getting the thought that they would throw away my precious writings.

i don't talk much in reality. but when i write, everything flows from my head, everything which i have always wanted to keep inside forever. this is really all i have. all i have to display for the world, my only talent because i am not good in anything else.

my writing was what got me to you.  when we got together i spilled my heart to you most. i talked to you about everything in my head, things which i never even wrote about. there was a point of time when i had fallen in love with you more than i had ever loved writing.

you changed me. i opened up to you more than when i was writing. i told you all my stories, from my childhood right up to my loneliest year, and you listened, and you watched the emotions on my face unfold as i talked.

just recently you watched me cry, in ways that you've never seen before. i was lonely, and more than once you watched me cry about it. you held me. you hugged me and told me you loved me.

but who would have thought, that all along, to you my stories were just an exaggeration. that all along when you were looking at me, all you could say in your head was how i was overreacting.

i feel so betrayed. maybe this is my punishment for betraying my writing for you. but whatever. all along you thought i was exaggerating, and that's all i know now.

you are the last person on earth that i'd expected this to come from. i feel so dead right now.

He whom i'd called Niccy.

i only learnt his name on the fifth day of school. that was when we were all in our own Whatsapp group, and we were slowly learning one another's names.

it was lunch with adviser, which up to today remains to be the sweetest classroom memory. at this point of time there were many unknown numbers in the conversation, because i didnt know who was who and couldnt save any contacts.

the next day, some of us had lunch together before school started. he sat beside me, and i learnt his name. he was constantly smiling, the sides of his mouth all the way up to his ears, exposing the braces he had on beneath his lips. he was adorable and good-looking in his own way, although he was short.

he had signed up for the same CCA as me, and on the first day of this, i had went off to meet my boyfriend before coming back to meet this classmate. he had called me, led my way to the lecture hall where the cca was taking place.

due to our differences in arrival, i was put in another room. we stayed in contact through our class Whatsapp group, but i felt so miserable that i was alone in a different room.

we were all made to draw a name from a case, and this name would be our group for the semester or so. when the name i had drawn was called out, i was made to follow the mentioned to gather into our new group.

and lo and behold! the ones from the other room who had drawn her name as well included none other than my classmate. we laughed upon reunion about how lucky we were.

we had a few rounds of ice-breaking with the other group members, and it grew into a common perception of our group leader. we laughed at her, and we laughed among ourselves when we saw her doing something silly. he gave me his comments about her and it was actually the first time he was ever honest with me.

i also learnt that he had wanted to be in the school of film and media studies. like how i did.

photography was the only time we had ever got together as one.

we had our first lesson of SW the next week, and afterwards he was telling us, his classmates, about his broken hamstring. i didnt know what a hamstring was but it sounded really horrible, and the way he walked pictured a glimpse of the pain he must have been feeling.

he wasnt the only one who got injured. my best friend of that time had broken his wrist and ankle, or was it a sprain? i dont remember but i recall clearly that for that period of time, we were all giving special attention to these injured classmates.

we walked slowly with them although we were already late for the next lesson. we took the bus back to school instead of walking because they were having difficulties with the latter.  we made them ride the elevator with the crowd while we took the stairs to the classroom.

when this classmate of mine had a terrible cough and fever, we skyped with him in the middle of class. well, it was another classmate who took the initiative but i wanted to talk to him too and see how he was! we all missed his presence. because that was how much he meant.

during the school's birthday celebration at the botanic gardens, our other classmate wouldnt stop disturbing him like how he always does. i was amused at the way he was entertaining him! how i loved my classmates so.

we went for dinner afterwards, the classmates and i, but the first thing i noticed was that particular classmate's absence. after asking around where was he, i got pretty sad to know that he couldnt join us.

we had taken photos using his DSLR, which i'd kept pestering him to upload and name the album to my liking. well he did, and i said to him "thanks Niccy. you are the best!" because he really was.

i talked to my boyfriend a lot about him, about how determined he always seemed to be, to get things right. about how frustrated he was when he couldnt get something, how he kept trying til he got it.

sometimes he gets too frustrated at things unreasonably; sometimes he gets too sad til he boiled with rage. but no matter what, i had always admired him for this determination. for the way he was driven by his desires.

i don't know what happened though. we were never that close to begin with, but somehow we grew a little more distant. til eventually, i guess he just started disliking me altogether.

i had a lot on my mind. and like what we all do to our thoughts, i tweeted mine. i dont know if it was really directed at me but each time i tweeted, he'd tweet right after, telling one to 'grow up' and 'stop being so immature', and to 'just face the facts lah'.

they were downright accurate, but i didnt want to think they were for me. so i just decided No, his tweets were not for me. because maybe they really werent.

i once accidentally left the class Whatsapp group, and another classmate of mine showed the conversation they had right after. this particular classmate i've been talking about had a reaction that, when thought about, told me how much he really disliked me.

but i dont know.. i couldnt really say anything. it was all in my head, just assumptions and judgements. i didnt want to fuel things further.

it all started with tweets though. i saw a few more tweets that seemed to be prodding at me. i took a snapshot of one and texted him straight; "is this meant for me?" he didnt answer, but he had seen my text. instead of responding, all he could do was indirect more of his tweets to me.

i wasnt angry at first. initially all i was, was upset and disheartened. after all i had always looked up to him and never had i owned the intention of discriminating him.

he's a smart person, and i've wanted to ask him questions regarding engineering maths, i'd asked on the class Whatsapp, asking him to please help me, but of course, he disregarded my plea. maybe the way i said it was rude, or maybe my question was just 'a stupid question which deserves no answers', i dont know. at least, i had tried.

with both of us owning a huge ego acting as walls between us, i'm not sure when we will ever act like classmates again, or if we ever would. i'd like to keep trying, but Maths needs me more than this friendship does.

If i were a billionaire.

so i read somewhere that J.K. Rowling was the first person to ever become a millionaire by writing books. well my dream is to become more than that; i wanna be the first to become a billionaire by writing and blogging!

it may seem impossible right now, but a girl can dream. and a girl can also write about how she's gonna spend that money once she's a billionaire. 

i'd start with a house. i'd buy a five-room flat; i dont need a bungalow, or a terrace or any of those fancy places. as long as there are enough rooms and space for everyone whom i'm currently living with.

the house i'm living in has been in the family's possession since forever. the void deck underneath me right now is where my parents got married, so you can imagine how long it's been. 

you'd have to see my home to know what i mean, but the living conditions here is not as easy as it seems. it never has been, but i've always been happy here. a lot happier than in my previous residence, that's for sure. 

if i were a billionaire i'd buy a house for me and my family. one room would be for my uncles, the other for my aunt, one for the cats to roam about! and the last for my granny and i. a bed and a closet for every one of us, and a dining table with enough chairs for all of us.

i don't need much apart from a bed and a closet. all i want is a desk and a bookcase. and then i'll be the happiest little girl with the best bedroom ever!

i'd get a DSLR next. one that can record. i've forgotten the exact model i'd wanted; a Canon 600D? 660D? i dont even know anymore. but i'd like one, so i can start making videos again without being ashamed of the camera i'm using.

i've bumped into quite a number of Muslim orphanages here around my home area, and although i'm not exactly sure how, i'd like to do something for them. i've honestly never done anything for charity before but i hope that one day when i have lots of money i can help with something!

and since i dont have to work, i'll use my free time to learn how to be a proper Muslim. i can write about my experiences during my repent, which keeps my writing going. 

i'd travel around the world with my camera and continue writing about every single one of my experience, so everyone will continue reading whatever i have to write. i'll do whatever it takes for reading to be an everyday activity in the future.

and lastly, i'd buy a huge house. for 'Aamir. and his family.

somewhere near my family and i, so we can meet all the time. not only us, but also our family members. we'd be so close like neighbours, and i can always tell my granny, "oh granny, i'm going out for a while to 'Aamir's house to do homework and shit :D" and she'd be like, "oh hold on give him this rendang daging to give to his mommy!"

and he wouldnt need to travel to and fro Singapore. he wouldnt need to spend so much on transport and he wouldnt worry me like shit whenever he's making his way from the Malaysian customs to his home.

i'd buy him his own laptop so we can skype, and so he can play his games without bothering me when i'm blogging. i'd get him a webcam, so he can fulfill his longings of making youtube videos. 

i'm doing my best. my 'best' may not be the most satisfying effort seen from the outside, but i know what i'm doing. a girl can dream. and a girl can write about her dreams in the same way you'd write on a post-it to remind yourself about a task.

Hey baby.

hey baby. i dont know if you would ever see this, because i dont have any intentions of publishing the link of this post on Twitter. i doubt you check on my blog on your own qualms, so i'm not sure when you'd see this... or if you ever would. 

i just want you to know, that i have a million reasons for being in love with you. it was a thousand just a few months ago, and on the day we met, just ten. 

every single day, whether or not i see you, you'd give me a whole new reason for me to love you. i dont know if you feel the same for me; or maybe you're having total opposite effects. but i'll have you know that my feelings for you grow stronger day by day. 

just yesterday you held me in your arms. it was not your first time doing so but your embrace was magic. i'd cried because i was feeling lonely. you told me to speak, but i didnt want to, and all i could do was allow the floodgates to open. 

you touched my neck and you pulled me towards you, and i buried my face in your chest. all i could do was cry. your heartbeat rang in my ears and it was the loudest sound i heard at that very moment, even louder than my sobbing.

your arms were around me, and you pulled me into a hug. it was awkward because we were both seated next to each other, and there were people around but you hugged me nonetheless. 

i wrapped my arms around your waist and held onto you for my dear life, and i tried to control my sobbing but i cried and cried. you laid your lips onto the top of my head, and you shushed me, trying to convince me that everything would be alright.

you took my chin and pulled my face towards yours, and you leant in for a kiss. it was not our first time kissing but i swear to you, that felt so much like heaven. like the very first kiss of my teenage years. 

it was a shy and quiet kiss, derived out of comfort and care, and your feelings for me. i felt it in your kiss. it was fireworks! 

it brought me back to the very first time we did kiss, which was back to about half a year ago. but believe it or not, yesterday's kiss still added to my list of reasons why i love you. 

maybe because every single memory between us is different; we may do the same things again and again, but every single date we ever had makes me happy in their own ways. no two hugs are the same. 

for the million reasons why I love you, [and counting, as the days and months and years pass] no words can describe them or bring them to light. not even by a writer like me. they're all caught in the depths of your eyes, and too bad for the world, that only i can see these reasons.

I love you more than anyone can imagine, and although i didnt exactly tell you why, i hope you understand that my feelings for you are stronger than you think. 

i'll stay strong for you, and i hope you stay strong with me too. i want to be with you as long as i breathe. and i really, really dont want to ever be without you.

Ramadan in my past.

back in 2010, about three days before the start of Ramadan, someone told me; "on the first day of Ramadan it's a must for the whole family to break fast together. my parents are always working but they'll always make the effort to come home and have dinner with us."

i'd said in a small voice; "that's your parents." he wrapped his arm around my shoulders and said; "if only your brothers and parents are like mine."

well, too bad they are not.

i've been itching to write about my past Ramadans since this year's started, but i'd made a pact not to write anymore. well screw that stupid promise; i'm gonna write now, about how i'd spent my fasting months in the past years, the memories which stand out, be they memorable or unpleasant.

i had my first Ramadan of secondary school in 2008. Ramadan sat nicely in the whole of September, which included my 13th birthday. my then girl best friends had laid a surprise for me and on my special day, word had gotten around.

i was made to wait at the back of this restaurant at a shopping mall near my sec school; a usual haunt for us back then. they made me wait, and about one and a half hour later or so they still hadn't turned up.

my closest best friend was there for me though. she was the one making contact with the masterminds of this whole plan. she mentioned something about them still having not been released from their cca.

in the end i decided to head home; they obviously werent going to show up. the best friend who was with me had gotten me a card and i'd appreciated it. but i still couldnt help feeling sad when i got home and thought about it.

to make things worse, my elder brother was shut in his room when i got home, and my younger brother was not home too. i couldnt remember where was he really but all i remembered was the emptiness that greeted me on that day. on my 13th birthday.

as silly as i was, all i could do was sit on the edge of my bed and cry my eyes out. oh yes! now i remember where my mom, little brother, and granny were. they were down at the CC, holding up the stall which Mama had set up.

there i was at the edge of my bed when i received a phone call from the mastermind best friends. they told me to come down. it took me a long time to get off my ass, but eventually i did.

the structure of this particular CC has a little tower in the middle of the open space, and they had laid out a bag in the middle; it had my name on it and there was a song playing from their phones, which i was in love with then.

i took the bag and held it to my chest, and i started crying again. the masterminds revealed themselves and started laughing at me, telling me to relax and stop crying. one of them even exclaimed, "batal puasa sey kau nangis sampai gitu!"

it was embarrassing as hell, but that was a great first birthday of secondary school.

came 2009. well... i dont remember anything significant from this year so i shall move on to 2010.

i remember that my dad was mad at me during the few days that revolved around first day of Ramadan. and it slipped my mind that fasting month was here because nobody told me. i had a feast at noon of the first day.

my mom was working a lot. and my dad, well, he always have been. Mama was always the one who got together the meals for my brothers and i. on the days she werent, i'd be the one responsible. because i was a girl.

i remember so clearly, that particular day. as usual Mama was at work; she had called me to tell me so and could i prepare something for my brothers in her place? well i couldnt say no. it was about half an hour to break fast time so i got to work.

now i'm not sure if' i've told you this before but my elder brother has a very strange diet. he does not eat rice; not a single grain. he has particular preferences and otherwise towards food.

all the 18 years of my life, i'd only seen him eaten rice when i was a little kid. that was the era when he was still using his plastic plate with the ABC's around it. i swear that was the very last time i saw him eat rice.

as we both grew up, he started eating weird food. he only ate fast food, and maggi noodles. Mom makes me fry these stupid little popcorn chickens for him, or hash browns, or whatever fried food which is to his preference.

i swear if you know my elder brother the way our little one and i do,...... no words can describe it.

well i made him his food, followed by my little brother's. i was expecting the three of us to eat together at the dining table but nope. there was the living room, which stole the union from my brothers and i.

im not sure why but i cried while i was eating my own food, alone at the dining table. after i ate, i took a shower and, feeling upset, went out into the cold night to take a walk.

i walked from my house, along the roads, all the way to the other side of Pasir Ris. it was damn cold, this i remember; i was wearing bermudas but at least i had on a hoodie which pockets i stuffed my hands into.

that was the start to my love for walking; it was temporary but it kept me going for a while there.

2010 was also the year which i went to the bazaar at Geylang with my mom a lot. and she always told me how glad she was to have a little daughter who was so willing to follow her to places.

came 2011. i was going home straight after school a lot during Ramadan, and i always went to sleep when i reached home. as usual there'd be nobody home, and i'd turn off my bedroom lights and crash into bed, without caring whether my bedroom door was closed or not.

i remember the last time i looked at the clock was about 4pm. the next thing i knew, i woke up to complete darkness, and when i looked at my phone, it was 11pm. i'd slept for a good 7 hours!

i got out of my room, and my parents were shocked to see me. they'd been calling me non-stop wondering where i was, when all along i was right in my bedroom.

the first thing my mom screamed at me: "you never go tuition is it?!"
the first thing my dad screamed at me: "darling you sleep you never buka puasa is it?"

well there was no food left so my dad took the liberty to cook me maggi noodles. i was still in a state of shock, wondering what the hell happened before my blackout. the last thing i'd been doing was social studies.

and that was the latest time i had my buka; 4 hours after the designated time.

2012 was a lonely year, but i'd spent the first day of Ramadan eating with my mother and brothers at the dining table. dad was working, but he came home and apologised for having not being able to join us. i forgave him like i always did.

the night before though, i'd heard my parents talking among themselves about my state in school. i remember earlier that same day, my mother mentioned something abt asking my friends over during our open house for hari raya.

she was referring to the mastermind best friends i was talking about earlier, as well as the best friend who had accompanied me beforehand. as i'd mentioned in my last post, i had left these friends when 2012 started, so when my mom told me to ask them over, i shook my head.

she asked me why, and since when was i not friends with them? well, i also grew a lot more quiet than i usually was last year, and i never told her anything.

that night, the night before Ramadan; i was heading to the kitchen when i heard my parents talking in hushed tones. i knew these tones of theirs; they were talking about something important, something that a kid like me was not supposed to know but wanted to know.

so i listened. and i realised they were talking about me.

my dad mentioned the name of the boy who had left me heartbroken. my mom told him about how she figured out that i wasnt friends with my girl best friends anymore. they even mentioned my discipline master's name, about how they were constantly texting him to check on me.

i felt one of them make a move and i ran back to my room, closing the door behind me.

after that day they still didnt talk to me. i could imagine they were just assuming that whatever they were told from others was true; that they wouldnt ask for my side of the story because their own daughter was not a trustworthy source.

i kept all the more quiet during the whole of Ramadan.

one ordinary evening a few days before Syawal, i was alone in my room as usual when my mom called out to me. at this point of time the house was busy, Mom with her cookies and the men with their cleaning.

i made my way to the kitchen to where she was, and she said my cousin had came to see me. my dad's elder sister's youngest daughter. my best friend from the family since forever.

when i saw her i felt sad yet joyful. i wanted to laugh, i wanted to cry. she saw my piercings and, stunned, pointed to my earlobe as an asking for an explaination. that was when i started to break down.

i started off giving a choked laughter, and then the tears just spilled out from my eyes. i mentioned being all the more sad that she was never there for me and she apologised by saying she was busy with her poly life.

she gave me a long hug before she left, and it just made me cry all the more.

the day before Syawal finally came.

my brothers were doing their own things and my mother was out working. dad had taken a day off to do some spring-cleaning, and i was on my laptop when he started complaining that i was a useless daughter.

i didnt take his words to heart; all i took notice of was that nobody was helping him do the housework. i asked him if he needed me to help with anything; i had cleaned my own room the day before.

"no need ah, no need. i can do everything myself." he had said. he wouldnt stop pushing away my help but he also wouldnt stop complaining about nobody helping him after that.

in the end i exclaimed, "then why not you let me help you with something?"

he stopped doing his work and said, "you did not have to raise your voice."

"i did not raise my voice." this was a slightly raised voice.

"you raise your voice some more!" his voice was a lot more raised than his previous.

i got up, picked up my laptop and stomped off to my room, closing my door behind me. my window was open and the wind blew, closing my bedroom door with a loud bang.

i let it be, and laid my laptop on my desk when my dad barged in. "why did you slam the door? you didnt have to slam the door.",  giving a hard slap across my face after each sentence.

"it's the wind, what the hell!" i had screamed, though my voice was shaking.

"where got wind! you dont come and bullshit with me got wind!" two more slaps to my face.

"stop hitting me!" my last scream, and my dad stared at me for a second with this look in his eyes before he walked out of my room, closing the door with a slam.

the next day, it was hari raya, and i watched my elder brother kneel down on his knees in front of my dad to ask for forgiveness. as he moved to kneel in front of mom, i knelt down in front of my dad.

"this girl," my dad had said as i was getting on my knees, "the child who breaks my heart the most."

i took his hand in both of mine and kissed it, as he said, "you know when Daddy scolds you it's for your own good... Daddy beats you because Daddy loves you."

he says it every year but i still couldnt help the tears that gathered in my eyes. i smiled, and moved on to kneel down in front of my mom next.

this year, 2013; it's my first year celebrating Ramadan in my aunt's place; and hopefully Syawal too. i know my parents are still my parents but i'm still not gonna give in to them after all they'd done to me the past seven months and beyond.

with the many siblings that my father has, they're bound to ask lots of questions if they turn up with just their two sons for Syawal this year. what could my dad say? with the ego the size of a rock blocking his path, he wouldnt dare tell them that he kicked me out of the house.

and my mom's face too. she cares about that more than anything. both my parents are so egoistic. you cant blame me for having received both their genes.

i'd been whatsapping my little brother, and he said that Mom is planning to bring me shopping for hari raya clothes. and she recently transferred some money into my bank account; it's obviously her route of making me join them for first day of syawal to my dad's side family gathering.

i absolutely refuse. they cant do this to me. for seven months they had shunned me just like that; i had to work to feed myself, to buy my school books, to bring me to and fro on the MRT.

you cant expect me to go back to them just like that after the past half a year. they'd neglected me all this while; they cant just expect me to succumb to them again. i'm not gonna be a dummy, just to represent the fifth member of the family to display for my dad's parents and many siblings.

i absolutely refuse to be part of that family until they admit their action to the relatives.

if worse comes to worse i'll have to go m.i.a during hari raya period. shall talk about this when the time comes. for now, i'll just continue doing what i must, and that is to focus on my studies.

Half a year past.

a coward is someone who says something but is too afraid to do it. who complains about something but does nothing to change it. so what do you call someone who is doing her best in something but still afraid that one day it will all be gone? 

i don't want to lose you. not to your past, not to your future. everyday i do my best to make you happy, yet at the same time; everyday i am afraid that i will still lose you.

what if you meet someone better than me? what if she was prettier, and smarter, and less stubborn, a better writer? what if she was like me but a lot better? you'd compare me to her. you'd think i've dimmed. 

or what if you meet someone who is broken like me? what if there is someone who is shattered, and a lot more lonelier than me? what if she's in love with you? you'd think she needs you more than i do. you'd think i'm already strong enough on my own and that i'd be fine without you. 

i'm not sure which is worse; losing you to someone better than me, or to someone you think is more broken that i am. 

what if in the future my face gets scarred terribly and you dont even want to look at me anymore? you first noticed me for my looks. you'd leave me if my face is no longer what you fell for, or if i'm old, or fatter. my youth is not forever, and so isn't your attraction towards my face. 

meanwhile, each time i look at photos of us, i'm not sure whether that girl is really who i am or not. and when i look at you, i don't believe you are mine. 

i'd think of you. i'd think of the things you had ever done for me. the things we ever did together. i can never be convinced that those memories are really mine; i can never believe that there's someone like you in this world who loves me so much. 

we've been together half a year now, and we've already gone through so much. when you kiss me right before we part, people around us would judge and call us a young couple, simply infatuated with puppy love. but they didnt know the heartaches and pain and all that we've been through, during and before our relationship. 

people out there don't know my whole story, yet they judge me and refuse my existence. yet you who know everything i'd ever done in the past, accept me in the blink of an eye. 

the best gift to represent our meeting is a bouquet of daphne and meadow saffron; "my best days are over". and "i would not have you otherwise". i wouldnt have met you if i hadnt been in my terrible state.

really. no words can describe how much I love you. i can't imagine us apart, and i can't imagine you being alone again. i can't imagine you without me. 

and again; i don't know how you found me, but i'm glad you did. 

we had a heart to heart talk last night, and i spilled out everything to you. i'm glad to have gotten it off my chest and upon your listening ears. you assured me, and i believed you. 

but here i am, still afraid that one more slip-up and you'll be gone like that. 

it's been half a year, but my feelings for you are stronger than ever. 

on the day i first saw you, it was love at first sight. i couldnt get my eyes off you. i couldnt speak. it was the first time i felt so nervous being around a guy. i was nervous, but i was also comfortable talking to you. 

we watched airplanes, we told stories about ourselves, we laughed, we held each other's hands in ours, we ran in the rain, we wrapped our arms around each other.

 i'm still gonna continue doing my best to treat you right. i'll keep letting you annoy me, i'll keep going on dates with you, i'll keep running in the rain with you, i'll keep holding your hand, i'll keep kissing you, and i'll keep hugging you. 

because although we've already done that at the beginning of our relationship, it is what keeps us going. i'd like you to stay with me for as long as you can. and i'd like to stay with you til the day i die.

My comeback.

the only one in this world who can discriminate me for my writing is me.

for over a decade i have been writing.

when i was as young as Primary 2, i wrote this mystery story about a pair of twin girls, inspired by the Mary-Kate and Ashley series i was so in love with. i had my close friend read it, and i've forgotten how the topic came about but one of my classmates had told our form teacher about it.

i remember the way he had said, "ya! she write the chapter 1, so nice!"

our form teacher made me lend her this book, and after she returned it to me she told me i had the talent of writing. she made me her English rep, and i was so careful not to ever screw up in the subject.

 i started writing in a diary. my first diary came from the year 2003, when i was 8. it didnt have a passcode and my elder brother would read it when i wasnt around, the sneaky little fox.

he would laugh at the things i wrote, about the boys i had crushes on, about the silly fights with my girl best friends. and about my dreams.

my earlier diaries were filled with ambitions. i had wanted to be everything and anything i set eyes on. i wanted to be a fashion designer. i wanted to be an artist. a model! a teacher! a singer! and at one point of time i also wanted to be a lawyer although i didnt know what it meant.

but it was ironic. there i was, writing about these dreams and wondering which one would i be, when the one real ambition i actually had was right under my nose.

in 2004, i wrote these little magazines for my then class, in the form of exercise books with drawings of a certain classmate on the cover of each issue.

i must admit, for a little 9-year-old, those covers i had designed were actually not that bad, with its title on the top and article headings splattered around underneath.

i also put together some coloured paper, stapled them together and wrote stories on them, making it look like a little story book. i made a ton of those, and everyone was reading them.

i had that moment of popularity for that; my classmates would gather around me in between classes and ask for a new book for them to read. they'd pass them around when they were done, and they'd discuss my stories more than discuss about homework.

of course, eventually our form teacher came over and demanded, "just what is it that everyone keeps going to you about?" she snatched one of those coloured books, glimpsed through it, and said, "no more bringing this to class. such a distraction!"

i was a rebellious kid already back then, and i still brought them to class. we all secretly read them, even during this teacher's class [which was English, ironically], until one day she caught one of us and confiscated my whole stack of handmade storybooks.

that was the end of that. but of course; it didnt deter me from this hobby of mine.

in 2005 our form teacher made us write journals. came a week which had "ambitions" as the journal topic, and i wrote that i wanted to be a writer.

this teacher had a method of giving us stickers as a reward for us to collect into a template, and the more we receive the bigger our reward.

i never had many of those stickers, because i was always not passing up my homework, especially Maths [she was our Maths and English teacher]. everyone would be getting two or three for passing up on time or for doing a great job, but i never got any because even if i did the homework, i'd be late.

well, this journal was my comeback. i got two stickers for every entry, and for that particular ambitions entry, i had gotten three. and an additional three for an excerpt i had written, extracted from one of those storybooks of mine.

and guess what? my form teacher even read aloud my entry to the class. i still remember the way she had announced, "she wants to be a writer." i remember so clearly the smile on her face and her tone of disbelief, as if she couldnt believe that a kid like me had such an ambition.

word got around for a bit, and people made fun of me for wanting to be something as silly as a writer. i ignored them and just did what i could. i hated Maths, but i did my best for English classes.

however, i had a new hobby in 2006 and 2007. i discovered anime and i started reading mangas instead of books. i drew comics instead of write. i gained popularity in my classes for this too, everyone coming to me to look at me draw or asking to borrow the sketchbook i had  drawn in.

came secondary school. my blog was a few months old, then known as spark-s-furawar.blogspot.com. i wrote about the daily happenings, about what happened in class everyday. i had many readers then, and everyone else also had blogs.

it was in mid-2009 that the internet at my house started having problems. for the next two years i only managed to blog when there was a computer that had internet connection.

in the meantime, i wrote poems. i wrote plenty each week to represent what i was going through at the time. my diary entries were shallow, just daily happenings but the poems i wrote, as silly as they were, represented my feelings a lot more.

it was only in late 2010 when my aunt and uncle presented me with my own laptop and even got me the broadband thingamajic. it was the period where i was heartbroken after the first kiss episode. i started blogging again, and i wrote about my heartache in the privacy of my bedroom.

my dad got me a little camera in February of 2011. with this camera i started to record little moments i went through. it grew into a class thing, and i made videos of the daily happenings in class 4/2.

we won the Cheering Competition in 2011, a major event in our school. it was what started our fun times and bonds and memories. these memories were captured on my camera and i editted [though my skills were amateur] the footage into daily videos.

in August 2011 i got a better camera to record videos. it wasnt the best but it was more to preference when i was recording. i recorded 4/2's PE lessons the most, when we would all be playing soccer together and just slacking with one another. i loved my classmates.

i wanted to make music videos. i had lots of ideas for every other song i listened to, which related to my life, but i never had the time or resources to make them. the only one i had ever gotten to making was Soul Full Solace, a simple 2minute video about having courage to get up and walk away/move on.

i'd gotten two of my girl best friends to be my models, and i was ordering them around, like a director. of course, they had their turns bossing me around too. it was, after all, all in the name of fun.

that was when i found another hobby: video-making.

i continued blogging at the same time. even as time passed by and everyone started shutting down or deleting or simply neglecting their blogs, i continued in mine. i changed my URL a ton of times, the last before my current one being holyfiretruck.blogspot.com.

that was late 2011, when i was already with that boy whom i'd had a crush on for two years. i decided to change my link one more time when 2012 came, and i decided that it'd be its name for the rest of its life.

this boy had once given me a notebook with "the color black" written on it, and he bought me a bottle of Minyak Kapak for the headaches i was constantly getting; directly translated as 'axe oil'.

from these two gifts he had presented me, i changed my blog URL to 109blackaxes.blogspot.com. 109 was a moniker i'd been using since 2009, and i cant remember the story behind it.

he left me a few days after, but my blog remained as 109blackaxes. up to this day.

during the period when i was getting suspended from class everyday, in 2012, i still continued to write. i wrote instead of doing my work in class. i blogged instead of doing my homework. that year may have been the loneliest year of my life but i had my words to accompany and protect me.

one particular day, i was sitting outside the general office when my classmate came up to me. he told me that the HOD for English subject had came to class and praised the compo i had written during our Mid-Year exam.

my classmate quoted the HOD; "she said it was 'one of the best 5NA compos' she had ever read."

it made my day. i was in bliss. we never talked but whenever she passed me by outside the HOD office she'd give me a little smile and i couldnt help but return it.

i did my O Levels. 2013 came and during the Poly open houses period, i went to check out anything to do with media or film. there were no courses that catered especially to my writing but i didnt mind if i could be a journalist or a filmmaker.

i thought about the things i had done in the past decade. i'd drawn comics, i'd written poems, i'd made videos, i'd directed a music video. although i tried doing so many things, it all came down to one thing. i had a passion for telling stories.

whether they were my real-life events, or made up stories, or real stories that i wanted others to know, i liked to tell stories.

i found a course in Singapore Poly called "Creative Writing for TV & New Media". when i saw that i immediately told myself i HAVE to get into that course. a few days before the release of our O Levels results, i told myself i'd die on the spot if i dont get a distinction for my English.

fast forward to the moment when my sec 5 form teacher called out my name. it was the day we receive our results. i sat down on the chair opposite her, and she had a smile on her face. she was my English teacher, and she announced, "congratulations E'indah you were my ONLY student who got a distinction for English!!"

my eyes lit up. but she turned off the lights in my eyes by saying, "but i'm sorry it's just an A2." she smiled apologetically before passing me my results slip.

i sat in a corner while my ex girl best friends talked among one another. the HOD who was chasing me for my MCs/my English teacher for the first half of sec 5 came up to me and held out his hand. "congratulations for your distinction in English."

i shook his hand, but he broke my heart by saying, "but too bad, i was really expecting an A1 from you."

i tried to apply for that course under JAE. but i couldnt. i only had 5 subjects, because i dropped art, and i'd failed my Humanities by getting a D7 grade.

i tried applying for media courses, but i was not eligible. my heart was broken. i couldnt stop blaming my parents. i couldnt stop thinking of the time my mom locked me out of the house for the few days right before my Social Studies paper. i kept thinking everyone else took away my dreams from me.

i got into where i am right now; Electronic and Computer Engineering. it was far from what i wanted but i couldnt apply for anything to my desire. i only applied for it because of the year 2 option that was to do with media communications, or smth like that.

the HOD of English who had praised my compo back in secondary school was a regular customer at where i am working. she remembered me, which i was sure for my writing, because we had never communicated about anything else.

one day, she asked me; "what course are you in?" it was a question i'd learnt to dread. i told her in a small voice; an engineering course.

she looked disappointed. and then she said, "that is so not you. you should have gone somewhere else. your writing is so good."

i didnt answer. she continued; "maybe there'd be some newspaper cca or something in your new school? you should join that. just don't stop writing. you have such a rare gift."

writing is indeed. it's a gift, but gifts are never blessings all the time. i've never met another writer who is on par with me. it's a blessing that i am unique, but it's a curse that nobody in this society will ever appreciate writing.

it felt like i was not fated to write. i've hated Maths since i was a kid, yet here i am. i'm always waking up in the mornings, angry at God for putting me in Engineering instead of thanking Him for letting me wake up for a new day to continue following my dreams.

i told myself i wanted to stop writing forever because the idea of being an Engineer was getting into my head.  i wanted to start loving Maths. and the only way for me to do that was to quit writing. after all, right now my future depends on my Maths. because i am an Engineering student.

like i'd said; if you were to get stuck on an island for three years, would you rather be trapped with someone you love or someone you hate? i'd say i'd rather someone i hate; so that i can use the time to learn to love them.

but a week after my last post, i couldnt take it anymore. i was going insane from not writing or blogging. i was going insane with all that maths and programming that were jammed in my head.

at the same time, everyone else was telling me about how much they liked my writing. they were people who loved me, and they were people i love; but that just made me all the more lack the confidence that my writing was good. after all, what else could they say?

i still cant deny that this pause from writing did me more good than i expected. when i skipped classes on Thursday, i did my programming. if i still had been blogging i wouldnt have learnt about loops.

and instead of keeping quiet and ranting about people's comments on my blog and diary, i stood up for myself, against a handful of people in my life.

i wrote this post today because i wanted to tell you my relationship with writing. what made me started it, what made me go back to it again and again.

but right now, i have to learn how to juggle the best friend and the classmate. the best friend is someone who has been with you for over a decade, and you always go to her when you need her and have personal problems.

the classmate is the one you need in school. the one who contributes significantly to your grades. you cant talk to your best friend over the phone while you are doing homework with your classmate. your best friend is still in your life, but not all the time anymore.

fine. i wont be quitting writing/blogging. i'm still here. just that i need to cut down on it. it may be my passion, but it is not my current necessity.

i'll ace Engineering, and then i'll move on to Media/Film if God is willing. i'm not giving up on my writing, and i never will; but for now, i have to keep it aside. because Maths is calling me.

thank you for reading.

My last post.

the year is 2009, and a boy entered my field of vision.

at first i thought he was cute, til i got to know him better, and i grew to like him more. but he only noticed me a year after, and even then he only regarded me as nothing more than a little sister. 

i liked his comfort, and he was the one who gave me my first hug and forehead kiss in such a long time. we were never together, but he gave me so many of those. 

at that time my brother and Mother were going out together a lot, while my elder one kept himself shut in his bedroom as much as he could. granny had moved out to my aunt's place earlier that year, and Dad was, as always, busy with work.

you couldn't blame me. if i ever met my 2009 and 2010 selves, i would stroke their hair and tell them, "it's alright, i know how you feel. what you are doing isn't wrong."

he never knew my feelings for him, because i thought there was no need to; he already loved me even without knowing how i felt about him.

or maybe he never loved me at all.

we shared our first kiss in October 2010. it was sensational and it gave me a tingly feeling even days after. who wouldnt feel so blissed, having kissed their crush of one year?

our first kiss was the last straw. i decided that i had to tell him how i felt about him. i was so confident he would accept me, because he wouldnt have kissed me if he didnt like me, would he? i really thought we could finally be together the way i wanted us to be.

he avoided and ignored me after i told him. and a week later, i found out he had a girlfriend. a girl who was not me.

came 2011.

i did my N Levels, and once again i was all alone at "home", when who texted me but none other than him. we met at where we used to hang out, where we used to lie down under the evening sky and talk about everything beneath it.

we passed by where we had our first kiss, but neither of us said a word.

it was a November night. the night sky settled on us, the sound of the waves crashing being the only sound, his aura the only presence i could feel. and when i turned to face him, he was the only thing i could see.

he leant it, and we kissed. our second kiss, a year after our first. with a half smile he whispered, "be my girlfriend?"

2012.

it was the first day of my sec 5 year, and it had been two months since we got together; my crush of two years and i. just a few weeks before 2012 started, i was unsure of whether i should go to sec 5 or not.

i was Normal Acad while he, Normal Tech. he told me he'd take it if he had the chance, which he didnt. i got his point;  he also told me he'd be there for me if i needed him, because he knew i was still not confident about doing my O Levels.

i believed him. and there i was, in class 5/1, partly under his persuasion.

a week after i started for the fifth time in my sec school, he started in his new one. he had less time for me, but i didnt mind. i just managed to spend more time with my seven girlfriends. the last time we watched a movie at the cinemas together was I Not Naughty.

about two weeks after he'd started his tertiary education, he left me. i still dont know why because he kept switching his reasons; first he said i was too immature, and then he said he didnt have time for me, and then he said i just wasnt up to his parents' expectations.

it didnt matter shit to me. all i knew was that he left.

there was an accompanying conflict regarding my blog, which i wont elaborate about, and my ex English teacher was there. she told him; "you  know E'indah has always been good in her writing. maybe she used it wrongly this time but she's always been a good writer. "

he looked at me and he said, "yes, i know that. i know she's a very good writer."

that was the last time he looked so proud of me.

he turned on his heels, and he walked away, without once turning back. that was the last time i ever saw him,  up to this day.

i stopped blogging after that. the whole incident hit me hard. it stabbed me in my chest and pulled my heart out. a dozen times i told myself i would move on, a dozen times i surrendered my tears to the memories.

i wrote him a dozen letters and i drew a dozen pictures of the him that i knew. i kept thinking he would come back again like he did but of course. he didnt.

to add to my misery, i decided to leave my best friends. all seven of them. i didnt know what logic i had and what was i thinking.

and i suppose that's when everything went downhill. with my best friends, i had people to eat with during recess. i had them to ask questions whenever i didnt understand a maths piece of shit. i had people to look forward to meeting every day in school.

without them, i didnt go to the canteen during recess. i lost a good deal of weight last year. without them, i didnt have anyone to clear my doubts for me, and if i got stuck at a question i wouldnt ask anyone; i'd just sleep.

well, that was IF i even went to school. you couldnt blame me; school felt like Hell without friends. you'd think everyone was looking at you. this was what i meant when i said best friends are important for your school days.

my discipline master would chase me for my MCs for the days i was absent. well i never had that shit, because i wasnt really sick, so i had to be suspended from class til i gave an excuse letter. i sat outside the HOD office nearly everyday.

most of my subject teachers were HODs, and everyday they'd pass me by and give me things to do and revise on my own. i didnt like it. i wanted them to not give a single shit about me.

"what's happening to you E'indah?" my Humanities teacher once asked me. "i'm so tired but i really dont want to give up on you."

"just give up on me." i'd said to her. "why should you put effort on me when im clearly not making any effort myself?"

she stared at me for a moment before saying quietly, "you know i really feel like giving you one tight slap across your face right now for saying that."

the only subject i gave a shit about was English. i wrote a lot during my suspension days, and i wrote compos which remained unsubmitted to my English teacher.

the discipline master was my English teacher, but he was rarely in class because he had cases to attend to. well he had an assistant, who took over the class when he couldnt make it himself.

this assistant, who is another teacher, was one of the reasons why i looked forward to coming to school.

she was the one who read my writing the most. she read my compos and my writing book, this book that we had to write in every Wednesday and Friday morning. whatever i wrote, she read; including a sadist little note she caught me writing during her lesson.

she called me after class and she said, "you're angry. you are angry at the world. why are you so angry at the world E'indah?" i kept quiet.

she told me she had something she'd like me to do. since i liked writing, i was to write in a journal for her. things i'd want her to know, things i couldnt write in my compos, things i'd want to tell someone but have nobody to.

it was her way of making me come to school. with that journal, i'd look forward to having someone read what i wrote and the only way that would happen is if i went to school and passed it to her.

i heeded her instructions. i went on another solitary escapade to Smiggle and i got myself a pink notebook with a panda on it. when i got to my room, i sat down, and i wrote.

however, i disappointed her. the next school day after i'd written my first entry, i decided not to go school. i woke up, shut down my alarm, decided "ok i'm not going school" and that was it. i went back to sleep.

i was expecting the enemy to invade my territory any second; in this case, my parents were gonna bang their way through to my bedroom and scream at me to go to school.

they knew i hated school but they didnt understand why. all they could think of was that i was losing interest in my studies. which was not true at all but i didnt give a shit what they thought.

i was prepared for my parents' thrashing, but i still got shocked and pissed when my dad literally dragged me out of bed.

i showered without a word, but i was still hell bent on not going school that day, and i took my time to get ready. my dad got frustrated i suppose; and when i was in the middle of slowly tying my hair, he came in and yelled at me to stop doing it on purpose.

i ignored him and continued tying my hair. i always sat on the floor in front of my full length wardrobe mirror while doing so.

my dad decided he'd had enough, and he pulled me to get up. i went against him, with all my strength, trying to get out of his grip. he ended up dragging me across the floor, and i grabbed on to my open wardrobe door.

i wasnt going to let go of that door even if my arms broke, and apparently my dad wasnt going to let go of me either. he pulled and dragged me across the floor, and nope. my arms didnt break. but the door did.

there was the crack of it coming off its hinges, and only when it dropped onto the floor of the living room did my dad let go of me. my mom saw everything and started crying. her sobbing was the only thing i could hear as all of us stared at the door lying on the floor.

my dad started hitting me again and again, and all i could do was hold up my arms in an attempt to shield myself. i remember yelling non-stop; "i hate you! i hate you! i hate you i fucking hate you!!"

he only screamed back at me; "so what? SO WHAT!? I HATE YOU ALSO LAH!"

i reached school an hour after morning assembly, with an aching and bruised body, with snot and blood all over my uniform sleeves.

well who greeted me at the HOD office was none other than my English teacher's assistant. she cheerfully called my name and asked, "so how? have you written for me?"

i slowly took out the notebook and passed it to her, and she exclaimed, "pink again!" and when she opened and saw that i had written in pink ink, she laughed, "oh you've got to be kidding me!"

i looked forward to giving it to her everyday so she could read, and i looked forward to reading her responses.

and she was the only one who noticed my sleeve. "is that blood?" she'd asked.

i nodded. "i had a nose bleed."

and she nodded in acceptance.

i never cut my wrists. and i told myself never to do so. those scars were not easy to hide. and out there, people who cut their wrists always got heavily judged for being "attention seeking". in a hot country like mine, the shoulders were the best place to slash because you don't have to cover the cuts with long sleeves.

you couldnt blame me. i was alone. my parents hated me, my elder brother was too busy with his outside stuff to give a shit about his little sister. and my younger brother was too young, and i could imagine he was scared when he heard my fights with my parents.

when i was younger, i used to sleep with my granny. during the weekends she'd sleep at my aunt's place to help with some things, and i'd sleep in my parents' room with them and my younger brother.

there was once when he and i woke up in the middle of the night to hear my parents fighting. and when i say fight, i mean fight. my dad was hitting my mom and he kept hold of her to keep her down and screamed for her to admit something.

he was referring to what my mom told me not to tell him. my mom was with another man outside, and she brought me to see him. they werent acting like normal friends, and when she told me not to tell my dad, i couldnt help but go against her.

it was 3 in the morning and my mom was crying under the hold of my dad, at the foot of the bed. my little brother was awake too and he looked at me with his bright eyes and i held him close. we pretended to be asleep. and the next thing we knew, it was morning.

i knew how scared my brother was. and so was i.

from then on i was a lot closer to my dad than i was with my mom. and you couldnt blame me. and i was with my younger bro a lot too. my elder brother had his society to please.

came September of 2012. my 17th birthday had passed; nobody came to save me. i was still asleep under the waters, when a hand jerked me awake and held out to me.

my sec 5 class had their own little cliques. this particular girl had never talked to me before, at least not a proper conversation. but that day when we got back our prelims results, i'd gotten the highest in class for English again. she approached me and asked how i got so good in the subject.

she invited me to study with her, and believe it or not i was so happy. i had butterflies in my tummy and i was so excited til i went to my mom and i told her "Mommy. i'm going out to study with a friend. a FRIEND!" she didnt give a shit but i was so excited i didnt care.

that was when i started going for recess. her friends had invited me to eat with them, and i was more than happy to join them although i was really shy.

school days were nearly over, and i'd spent my last two weeks of the school year with my classmates. although i still didnt hang out with my girlfriends, things were getting better.

i did my O Levels. and came December of 2012. the class chalet.

by this time, i was not talking with my parents at all. i was staying with my aunt on and off, and my classmates meant the world to me again.

you couldnt blame me. i didnt like being "home" alone. it was the period where i stayed awake every night and only slept at 7 in the morning. it'd be the first time i wouldnt be staying up alone, and i didnt think my parents would give a shit anyway. we werent on talking terms.

so i stayed at the chalet with my classmates. i did leave earlier with the intention of heading back, but i decided to gallivant, and i ended up back at the chalet at 1 in the morning.

and that was the last time i ever stayed up til the morning.

i bonded with a classmate of mine through out this period. he was a best friend of mine, who was there for me again and again no matter how many times i pushed him away.

i got back to my house at 10 in the morning, and i thought of getting a shower but i fell onto my bed and straightway went to sleep. i woke up to the sound of my door banging; it was noon, and it was my dad.

i had locked my bedroom door, because i knew he was gonna thrash at me in my sleep if i didnt. i opened the door, and he straightway slapped me across the face. the impact pushed me a little back, but before i had time to steady myself, he gave me a few more blows.

i landed on my bed and i told him to stop, and he did. he spilled his heart out to me but i couldnt focus on his words. i was curled up, still recovering from the hits and there were tears all over my face.

all i remembered was; "i think your aunt can take care of yourself better than i can. when i got you that cheap camera with my hard-earned money, she got you a better camera. you obviously love her more than you love me."

i didnt deny anything. even if i did love everyone at Guillemard more than Pasir Ris, it wasnt because she always got me things. it was because everyone at Pasir Ris didnt show me the right kind of care.

my dad told me to pack my things and to get out. it wasnt the first time he asked me to go to my aunt's place, but this one seemed serious. he took my house keys and my Nike shoes, saying, "you dont deserve to keep anything that i'd ever bought for you."

looking to the back of my wardrobe, i found a pair of black shoes. they were broken and collecting dust, but they still fit. i left the house with my dad telling my brothers never to make contact with me ever again.

my aunt and granny welcomed me with open arms. my granny listened to my version of what happened, and she and my aunt understood my wanting to stay at the chalet. they understood.

that was the last time i saw my dad.

until now i have no regrets that the class chalet is the reason why i'm even staying in my aunt's place.

however it still didnt cease my insignificance to my classmates. i rarely met my classmates in person but whenever i spilled my heart out on the Whatsapp group, nobody replied me. whenever i said something, nobody regarded me.

it was only after i left that everyone thought of me. i was shown the conversation they had after i'd left and it upset me. i cried every time i thought about it; the reason why i'm even living here is because i decided to spend the time with them.

time went on. and those classmates were replaced with other people from all over the country; gathered together as ECE 1A1.

i wanted to start anew. i wanted so badly for everyone to accept me. at that time i had scars, and i covered them with my long sleeves. i was too afraid to even roll them up because i knew they were not gonna accept me.

but they did. everyone was different, and i liked all of them. i was happy with them, and i showed it. it seemed like a good start to my poly life, and i thought it was gonna be fine.

i got too close with one of them in particular, and i really liked this friend a lot. but i dragged him into my mess again and again, and i forced myself to take care of him, despite the fact that i was nobody. he couldnt take it i guess. he couldnt breathe, and who else was suffocating him but a nobody. me.

and i realised my mistake. i focused too much on my friendship with him that i didnt mix with the rest. his every action affected me so greatly; he was a best friend and he was like my brother.

but he got too close to me, and i told him all my stories; the knowledge of my past being the link between the both of us. thats why i didnt want to let this friend go.

maybe the past still affected me. maybe i was too emotional. or maybe they just started to see my true colours and that they thought i was weird.

and here we are again, i am where i am now. one thing is for sure; writing may have saved me but writing also killed me just as much.

i've never told my story in one shot. there are a thousand more details i've left out but this is all there is i have for now. i could think of more things to add here once i've published this but it doesnt matter.

this is the outline of my story, and everything that i am or everything that i have now is a link to what i once was and had.

My best friend.

i'm sorry for being an asshole.

i'm sorry for forcing you to take care and concern for me. i'm sorry for dragging you into my life. i'm sorry for pulling you into my mess and smearing my bullshit all over your face.

i'm sorry for annoying you. i'm sorry for trying to make you happy all the time. i'm sorry for making you buy me milk teas and sandwiches whenever i'm saving money.

i'm sorry for going to you whenever i feel alone. i'm sorry for getting upset when you cant meet me or when you have other friends to see. i'm sorry for being moody whenever you said you wanted to go home after school.

i'm sorry for being difficult to cheer up. i'm sorry for giving you one word replies or a mere nod whenever you saw how quiet i was and asked if i was okay.

i'm sorry for making you come to school 3 hours earlier to teach me. i'm sorry for asking you questions about what we learnt the week before.

i'm sorry for being insensitive when i speak. i'm sorry for saying things that hurt you instead of make you laugh. i'm sorry for making fun of you for every move you made or every word you said.

i'm sorry to have made you my best friend of all the people in the classroom. i'm sorry for taking too much care for you. i'm sorry for never being a good listener, i'm sorry for forcing you to quit smoking when you never had the intention.

because i am no one.

i am no one to you.

____

but you are someone.

you are someone to me.

thank you for being patient with me when i am being an asshole.

thank you for taking care and concern for me on your own accord. thank you for coming into my life. thank you for staying with me when i was messed up and for putting up with my bullshit with a smile on your face.

thank you for entertaining me when i was being annoying. thank you for smiling, even if it was just a bit, when i was trying to make you happy. thank you for spending your money to buy me milk teas and sandwiches.

thank you for welcoming me with open arms whenever i needed someone. thank you for trying to cheer me up over the phone instead when you cant meet me. thank you for giving a goodbye hug as an apology whenever you wanted to go home straight after school.

thank you for still continuing to try to cheer me up even when i was super upset. thank you for asking again and again if i was okay, because at least it showed that you noticed.

thank you for being willing to wake up early to meet me in school and spend the time teaching me. thank you for stopping your game just to answer a question of mine, about something i should have known a week before.

thank you for keeping quiet when i say insensitive things to you, or when i make you sad instead of happy. thank you for making sarcastic comments that make me laugh about the things i say about you.

thank you for calling me your best friend back. thank you for letting me care for you. thank you for listening to me when i needed you. thank you for making me happy for that brief period of time when you controlled yourself from picking up the habit again.

thank you for letting me be someone to you, right to the point where our friendship was over.

it was a great three months. but i messed up. i really liked you a lot and you were the best best friend i ever had. but i guess the tighter i hold something, the sweatier my palms get; you slip away faster as long as i am closer to you.