Best friends for life.

Upon first meeting, they are nothing but mere strangers. You don't know a thing about them, and they are clueless about who you are.

As time passes by though, you open up to them, and they open up to you. You feel comfortable with one another, be it in a group or just one person. You tease them, you make them laugh, you comfort them, you stick up for them, you tell them your secrets; their mirroring your actions is what creates the memories with them.

They accept you for who you are no matter how bullshit your attitude and problems get.

Who are they? They are your friends.

I've known these girls since we were all in Sec 1. I had my own differing opinions towards each and every one of them, and most of them were just judgments. As i got to know them, I realised they were totally cool, and I looked forward to going school everyday. it was a good start to secondary school!

The years passed and girls came and left my life, with drama and gossip accompanying the cliques that formed in the classroom. Three years into secondary education, and we had formed a certain bond among the 8 of us.

It was our differences that made us one. We were multi-racial, we went to different classes, we had different fashion sense, we had conflicting opinions and clashing personalities, but we got along. We had recess and lunch together, we went on outings and we took photos together. All 8 of us. We made promises to be together for life.

Came 2012, when one of those girls made a move and stupidly left the friendship. Disaster after disaster followed suit her action, be it among the remaining 7 or between her and them, or just her alone. To me, we were sturdy when we were 8, but because a pillar crumbled, the rest of the building made way due to lack of support.

I was that crumbled pillar. I was the one who had decided to leave behind this beautiful friendship.

One of the 7 girls I had left behind was my ultimate best friend. She had always been there for me, and I always told her we'd be friends forever, always making plans with her to travel the world and go on road trips together. This changed when I left. We weren't friends anymore, and we didn't exactly appreciate each other's existence. We used our blogs to attack and defend ourselves [though I'm pretty sure she was the one who did most of the attacking].

Just this year, about four months ago in April, she decided to unblock me from Twitter and chatted me up through direct messaging. I gave her my number, and we caught up with each other; what school and course were we in, shit like that. We met up one Friday evening, after I finished work, to the rooftop of Tampines Mall, just sitting down and talking.

If she hadn't approached me first I wouldn't have ever bothered to make amends. We put the past behind us, and I started to make contact with the rest of the girls. I found out that after everyone went on to tertiary education, one of the other pillars had also given way, silently. Those who remained actually knew, way before graduation, that they were going to be left with 6, if I hadn't returned.

Yesterday was our first time in a long time gathering together again, the remaining 7 of us. Upon union, we gave hugs and one of them whom I hadn't seen in 8 months whispered to me; "Welcome back." I was glad to be.

One of my Poly classmates had drilled into my head the fact that secondary school friends are the ones who will stay with you. I haven't even spent half a year in tertiary education but I've already learnt the hard way that he was right.

I will never understand why we can never have precious friendships in Poly like how we did in secondary school. All I know now is the fact that the only ones who will ever completely accept me over and over again are these girls. Our building was demolished, but it didn't matter. We rebuilt our friendship, we forgot and forgave, and although we are one girl short, we can grow a million times stronger than before. This is just the beginning of our story, the common bond which seven uniquely beautiful ladies share.

____

And to my best friend: if you remember, the few blog posts I had written before I left you guys... I did say I was just going on a journey and that I will be back. I wasn't sure when, and I also had doubts whether I would even be, but I said I'll eventually return to this friendship. Well, look who's home.

Some thoughts of mine.

Here are a few of my thoughts which I had meant to share with the prince yesterday but didn't manage to.

As I'd mentioned some time ago, I've been getting tired of those Tumblr photos of what girls are expecting from guys, what guys should do for girls, shit like that. These photos tell girls to choose the right guys; the guys who would 'text you good morning and good night everyday', 'call you just to tell you they are thinking of you', 'give you their shoulder to cry on and arms to wrap around you'. And I'm not referring to boyfriends, just boys in general.

There are also those kinds which start off with "Guys, if you really want a girl, do this:", shit like that. Well, with the help of these photos or quotes, even the typical douchebags would be able to charm girls. This very fact confuses me and got me thinking. Are these really helping assholes to become nicer and more charming, or are they just dressing the wolves up as sheep?

What if guys are like, "Okay, I'll just wish her good morning and good night everyday without fail. She's bound to take me seriously and shit! Hohoho!" and then he charms you, and you're like "Awww, he's so sweet by doing this" blahblahblah, but you'll never know if it's really sincere or if he's just trying to play nice in order to fool you, because he knows it's what you girls want.

Am I making sense? I've been haunted by this for a week. Shouldn't you stop posting your expectations on Twitter or Tumblr, just to protect the 'secret' of what we want from guys? This way, wouldn't we really know who is hell-bent and sincere and persistent on being with us? Well if you are different from other girls then I'm glad you've escaped the trap of expectations.

Another thought of mine is about my religion. I've only recently started reading about it. And for all I know, we all have something called 'jodoh'.

"Sekuat mana kita setia, 
Sehebat mana kita merancang,
Selama mana kita menunggu, 
Sekeras mana kita bersabar, 
Sejujur mana kita menerima kekasih kita, 
Jika Allah Subhanahu Wata' Ala tidak menulis jodoh kita bersama kekasih kita;
Kita tetap tidak akan bersama dengannya."

First things first it scares me. What if I invest in all my effort, energy, patience, love, care, time, in my relationship with the prince, only to still have him leave like the rest just because God didn't want us together? I thought it was really mean of God.

Another thing which I'd thought of... So what if you're together with someone who is in a terrible state of depression, and you've done all you can for him. What if you think he's getting better but then one day he died of suicide? That means that God doesn't want you to be with him right? So are you trying to tell me that God played out that suicide, just to prevent you from being together?

I don't know... I just had these thoughts. Like I'd said, I just recently started reading on my religion, so I don't know much. I don't need a lecture but correct me if I'm wrong and clear my doubts for me maybe?

Anyway, I'm going out with the girls tomorrow. And by girls, I mean the ones I had left when we were in Sec 5. [I'm pretty sure you've read my story by now] I'm glad I had the chance to reunite with all of them, because they're all wonderful people and I've missed the times we've spent.

I stayed home for the whole of today and I was rummaging through my mess at the corner of the room when I bumped into an old camera of mine. Someone from my past had given it to me about two years ago; it was dusty but still functioning.

I'm not even sure if people still read my blog, but I'll keep doing this. I do get upset over the fact that I can't get anything out of what I love, especially money, because I really need it; but writing and blogging is my passion and I should never let anything get in the way of that.

Past week's memories and lessons!

Monday, 19th August, 2013.

Just as I told the prince about lunch which I had asked my classmate out for, she broke the news to me that she wasn't able to make it. She told me her reasons, and I understood, but I couldn't help feeling sad. It did after all took courage for me to ask her out.

'Aamir told me to head to his school instead, which I did right after I ended my last exam of the semester. He brought me to sit with his classmates; they were all seated at separate tables, and as I proceeded to sit next to the prince, I waved a shy hello to those at the other table.

I followed Mel to get our drinks, and as we were queuing up she told me about how I looked better with this hairstyle. We talked about self-esteem, confidence, things like that. Sometimes I don't understand the way I look at myself either.

After their lunch, 'Aamir and his classmates made their way up to the third storey, and honestly, I've never been that far in their school before.

Yazid came along and the first thing he said to me was, believe it or not; "nice hairstyle today." I was taken aback, but still, thank you very much. I had no regrets putting my fringe away that day, after so many years of hiding my eyes!

Remember when I said that friends are what protect you from the eyes of society? With them around, I didn't feel out of place in the school that was bustling with uniformed teenagers. It feels a lot safer with friends than being alone. It feels like you belonged somewhere. Try being in a polytechnic in your ITE uniform, or try being in an ITE college, wearing plainclothes and carrying your laptop. Wouldn't you feel out of place, and that people around you were judging you, thinking who the hell gave you the rights to be there?

They went off for their last class of the day, and I headed to Choa Chu Kang to do a little bit of reading, and I was getting to the climax chapter when I received a call from 'Aamir. He told me to head back because he couldn't go to the gym after all; after a bit of persuasion, I reluctantly made my way to the bus interchange to catch a bus back to his school.

The prince bought me chicken rice, which I ate alongside his classmates. I honestly had quite a few laughs with them, especially when Farhan was teasing Yazid non-stop!

As promised, 'Aamir sent me home. We stopped at Bishan for a while to get strawberry rolls and peach tarts which we munched on while walking, before getting back on the Circle Line train back to Paya Lebar. He was annoying as fuck, of course; but that was just what made me smile and laugh on the inside.

Tuesday, 20th August, 2013. 

I didn't tell my grandmother that it was already my holidays. Instead, I'd told her that I had to be in school by 12. I went to Jurong East library where I sat for about three hours, reading about nothing but The Conjuring on the net.

I knew from the start that the Annabelle doll had nothing to do with the Perrons' haunting. And, I also wanted to put an end to my sleepless nights; I thought that by proving to myself that the true story the film was based on was not true at all, I'd be able to sleep peacefully again.

By the time my blog post was done, I was starving. The prince wasn't in Singapore and the girls were scattered everywhere around Singapore except where I was.

Eventually I asked one of 'Aamir's classmates out; Naqib. He shares the same name as the elder brother which I so deeply hate; yet owns care for me that is complete opposite to what my own blood feels for me.

He was with his girlfriend Diyanah, also one of 'Aamir's classmates, at Lavender. After doing a little bit of calculation I deducted that the midpoint was EW17; Tiong Bahru. That was where we met.

It started off fine, apart from the fact that I'd made them wait for about 45 minutes. Deeply sorry about that! I waited for them to buy their food before I went to get mine, and honestly, that was when the atmosphere dropped.

When I was approaching our table with my tray, I couldn't help overhearing Diyanah's stern tone and the look of remorse and anger on Naqib's face. I didn't catch what she was saying but I could already sense the tension hanging in the air.

The three of us sat in silence for the whole meal. Anyone with social anxiety would know how I felt then; not only the awkwardness, but also the feeling of being a third wheel, and as well as the paranoia that the both of them were not exactly rejoicing at my presence. If I hadn't been there, it would have probably been better for them to resolve the issue. If I hadn't appeared with my food and sat down with them, they could have continued their argument and eventually solved the problem. That was what I felt.

Things got better when we were walking back to the MRT station though. Naqib teased me about my outfit, telling me to change, while Diyanah stood up for me, as always. They alighted at Outram Park while I continued on to Paya Lebar, where I had a nap til meh.

Wednesday, 21st August, 2013. 

Another solitary escapade to Jurong East. I sat at the library reading instead of researching; I didn't know what to write about. I read a few chapters of Kite Runner. At the same time, the prince was apparently moody and upset about something, but even after a few persuasions, he wouldn't tell me why or even talk to me.

For him not to have chosen to talk to me really upset me in return. So I wrote about it. I wrote about my feelings, of having him bottle his feelings up rather than run to his other half about his problems like how I always did.

He called me right after, and just like that, we met up for an early dinner. He also gave me a voucher for Times bookstore, which Mel had passed to him to present to me. We spent some time in the bookstore but I didn't dare buy anything because I wanted to take my time looking properly.

So I got home, and guess what? My cousin Kak Siti was there; we were all going to visit my grandfather for Hari Raya. The first thing I got happy about was the fact that I could finally wear a baju kurung!

From the first day of Syawal this year, I hadn't had the opportunity to wear the traditional Malay costume. Everyday Instagram was filled with other people donning their baju kurung, and I was sad because I didn't get to wear any, so I'm really grateful for the opportunity!

Thursday, 22nd August, 2013. 

An entire morning in the library lead to a dozen tabs opened on my laptop; my research topic for the day was films that were based on true stories. I was experimenting; after a long time of thinking I settled on three films from early 1990's.

I didn't get to complete the post before I had to rush to Choa Chu Kang to meet two of my blog readers. They've given me words of encouragement and have always been my support from the very moment they started reading this blog of mine, and it was my honour to be able to meet them.

Both Nurasilah and Nazirah were beautiful in their own way, although I know that they still see flaws in themselves even if I call them that. It was our first time meeting and we probably had a lot of things to ask one another, but due to all of us being socially awkward, it was a rather quiet lunch apart from the occasional random questions.

We only loosened up when we headed to the rooftop to take a few pictures, like what all girls do. We had a few laughters, and I managed to ask them a few questions about themselves and their opinions. It was a pity that I had to go off about two hours after we met up.

My next destination was Woodlands, where 'Aamir fetched me just as I tapped out of the gantries. He stared at me wide-eyed, still looking handsome though, and the first thing he asked was, "what's with the red eyes??"

So I told him how my cat had played with the casing of my transparent ones til it went missing, and that I had no choice but to wear my red lens.

The prince carried my laptop case for me and took my hand with his free one, and we walked up and into Swenson's, where his secondary school classmates were waiting. I was insecure, but he told me I was already looking fine and that his friends were dying to meet me.

I've met Syazryna once before, on one of the few dates 'Aamir and I had, while it was the first time meeting Siti Hanna. I was really shy, and I was feeling so ugly! But 'Aamir, being with familiar friends, managed to loosen the atmosphere, adding laughter to the conversations and meal.

I loved the mussels, which I kept pestering 'Aamir to open for me, and Syazryna even managed to order in an extra chocolate fondue for dessert!

I'd wanted to pay for the bill too, but Syazryna wouldn't hear of it. While the girls had their backs on us, I looked at their outfits and told 'Aamir about how I wished I had the guts to dress up for school days like it was a norm for me.

I thanked Syazryna before we parted, and 'Aamir and I made our way to the library next.

So this was where he pissed me off. He had my laptop, and went to sit at a corner of the library first, while I looked at some of the books at the literature section. By the time I found him he already had my laptop open. I sat beside him and the first thing he said was, "Oh I closed all your windows already."

That drove me mad! Meaning to say, he cleared all the research I had painstakingly found on the net!

I didn't say anything, but I gave him the look. Being with me for seven months, he knew what it meant, and his expression changed into an apologetic one. It pissed me off more that he was giving excuses. "How would I know?? There wasn't any Internet connection anyway!!"

So I told him, "This isn't your laptop. It's basic courtesy that when you're using someone's laptop, you don't close any of their windows, whether or not there's Internet connection. And the least you could do was ask me first!"

I was so pissed that I didn't have the mood to even read. On the other hand, 'Aamir had turned on Youtube and was giggling away next to me. He later even had the cheek to start gaming on my laptop! Ugh!

But as always, I forgave him. He got butterscotch ice-cream [which I didn't really like though] and sent me off to the gantries, where I got on the train to Jurong East before changing to the East West train towards Paya Lebar.

And my "ask.fm friend" finally made his identity no longer a secret.

Friday, 23rd August, 2013. 

Another morning at Jurong East library. By the time I reached my usual place by the windows, it was already noon. I quickly plugged in my laptop and started my research from scratch; thank goodness I had written a bit about what I had found in my little journalist notebook. Referring to it, I managed to remember a few of the subjects which I had Googled for my blog post.

Half an hour later I still wasn't done with my writing, but I already had to go off to Tiong Bahru to meet a friend. He whom I once called my best friend, only to know that he hadn't regarded me the same. Honestly the most wonderful friend I had made in poly, none other than the unamused Shafie.

It took me guts to ask him out as well, because I was afraid of rejection, which I was sure would be the verdict. But I'm really grateful he said yes.

The first thing he asked me was, "Does 'Aamir know you are with me?" It may seem nothing to you, but it was pretty sweet for him to have asked that. We had an awkward lunch, though I managed to ask questions to 'update' me on his well-being and his life.

And a bird dropped a bomb on me! The plop sound and the wet feeling on my head, and I looked up to see a bird's asshole in my view. I swear I wanted to cry! I whined to Shafie about it but I was so embarrassed!! But I went to the sink to clean it off, and when I came back I just wanted to leave already.

I haven't walked under the sun for ages, so he decided to bring me for a walk towards Redhill station. If you realise something, the atmosphere always loosens up only after the lunch. I'm not sure why, maybe there is a scientific reason for it but whatever.

I started to babble about my stories and theories; I had missed the sarcastic remarks which he always made whenever I talked like I was so smart.

"You know the best way to see if someone cares is, when you guys are walking on the sidewalk next to the road, and the person walks on the outer side of the sidewalk..."

"You told me this before."

"So how? Did it change your life?" I asked excitedly.

He didn't answer, but the corners of his mouth were turned up a little, like he was trying not to even smile.

We walked past Tiong Bahru Park, and I sheepishly asked: "If I wanted to play at the swings right now would you let me?"

"Go ahead."

"Okay, and if I asked you to push me while I'm on the swings would you do so?"

He kept quiet, before answering with that controlled smile, "You know I have a reputation to hold."

I've always liked teasing him, just to see him try his damndest to keep that unamused face of his.

Like always, he still entertained me no matter how childish I was. He wouldn't give me a tour of Tiong Bahru like I asked him to, but he still told me that that is his secondary school, and that this is where he prays every Friday; and he also stopped at the entrance of the railway tunnel so I could see how it was like if a train passed by.

And before I knew it, he had to go.

I walked around Tiong Bahru whilst waiting for another friend to turn up. I got tired after a while so I sat at Maccy D, continuing to work on my blog post, before I finally saw Wai Kit walking outside the restaurant.

The last time we met was sometime before Ramadan; and apparently there was a lot to catch up on his life after weeks of not seeing him. I admire how he's always so cheery no matter what setbacks he's got. He's always been that way from the time I knew him.

He got me iced lemon tea and we talked, and we realised that our friendship was been existing for five years; we met when I was in Sec 1, while he was in Sec 2. He was still grunting in disbelief; "Five years? Five years!?"

One more thing which I liked about talking to him was how he always had arguments to fight my words. We debated about all kinds of things, battling each other with our own opinions. Well, nobody won or lost, but I've always liked arguing with him!

I wanted to reach home before it got dark, so when it was half past 5, I told him I had to go.

"Ah go la, go la. Abandon your friend la, go la. So much for five years!"

And then he said my name, and I realised that even after all the years he still couldn't mention my name properly. So much for five years indeed!

____

And there we have it. It's been a while since I blogged about time spent with friends. Not only did I meet new people, but I also managed to catch up on old friends, friends of the past. This week has been one of my favourites!

I bought a long skirt at Bugis yesterday, with the help of sweet-talker Shushan. She told me I was pretty and that I would look great in it, and what's more, I've been under the pressure of the prince and my aunt and my grandmother to try wearing a long skirt instead of jeans! This shall be a step towards experimenting with myself. Well, my youth isn't forever; I can't start wearing bright colours and skirts and dresses when I'm old already right?

I've a few appointments made this week already, with the girls on Friday evening and the prince next Monday. I am under pressure of wearing the new skirt for both dates! But the voice in my head tells me, "You can't start off wearing skirts by wearing the same one for two outings in a row! People will laugh at you and say eeew she's trying too hard to change her looks!" Yes, the voice in my head is very cruel.

Also, two nights ago my good friend Naqib taught me something; if it's a passion, why do you care about what others think of it?

I don't have to give a shit if people read my blog or not. I write and blog from the bottom of my heart; it doesn't matter who stumbles upon it, who likes it and who doesn't. Like how my new friend Nazirah has the talent of writing songs but she doesn't show her gift to the world. Like how Pearl and Siying are wonderful bloggers and artists but shove neither of their talents up the noses of other people.

Thank you for reading, I appreciate that you took the time to read this lengthy post of mine!

Declining self-esteem.

About 7 months ago I met 'Aamir, and what came with this special companion was his many friends. I'm grateful I met him, because when I did, I made friends with his classmates from secondary school as well as his current coursemates. But that's not the main topic of this post.

Among his secondary school friends was his best friend Luqman, or more affectionately known as Luke. I dare say that today, Luke and I are very good friends even without 'Aamir as the mutual wall; but again, this special friendship is not what I am about to write about.

'Aamir had told me that Luke's English was good too. Sometimes I went to him complaining about having too little people reading my blog. He did read it, but he once said, about a month ago: "What irritates me the most about your blog is the fact that you don't write in proper Caps lock when you start a new sentence."

I went against his suggestions of trying to type in proper Caps. "You just have to press shift each time you start a new sentence, what's so difficult about that?"

I gave him the excuse that if I wrote as such, my text would look copied and pasted, especially my posts that had research and shit. This is actually my first post in years that has its words properly capitalised. [There were a few in February and April this year, but that was because I was blogging on my phone]

So let's now proceed with what I was here for.

Every girl is self-conscious, whether or not you have tens of likes on your selfies on Instagram. I've long accepted the fact that I'm not as pretty as those other girls out there, though I still post pictures of myself on Instagram and I'm still being called beautiful by my grandmother and boyfriend everyday.

Just yesterday I was having fun taking pictures of myself in my new top; it was sort of peplum and I'd never worn such things before. I felt better about myself, after years of thinking otherwise. I thought I could finally go out in something other than t-shirts.

However this morning I did a mistake of stalking other girls' Instagram profiles. And I swear to you, that this mistake was fatal. Not only did it kidnap my self-esteem, but it also tortured my self-conscious almost to the point of death. Right now, my confidence is hanging on a thread, and I'm not sure if I can ever save it.

Maybe they are pretty because their teeth are straight.
Maybe they are pretty because they have dimples.
Maybe they are pretty because they wear skirts and crop tops and dresses and shit.
Maybe they are pretty because they follow current trends.
Maybe they are pretty because their hair is pushed away from their eyes.
Maybe they are pretty because they show off their legs.
Maybe they are pretty because they have curls or highlights in their hair.
Maybe they are pretty because they have big brown eyes.
Maybe they are pretty because they wear tudung.
Maybe they are pretty because they are petite.

The list goes on, but simply put, maybe they are just pretty because they are not me, and I am not pretty because I am not them.

Not being pretty has many setbacks other than the low self-esteem. I'm not popular because I am not pretty, and by popular, I mean more-than-50-likes-on-Instagram/more-than-500-followers-on-Twitter/dozens-of-people-reading-my-blog kind of popular.

And through this lack of popularity, I do not gain recognition for my writing. Many other girls have blogs, which are always visited and read simply because they are pretty and popular. I do not mean to brag, but I think my blog posts are a lot more sincere than these girls'. I write about my life, and, well, just life. Even if I'm not pretty; I just know how to write.

Today I bumped into a few more blogs owned by other pretty girls. And I am scared. Most of their English is good, and it made me realise that my writing isn't as marvelous as I thought it to be. Now I'm not only self-conscious about my looks; I also have low self-esteem about my blog, and my writings.

Who knows, that maybe all this while, when I've published my blog posts on Twitter, my followers were rolling their eyes and saying in their heads, "oh please, not her blog again." Maybe those people who even read it were thinking that what I wrote did not make sense, and that my hardships were just bullshit to draw in attention.

I really want to be known more, just for my writing. Like a classmate of mine had just tweeted; "Girls want attention. Women want respect." I do want respect. For my blog. But I don't even have attention, because I don't have looks. You may think I'm babbling but this is how I really see it; that nobody will ever read my blog because I don't have the attention on my face.

Why am I thinking like this? Because I am not pretty, and that because of this, I am denied respect for my talent. This is really what I think is going on behind the doors of society. I can't change anything about it. I've accepted that I'm not as pretty as you, or your sisters, or your best friends, or your girlfriends or crushes. And without looks, where do I stand?

3 horror movies based on true events.

two days ago, i did research on the Conjuring and the Warren demontologists, [see two posts before] and it was deemed 'interesting'. i found it to be so too; and thus, my job for the holidays shall be researching rumours that you may or may not have heard of, about movies that you might have watched.

because why the fuck not? like i'd said, i wouldnt be able to watch a movie based on a true story without reading everything about the said true story. would you?

so all morning [yesterday's and today's] til now i've been sitting here reading about some movies from the past which were actually, though loosely, based on real-life accounts.

if you remember the Chuckie doll from Child's Play; a serial killer uses voodoo rituals to transfer his soul into a doll, possessing the child's toy and going around attacking people. [thanks to Google, because i forgot half the plot of this movie]

yes. it wasn't just imagination. whatever that is portrayed in the film is not necessarily from reality; just inspiration. and for this film which may have been a huge part of your childhood, its inspiration comes from a Robert doll.

the year is 1906, and Robert Eugene Otto was given a doll from his servant, who despised the family. she was skilled in black magic and voodoo, and of course, soon after, Eugene's family began to believe that there was something eerie about the doll.

[it was named Robert, so from here on, i shall label Robert as the doll and Eugene as the boy to avoid confusion]

Eugene started talking to himself in his room, and his parents also heard the doll speaking back; at first they thought it was the boy answering himself in changed tones, but later believed that the doll was talking. strange encounters just increased from there.

Eugene would start screaming in his sleep and crashing noises would be heard from his room at night, and his parents would rush to see furniture turned over, and him crouched in a corner, pointing to the Robert doll and yelling; "he did it!"

neighbours claimed to see the doll moving from window to window, and sometimes Eugene's parents would hear it emit a terrifying giggle, and running from door to door. after all these strange experiences, Robert was taken and left in the attic.

when Eugene got married, he dusted off the doll and brought the doll down from the attic, much to his wife's dismay. he spent all his time with the doll, although his wife had a bad impression of it from the very start. even when Eugene was ill, he spent his last breaths locked in the room with his doll; instead of spending time with his wife.

he died in 1974, and his wife left the house, leaving behind the doll after planting a whole load of boxes on it.

a new family moved in, including a ten-year-old girl who became the new friend of the Robert doll. soon after though, she too began screaming in her sleep, and claimed that the doll was trying to kill her. even many years later, she still stuck to the fact that she had indeed gotten attacked by the doll.

Robert continued attacking people, sometimes locking them in the attic. he was also found at the foot of the owners' bed, holding a kitchen knife with a scowl. [just like your best friend Chuckie...]

today, he is kept and locked in a glass case, in a museum; where he continues to scowl and plan mischievous deeds. you may take a picture of him only when you've gotten his permission. ask him politely, and proceed if his head tilts a little to the side.

if he doesnt give you permission but you still snap anyway, he'd curse you and your family, as well as the families of whoever had followed you to the museum. well, it's just rumours, but you can always try for yourself.

another film which was based on a real life account; Nightmare on Elm Street. of course, the burned figure that is Freddy doesnt exist in reality, but the movie's director had read in the newspapers about a physician's son, which inspired his film.

at the age of 20, a boy was having nightmares, and refused to sleep because he was too terrified; "i have a lot of nightmares but these are different." he stayed awake for about six days, refusing to go to sleep. he strongly believed something was trying to kill him in his sleep.

his family was worried; they had given him sleeping pills but they never seemed to work. one day, he was watching television when he fell asleep on the couch; he was so exhausted til he just dozed off. he was brought to his bedroom, laid to bed, and everyone thought it was all over.

at night though, screams were heard from his bedroom. before his parents got to him, he was dead in his bed. his closet was filled with sleeping pills which he had spat back out.

when director Wes Craven read about this, he immediately thought; "hey, this is gonna make a great movie.", which brought the film A Nightmare On Elm Street. not sure if you've watched it, but i did, once, in the company of my parents and cousins. [and afraid to sleep at night, yes]

there was also a period of time when young men from Laos, Cambodia and Vietnam were dying in their sleep. it was also recorded in our very own Singapore, between 1982 and 1990. healthy Thai men were dying in their sleep as well; it was soon known as "sudden unexpected death syndrome".

according to folklore, there was a malign spirit  dab tsuam, which takes on the form of a woman who takes your breath from you as you sleep. the name roughly means "to sit upon", and men often went to bed dressed as a female so as not to attract the spirit's attention.

last but not least; The Hills Have Eyes. i've heard about this one, had watched my cousins and brother watching it, while i cowered in the corner with a book, pretending not to hear the screams from the television.

it apparently involves cannibalism; and yes this is another film based on a true story. i've written about this last because i've made the prince research about this as punishment for closing all my research tabs last night. didnt want to write this until he recites me everything about it, but he's too slow, so here you go.

Alexander "Sawney" Bean; semi-mythical head of a clan from 15th/16th Century Scotland, known for his mass murdering and cannibalism.

Bean had ran away with a vicious woman, and they took lodging in a coastal cave, where they lived undiscovered for some 25 years. they had children and grandchildren, most of which were born through incest, or, sexual intercourse between family members.

to survive, they hunted and killed none other than human beings. the clan sneaked around at night, targeting individuals or small groups. their bodies were dragged back to the cave, and sometimes the clan just left unwanted, or 'unedible' parts around. body parts would wash up on the shore.

the villagers nearby were disturbed, of course. the disappearances and washed up body parts didnt go unnoticed. but the Beans were so skilled with their ambushes that the villagers were unaware that the murderers were in fact living nearby.

search parties were launched to find the culprit, and the cave was also glanced at, but the men refused to believe that anything human could live in it. they suspected the innkeepers, who were always the last to have seen the victims alive.

one night, the Beans ambushed a man and a wife who were riding on a horse, but the man was skilled in combat, and at least managed to stall time. before the clan could do anything more, a large group of other men appeared, and they just fled.

but their existence was exposed. more search parties, into the telltale cave this time; the Beans were captured and taken in chains to the Tolbooth jail in Edinberg, where they were prosecuted without trial. the men were hanged, drawn, and quartered: kind of a normal punishment for high treason.

just side facts, but for men who have committed acts which were strongly against the law or nation, they were first hanged, most of the time to the point of death, put through disembowelment, emasculation [google for the meanings of these words; i don't think i'd want to put in the details here on my baby blog] and body parts were dismembered. the women were burnt, due to modesty issues.

in another town nearby called Girvan, there was another legend in which one of Sawney's daughters left the clan, settled there, and planted a Hairy Tree. after the Beans' prosecution, her identity was revealed and angry locals hanged her from the tree.

some more additional facts: local legends in the town of Girvan today, says that you can hear the sound of a hanging corpse while standing beneath the boughs. the exact location of the tree is unknown but searches have been launched to hunt it down.

so there you have it! three films which you may or may not heard of or watched, which were inspired by real life accounts. i'm not sure if anyone have read this post to the very end, but i hope you enjoyed this one.

imagination have limits too. nobody has great creativity like our creator himself. our stories are based of his creations, not ours. most films and books are inspired by what God made happen, not us measly humans. [i hope i dont seem bullshit with these sudden God references.]

forgive me if my posts have been boring lately. just testing out different topics to see what draws in more audience. i'm really doing my best to get my writing appreciated okay!

thank you for reading.

I now know where i stand.

i'm always lonely.

i don't have friends to lunch with in poly; my secondary school friends are always on the other side of Singapore; i don't have siblings to laugh with anymore; i don't have a mother to go shopping with.

if you realise, the things i used to do with them everyday can now only be done with you. because; how many times have i emphasised; i only have you.

i also stopped writing in my diary because i always talked to you instead.

when i'm angry, or upset, at the slightest things, the only place i want to be is with you. you know, you may be irritating as fuck sometimes but the bottom line was that you never failed to make me happy again.

whenever i had problems, be it in school or in my head, the first person i'd run to was you. if the problem was about you, i'd either keep it to myself, or, yes, talk to you about it. because you're my only solace. when i'm having a bad day, i'd want to meet you, because i know it was the only way to make me feel better.

on the other hand... when you have something on your mind, you'd rather not tell me. you'd be angry, or moody, or upset all of a sudden, and you will never tell me why. maybe you see me differently than how i see you. maybe you don't find me to be a source of comfort like how i see you. this hurts me deeply.

i wish i can be there for you like how you were always for me. i don't know what's the problem with you today, and i was a second away from being angry at your silence, but i've been biting my lip, holding my thumb back from my phone keypad.

you once told me, that when you lose interest in someone, the first thing you'd ask from them is space. this is  what you've just asked from me. you've no idea how afraid i am to lose you, because really. i only have you.

i still wish you'd tell me what's the problem today. you taught me to put myself in other people's shoes; here i am, obeying your statement, trying my best not to piss you off any further. and, if i were in your shoes, i'd want to run to me, and tell me what's wrong.

and what about you as well? put yourself in my shoes? i'm lonely. i wish you'd talk to me. if you were in my shoes, wouldnt you want to be there for you and listen to you? that's what you once said; that you're my boyfriend, and you deserve to know when there's something wrong.

i don't know where i stand with you sometimes. you have so many friends, so many people whom you call 'best friends'. of course you wouldnt talk to me. but i still wish you would.

give you all the space you need then. now i know where i fucking stand.

trying so hard not to cry right now. how i feel the strong urge to just leave you today. but we all know that at the end of every other day, i'd always run back to you no matter what. but please stop taking my loneliness for granted.

The Conjuring and the Warren demontologists.

the first time i saw its movie poster was early this month. soon after, everyone on my timeline was talking about it; saying how much they really wanted to watch this new horror film. when they heard it was based on a true story, it just sparked their interest further, firing up their desire to catch this movie.

this is The Conjuring. and today, people are still talking about it, posting pictures of the Annabelle Doll, movie stills, scaring each other about scenes from the movie.

i've read about the Annabelle Doll in the early month of Ramadan this year, on my trustworthy Facebook friend, a page telling tales of the bizarre, hauntings, and strange objects. among these stories was the one of the Annabelle Doll. this is what i understood of it.

a student nurse named Donna had been given a raggedy Ann doll for her birthday. back in those days, Ann/Andy dolls were of the rage and every girl wanted them. she was thrilled for this gift. she and her roommate Angie treated it like a friend.

the doll soon began developing a life of its own. it started off changing positions; it would be left laid down, only to be sitting when Donna came into the room again. eventually it began moving around on its own, and was always found in a room different from where it had been left.

the most chilling sight was when they returned to see that the doll was sitting on a chair, upright. it was impossible. the doll's legs were too flexible to support its own weight.

Donna seeked help from a priest. apparently a young girl named Annabelle had been murdered, lifeless body found when she was seven, on a field where the house now stood. its spirit had taken a liking for the Ann doll and therefore took residence in it. upon knowledge, Donna and Angie gave permission for the spirit to stay in the doll as long as it stopped doing creepy things.

everyone seemed happy at the arrangement. except for Lou, the friend that had been staying with Donna and Angie. he claimed that the doll had tried to strangle him when he was sleeping at night. notes in childish scribbles were found; "help", "help Lou", and claw-marks formed on Lou's back.

again, they called for help. they were told that spirits do not possess objects. they'd rather take on human form. Annabelle was just taking temporary residence in the Ann doll before it attempts to possess its human target; Lou.

the demonologists featured in The Conjuring; Ed and Lorraine Warren, were also called in to investigate. they had taken the Ann doll, where it remains imprisoned in a glass case. "Positively Do Not Open", a note on its window says.

and no... this doll has nothing to do with the family of five daughters from the movie. the only thing these cases have in common were demon possession and Ed and Lorraine Warren.

so the question: is The Conjuring really based on a true story?

one of the Perron sisters; Andrea, had written, quote: "On behalf of my entire family, thank you for the fine and balanced reporting in this article. For the purpose of clarification, “The Conjuring” IS based on a “true story”…our story. However, the film is not based on my trilogy “House of Darkness House of Light”. It is, instead, based upon the case files of Ed & Lorraine Warren. They conducted an investigation of our home between 1973-74 and the movie tells our story from their perspective."

i can't say for sure because i never really watched the movie [was closing my eyes the whole time], but the film version did exaggerate here and there, beginning with the Annabelle doll. who knows if the whole story was of exaggeration too? isnt that what filmmakers are supposed to do, in order to draw an audience?

and the film is based upon the case files of investigators Ed and Lorraine Warren. they are famous names in the horror world, stated to have investigated over 10,000 cases, the most mentioned being the Amityville hoax.

this story took place in another house, 112 Ocean Avenue, with the Lutz family. a family of seven, the DeFeo family, resided there about a year before they did. the eldest son, 24 at the time, had murdered his parents and his four younger siblings, aged 9, 12, 13, and 18.

he claimed to have not been aware as he was murdering his family. he casually went to work, and when he returned home to see his family drowned in blood in their beds, he called the police telling them frantically of his discovery.

it was said that he had been possessed by demons, and that he was truly innocent of these murders.

came the Lutz family. they had their share of unworldly encounters. George Lutz would wake up at 3:15 in the mornings; the estimated time that the DeFeo murders had taken place. Kathy Lutz had dreams where she found out the order of the killings and the rooms in which they occurred. the Lutz children began sleeping on their stomachs; that was how the bodies of the DeFeos were found.

there was a book written about this; The Amityville Horror. however, its author soon admitted the whole story to be a work of fiction created together with the Lutz family and a priest. the priest too admitted it to be fake. because the Warrens had done their part of investigation, they were highly associated with the hoax.

so it can't be wrong for people to think that the Conjuring is not based on a true story, because the Warrens were involved. there was also no link in the Annabelle doll and the Perrons' house haunting.

i did some research on the witch Bathsheba, featured in the horror film as well. from what i understood, her being a witch may or may not be true. an infant had died in her care, with its skull being punctured by a sewing needle. it was said that she sacrificed her child to the demon.

later on Carolyn Perron was lying on her couch when she suddenly felt a pain in her calf; it started to drip blood where the pain was felt. there were no bees that could have hurt her, and the wound looked like it had been punctured by a sewing needle. Lorraine Warren believed that the witch had taken her murder tool with her when she died.

they said that the witch had sacrificed all her children to the devil, but this was not entirely true. she had a son whom she watched becoming a farmer, a husband, and a father. her witchcraft was also known to be just folklore.

for the special 'power' that Lorraine had possessed as seen in the movie, it is true. she started seeing bright lights around other people when she was 12; she had told a nun about it, and was punished instead of being helped. her daughter Judy has also inherited this gift.

the Warrens never charged money for their services. this fact confuses me. they wouldnt take all the trouble to hold exorcisms and investigations if the hauntings are just hoaxes. on the other hand, they were probably just doing this in kindness; they just wanted to help the families that were being haunted, out of sincerity.

so how true is the story which The Conjuring is based on? and how reliable are the demontologists Ed and Lorraine Warren?

it is a Tuesday afternoon and here i sit at Jurong East library. first day of vacation, and this is how i spend it; by pretending to be a journalist. i havent even had breakfast, or lunch for that matter.

there are a dozen other articles on the net, regarding the stories behind The Conjuring. a million times better than what i just wrote. you can always do some research on your own. the above is just what i understood of it.

even as my cursor lingers above the 'publish' button, i still feel displeased at this blog post of mine. it doesnt feel satisfying. but nevermind. i'm just an amateur journalist [a wannabe, even], putting my heart and soul into my research, although i don't get satisfying results from it...

you can never watch a movie "based on a true story" without researching every single detail about this story. nope. definitely not me. and thus, i present to you this post of mine. i hope you enjoyed it, thank you for reading.

Unknowingly disappointing someone.

you know, back in secondary school my teachers were always doing their best for us, in order to motivate and make sure we understood what is going on. if we were to sleep, they'd wake us up, and also call us to stay back after class for extra lessons.

they kept telling us to be grateful. they told us, that in poly life, none of the teachers were gonna do that. none of the teachers would give a shit if we slept in class, if we could focus or not, if we understood or not. i graduated from secondary school and moved on to Ngee Ann Poly believing this.

but who would've thought; what they had told us was wrong. my lecturers weren't as mean as i thought. they weren't just nice; my EG1 teacher bothered to single me out because i was lagging behind. some of you may find it annoying, but at least they noticed that you need extra guidance.

my EMPTS teacher also bothered to come over to my table and ask me to try again, when he saw that i had given up and had laid slumped in front of the oscilloscope. he'd come over again and again to explain to me how to work that damn machine, but i still shamelessly didnt try again.

in the end, i handed in empty worksheets for that lesson, and stopped turning up completely for this module. a classmate just recently returned me my worksheets, which i had just chucked into my backpack without any second glances.

just a few days ago, i was looking through the mess of my notes, when i bumped into these worksheets again. what i had left blank all those weeks ago, had been filled in with red ink.

my EMPTS teacher had completed the worksheet for me. it may be a small gesture, but it really means a lot. he had bothered to fill in what i had left blank, perhaps in the hopes that i'd come back and try again. it hurts me in a way you can't imagine; to have disappointed someone and only realising it. you gave them the impression that you didnt care about their efforts.

and then there's my EngMec teacher. right from the start, he has always been trying to help me. i never paid attention to the base chapter. he had taken the effort to look for me in the middle of a lesson [not his] and requested that i come look for him for extra guidance because he realised i wasnt doing well.

i was reluctant; i was still in my daydream mood and didnt feel like it. but i went, and thanks to that, i got the base of this module. the rest of the topics came easy, though i still went for consultations here and there.

the thing about him was, he bothered to go the extra mile. he called a bunch of us over to sit with him and revise through the questions again and again til we got it. he held consultations for us to come and busy him with queries, and he was more than happy to help us; always had that smile on his face.

he asked if there were any problems when he saw me sleeping in class. i told him i had to work; just that simple truth, and he was always talking to me, asking me how things were going between work and studies.

one day i told him that i had to work because of the issue with my parents. he took the initiative to call the school counsellor to talk to me. and when the class was noisy as fuck [as per normal] during one of his lectures, he had stopped teaching just to talk some sense into everyone.

"if you don't want to listen, at least learn to keep silent. all of you are fortunate to have your parents paying your school fees. but there are some of your schoolmates who have to work to pay for themselves. they know how difficult this is, and they are really trying to listen in class; the least you could do is respect these people."

on the last day of tutorial, he actually brought a camera to class and told us to take a class photo together.

today, i sat for my EngMec exam. and i'm sorry to say but i've disappointed this teacher once again.

just imagine your teacher, sitting down, staring into space and thinking of you as you sit for your exam. what would he be doing as you handed in a blank answer paper and left the exam hall an hour before the exam ends?

he's probably thinking of you, thinking of all the time he had helped you, held consultation sessions so you could come and ask him questions. so he could help you, because he wanted the best for you. he'd be thinking of his faith in you, believing that you can do your best.

while you, in the exam hall, stare at the questions, decide that you cant do them, write your seat number and student id number, and raise your hand without a single thought. and you leave the hall, looking forward to your vacation, without realising that you have disappointed someone.

tell me how that doesnt hurt you? look me in the eye and tell me you don't give a shit?

unknowingly disappointing someone; letting someone down without even realising it. that's just one of the shittiest feelings in the world.

Bloggers are people who WRITE.

i've always wondered why some people are called "bloggers". sometimes it feels like these people are not worthy of the title. i for one, grew up believing that bloggers are people who write and share stories. because that's what i've always been doing with mine, as well as some other people i know.

but it seems different now. people are being called "bloggers" not for their writing anymore. the people who fall into this privileged category are teenaged girls who use their blogs to post selfies, outfits, and are sponsored by blogshops.

these girls are being recognised for their looks, not for their writing. the compliments they are getting are just focusing on their looks. "she's gorgeous", "she's so pretty", "so beautiful", blablabla. have they been praised "wow, her writing is good."?

[i'm not really talking about anyone in particular, i'm just saying in general.]

many other girls are also getting recognition for their selfies and ootds on Instagram, 'relatable' tweets [that are in horrible English most of the time].

alright, i understand that i dont have the looks and i dont have good tweets or an updated fashion sense, but sometimes i do wish i'd get more recognition for my writing. and not just me, but also those other people who actually sit down and spend their time writing, putting their heart into their blog posts.

i have two good friends from my secondary school, these two beautiful ladies who write in their blogs as well. both of them are artistic as well as loyal bloggers. their entries are real; they write about the dreams they had at night, the bad days they went through, and one of them travels a lot and writes about this too.

i also have a Twitter follower, and although we've never met, she's been a wonderful support, and she blogs too. she writes about her sadness, the pain she's watching others suffer, things about this world which she would never understand.

all of these people are wonderful bloggers, right here in the tiny island of Singapore. why do they not gain respect and recognition for that too? why give more and more spotlight to those who already have hundreds of likes for their instagram selfies?

why do blogs that already have sponsors still get the limelight? what about the poorer bloggers like me? i can't afford to be a regular customer at posh blogshops, so i cant be sponsored by them [if that's the way it works], so where the hell do i stand? that's right, just my writing alone.

if you noticed, i've completely stopped posting pictures on my blog posts. i also seldom wrote names in my blog posts, because i wouldnt mind being anonymous. because writing is all i want to be known for. not my face; my words.

i've talked about this so many times, but still, nobody ever notices me. it's like how Adele is known for her voice, not her body, because her talent is her songs.

and i thought that's what Blogger is for. that's what these online journals are for. they're for us to write. they're not a model agency for little girls to advertise their outfits and their sponsors and shit like that.

it's for the people who are in pain, to release their sadness. it's for the days we spent, laughing with our friends and family, for the reminiscing of all things lost, and at the same time the embracing of new memories to come. that's what blogging is for.

if all those fashionista "Bloggers" [really, some don't even deserve such a meaningful name] want to keep blogging, i suggest you keep it strictly to words, and pictures which are related to those words. because that's what freaking Blogger was used for since my early blogging days.

i don't care if times have changed. some people still suffer from their misery at home, or at school, or in their heads. they need the support more than the fashionistas do.

it's unfair to all of us who really use our time to sit down and write. this is what i do everyday. maybe it's society's fault, for choosing to give attention to the pretty ones. why? i want it to stop. i really want to be someone, known just for my words, complimented for my blog posts, and not for my face. i don't give a damn if people say i'm ugly, as long as you sit down, read what i write, and if you enjoy it, say that you enjoy it.

[with all this said and done, i do have a fair share of selfies, but at least i keep these strictly to Instagram and not my dearest blog. this treasure of mine labelled 109blackaxes.blogspot.com is only meant for the precious gold and pearls that come in the form of my words.]

thank you for reading.

Aint as brave as you think.

so i'm sure you've read most of my past posts. you've read my stories, you've read about my hardships. most of you probably think i'm brave, or strong, shit like that.

well we've probably had enough of that. we've long had enough of stories that make me seem to be a strong person. today, it's time for a change. i am here to write about how much of a coward i really am.

ever since i was a kid, i've always slept next to my grandmother. alright, so in my much younger days, my elder brother slept in my room as well because he was scared to sleep alone in his. of course, he grew up, got over his fears, and moved out of the bedroom i continued sharing with granny.

i always woke her up in the middle of the night whenever i wanted to pee. on the other hand, when i woke up to see that she had went for a pee, i'd quickly dash out of the darkness and stand in front of the bathroom door waiting for her to come out.

everytime i couldnt sleep, when the rest of the house was already in slumber, i'd wake her up and sheepishly tell her, "gran, i can't sleep." it was just my way of comfort; i didnt like the feeling of being the only one awake in the house, so i just turned and woke her up as well.

it happened too many times, and she always got frustrated. if i woke her up for the fifth time that night, she'd snap at me, "how old are you already? just sleep!" and roll back on her side, snoring again just a few seconds later.

once, my two elder cousins from my mother's side came over for a sleepover, like they always did in my childhood. we all crowded around the living room, watching the episode of The Incredible Tales regarding the "third door", if you remember that.

granny had laid out mattresses for my cousins to sleep in the hall, and i joined them on my own will. the space in front of the tv was where my brother and boy cousin slept, [if my memory serves me right], on this section we called the "platform".

on the section below, which was the space between my bedroom door and the kitchen, was where my aunt, girl cousin, and i slept. to make it sound easier, in front of me laid my bedroom door, while right opposite it laid the doors of the dining room/kitchen.

and that night was the longest night of my childhood, because i could not stop remembering the episode of Incredible Tales.

i kept remembering about the ghost that kept moving from door to door, because it was caught in the loop. i kept thinking there was one right in my house at that time, that was moving from the kitchen to my bedroom door, back and forth, like in the episode.

i didnt sleep the whole night because i was thinking about it, perspiring and heart beating fast and saying the Al-fatihah over and over. [the only prayer i knew]

i stayed awake til about 6 in the morning, when my mom got out of her bedroom to hang some towels on the storeroom door. i got up and straightway went to her, and she got such a shock! "why are you up so early!?"

"i can't sleep," i whined. i made her bring me back into her room, where i slept on her bed with my little brother and father while she got ready for work.

once upon another time, my family had booked a chalet during our holidays. i'm not sure what the occasion was, i think it was my brother's birthday or something?

for some reason my brothers and mother decided to sleep on the floor while my father and i shared the bed. i was about 7, or 8 i think? and yes, i couldnt sleep at night because of the constant thoughts swirling in my head.

it was the 'H' building of the chalet, and the voice in my head, still a child like me, was teasing me over and over; "H stands for haunted!!"

i kept waking my dad up again and again, whining to him that i couldnt sleep. eventually he got fed-up, stood up and went to the toilet and rubbed my face with water. [it was a sort of custom that we should at least wash our face and feet before we go to sleep if we're from far, something like that]

for the rest of the night, i dared not wake him up anymore til i eventually drifted off to sleep.

when i was a kid, i never closed the door when i was in the bathroom. i'd make someone stand outside til i was done, and i dared not even be in a room alone. i couldnt even stand being in a lift alone! the 9th floor had never felt so high.

i once had a sort of argument with my elder brother when we were coming home from school tgt, and he left me at the void deck while he ran off and went up to our house alone. i stood at the lift landing for quite some time, before i got scared and started to cry and wail right there.

[take note: it was 1 in the afternoon.]

a Chinese woman came over and patted me, asking me if i knew where i lived. i mumbled to her, through my tears, that this was the block where i lived. she had a look of disdain, like she didnt know how to react, and that was when my grandmother appeared in the lift that arrived.

i dashed to her and i told her about how Abang had just left me there and i was scared to go into the lift, and she went home and scolded my elder brother for abandoning me like that. and she also scolded me for being such a scaredy-cat.

i have a girl cousin the same age as me, yet she was braver than me. she'd been my best friend from the huge family since forever. her mother is my father's elder sister.

dad once called their house, and asked my cousin for her mom. she said she wasnt in, and that she was alone in the house at that time. my dad placed the receiver down and turned to me, "look at your cousin, same age as you but can already be left alone in the house! not like you, so penakut!"

whenever i slept over at her house, i always made sure that i slept in between. if the other cousin slept over as well, i made sure to sleep between them, because i didnt want to be at the edge of the bed.

years passed and i remained a coward. i only learnt to sleep in my own room when i was 15; my grandmother had moved out, leaving me with no choice.

of course, even then, whenever i woke up in the middle of the night i'd straightway dash to my parents' room and squeezed myself at the edge of their bed.

my dad gets pissed off by this because when i ran out, i always never turned off the fan, while my mother was angry because she always woke up with a backache whenever i slept over. after all, i was not as small as before.

every morning i'd have to wake up at 5.30 to get ready for school, in order not to miss the 6.30 bus. the first thing i do upon waking up is turn off my bedroom lights, before dashing to my parents bedroom, not daring to turn and look at the rest of the house.

i usually woke my mom up to accompany me outside while i shower in the kitchen toilet [the bedroom toilet has no hot water]. sometimes she gets in the lazy mood, and she'd shoo me off and ask me to wake my dad instead. this would piss him off in turn, because he treasured his few hours of sleep he had before he had to get ready for work.

i knew all along that i was a scaredy-cat, yet i never stopped reading ghost stories. in return, i'd beg my parents to let me sleep in their room after i read these books. sometimes i didnt ask; i'd just take my pillows and crash onto their bed, and pretended to sleep as my mother told my little brother, "eh who invited her to sleep here!?"

even when i was in sec 5, i still ran to their room when i couldnt sleep. when Slender man was a hot topic, i read everything about him which of course, made me so damn afraid to sleep alone. i begged my little brother to sleep in my room with me.

oh, and i went to bed with the lights on. my father would only come in and turn them off when he's made sure that i was really asleep. if i wasnt, i'd just get up from bed and turn the lights on again.

and yes, this cowardice of mine remained til now. i'm sleeping with my grandmother again, and every morning and night, i'd ask her to be in the kitchen to accompany me while i shower.

when the kitchen gets too quiet, i'd call out to her to make sure she was still there. i didnt want her to scold me for being a penakut, so whenever she answered, i'd say, "can you check for me if i'd turned on the heater already?"

if she didnt, i'd rush through my shower and quickly dashed out, and into our room, getting upset because my grandmother had betrayed me when she said she was gonna accompany me.

everyday, if i got home late, i'd call her when i'm at the void deck so she'd fetch me from the lift. the storey we lived in is always really quiet, and it didnt help that my house has a gate and door a few metres apart. it's always nerve-wrecking to open these two in the darkness, alone.

it gets really difficult for me to just pee, believe it or not. the classroom toilets of my school are really creepy, and if i couldnt prop the door open using the rubbish bin, i'd end up going down and heading to the one beside Co-op, which was a bit more crowded.

i once went to study at Republic Poly with my then best friend, who was a guy. i wanted to pee so badly, but the toilets were empty [it was the weekend] and dimly-lighted and i didnt dare step inside. i also didnt dare tell him that i didnt manage to pee because i was too scared.

when we were leaving though, i told him again that i really had to pee. "i thought you already went?" he queried. so i admitted to him that i didnt dare go because it looked really creepy.

he kept urging me to go, "just go, just go, i wait outside. i'm right here!" but i couldnt! one more look into the toilet, and i couldnt! so we walked back all the way to Causeway Point before i had guts to go pee.

he was also the one who told me, "my brother said block 50 toilets are haunted." block 50 was where we had one of our modules, in split classes. this one statement of his was enough for me not to ever go into the toilets for the two hours of lessons.

during Hari raya, my granny went back to her kampung, leaving just me and my aunt alone in the house. she told my aunt to sleep outside, and reminded me to turn off our bedroom lights before going to sleep.

i ended up laying my mattress outside with my aunt, and slept next to her. and during night-time, i would literally tail my aunt around the house because i didnt want to be left anywhere alone.

just a few days ago, i bought tickets for The Conjuring. when it came to cinemas and everyone was talking about it, i told myself i was never ever gonna watch it.

i only suggested it because the prince was mentioning that he really wanted to watch it, and he was mad at me at the time. i couldnt think of any other way to cheer him up, so i went to buy us tickets without a second thought.

i knew it was a bad idea. it wasnt gonna end up pretty, and i was right.

first things first, i didnt watch a single scene. i only dared look at the screen during the normal scenes, or when there was sunlight. i was also constantly letting go of the prince's hand just so i could cover both my ears. at the end of it all, i was still scared, like i had seen and bore witness the most unimaginable.

i was quiet the whole time as the prince and i went down the escalators. what's more, he bumped into his secondary school mates to chat with so i didnt find any excuse to make a sound.

and before we parted, i started to cry.

"i don't want to go home alone." i started with a whisper. he told me he couldnt send me home, and that was when i started to bawl, right there in the middle of the crowd. "i don't want to go home alone...!"

i started to sputter nonsense. "i knew i couldnt watch it because i know i was gonna be this scared... but then anything for you, just to make you happy *laughs* because you wanted to watch it, and, and *more nonsense about demon possession while the prince wiped my tears*"

even as i was talking, my lips were trembling and i was literally shaking so bad, cause that's how traumatised i felt. i really didnt want to be left alone!

there were only two people i could think of to call; the person whom i once called my best friend, who was just 1 station away, and the prince's classmate. i called the former but he couldnt, [or maybe he just wanted to avoid being with me] and when the latter answered, i cried to him telling him what happened and could he send me home?

the prince had to talk for me halfway because i started crying again, and wouldnt stop mumbling, "i dont wanna go home alone.." he told me, before we parted, "you can do this okay, i know you can. call me if there's anything." and he gave me a hug as i went through the gantries, looking fierce but still scared as fuck.

in the end, this classmate [the one with the same name as my elder brother] took the liberty to fetch me from Khatib and sent me home, all the way to my block's lift landing.

so there you have it. i'm not as brave as you think. i am a scaredy-cat. i may look like a ghost myself, but supernatural things are just exactly what i'm most afraid of, ironically.

just today my aunt joked, "if i were to ever put you in an empty house, i think you'd be so scared to go to the toilet that you'd just pee on the floor!" i'm not gonna say this is entirely true, but i am not gonna deny it either.

Time to make it, or break it.

hi.

i am writing this in the darkness of the living room. it's in the middle of the afternoon, but i've turned the lights off, closed the windows and shut the door, with only the computer screen being a light source. i am alone.

what i am about to say may scare you, or it may get you worried about me. or both, if you are really guilty of this pain. but i know i am not alone, and i am very grateful for your existence (':

so what the hell am i babbling about, you ask? well, i can't put it in a lighter way than... although i sit here breathing, alive; i am as good as dead. i may as well kill myself now because there wouldnt be a difference.

the problem this time is not family, not money, not with the prince, not society. but it is none other than my beloved studies (':

i've wasted my first few weeks of lessons. i should have paid attention. yes, it is a regret. because only recently i'd started to pay attention and i realised that all this engineering shit is pretty easy. just that i should've started earlier, then i wouldnt be caught up with the previous topics right now.

i'm not sure why i really detest doing tasks assigned to me. i've not touched a single online assignment and i've only recently handed in a few tutorials. i was actually the last in class but after these tutorials i moved up one spot. i'm not sure if i should laugh or continue crying.

i gave up on one of the practical modules a long time ago. why? because i didnt feel like doing that shit. it was pretty stupid of me, but nevermind, because i have obviously failed it already.

it didnt help that i always lied to the prince on Tuesdays, telling him i end at 2 when i had this module's lessons from 2-5pm. now you know i lied, so, i'm sorry.

even the prince is doing well in his studies. he's always making time for me, and he's always coming home late and having to wake up early the next day because of his residence. but still, he's been chosen to go to Bali because of his good results. how the hell does he do it? i will never know.

a part of me is still very unhappy being here, but i did realise that i had to keep going if i want to get to my desired destination. just because you're not where you wanted to be right now doesnt mean you wont reach there right?

stupid metaphor here, but you can't board from Pasir Ris, wanting to get to Buona Vista, only to alight at Redhill because it was taking a long time and you thought you were not on the right track to where you want to go. am i making sense?

i'm just trying to get this into my head. i'm not happy in Engineering, and definitely not in a class where i had screwed up my social life. but if i don't do something about it, i'll still be stuck here forever right? i have to keep moving.

i've been doing my best, only started doing so just recently, but we all know i've already screwed up anyway. with a few days left to final exams, what can i do? i've lost most of my grades to my undone assignments and projects.

i dont mind repeating my modules because yes, i have learnt my lesson that i should have started way before. but, i dont know. i dont understand the concept of my school yet but i dont think it's good that i'd have to repeat a number of modules right? *sheepish grin*

it's the study break this week. i'm making my way to school every single day to do my own shit, just, doing my best. i'm not sure how i'd fare at the end of the road; i may disappoint some people, and please those who are happy with my downfalls, but at least i know i did my best.

it's make it, or break it. and i sure as hell really want to make it.

this is not the first time i'm drowning in my studying problems. i never seem to learn, huh.

Social anxiety.

social anxiety: the discomfort or fear of being in a social situation whereby you will get looked at and judged. the insecurity, and being convinced that you are not good enough for other people.

you fear criticism, rejection, embarrassment. and most of the time when you are surrounded by people, you are convinced that these aspects are what's being shot at you from their heads.

as you read the above i bet you're already thinking that that's what you are. but honestly, you dont know how bad you've got it. neither of us do.

i'm not saying i've got this disorder though. i've never been diagnosed with anything. maybe it's because i rarely go to the doctor's anyway but who cares?

i've had many things happened in my life which cause i'd never been able to explain. i've never heard of "social anxiety" only until recently. i did some research on it this morning and my previous explaination is what i understood of it.

there's a reason why i stopped going to school in sec 5 after i left my girlfriends. i may or may not be given a fuck about but i had always thought everyone in school was always whispering about me when i was walking around alone. it felt like everyone was whispering my name, uttering of my sudden solitude and stupidity.

there's a reason why i bailed out on my cousin's wedding during the time when my mother and i werent on talking terms. my dad was with the men, i wasnt close with my elder brother, and my little brother had the other young cousins to play with, and my girl cousin/best friend from the big family had invited her secondary school friends and was entertaining them. i had no one to talk or sit with, and i felt so alone that i just left, without telling anyone.

there's a reason why i stoned at my other cousin's wedding party, with all the strangers around me and me being the only one 'representing' my side of the family. i wanted so badly to leave when everyone was in their own families or social circles, and when i was finally in my uncle's car nearly to midnight, all i could do was release the tears that i had been holding in the whole night.

there's a reason why i always have to look at my phone when walking down the halls in school, although i hadnt had any notifications. if i look up, i wouldnt know where to look. all i could think of would be everyone is looking at me, and at least being on Twitter while i walk would distract my mind from the awkwardness.

there's a reason why i dreaded school this year because i stopped talking to the only good friends i had made in poly. it wasnt easy making friends with them, and even more so difficult to talk to the other classmates. it may seem like bullshit to others, but i swear, talking to the other classmates other than these two was more difficult than you think.

there's a reason why i felt so left out in the clique of five, when my two Chinese friends were talking with each other, while my two Indian friends too. there's a reason why i always decided to go on my own instead because if i followed them, i would look like an extra head.

there's a reason why i'm not going to this classmate's open house today. if i go, i'd definitely be alone because they both have their own friends and cant be with me around the clock. i'd definitely dread being there in five minutes. i understand that they can't be with me the whole time, so i may as well not go. but thank you once again for inviting me.

i'm not diagnosed with this condition called "social anxiety", but the pieces are falling into place. maybe i do have a mild case of it, which may or may not worsen if i dont do anything about it.

i dont know why i'm the way i am. i know i'm unpopular and shit, but why am i not doing anything? because my lack of self-esteem tells me, "no matter what you do, people still arent gonna look at you. they're still gonna ignore you and shit. oh, and they're also gonna think you're weird."

this is what the voice tells me when i want to talk to my other classmates. this is what it tells me when i try to talk to the prince's classmates. this is what it tells me when i want to tell someone on Twitter to cheer up when i see someone being sad. this is what it even tells me when i want to follow someone randomly on Twitter.

i'm not sure if it can be changed, but i'm really doing my best to tell this voice off.

and i'm also not sure why i want to be a journalist when this mindset of mine is in the way. because i'm ambitious? or maybe because once i'm given words to speak, that's all i'd care about? or maybe i'm just so hell-bent on doing the best for my writing? or perhaps words will always be my one protection. maybe.

but then again have you heard the story about the girl who was born with no legs, and who wanted to be an athlete?

i've still got to tell this voice off though. i'll find a way.

Hi, i am @naqibezwnx's sister.

let's just go back to December 2012 once again. for the last time, though i can't promise. in fact i already told myself to let it go, but sometimes the parties involved just had to drag their sides of the story across their throats and smear their blood across the society's faces.

before we rewind in time, i'd like you, my readers, to read these following tweets.

and just as you have guessed, i am writing this post as defence against these words. not just my elder brother's, but also the reply from his follower, and whatever it is that his other followers are already thinking of about me.

it's probably too late by now, or maybe his followers would never ever read this [duh], but i dont care. i am gonna write my side of the story, and i wont just lay down and let this scumbag tweet like that. such a hypocrite!

back to December, 2012.

____

i had woken up to the banging on my door, still with my red contacts on and unshowered from the day before. i had fallen asleep straight upon reaching my bed at 10 in the morning, after a night of staying awake with my classmates at the class chalet.

it was my dad. i looked at the clock; just a little past noon. i knew what was coming, but i opened the door anyway, and still got the shock of my life.

my dad swung his hand across my face, and before i could even move back my head after having it tossed aside by the impact, he hit me with a few more blows til i was pleading for him to stop.

he got emotional on me, spilling his heart out, but he should have realised by then that i was barely listening. was i on the floor or on the bed, i dont remember. but i was clutching my stomach and tears and snot were all over my face and whatever surface it had been lying on.

i could hear the television humming. my elder brother was there, and at certain points of my confrontation with my dad, i saw my brother walk past my room, or slam his bedroom door closed.

yup. my elder brother was there as our father beat the shit out of me. and when dad told me to pack my stuff and get out, my elder brother was there lying down, watching television.

Naqib E'zuwan was watching television as his little sister was getting beaten and eventually forced out of the house. sorry, there just isnt any other subtle way to put it.

and to fuel things further, the television is aligned with my bedroom door. my bedroom is right next to the hall, the closest room to the living room space. my brother obviously saw and heard everything.

i left the house with only two things in my head; Pewdiepie's words that kept me going, and the realisation that my elder brother is nothing but a fucking coward.

____

how many times have i written about this ever since it happened? i'm guessing about thrice. but who cares? all that matters is, [following suit the reply to my brother's tweet above] i did not run away. i got forced out. kicked out. halau.

the full story as to why he kicked me out and why i just followed his orders: click here. it's a bit lengthy but take your time if you ever decide to read it. i'm sure you know my name; and what comes after the name is always the story. that's mine.

back to my elder brother's tweets. "i don't even know where she is"? really bro? is there anywhere else i'd be if not our grandma's place? and it's not like your parents don't know shit. you could ask them.

and i've been there to visit our little brother a few times to take things from my room. you could have asked bro. but you never even held any conversation with me. i was like a stranger. i was like a random classmate from your brother's class that you didnt really need to bother with.

it's not like you never saw me. you were there right in my path as i was walking out of my room. when was that? that was about two months ago. i had been gone for quite some time already. but you never seemed to give a shit about how i was doing.

there's also something called Twitter, bro. it's not like my name is something unexpected that you can never think of right? my Twitter username is @_109th, but it's not like you can't search for my accompanying name right? my bloody Twitter name is E'indah Nadhirah, for fuck's sake. was that so hard? "i don't even know how to contact her" bro? seriously? i don't think you're that stupid.

and bro. about a month or so after i got kicked out [i emphasise i got kicked out; i didnt run away] i wrote you a letter. i spilled my heart to you. i was closer to our little brother but he wouldnt understand and he was young. so i thought that you being the adult brother, would understand the misery of his kid sister. after all, you were once in this rebellious stage too.

i slipped it under your bedroom door when you were locked inside. if you hadnt seen that piece of paper in the midst of your simple bedroom i dont even know what to say. oh and i even left my bloody phone number and blog address at the end of the letter. i think that's enough regarding the contact argument huh?

i have another argument though. you were the one who has always been cutting me off. this brings me back to the days when i was filling in application forms for my admission to poly. fine, it was my fault that i only started doing it in the wee hours of the day after its deadline, but nevermind.

my aunt and uncle were helping me, and we really needed my parents' and brothers' IC numbers. it was 1 in the morning, and my little brother didnt answer. he was probably asleep.

but you? i went into your Twitter profile and saw that you had tweeted literally a minute ago. my aunt called you non stop but you never answered. but you were still tweeting! how irritating was that, you tell me!?

i couldnt mention you because you blocked me on Twitter. see? you did know how to find me. i had to use my boyfriend's account to tweet to you to call me. and then what did you do afterwards? you blocked his fucking Twitter account too!

i have no better words to describe you other than "scumbag", and "hypocrite". yes, i do stalk your Twitter occasionally because why the fuck not? at least i bothered to see how you were doing.

you? you dare tweet about wondering of my whereabouts and shit but you never made the effort to find out. i don't think you'd care less about me. you're just saying shit about family for the sake of doing so.

with all this said and done, i dont really care if people still think highly of you, your followers especially. i just wish that when i publish this post, its tweet will be retweeted til most of the society reads this.

i've long had enough of being your little sister. i've had enough of being called "Naqib's little sister" all my life. when the hell would i be looked at as "E'indah Nadhirah"? for fuck sake, you're fucking Twitter famous. i barely have 200 followers, most of which are stupid troll accounts.

i know i'm on a different level from you and that i'm so fucking different from you but what the fuck? i hate how everyone is gonna judge me based on your tweets. you may have tweeted only about 10 or 20 tweets about me but by then most of your followers would have already thought wrongly of me.

and me? i tweet every other day about how much of a scumbag you are, and i write posts about you turning into an asshole, but my writing never gets recognised. more people on your side because more people know you. ugh, it just pisses me off!

i've sidetracked a little havent i. it's okay. i'm done for now. i still think he's a coward, and a hypocrite. i'd add in more stories fueling this, but it's okay. i don't think the faggots of society would ever be bothered to read this post to the end.

if you did, though, thank you for reading though it's nothing but anger. i'm just pissed off, and also a little sad.

and one more thing. this is the only time i ever get to speak up against my brother. because in real life, he'd never give me the chance to speak. he'd just beat me if he was pissed. so i'm glad i managed to get this out, and i dont give a fuck if he gets angry that many people read this. not my fault that its link got retweeted right?

A beautiful boy.

so this is what they say: if a beautiful girl loves you, never let her go.

why? apparently because she could have chosen to be somewhere else, with anyone else, but she chose to stay beneath the stars with you.

because she has all the beauty she needs, and strength which can overpower you anyday. she can use her beauty to charm others, and she could just leave you and be with someone else who is as beautiful as her.

but it doesnt make a single ounce of sense to me. beautiful girls arent the only people which you shouldnt let go of.

if a beautiful boy loves you, never let him go.

a beautiful boy could use his handsomeness to charm other girls. and from my point of view, it's not very difficult to charm girls, especially stupid young schoolgirls, who are always after a beautiful boy.

a beautiful boy has no difficulties socialising, and he can have waves and waves of friends til he could forget about your existence, but he shows you off to the world.

he would smile at you and compliment you, even after a tiring and long day at school, and you're not looking your best. he would hold your hand, and this simple gesture means so much than you could say.

he would try his damnest just to make you laugh, and it didnt matter how silly he had to be, as long as he saw the smile on your face.

he would listen to you when you talk about your problems, until you can't help but cry. he would put his arms around you, and keep wiping your tears til there are none left. he would tell you everything would be alright, and he would pull you closer to him, and give you a long kiss at the top of your head.

he would hug you before you part, and he wouldnt care who was watching, he'd also pull you in and give you a goodbye kiss.

he would comfort you, no matter how complicated you get. he would stay with you for as long as he can, no matter how hard things get.

he would cry for you when you cope with hardships in dumb ways. he would get hurt if you make rash decisions without asking for his advice. he would always be there for you, remember that.

and a beautiful boy would never let you go, because he loves you.

he could have chosen to be with someone else. he could have chosen someone who is prettier than you. he could have chosen to be with someone who might need him more than you do. but he chose to be with you.

if a beautiful boy loves you, never under any circumstances let him go. love him back the same way. love him the way he loves you, and more. because that's just what he deserves. girls aren't the only ones who are fragile. boys have had their share of heartbreaks too, maybe even more so than girls.

i'm slowly learning this. because my boy is not just beautiful, but he's a prince who deserves all the treatment he deserves. so, I'm sorry for the way i've been hurting you.

Just another usual day with my prince!

the last time i had a Practical test for Programming, i screwed things over. it was just the basics of C Programming and it could have been easy if i had paid attention from the start.

as time passed i started reading about the fundamentals of C Programming and finally got the gist of it. i stopped turning up for the lessons and read up on the new topics on my own. the written test was easy, apart from the fact that i had skipped the second question because of the stupid maths involved.

but chapter 6 was a killer for me. i turned up for lessons for this topic and days of listening attentively to my lecturer didnt gain me any more knowledge about it. i liked how he used metaphors to make understanding easier, but still, the day of the last practical test came and i was not prepared.

i had my practical test Friday morning, and all i can tell you is that i definitely screwed it up again. i managed to answer the question due to what i know from the previous chapters, but not in the format that they wanted me to, which was to include the damn functions.

there we have it. my life in Ngee Ann Polytechnic may as well be over.

the guilt didnt engulf me just as easily as i had given up though. i rushed to Clementi station right after, where i met 'Aamir, Yazid and Farhan. we took the next train to Raffles Place, and along the way 'Aamir just had to keep irritating everyone out of boredom.

we transferred to the red line, and the train was so empty! we dropped off at Somerset and walked a long way out of the station. the first thing i saw was Typo, and i straightway wandered off to it, not realising the heavy footsteps that ran following suit.

'Aamir grabbed my backpack and exclaimed, "can you stop wandering off like that!? at least tell me first before you head somewhere???" he added in a hushed tone; "they're gonna think you're weird!"

i kept quiet, but his choice of words were sinking in.

so i followed them to the mosque instead, where i sat outside waiting while they did their Friday prayers. i sat on a wall, with my legs dangling while i watched the cars and people passing by. i had the thought of going around for a walk but i remembered that 'Aamir had told me not to wander off too far so i might as well have just stayed at one spot.

reunited with them about an hour later, along with Naqib.

[this Naqib is 'Aamir's classmate, who is of the same age as i am. yes, he shares the same name as the douchebag of my elder brother. this Naqib is the good brother version, but i'll write about him another time.]

upon our union the first thing he did was point to my new tshirt [which he had followed 'Aamir to buy for me] and exclaim, "chey! baju baru sey!" in return, i pointed to his bag and exclaimed, "chey! beg baru sey!"

this exchange already shows how my relationship is with this Naqib, which is polar opposites with my elder brother. but like i'd said, i'll blog about it some other day.

so they found a spot above Scape, right outside a music school or was it, with Dina joining some time later. i've met 'Aamir's classmates a couple of times, and although i'm not that open with all of them, being around them was a familiar feeling which i'd gotten used to.

they all played cards, a game which name i cant remember, while i sat the side reading 'Aamir's book. i didnt bring mine but he had his True Singapore Ghost Stories, which i'd read whilst leaning against him.

i was engrossed in the words until i felt tension in the air and 'Aamir and his classmates were talking in somewhat hushed tones.

i watched as the posse of policemen walked toward us, and queried about what we were doing there. 'Aamir's classmates did the talking while the Indian policeman that was standing near me looked at me and gave me a smile.

i returned it, and the one who had been asking questions asked us for our identity cards or something. we all took out our ezlinks, and i handed mine over to the Indian one.

i've no idea what that was all about, but they let us off with a reminder that if the staff or security told us to stop, we'd stop.

so along came Mel and we headed off to the stalls that lined along scape. i've heard about blogshops putting up stalls there, and i'd wanted to go off on my own again but 'Aamir called me and made me stay with them.

he and Farhan and Mel and Dina spent eons looking at phone accessories. 'Aamir was so happy with his new Batman phone cover and went wandering off to look for cables next, so i sat down with Naqib and Yazid, talking about a mix of random little things.

when the rest were finally done, looking happy with their purchases, we all made our way across the road and that was when 'Aamir and i parted from his classmates.

i really do like them. they accept me as if i belong with them, as if i were no different from them. still, i wish i were more open and less awkward whenever i'm hanging out with them.

the biggest problem with hanging out with them is laughing. sometimes i'm not sure if i should laugh or not. it could be an inside joke and if i laugh as well i'd look stupid. but if i don't, i'd look really sulky and unamused and shit. but aside from that, i really enjoy being with them.

'Aamir and i walked back to Ion Orchard, holding on to his hand like how i'd held my mother's when we walked along the same lane many years ago.

being part of society ourselves, we judged the people whom we walked by, commenting on their fashion statements especially. then we talked about my fashion sense, or more like lack of it.

the lane was also just a whole stretch of our memories; we had spent our first few dates on Orchard Road. i pointed out some of the spots where we had walked, and could even recite for him what he had said back at that moment. i already liked him a lot back then, so i'd clung on to his every word.

we finally made it to Ion Orchard, where i was hopping up the escalator up to {prologue} bookstore. my long-lost old friend! i'd read that it was closing and thus, a closure sale of 30% off.

so i started off okay, just looking at the books near the entrance. 'Aamir picked out a book at this point, one called Kite Runner by a Middle Eastern author. he helped me pick out one which was beautiful without so much of a bend, the sweetie.

and then i found out that the 30% discount is actually storewide! such discounts always had gimmicks after all; most of the time it just applies to the few books on display near the counter or the entrance.

so of course i started hopping around the bookstore looking for other finds. sometimes the old books are more of a treasure than the current bestsellers. you just gotta know how and where to look.

[oh and by the way, rewind to a few days back; i'd told granny that i wanted to go to the sale but when i thought about how i wasnt working anymore, changed my mind about it. the next day she said, "if you ever wanna buy storybooks, let granny know." she gave me 50 bucks for my book shopping!]

everytime i stared at a book, glancing through the pages and focusing intently on its summary at the back, 'Aamir would pester, "just take it lah just take it." okay fine i know it gets annoying if i do that to every book on all the shelves, but you gotta pick a book wisely ok!

i was standing in front of another shelf again, rubbing my chin, eyes scouring for fancy covers when 'Aamir came over and wrapped his arms around me, saying, "i really sayang you sia."

we had spent our third date exactly like this too; at the exact bookstore, him following me around as i looked for books.

when i already held 3 books, 'Aamir took them from me and declared, "okay let's go pay!"

of course, i was reluctant. "no! i have to keep looking. i dont feel satisfied with these books. what if there are other good books which i'd missed out??"

he was getting annoyed, and he said, "come on lah, just read these books first and when you're done with them you can come back and buy more ok?"

"this is called a closure sale for a reason!" i exclaimed, and wandered off again to look at other books. of course, i knew he was pissed off but he still followed me around and helped me choose my books, occasionally giving me a light kiss on the cheek when he didnt know what else to do. how can i not love him?

and guess what? i managed to squeeze one more book into my tight budget; i'd managed to snag four books for the price of S$45!!! on average, each book cost me about twelve dollars. that is actually not bad!

we got on the train, our next destination being Paya Lebar, for the Ramadan bazaar at Geylang. when we already transferred to the green line, i said casually to 'Aamir; "you know right, actually if you are a book lover, when you walk into a bookstore any book you lay your eyes on would do. no need to be so picky if you really love books."

'Aamir gave me the O_O!!! expression, before giving a bored look and stating, "how ironic."

waited at a taxi stand while he went off to do his Asar prayers at Masjid Wak Tanjong, and i was getting bored til i was sliding myself to and fro on the bench, and he had to come at that moment.

"sorry, i went to charge my phone and i fell asleep!" he cheekily announced. damned barrel.

we walked through the train station to get to a side of the Bazaar, and on the way we passed by a movie poster for The Conjuring. i told him about the stories i read about it, about how the actors and crew died before the release of the film, and other rumours about it.

'Aamir passed this on to his classmate who said she wanted to watch the movie, and i got pissed because he was taking the credit for my research and knowledge!

but now that i think about it though, i think those stories i'd read were about another movie named "the Poltergeist", not The Conjuring. well fuck me!

the first thing we purchased from the bazaar was kebab; the man who had made 'Aamir's order called out to him; "hey mr handsome!" the other man who was attending the stall turned to 'Aamir and exclaimed, "fuuh! memang handsome lah! masya allah!"

i hope that boosted the prince's confidence. he's always thinking so lowly of himself, and never believes me when i tell him how bright he shines. "the only thing about me that shines is my oily face!", he'd say.

so we went off to get my food next; roti john which i'd been longing for for days. i also ordered a chicken burger with egg, and while waiting for our orders to be done, a middle-aged Chinese woman decided to chat us up.

she started off with commenting that we both looked like Chinese, and were we mixed? 'Aamir answered that he was, with a bit of Chinese, and when i told her i was a Bugis, she gave me this confused look. sad that not many people know the race of Bugis.

it was cute how she mistook us as siblings. we both laughed at her comment, and when she saw our imperfect teeth, she exclaimed even more excitedly, "even your teeth is the same!!"

when we all happily got our orders, she made her way and 'Aamir and i found a spot to sit on the walls and talked while waiting for Azan. i also took a few photos of him, and he looked oh so handsome!

we wolfed down our food when it was time, and he was so shy when he was eating his ayam perchik! he's so adorable.

we walked through some of the usual lanes where i walked with my parents and brothers every year, and i dropped off the lucky draw coupon which my granny and i had earned at Raja Kuih.

"my ticket to 27 thousand dollars!!" i announced to him and dropped it into the box with a thousand other coupons. 'Aamir snickered in mockery. he wouldnt be if my granny happens to win that grand prize!

our last destination was the mosque, and on the way we passed by this abandoned building with its shutters slightly ajar at the bottom. "we should sneak in there one day." he declared, before adding, "but it looks kind of creepy. why is it abandoned?"

we checked out its surroundings, and it didnt really bar trespassers that securely. 'Aamir was staring at the building for quite some time, before stating, "is this like a fire station or something?"

and that was the answer to a question i had always been wondering. "the bus stop before, where i used to wait for bus 154. it's called "before Geylang fire station" but i've always wondered where is this fire station!"

we were both looking pleased. but he asked again, "why is it abandoned then??"

"leave it to me, the best researcher and journalist in town." i declared.

"you go research okay, and tell me everything!" he grinned, and we continued walking.

waited for him to do his prayers again, and went through the underpass to get to my usual bus stop. my bus came eons later as always, and he gave me one last hug and a kiss on the cheek.

i stared at him for a moment, taking in his handsomeness and charm, and the disbelieving fact that he loved me. i leant in and pecked his cheek before dashing off to catch my bus.

such a blissful day, to have spent it with my prince! it was the best date ever. but then again, that's what i say at the end of every date. just proves how much i enjoy being with him every single time. how i love him so. and he treats me so much like a princess! bliss.

but the happiness didnt last. when i got home, my granny told me that Mother had texted my aunt.

Mother wanted me back in Pasir Ris, latest by Monday, or, her threat had said; she will never come visit my aunt and granny here at Guillemard for Hari Raya, ever again.

this is another one of her tricks. there was no point giving me a choice; she had already made her own decision. i know her. if she gives me a choice, but threatens me, it just means that i'd better make the right decision, aka what makes her happy.

and if i dont make the right choice, she's gonna make me. sometimes by force.

i know her. i know my Mother.

you may or may not know my story, but my dad was the one who kicked me out of the house. why isnt he the one asking for me back? and do you remember back on the day of my O Level results? Mother had said that she was cutting off all ties with me.

why cant i spend my first Hari Raya with my granny and aunt in peace? why must my parents keep disrupting my happiness? Father had kicked me out; Mother had cut off all ties with me, her exact words. so why cant they just leave me alone already?