Okay, my stats have been shit. People have been coming in regularly to check but be disappointed to see no new posts. And with no new posts, I don't get audience either. So.... I shall now write a little something. What about exactly?
I think I shall blog about social life, shouldn't I? It's been a while. [because it's been non-existent]
They always tell me to make friends. They know I don't have many at school, I spend my lunches alone and the few friends I did hang out with are the ex's friends. So, yeah: make friends. Easy, right?
Wrong. It was difficult as hell. Like I'd said, I'm no longer in the same classes as my Sem 1 classmates, and since I repeated modules, I had to be placed in classes that had been together before, leaving me out of their circle. Okay, so, apart from my lovely Shihui and the occasional laughters with Loy and Aloysius, I hadn't had any other friends in school.
In the end, I had to resort to something new in order to socialise, and that was to retweet one of those "Retweet and I'll add you to this Whatsapp group!", give my number to a stranger called The Admin, and BOOM. You now have new friends.
A long time ago, I'd seen these things, and I thought they were super silly. Only after going through the experience firsthand, making new friends, meeting new people, did I know that whoever first thought of this is a genius.
I've met so many new friends, it's so amazing. Not only that, but these people are so awesome, in their own ways, each and every one. We've known each other only for, what, a few weeks, but it feels like we've been together for our whole lives. I feel like we're a family, and I'm glad that I'm not the first to mention this, and that they feel the same too.
Even the first time we met, it hadn't been awkward. We teased one another like siblings and laughed like there was no tomorrow. I couldn't remember the last time I'd laughed til my belly ached like that.
Maybe 2014 wouldn't be so bad after all. The start of something new, no? Yes, I remember how I'd lost a good friend the last time I said this, but hey. Think positive right? I think the new year has just begun, and I'm looking forward to spending every day of it with you people.
I still have problems finding out where home is, but for now, home is with you guys.
Friday, February 28, 2014
Sunday, February 23, 2014
The Friday 'date'
Do you remember? You told me to blog about our little date, so here. You. Go.
A little background story: I'm not sure how do I answer "How did you meet?" because I really have no idea how. But he approached me in a good way, he was charming and shit, he stayed up all night reading my blog posts, with the intention of wanting to know more about me. He read about my past, and he still said "I still want you in my life." OK.
So Friday. We were supposed to meet at 2, after his Friday prayers but it turned out my exam was starting at 3, not 10 as I'd thought. The 'date' was cancelled and was replaced with a short meeting; instead of watching a movie, we were just gonna hit the court and then dinner afterwards.
He was sad about it, and I didn't like the feeling of having disappointed someone. He just said he'd be grateful as hell to just see me even if it was only for a while. So despite my exam ending a little too late, I told him Okay, I'll do my best to come for you.
On Friday, after my exam, I headed to Bishan. I was just keeping my promise; it was bad of me to have to cancel the plan, so it was the least I could have done to make up for it.
So here's what happened: the only times we interacted was walking to and fro the basketball court and Bishan station, because he was playing basketball while I sat at the side. Okay, got that, and then I couldn't stay for dinner because it was already late.
When we parted we gave a goodbye hug and I didn't think much of it, apart from the melting sensation because Finally a hug from someone way taller than me! and His smile is so cute!
So I got back to Paya Lebar, told him I've made it home, and he also texted when he was home. Before, he would text me literally every minute he was online, but that night he didn't. I didn't really think too much into it, but the next morning I decided to be all "Morning", to him. No reply. So that was it.
Blahblahblah, the day passed and night came, and then he sent me a long text explaining why he didn't talk to me. He just felt 'ashamed' that he'd made me wait for nothing, and that he felt he had 'used' me. Of course, me being me I just sent back a long text explaining why it didn't bother me, and that next time he should just be honest about it.
If y'all follow me on Instagram I'm pretty sure you've seen my drawing of "Dreamboy's dream team", because the first time we talked, he told me his top 6 favourite Pokemon. I just thought I'd draw that for him because I was bored anyway.
You'd think he'd be touched, and well yeah he was, he went all teary-eyed and was like, "You didn't miss out a single member of my favourite Pokemon (':" OK. You'd think he'd melt and shit, and be like OMAIGOD I LIKE YOU YOU'RE SO SWEET I WANNA BE CLOSER TO YOU but nope.
"But I've got no feelings for you anymore cause I feel bad about myself for doing what I'm not supposed to. I'm honestly sorry" was what I got instead :-)
So seriously, I've no idea what guys want??? He flirted with me first and seemed so honest and sincere but then just ended up being like your typical douchebag. ZzzzzzzZZZZZZzzzzZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ. You may be cute but that's inexcusable.
Okay, I may have screwed things up with the previous guys, like my awesome SP friend, but this date, I swear I never once did anything wrong. I was keeping a promise, I personally asked if anything was wrong when he didn't reply, I texted him with all honesty when he finally did. So leave me alone on this one because really I didn't contribute to its falling apart.
A little background story: I'm not sure how do I answer "How did you meet?" because I really have no idea how. But he approached me in a good way, he was charming and shit, he stayed up all night reading my blog posts, with the intention of wanting to know more about me. He read about my past, and he still said "I still want you in my life." OK.
So Friday. We were supposed to meet at 2, after his Friday prayers but it turned out my exam was starting at 3, not 10 as I'd thought. The 'date' was cancelled and was replaced with a short meeting; instead of watching a movie, we were just gonna hit the court and then dinner afterwards.
He was sad about it, and I didn't like the feeling of having disappointed someone. He just said he'd be grateful as hell to just see me even if it was only for a while. So despite my exam ending a little too late, I told him Okay, I'll do my best to come for you.
On Friday, after my exam, I headed to Bishan. I was just keeping my promise; it was bad of me to have to cancel the plan, so it was the least I could have done to make up for it.
So here's what happened: the only times we interacted was walking to and fro the basketball court and Bishan station, because he was playing basketball while I sat at the side. Okay, got that, and then I couldn't stay for dinner because it was already late.
When we parted we gave a goodbye hug and I didn't think much of it, apart from the melting sensation because Finally a hug from someone way taller than me! and His smile is so cute!
So I got back to Paya Lebar, told him I've made it home, and he also texted when he was home. Before, he would text me literally every minute he was online, but that night he didn't. I didn't really think too much into it, but the next morning I decided to be all "Morning", to him. No reply. So that was it.
Blahblahblah, the day passed and night came, and then he sent me a long text explaining why he didn't talk to me. He just felt 'ashamed' that he'd made me wait for nothing, and that he felt he had 'used' me. Of course, me being me I just sent back a long text explaining why it didn't bother me, and that next time he should just be honest about it.
If y'all follow me on Instagram I'm pretty sure you've seen my drawing of "Dreamboy's dream team", because the first time we talked, he told me his top 6 favourite Pokemon. I just thought I'd draw that for him because I was bored anyway.
You'd think he'd be touched, and well yeah he was, he went all teary-eyed and was like, "You didn't miss out a single member of my favourite Pokemon (':" OK. You'd think he'd melt and shit, and be like OMAIGOD I LIKE YOU YOU'RE SO SWEET I WANNA BE CLOSER TO YOU but nope.
"But I've got no feelings for you anymore cause I feel bad about myself for doing what I'm not supposed to. I'm honestly sorry" was what I got instead :-)
So seriously, I've no idea what guys want??? He flirted with me first and seemed so honest and sincere but then just ended up being like your typical douchebag. ZzzzzzzZZZZZZzzzzZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ. You may be cute but that's inexcusable.
Okay, I may have screwed things up with the previous guys, like my awesome SP friend, but this date, I swear I never once did anything wrong. I was keeping a promise, I personally asked if anything was wrong when he didn't reply, I texted him with all honesty when he finally did. So leave me alone on this one because really I didn't contribute to its falling apart.
Saturday, February 22, 2014
Dreams are possible!!!
A long time ago, a friend of mine said: "My mother told me that whatever you dream of, will always be the direct opposite in reality."
He was talking about the dreams you have at night. And for all I know, he isn't the only one who strongly believes in this. I have a bunch of others who say this same line each time I tell them about a dream I had at night.
But I'd like to beg to differ. Around October last year, I'd dreamt of walking to my Pasir Ris house in the night, the only light being the streetlamps, texting the best friend of the asshole who dumped me. Just his best friend, while he himself was mentioned nowhere in that particular dream.
And then meanwhile in reality, just a month ago, I was returning to my parents' place late at night. Of course, I'd already been dumped by that asshole, but yep. His best friend was there, texting me during my whole journey from Paya Lebar to Pasir Ris, til I fell asleep.
It may be nothing, but it's still a dream come true wasn't it?
Even if it's true that reality will be the opposite of what you dreamt of, it doesn't mean it will happen. If you really want it to come true, you'd put in effort. Like how I told my friend that I dreamt of a crush asking me out, and she immediately said: "To be honest, what happens in real life will always be the opposite of what you dream of." as a way of saying that this dream wouldn't come true.
But hey? The opposite of being asked out, is asking someone out. Do I not make sense? It still can happen if you twist the situation and put in effort to make it reality.
What about the dreams you have in reality, the ambitions you're chasing?
There was this one time, in my childhood, I'm not sure how long ago it was. I was watching this show where Nick Cannon shyly confessed his celebrity crush being Mariah Carey. I didn't take much notice, but then a few months or maybe years later BOOM, there was this other show where Nick was shown a picture of Mariah and he immediately gushed: "Aww man that's my wife man, I love her!"
My mind straightway transported to the last time I saw this guy on TV, when he only confessed to his wife being a crush. I was dumbfounded as to what the hell happened in between these two moments!? Still, it was a pleasant surprise, like anything can happen huh?
Another moment back in my childhood, when my mom was telling me a story; she had a conversation with the youngest daughter from next door, who is 3 years older than me. The girl was practising her posture and the way she walked, because, my mother learnt, it was her dream to be an air stewardess.
At that time I was really young, probably about mid primary school. I didn't take notice, but again, many years later something else happened that made me think of that moment.
Just a few days ago, maybe two weeks back, my mother and I were waiting for the lift when she pointed to our neighbour's laundry. "Do you wanna be a stewardess too?"
I looked to see that there was the Singapore Airlines uniform hanging out to dry. I straightway exclaimed: "Who's the stewardess!?" and when I learnt that it was their youngest daughter, I was once again pleasantly shocked.
Dreams can come true huh? Your crushes can be your boyfriends and your ambitions can be your sources of income!
He was talking about the dreams you have at night. And for all I know, he isn't the only one who strongly believes in this. I have a bunch of others who say this same line each time I tell them about a dream I had at night.
But I'd like to beg to differ. Around October last year, I'd dreamt of walking to my Pasir Ris house in the night, the only light being the streetlamps, texting the best friend of the asshole who dumped me. Just his best friend, while he himself was mentioned nowhere in that particular dream.
And then meanwhile in reality, just a month ago, I was returning to my parents' place late at night. Of course, I'd already been dumped by that asshole, but yep. His best friend was there, texting me during my whole journey from Paya Lebar to Pasir Ris, til I fell asleep.
It may be nothing, but it's still a dream come true wasn't it?
Even if it's true that reality will be the opposite of what you dreamt of, it doesn't mean it will happen. If you really want it to come true, you'd put in effort. Like how I told my friend that I dreamt of a crush asking me out, and she immediately said: "To be honest, what happens in real life will always be the opposite of what you dream of." as a way of saying that this dream wouldn't come true.
But hey? The opposite of being asked out, is asking someone out. Do I not make sense? It still can happen if you twist the situation and put in effort to make it reality.
What about the dreams you have in reality, the ambitions you're chasing?
There was this one time, in my childhood, I'm not sure how long ago it was. I was watching this show where Nick Cannon shyly confessed his celebrity crush being Mariah Carey. I didn't take much notice, but then a few months or maybe years later BOOM, there was this other show where Nick was shown a picture of Mariah and he immediately gushed: "Aww man that's my wife man, I love her!"
My mind straightway transported to the last time I saw this guy on TV, when he only confessed to his wife being a crush. I was dumbfounded as to what the hell happened in between these two moments!? Still, it was a pleasant surprise, like anything can happen huh?
Another moment back in my childhood, when my mom was telling me a story; she had a conversation with the youngest daughter from next door, who is 3 years older than me. The girl was practising her posture and the way she walked, because, my mother learnt, it was her dream to be an air stewardess.
At that time I was really young, probably about mid primary school. I didn't take notice, but again, many years later something else happened that made me think of that moment.
Just a few days ago, maybe two weeks back, my mother and I were waiting for the lift when she pointed to our neighbour's laundry. "Do you wanna be a stewardess too?"
I looked to see that there was the Singapore Airlines uniform hanging out to dry. I straightway exclaimed: "Who's the stewardess!?" and when I learnt that it was their youngest daughter, I was once again pleasantly shocked.
Dreams can come true huh? Your crushes can be your boyfriends and your ambitions can be your sources of income!
Friday, February 21, 2014
Basket of moss
I don't know how I found you, but I'm glad I did. It was a room, at the back of a house, with a secret door which I had stumbled upon. A secret door where lain beyond was you.
You were a prisoner there, it was a small space with a mattress and bookshelves all around, cramped full of unimportant things. You were lying on the mattress, sitting against the wall, looking so pale and weak I thought you were going to die.
I had to go over to you and hold you in my arms so tightly, before you even realised I was there. Your eyes were so dead they scared me; they have never looked that empty.
You wouldn't talk, but somehow I figured you were just starving. I found a box of muffins in the kitchen of the house, which I brought back to you. You finished everything and I guess you were so thankful for me, because afterwards you wouldn't allow me to leave you alone.
You still refused to say anything but you made me stay there with you, making sure I was there each time you woke up. I couldn't bear to leave you alone anyway, not after seeing how you were caught up in that tiny hole all on your own the whole time.
I'm not sure how long we stayed there, just me against the wall, stroking your hair while you laid on my lap with your arms around me. You were like a child, and I so badly wanted to stay with you forever.
Soon, your captor returned. He went on a rage at seeing me there, and he grabbed at your hair, pulling you up to wake you. I tried to protect you, by fighting back against your captor but he just kicked me out of the secret room and locked the door behind him.
There was a lot of banging noise from the inside, and when the door opened again, your captor walked out with a death glare for me. You refused to even look me in the eye, as you walked out of your room with a backpack. Presumably that was your first time in a long time leaving that hellhole.
Your captor looked at me and told me he was bringing you to another place. A special place, fit only for a person like you. I wanted to protest, I wanted to bring you with me, because I could see he was torturing you but the look in his eyes dared me not to even speak.
And I'm sorry, that I let you down. I let you go with him, right when I thought you're safe with me. I didn't fight for you. I just let you walk away, with your head hung low, right on the tail of that bloody asshole.
I wish I can be there for you. It may be just a dream, but I feel like something's bothering you, like you're in trouble or buried in lots of problems that you can't talk to anyone about.
I know for a fact that if I approach you, you'll just push me the fuck away, but bloody hell you know I meant it when I told you I'll always be here for you if he ever gives you problems or neglects you.
If you think the "you" in the above story was referring to the asshole who dumped me, you've got it all wrong. You'd know who it is only if you really read into every single detail and if I've talked to you about my feelings about my relationship with this person, so, I guess only he himself would know who "you" is. Meh.
P.s. Refer to the Victorian flower language.
You were a prisoner there, it was a small space with a mattress and bookshelves all around, cramped full of unimportant things. You were lying on the mattress, sitting against the wall, looking so pale and weak I thought you were going to die.
I had to go over to you and hold you in my arms so tightly, before you even realised I was there. Your eyes were so dead they scared me; they have never looked that empty.
You wouldn't talk, but somehow I figured you were just starving. I found a box of muffins in the kitchen of the house, which I brought back to you. You finished everything and I guess you were so thankful for me, because afterwards you wouldn't allow me to leave you alone.
You still refused to say anything but you made me stay there with you, making sure I was there each time you woke up. I couldn't bear to leave you alone anyway, not after seeing how you were caught up in that tiny hole all on your own the whole time.
I'm not sure how long we stayed there, just me against the wall, stroking your hair while you laid on my lap with your arms around me. You were like a child, and I so badly wanted to stay with you forever.
Soon, your captor returned. He went on a rage at seeing me there, and he grabbed at your hair, pulling you up to wake you. I tried to protect you, by fighting back against your captor but he just kicked me out of the secret room and locked the door behind him.
There was a lot of banging noise from the inside, and when the door opened again, your captor walked out with a death glare for me. You refused to even look me in the eye, as you walked out of your room with a backpack. Presumably that was your first time in a long time leaving that hellhole.
Your captor looked at me and told me he was bringing you to another place. A special place, fit only for a person like you. I wanted to protest, I wanted to bring you with me, because I could see he was torturing you but the look in his eyes dared me not to even speak.
And I'm sorry, that I let you down. I let you go with him, right when I thought you're safe with me. I didn't fight for you. I just let you walk away, with your head hung low, right on the tail of that bloody asshole.
____
I know for a fact that if I approach you, you'll just push me the fuck away, but bloody hell you know I meant it when I told you I'll always be here for you if he ever gives you problems or neglects you.
If you think the "you" in the above story was referring to the asshole who dumped me, you've got it all wrong. You'd know who it is only if you really read into every single detail and if I've talked to you about my feelings about my relationship with this person, so, I guess only he himself would know who "you" is. Meh.
P.s. Refer to the Victorian flower language.
Wednesday, February 19, 2014
My own battles
Everyone is battling their own wars, I'm pretty sure. Just that, not everyone shows it to the world. Not saying I'm one of those people, because I obviously have a blog and Twitter which I regularly update about my woes and shit.
The DAELN battle
At the start, it was all okay, I understood every little shit the lecturer was going through. As time passed, I started to lose concentration, and was basically going to class only for attendance. It didn't help when I got dumped, and when I was regularly drinking in morning classes.
Tutorials didn't help. I was in a class full of people who have known each other before, and who were always crowding around the teacher with their own questions. My social anxiety refrained me from picking up courage to ask questions myself, and it didn't help that I was seated right at the back.
I was lucky enough that my advisor, who is also my tutorial teacher for the module, bothered to reach out to me when he saw how I was struggling. He asked me about my personal problems, some of which I told, and he understood my lack of focus. He wanted to help me.
He spent an entire day going through the basics of DAELN with me, not once but twice, the first time with my other classmate and the second just me alone. The latter was on the day of my retest for the subject, as I'd failed the real common test.
Alas, I screwed up the retest as well. In fact, I got way lower marks for it than the original common test. I was so ashamed with myself when he threw the paper at me, asking me to sign it. He asked me why had I done worst, but I couldn't answer.
That was it. Ever since I screwed the retest, I was too afraid to ask him for help already. Shamelessly, I've been falling asleep in his classes, and not turning up for the lectures at all.
That's why the past few days, I'd been trying my damndest to learn this module from scratch all by myself. Its exam is around the corner, but I believed I could do it. I didn't have any friends from the same module to teach me, I know a few guys but this voice in my head just tells me, "Don't ask them. You don't have the rights to ask them, because you are nothing to them and they will think you're crazy to ask them for help when you've never talked to them before."
But it looks like the war is over already, and that I've lost. I've given up, and shall accept my fate of having to repeat this module next semester.
The alcohol battle
I dropped this habit already, once back in 2013 thanks to the asshole whose name we all know now. It was that easy then, so why is it extra difficult now?
Perhaps it's the fact that I'm already legal and now I can buy that shit literally anytime I want, not like back then when only my regular 7-11s would allow me to pass. But maybe it's also the fact that now, I'm a lot more broken than then, since this breakup was such a shock that it caused me to blow into pieces.
Quitting is harder than you think. Without it, I thirst in a way you can't imagine. I drink it for breakfast, for lunch, for dinner if I could afford that. I was treating it more precious than water, more thirst-quenching and more important than water.
Not saying that drinking makes me forget him, it just makes me so sad that I'm happy. Does that make sense? When I say I remember everything when I'm tipsy, I really meant it. It makes me happy to be miserable, to be walking in zigzags, just because. Like how The Script motivated me, "If he sees how much I'm hurting, he'd take me back for sure."
How wrong I was. Not only did he not come back, but I also chased away so many good friends because of this habit. So many people I've not talked to for so long, the last time I hung out with them being when they had to take care of me in that miserable state.
I also can't remember the last time I held someone's hand sober. This whole time, every guy who had held my hand after that asshole who dumped me was just trying to stabilise me. I was falling, so their instinctive reaction was to hold my hand. Not because they wanted to but because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. God, I may never know what love is anymore.
I've not drank for a week, ever since the incident with my new SP friend. I'm just hoping he gives our friendship a chance, if not, the longer I go without him the faster I'm gonna return to this bad habit. Again.
The home battle
I don't know where 'home' is anymore. Home is where you are supposed to feel safe, secured, and happy. Home isn't the place you are being forced to choose to be called that name. Home isn't somewhere you have to stay in two weeks, before moving to another place that's also supposed to be 'home'.
Finding out where home is shouldn't be this hard. Sure, every kid my age has their own problems within their households, but at least, at the end of the day you have somewhere that you know you have to return to. At least you know, that this is your permanent place, with your parents, or your grandmother. At least there is only one.
It's not easy to be living two weeks here, two weeks there, back and forth like that. Why can't there be somewhere I can stay forever? Must I really choose one? It's either where I was raised, or where I was given a chance to start anew. It ain't that easy to decide on one, because. I need both.
I'm not saying these two houses I'm torn between are perfect, because I have problems in both. In the case of Pasir Ris, I feel I do not belong. It was only one year but it was enough to make me feel dislocated from my own parents and blood brothers. It doesn't help that my elder brother still doesn't acknowledge my presence after a long time of not seeing me.
In the case of Paya Lebar, I don't get what I need. My grandmother pampers me too much, ensuing my disability in growing up and being independent. The longer I stay with her, the more I'll grow to need her; and then when she has to go, what will happen to me? I won't be able to survive, so I have to start living without her, starting now.
Why can't all of us live under one roof together? Won't that solve it for me? Or is everyone too busy with their own problems to consider me? Does my family not realise how much this is taking its toll on me?
The social battle
It's not easy to make friends. It's not easy to keep friends, especially those who's seen the ugly side of you. Losing a friend by being unfollowed on Twitter because you were tweeting too much is nothing; but losing a good friend because they saw the side of you which they didn't like, even after those late night conversations to know how much in pain you are, is worse.
Maybe it was still his hypocrisy or the bloody bro code, but after getting dumped, I was also rejected by his best friend, whom I had painstakingly built my friendship with. Maybe he's painfully oblivious to my love for him, in that best friend way, because I really cared for him, more than I expected. From the day we met, I took an oath to take care of him.
And what about the other friendships I had made via my relationship with the asshole, the tertiary friends I so dearly loved? I'm never gonna have lunch with them or meet them or hang out with them anymore because the first link we had together has cut off all bridges with me. Getting too close with any of them would bring a "trying to steal ex's friends" drama shit.
Making friends with my classmates is out of the question; having repeated most of my modules, I'm put in classes who are already in their own group. Everyone in the class knows everyone except me, so of course, put the new girl aside!
I have my very good friend who's been in the same boat with me since semester 1, and I'm really appreciative of her support in helping me socially and academically, but even she has better social skills than I do. She makes other friends so easily, and most of my friends from this sem were with her help. When we part ways next semester, what's gonna happen to me?
What about in terms of relationships? Guys are assholes, am learning that the terribly hard way, yet here I am still wanting to try again, to try lending my heart to someone again and see how they'd treat it. Such a high possibility that it'll get crushed, yet I'm so willing to place it in anyone's palm. What the fuck is wrong with me?
The religion battle
I can't. I just can't. It's so hard to believe in my own God, because I keep telling myself about how He's let me down, He's let me down. I have always believed in His existence, but never in His power. I keep getting angry at Him for letting me down and hurting me all the damn time.
It ain't helping that I've been watching videos about this History and Science shit that has led me to believe that actually yeah, there might be no such thing as God at all. Put together these scientific+historical shit, and my being disappointed again and again by this 'God', and I might just find myself to be an atheist in the future.
You want me to pray? What if I told you I have, but my life still turned out like shit? All those quotes about how God won't put you through something you can't handle, that's unbelievable. I clearly can't handle this shit, so please get me the fuck out of it!
But nope, I'm still deep in the waters, where in the world are You? Nowhere. His existence is so damn questionable that it's invalid.
And that's why I'm in constant battle with my religion. I just don't know if I should believe it or not.
The mental battle
The hardest war of all is my mentality. I'm turning 19 this year, but I doubt I've been acting my age. I can't stop blaming the 'demons' in my head, when really this voice is none other than my own. Once I'm left alone, this 'voice' is the only one that talks to me. And it's gaining more and more control of me than I can help.
Not gonna touch on that much. But yeah, these are my battles, everyday ones if you could say that. I know it ain't much compared to other people who are suffering more, but everyone has their own different battles. These are mine, and it may be nothing to you, but they are each taking their own tolls on me.
I'm really tired. I wish I can go through this alone, really I do, but I think it's obvious that I depend too heavily on a special someone. Girl best friends can't do shit like that, family won't believe the pain I'm going through, religion is a battle in itself, and even writing isn't doing me much.
With a special someone, I'd discover my own strength that I never thought I'd have. Pretty unbelievable, I know. But with each relationship I've been in, I discover how willing I am to go through the bullshits of life, how strong I am to take on every obstacle that comes my fucking way.
Am I the only one who feels this?
The DAELN battle
At the start, it was all okay, I understood every little shit the lecturer was going through. As time passed, I started to lose concentration, and was basically going to class only for attendance. It didn't help when I got dumped, and when I was regularly drinking in morning classes.
Tutorials didn't help. I was in a class full of people who have known each other before, and who were always crowding around the teacher with their own questions. My social anxiety refrained me from picking up courage to ask questions myself, and it didn't help that I was seated right at the back.
I was lucky enough that my advisor, who is also my tutorial teacher for the module, bothered to reach out to me when he saw how I was struggling. He asked me about my personal problems, some of which I told, and he understood my lack of focus. He wanted to help me.
He spent an entire day going through the basics of DAELN with me, not once but twice, the first time with my other classmate and the second just me alone. The latter was on the day of my retest for the subject, as I'd failed the real common test.
Alas, I screwed up the retest as well. In fact, I got way lower marks for it than the original common test. I was so ashamed with myself when he threw the paper at me, asking me to sign it. He asked me why had I done worst, but I couldn't answer.
That was it. Ever since I screwed the retest, I was too afraid to ask him for help already. Shamelessly, I've been falling asleep in his classes, and not turning up for the lectures at all.
That's why the past few days, I'd been trying my damndest to learn this module from scratch all by myself. Its exam is around the corner, but I believed I could do it. I didn't have any friends from the same module to teach me, I know a few guys but this voice in my head just tells me, "Don't ask them. You don't have the rights to ask them, because you are nothing to them and they will think you're crazy to ask them for help when you've never talked to them before."
But it looks like the war is over already, and that I've lost. I've given up, and shall accept my fate of having to repeat this module next semester.
The alcohol battle
I dropped this habit already, once back in 2013 thanks to the asshole whose name we all know now. It was that easy then, so why is it extra difficult now?
Perhaps it's the fact that I'm already legal and now I can buy that shit literally anytime I want, not like back then when only my regular 7-11s would allow me to pass. But maybe it's also the fact that now, I'm a lot more broken than then, since this breakup was such a shock that it caused me to blow into pieces.
Quitting is harder than you think. Without it, I thirst in a way you can't imagine. I drink it for breakfast, for lunch, for dinner if I could afford that. I was treating it more precious than water, more thirst-quenching and more important than water.
Not saying that drinking makes me forget him, it just makes me so sad that I'm happy. Does that make sense? When I say I remember everything when I'm tipsy, I really meant it. It makes me happy to be miserable, to be walking in zigzags, just because. Like how The Script motivated me, "If he sees how much I'm hurting, he'd take me back for sure."
How wrong I was. Not only did he not come back, but I also chased away so many good friends because of this habit. So many people I've not talked to for so long, the last time I hung out with them being when they had to take care of me in that miserable state.
I also can't remember the last time I held someone's hand sober. This whole time, every guy who had held my hand after that asshole who dumped me was just trying to stabilise me. I was falling, so their instinctive reaction was to hold my hand. Not because they wanted to but because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. God, I may never know what love is anymore.
I've not drank for a week, ever since the incident with my new SP friend. I'm just hoping he gives our friendship a chance, if not, the longer I go without him the faster I'm gonna return to this bad habit. Again.
The home battle
I don't know where 'home' is anymore. Home is where you are supposed to feel safe, secured, and happy. Home isn't the place you are being forced to choose to be called that name. Home isn't somewhere you have to stay in two weeks, before moving to another place that's also supposed to be 'home'.
Finding out where home is shouldn't be this hard. Sure, every kid my age has their own problems within their households, but at least, at the end of the day you have somewhere that you know you have to return to. At least you know, that this is your permanent place, with your parents, or your grandmother. At least there is only one.
It's not easy to be living two weeks here, two weeks there, back and forth like that. Why can't there be somewhere I can stay forever? Must I really choose one? It's either where I was raised, or where I was given a chance to start anew. It ain't that easy to decide on one, because. I need both.
I'm not saying these two houses I'm torn between are perfect, because I have problems in both. In the case of Pasir Ris, I feel I do not belong. It was only one year but it was enough to make me feel dislocated from my own parents and blood brothers. It doesn't help that my elder brother still doesn't acknowledge my presence after a long time of not seeing me.
In the case of Paya Lebar, I don't get what I need. My grandmother pampers me too much, ensuing my disability in growing up and being independent. The longer I stay with her, the more I'll grow to need her; and then when she has to go, what will happen to me? I won't be able to survive, so I have to start living without her, starting now.
Why can't all of us live under one roof together? Won't that solve it for me? Or is everyone too busy with their own problems to consider me? Does my family not realise how much this is taking its toll on me?
The social battle
It's not easy to make friends. It's not easy to keep friends, especially those who's seen the ugly side of you. Losing a friend by being unfollowed on Twitter because you were tweeting too much is nothing; but losing a good friend because they saw the side of you which they didn't like, even after those late night conversations to know how much in pain you are, is worse.
Maybe it was still his hypocrisy or the bloody bro code, but after getting dumped, I was also rejected by his best friend, whom I had painstakingly built my friendship with. Maybe he's painfully oblivious to my love for him, in that best friend way, because I really cared for him, more than I expected. From the day we met, I took an oath to take care of him.
And what about the other friendships I had made via my relationship with the asshole, the tertiary friends I so dearly loved? I'm never gonna have lunch with them or meet them or hang out with them anymore because the first link we had together has cut off all bridges with me. Getting too close with any of them would bring a "trying to steal ex's friends" drama shit.
Making friends with my classmates is out of the question; having repeated most of my modules, I'm put in classes who are already in their own group. Everyone in the class knows everyone except me, so of course, put the new girl aside!
I have my very good friend who's been in the same boat with me since semester 1, and I'm really appreciative of her support in helping me socially and academically, but even she has better social skills than I do. She makes other friends so easily, and most of my friends from this sem were with her help. When we part ways next semester, what's gonna happen to me?
What about in terms of relationships? Guys are assholes, am learning that the terribly hard way, yet here I am still wanting to try again, to try lending my heart to someone again and see how they'd treat it. Such a high possibility that it'll get crushed, yet I'm so willing to place it in anyone's palm. What the fuck is wrong with me?
The religion battle
I can't. I just can't. It's so hard to believe in my own God, because I keep telling myself about how He's let me down, He's let me down. I have always believed in His existence, but never in His power. I keep getting angry at Him for letting me down and hurting me all the damn time.
It ain't helping that I've been watching videos about this History and Science shit that has led me to believe that actually yeah, there might be no such thing as God at all. Put together these scientific+historical shit, and my being disappointed again and again by this 'God', and I might just find myself to be an atheist in the future.
You want me to pray? What if I told you I have, but my life still turned out like shit? All those quotes about how God won't put you through something you can't handle, that's unbelievable. I clearly can't handle this shit, so please get me the fuck out of it!
But nope, I'm still deep in the waters, where in the world are You? Nowhere. His existence is so damn questionable that it's invalid.
And that's why I'm in constant battle with my religion. I just don't know if I should believe it or not.
The mental battle
The hardest war of all is my mentality. I'm turning 19 this year, but I doubt I've been acting my age. I can't stop blaming the 'demons' in my head, when really this voice is none other than my own. Once I'm left alone, this 'voice' is the only one that talks to me. And it's gaining more and more control of me than I can help.
Not gonna touch on that much. But yeah, these are my battles, everyday ones if you could say that. I know it ain't much compared to other people who are suffering more, but everyone has their own different battles. These are mine, and it may be nothing to you, but they are each taking their own tolls on me.
I'm really tired. I wish I can go through this alone, really I do, but I think it's obvious that I depend too heavily on a special someone. Girl best friends can't do shit like that, family won't believe the pain I'm going through, religion is a battle in itself, and even writing isn't doing me much.
With a special someone, I'd discover my own strength that I never thought I'd have. Pretty unbelievable, I know. But with each relationship I've been in, I discover how willing I am to go through the bullshits of life, how strong I am to take on every obstacle that comes my fucking way.
Am I the only one who feels this?
Tuesday, February 18, 2014
5 reasons why I ain't in TP
The question that I've been labeling as the most irritating these days is: "Why never go TP?", especially after I say that I live in the East. Come on, must every Eastern kid who isn't in TP be asked this same question over and over again?
This shall be my list of reasons for not being in TP despite being an East kid, though most are my own personal ones. If only I could shove this link up the noses of whoever asks me this damn question again in the future.
5. First of all, there is the O Level results. Because of my shitty ones, there weren't a lot of courses I was eligible for. I was lucky enough to be eligible for TP's Film, Sound & Video course [I think it changed its name though] but that was it, and that was the only course from TP which I'd applied for in my 12 choices. With my shitty grades, what were the odds of me being able to get that?
4. Secondly, at that point of my life when I was applying for JAE 2013, I really wanted to escape the East side. I hated my job at Loyang Point, I hated the family that kicked me out of their oh-so-perfect house, and I hated the people from my school [who mostly lived in Pasir Ris], which brings me to my next point.
3. Maybe it was just me, but from the graduating batch before mine, I could see a whole bunch of people from my secondary school were in TP. I couldn't help 'stereotyping' students as lazy people who would only go for the nearest poly, so I took the chance to go further. I didn't want to be in the same school with the same people again, not to be reminded of my last year in that hell hole.
2. These next 2 points aren't really reasons why I didn't go TP, but more like why I started to not mind going to a school on the other side of Singapore. I'm not gonna elaborate this one, but just leave it at the main point: I just liked being nearer to the asshole's school, so we were able to meet up easier and more often.
1. This number one reason ain't nothing new. As time passed, I found that I really liked taking the MRT from one side to another. This liking for MRTs grew to a love for the roads; the longer the bus journey, the more things I'd get to see outside the window.
In fact, I love going to school from my Pasir Ris house than from Paya Lebar, just because I get to be on two expressways in one bus journey. I don't mind waking up at 5 in the morning for my 8AM classes, because I grew to love the long bus journeys. I would never have met the roads, my love of my life, if I had gone to a nearby poly.
And hey, if you look at the Singapore map, the Bukit Timah area isn't that far from the East at all. People only say it's far because they look at the MRT map, where Pasir Ris is EW1 and Clementi is EW23.
I've learnt the hard way that roads of Singapore are not equivalent to the MRT map, so you can't judge distance via its place on the latter. Pretty much like how Hougang and Ang Mo Kio are on entirely different Lines on the MRT map despite being practically next to each other.
So please stop asking me Why never go TP!? in that tone, like I'm expected to go there just because I live in the East. No, just no. Stop. And if you show me a shocked face or gasp or go all "Huh so far!?" to know I live in Pasir Ris/Paya Lebar and schooling in Ngee Ann Poly, I will slap you.
This shall be my list of reasons for not being in TP despite being an East kid, though most are my own personal ones. If only I could shove this link up the noses of whoever asks me this damn question again in the future.
5. First of all, there is the O Level results. Because of my shitty ones, there weren't a lot of courses I was eligible for. I was lucky enough to be eligible for TP's Film, Sound & Video course [I think it changed its name though] but that was it, and that was the only course from TP which I'd applied for in my 12 choices. With my shitty grades, what were the odds of me being able to get that?
4. Secondly, at that point of my life when I was applying for JAE 2013, I really wanted to escape the East side. I hated my job at Loyang Point, I hated the family that kicked me out of their oh-so-perfect house, and I hated the people from my school [who mostly lived in Pasir Ris], which brings me to my next point.
3. Maybe it was just me, but from the graduating batch before mine, I could see a whole bunch of people from my secondary school were in TP. I couldn't help 'stereotyping' students as lazy people who would only go for the nearest poly, so I took the chance to go further. I didn't want to be in the same school with the same people again, not to be reminded of my last year in that hell hole.
2. These next 2 points aren't really reasons why I didn't go TP, but more like why I started to not mind going to a school on the other side of Singapore. I'm not gonna elaborate this one, but just leave it at the main point: I just liked being nearer to the asshole's school, so we were able to meet up easier and more often.
1. This number one reason ain't nothing new. As time passed, I found that I really liked taking the MRT from one side to another. This liking for MRTs grew to a love for the roads; the longer the bus journey, the more things I'd get to see outside the window.
In fact, I love going to school from my Pasir Ris house than from Paya Lebar, just because I get to be on two expressways in one bus journey. I don't mind waking up at 5 in the morning for my 8AM classes, because I grew to love the long bus journeys. I would never have met the roads, my love of my life, if I had gone to a nearby poly.
And hey, if you look at the Singapore map, the Bukit Timah area isn't that far from the East at all. People only say it's far because they look at the MRT map, where Pasir Ris is EW1 and Clementi is EW23.
I've learnt the hard way that roads of Singapore are not equivalent to the MRT map, so you can't judge distance via its place on the latter. Pretty much like how Hougang and Ang Mo Kio are on entirely different Lines on the MRT map despite being practically next to each other.
So please stop asking me Why never go TP!? in that tone, like I'm expected to go there just because I live in the East. No, just no. Stop. And if you show me a shocked face or gasp or go all "Huh so far!?" to know I live in Pasir Ris/Paya Lebar and schooling in Ngee Ann Poly, I will slap you.
Monday, February 17, 2014
Torn apart / Bludgeoned
____
T o r n a p a r t .
I'm not sure why I got so sad as I was walking down Elias Road, down to the bus stop. The whole lane I walked was part of my childhood, how my mom and I walked that same path every Wednesday to hail a cab for my ballet lessons. I'm not even 19, yet my childhood feels like decades ago.
Must be the shit I've gotten myself into. I kept thinking, God I'm only 19. Why have I gone through so much? Why had I been abandoned by my parents, why had I gotten my innocence stolen by someone who was using me, why had I been fooled to love someone who left in the end? Are these just the pains of youth? Will this pain disappear once my age doesn't start with a 1 anymore?
Couldn't help but let the tears slip down my face, like I always do. Holding back the tears were causing me more harm than good, although it just made me a lot sadder to cry like that. Just like how you have to let go of someone that's hurting you, even if it pains you as well to be without them, right?
I tried not to cry on the MRT, though I had a fun time crying like shit from EW1 to EW2 [I saw my reflection in the window opposite, I remember how horrible I looked], but at Paya Lebar's bus stop and on bus 70M, I had to curl up and resume crying crying crying like shit.
So I decided to walk around the petrol station, because there is a little pathway that I can take to my block. Turned out, that pathway and the other was closed due to construction works, and I had to walk around the entire site in the end. Of course, halfway I started to sob for whatever reasons, and more and more fucking tears escaped out of me.
Terrible night. Terrible, terrible night. I felt so torn apart. When can I stay somewhere forever? But hey, I survived. And I'm still alive today. Therefore, I am a strong person.
____
B l u d g e o n e d .
There was something heavy tucked in the back of my jeans, though it was only later that I saw it was a parang.
Cut to the next scene, where the camera zooms out of the tree, and pans across the enclosed concrete path. There's a house far up in the north, a little parking lot to the right, little benches propped against a rectangular bed of flowers that stretched across, and this huge flight of staircase that goes higher than you can see down in the south, facing the west.
There's a little boy, about aged 10, with his parents. His parents leave him alone for a while and go to their house, the longhouse at the end of the enclosed area. This is where the game begins.
A group of children, also about aged 10, enter the area from the parking lot and begin running around. The little boy from before go running after the other children, presumably just wanting to join in and play with them.
Every other kid runs away from him screaming, even before he picks up the stray parang on the ground. They scream even before he chases after them and bludgeons them to death. Even when a kid isn't moving anymore, he continues hitting until they are in pieces and there is blood and body parts everywhere.
One left standing, the last fat kid sits on the big staircase crying. The main character stands before the flower bed, supposedly deciding whether he should kill this last kid. His decision is made when the fat kid runs toward him; he violently swings the parang across his head, and as his body drops to the floor, he repeatedly hit him again and again, til it was just a mess of meat and bones and blood on the ground.
The boy looks to his right, and the camera zooms out and shoots the house in the distance, where his parents can be seen in the kitchen through the window. He runs to the house, but the camera angle stays where he was standing.
The camera zooms back to the tree from before, where I realise that, leaning against it, is my very own purple backpack with my Squirtle keychain hanging from it.
I don't know which is scarier; the fact that I was the boy, and killing all those kids... Or the fact that I was there and that I might be the next victim.
____
To relate that to reality, it's probably just telling me that whatever I do now will all come back to me in the end. If I want to think negatively, I'll have to consider the bad karma. But if I want to think positive, which I should, I'll have to think about how someday some guy will do for me more than everything I've done for that asshole who dumped me.
Hah, after I prayed for God not to give me any dreams and just a blank night, I get yet another dark dream full of bloody murder.
Guess I'll blog about my dreams more regularly now on, because you can't deny that they're so damn interesting.
Sunday, February 16, 2014
Skull's bashed in but I'm still in love
I hate what dreams can do to you. Dreams, in the sense of ambitions, can make you so desperate, and can make you so damn devastated when you know you can never achieve them. But in this case, I hate what the dreams I have at night can do to me.
I call them dreams, not nightmares, because I've had worse than what I usually get.
My little brother wanted to hide, and he decided to do that by sitting on the kitchen window. He slipped, and ended up falling over. I could hear his voice screaming, going further and further, while all I could do was stand, look over and call out to him.
I immediately dashed out and went down in the lift [we live on the 9th floor by the way], and when the lift doors opened on the first floor, my parents were there. I looked at them hopefully, but all they could say was: "I'm sorry. There was nothing we could do."
Cut to the next scene, where I was standing in a lift lobby, just me alone. It was really dark in the place and in my soul, I could feel it. I remember the place being a sort of MRT station, probably a major interchange one, because there seemed to be different Lines on different levels.
The lift was so scary, this I remember, because I was saying out loud the Al-Fatihah. It was dark as hell too, and the lift was moving so damn slow despite it only having four levels, as I'd seen the numbers on the lift buttons.
After getting out at the ground level, I continued walking, brooding shoulders and hung head, just letting the darkness eat away at me. I didn't talk to the few people that passed me by, though they greeted me with a smile.
I got to a sort of mall, where I met with none other than the asshole who dumped me and his tertiary friend. The latter spoke to me, telling me to follow them to Courts, so I did.
The Courts were on two levels, and as we went down from the fourth, I went over to the third level entrance. But they continued on to the second level's, so I just went ahead and did my own exploring. I got to this little alleyway that was hidden next to the escalator connecting the two levels, and when the asshole's friend started chasing me, asking me to join them, that was where I hid.
I was drained at this point of time, I sat in a corner of that alleyway and just cried and cried. The asshole and his friend found me, went through the door to the alleyway where I was and came over to me. His friend tried to comfort me but all I could do was hug my knees and cry.
The whole time, the asshole never talked but eventually he knelt down in front of me, looked me in the eyes and told me to stop crying. I didn't stop.
And then he started to hit me. He was bashing my skull in, banging my head against the wall, just hitting me without a sound. I just continued crying, which soon evolved to bawling. I didn't ask him to stop but when he did, he held my head and murmured, "Oh, shit." He looked at his hands and they were bloody, and I noticed a mirror in front of me, so I caught my reflection.
I was a fucking mess. My head was bleeding like crazy, blood dripping down my face along with my tears. I could feel a gap at the back of my head, where more blood was coming out from. It was literally a gap, I could push my fingers into that hole in my head and pry open my skull just like that.
"I'm sorry," he said, and he went to sit opposite me, hugging his knees as well.
I just resumed crying. I'm not sure where his friend had gone, but the asshole who dumped me, sat across from me mirroring my position and just staring back at me. And then guess what he said? He and his fucking balls, he said, "Please marry me."
I can remember the first three words so fucking clearly. What he said afterwards, I can't recall word for word, but it went along the lines of "I'm sorry, but I'll take care of you. If you screw up, I'll stay with you and we'll clean up your mess together. You won't be alone, whatever you said was right and I was wrong. I love you so much I just want to be with you no matter how messed up you are."
He was sitting next to the mirror, and I saw my bloodied face and pathetic state next to him, a reminder of what he just did to me a few minutes before. But I said yes. I said: "Okay, I will marry you."
This obviously means that I'm currently still at his disposal aren't I? I would get stripped of my everything, and when I'm left all alone he could hit me and injure me all he wants, but at the end of the day if he ever uses his charm on me I'd always fall for it.
That just sucks doesn't it.
Moving on is harder than I thought.
A side note: My dreams at night are darker than you think. The atmosphere, the places, the "camera angles", they're all out of a horror movie and then some. That's why I'm really scared of them, they can get real scary sometimes. My own words aren't enough to bring out the depth of my dreams; it's something you'll have to see for yourself in order to feel the fear that I go through every night.
Yes, these are just dreams. Words can't even begin to describe the horror of what I call "nightmares". And I can't forget how I looked like in the mirror, and the look of regret that the asshole had on his face as he was staring at me. It was a look of remorse and at the same time a look of satisfaction.
I call them dreams, not nightmares, because I've had worse than what I usually get.
My little brother wanted to hide, and he decided to do that by sitting on the kitchen window. He slipped, and ended up falling over. I could hear his voice screaming, going further and further, while all I could do was stand, look over and call out to him.
I immediately dashed out and went down in the lift [we live on the 9th floor by the way], and when the lift doors opened on the first floor, my parents were there. I looked at them hopefully, but all they could say was: "I'm sorry. There was nothing we could do."
Cut to the next scene, where I was standing in a lift lobby, just me alone. It was really dark in the place and in my soul, I could feel it. I remember the place being a sort of MRT station, probably a major interchange one, because there seemed to be different Lines on different levels.
The lift was so scary, this I remember, because I was saying out loud the Al-Fatihah. It was dark as hell too, and the lift was moving so damn slow despite it only having four levels, as I'd seen the numbers on the lift buttons.
After getting out at the ground level, I continued walking, brooding shoulders and hung head, just letting the darkness eat away at me. I didn't talk to the few people that passed me by, though they greeted me with a smile.
I got to a sort of mall, where I met with none other than the asshole who dumped me and his tertiary friend. The latter spoke to me, telling me to follow them to Courts, so I did.
The Courts were on two levels, and as we went down from the fourth, I went over to the third level entrance. But they continued on to the second level's, so I just went ahead and did my own exploring. I got to this little alleyway that was hidden next to the escalator connecting the two levels, and when the asshole's friend started chasing me, asking me to join them, that was where I hid.
I was drained at this point of time, I sat in a corner of that alleyway and just cried and cried. The asshole and his friend found me, went through the door to the alleyway where I was and came over to me. His friend tried to comfort me but all I could do was hug my knees and cry.
The whole time, the asshole never talked but eventually he knelt down in front of me, looked me in the eyes and told me to stop crying. I didn't stop.
And then he started to hit me. He was bashing my skull in, banging my head against the wall, just hitting me without a sound. I just continued crying, which soon evolved to bawling. I didn't ask him to stop but when he did, he held my head and murmured, "Oh, shit." He looked at his hands and they were bloody, and I noticed a mirror in front of me, so I caught my reflection.
I was a fucking mess. My head was bleeding like crazy, blood dripping down my face along with my tears. I could feel a gap at the back of my head, where more blood was coming out from. It was literally a gap, I could push my fingers into that hole in my head and pry open my skull just like that.
"I'm sorry," he said, and he went to sit opposite me, hugging his knees as well.
I just resumed crying. I'm not sure where his friend had gone, but the asshole who dumped me, sat across from me mirroring my position and just staring back at me. And then guess what he said? He and his fucking balls, he said, "Please marry me."
I can remember the first three words so fucking clearly. What he said afterwards, I can't recall word for word, but it went along the lines of "I'm sorry, but I'll take care of you. If you screw up, I'll stay with you and we'll clean up your mess together. You won't be alone, whatever you said was right and I was wrong. I love you so much I just want to be with you no matter how messed up you are."
He was sitting next to the mirror, and I saw my bloodied face and pathetic state next to him, a reminder of what he just did to me a few minutes before. But I said yes. I said: "Okay, I will marry you."
This obviously means that I'm currently still at his disposal aren't I? I would get stripped of my everything, and when I'm left all alone he could hit me and injure me all he wants, but at the end of the day if he ever uses his charm on me I'd always fall for it.
That just sucks doesn't it.
Moving on is harder than I thought.
A side note: My dreams at night are darker than you think. The atmosphere, the places, the "camera angles", they're all out of a horror movie and then some. That's why I'm really scared of them, they can get real scary sometimes. My own words aren't enough to bring out the depth of my dreams; it's something you'll have to see for yourself in order to feel the fear that I go through every night.
Yes, these are just dreams. Words can't even begin to describe the horror of what I call "nightmares". And I can't forget how I looked like in the mirror, and the look of regret that the asshole had on his face as he was staring at me. It was a look of remorse and at the same time a look of satisfaction.
Saturday, February 15, 2014
The spark is going
We've been hanging out the past week. We study at his school, though most of the time he's teaching me or we're both just fooling around. We've known each other for more than a year, but we've never gotten to know the other more.
He's really adorable. I love the smug smile he gives every time he manages to annoy me. I love how nerdy he looks. I love how we glance at each other without saying a word and burst into chuckles. I love the way he gives me a flying kiss when he's going off to play soccer.
Never thought I'd feel this way again. I told myself not to screw up this one. I told myself, take care of him properly no matter how hurt you are by another. I told myself, take it slow. Because I really liked him for who he was, and with him, my anger is so easily forgotten.
I've gone to new places when I'm with him, and not just literally but in a metaphorical sense too. He brings me to a certain kind of happiness that I can't describe, just as I thought I would never get up again. Even if I thought I'd move on, I never thought it would be this easy. Quick like a bullet shot to the head where you don't have to suffer.
He brought me to his clique's favourite place, which had felt like the start of something new. And on Wednesday, we were going to take the bus back to Pasir Ris [it was his turn to sacrifice his concession; his is for the MRT and mine is for the bus] when someone called to him from a car.
His friend offered to drop us to Simei, and I was reluctant at first but I just went along with it. I've always loved buses and trains, never a big fan of cars exactly. But I absolutely loved being beside him in his friend's, looking out the window, being on my roads.
The best part? We actually went on the Marina Coastal Expressway, the new expressway which just opened late last year. I didn't know until I heard his friend talking about the Marina Barrage above us, and I just had to cut in: "What expressway are we on...?"
I couldn't help getting excited, and he started teasing me, as if he didn't know my obsession with roads and expressways.
"She looks familiar," his friend remarked about me. I knew it was impossible for him to know me straightout as me, so I just told him my elder brother's name, thinking he'd know him. Surprisingly, the name meant nothing to him, but he insisted that he'd seen my face before.
He and I got to Simei, thanked his friend for the ride, and made our way to his home. I loved how I knew the way just by knowing his block name and street number.
It would have been a great day and all, if I hadn't decided to drink while walking. I told myself, just one bottle, but that taste left me wanting more so I bought another. I let him see that side of me, and I so deeply fucking regret because now he ain't talking to me.
It confuses me though. We did talk about how he'd one day accompany me drink, but only after we finish studying for the day. Which was just what happened that night; as long as I didn't drink while he was teaching me, it's fine. I really don't get it.
Still, I think I've learnt my lesson. This habit is ruining a friendship. I've said sorry and that I will quit, and that I hoped he would talk to me like normal again. I swear, if he would just text me like normal, smother me with good mornings and babes, I swear I will never ever touch alcohol ever again.
And that's what happened. My most recent heartbreak, and my most recent addition to my debate of Guys are more complicated than girls!!!
He's really adorable. I love the smug smile he gives every time he manages to annoy me. I love how nerdy he looks. I love how we glance at each other without saying a word and burst into chuckles. I love the way he gives me a flying kiss when he's going off to play soccer.
Never thought I'd feel this way again. I told myself not to screw up this one. I told myself, take care of him properly no matter how hurt you are by another. I told myself, take it slow. Because I really liked him for who he was, and with him, my anger is so easily forgotten.
I've gone to new places when I'm with him, and not just literally but in a metaphorical sense too. He brings me to a certain kind of happiness that I can't describe, just as I thought I would never get up again. Even if I thought I'd move on, I never thought it would be this easy. Quick like a bullet shot to the head where you don't have to suffer.
He brought me to his clique's favourite place, which had felt like the start of something new. And on Wednesday, we were going to take the bus back to Pasir Ris [it was his turn to sacrifice his concession; his is for the MRT and mine is for the bus] when someone called to him from a car.
His friend offered to drop us to Simei, and I was reluctant at first but I just went along with it. I've always loved buses and trains, never a big fan of cars exactly. But I absolutely loved being beside him in his friend's, looking out the window, being on my roads.
The best part? We actually went on the Marina Coastal Expressway, the new expressway which just opened late last year. I didn't know until I heard his friend talking about the Marina Barrage above us, and I just had to cut in: "What expressway are we on...?"
I couldn't help getting excited, and he started teasing me, as if he didn't know my obsession with roads and expressways.
"She looks familiar," his friend remarked about me. I knew it was impossible for him to know me straightout as me, so I just told him my elder brother's name, thinking he'd know him. Surprisingly, the name meant nothing to him, but he insisted that he'd seen my face before.
He and I got to Simei, thanked his friend for the ride, and made our way to his home. I loved how I knew the way just by knowing his block name and street number.
It would have been a great day and all, if I hadn't decided to drink while walking. I told myself, just one bottle, but that taste left me wanting more so I bought another. I let him see that side of me, and I so deeply fucking regret because now he ain't talking to me.
It confuses me though. We did talk about how he'd one day accompany me drink, but only after we finish studying for the day. Which was just what happened that night; as long as I didn't drink while he was teaching me, it's fine. I really don't get it.
Still, I think I've learnt my lesson. This habit is ruining a friendship. I've said sorry and that I will quit, and that I hoped he would talk to me like normal again. I swear, if he would just text me like normal, smother me with good mornings and babes, I swear I will never ever touch alcohol ever again.
And that's what happened. My most recent heartbreak, and my most recent addition to my debate of Guys are more complicated than girls!!!
Tuesday, February 11, 2014
Getting up
There was once I had the best Monday of the year, it was a beautiful day and then some, but I hadn't had the chance to blog about it.
That Monday in October, when everything was perfect. When I wore a long skirt to school and the one whom I'd called my world back then said I was gorgeous. When I sat on the top deck of bus 197, which ran alongside trains on the tracks between Lavender and Kallang, with the sunset on my hair. When I reached home, at Paya Lebar, to receive a call from my granny that she was on the way home after one week at Johore.
That was a perfect Monday, three months ago. Just recently, the whole beauty of that day was shattered, and I never went anywhere near the memory, just to run away from the fact that it's over.
Here came another Monday, entirely different from then: I wasn't living in Paya Lebar anymore; I didn't have any boy's hand to hold anymore; I couldn't sit on the top deck of a bus and ride alongside trains anymore.
Yesterday, I'd gone to Singapore Poly to study alongside a new buddy of mine, with his group of friends. I was alone yet I was not alone, thanks to their company. They have a sort of hideout which they called "Narnia" because of the view, and they brought me to see for myself. I can't even begin to describe my feelings when I sat there.
Thinking about it, I was sad that the perfection of my life from last year was over. I still couldn't believe that he left just like that, and that I actually went back to Pasir Ris. Two things which I'd sworn would never be. It was hard to accept that these two things had truly happened, and I couldn't help but let a few tears slip away.
As I stayed there longer alongside this other guy that cared for me at the moment, I felt a little lighter. I told myself that this is 2014. It's the start of something new, as much as I don't want to leave my previous happiness behind. It was saddening, yet hopeful at the same time. This feeling, it's hard to describe.
And then came today: for a girl who's having trouble finding out where 'home' is for her, I guess the only time where I feel at the right place is on the expressway. When you're in love, you see the beauty which others don't, like you have your own third eye. That's how I feel for my roads; no other kid my age would appreciate them like I do, and that makes me feel in a way, that they're mine alone.
It's not easy to forget; everyone tells you to move on but they don't tell you how. But I think I've figured it out myself; you move on by moving back. Go back to the life you had before, back to the person you were before you deemed yourself as happy.
You may think I'm crazy, but it makes sense to me, because "back", is back to when you didn't know what was happiness and what was not, and you'd feel contented with whatever that comes into your life.
And as usual, here I'd be writing these sentimental shit, pretty sure I'm making sense, but in reality, I won't bother to put in effort to heed my own words. But I want to try. I have so much in me to give, and I'd start by giving my best to myself.
That Monday in October, when everything was perfect. When I wore a long skirt to school and the one whom I'd called my world back then said I was gorgeous. When I sat on the top deck of bus 197, which ran alongside trains on the tracks between Lavender and Kallang, with the sunset on my hair. When I reached home, at Paya Lebar, to receive a call from my granny that she was on the way home after one week at Johore.
That was a perfect Monday, three months ago. Just recently, the whole beauty of that day was shattered, and I never went anywhere near the memory, just to run away from the fact that it's over.
Here came another Monday, entirely different from then: I wasn't living in Paya Lebar anymore; I didn't have any boy's hand to hold anymore; I couldn't sit on the top deck of a bus and ride alongside trains anymore.
Yesterday, I'd gone to Singapore Poly to study alongside a new buddy of mine, with his group of friends. I was alone yet I was not alone, thanks to their company. They have a sort of hideout which they called "Narnia" because of the view, and they brought me to see for myself. I can't even begin to describe my feelings when I sat there.
Thinking about it, I was sad that the perfection of my life from last year was over. I still couldn't believe that he left just like that, and that I actually went back to Pasir Ris. Two things which I'd sworn would never be. It was hard to accept that these two things had truly happened, and I couldn't help but let a few tears slip away.
As I stayed there longer alongside this other guy that cared for me at the moment, I felt a little lighter. I told myself that this is 2014. It's the start of something new, as much as I don't want to leave my previous happiness behind. It was saddening, yet hopeful at the same time. This feeling, it's hard to describe.
And then came today: for a girl who's having trouble finding out where 'home' is for her, I guess the only time where I feel at the right place is on the expressway. When you're in love, you see the beauty which others don't, like you have your own third eye. That's how I feel for my roads; no other kid my age would appreciate them like I do, and that makes me feel in a way, that they're mine alone.
It's not easy to forget; everyone tells you to move on but they don't tell you how. But I think I've figured it out myself; you move on by moving back. Go back to the life you had before, back to the person you were before you deemed yourself as happy.
You may think I'm crazy, but it makes sense to me, because "back", is back to when you didn't know what was happiness and what was not, and you'd feel contented with whatever that comes into your life.
And as usual, here I'd be writing these sentimental shit, pretty sure I'm making sense, but in reality, I won't bother to put in effort to heed my own words. But I want to try. I have so much in me to give, and I'd start by giving my best to myself.
Sunday, February 09, 2014
Torn between
I was supposed to go back to Paya Lebar tonight, but I'm just so damn sick and tired of transferring from here to there, getting tossed around like a soccer ball so I stood up for myself and demanded that I'd like to stay at Pasir Ris for another week.
It's tough getting torn between two houses. I'm being forced to choose which one to call "home", and choosing both is not an option. I honestly would rather be alone altogether, than having to stay here for one week and then there for another. I feel so damn fucking unwanted.
I've been getting along with my parents, which is an awesome thing, but I still can't help feeling that "I don't belong here" feeling. One year without them feels like a decade, like I'm not supposed to come back ever. Up to this day, three weeks after I'd decided to return, I still feel like a distant relative who's staying just for a while. After all I was the one who decided on this; nobody from this family asked me to come back.
I feel awkward when my brother's getting scolded by my parents, like how you'd feel when your friend is getting scolded by theirs. My parents have been way too nice, and their hospitality is through the roof. It feels weird, knowing how they were towards me the entire year before they kicked me out. It doesn't feel right. Like I'm not part of the family anymore.
Nothing feels right. Everyday I ask, what the hell am I doing with my life? I feel way better being on my own, out of any houses, and just being on my roads. My roads are my true home; being on the expressway is better than anywhere else, because it feels like home and freedom at the same time. Where else can I feel that way? Nowhere. Maybe your arms, but fuck you.
And speaking of you, yeah fuck you. I was having a peaceful time listening to music at midnight last night, when you came along and gave me a DM. He gave his bullshit stories, and we exchanged a few "courtesies" before he finally said, "I was about to give you a chance but you just had to write that blogpost."
Fuck you bro. If you had really wanted to give me a chance, you would have given it a long time ago. Where the fuck was that chance when I was crying in front of you on the day you left? Where the fuck was that chance when I went one week without drinking, expecting some miracle to happen? Where the fuck was that chance when I told you I'd found a piece of hope? Where the fuck was that chance when I wrote like 5 other blogposts being nice and asking you directly would you like to give me a chance?
One blog post was enough to ruin your pride huh? Yeah, and a year's worth of memories and effort from both of us weren't enough to make you stay. And what about my other blog posts that were asking you nicely to try again like this and this and this and fucking this? Big fat FUCK YOU to you.
Don't say I didn't give you a chance. I gave you plenty. You were the one who didn't take them and ended up pissing the fuck out of me in the end. Fuck you. You broke my heart; I broke your pride. I'd say "I guess we're even now" but I won't because we're not because you. fucking. shattered me. more than you think.
It's tough getting torn between two houses. I'm being forced to choose which one to call "home", and choosing both is not an option. I honestly would rather be alone altogether, than having to stay here for one week and then there for another. I feel so damn fucking unwanted.
I've been getting along with my parents, which is an awesome thing, but I still can't help feeling that "I don't belong here" feeling. One year without them feels like a decade, like I'm not supposed to come back ever. Up to this day, three weeks after I'd decided to return, I still feel like a distant relative who's staying just for a while. After all I was the one who decided on this; nobody from this family asked me to come back.
I feel awkward when my brother's getting scolded by my parents, like how you'd feel when your friend is getting scolded by theirs. My parents have been way too nice, and their hospitality is through the roof. It feels weird, knowing how they were towards me the entire year before they kicked me out. It doesn't feel right. Like I'm not part of the family anymore.
Nothing feels right. Everyday I ask, what the hell am I doing with my life? I feel way better being on my own, out of any houses, and just being on my roads. My roads are my true home; being on the expressway is better than anywhere else, because it feels like home and freedom at the same time. Where else can I feel that way? Nowhere. Maybe your arms, but fuck you.
And speaking of you, yeah fuck you. I was having a peaceful time listening to music at midnight last night, when you came along and gave me a DM. He gave his bullshit stories, and we exchanged a few "courtesies" before he finally said, "I was about to give you a chance but you just had to write that blogpost."
Fuck you bro. If you had really wanted to give me a chance, you would have given it a long time ago. Where the fuck was that chance when I was crying in front of you on the day you left? Where the fuck was that chance when I went one week without drinking, expecting some miracle to happen? Where the fuck was that chance when I told you I'd found a piece of hope? Where the fuck was that chance when I wrote like 5 other blogposts being nice and asking you directly would you like to give me a chance?
One blog post was enough to ruin your pride huh? Yeah, and a year's worth of memories and effort from both of us weren't enough to make you stay. And what about my other blog posts that were asking you nicely to try again like this and this and this and fucking this? Big fat FUCK YOU to you.
Don't say I didn't give you a chance. I gave you plenty. You were the one who didn't take them and ended up pissing the fuck out of me in the end. Fuck you. You broke my heart; I broke your pride. I'd say "I guess we're even now" but I won't because we're not because you. fucking. shattered me. more than you think.
Wednesday, February 05, 2014
Fucking long post for a stupid fool
You know how they always say "Wow this kind of guy still exists?"
That 'kind of guy', I had found. Someone who understood me, found time for me, always gave in to me, made silly faces with me, wiped away the dirt from my face, wiped away my tears, listened to me, a best friend to me. He found me, to be more specific. I had that 'kind of guy'.
On the other hand, there's also that other 'kind of guy', that also makes people go "Wow this kind of guy still exists?"
That 'kind of guy', is the jerk. The desperate one that sweet talks girls into wanting him, only to get tired of them and dumping them one by one. The kind that sees a potential prey, and paces around it til he captures it. I also had that 'kind of guy'.
These two guys from my life are the same.
If you've been a consistent reader of this blog of mine, you'd know how much I cherished this guy. You'd know how grateful I'd been for his presence, how happy I'd been in the relationship, how hard I'd fought to keep it going. Thinking it over, I was probably just paying it back.
He never gave up on me at the beginning of the year. I was already a mess before he met me, and I remained so even after we got together. He tried so hard to get my attention, and when he did, he continued trying to make me happy. The walls I built up around me went crashing down at a mere touch of his finger. He melted my heart so easily, after the entire year I spent trying to protect it.
Even after we got together, I was still a little shaky over the past, but he was always there for me. Eventually I dropped all the bad addictions, with the support and encouragement from him. Yes, I just dropped them; it was that easy with his help. I was blinded by my feelings for him.
He kept telling me how he'd never liked any girl like he liked me. He always told me he sayang me so much, which I thought was a stronger word than 'loved'. He once told me about how he always prayed for me on his last sujud, that I would go back to the way I once were.
The first time he abandoned me was in the mid of April. I made a big mistake, and I let my anger get the best of me. He had been neglecting me since he started school a week before I did, and I was still angry about it. I got too close with a new guy friend from my Sem 1 class, and I even allowed him to hold my hand and kiss me on the cheek.
I did think about him; but only the fact that he had been ignoring me and neglecting me and I just wanted to get his attention.
When he found out, he left me stranded on his turf, somewhere in Woodlands. I was too upset to find my own way back, and at that time I wasn't very good at getting around to places on my own. I just cried and cried til I eventually got up and cabbed back to my aunt's place. That was the first mistake I did, and the first time he abandoned me.
It was only half a year later that he told me; he only came back for me because he was afraid that if I left, he wouldn't have anyone else that wanted him.
September, 2013. I made my second mistake. It was all the same as before; he was neglecting me, I was getting too close with some other guy, he found out and just ditched me. This time, the guy was his own best friend. I knew it'd hurt, but the only reason I used his own best friend was because I knew he'd tell him, and that way I would get the attention I wanted.
This time, I had to fight harder for him to come back. Alright, it wasn't really fight, but I went drinking and that's when all the honesty came out from me. His close friend from tertiary was there, and she listened, and I told her everything, and she as well as my own secondary best friend helped us get back together again.
Was it so bad that I so badly craved the attention of my own boyfriend? Was it so hard to give a portion to me, knowing that I didn't have parents or brothers or friends to talk to like he did?
My 18th birthday came, and I received a phone call from Malaysia, his voice on the other end cheering "Happy birthday!" how I hated those words. How I longed for him to be right beside me instead, spending the time instead of muttering a pair of useless words.
I blogged about why I hated birthdays, and all he could say was "You just had to make me feel more like shit huh.", and he started to hate on me. It drove me mad that when I was upset, he wouldn't bother finding out why, and instead decide to turn the tables and get angry at me instead, and in the end I'm the one who has to comfort him. I guess that's just how much I put aside my ego for him.
One day in late September or early October, I can't remember, I just finished work when he texted me; "Can I not talk to you? You're too, ehrm, over attached." I remember these exact words.
I didn't understand why he would say that. I was just being a girlfriend, texting him whenever I could, asking him what he was doing and shit. The word was so sharp, I started trying not to be too 'over-attached'. I didn't know how to, and in the end, I just ended up crying because I felt like I was neglecting him instead.
The day I decided to talk to him about it, he'd made me wait for three hours, sitting in the library while he went for gym. By the time he came I was in tears, and then I started hitting him, because I was so angry that I didn't know what he wanted. Attention or space, either way, I thought I'd given my best to give a fair share of both.
It's hard to be perfect. It's hard to give the best of both worlds, not too much of this or too little of that. But I gave my best, like how he had done for me at the beginning of the relationship.
That very night that I cried and spilled my heart to him, we kissed. He whispered to me, "I think I love you." I asked him what he meant by that; he told me, that all along, he never loved me like that. He only liked me, which of course felt like a huge difference from loved. He also mentioned: "This is the first time I kissed you without wanting to have sex with you."
The first time we did it was in late February, or late March, I don't quite remember. It was probably my fault; like his best friend had mentioned to me in September; "A girl becomes desirable once she's had sex with a guy before." As innocent as he had been before me, once he knew my past, he was already getting ideas.
So I'm not sure whose fault it was. I've been asked Who started it?, but as you can see, it was both of us. I don't mind taking the blame for him though.
Our first time, I was still buried in the darkness of the past, and that's why I just let it happen. As time passed and I fell for him harder, I wanted so badly to get him out of the mess. I knew I couldn't return him his precious virginity, but it was all I could do to bring him back nearer to God instead of further, like I'd done.
It was hard, yes. We did it a few more times, the last being in mid July, was it? Two days before the fasting month, that I remember. I was having so much troubles in school, being a social outcast and with my grades, and I let my wanting sex slip out. He was just trying to make me happy, he skipped school to meet me and brought me to East Coast Park, where he said there was a good place.
I remember this one text he sent me, before he came to Jurong East Library to fetch me, every exact word; "Promise me this is the last time we have sex before marriage."
I promised. And I kept that promise, no matter how much he begged, no matter how much I myself wanted it, because I didn't want us to live on that. And because I didn't want to ruin him any further. I knew it was impossible to get him back to the innocent person he was before, so the least I could have done was not to bring him further. I wasn't perfect, but of course, I did my best. What's more, our dates were enjoyable enough with his little antics and my being stupid, little shit like that that bound us together.
Speaking of promises, he promised he would never leave me. He even made me promise never to leave him. I kept it. How many times had I been so angry at him, how many times had I wanted him to disappear forever and never come back, how many times had I myself wanted to leave, but I couldn't, because I kept my word.
I also learnt from one of my storybooks that if you ever felt like leaving, you gotta think of why you held on. Think about the things you've done for him, or what he's done for you. At these points of times, he definitely did so much for me, sacrifices and time, and I didn't want his efforts to be for nothing. Likewise, I'd done quite my share for him.
What's more, it pained me to imagine him being alone. It hurt me to imagine him coping with his stresses alone, not having anyone to check on him asking how was he. As silly as it sounds, I was worried that one day he'd be alone. I didn't want to be responsible for his loneliness anytime, so I fought hard to make sure he would never go through anything without me.
I figured he would keep his end of the promise as well. I remembered how he always wanted a girl who would stay with him no matter what; that's what we were: we stayed, no matter what. For a whole year. He knew how I was like, he knew my favourite things and food, he knew my hopes and dreams.
As poor as the both of us were, we made it through. Do you know how much I was willing to give up just to make him happy? How many times have I given up my last few dollars to pay for his meal? How many times did I part with twenty bucks to buy him his Garena cards just to make him happy?
I wasn't that rich, I worked but I wasn't getting allowance from any adult, since my parents were still on hiatus from their roles, and he knew that. As bad as he felt, he said one day he'd pay back; and I didn't mind if he meant paying me back when we were married and he was the breadwinner of the family. We were kids dreaming up silly fantasies, but I had the ounce of faith that he meant it.
Was I just being silly? His best friend had talked to me, back in May, about how he was; "He's that kind of guy who is so damn popular, he'd find a girl in no time, sweet talk her, use her, get bored of her, leave her, feel guilty, use her again, then, the day after, he just finds another prey to repeat the cycle." [exact words, thanks to the useful Search function in Whatsapp]
I chose not to believe it, but I suppose he was right. I was so stupid to overlook his own best friend's words. The one person who knew him more than I did.
The reason he gave me for leaving me was his losing interest in me. Honestly, I've already felt that since mid October, around there, because I have a diary entry talking about my feelings regarding that. I know I'd been trying hard since then, trying so hard to make him happy, and not to forget, trying so hard to make sure he didn't go any further from God.
When our holidays in December started, we were meeting much lesser. The last time we went on a proper date was to watch Frozen, on his last day of school in early December. The whole time after that, I never got to see him once because he was never able to go out. His promises of going exploring and cycling with me were put on hold, but I didn't mind and just did my own travelling.
Even texting was hard, because he was almost always gaming. I tried to let it go, I was feeling neglected as fuck, but I tried not to get too bothered by it. I didn't want to repeat the two mistakes I did when he was neglecting me back then. As long as he was happy, I kept quiet.
His tertiary friends were planning a surprise for his 17th birthday, 26th of December, which I hadn't wanted to be part of because of my grudge against birthdays. I decided to forget this anger and went ahead with it, because I knew how he hadn't had any special birthdays before. I just wanted to help make his day special.
I never forget how I suffered for my 17th birthday, and how he had upset me on my 18th, but I let it go, just so I could go ahead with his tertiary friends' plan and make him happy.
I was sad that he hadn't managed to make it on his own day even after confirming that he would be able to go out, and that was when I decided that yup, I hate birthdays. But then two days later, I tried again, as a belated birthday surprise, and this time it worked. How happy I was on that day that the surprise was a success.
I hadn't managed to get him any birthday presents, but the last thing I got him was a maroon sweater from H&M, which he had been looking for for so long. He picked out a navy blue one for me, but I paid for both.
During my first week of school, there was this point of time that I couldn't take it anymore. He had taken 12 hours to reply my text, and that was at 1am, so I didn't bother replying. However morning came and I was about to reply him when I forgot or something, so he thought I ignored him. He grew increasingly upset as the day passed, so in the end I decided to say sorry to him.
He blocked me on Whatsapp and Viber, and I absolutely had no idea why or what to do. He came to eventually, and we had a talk but I knew something was still wrong. I tried to be nicer to him since that incident, because I really didn't want to lose him.
He dumped me two days after our first anniversary. With the reason "I just don't love you anymore."
Wasn't that unfair? It took him a few seconds to like me,
ten months to love me,
two months to lose that bit of interest,
and three weeks to hate me.
All that effort of mine... For nothing.
It's a shock, really. I never thought he'd be this cruel.
I'm done for now, but you can go to my ask.fm if you've any questions.
That 'kind of guy', I had found. Someone who understood me, found time for me, always gave in to me, made silly faces with me, wiped away the dirt from my face, wiped away my tears, listened to me, a best friend to me. He found me, to be more specific. I had that 'kind of guy'.
On the other hand, there's also that other 'kind of guy', that also makes people go "Wow this kind of guy still exists?"
That 'kind of guy', is the jerk. The desperate one that sweet talks girls into wanting him, only to get tired of them and dumping them one by one. The kind that sees a potential prey, and paces around it til he captures it. I also had that 'kind of guy'.
These two guys from my life are the same.
If you've been a consistent reader of this blog of mine, you'd know how much I cherished this guy. You'd know how grateful I'd been for his presence, how happy I'd been in the relationship, how hard I'd fought to keep it going. Thinking it over, I was probably just paying it back.
He never gave up on me at the beginning of the year. I was already a mess before he met me, and I remained so even after we got together. He tried so hard to get my attention, and when he did, he continued trying to make me happy. The walls I built up around me went crashing down at a mere touch of his finger. He melted my heart so easily, after the entire year I spent trying to protect it.
Even after we got together, I was still a little shaky over the past, but he was always there for me. Eventually I dropped all the bad addictions, with the support and encouragement from him. Yes, I just dropped them; it was that easy with his help. I was blinded by my feelings for him.
He kept telling me how he'd never liked any girl like he liked me. He always told me he sayang me so much, which I thought was a stronger word than 'loved'. He once told me about how he always prayed for me on his last sujud, that I would go back to the way I once were.
The first time he abandoned me was in the mid of April. I made a big mistake, and I let my anger get the best of me. He had been neglecting me since he started school a week before I did, and I was still angry about it. I got too close with a new guy friend from my Sem 1 class, and I even allowed him to hold my hand and kiss me on the cheek.
I did think about him; but only the fact that he had been ignoring me and neglecting me and I just wanted to get his attention.
When he found out, he left me stranded on his turf, somewhere in Woodlands. I was too upset to find my own way back, and at that time I wasn't very good at getting around to places on my own. I just cried and cried til I eventually got up and cabbed back to my aunt's place. That was the first mistake I did, and the first time he abandoned me.
It was only half a year later that he told me; he only came back for me because he was afraid that if I left, he wouldn't have anyone else that wanted him.
This time, I had to fight harder for him to come back. Alright, it wasn't really fight, but I went drinking and that's when all the honesty came out from me. His close friend from tertiary was there, and she listened, and I told her everything, and she as well as my own secondary best friend helped us get back together again.
Was it so bad that I so badly craved the attention of my own boyfriend? Was it so hard to give a portion to me, knowing that I didn't have parents or brothers or friends to talk to like he did?
My 18th birthday came, and I received a phone call from Malaysia, his voice on the other end cheering "Happy birthday!" how I hated those words. How I longed for him to be right beside me instead, spending the time instead of muttering a pair of useless words.
I blogged about why I hated birthdays, and all he could say was "You just had to make me feel more like shit huh.", and he started to hate on me. It drove me mad that when I was upset, he wouldn't bother finding out why, and instead decide to turn the tables and get angry at me instead, and in the end I'm the one who has to comfort him. I guess that's just how much I put aside my ego for him.
One day in late September or early October, I can't remember, I just finished work when he texted me; "Can I not talk to you? You're too, ehrm, over attached." I remember these exact words.
I didn't understand why he would say that. I was just being a girlfriend, texting him whenever I could, asking him what he was doing and shit. The word was so sharp, I started trying not to be too 'over-attached'. I didn't know how to, and in the end, I just ended up crying because I felt like I was neglecting him instead.
The day I decided to talk to him about it, he'd made me wait for three hours, sitting in the library while he went for gym. By the time he came I was in tears, and then I started hitting him, because I was so angry that I didn't know what he wanted. Attention or space, either way, I thought I'd given my best to give a fair share of both.
It's hard to be perfect. It's hard to give the best of both worlds, not too much of this or too little of that. But I gave my best, like how he had done for me at the beginning of the relationship.
That very night that I cried and spilled my heart to him, we kissed. He whispered to me, "I think I love you." I asked him what he meant by that; he told me, that all along, he never loved me like that. He only liked me, which of course felt like a huge difference from loved. He also mentioned: "This is the first time I kissed you without wanting to have sex with you."
The first time we did it was in late February, or late March, I don't quite remember. It was probably my fault; like his best friend had mentioned to me in September; "A girl becomes desirable once she's had sex with a guy before." As innocent as he had been before me, once he knew my past, he was already getting ideas.
So I'm not sure whose fault it was. I've been asked Who started it?, but as you can see, it was both of us. I don't mind taking the blame for him though.
Our first time, I was still buried in the darkness of the past, and that's why I just let it happen. As time passed and I fell for him harder, I wanted so badly to get him out of the mess. I knew I couldn't return him his precious virginity, but it was all I could do to bring him back nearer to God instead of further, like I'd done.
It was hard, yes. We did it a few more times, the last being in mid July, was it? Two days before the fasting month, that I remember. I was having so much troubles in school, being a social outcast and with my grades, and I let my wanting sex slip out. He was just trying to make me happy, he skipped school to meet me and brought me to East Coast Park, where he said there was a good place.
I remember this one text he sent me, before he came to Jurong East Library to fetch me, every exact word; "Promise me this is the last time we have sex before marriage."
I promised. And I kept that promise, no matter how much he begged, no matter how much I myself wanted it, because I didn't want us to live on that. And because I didn't want to ruin him any further. I knew it was impossible to get him back to the innocent person he was before, so the least I could have done was not to bring him further. I wasn't perfect, but of course, I did my best. What's more, our dates were enjoyable enough with his little antics and my being stupid, little shit like that that bound us together.
Speaking of promises, he promised he would never leave me. He even made me promise never to leave him. I kept it. How many times had I been so angry at him, how many times had I wanted him to disappear forever and never come back, how many times had I myself wanted to leave, but I couldn't, because I kept my word.
I also learnt from one of my storybooks that if you ever felt like leaving, you gotta think of why you held on. Think about the things you've done for him, or what he's done for you. At these points of times, he definitely did so much for me, sacrifices and time, and I didn't want his efforts to be for nothing. Likewise, I'd done quite my share for him.
What's more, it pained me to imagine him being alone. It hurt me to imagine him coping with his stresses alone, not having anyone to check on him asking how was he. As silly as it sounds, I was worried that one day he'd be alone. I didn't want to be responsible for his loneliness anytime, so I fought hard to make sure he would never go through anything without me.
I figured he would keep his end of the promise as well. I remembered how he always wanted a girl who would stay with him no matter what; that's what we were: we stayed, no matter what. For a whole year. He knew how I was like, he knew my favourite things and food, he knew my hopes and dreams.
As poor as the both of us were, we made it through. Do you know how much I was willing to give up just to make him happy? How many times have I given up my last few dollars to pay for his meal? How many times did I part with twenty bucks to buy him his Garena cards just to make him happy?
I wasn't that rich, I worked but I wasn't getting allowance from any adult, since my parents were still on hiatus from their roles, and he knew that. As bad as he felt, he said one day he'd pay back; and I didn't mind if he meant paying me back when we were married and he was the breadwinner of the family. We were kids dreaming up silly fantasies, but I had the ounce of faith that he meant it.
Was I just being silly? His best friend had talked to me, back in May, about how he was; "He's that kind of guy who is so damn popular, he'd find a girl in no time, sweet talk her, use her, get bored of her, leave her, feel guilty, use her again, then, the day after, he just finds another prey to repeat the cycle." [exact words, thanks to the useful Search function in Whatsapp]
I chose not to believe it, but I suppose he was right. I was so stupid to overlook his own best friend's words. The one person who knew him more than I did.
The reason he gave me for leaving me was his losing interest in me. Honestly, I've already felt that since mid October, around there, because I have a diary entry talking about my feelings regarding that. I know I'd been trying hard since then, trying so hard to make him happy, and not to forget, trying so hard to make sure he didn't go any further from God.
When our holidays in December started, we were meeting much lesser. The last time we went on a proper date was to watch Frozen, on his last day of school in early December. The whole time after that, I never got to see him once because he was never able to go out. His promises of going exploring and cycling with me were put on hold, but I didn't mind and just did my own travelling.
Even texting was hard, because he was almost always gaming. I tried to let it go, I was feeling neglected as fuck, but I tried not to get too bothered by it. I didn't want to repeat the two mistakes I did when he was neglecting me back then. As long as he was happy, I kept quiet.
His tertiary friends were planning a surprise for his 17th birthday, 26th of December, which I hadn't wanted to be part of because of my grudge against birthdays. I decided to forget this anger and went ahead with it, because I knew how he hadn't had any special birthdays before. I just wanted to help make his day special.
I never forget how I suffered for my 17th birthday, and how he had upset me on my 18th, but I let it go, just so I could go ahead with his tertiary friends' plan and make him happy.
I was sad that he hadn't managed to make it on his own day even after confirming that he would be able to go out, and that was when I decided that yup, I hate birthdays. But then two days later, I tried again, as a belated birthday surprise, and this time it worked. How happy I was on that day that the surprise was a success.
I hadn't managed to get him any birthday presents, but the last thing I got him was a maroon sweater from H&M, which he had been looking for for so long. He picked out a navy blue one for me, but I paid for both.
During my first week of school, there was this point of time that I couldn't take it anymore. He had taken 12 hours to reply my text, and that was at 1am, so I didn't bother replying. However morning came and I was about to reply him when I forgot or something, so he thought I ignored him. He grew increasingly upset as the day passed, so in the end I decided to say sorry to him.
He blocked me on Whatsapp and Viber, and I absolutely had no idea why or what to do. He came to eventually, and we had a talk but I knew something was still wrong. I tried to be nicer to him since that incident, because I really didn't want to lose him.
He dumped me two days after our first anniversary. With the reason "I just don't love you anymore."
Wasn't that unfair? It took him a few seconds to like me,
ten months to love me,
two months to lose that bit of interest,
and three weeks to hate me.
All that effort of mine... For nothing.
It's a shock, really. I never thought he'd be this cruel.
____
Tuesday, February 04, 2014
Racial Discrimination in Singapore
This is a report I'm doing for one of my modules. It was due last week, and everyone had submitted theirs way before then. I didn't even do any shit, and was made to come to class yesterday to finish this, when all my classmates hadn't needed to come. Since I've nothing much to blog about these days, why don't I let you read what shit I've written in my report?
I have a lot more opinions about the issue of racial discrimination in Singapore, but whatever.
Racial Discrimination in Singapore
1. Introduction
For a country that prides itself on the fact that it is multi-racial, Singapore may be seen from the outside as a state whereby people of all races or religions live together in peace and harmony. Singapore is a very special place, founded and intended to be a place where everyone could flourish and prosper; a place where you can be yourself and comfortable with your own ethnicity, culture and religion, and at the same time feel part of a bigger unity with the same nationality shared. Singapore not only has to celebrate its similarities, but differences as well. The purpose of this report is to highlight the reasons for the issue of racial discrimination, and why it must be prevented.
2. Why is there discrimination?
The question to ask is, "why do people discriminate?" There are many possible explanations, some of which being, people discriminate because they are afraid, and most of the time, they fear because they do not have a clear and precise understanding of a certain something. So when people speak against the wedding practices of another race, it is because there were not familiar with the practice of this other race. As they are in the middle of doing something in their own time, instead of taking initiative to go down to see for themselves what the wedding of another race is like, a person might choose to look at things from their own perception, and prefer to believe that the wedding is just a disturbance.
A popular form of inequality and discrimination in Singapore is the apparent preferred treatment that majority of citizens with Chinese heritage enjoy, over those with Indian or Malay backgrounds. For example, employment ads explicitly state that the position is preferred to be filled by a Chinese person. This division along races is an unfortunate reality of daily life in Singapore, which often boasts about its status as a multi-racial country. However, certain laws have done all but silenced debates on matters of race and ethnicity, making it very difficult to address the problem of racial discrimination in Singapore publicly.
3. Types of Discrimination
3.1 Discrimination on the net
Shimun Lai, a Nanyang Polytechnic student, had felt frustrated and angry toward a certain race and vented it via racist remarks on her Twitter page. These comments were uncalled for, and particularly hurtful towards Indians, as she had mentioned: "Indians need their own form of transport. Or trains need to have separate cabins for humans and dogs", making it clear that she categorised Indians as low as "dogs". (http://sg.news.yahoo.com/, 2012)
Another incident, this time against the Malays, showed how Amy Cheong had vented her frustrations about a Malay wedding happening at the void deck of her home, feeling annoyed just because the custom she knows and possibly grew up with is not the same way. She garnered much attention after putting up the remark, with netizens calling her disrespectful. It was also reported that her comment was lodged to the police. (http://news.asiaone.com/, 2012)
3.2 Discrimination in jobs
Over the years, little has changed. Job advertisements today state “Must be able to speak Mandarin” as a very important job requirement. This is done presumably to ease business communications with mainland Chinese and Taiwanese companies and certain authorities, but the truth is, these Chinese and Taiwanese representatives have their own cultural differences that local bosses are not sensitive to, hence they may need translators. So what does it matter for one to be fluent in Mandarin when a skilled translator is used? (www.transitioning.org, 2011)
Another factor lies in the military. No matter how tempted a Malay male is to join the Navy as a regular, they know that they can never fulfill this dream because of the fact that certain units in the army, and mostly the air force, are out of bounds to Malays, despite how high their capabilities and how fit they are. It is appalling to know that such policies exist for a reason such as "security", even after these Malays have sworn to protect their own nation against aggressors, whether or not they share the same religion as certain terrorists. (www.transitioning.org, 2011)
A survey was conducted to determine the country’s progress in building harmonious relations among races and religions, and covered 4,131 Singapore residents. According to the response, about 67% of Malays have faced discrimination at some point when applying for jobs in Singapore; 60% for Indians, and 39% for Chinese. When the surveyors asked the respondents “How often do you feel racially discriminated when being considered for a job promotion?”, the results were similar: 63% of Malays faced discrimination; 58% for the Indians and 40% for the Chinese. (Institute of Policy Studies, 2013)
4. Why must discrimination be stopped?
Racial discrimination in Singapore brings about social tension among the existing races. The more the Chinese benefit from certain policies, the more the minority of races will feel angry towards them. This way, the races will not live in harmony at all, but instead, grow further apart because of this unnecessary division. Singapore, being a multi-racial country, has to make sure that all its races and religions are treated equally, whether or not they form the majority of the country.
5. Conclusion
It is definitely true that on the surface, Singapore might seem like a perfect state where residents of all ages, religions, and races peacefully coexist. However, this does not mean that discrimination in Singapore does not exist, although it is often not openly visible. For a country who constantly prides itself to be a multi-racial country, Singapore has to make sure that the differences in the country brings the people together instead of bringing about disputes, like it has over time. By highlighting the main issues of where discrimination has been found and extracted from, the people of Singapore should be able to see the problems they have brought about along time, and that everyone has to do their part to keep the harmony going, because differences are what should bring the people together.
I have a lot more opinions about the issue of racial discrimination in Singapore, but whatever.
Racial Discrimination in Singapore
1. Introduction
For a country that prides itself on the fact that it is multi-racial, Singapore may be seen from the outside as a state whereby people of all races or religions live together in peace and harmony. Singapore is a very special place, founded and intended to be a place where everyone could flourish and prosper; a place where you can be yourself and comfortable with your own ethnicity, culture and religion, and at the same time feel part of a bigger unity with the same nationality shared. Singapore not only has to celebrate its similarities, but differences as well. The purpose of this report is to highlight the reasons for the issue of racial discrimination, and why it must be prevented.
2. Why is there discrimination?
The question to ask is, "why do people discriminate?" There are many possible explanations, some of which being, people discriminate because they are afraid, and most of the time, they fear because they do not have a clear and precise understanding of a certain something. So when people speak against the wedding practices of another race, it is because there were not familiar with the practice of this other race. As they are in the middle of doing something in their own time, instead of taking initiative to go down to see for themselves what the wedding of another race is like, a person might choose to look at things from their own perception, and prefer to believe that the wedding is just a disturbance.
A popular form of inequality and discrimination in Singapore is the apparent preferred treatment that majority of citizens with Chinese heritage enjoy, over those with Indian or Malay backgrounds. For example, employment ads explicitly state that the position is preferred to be filled by a Chinese person. This division along races is an unfortunate reality of daily life in Singapore, which often boasts about its status as a multi-racial country. However, certain laws have done all but silenced debates on matters of race and ethnicity, making it very difficult to address the problem of racial discrimination in Singapore publicly.
3. Types of Discrimination
3.1 Discrimination on the net
Shimun Lai, a Nanyang Polytechnic student, had felt frustrated and angry toward a certain race and vented it via racist remarks on her Twitter page. These comments were uncalled for, and particularly hurtful towards Indians, as she had mentioned: "Indians need their own form of transport. Or trains need to have separate cabins for humans and dogs", making it clear that she categorised Indians as low as "dogs". (http://sg.news.yahoo.com/, 2012)
Another incident, this time against the Malays, showed how Amy Cheong had vented her frustrations about a Malay wedding happening at the void deck of her home, feeling annoyed just because the custom she knows and possibly grew up with is not the same way. She garnered much attention after putting up the remark, with netizens calling her disrespectful. It was also reported that her comment was lodged to the police. (http://news.asiaone.com/, 2012)
3.2 Discrimination in jobs
Over the years, little has changed. Job advertisements today state “Must be able to speak Mandarin” as a very important job requirement. This is done presumably to ease business communications with mainland Chinese and Taiwanese companies and certain authorities, but the truth is, these Chinese and Taiwanese representatives have their own cultural differences that local bosses are not sensitive to, hence they may need translators. So what does it matter for one to be fluent in Mandarin when a skilled translator is used? (www.transitioning.org, 2011)
Another factor lies in the military. No matter how tempted a Malay male is to join the Navy as a regular, they know that they can never fulfill this dream because of the fact that certain units in the army, and mostly the air force, are out of bounds to Malays, despite how high their capabilities and how fit they are. It is appalling to know that such policies exist for a reason such as "security", even after these Malays have sworn to protect their own nation against aggressors, whether or not they share the same religion as certain terrorists. (www.transitioning.org, 2011)
A survey was conducted to determine the country’s progress in building harmonious relations among races and religions, and covered 4,131 Singapore residents. According to the response, about 67% of Malays have faced discrimination at some point when applying for jobs in Singapore; 60% for Indians, and 39% for Chinese. When the surveyors asked the respondents “How often do you feel racially discriminated when being considered for a job promotion?”, the results were similar: 63% of Malays faced discrimination; 58% for the Indians and 40% for the Chinese. (Institute of Policy Studies, 2013)
4. Why must discrimination be stopped?
Racial discrimination in Singapore brings about social tension among the existing races. The more the Chinese benefit from certain policies, the more the minority of races will feel angry towards them. This way, the races will not live in harmony at all, but instead, grow further apart because of this unnecessary division. Singapore, being a multi-racial country, has to make sure that all its races and religions are treated equally, whether or not they form the majority of the country.
5. Conclusion
It is definitely true that on the surface, Singapore might seem like a perfect state where residents of all ages, religions, and races peacefully coexist. However, this does not mean that discrimination in Singapore does not exist, although it is often not openly visible. For a country who constantly prides itself to be a multi-racial country, Singapore has to make sure that the differences in the country brings the people together instead of bringing about disputes, like it has over time. By highlighting the main issues of where discrimination has been found and extracted from, the people of Singapore should be able to see the problems they have brought about along time, and that everyone has to do their part to keep the harmony going, because differences are what should bring the people together.
____
Saturday, February 01, 2014
Letting you go
When I was taking residence at my aunt's place at Paya Lebar, I swore myself an oath that I would never return back to my parents, ever. I swore to make sure they spent their remaining Hari Rayas without me, that they would never watch me graduate with a diploma, that they would never look at me as their daughter again. That was how strong my grudge was, how badly I didn't want to forgive them.
But I did. I put away my ego, and I returned.
Although I've been caught in between two homes ever since, I really enjoy being a Pasir Ris girl again. I find myself back in the sadness of 2012, yet at the same time, the glee and joy of the other years of my previous life.
I find myself in 2008, when I was still so obsessed with anime and all things part of the Japanese culture. When I would sit on the computer for hours catching up on seasons of different series; when I would listen to only strictly JRock and JPop on the bus trip to school; when I would sit at my desk drawing stupid little manga versions of me. When I learnt that being proud and letting people know what you like was easy.
I find myself in 2009, when I started writing in my diaries again. When I would sit at my desk religiously every night and write about how I was feeling, what had happened during the day. When I wrote shallow entries that did not make me cry or frown in anger as I was writing. When I could so easily handle my emotions myself, and just love the people who were around me.
I find myself in 2010, when I would go for walks around when I was upset. When I would plug in my earpiece, listen to that one song that hits me hard, on repeat. When Pasir Ris Park was my true home, where there was nobody around but the ghosts of the past. When there was nothing to reminisce but happy childhood memories. When I understood that sometimes we gotta let our loved ones be alone for a while.
I find myself in 2011, when I was attached to the PS3. When I would sit on it for hours, defeating swarms of soldiers with my throwing knives, or shooting the heads off zombies with my favourite weapon, the shotgun. When I myself thought it was okay to neglect other people in order to game. When I knew how it felt like to vent your frustrations on virtual enemies.
I find myself in 2012, when my love for my parents were through the roof no matter what. When our friendship wasn't as close as before, which I took as chances to improve bonds with them. When I wasn't under the same roof every day of the week, which I used to appreciate every moment with them more. When I was broken, but tried to fix myself by being with them.
You never knew me when I was a Pasir Ris girl. You never knew me when I had a bedroom, when I had a PS3, when I had my parents. You never knew me when I had no grudges. Here I am, re-enacting that person I was, being happy again. I've learnt that doing this isn't for you, but for my own good. It's your loss that you didn't take the chance I offered to get to know me better in a different light.
It doesn't matter. I don't need you anymore. I have other things to spend my time on. I'm not a Paya Lebar girl anymore; I'm not broken like I had been; I'm not a scared girl hiding under a beanie and pile of hair anymore; I'm not heavy with anger, or grudge, or memories that I can't let go. I'm not the girl you had met a year ago.
I've grown taller, and become lighter, my heads are up higher, and I shall be happier. I'm letting go of you now. Thank you again for everything. Good luck finding another girl who would appreciate you, dismiss your flaws, and do her best for you.