20 JUN 2016

Tried to write about this in my diary, but my hands were shaking too much.

I saw an accident site on the Tampines Expressway tonight. Traffic jams kinda make me nervous, because they remind me of the road to and fro Woodlands Checkpoint and Malaysia customs, and I'm not used to it.

I was stuck in traffic for 2 hours, when usually it would take me just an hour tops from Woodlands interchange to my Pasir Ris house. Seeing the many cars and buses stuck in one place kinda scared me. What more, seeing the actual overturned truck and all its sand spilled out.

Everyone on the bus was turning his or her head to look as we passed by.

Am I considered sheltered??? Because I'm seriously not used to seeing such things here in Singapore. I can't stop thinking about it.

Sometimes I realise that I'm taking my country for granted. Not just me really, but almost all the other kids here. Right? They don't realise how safe we are, from gun violence or natural disasters. I wish it would stay this way forever, but when the end of the world comes, we could all be gone in one sweep of a tsunami.

After listening to my other half's religious theories, that day is sooner than we expect.

Can't do anything about it.

Titling this post the date since this was originally supposed to be a diary entry /:

All. Time. Low.

Blogger just asked me: "Why not blog in Malay?" I'd show it to you but I don't like pictures on my blog and I've no idea how to do a screenshot on my laptop anyway. 

This year, I set my reading goal to be 70 books. Well, we're not even halfway through the year yet and I've already read 64. I should probably take a break because Goodreads says I'm 32 books ahead of schedule... 

Well I'm not here to talk about the books I've read. In fact I'm not entirely sure why I'm here; whenever one doesn't know what to write, people say "just write how you're feeling." Well I'm feeling down but I'd rather not stain this page with anymore sad stuff. Good vibes, right? 

The first time I made a blog, I was 11 years old. I was so addicted I made a blog for every single thing that I liked: 1 for my anime stuff, 1 for the manga that I was drawing at the time, 1 for the dreams I had at night, 1 personal one. Just imagine the 2016 me, having maybe 4 blogs, 1 personal, the other 3 each for books, MRTs, and dreams??? 

Then in 2007, I made yet another one, but I stuck to it. And that is this very blog you are reading right now =) 

If confidence gets you beauty, is passion supposed to get you recognition for your hard work? It should both work the same way, and yet they don't apply to me. I'm sick of it. That's why I kept quitting this blogging thing again and again over the years, especially from 2013 onwards. It's just too hard for my self-esteem. I hope I'm here to stay this time.

I've lost a lot the past three years, and like an inspiring person I wanna say "but I gained a lot at the same time"... but I won't. Because I didn't. Just stuck staying loyal to the things that won't get me anywhere. Stuck at 300 followers. Stuck at 95 cents on my Nuffnang despite trying everything I could for the past 4 years. Stuck in a 1.2k salary job while doing the work of 4 departments. 

What can a girl like me do anymore??? I don't wanna cake my face with make-up to get followers. I don't wanna spend all my salary on a HD camera to make better videos because nobody will still watch it if I'm not pretty (!!!!!!). I don't wanna suddenly start singing everyday in case my voice suddenly becomes beautiful and I can earn money from it. Ha ha ha. What a joke. 

Now you know it... That I'm at an all time

low low low low low low low low low low 

Why I can never be pretty

The word "confident" makes me cringe. To think that such a word exists? How is it possible for one to walk with their chin held high, knowing well enough they don't even meet the beauty standards of their society?

Maybe not they. But just me. 

I talked about how I'm lacking in looks to my other half and his best friend yesterday, in my favourite place after all the libraries and bookstores of the world--the MRT. There I was, seated between them and going on about what I see makes the beauty standards in this damn society. 

(1) I don't have eyebrows. If beautiful eyebrows are the eyebrows that every single girl on Instagram seems to have, those thick black ones that are sharp on one side and faded on the other: then I'm afraid I don't have any. And that's the first and most important reason why I'm not pretty. 

(2) My teeth are neither straight nor white. Just a few months of light smoking, 4 years ago, and the stains remain forever. My front teeth are humongous, and they're too crooked to match the definition of beautiful. 

(3) I am too tall to be anything. The other girls here in my country are what you'd call petite; and they pretend to be embarrassed of it but anyone could tell they think their lack of height makes them stand out in a positive way. Me? I just get called lamppost and hantu galah.

(4) I have too-small boobs. Those shorter girls I'd mentioned? They're blessed with ample chest, made to look huge thanks to their lack of height. What more when they still wear those push-up bras beneath see-through tees. Makes both girls and boys loco. 

(5) I don't have nice clothes or hair. Pretty is when you have long brown hair, black roots starting to show and still making you look stunning. Your pictures are always with different outfits, from the hairstyle all the way down to the shoes. Me? I am in the same black cardigan everyday and I don't remember the last time I even tied my hair in a ponytail, and that doesn't make me pretty.

(6) I can't sing. I don't have any artistic talent. And apparently this adds to your beauty if you can or do.

(7) Either a headscarf makes you pretty, or a revealing outfit showing off all your curves makes you pretty. There is no in-between. If you cover your legs and tummy and shoulders everyday but you're not donning the hijab, you're not to say you're beautiful. Because you're not. Maybe not "you". But just "me".

Honestly the list goes on and on. And although most of them sound ridiculous coming out of my mouth, it's what I've observed on social media, in this god-forsaken society. It's what gives you friends. It makes me sad, that I don't look like the girls that are praised just for breathing. 

I may have an other half who tells me everyday he thinks I am pretty, but he is no one compared to the many other people who know I'm not, including me. Even if I do have talent, what good would it be against the girls of today's, this country's, society?

Do you remember me?

One pair of legs tangled in the sheets
Two in the morning twenty-six
Slow sighs escape from the lips
At being a page one simply skips

Do you remember me?
Not one to forget or forgive easy
Still know the culprit of your pain
While it is unfamiliar to you, my name

Remember when we first met?
You still wore glasses, head in a hat
The only station with 3 lines
Your obsession with astrological signs

I remember the hands on my shoulders
Pushing me in the absence of my brothers
Down hills laughter ringing through trees
A relationship ends, all friendships cease

Remember how you cried at the atrium?
Your white tee and jacket of denim
3 years on, your graduation ceremony
I don't think you even remember me

Do you remember our day at Woodlands?
Lost in the North, twists and turns
Do you still watch the videos we made?
Fading, fading, fading, your memory dead.

Remember our first words exchanged?
A few giggles and awkward smiles managed
I know you don't remember our better
When the sin against you is still greater

I remember us underneath Dover
Like a bunch of drunk kids except sober
Your endless supply of band tees
Last seen on the bus bound for Tampines

Watching as footsteps went separate paths
Lying down under your photographs
None of them would remember me
A person lesser than a nobody.