freakyAngel

2012-02-02T01:56:00.003+08:00

我的要求并不多。要哄我开心，很容易。

Just don't let me down when I need you the most.

---

Went to SIM today. Double major in Communications and Psychology. Here's hoping I make it through.

Special thanks to Meng Yee and her boyfriend for taking the time to accompany me. Though I have to say - awkwaaard. Plus I go completely out of character when I'm nervous, which I was. Terribly. Sure, there isn't much to be afraid of, I mean technically this is just the easy part, but. My father told me before that he knew I couldn't adapt very well to change. It's true. As such, I am extremely uncomfortable when I'm thrown in a new environment.

Anyway. That's enough of that.

Someone's noticed that I don't put photos in here. That's because it's too troublesome. Too bad.

One more thing!

On the train from Serangoon heading to Paya Lebar, some guy on my left suddenly calls my name. First thought - oh, fuck, who is it that I know now? Omg this is so not a good time...

Because, you know. Not that I bump into a lot of people from my past. Nor that I hate seeing people I used to know. It's just... weird. And I was feeling a little shitty, with that huge bag of library books and another huge bag filled with papers and other things, and my phone and iPod both running out of battery, and that horribly awkward meeting with Meng Yee and then lunch afterward with them.

Yeah.

Anyway. Second thought? Guy in NS uniform? Who do I know who's serving right now, gets a night's out on a Wednesday, and hangs around that area?" Very slim chance of actually bumping into people I know way over at Serangoon, since most of my life revolves around a 2-MRT-station radius. (That's up to Pasir Ris, up to Bedok, and up to Changi Airport. I have no life.)

Then the face came into focus. And damn my horrible memory, but I couldn't recognize him for the life of me. I sort of remembered that name, and that face, but holy hell, I'm not good at reacting to things on the spot. Slow thinking, fine, I admit it.

I'm terrible ashamed of myself, though. Because my reaction really wasn't very good.

Ansel: You're Nicole right?
Me: Yes.
Ansel: From Changkat? Class 6B?
Me: Yes.
Ansel: Oh, I just thought you looked familiar, haha.
Me: (slightly puzzled grin)
Ansel: You know who I am?
Me: (sheepish smile) No.
Ansel: I'm Ansel, I was from 6A. You remember me?
Me: (sheepish smile) No.
Ansel: Haha. (awkward pause) You still staying in Simei?
Me: Yes.
(Me looks away.)

Like fuuuuccckkk. If you're reading this, dude, which I very much doubt, I'm very sorry. I didn't mean to be rude. I could come up with quite a lot of excuses, but I'm just not going to. Thousand apologies for acting aloof. It was nice seeing you, and I mean it.

Though come to think of it, I was kinda amazed. How do people remember me? I hardly spoke to him, if ever, and for hell's sake, we were only in neighboring classes! Fine, 6A and 6B were really close, we used to run around to each other's classrooms and all, but what. The. Hell. And besides, has my face really not changed that much at all? After all these years?

I don't know whether to be pleased or miffed.

Sigh. Anyway, what's done is done. All I can - and did - do is apologize to him and add him on Facebook. I'll apologize to him directly when I get that friend request accepted. Yes it really bothers me that I was that much of an arse to him. I really hate being misunderstood.

---

Okay. Now it's time for another emo teenage girl rant.

Beginning of the post. It's true, it really is quite easy to make me happy. (Oh my god, I never thought I'd call myself easy.) Usually when people go out of their way to accommodate or help me, even if it's just a small matter, I get all apologetic and thankful. And I really do feel that way.

Like when I asked my colleague to help me photocopy my certs using the equipment at the bookshop (sorry, boss!), she removed her hp charger and stuck in the plug for the machine without hesitation. She even dug up enough blank paper and did it all personally.

Or when I found out Meng Yee specially canceled her plans for lunch with another friend just to take me to the Admin Office and then eat with me. Even her boyfriend was dragged over, which on hindsight I guess worked pretty well in her favour since it would've been really weird had it been just us two. No need for both of us to be uncomfortable.

Or when my colleague just snatched up the vouchers for the Korean language class we both signed up for and told me she'd go to Simei to register for me the next day when she realized I was bloody frazzled and horribly pressed for time. Just to put things in context, she has to pay 30 bucks for me first for the textbook since I didn't have enough cash to pay for the SIM application, top up my ezlink card, have lunch, pay for photocopying my IC and other crap, and survive for the next few days until my pay comes in. And she lives in Hougang (or something). And tomorrow's her day off. And she has to take a taxi back and forth just so she'll be able to make it for her night class in the evening.

Man I feel even more horrible now.

Back to the point. I truly hate inconveniencing people, or making them change their plans, or getting them to do me a favour. Because let's face it, I'm melodramatic when my problems are really all just trivial matters. Not really worth other people making the time or effort for me. But they do it sometimes, and I get very happy, because it does show that they think I matter enough for them to treat as a good friend, and that not all people are selfish, lazy, irresponsible, unkind assholes.

(Does that feel like I'm aiming it at someone specific? Because I am.)

Off topic again. Yes. All that.

But. When people do all those kind, caring stuff. And then they make it a point to especially bring it up to me. And then they give me that expectant look.

You know how that feels, on the receiving end? It feels like they're doing it just so I'll start thanking them profusely. It feels like they're doing it just so they come out looking like the bigger person. It feels like they're telling me, with that stupid, stupid look, that they know they don't actually have to be nice to me, but they are because they're just that magnanimous and kind, and shouldn't I be practically on my knees in front of them for being treated like a good friend?

It feels condescending, is how it feels. Like I'm utterly beneath your notice, but you're just breaking all the rules of society by being nice to a lesser being. Oh, my saviour, my lord, oh kind human being that you are, your lowly servant thanks you for your bravery to defy the social caste and actually condescend to notice me. I am eternally in your debt.

Good enough for you, motherfucker?

Yeah. Moral of the story? Don't fake. Please. If you don't want to do it, don't. It won't help your karma scale if you're gonna do it with that condescending attitude. No need to waste your energy.

---

Another part of the beginning of this post.

I do feel kinda let down by a few people in my life. No, not you, JC people. I'm sorry if you're getting irritated at me for adopting that self-deprecating attitude. I mean other people.

No names mentioned, but really. Sometimes I really don't know which is worse.

I mean, we've all heard of fairweather friends. The kind who are only by your side when times are good, and then split when you're wading in shit. But there's another kind, I've discovered, that actually describes the majority of the people I'm surrounded by. The kind who are only by your side when they need you, and then when their life is hella good it's all Nicole who?

Point. This guy from a shop near one of our branches, I know from my other colleagues. In the beginning we'd take the train back together because we both have no one to walk home with. A few weeks later he starts looking me up more often, asking me to hang with him after work so he can pour his heart out to someone. I don't mind listening, so it's no skin off my bones.

A few weeks of listening to him moan about his girlfriend (some of the stuff was pretty gross, by the way, and very much something I shouldn't be knowing about) who dumped him for another guy, and I start avoiding him. Because he was honestly getting on my nerves. I won't go into detail because there's always a chance I'll get found out and then killed for it, but he was being obstinately blind and foolish. There's only so much I can do if you refuse to drag yourself out of the pits.

Now? He prolly can't even remember my name anymore. Last I heard, his girl got dumped by that other guy. I can only assume they're back together again, because I've had zero news of him. So yeah, thanks for using me as a way to waste your time, asshole. Though I really shouldn't be throwing stones, since I erased his contact number from my phone and never accepted his friend request on FB in the first place. But still.

It can get confusing though. Sometimes I don't know whether to pass that kind of thing off as a they just don't have that much time for me anymore, they have other obligations situation, or as a they only used me to pass their time because there was nothing else for them to do gig. How do you tell?

He hasn't been the only one to pull this sort of shit with me. And I'm tired of it, but that's the kind of people I have in my life, so what can I do? Grin and bear it.

---

Last thing before I succumb to my wonderful bed. Soon as I can manage it, I'm moving out. I can't stand all the shit at home anymore. Everyday I come home from work and I hate stepping in that door. I can't stand my sister or my mother, and it's so far gone now that even my father and brother aren't enough to make me change my mind. Some people are able to accept the bad that comes with the good. I'm not one of them. Call me weak-willed, call me a wuss, whatever. Some things, like my privacy being invaded, I just can't stand for. I grew up being an intensely private person with a very strong sense of possession and personal space, for whatever reason, and they just can't seem to comprehend that.

For future reference, I can't tolerate people peeking into my notebooks, or look over my shoulder at my laptop and handphone screen. I can't tolerate people sneaking into the room when I'm asleep, or secretly hiding a key to my room when I very clearly lock the door for a reason. I can't tolerate people cutting in and taking over a task I'm in the middle of doing, or staring critically over my shoulder while I work and then comment on every other action I make. I can't, I won't, and I just don't.

The last part, that probably came from my writing moments. Writers usually don't like or intend for people to peek in on their works-in-progress, and with good reason. It's the same reason why there are editors and proofreaders and betas, which is also the answer as to why people only publish books that are completed. How do you get a proper reaction if everyone oversaw everything you had to go through to make things perfect? All they would be able to see would be their personal opinions on which part you shouldn't have changed, which part you should have refined, which part you should've left in the story, all this and all that. It's a terrible feeling. Which is why I sort of do understand Stephenie Meyer's reaction when the draft for Edward's side of things got leaked.

Alright. I'm done now. In short, this off day was the weirdest ever, I hate hypocrites, and I'm moving out as soon as I possibly can.

Goodnight.

WHAT UP

2012-01-23T06:10:00.001+08:00

It's CNY and it's very early.

You can tell everyone's not used to it because even the malls don't have enough time to change decos from Christmas to New Year. Not all, obviously, some places are pretty much on top of things, but yes. There are some.

Other things.

Sharon from my workplace got me into this YouTube channel nigahiga. Basically this really fast-talking dude with ADHD and an awesome sense of humour. And then I discovered YTF. Which brought me to Ryan Higa's BFFs D-trix, Victor Kim, KevJumba, and Chester See.

And they are sick.

Chain effects give me headaches. Because this is where stuff gets a little bit complex.

Starting with KevJumba. He featured in the Nice Guys music videos (they had one for each channel, hot damn) alongside Ryan and Chester, which brought me to check out his other videos, which made me fall crazily in love with him. Because he's not that hot or talented, but hell, his vids were great. (And he's an ELF!!)

D-trix caught my attention 'cause he was in Christmas Swag with Ryan (whose version of that video is here). Then I checked out his other vids, which also made me fall crazily in love with him. Too bad he apparently has a girlfriend.

And then I got all curious about the guy with a lip ring. I saw him on Ryan's rant on dancing towards the end of the vid, and a few other videos here and there. So Victor became another one of my simultaneous crushes. I went into his channel and found a Mraz likeness in him. Y'know, if there's such a term. And oh my god, he did this cover of Adele's Someone Like You with Andy Lange (who's Scottish and pwns video-making), and it's incredible.

Chester See. Oh my god. I first saw him on Nice Guys, then checked out this weird-sounding Impersonations video. And then... yup. Another huge crush. Because his voice is awesome. He did a cover of Katy Perry's The One that Got Away and an original (God Damn You're Beautiful). Instant fangirl. The only reason he's not world famous is because he refuses to take up singing as a career. Says it's just having fun with his friends.

Easy part's done.

At this point I was only aware that YTF was mad good at singing and general entertainment. Then I started noticing the dancing...

Victor Kim and D-trix. DAMN. I checked out Wikipedia and various other sources, and realized they both tried for So You Think You Can Dance. And I got all "where's their audition clips!?!?!?!?!?!?" and started digging. The first vid I got was for D-trix and this guy Hok. I remember Hok 'cause I saw his audition on one of the rare moments I was actually watching telly. And then a while into the season, I saw that part where they found out about his student visa, too. So yeah. And from there YouTube had a sidebar of related vids, which brought me to Victor's audition.

ASSHOLES CAN FUCKING DANCE.

Yup. I've been Like-ing a whole slew of vids featuring D-trix and Victor. Mostly D-trix.

And you know what's insane? He got together with SYTYCD winner (well, one of the seasons, somewhere) Lauren. The perfs they got to work together on were amazing, and it took me a while, but I also realized that she actually appeared in quite a few of his funny vids on YouTube.

What the hell.

Also. I got interested in Quest Crew through D-trix and Vic. So I checked them out. And I realized they actually danced in LMFAO's Sexy and I Know It as well as Party Rock Anthem.

Which brought me to America's Best Dance Crew. Which got me addicted.

Because they dope.

Oh my god I have got to stop posing.

First post of 2012

2012-01-02T02:06:00.000+08:00

because I just really believe in things like that.

No really. I do.

Aside from the fact that no one believes me...

...yeah. I got nothing.

---

Alright so I suppose I do have something to say. Because otherwise this post would be a total waste. And how would that reflect on the rest of this year, huh?

(Because I just really believe in things like that.)

Resolutions. Yes plural. You're not blind. Trust me.

(Don't.)

Hmm. Firstly, to be less zhuai. Is that how you spell it?

It'll get a bit messy, so. Colleague A told me that when she was working with colleague B, B told her that when I first started in the job, they got the impression that I was very zhuai (is that how you spell it??). That means arrogant. Right? Whatever.

B elaborated that I only answered what was asked. Didn't speak much, nearly comatose in terms of responsiveness. Alright, so I'm using my own words. She didn't say that last part. Swear. But yeah. As if I were living in my own world. That's in the words of A. I think.

So. Resolution one. To pay more attention to the rest of the world. I suppose, they assumed I looked down on them at the beginning. Looked down on the job. I didn't. I'm just shy that way. But I'll admit, I do shut out a lot of things a lot of the time. Hence! Less of that this year. I hope.

Two. If ultimately unsuccessful, to at least try my best to go back to school. Because I do miss studying, no matter how much of a relief it is without that kind of stress.

And I'll say no more on that.

C. I'd like to be more active in terms of community service. You know, donate blood, donate money, volunteer at community events, that sorta stuff. I don't mean fill every second of my free time tryna be a saint, I just want to have maybe two or three such memories to look back on. Be proud that I did what I should always have been doing. And hopefully this will become a habit that perseveres as time goes by.

Next, to really work on my writing. All said and done, it is the one thing I've clung to my whole life (other than reading) that seems to offer me some sort of satisfaction. I let my emotions lead me in this area - funny stuff when I'm high, depressing/contemplative pieces when I'm particularly vexed or upset, impulsive blog posts and fb statuses and tweets as well as incessant cussing when I'm angry and without an outlet. It works alright for me, but I do wish for some control, and yeah, it hurts people, sometimes, what I write.

I hate that. No matter what I say.

Besides, having something I can actually concentrate on for hours, that's something. I've grown a few more gray hairs from all the worrying. It settles me. Those dry spells I have, I always feel like I'm killing myself by inches.

Five. Find a boyfriend.

I kid you. Very much. And myself, too, for that matter. No one wants me. (~ forever alone ~~~)

Find a way to help me open up is what I meant. Because I recognize that I've been holding too much back. Dec 31, I spent midnight in a toilet cubicle at a karaoke lounge (lord that sounds so suggestive ugh) staring at the floor and crying. Not... wailing, or sobbing, or anything, just a few tears, blah blah blah, end sentence.

Man if I really believed that what happens in the first few moments of the year sets a precedent for the rest of the 3 hundred plus plus days, I'm fucking screwed. Good thing I believe that time is just a measure invented by Man. It is not a absolute. Hot damn I sound so philosophical.

(Loser!)

Anyway. I fell asleep trying not to sob out loud while biting and scratching my arm. Yes everything just kinda built up and then it exploded. Not fun, kiddies, or hygienic, so don't try this at home (without parental supervision and all that shit because yeah, sure, parents will definitely let you do that. Especially when they're watching).

It'll help if I actually tried to reconnect with my own friends.

Ooh, lookit, self reflection. I'm impressed. Very good, brain.

Lastly. (I think. It's getting a bit long, no?) Learn to say no.

Scenario I
Boss: I don't have enough people, all the part-timers also cannot make it this day and that day, how?
Me: Harh really ah.
Boss: You need to take off day this week anot?
Me: Er.
Boss: Okay I see how first. If really cannot then you don't take off this week again lah can. Okay I have to go liao. Bye bye.

Scenario II
Colleague X (and, speaking of you, dammit, fuck off, cunt): Nicole buy me this can buy for me leh. You never give me Christmas present one buy for me buy for me please.
Me: -silence-
~Later~
X: Eeeeeeyerrrr Nicole buy for me lah buy for meeee. Please can please can pleeeaaassseee. Treat as my Christmas present lah Nicole pleeeaaassseee.
Me: Ugh.
~Another later~
X: Niiiiicooooollllleeeee you never give me Christmas present buy for me lah buy for me pppllleeeaaassseee. I give you that very pretty necklace that day leh Nicole buy lah buy lah pppppppllllllleeeeeeaaaaassssseeeee.
Me: -disgusted snort- -heavy sigh- -bangs head on table-
~silence.~
Me: OMIGOD! Why that guy so shuai so nice but his girlfriend so bitch so ugly one walao why the good guys always either taken or got eye problem etc. etc. etc.

(That was how I suffered through the first of January.)

(My God, if the first day really sets a precedent for the rest of the year, I might as well just step onto the middle of the highway right now. Messier, but less misery involved.)

(Oh yeah! I am in misery; your silence is slowly killing me - oh yeah!)

(I'll shut up.)

Scenario III
Random person: Just say it. It's a very simple word. N-O. Two letters, one word. Shortest sentence in the world. Come on, you can do it. Follow me. N. O. NO. Now you say it.
Me: ...
Random person: I DON'T BELIEVE THIS SHIT! @$%#@^#!#%*&#$^*#@$

Scenario IV
Creep: Hey wanna shag?

Scenario V
Email: YOU'VE WON!

Scenario VI
Kyuhyun: Will you marry me?

Okay so the last four is bullshit. (I love saying that word aloud. It's got an attitude all on its own. Bullshit. Aaahh, the satisfaction.) Really, though, I should learn.

(VI, though, now that, I would never say that one teensy word to, not even if you threatened to stab me fifty million times for saying YES.)

(Besides, I'd just circumvent that. "I said HELL YES! I didn't say YES! OH MY GOD STOP STABBING ME!!")

Because, even though I take your insults and indignations without a sound; even though I smile and pretend to believe the good things you say; even though I stare at the mirror every day and wonder why I'm still fucking here; I want to feel like I deserve so much more.

---

So here's to 2012, guys. And here's hoping we can make ourselves believe we'll come out a better person in the end.

2011-12-30T03:24:00.001+08:00

Just a big ball of misery and self-loathing right now.

It's been a horrible week.

Some days, you just don't want to wake up.

---

Revealed too many secrets. Now I wish I never said a word.

How is it that strangers are always so much better to talk to than friends?

Because with friends, you fear judgement. The kind that may or may not last as long as your friendship does. And sometimes that unknown is even worse. Strangers, though, aren't in your life for long.

I just want to be left alone. Holed up somewhere private, it helps when you don't have to worry about disturbing someone else, or about them judging you, or about them watching your every move, trying to psychoanalyze you.

Of course it never works out like that.

Another wish not granted, as usual.

Hold your dreams in one hand and spit in the other. See which one fills up first.

---

Swearing off guys altogether. No dating, no friendships, nothing. I'm sick of watching horny bastards perv on girls. It seems the world is only made up of that kind of men.

Maybe when I'm older and wiser. Maybe when they're wiser. Horny bastards are the same no matter what age they are.

---

Had a stupid stupid dream last night that's making me reluctant to sleep.

I hate when this sort of thing tears at you so deep your whole day is ruined.

It's worse when your dreams touch on real people, real events, and sometimes your mind can't tell which is memory and which is pure imagination.

Which hurts more, the truth or a lie?

Sometimes there really isn't a difference.

2011-12-02T03:58:00.001+08:00

You know, going through the MOE website as well as those of the various schools in Singapore, a person can see just how bleak their future is.

It feels utterly hopeless.

There is no chance of getting into a university here.

Getting into poly, if I even pass all entrance exams and/or interviews, would leave me three years older than most of my peers. Time enough for a person to have finished their degree and left.

It's practically driving me to tears. Or maybe it's just the combined effect of what happened earlier and this.

What else is left for me if I don't study? Earn the same shit money at the same shit job until I grow old and die? Find another low-level job that I hold no love for?

It all boils down to smarts and hard work. I don't seem to have both. Not enough.

And now I will never get another chance to prove that I can make something good out of myself.

I regret ever going to JC. Sticking with it until the very last few stages. Being so lazy and unmotivated. Going through that stupid downward spiral that left me virtually suicidal.

I never wanted to end up such a failure. But I guess no one ever thought they'd be one.

Even sticking with this job for another four months seems impossible. I don't know why, but I hate it more with each passing day.

I am so tired of trying. It seems like all I ever do is try.

---

I'm beginning to understand why some people ever contemplated turning to crime. If you're going to fall into the pits, might as well make a home out of it.

We are the gutter and the gutter is all we'll ever be. Don't reach out for the stars. They'll burn you until there's nothing left.

2011-12-01T23:25:00.001+08:00

Nearly cried at work today.

Given enough time, I'm hoping I'll finally forget it.

Because there's no reason for me to remember those moments and hate myself to death.

I can't let anyone else know about it. I don't need to be constantly reminded of how stupid I was. I don't want to have to look at my friends and know that, at the back of their minds, they know that I was stupid enough not to protect myself.

Two people know. I'm so scared I'll fuck up and open my big mouth to someone else. Even more afraid than I am of them telling other people. Why do I keep telling virtual strangers about the intensely personal parts of my life?

I hate feeling vulnerable. I hate knowing that I could have done something to stop it, but for some reason didn't stand up for myself. I hate how screwed up this makes me feel I am.

Most of all, I hate that yet another person has entered and left my life, thinking that I am helpless and worthless.

---

December.

I lost all faith in Christmas a long time ago.

All it means are social obligations.

2011-11-14T01:26:00.001+08:00

Couldn't remember why I forwarded an email to myself from my other email address. So I opened it.

Dammit.

GH, I really, really, really wish you were here.

2011-11-13T21:16:00.001+08:00

Sometimes I see a person I care about feeling down, and I feel like they need someone who accepts and doesn't judge them to listen to whatever's troubling them. And I think, "I can do that," and I do that. It occurs to me now that, while I'm perfectly willing to push aside everything else just to listen to their side of the story, there's no one to do that for me.

So what do I do? Be that person for myself?

---

And another thing about that. Once I become that person just for those few moments, somehow, some people start to misunderstand.

Either they think I seem to care so much that I appear to care too much, or they think I'm the type of person they can bully and bend to their will as much as they like.

Does that mean I should stop being non-judgmental? Because honestly, those are the only few moments I feel like I'm being a good person. It sucks when people misconstrue my actions.

I wish somebody would hug me to sleep at night.

2011-11-10T01:38:00.000+08:00

:(

Went through a pretty bad few days back there. Since Saturday night. Kinda touch and go for a while.

Dunno. I don't like being around people for too long - it takes too much effort. But I can't not be around people, either. It makes my thoughts get even more fatalistic.

Either way, it sucks ass.

Somebody told me that I shouldn't be reading books all the time. Where would I have the time to go out with my friends if I did?

Yeah huh. Because I had friends left to go to.

And it's not like she doesn't understand why I like reading. She gets how it's like a whole other world. Something to distract you from your life for a bit. Forget what's happening to you, and focus on what's happening to others for the length of the novel.

It works well. Sometimes. When you get insights from the books, and they help you distance yourself from your problems so you can think clearly. But mostly they just help distract me from my lack of life. That, and it's one of the healthiest addictions I know.

Plus I'm pretty sure my method of facing problems is running away from them.

Suddenly had a stray thought. You know how sometimes people are classified under high and low maintenance? Girls, especially, particularly in relationships? Yeah. Is there ever a middle ground for this sort of thing? Sure, I know there's extremely high and extremely low maintenance, but what about something like, you know, not high, but not low, either?

I always wonder about the kind of people that would fit into seemingly impossible categories. And then I try to make them up, and then I imagine them in different scenarios, and then a plot is formed. Too bad most of them never make it outside of my head. Weak swimmers, if you get my drift. I'm getting a bit too dirty in there.

Shut up, Nicole.

You know, I get the feeling I've been telling myself that too much these days.

You can tell I'm feeling depressed. Again.

2011-10-30T01:12:00.002+08:00

I miss all my friends. Not them, precisely. More like the times we had when we were together. Being with people you were fairly comfortable with seems somehow to make things easier.

I'm messing up my own explanations to myself.

Humans are so hard to interact with. But what's worse is missing that interaction. Sometimes you're able to almost forget about it; other times you can't think about anything else, and you start aching for something to fill you up so you can forget about this emptiness.

They had it right when they say sometimes, it's easier if you never tried in the first place. Then there'd be no pain, no need of forgetting about that pain.

I'm going back to school, if only to give me something else to do. Try to forget all about this job. The work itself makes me happy, but in the end, there's no real satisfaction to it, no sense of fulfillment. Not to mention all the troubles it seems to bring.

Or maybe that's just part of growing up.

It's strengthening my belief that maybe there are more of the bad than there are of the good, when it comes to people. I can't get away from all that, not even for one day.

I can feel myself becoming worse. No more of that sweet, polite little girl these days. I get angry over relatively minor things, shout at my colleagues when I get defensive, and I seem to have developed a scarier demeanor in general. The newer coworkers are afraid of me sometimes.

I'm not supposed to be like that.

I hate it when I lash out at others. The worst part is when, at the end of the day, the guilt grows lesser and lesser, and I get even more frustrated and angry.

---

Do you understand? I don't want to keep doing it anymore.

I want out.

For FP users

2011-10-27T02:14:00.000+08:00

Just a little forewarning for the tiny crowd who actually watch my blog and my FP activity. (In other words, I'm talking to myself.) I'll be cleaning my FP profile page, so to speak, in the next few days. Hopefully it'll be done by this week, but I hold no one's breath because I honestly have too many favourites and too many alerts and really, I decided they should be mutually exclusive. Yes I said mutually exclusive. I never thought I'd say that outside of deep sexual conversations and mathematical discussions.

Right.

When I say cleaning I mean I'll also be wiping my own works off the slate. Most of them, anyway. I don't have to look through the whole shitlist again to know which ones I won't be keeping. Very likely the oneshots will remain, as well as the babbles. Hybrid Theory is definitely going down. I fucked it up from chapter one. I am ashamed I ever subjected Annia to that type of trash.

I'll be posting the short drabbles I stuck onto FB on FP - those I deem redeemable to my very bruised ego, I mean. I've pretty much determined that I cannot write proper, full-length novels (as well as poetry - I've gotten various secondhand feedback from unrevealed sources and none of them were really pretty - burn, Nicole, you've been pwned) and so will prolly be sticking to oneshots and context-less extracts from novels that will never be.

Which brings me to a very related topic. Dudes and dudesses (yes that's what I decided the feminine term should be), those plans that I put on my profile description? The ones I have for future novels I want to write? You guessed it. They will never bear any fruit. The weeds choked 'em out over the years.

End transcript.

2011-10-03T01:59:00.001+08:00

So I had a sudden urge to write something after watching like 3142349236 of communitychannel videos on YouTube. (God knows why.) But the moment I opened Word, the happy bubble popped.

Which is how I ended up here.

Someday, though. I like the idea of incorporating some of my blog posts into a story. Not the emo or the shitty ones, the funny moments. (Which, I admit, there aren't really a lot of.) Oh man imagine trying to fit in the ones I wrote when I first started this piece of shit. All that short forms, the 'z's at the end of utterly random words, the pathetic grammar...

Thank godz I alr correctd dose habitz. Lyk hw totally stupid do you think id hav lookd.

No I'm only joking.

Residual effect from seeing too much of Natalie Tran. You start to pick up her amazing habit of coming up with lame jokes.

But really, her videos are awesome. And honestly the first video of hers I clicked was The Hand. Know why it feels like I'm sharing a very fail secret? Because I thought it was porn. Like every other one of her subscribers.

And I'm defending myself, but it's the truth. At that point I was seriously curious. What kind of video labeled like a porn show would actually slide past the censors and be made legal for all youngins online? So I clicked the link. And my life was forever changed.

(Because I fell in huge like with an insane Viet woman living in Australia and, oh my gods, I subscribed to her channel.)

Though it turned out to be great, because she got to go on a trip around the world (!), and she shared a few bits and pieces of her various stops in some of her vids. (She was in Singapore, in case you were wondering. And to give a bit of an idea as to what kind of videos she posts... she flashed the surrounding buildings from a hotel window while she was here. Oh, and she visited the zoo, as well.)

Yes.

Someday I will make videos just like she does. And I will scar everyone for life. Including me. Because I have no camcorder, I am not photogenic, and I have absolutely nothing to talk about.

Now think happy thoughts while I erase that possible future from my mind.

---

Okay. There was an entire hour going on in those three little dashes you see between paragraphs.

That indicates that I have nothing left to say.

And that I suck at closing one-sided conversations.

2011-09-25T01:57:00.002+08:00

I'd just like to point something out.

Facebook birthday reminders encourage hypocrisy.

I'm willing to bet that, whenever it's someone's birthday, half the people who post on his/her Wall didn't even bother remembering his/her birthdate in the first place. No, fucking spellcheck, I don't care that birthdate isn't a word. Or that spellcheck isn't one, either. In your FACE.

Yes. Back to the topic. I'd be willing to bet quite a number of them only post because they had a guilt trip and felt a sudden obligation to do what Facebook is hinting at them to do. Oh my God, I didn't even remember this person existed anymore, let me just post some generic birthday wishes on their Wall to cover it up. They'll never know.

Which I can only assume works, because the recipient seems to send out a huge warm fuzzy reply of love and thanks to every-freaking-body who typed two words and hit Enter. And sometimes they reply each person one by one.

Sometimes I think I just might be getting a smidge too cynical. It's the old age. The white hairs come with it as a surprise bonus, too.

It's amazing how you can still fall in love with the same person all over again.

2011-09-24T00:17:00.000+08:00

2011-09-16T02:56:00.001+08:00

Been reading blogs for the past... half an hour?

Still trying to numb myself from the fact that they're all moving on.

Like you're stuck in one moment, always revolving around the same center, while everyone else takes a step forward, and another step, and another step, until gradually they move into another universe altogether.

She's always said, if time could wait a moment longer. There is never enough time to be everything you want to be.

Yet I wish I never had time. So I would always be moving, always getting somewhere, constantly having a destination, a goal, a future to think of.

Is this an empty life?

---

Men. Are. Not. Worth. It.

Boys, too.

---

Crappy day at work. Or, well, it was fine until I found out a colleague had been badmouthing me behind my back.

If you didn't have something to hide, I wouldn't have had something to reveal. So I'm a snitch, but really, how did such a trivial matter spiral so much out of control?

The worst part is that a piece of me feels guilty for having told on her. I was in the right, I know I was, and yet I feel guilty for telling. And that sense of worthlessness comes on again, asking myself why I could never do things right, why people always end up disliking me in the end.

Result of low self-esteem?

I need something I can control. Yet I am not meant to play God.

---

Watched a music video yesterday. Six Billion Secrets provided a link to it, made by the girl in pink in Rebecca Black's Friday. I liked it, though I admit it could be better.

One thing I don't understand. After reading the comments, I found out just how blind people actually choose to be. How narrow-minded they are sometimes, and how selfish they can be.

Those scenes about self-harm? That's just a part of the whole package. Why are you focusing just on that? If you want to get snippy about it, why not rag about the throwing up part? Why not hate on the scenes of domestic violence and child abuse?

And there were all those comments about how unnecessary the cutting scenes were. How disturbing they were. How they could be a "trigger for self-harmers".

Did you notice, people? Did you notice how, in the comments, the ones who approve of the scenes, who applauded the highlighting of this issue that everyone's been turning a blind eye on for too long, were all self-harmers?

Is this an emotional trigger? Yeah, but it doesn't lead to what they were afraid of it leading to.

I watched the video, saw the scenes, and you know what? I wasn't "triggered" by them. No I fucking wasn't. Instead, I was gratified, and relieved, and so, so happy. Because someone was finally directly addressing the issue. Because people who commented on the vid on fb actually confessed to self-harm, themselves. Because every single one of them said "why back away?"

And we were right. Why do you back away from the issue like it's something to be ashamed of? We're not ashamed to admit it. We're only ashamed we had to do it. And there's a world of a difference between the two. It's reality, and it's what's happening here and now. Why try to cover it up?

The negative comments were very discouraging. It made it seem like half the world were perfectly happy continuing on with their lives, ignoring all us self-harmers like it wasn't their business. Like it isn't as serious an issue as bulimia, or domestic violence, or homophobia. As if we were a sad, pathetic bunch who only wanted attention and would not get it just because you think we're pathetic and you like being right.

---

I'm losing balance again.

Without someone there for me no matter where I am or what they do with their lives, I feel so lost.

I grew up wanting someone to love me no matter what. I think I was born to never have that.

Sometimes it feels like God created me as anti-life. I am the example of the punishments others would have to endure if they strayed from their paths. No trust in others; no confidence in myself; no goal, no companion, no instinct, no knowledge.

It's not cruelty that God bestowed this upon me; never that. I feel as if I am merely a creation, like every other living being on this earth. My consciousness just so happens to rest in this body, this spirit, where I am to endure all punishments just like others suffer their own destinies.

I am not the dark side, nor am I the light. I am merely the shadow, that fading into the ground that you never notice, a being that carries or combines the light with the dark, but is never fully immersed in either.

---

Upset is not the word I am searching for.

Nor is it self-pity, nor uncertain, nor anger or frustration.

I am grieving.

---

It's been a while since I've really thought about you, but as all life, it comes full circle.

Those moments are still in my head, the smoke and the heat, the stench, the press of bodies. Everything you were to me, you still are.

And I never want to forget what you left for me before you left me.

Some nights I dream of your sister next to you, and you'd be arguing with each other, coming to blows now and then. And I'm there between the two of you, helpless to do anything but watch as you destroy each other.

I've watched you go.

And no matter how much I don't want to see her again, I can't bear to see her go, too.

---

It's a curious kind of catharsis, memory. It cleanses even as it rots your mind, infecting your head with could-have and should-have and what-if and why-didn't-I.

All I can do is watch as I relive everything I never wanted to remember, and hope like hell that someday, I will finally be free of this chokehold.

But of course, Hope was just another demon in Pandora's Box.

Memestache lol

2011-09-16T01:22:00.001+08:00

Guess what song this is from.

2011-09-11T23:52:00.003+08:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JbOzSeu6sJA

It feels so far away.

Ten whole years ago.

I remember one SS class in AHS. Sec 3? 4? It was a video of the Towers after the plane crash. Phone calls were used as background audio. Phone operators talking to emergency services, people leaving messages to their loved ones, recordings of observers on the ground and in buildings surrounding the site.

Visual? Stills and hazy videos of the crash. All the smoke. People desperately supporting each other as they ran to safety. Videos of people choosing to jump instead of burning to death. And then the collapse.

It was the most emotional SS class I'd ever attended. Half the bastards in my class were gasping, crying. The other half were shocked to silence. I still remember staring around at the class from my back corner of the classroom, watching them react. Still remember the urge to leave the classroom, remember holding back.

I think I only really began to pay attention to it from that point on. Before that, it only felt like some distant planet had been destroyed. Sad, ultimately upsetting in the grand scheme of things, but so damn far away.

2011-09-06T03:52:00.002+08:00

It seems to get darker with every night that passes.

A little deeper, a little quieter, a little worse.

Something isn't right. There is a certain sheen in the air.

Change is coming.

---

Ignore that first part. Please.

---

Google is damn smart.

http://www.google.com/logos/

Damn smart.

For example.

Yeah, I don't know if it works, here, but if not, go http://www.google.com/logos/verne.html.

There are more, but again, do your own work. Some are awesome.

---

Tired. But it's still back to work tomorrow. I'm slowly getting sick of it. I want an off day as soon as I can.

2011-09-01T00:11:00.000+08:00

Got a call this morning.

Made me think about just how much time has passed since then.

GH, babe, thanks for thinking of me. It's been a while, hasn't it? It was only after we hung up that I really realized I haven't heard your voice in ages.

And congrats for getting into NUS dance! I still maintain that I'm not surprised. Honestly, the first thing I thought when you smsed was "well, duh, what did she expect?" Pinky swear.

---

Augh. Gotten sick over the past few days. At least it's slightly under control. Meds, plenty of instant noodles, and oh gods, I'm actually getting enough sleep. Well, somewhat.

Library books! Dammit, I haven't gotten around to returning them yet.

Okay. Never mind. I have to sleep soon if I'm to wake up early tomorrow.

I want my off day~~~

Bad Mandarin. Be warned.

2011-08-25T03:26:00.002+08:00

今天上班时, 无意中读到一位同事的心里话。

写满了一整张纸，却不完整地表达她心中的痛苦。

想过自杀，可是又没有选择的余地。

有时候我会问自己 - 在一个连自杀的自由都没有的世界，真的值得活下去吗？

才大我两岁，背的负担却比我的大好多倍。

姐姐，我了解你的无奈。虽然我们的世界是这么的不同，但我还是可以了解你的感受。

个个都认为我这人天生就很开朗，很自在。随便问一下我之前的同学，就知道这都是假的。

一个月半了，可是还是没有一个人发现到我的疤痕。是我太会隐藏了吗，还是是你们真的没有看到？

---

Ten months into the job, and I still haven't mentioned a single word about those experiences. Some part of me really wishes they'd notice, they'd ask, but a bigger part clamps down so hard on that urge, afraid to reveal any weaknesses they could use to bring me down, any abnormalities they could pinpoint to single me out.

I've seen how judgmental that lot can be. I never want it to happen to me.

Which is why I know I can't stay here forever. I have made no true friends in this job. People to hang out with, to gossip with, yes, but none of them will ever find out about the palpitations or the scars. Because they're not the type of people you can tell these things to.

Don't get me wrong; they're good people. They really are. They're just not my kind of people. And it's not their fault.

Feels like, no matter where I turn these days, I still have no one to talk to.

2011-08-24T02:15:00.000+08:00

So I just finished reading Faith Hunter's novella in the anthology Strange Brew (which, by the way, I borrowed twice, because the first time I was too into Jim Butcher and hadn't wanted to research on the other authors). It was alright, for a full-length novel on speed and slipping on marble-filled wet floors. What got my attention, really, was the author's self-intro at the end of the story.

"Being totally schizoid, she has also written numerous mysteries and thrillers under her pen name, Gwen Hunter."

Yeah. What? I've seen Gwen Hunter's books around in the shops and they were dusty. And looking totally cliche and average. Not once would I have even thought that they were the same person. Not that I'm saying common last names are really all that, well, common among authors, but what the hell?

Anyway. Bottom line? Never saw that coming. And now I am totally miffed and apart from checking out the summaries of Gwen Hunter's books, I will never touch them.

Although I only just moved her books yesterday while packing the shelves.

Details, details.

---

Fack. Just five minutes ago I had a really good topic in mind to write about here.

Now I can't remember a single thing.

---

Tangent!

If you're the kind of person who always seems to forget what you want to say right after you think about saying it (or, in other words, you have a horrendous memory along with a really short attention span - like me) then I want to ask you something. Do you have trouble trying to follow your train of thought again? Because I have to grapple so hard with my head every single time I lose my thoughts and have to go back and try to find it. It hurts my head so bad I go blind and slaughter things randomly on sight. Well, not on sight on sight, but you know what I mean.

And if you don't have trouble, dude, what do you got that I don't? Better memory?

Actually that's highly possible. I've never met anyone with a more limited memory space than me.

---

Just to be clear. I'm gonna be really hypocritical here and criticize a type of person that I actually am, but yes, do keep reading.

Health-conscious people are stupid. Not stupid stupid, I mean they're actually kinda intelligent and all since they don't want to eat themselves to death unlike the other morons living on this planet, but moving on. Trying to be health-conscious in this day and age is like telling everyone on Facebook and Twitter that you're being a complete hermit right now. And I make terrible comparisons but what the fuck.

I mean, really. Everything you eat these days is unhealthy in some way. Artificial colourings and flavourings don't just pass through your system merrily without doing some sort of insidious shit to you that scientists either haven't found out about yet or are concealing the truth from consumers very hard-ily.

I know that's not a word. Shut up.

Fine, so it could just be me being paranoid and utterly leery of advertisements and health marks. But you gotta admit, they just aren't all that trustworthy to begin with. Who can actually trust a huge bright smile pasted on the packaging of products? You know they get paid to do this shit, so why wouldn't they say it was good and right and the world should love that product just because they say so (and smile while doing it)?

Okay. Dragging myself back to the main point. People who try to stay healthy by eating health foods are just being morons. What, in the first place, do "health foods" constitute? They give you enough of this protein or that vitamin? Both? They make you instantly healthy and fit and all that jazz the moment you ingest them? (Or if you consider consumerism these days, they tell you it'll only work if you eat it over a long period of time and you do it regularly and you pray to their cult-like gods and give blood as a sacrifice. I'm just kidding about the last part.) I don't know, I just think the lines aren't all too clear for this generation.

I realize that it is scientifically proven that organic foods are really better for us. Yes, I believe the "scientifically proven" part, even though it's woven into commercializing, that terrifying wolf of modern days. It kinda makes sense even to us plebeians. (Why can't I spell you as PLEBIANS, dammit!?) Then again, you think about the amount of money it takes to support a fully organic lifestyle, and honestly, I'd rather grow fat and die. At least I was able to spend my cash somewhere else and have a hell of a time doing it.

Another thing about organic foods. In making them organic, you have to let them grow naturally. (I know it's a duh point, but what the fuck. At least I'm self-aware.) Which includes leaving the water and air and soil alone. Given the state of the planet these days, that's more likely to kill people.

Okay. Getting bored with this thread of thought. But you get the point. I hope. Sometimes even I don't get my point.

I don't know if it's because I'm really that incomprehensible, or if it's just me being my usual "lost my train of thought" self.

---

Plagiarism. It's really getting on my nerves! I went to revisit an author's profile page on FP just for old times' sake, and I got interested in a link she put up ages ago. It's a LJ community called FP Watchers, meant to keep tabs on plagiarisms of authors' works on FP. As I went down the page, I saw a lot of titles and authors that I'm actually familiar with. People whose stories I regularly read, people I've heard of, that sort of thing. And it pisses me off. What the hell? You can't write a story, admit it! Don't take someone else's works and pass them off as yours!

I really don't get it. If you can't write, it's because your talent's in something else. You can't be completely useless. No one's made that way. And alright, fine, some people may not have the means to showcase their talents, wherever they lie. I get the frustration in that. But it's not like plagiarizing online fiction is the answer. What do you get from posting on another online writing comm someone else's works and passing them off as your own? All you actually get is an inflating ego that isn't even justified. What kind of satisfaction do you get in that?

Urgh. This is why I try to not think about these things. I get so angry on someone else's behalf it's totally abnormal.

---

Someday, people, I would like to watch you survive without the TV for a week. Or the internet. They have their uses, true, but there's just too much junk mixed in with the good stuff, and too many people just don't make the effort to filter that shit. They end up with no imagination and all the ideas the mainstream world is feeding them. Feeding them. They might as well be eating food from the fridge all mixed in a blender without removing the packaging and bones and mould. That way the crap coming out their bodies would match the crap stuck in their heads.

---

Okay. Signing out. I need to sniff out more books soon. I slept in instead of visiting the library, and damn did it feel good. Only now I can't sleep. And I'm running out of books to devour.

2011-08-17T01:29:00.000+08:00

You know I always log on with a particular thing I want to blog about, but then I get distracted and when I turn back I can't remember shite.

It's irritating.

---

(You know, I don't think you really do.)

---

Slowly losing track of all the book series I'm following. Well, not the Nightside series, and not the Dresden files (which I'm kinda proud of since I haven't touched any of the books in quite a while now), but yeah, with the romance novels, I'm lost.

Kresley Cole's IAD. Dammit. She's bloody funny, and her writing style's easy to follow, but the characters are starting to blend together. I'm not saying it's a bad thing to connect all your main characters, but dude, be nicer with the names. And remind me once in a while who's related to who and how. I was reading the duology she published with Gena Showalter and for half the story I was slowly going crazy trying to remember just where I heard the name Murdoch from. Then she mentioned he was a Wroth and I went, who? And then I remembered the brothers and I was like, since when was there a fourth? And finally, towards the end, she linked it to a previous novel and I went, finally!

I don't actually know if it was my fault or hers. Still, the story was good. She's got pretty good almost-deus ex machinas that somehow managed to avoid arousing contempt.

Gena Showalter and Kresley Cole are apparently BFFs. So their characters sometimes go cross-series. So that throws me off. So I get confused. Like, very.

And alright, I admit, it happens for Simon R. Green's as well. His Nightside and Secret Histories novels have intersecting minor characters with interruptions from the big ones every now and then. I end up suspecting the origins of every minor player. Which sucks. And with his Nightside novels, sometimes he likes to keep up the suspense and make hints that only fanatic fans will catch on to in time, so I end up being utterly clueless.

Though that shouldn't surprise anyone.

Alrighty. Moving on to other stuff.

---

Been raiding smartphOWNED and Taste of Awesome lately. When I'm online, that is. I can't help it, they make me laugh.

Ach. Wishing I had the will to wake up earlier so I could grab something at Starbucks before work. I dunno, I just suddenly wanna know what it feels like getting "fancy coffee" by myself early in the morn. Haha.

Starving session. Again. Yay. (T^T) Honestly have to control my wallet better. I try to curb my spending urges by keeping track of every single thing I pay for, but so far it's not working as effectively as I would've liked. So, until I find a better method, or till I improve with this one, it's back to eating two days' worth of money in one.

Fucking itchy fingers. Stop reaching for the money.

---

School. I'm getting pressured more often. Still can't decide if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

Yeah. Don't feel like talking about this anymore.

---

Anyone willing to sponsor me a pretty wig? I'm thinking of shaving my hair.

Seriously, all the fuss over me not styling it is just not worth it. People, I'm lazy. Get used to it.

---

Blood donation.

Got a text recently. Guilt trip. The blood bank keeps saying things like "The Bloodbank@HSA is now low on your blood type". Thanks, because I haven't been constantly thinking about making an appointment. Then again, it's a pretty smart tactic. I'm ashamed to admit I actually forgot all about it for about a month.

Hopefully the next time I get an off day, it's on a day when the bloodbank isn't open at ungodly hours. I'm not keen on passing out halfway through just because I didn't get enough sleep. Or food.

Low blood pressure. I suspect it's the answer to all my health problems.

Yeah, and I can cure everyone from everything in a day. Call me a doctor and hand me that white coat.

---

Okay. Gonna go wash my face, get a drink, then read until I want to sleep.

Goodnight in advance, whoever's here.

I am NOT drunk. Duuuuuuuude.

2011-08-11T03:41:00.000+08:00

Frankly. You're all gits.

Bloody soppin' bastards, the lot of you.

---

Pregnancy scare. Or, well, I can't call it a scare, yet, since it's not a mistake for sure. But yes. Somebody's very possibly preggers.

Thank the gods there isn't much traffic passing through this blog. I'd be fucked fifty thousand ways otherwise.

---

Dude. Get a hint. Not everything's about you, man. I told you I just got tired of the bloody thing, and I meant it. I'm not so desperate to avoid you that I have no other choice but to cut off all means of communication with the outside world. Seriously, I've got other ways to ignore a person without counting my social status as collateral damage. 'Sides, social status is important enough in my world to warrant my full attention. Too good to be collateral, baby.

Not making sense. One shot of vodka and it's goin' downhill. Hey, others drunk-dial, I drunk-blog. Not that it counts, since I'm just very mildly buzzed, though with the lack of sleep it kinda does make me feel a tad off.

---

Got accosted by this cosmetics salesperson thing today at Vivo.

I was stupid enough to get rid of her the rich man's way.

Now I get to look forward to seven days of fasting. Eh yo, I'm in with tradition and culture this month. Though I get to drink water. And stuff.

Okay didn't mean to but I sound like I'm takin' the piss outta their culture. 'pologies. If it's a good defense, I am drunk and therefore have no fuckin' idea what the hell I just said.

Man I love making excuses.

---

Ugh. Gotta stay alive.

---

Okay back to topic at hand. Not that I remember the original topic. Me and my deviating ways.

Whatever.

Guys are seriously... not worth it. No offense, but a lot of them are gits. No other word for it. Oh, wait, there is: horny, perverted, no-sense-of-personal-space gits.

That was a phrase. Not a word. Ah well.

This guy at the bookshop yesterday, around closing time. Old geezer. Came in, asked if we had aerobics tapes. Or anything of Deng Li Jun's. Hello. Bookshop. Bookshop. I told him as much, politely. Carried on sweeping.

A while later he comes up to me and asks if there's anything about sex. I ask what language, what kind of books precisely, if he has an author or vague genre in mind or anything of use.

He says something about sex. Anything related to sex. You have anything here with a lot of sex in it?

Yeah. Very specific.

At first he was just what kind of books do you read? Is it nice? What authors do you read? Which degenerated to I'm looking for something with sex in it. You know lah, humans are like that one, especially men. Women not so much, men need it more, think about it more often, but sometimes I'm too embarrassed to look for prostitutes. No choice lah, must find it in other place. Natural urge what, right, especially for men. Cannot help it. Cannot always go find prostitute so sometimes must settle it myself. Got anything not?

I have to say, I was so proud of myself at that moment for not displaying any disbelief or hilarity on my face. Seriously? And stop repeating it, old dude, I heard ya the first time.

Led him to the romance section. Emma Holly was a safe bet, she does subgenre erotica. All he did was flip through very cursorily and then went hah? I don't want this type, I looking for something with sex in it, got that kind of thing anot?

Huh.

I thought he might be looking for something more - um - stimulating, shall we say. So I went for comics. Asked my colleague if she knew of any good R-rated ones. So she came up to help me. Found one, handed it to him. Another cursory flip, then another no no no, I don't want this type leh, I want something with a lot of sex in it, you have anot? Don't want comics I don't want comics. Got anot?

At which point we were trying very hard not to look at each other. Or at him.

Finally my colleague directed him to PageOne, told him we didn't have that kind of stuff here, they might have it over there, walk out, turn right, all the way straight. No, no, no need to turn anywhere, just walk straight.

Still he lingered by the door, going you know lah, men got natural urge what, then I still too embarrassed to go look for prostitutes, it's normal one what right? Then I don't want everytime go find prostitute, no choice must settle myself, come this kind of place look for things about sex.

Many many things to laugh about and take offense at.

Where to start.

First off. Does the bookshop look like some kind of cheap porn shop to you? How sexual can the sentence "we rent and sell new and used books/comics" be?

Second. You can talk about it, you certainly can do it. No self-respecting man would come up to two girls - and he was an old bastard and we are girls, I mean we're barely of age - and talk about being too embarrassed to approach prostitutes. How is it that you're not embarrassed to be talking about it?

Which brings me to another point. Are you fucking kidding me? If he genuinely wanted to find some materials to help in that area, fine, I can accept that, it takes all kinds to make a world. There was a definite implication in his tone, though, that he expected one of us - maybe both (ugh I can't believe I said that) - to offer... services.

What. The. Fuck?

And omigod. He spoke in Mandarin the entire time, except for the word sex, and he kept using it in this uber-slimy tone. Like an emphasis on a forbidden word and he was being so naughty just repeatedly saying it and shouldn't somebody be spanking him right about now? Only without even the slightest lowering of volume. Pretty impressive, I have to admit, though it's not precisely a useful skill. Or one that would ever gain recognition. Face it, it was just disgusting. And he kept sticking so fucking close. I was tempted to shove the broomstick in the general vicinity of his nether regions, just to warn him off. And then maybe really take a shot at his (very antique, value-deprecated) jewels, just because.

Lastly. It's a bookshop. I already told you we only have books and comics. Plus it says so on the sign outside. And at the counter. And on the board we put next to the display case. Do you require me to sign it to you? No novels, no comics, then dude, I got jackshit for ya. Stop asking stupid questions.

---

Yeah.

This is, partly, why guys are such bastards. Or, okay, to be fair, not all of them are gits. But those who aren't are taken.

This sounds so middle-aged. Argh.

Other reasons I came to such a conclusion? That's for another time. When I'm not as upset about it. Is upset the right word? Affected? Haunted? Plagued?

Fuckitall. In any case, not cool, man. Not cool at all.

---

PS. I feel I should point out that, since I got more coherent as the post lengthened, I am therefore truly not inebriated. Ha. Cleared of all charges. Adjourned.

(Seriously. If I were drunk I'd probably be inappropriate all over yo' face. I don't know what type of drunk I am since I've never been drunk before, but, well, I can guess.)

2011-08-04T01:25:00.000+08:00

I did it last night.

I'm doing it again.

And no. Minds out of gutters. Please.

Contemplating just deleting my entire fb account. Right now I can't decide if it's just a passing urge while I'm in one of my moods, or if I really truly want to do it.

Withholding judgment. We'll see if the urge is still there next week.

Already I'm pledging to turn my phone off for the rest of the week. Well, except for certain occasions and timeslots, but it's a bit too fucking long for me to explain. So yes. Anyone who sees this, if you call my phone in an emergency, well, sucks for you.

---

Saw this education fair thingy at Vivo today, but I didn't get a closer look until after it was closed for the day. I thought it was for little kids, but apparently they had private and overseas unis there, too. Damn my indifference. Disinterest. What the fuck ever.

It's back online for me to dig out plausible routes.

Seriously. What place would be willing to accept an ex-JC student one year past the "expiry date"? And without a cert, too. I don't got cash, either, which narrows my options down to not very much at fucking all.

It's proving to be a bad week. Month. Fucking hell.

Thank God for music and books. I'd be snapping people's heads off if they weren't there to curb my temper.

Aaaaaargh. I don't know how to fix this. Everything. Me.

Y'know, I think they might have something going for them, those people who sell the "it's all in the genes" schtick. Psycopathic strains, cancer, heart failure, depression, diabetes, blah blah blah. Maybe they really are something inherent. Because I don't feel like this person I am was shaped in any way by any events or people. I don't remember anything other than this. Was I born with it?

Goes back to the question of just what my purpose of living is.

Wow, I am seriously depressing. I just depressed myself even further.

I'm emo-ing. Again. As you can tell.

2011-08-03T02:01:00.000+08:00

Well.

This only strengthens my determination to go back to school.

One question.

Anyone knows what I have to do to get into poly? Or a private uni. Hell, maybe even just dump me overseas. Anything to get me out of this job.

---

I didn't expect Rilo Kiley to be so damn good a band.

Yep. Still exploring.

---

No off again this week.

---

Been trying to classify myself into a type of person. If that makes sense.

Anyway. I realized I don't really fit into anything especially... specific.

Unless there's such a category as "acts randomly, sometimes depending on the situation/person/mood, half of which are almost certainly helped along by the level of laziness".

See, I've been trying to predict my own actions. I imagine a scenario in my head, let it play out with full colour (and sometimes drama), then ask myself what I would do.

I couldn't get a straight answer out of myself.

No wonder people get frustrated with me.

---

I was wrong in one of the previous posts.

The more someone gets to know me, apparently, the worse a person I am.

Oh well. Nothing for it.

---

And I am seriously considering becoming a lesbian. I mean, if a sudden change of sexual preference is even possible.

Also, maybe I should just go full out recluse.

I admit, I was wrong. I did a lot of stupid shit in the course of this whole thing. No excuses. Problem is, that leaves me with considerably fewer friends. I can't help but think like everyone's gossiping behind my back at work these days.

(Seriously? We just shared one fucking drink. It wasn't even sharing when you think about it. What, is this some hidden, blatantly sexual signal in the world of dating that naive, innocent me should have been aware of? What the fuck?)

Luckily the guys at work have no clue that this blog even exists, because I would never admit this to them. Ever. But I cried on Monday morning, when YH called and told me some things. It's frustrating and infuriating and it makes me feel utterly helpless. Because they seem to know what kind of person I am, but they refuse to accept it. Refuse to truly believe that I am that kind of person. Like I'm just playing some game with them because I want to act all innocent. Fucked up.

See, this is why I don't trust people. They always end up screwing you over and making you feel stupid for it.

And alright. I haven't been making an effort to keep in contact with my friends from school. Then again, to be fair, they got their own lives. I don't want to disturb them, whatever it is they're doing these days. It feels like I should be letting them move on instead of dragging them back with me. Go find better people, darlings, it was fun while it lasted but I ain't worth it. Turrah.

Yeah, that didn't sound self-pitying at all.

Seriously. Stratford? Scotland? Anyone got extra money just hanging out their pockets and begging to be used?

Or, you know, I woulda been alright with just a few days' rest, even. Two days in a row of not having to stick to other people's deadlines. Of not having to meet their demands instead of my own. Of not having to be as pleasant as possible no matter my mood at that point. I would get more sleep. And I'd be happier with that whole ton of alone time.

Not that I'd actually be alone, with my fucking good-for-nothing sister superglued to the house. She don't even go out for food or with friends.

---

I really wonder just what I'm supposed to be doing with my life.

What purpose has God given me?

All the ambitions I had? Yeah. They're just ambitions.

I am... not the type of person who is capable of fulfilling any of them.

I'd list out everything that I feel is wrong with me, but fuck it. I'll leave the details for another time. Thinking too hard about it will just depress me even further.

---

No scissors this time.

But Monday evening, when the shops were all closing, and I was turning off the lights?

I began wondering what the odds were that the cameras would catch me using the penknife. And then what the odds were of anyone somehow coming across that particular segment.

Temptation's still there. Getting stronger.

Sometimes I really wonder if it wasn't just a short reprieve from a heavy addiction, after all.

This is insane.

2011-07-25T00:58:00.000+08:00

Half my work week is at Vivo these days. Urgh. It's not just transport, it's the cost of the food there as well. I spend nearly twice as much over there than I do at other branches.

And the boss wonders why I complain.

---

Friday! Off day! Lessee, I cut my hair, I bought jeans, I got a few tops... what's left?

Oh yeah. Wallet, jacket, bag, shoes.

And I want my whole day of me time. Movie? Still haven't tried watching one alone.

---

You gave me the books, the songs, and that disgusting memory; that's all you ever did.

---

Getting a lot more self-conscious.

Yeah, thanks, guys. Thanks a lot.

---

Still thinking about poly / private uni / overseas independent studies.

Hell, maybe I'll just go to a loanshark and borrow tons of cash. Under a fake name. Then go backpacking for, say, five years. And eventually become an American citizen. Haha.

I miss Scotland.

2011-07-14T01:16:00.000+08:00

Being.

The present is not what we thought it to be. We were wrong.

All that is the present is filled with the past. Memories of what was and could have been, operating on our brains, desperately trying to pick apart or pick away what went wrong.

There is no separating what we know happened and what we think happened. Our tinted glasses are part of ourselves, a perspective not-so-unique and yet perfectly our own. We sat apart, silent, mouthing our dreams into clouds of thin air that everyone sees but disregards.

If no one takes it into consideration, is it therefore the less present?

Everyone seems to think it is therefore nonexistent. And so the dreams stay dreams, the present is full with trying to forget the past, and we lie still, breathing clouds of thin air into even thinner air, waiting for the future that will never come.

---

My vaguely planned off day tomorrow has been compromised.

It has now been switched to Friday.

Which sucks ass. Because it means I have to endure another day at work waiting for customers to come by. And with the no-off-day week I had, it's torture. Torture.

Plus my mum's got her off on Friday, too.

Augh. My time is not my time.

But yes! Be optimistic. I still get to cut my hair. I still get to do tutoring. And I get to spend less on stuff since I've got a mobile ATM with me.

Wow, the last one sounds really bad.

Oh hell, if I do tutoring I'll have to forfeit my vegetarian dinner. Bloody freaking sobs. Why can't I have everything I want just for a day? I'm not even being that demanding!

Other thoughts.

Clothes to buy! Um um um jeans! Hipsters if I can fit into them (fuckin' legs). Err shoes. And oh man I keep forgetting to pass CZ the heels I couldn't wear. (Don't think she'll be able to wear them, though... the shoes are freakin' huge.) Hoodies. Long sleeve, short sleeve, no sleeve. Nicer jackets for God's sake. Oh yeah almost forgot tights! I'm dying from a lack of it. And I prolly have to think about new underwear, too...

You know what? I can bet you I won't manage to find even half that list. Nevermind the money issue, I just hate buying clothes. Whether I'm doing it alone or with someone else there. Sucks ass.

---

I'm staring at that damned thing at the top of my screen just waiting for it to change already. Change, dammit. Change.

Y'know, there are all kinds of waiting, but the kind that is most irritating and yet most rewarding is when you're waiting on someone you really honestly... I don't even know how to describe it. Love? Cherish? Appreciate?

Someone you think of as the closest to you. We'll leave it at that.

Miss you, babe.

This is why I say I always tell the truth in here. Because it's TRUE.

2011-07-09T03:39:00.000+08:00

This is how it works

You're young until you're not

You love until you don't

You try until you can't

You laugh until you cry

You cry until you laugh

And everyone must breathe

Until their dying breath

No this is how it works

You peer inside yourself

You take the things you like

And try to love the things you took

And then you take that love you made

And stick it into some

Someone else's heart

Pumping someone else's blood

And walking arm in arm

You hope it don't get harmed

But even if it does

You'll just do it all again

I don't really want to share this song with others even while I'm busy thinking who would love it as much as I do.

It's like reading and loving an author's works way before they got popular, and you go around publicizing their works like crazy but it don't stick and you give up, and then eons later mainstream culture suddenly loves that author, and you're going "I told you so" to yourself while everyone's suddenly recommending that same author back to you.

Something to that effect.

Really, though, I guess I'm just guarding my favourite things. Very, very closely. I get extremely possessive of my shit - it's a side effect from being the middle child. Either you hide and/or defend your things like a fucking guard dog on steroids, or you end up sharing every single inch of them. I'm private. Join the dots.

Anyway. I love those verses in particular. So yes.

---

I've been thinking.

19 years, and I've had very few insights on what kind of person I really am. And when the revelations come, somehow they leave, or they change, and you lose sight once more.

So I'm gonna attempt another attempt (wow, really bad sentence) at regaining those insights. Simple stuff, just what kind of things make me react different ways, I think. It always comes down to personal preferences and choices, likes and dislikes.

Forget it. I'll just go with the flow and hope it comes out coherent.

(If you're not interested in the selfishness segment, just skip the red part altogether.)

---

It pisses the shit out of me when

people form conclusions about someone else even before they meet. Negative ones at that. That is not how you work properly as a team. Or make friends. Or, you know, how you do everything else.
people call me stupid. In any language. I don't care if I'm called an idiot or loser or a fuckin' moron or whatever other variation; I only abhor the word stupid. It's a childhood thing with my parents, I'm pretty sure. I can control myself only if I am absolutely sure the other person's joking, it's a very close friend of mine saying that, and I'm in an extremely good mood. In other words, I'm very rarely okay with it.

Sometimes it feels like all I'm living for is/are

music
writing
reading
my friends

not necessarily in that order. Dance was in there once, but I was never truly happy with it, and so it died.

I hate my family. I'd stay with them out of loyalty and some mandatory, hard-to-break bond of love or affection or just plain same-blood, but over time, I'd resent being tied to them. I want to make my parents proud and have my siblings look up to me, sure, but in the end they really don't matter. I am of them, but I don't feel like I belong. Frankly sometimes I fervently prayed that they'd get into some freak accident and I'd be the only one left out of my immediate family. It's a scary thought to admit to, but it's true.

You know what? Yeah. I have a really low self-esteem. And I try too hard to make up for it in other ways. I always catch myself feeling like the other person, no matter who that other person is, is better than me. Not in specific areas; just better. Nevermind if they're arrogant or senseless morons or have got zero EQ and/or IQ. Somehow I always manage to downplay any of my possible good/stronger points to myself and, inevitably, go, "why can't I be like him/her?"

Which is why I let people step all over me. I think some part of myself is punishing myself. Or that I just feel like it's exactly what should be normal, because their rightfully more superior than I am. And I just let them take advantage. Because, dude, I do deserve it, and what's the big deal, anyway? It was what I should have done.

The cutting? Yeah. Attention whore. But it does work as a sedative of some sort. One hand, it gives you something you can control. Other hand, it allows you to express all your negative emotions through physical action. Plus the pain blocks out the thoughts you always couldn't control running rampant inside. And the morbid fascination in such things that I'm pretty sure all of us have, it gets satisfied.

It's a drug. I went cold turkey twice, and I couldn't win.

I'm not used to people accommodating me, or doing nice things for me, or just be plain nice to me just because they feel like I deserve it for being me. Low self-esteem here, again. I form no opinions partly because, I think, I feel like they're just gonna get shot down, so what's the point in even having one?

Which is why I'm exceptionally happy whenever people do that for me. Go out of their way to get me things I love, find stuff that they think I might like, hell, just look at me and smile. I'm not used to people even knowing I exist, much less care about me as an individual.

Dislike tomatoes. Tomato sauce. Strawberry flavoring. Onions, unless they're a significant contributing part of food that I like. Venison. BBQ flavorings/sauces. Hard-boiled eggs. Milk. Yoghurt. Soft fruits (they make me feel like they're starting to rot). Soft drinks. And god, yeah, sauerkraut.

It's a win for vegetables every time they're pitched against meat. Unless it's beef against tomatoes. Steak against tomatoes. Medium rare, black pepper sauce, baked potato and I can die happy.

I know chili can't be good for you if you consume it every meal, but I can't help it. I love noodles and pasta. Clam chowder. Pig's stomach soup. Black chicken herbal soup. Ginger. Siew mai. Black coffee. Hot tea of any culture, also plain.

Random likes and dislikes? I like multiples of three. Particularly 9 and 12. The original Sherlock Holmes classics. The feeling of waking up in the early morning, getting a cold bath, drinking hot coffee, and then just listening to the radio or a "feelgood" playlist. Rain. Not the humid types, though. Comfy old jeans, track pants, tanks, tees, and I'm coming to realize I adore boots. Hoodies. Sling bags. I would love to be able to alternate between glasses and contacts, but that's for a future I can't plan for yet. The feeling you get wearing foot thongs on parquet. Sudoku. It dawned on me, just 2 days ago, that I like the feeling of stubble on my skin. (Stubble looks like a damned stupid word to me right now.) Good underwear. Yes I know, it's stupid and embarrassing, but for some reason nice underwear makes me happy. Simple joys?

I have a love-hate relationship with prime numbers. I like whole numbers. I dislike hair in my food; it is the only reason - other than insects in it, I mean - I would complain to the establishment and request a replacement. The thought of hair in my throat just makes me feel utterly sick. I'm... tentative, on great heights. Though I love plane rides. I hate umbrellas and raincoats. Sneakers with thick socks. Slippers. Earrings. Cigs. And frankly, I don't dig fancy alcohol. Much. Beer or wine or hard liquor, anything that's simple and to the point is perfect. Fried chicken. Yellow, gold, bright purple, dark green, dark blue, muddy brown. Yellow lights at night, white lights in the morning.

I would like to be able to pull off long skirts, someday. As it is, I hate my legs and general body figure and I don't really like skirts for now.

Recently realized that I could actually feel my ribs jutting out. Not by a lot, but yeah, I got a shock. My legs look huge, though. Three guesses how (un-)equally distributed the fat is.

---

Annia told me once, on what it felt like way back when, in response to me telling her how I've been made to feel like I have zero opinion on everything that people are supposed to have opinions on.

I don't think you have no opinion whatsoever. I think you just don't really care about the less important things. Material stuff, everyday things, like what to eat and where to go next, you just don't think are important enough to make a definite choice about. But when we get to serious stuff, deeper issues, like when we're talking right now and about WS, you absolutely have an opinion. You told me your concerns about (name removed) and (name removed v2) - that's an opinion. And you're solid in your concerns, in that you really believe what you've observed and concluded, and that's a good opinion.

(This wasn't taken verbatim, by the way.)

Well.

Before she said that I was telling her how frustrated and down I felt about some person making me feel like a burden and an utter social failure just because I left all the choices to them.

After? I kinda had to agree. She was right. Food and where I eat them, I don't care much about. I don't care where I go when I'm out with someone else because it's not really about the places, it's about the company. What I do care about, I have my opinions, and half the time I really do express them. Not everyone's just always there to catch them all.

Big hint, people.

2011-07-08T03:24:00.000+08:00

I don't take hints. I have no fucking idea what they are.

So if you want to drop one in a conversation in the hopes of hinting at an uncomfortable topic, either you prepare for a very uncomfortable time, or just don't even start it in the first place.

---

And damn it. Somewhere around tracks 3 and 4, along with that fb convo, and you've got me laughing and crying at the same time.

---

I feel painfully young and excruciatingly tired at the same time.

As much as I want to never have to face farewells but only goodbyes, wishes still won't come true.

Strength, God.

Well.

2011-07-05T01:32:00.000+08:00

It's been... a very interesting few days.

I have to say, despite knowing my parents for so long (since they are my parents, after all), I never would have expected their reactions.

Yeah, I know, 3am was really extreme. But I honestly didn't expect them to care. Not that much. Not like that.

For the first time I felt like my mum actually understood me completely. When I got home all she did was ask if I was alright, where I'd been, and who I was with. I told her enough. She asked again if I was alright, then hugged me and told me they were all very worried.

My dad... when I got into the car, I could tell he was equal parts furious and relieved. The anger was there in his voice, but he managed to control it. When we got home, he walked straight into his room. Shouted outright when my sister innocently went in to see if he was okay.

I went to bed immediately after. There was a moment there when I really thought I'd scratch my arm off, but I pulled out of it.

And I slept.

I really am unpredictable to myself. I never thought it would turn out like that.

The next night, after work, we all went out for supper before my brother had to check in at his camp. I couldn't eat. I hadn't had much the entire day. And I was still ridiculously tired. But when we got home, my dad approached me and asked, very gently, if I was angry that he yelled at me so fiercely the night before.

Of course I wasn't. I couldn't ever be. He had a right to, and I kinda wished he'd yelled more.

---

It's starting to go downhill.

I'm getting increasingly short-tempered these few days. And I can't stop thinking. It's never good when that happens.

Not a good time to try talking to me right now. Hell, two people smsed me today and I had to make myself ignore them for fear of really driving all my friends off.

How am I supposed to be training newcomers and keeping my temper even as I'm fighting off exhaustion? It's an insane mix that even caffeine can't help much with. All the coffee's doing is keeping me sedate and half-aware. Twice already I've had to jerk myself awake while on the phone with my boss. The last time I fell asleep on the phone, I was in sec 3 half-lying on the couch on a humid mid-afternoon talking to my friend about a very yawn-inducing topic that I can't even be fucked to try to remember in the first place.

---

All I'm asking now, I guess, is to have a peaceful week so I can sort things out by myself. I'm not used to talking to people about some things, and I'm not sure I will ever want to. I grew up learning to be intensely private, and I find I like staying that way.

I know - this blog appears to completely refute that "intensely private" part. But there still are things I never even want to think about. That doesn't mean they never happened.

---

You know what?

I think one of my biggest regrets is that I never learned to be openly affectionate.

I've come to realize that, even with my closest friends, I hardly ever touch them at all. Teasing pokes and slaps and stuff, yeah, but I don't hug or do anything else that conveys (tender?) affection and/or gratitude. It's an unconscious fear that I'll be going too far; that I'm just presuming we're that close when in actual fact the other person doesn't even like me all that much. Fear of rejection, I suppose. I'm not good with that.

And another regret.

"The eyes are a window to the soul. Literally. Looking someone steadily in the eyes is an uncomfortable, intense experience for anyone. If you don't believe me, pick a stranger sometime, and just go up to them and stare them in the eyes until that moment when there's a sudden acknowledgment of lowered barriers, that moment that inspires awkward silences and racing hearts. The eyes reveal a lot about a person. They express emotions and give clues to what thoughts are lurking behind them."
~ from Blood Rites by Jim Butcher

Or is this the same thing, in another form?

---

I mean it, guys. If you read this, please leave me alone as much as possible for the rest of this week. I know I said I'm okay, but I only just realized that I would be okay. I've never been good at adapting quickly to change.

---

(Sometimes I honestly think I'm deliberately pushing people away. I don't know why. It's an odd festering, like a little devil sitting at your shoulder planting dark thoughts in your head, only worse. As if I'm telling myself that they don't need me in any case, and I don't have the energy to even try. These times I don't care to be polite or even remotely civil, even to my favourite people. I don't have enough energy to make room for them in my head.

So if I'm ignoring you, I'm sorry. I know you don't deserve it, and you know it, too. I'm selfish and self-centered, and I'm truly sorry for that. I don't know how to make it up to you guys. Every time I finally pluck up the energy to care way after the period when I should be caring, I have to brace myself for the possibility that you might not want to care about me anymore. Lord knows I would certainly deserve it.)

2011-06-30T01:53:00.001+08:00

Rain

For a second I held your scent on my tongue

(Through the faltering wind I see

a fine spray, simple in its direction

your hand, shimmering with its sheen;

the way it shoots by me as I picture

I wish you would hold on tight to me.)

you and I, park bench, holding hands.

---
A/N: Because I felt it had to have a post of its own.

Random stuff. Ego. Therefore, this is all about me.

2011-06-30T01:45:00.000+08:00

Yeah, like the other posts before this one weren't.

---

Inexplicably depressed these few days.

Or maybe it's explainable.

University's starting soon, I believe. And I've expounded enough on that in a few of my previous posts, so. Yeah.

WS. It's getting harder and harder to face them with every meeting that I miss. Something just eats at me every time I can't make it. The whole project's weighing down on me. I haven't been able to write for so long and it more than sucks. How do I co-write a second book if I can't weave something out like I used to? The only thing I managed to come up with was a fucked-up emo poem that sounds really pretty, but it doesn't fit.

(And I know what you said, Annia, but you can't reason with emotions. That look on his face when he reads my works just make me feel so inadequate. So... not enough. He may be an inflexible ass with people skills of a dictator, but that doesn't change how inferior he makes me feel whenever I think about his comments during peer editing. I can't help but think that maybe he was right, if not in everything then at least in something.)

(Because emotion is weakness, in this world.)

Honestly? I really think that, given enough time, it would have worked out. It might have been a lot easier if you weren't leaving. Awkward scenes are a much hated specialty of mine, but I like to think that it would have smoothed out after some time. First impressions never work out well on my part - I seem to be a better person in someone else's eyes as the days pass.

Sure, we might have drifted apart or just plain cut it all short after a while more. But it still might have worked, if only for that period.

(I know there is nothing I can do or say to persuade you, time, but fuck you.)

One more.

I don't understand just what it is I'm trying to do here.

Make them notice? Hide everything from them?

There are those moments when I just want to say it outright, yet at the same time wish I could sew my lips shut so not even a word slips out.

Don't you see?

(I went into a frenzy, two nights back, looking for it. It's probably rusted all through by now, but I needed it, and oh, fuck, I couldn't find it, and why the hell couldn't someone develop superpowers and hear me crying?)

TV Tropes has great links.

2011-06-24T00:34:00.000+08:00

"Hello Ladies- look at your man, now back to me, now back at your man, now back to me. Sadly, he isn't me, but if he stopped wearing body glitter and wore a black leather duster, he could be like he's me. Look down, back up, where are you? You're on a city street, surrounded by ZOMBIES! With the man your man could be like! Look down, back up, what's in your hand, I have it, it's a blasting rod- look again! The blasting rod is now A TORRENTIAL COLUMN OF FIRE! Anything is possible when your man is Harry Dresden and not Edward Cullen. I'm on a dinosaur."

Head to this link.

I never thought tvtropes would link to fanfiction. And this is damn classic. Utter epic-ness.

Oh, by the way - the original page on tvtropes where I saw this quote is here. It's got the funnies in a big way, so if you're reading this in the middle of the night, prepare your pillow to muffle your screams of laughter.

(Not that anyone who reads this is actually, you know, interested in the Dresden Files. Eh. I'm bookmarking a great moment of funny in my life. That's all the justification this post needs.)

"Wait, what?"

2011-06-23T01:24:00.000+08:00

It's a phrase I use very often, I find.

And if at this time you're going, "I know", well no, you don't. Most of the time I use it in my head, so what you hear isn't actually even the half of it.

Booya.

Great shocker, I'm insane.

---

Take tonight for example. Right after I step through the main gates of my house (my... condo? main gates of the private housing area that I live in? Why the fuck am I pondering this?) one of the guards calls out something that sounds either like "Nice" or "Night".

What makes my mental tracks pause is that he spoke to me. In the year and a half that I've been living here, I've only ever been greeted twice by the security guards, including tonight. The first time was by this fairly young guy who said hello to me as he walked past, and I was actually already halfway to my block. Which made it ultra weird.

(You know, I rather think that guy then and this guy now are actually the same person. You don't see very many fairly young security guards around here. Which is to say almost never.)

The other thing that made my mental tracks pause was that shit-eating grin on his face as he said it. Dude, what the fuck? And I didn't misinterpret his expression, it was an all-out shit-eating grin. Fo' sho'.

I thought I handled it well. I just smiled at him and continued walking. Let him think what he wants about that. Sucka. Whatever it was that he really said, it was a pretty acceptable response. So I win.

Again,

Booya.

---

Friday's my day off! My plans are extremely simple.

Accost JH and YH at TM.
Have lunch outside all by myself. (I miss doing that... It's pretty zen.) Yes I can and I will take up one whole table even with the lunch crowd glaring daggers at my bag.
Get the fried mushrooms from the Taiwan crispy chicken thingy stall at the TM basement! (I originally wanted the deep fried squid, but that one nearly killed me last time I ate it...)
Go to the library! Again! Whichever one I feel like going to! More than one! Fuck you if you're calling me a nerd at this point!
Re-explore Eastpoint. Because it feels utterly wrong that I've spent half my shopping days there, but don't know a single damned thing about its recent changes and facelifts.
Sleep till the cows come home and my bloody eyebags and dark circles fade into oblivion.

In no particular order.

All in all, a pretty relaxing day.

Here's hoping it works out as planned.

---

Highest compliment received today:

you're genuine.

I know I made a joke out of it then, but that's a kneejerk reaction that should be expected of me.

I am now content with myself.

For the moment.

Thank you. Really.

Still out of pace.

2011-06-21T01:19:00.000+08:00

You say you guys all love me and I don't believe it.

Get real. I'm almost certifiably insane. You never see the whole package at first sight. First impressions really don't work with me.

I just don't know. How is it possible for someone to love a person in so short a time? And I truly believe they don't know half of who I am. How do you love someone you don't know? This isn't some idealistic story borne from a perfect world. This sort of stuff doesn't happen.

---

我们都很爱你的。

Why did you say that? What was it that I failed to hide? I don't get it. What did I do to make you say that?

Or was it just a whimsical sentence uttered while on a momentary high?

---

Still out of step with everyone else.

I don't know what else to call it, so it's a mood.

Probably it's got something to do with the monthly thing, but who knows. Who knows who knows who knows.

---

No more blaming everyone else.

This time, it's my fault.

2011-06-17T00:21:00.000+08:00

I'm sorry. I really am.

---

Why is it that I apologize for something in every other sentence every single day, but when the time comes for it to be truly needed, I can never push it out my mouth?

Verbal vomit v3.

2011-06-13T00:38:00.000+08:00

Yup. Said (texted) stupid stuff that made me lose face. Think his ego just shot up way high. Fucking effer. You stupid girl.

(It was true though.)

---

Hey, guys.

I'm never saying anything else about it from now on.

I know you don't want to talk about it, that you're only reluctantly responding. I haven't known you two years, but I can tell.

I'm sorry. I won't talk about it anymore.

So take this as me closing a door.

Fuck it. It's not the first one.

I'm on my period.

2011-06-12T00:32:00.000+08:00

Excuse me while I cry my guts out.

---

No. While I'm really on my period which just fucking sucks because it doesn't even have the decency to be regular anymore, I'm not gonna cry. I don't think.

---

End July got bumped to early July. That gives one month. Not long, not short. Just... there.

The depressing emotions really only had time to catch up with me today, so yes. Add that to my period and it's a whole hell of a great mess.

(Though I had fun just reading your texts. It started out shit with the mess with the meeting and then confronting the cold in the shop, but then you texted and my whole day just started to look up.

Don't take this as an ego boost. Well, not that it isn't, I guess, but I don't want to be too clingy. It's not as if I can help myself - I'm content when people make or even just find time to think about me. Not full blast intense concentrate on me, just a passing thought or a shred of concern. I love the times when people make an effort to let me know they still know I exist.

And by the way. You coy bastard. There I was seriously thinking I wasn't clear enough about what I felt, and then I realized you were just yanking my chain. Made me feel bad and all that shit. Though that part of the conversation was particularly enjoyable.)

---

I hope to God you never read this. Please, please, please have been honest when you said you wouldn't read my blog or my works on FP without my express permission. I hate having my wishes disregarded, but even worse, I hate when people do it behind my back. I'd rather you flaunt it than sneak around me.

How hypocritical of me to say that I hate liars and sneaks.

---

Speaking of backs, my lower back's starting to give me hell right now.

So much for praying for a painless cycle.

And by the way, I really hope I get an okay schedule next week. It doesn't have to be good, I just want an okay one. Peaceful, without potential antagonism. I get particularly cranky when I get pissed. It's the worst when I get my period.

---

One last thing.

For the guys.

PERIOD PERIOD PERIOD

MENSTRUATION MENSTRUATION MENSTRUATION

Yup. I hope to fuck you winced at every syllable.

2011-06-11T02:09:00.000+08:00

Yay verbal vomit. Again. God I seem to be nuts at night in particular. What is it, the caffeine dying down? Lack of sleep? Something else?

Not gonna elaborate on the something else.

Eh. Whole swirl of things going on right now, but important thing is:

Yeah, it's gonna be shit come July.

Verbal Vomit.

2011-06-10T02:47:00.000+08:00

That's what's been happening for the past few days.

It's honestly annoying.

Seriously. I hardly know him and already I start blurting stuff out left right and center?

Like the self-mutilation thing. Smart conversation, darling, really smart.

I never even told the people at the bookshop, and they knew me for seven months.

Then again. It's not like they really know me. So much of the time I'm speaking to them in Mandarin. I can't express myself properly when I don't know the language so well.

I hate that I can't express myself. Used to be I could convert my emotions into a piece of writing, but after Os that chance went straight to hell. Then came blogs and friends, but then people told me talking to the screen was moronic and reclusive, and how many people do you know who can listen to you the whole time you're together?

It's a huge relief when I can speak to friends in English. Working in a bookshop where everyone uses Mandarin as their primary language, I feel so out of place when I'm there. English does me no good at all - most of them only know basic English, just barely enough to explain the procedure in the bookshop and know a few titles and authors.

I never thought I'd ever get caught in this situation.

It's stifling. Suffocating. All the English there is is either in the books or on SMSes and the Internet. Texting isn't any good because everyone tends to leave me hanging for some reason. I keep feeling like the last text I sent scared them away.

Terrible self-esteem. Think I don't know that? But I can't help it. Even when I get compliments I have to battle with myself to accept it and believe the person was being sincere. I don't argue outwardly only because it would make me feel like I'm trying to fish for more compliments. And I hate that.

---

(She says you're only trying to fill up your time with me. That you don't mean anything by this, that you only wanted to do it for the fun, to make up for your time here before you leave.

I know this is stupid and dramatic, writing this here, but there's no other outlet for me now. My affinity with the pen is lost. My fingers can't seem to work with them anymore.

Do I believe her? I don't know. I can see why she'd say that, to a point. We both know perfectly well this won't last long. So why even try it in the first place?

I told her if you were using me, then hell, I was probably using you, too. Not the person but the experience, and all. Trouble is, it's both. I like that we're able to talk random shit, though I should admit they were mostly of my initiation. I like that I get to match wits with someone else. I like that you try to be smooth and what the hell, despite all claims to the contrary, sometimes they work. And even when they don't, I still found it ridiculously charming.

Fuck knows if there's something there. This isn't anything serious, I think we both realize, because it won't last long. It can't. I can't tell exactly how I feel about this, because I don't know. There was only ever one more, and we both went to hell for that. This can't possibly work.

For all that preparation, though, I'd probably still get depressed when it ends. We might both enjoy ourselves the entire time you're still here, or things might get shot to hell and we end up never speaking to each other again way before you leave. There's no telling how it ends, and while I hate not knowing, for the first time, it feels okay to let it run its course.

It's a nice feeling to be able to feel sufficiently at ease with someone. So at ease that the verbal vomit comes almost instantly. Second time we met, and already so much was coming out my mouth. Bad habits, personal opinions, scars, as well as my utter ignorance of the whole wide world. I always watch out for my pride when I'm with friends and family, but with you, somehow, it's easy to just screw pride and burn my dignity while I'm crashing.

Might be quite a lot to place on your shoulders, if you ever read this. I'm hoping you never do. But if you did, well. It's too late to take it back or hide it. But I have to clarify - I know what "too fast too furious" is like, and I'm not. Believe me. It's the one reason I have such a huge problem dragging myself out of depression. Always hesitate, hesitate, hesitate, never daring to unload my burdens on someone else.)

---

Do you know how I saw the scars? How I actually caught sight, weeks before, when nobody else did?

I don't know for sure. But I do have a theory.

Is it possible, do you think, that by once doing the very same thing, I developed an unconscious heightened awareness in this respect? Why else would I know where to look? How else would I have seen?

And sometimes I hate you for not noticing. There were many hints, many signs, so many of them, suggesting to you, telling you that I know from personal experience. I know how the muscles weaken even with such thin scratches, over time. I know that the tingles never stop even long after you stop cutting. I know about the numbness before, the sadness during, and the relief after. It liberates in a way that you know isn't healthy, but it's under your own control, and there's nothing and no one else left to care.

The one way you could drive someone to suicide is by sitting there doing nothing. Never noticing is one thing, but ignoring is a whole other ball game completely.

Right now, I'm so tired of people never asking, never remembering, never even trying.

I'm just plain tired, period.

2011-06-06T03:32:00.000+08:00

I don't know how to make this sound right.

Cruising facebook can really get you down.

It's happening enough that you get the gist of what's been going on in someone else's life.

And when you see that they're moving on without you, that they're forming their own bonds, making their own fates...

It's hard to be proud of them, but deep inside, I like to think I truly am. Proud that we all made it this far, that they have a future ahead of them, that we're still connected at least by that thin little thread.

The bigger part hurts.

---

Something to think about.

An online fic once mentioned something about relationships between people. No not just the romantic kind.

Gotta dig it up first to get it right.

Here we go.

~

[...] "I've been thinking about that," Lee said quietly. "Do you remember what you told me about tying knots in your traps?"

"Sure," I said, after I was able figure out the odd digression. "It doesn't work to knot a rope that's been snapped, because it'll just break again and quicker. Tying a knot takes half the strength away, so it's better just to get a new rope."

And it was never painless. To make new string, you had to kill a new deer, or braid together new vine in the summer, starting afresh. It was a process that could sometimes take months, if deer were on the move or winter was howling around. Breaking a string in the valley was only slightly more convenient than breaking your arm.

"Right," Lee nodded. "I've always found it nice to think of the relationships between people as like ropes between them. People newly introduced have ones that are spider-thin and easily broken, while some are thick as your arm, like between you and Pit." We smiled at him on reflex. "And just like ropes they sometimes get tangled up, of course, and I can't tell you how many times I've, oh, bickered with Sasha, and thought, Don't worry, it's just a little twist in the string."

"It makes about as much sense as anything else," I said after I had thought about it some. "Rope becomes stronger the more you can weave in and work together, and relationships strengthen as you work to learn more about the person, or spend more time with them."

"Just so," she smiled, then sobered. "But I think you might have snapped your string with Jade."

Her words stopped me cold, reaching me as no amount of love poems of grand speeches could. "You think that?" I asked, horrified. Now that she had mentioned it, I could see it clear as twisted twine in the snow, discouraging and useless. How could you possibly fix a string between people? Hunt for some kind of emotional deer? Braid together strands of feelings and words—well, wait, that actually sounded pretty good, except that I didn't know how to do it.

Yes. Yes.

The only limitation that words have is that there are so many of them.

2011-06-02T14:39:00.002+08:00

I like posting random things online.

Boo yeah.

Yo.

2011-05-30T23:13:00.000+08:00

So I deleted the previous two posts. Aww. You don't get to read them.

Anyway. Jo and Jo (yes, I know you're confused. I don't care. They know who they are), if either of you leaks it out I WILL KILL YOU.

Dramatic. But oh so true.

Really. Keep it contained, please?

2011-05-03T01:33:00.000+08:00

I feel like reading brainless romance novels instead of the 240345134984235687 fantasy novels I have on hand right now. Library-hopping ain't as fun as it sounds, guys. Don't try it. Or, well, I mean it was fun while you were doing it, but the aftermath can be a total pain.

Whatever. I still love Jim Butcher. And now that I have Changes and Side Jobs on loan from the library, I'm too damn scared to read them. Weird, huh? Guess I just don't want the anticipation to fade. Waiting on a series is its own kind of agony.

Wow, I really wish I had the entire set. Paperback, long paperback, tradeback, whatever. So long as they aren't hardcovers or ginormous. Guess I'll just wait till Christmas or something... then I'll treat myself with it (along with Ghost Story, which should be out in tradeback size by then, dammit!) with my salary and a hell of a lot of savings.

Really pretty hung up on the Dresden Files series, aren't I. Huh.

Signing out. Got a headache and a sore throat. Lucky my fever went down the night before, or I'd be in bed and incapacitated for a few days. Where's the fun in that?

Dresden Files!

2011-04-11T04:12:00.000+08:00

Dammit.

Changes only just came into San Bookshop a few weeks back, and they're out of stock all across our branches. I'm fucking itching to read it. Ugh. Side Jobs is only out as hard cover for now, I think. And Jim Butcher hasn't even finished writing Ghost Story yet.

Watched a vid interview of Butcher just a few minutes ago, and I agree - Dead Beat is definitely one of my favorites. Zombie T-rex! Named Sue! Need I say more?

Though I like setting my baits twice. Dead Beat has Dresden finally accepting Lasciel's offer - beautiful start of the start of something new. Haha. It only gets better after that. And, fuck, he gets to be a Warden! How much more ironic can that get?

I have to say, though, I loved Storm Front and Turn Coat, too. The former because Jim Butcher did a bloody good job at introducing such a huge world to his readers, the latter because you could practically smell the winds of change blowing in. Anticipation and adrenaline and all. Oh, and Grave Peril, because Michael is formally introduced here and for God's sake, he is one motherfucking awesome character. (Sorry, Michael. I'll scrub out the obscenities in the morning.) And because Dresden burns one huge plot of land.

Okay. Think I'm throwing out too many spoilers. Need to rein it in.

Still. I'm in love with the series. Though I seriously wish the guy on the covers could actually act in the TV series. Maybe then I wouldn't hate on the deviated plot so much.

The one thing I really really respect about the series, though, is how Butcher makes an effort to blend myths and beliefs across cultures. Religious faith is part of the mix - the Shroud of Turin and Knights of the Cross (yes, the Cross) are part of a particular book, Tibetan guard dogs (Foo dogs) make an appearance, Denarians and denarii and the Fallen (thirty pieces of silver - ring a bell?), so on and so forth. The Sidhe are a heavy part of the overarching plot, as are vampires. Other stuff includes necromancy, dragons, werewolves, the mafia, demi-gods, the Sight, and the sort. And damn, he's even got the Three Billy Goats Gruff involved. Like what the hell.

Butcher himself said it in the vid interview: he attempts to create a world where many different types of beliefs and cultures can blend, so that they can all be true while not being true at the same time. Rather diplomatic of him. But definitely not a mean feat. And the way he manages to make people laugh and panic at the same time in certain parts of the books is just amazing.

Ranting long enough. Tired now.

But holy crap! Apparently Changes is only the midpoint of the series!

I'll be waiting till I grow old.

2011-04-05T23:26:00.000+08:00

Off days are far from the relaxing oases of rest they're always portrayed to be.

Woke at 6 so I could get a bath in before accompanying my mother to the hospital, left the house a little late, slept through the tension in the car as we raced the morning rush.

The hospital itself is another experience. It's like a frickin' maze in there. Multiple entrances and exits, alternate routes, turns and corners scattered like fish food over a tank of 50 fishes. And there aren't very many rest stops, if you know what I mean.

One part I hate most about surgery is not knowing exactly when an operation ends. Thinking we'd have ample time to do so, we left the hospital once my mum got wheeled in and headed to eat and get that iPod Touch. Then the three of us came back home, my dad leaving soon after to run errands, the two of us left at home to rot in front of the laptop screens. We'd planned to leave for the hospital again around 4, after an early dinner.

Bombshell. My fourth aunt called my home phone around 1.30/2pm and I answered it. Seems my mother had already emerged from the operating room, woke up, and was asking for my dad.

Fucktard doctors who have no concept of time.

Isn't it expected that the people closest to you would be right there when you open your eyes after an operation? You don't count on that happening, you take it to the fucking bank.

Fuck it. Fucking A.

---

Another thing.

Fair warning, people. I'm turning off my phone on the 19th. Blog comments will be removed. Facebook posts, deleted. And what follows after will be worse than excommunication and water torture.

Kidding. I'm kidding about the last part. You'll just get strangled. Very slowly.

---

Yep. Exhausted all my ire. Now to get rid of this headache.

Don't Lose Who You Are.

2011-03-31T00:44:00.000+08:00

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not be in want.

2011-03-27T03:55:00.000+08:00

For though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil, for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.
- Psalms 23:4 (NIV '84; KJV)

Because for some reason I feel a deep sense of comfort from this particular verse.

You don't need death to need comfort. And God, do I need it.

For the first time since I stopped going for church, I said it out loud. I told somebody I was a free-thinker.

Put very simply, that sucked big-time.

Do you sometimes get the feeling, at the very moment you do something, that what you're doing is completely wrong?

It's like a bullet-train afterthought, and you get this sense of dread even as you complete the motions, finish up with whatever you are doing. That, "oh, fuck" right before the very last "oh, fuck"-able moment.

Yeah. That was it.

Paranoia?

2011-03-19T00:09:00.001+08:00

I feel like I'm being used.

At work, I mean.

Lately I've been getting the short end of the straw. Straws.

Every single day I seem to be "the lesser evil" to them.

Scenario I: Person A wants to go to branch 1, but doesn't want to work with person B, so throw me to branch 1 on the same day with person A. Problem solved!

Scenario II: Person B wants to take leave on a certain day, but persons C and D already have off that day, and somehow everybody needs that day off just as badly as the next. So ask me not to have my day off this week. Problem solved!

Scenario III: Person E wants to come late and leave early without letting the boss know. Not without doing it for a few days first at least. So request to work with me at branch 2, which I happen to have keys to. Problem solved!

Scenario IV: Person F doesn't want to check/order stock. Pull rank and say "oh yeah, it's about time you learn to do ___". Watch me search all over the place for the proper books to order from the proper supplier. Problem solved!

Bastards.

Maybe it's me. Instead of easygoing, like I actually am, they think of me as a complete pushover. I don't scold, I don't ignore, I don't pull rank. (Not like I can do the last one.) Yup, chicken fodder. Let's all shit on Nicole and pretend we love her. ("No, no, it's chocolate cake!")

Sometimes I do wish they would pretend, though. Everyone, all the time. Because it sucks balls when you hear "oh no I just don't want to work with person A/B/C/D/E/F/G so I'm working with you and I love it" over and over. And I pout (okay, I never actually do that) while saying in a joking tone, "oh come on, feed my ego a bit here, just admit you love me and can't bear to not see my face for more than a week". Honestly? I really just want to feel wanted for who I am, and not who I am not.

I'm living in Scenario II this week. It happened on Christmas week last year, too. Scenario III happened at HL, at least three times since I came in. Scenario IV was at HL, too, at least thrice for MPH, once for USA, once for YAF. Scenario I has been going on for heck knows how long. I was aware of 3 months' worth of it, but hell, one never really knows what goes on behind one's back.

I'm aware that, to a certain extent, this is exactly what I should be doing. Picking out the short straw instead of letting them draw it. Youngest in the company - whether in age or in rank - and all that.

I have no clout, no standing. I get that. I accept that. But come on. You're throwing me around like a rag doll. Very blatantly. How hard is it for you to tell the boss, and only the boss, "I want to work with Nicole because I don't like person A/B/C" under your breath over the phone when I'm in the bloody toilet? There is no need to impersonate a loudhailer over the phone twenty thousand times right in front of me.

Dudes. I have feelings, too. Preferences. I hide it, but seriously, cut me some slack here and there.

Looking at it the other way, though, I guess it'll be great material for guilt trips in the future. "Look, I helped you out when *insert scenario I/II/III/IV here* a few times before, and I've never once complained. (To your face, anyway.) Give me some leeway just this once. Please?"

And I'll be real polite and all.

Devious and depressed, that's me.

---

On the other hand - I do feel the love sometimes. "You're closer to my age, we can relate better!" "You're more efficient compared to the other person!" "You're such a nice girl, so innocent, so tame!" "You're stupid and weird and damn near deaf but you can be shit funny when you've had coffee!"

Okay, so the last one has never been said to me. Bet you anything some of them thought it, though.

Perhaps I'm just trying to be optimistic in the face of ambiguity. They're good at saying things that can be taken either as an insult or a compliment. When in doubt, pretend to understand and like it. Mull over it later when you're free to curse the fuckers out loud. Without being overheard. Or shushed. Or scolded over your use of vulgarities.

---

One last thing.

The triple whammy dealt to Japan these few days has given society at large a rude shock. Personally, I think we need it. But I do wish there hadn't been so many lives lost or in limbo. Such an event always dishes out a lot more than is seen. Particularly on the more vulnerable, whether discreet or distinct.

The first few days, I'd tried to avoid knowing anything about it whatsoever. All I knew was that there'd been a tsunami that had wiped out a lot of shit. Then I realized that not knowing anything wasn't going to help me not feel pain. So I started buying the Straits Times and requesting my colleagues to explain the articles in LianHe Wanbao and Xing Ming Ri Bao. The news on telly I couldn't bear to watch - they had videos - but I caught short snatches of the tsunami in action on someone's laptop.

(Lesson learned, God. Ten times over.)

Many things struck me as it went on over the days. How foolish and minuscule mankind can be, generally or as individuals. How people could emerge at their worst and their best simultaneously when backed into a corner. How connected we can feel over grief and pain, whether we're half the world away or inches apart from each other.

If I had the power to, I would have jumped in and volunteered to help out in Japan right away. But I'm a minor, at least in some countries, and I have a job and family. Plus I have no experience or skill that would be particularly useful, if at all. That was my strongest and first thought.

I would have loved to donate to relief efforts, but I don't trust charities and red tapes. I would have helped spread pledges and pleas for help online, but I can't preach what I don't practice.

So many would haves, so many buts.

As it is, all I can do, now, is to pray for them. To be thankful that it wasn't worse - because it could always be. To be hopeful that the nuclear situation would be resolved soon. To honour the dead by acknowledging them and remembering them for years to come. To be mad proud of the dedication the nameless rescuers and workers are showing as they get down and dirty in the field, regardless of the potential risks. There are many things that can bring the strongest man to tears, and these are some of them.

That said, I would like to beg your pardon for being dramatic (very likely overly so) and idealistic.

Whoever's reading this, please show your support along with me. A minute of silence is all I'm asking. You don't have to do it here or now, or at all, just because I'm asking. But I hope that you do. A minute of silence to fix this event clear and deep into our hearts, because it's not something that deserves to be written off, ever.

All disastrous events, particularly such as one of this magnitude and severity, are many things rolled into one. A lesson. A heartache. A ray of hope. An ending, a beginning, a process. It saves as much as it destroys.

I have a personal stake in this, indirectly as it is. My father has told us a few days ago that he might have to fly over to Japan to help out with relief efforts. There isn't much I can say or do about it. There is pride in that he could be a part of the many unnamed workers dedicated to their jobs and personal causes. And there is worry and fear in that he could return damaged, or not return at all.

He told us on Tuesday that he might leave on Thursday, if it were to happen, and it would be on short notice. News of the reactors in worsening condition came on Wednesday morning. All the fear flooding in on you isn't a good feeling. Nowhere close.

It's Saturday now, by the hour, and Singapore has not mobilized a second team. My dad's safe - for now. There's no guarantee that they won't send the team in at a later date. And what if he couldn't contact us in time before he leaves? If he left while we were asleep, or if he called or messaged while we were at work with our phones off?

I can't tell you how terrifying those possibilities are to me right now. I don't show or say it much, never enough, but I love my family and I worry. And my father has always been exactly what he was supposed to be to me throughout the years. Whether or not anyone acknowledges or even knows it, my dad - and everyone in his team - is a hero.

He's survived so many rescue and relief operations so far. Thailand, Afghan, Australia, USA, China. Even when we were warned that he might not return from Afghanistan - just earlier this year - I don't think I've ever been as scared as I am now.

We can all feel it, I think. There's a silent tension running through the house all the time. My mother seems unable to stop relying so heavily on him lately. The days he has a half day off, or has to take off for work dead at night, everyone almost seems to stop breathing in fearful anticipation. I want and don't want to know where he's going, for how long, who he'll be with. I don't want to know what he's packing, when, how, where.

It's a lot worse when the threat isn't visible. Radiation and nuclear energy has always been a sensitive issue, a painful topic. This generation, and half of the one before us as well as the one before that, has spent much of our lives in fear and dread of a nuclear disaster. The worst part? It's too real and too close.

All I ask is a minute of silence. Not just to grieve and commemorate, but to pray, in whatever language and whatever way. To lend some sort of hope and support. This event, those who have passed on and those who have survived both need as much as they can get.

Simple post before I fall dead asleep.

2011-03-11T02:30:00.001+08:00

And start dreaming all kinds of crazy stuff again.

---

Chivalry has struck again.

I just came back from watching Red Riding Hood (which by the way isn't really much of anything). We were at Downtown East, and when we got to the taxi stand and it was our turn a taxi had just turned in with a passenger paying the guy. So we waited even though there was another taxi behind it. (That wasn't my idea, by the way. I just followed haha.)

As the guy got out, he saw us walking towards the taxi he had just alighted, and held the passenger door for us.

After the three of us piled in, I turned to thank him, and he just smiled and said "goodnight", shut the door, then turned and walked away.

Score one for the boys.

Who says chivalry's a bad thing? I like being treated politely and nicely. Sometimes gender inequality can be a wonderful thing. It reminds me of why I like being female, even in the midst of the painful pain in the ass that is menstruation.

And speaking of menstruation...

This guy I saw today while I was at PP was damn hilarious. He wasn't ugly, but he sure as hell wasn't handsome. He had muscle, some, though he wasn't anywhere near buff. And he wore tight jeans (not skinny jeans, thank God) and had his black shirt tucked all the way in.

He walked like a chicken.

Seriously! He kept putting his fists at waist level, tucked in the back like he was trying to imitate chickens. And he kept sticking his chest out! What kind of boobs are you trying to show, eh? He even flapped his arms back and forth a little. I had to stuff my mouth with food while I watched so I wouldn't laugh too loudly.

The manager at the branch in PP told me he was there the day before, too. Giant was having a booksale right below us - though luckily they sold mostly Mandarin cookbooks and children's books, which hardly affected us - and the guy was apparently in charge (I mean, he kept straightening the book piles on the tables and didn't get the evil eyeball by the cashier). When he spoke to people he'd keep cocking his head side to side, slightly tilted up at times, in a decidedly feminine manner. And he kept kneading his lower back. At which point I couldn't stop myself from thinking, "Who the hell do you think you are, massaging your lower back just because you've been freaking standing around most of the day? Who's the one with the stomach cramps every month, huh? Who's the one wasting all that blood only to see you guys freak out? Who's the one with the ability to carry life inside ourselves? You can't even stand for a few hours, you chickenshit?"

No pun intended. And in my defense, hey, I'm menstruating. I get a little leeway.

I like being female today. :D

Am I just momentarily depressed?

2011-03-02T04:10:00.000+08:00

I guess I'm just not that passionate about it.

Dance. Writing. Whatever.

I've never really been into life, you know? I go through the motions, but I don't really live in every second. It's the same for dance. Studying. Swimming. Netball.

And, I'm beginning to suspect, writing, too.

I know I'm not the best at poetry or novel-writing. I know that. But I try. I try as much as I can to keep writing. And as much as QC was a swell idea, dude, that really hurts.

I know you don't mean any harm. And maybe I'm just looking too much into things. But seriously. From what I know, you only commented on my poems. All of them, except for one. And you didn't touch anyone else's poems at all that night. Talking about syntax, missing punctuation, diction - which was fine. That was perfectly fine. Those questions were legit for someone who never knew me before this project.

But then you went into the "feel of the poem". You commented on one of them that it doesn't feel like a proper poem to you. I don't know, man, how are poems supposed to feel like? Are proper poems supposed to have a preset feel to them?

I don't know. I'm probably just being really pissy right now. I'm trying so hard to understand your perspective, to react accordingly, but I just can't stand it. I can't stand being talked about according to your feel of what a poem should be like.

Alright, so I guess my poems are really emo and highly obscure. Even when I'm being super obvious about the subject. I don't know how to share my experiences through my poems. I accept that. I can see what you meant, based on your comments on my poetry. I really do.

I don't know. I'm just upset right now for some unrelated reason that I'm not even entirely sure of. This is an easier outlet, I guess.

But I was hurt, that night. Extremely hurt and upset. You got me seriously doubting myself. It's the one thing I thought that I was at least moderately good at. The only thing. The one area where I could freely express myself, write the way I want according to my real moods without any restriction or limitation. I told many truths in my poetry because it was the only way I felt I could convey my emotions without actually revealing everything.

Remember "Descent"? I explained that it was about self-mutilation vs writing as an outlet. None of you know why that was written. Maybe Annia has a sneaking suspicion, but I can't read minds and I frankly don't want to know the truth.

It wasn't easy for me to stop. It isn't. The dance concert helped some because I couldn't ruin the experience in any way, for anyone. But I continued, after. Did you know that? Did you know how hard it was for me to just show up in school? How hard it was for me to pay attention in class? Did you even know that I quit school?

The last fact, among all you guys, only Annia and the illustrators know. Investing such a huge part of myself into my poetry is what I do. It's the only way I know how to write. Everything else? Even Annia knows next to nothing about. We don't talk like that anymore. Or maybe we never have.

I guess only people who go through it really understand. Someone who doesn't cut won't know how hard the whole thing is. You don't feel the confusion, the pain, the relief, everything mixed into one tight moment again and again and again. You don't know how strong the urge to go further is. You don't know what it's like to have your head screaming for you to stop, yet at the same time your hand is just slashing, slashing, slashing. My scars were minor, and now you can barely see them at all, but they still remind me of that time. Nearly 2 full years.

Sometimes I revert back to that way of thinking. I liked feeling the scars against my fingers, liked feeling the burn of skin being sliced open, because they gave me an anchor. Something to hold onto when I was completely directionless. It gave me a source of comfort because I could feel it, could touch something tangible, could practically feel that peculiar brand of relief pass from the scars to my fingers. It reminded me that I still existed, that I could still turn back. That's why you cut, from what psychologists say, right? Because you seek attention. You want people to notice that you're hurting. If they noticed, they could stop you, get you some help.

If someone had done that for me, reported to a teacher or the school counselor, I would have hated them. I would have hated them so much I feel like I would have gladly clawed their eyes out. But it didn't happen. In some way I'm disappointed by that. Hurt. Because once again, nobody cares. Hey, so Nicole cuts herself, big fucking deal. She uses scissors. She doesn't even bleed that much. The scars are thin. Let her go screw herself up, that attention whore.

I know you guys don't think that. GH and gang, I mean. I know you cared. What I don't know is why, exactly, I hate having to force myself to stop cutting all by myself. Yeah, you say you'd check up on me everyday, mum, bro, but fuck if your words meant anything. Where were you throughout all those nights of crying myself to sleep? Where were you for my sec school graduation, even? Where were you when I spent that entire night crazily clawing at every inch of bare skin at the balcony while trying to choke back every noise? Long sleeves and jeans were enough to convince you I stopped cutting, apparently. I even headed for J's surprise party the morning after, jeans and that fucking hood and long sleeves when the sun was beating down on us, and nobody knew.

I blame myself. The conflict in wanting yet not wanting people to know about the cutting, to see exactly when and where. That confusion made me make irrational choices. I outright told people about it - Q and Jes, GH, Annia, my brother - and yet I made extremely careful casual movements to keep others from even suspecting that something was wrong.

Do you remember that day in '09? We had class photo-taking. I showed up with red marks on my left forearm. Arina and Fion noticed. Fion insinuated that she knew about the cutting. I insisted that I got caned by my parents. In a light, almost sarcastic tone.

Somehow, looking at those photos now, I'm reminded of Fion's expression when she saw the marks. Almost haunted by it. She gives easily, that girl, and it served as a strong reminder of how much people you barely even know could care.

It's one of the things stopping me from starting up again. It was nice to see that someone cared, but I don't need to see that expression appear ever again because of me. Frustration, concern, exasperation, a sort of worry in the eyes. It's a beautiful expression, but it can't ever show up again. I don't think I could stop myself from crying.

The day I quit school. In the car, when Mrs Ang called my mother back on her cell. I hid in the backseat with my head down and hands pressed hard against my ears, desperately trying not to hear my mother tell her I was quitting school. I just kept dripping tears, hiding my face, fingers in my hair trying to make myself bleed.

My dad saw. Kept a palm against my hair, rubbing it gently, that look of frustration and anger and pain on his face. It was the only way he knew how to comfort me, in that situation. I never told anyone how good that simple contact felt.

AHS graduation ceremony. I went through it being laughed at, watched my friends all leave with their families, took the train home alone. Cried so hard in the shower even though I was the one who insisted my parents didn't have to apply for leave just to accompany me.

Do you understand, even just a little, how hard I took those criticisms on my writing? I never had a very high esteem of myself to begin with. Grappling with religion fought it down further. Dance made it worse. Quitting school, even more. And now the one last thing I could still be proud of just took a severe beating.

I don't want to think about the future. Don't want to hear you ask any more questions about furthering my studies. Don't want to watch anyone else pity me, or try to offer advice, or ask about my job. I don't want that stress. I never wanted it. Why can't you just let me float in my comfort zone for a while? You thought I recovered from quitting school. I never did. I just pushed the whole issue aside.

Stop reminding me. Stop tempting me. Stop beating me down. Just stop everything. I don't want to care anymore. I don't want to think. I don't want to think about myself. Stop. Stop. Stop.

2011-03-02T02:55:00.002+08:00

I lost faith in myself within the space of a night.

One freaking night.

The one thing I thought I was good at? Yeah, that just went straight to hell.

It's like thinking back again and realizing you still don't understand yourself.

2011-02-09T23:44:00.000+08:00

Bus trips really do make you think more.

On the way home, I thought about an inane comment one of my colleagues made over the phone earlier today, and realized it really made sense.

So twisting the context a bit...

Yesterday is a rehearsal for today.

Think about it together with this quote:

"You beat yourself up over every mistake, every tiny little thing that goes wrong. But you do the best you can.

"And if you fail... you try again tomorrow."

(Cupid's Psyche, 'Til Death)

I don't know if what I'm trying to say is actually getting through, but eh. It makes perfect sense to me.

Super Show 3

2011-01-31T00:58:00.002+08:00

Warning: Not in order of appearance. Just flow with my thoughts, hey?

---

Kangin's tribute: I cried. Simple as that. It was so simple, so tender, so touching. I wish I had it on video, but then again, that wouldn't be enough to convey the emotions. How he appeared as a hologram onstage, watching the other members play imaginary instruments as he looked on and tried to touch them, reach them. It felt so much like a passing on of responsibility, of duty, as if a father to his sons. It moved many people to tears. And after, the crowd was shouting "Kim Yongwoon! Kim Yongwoon! Kim Yongwoon!..."

Siwon's solo: Christian song!!! I couldn't tell what song it was, but it was beautiful. The screaming fans kinda ruined it a bit, but that was alright. He wore a silver cross necklace with a white tee and nondescript pants. The whole image was very clean, very simple.

Ryeowook's solo (featuring Sungmin on guitar): There was a very sweet video clip right before One Fine Spring Day, and it set a wonderful precedence for the song. The performance itself was very simple, as well - just the two of them on seats, revolving around on the stage whatchacallit all the time. Both were gorgeous, in talents and in looks.

Henry's solo: Justin Bieber. That's all Fion allows me to say. I hate myself for singing along. Well, I liked that he was good enough to sing along with, but I hate the song he chose. Ugh. He did wonderfully with Baby, starting off on piano and then moving on with an explosive performance. Dance moves impeccable, vocals as perfect as ever.

Zhoumi's solo: You would not believe how much like a girl he appeared to be. Skinny everywhere with an all-black ensemble, dark lipstick, great eyes and hair - even his vocals was very nearly feminine. But the song (萧洒小姐) suited him perfectly, and it was just. Plain. Sexy.

Yesung's solo: The stadium practically sang the entire song along with him. Best sing-along ever. And his eyes. How does he mesmorize like that?

Bonamana: The video clip for this was... too good for words. The performance after, just as wonderful. Enough said.

Lady Gaga and Beyonce: All hail androgynous good looks!! Heechul as Lady Gaga, Shindong as Beyonce, Donghae and Eunhyuk as Beyonce's main backup dancers. Heechul was schmexy with waist-length blond hair. And they're all jokers. Oh jeez. Still can't stop giggling about this.

Hate U Love U: Most touching song of all time. It's just a beautiful song, done beautifully.

No Other: Angels Leeteuk and Sungmin graced the air. And after this song, all the members seemed to perk up and actually look like they were enjoying themselves. (They were a bit tense before that. Like they were pissed or tired or just... stressed?)

Cooking Cooking: Vegetables! Eunhyuk flopping his mushrooms here and there, Heechul thrusting the end of his chili costume out repeatedly, Donghae and Siwon and Shindong disturbing Yesung in his broccoli outfit...

Heechul's flag: It appeared for the encore, given by some fan. Huge and red with "希" written on it for his Chinese name. He took it and ran all around the stage a few times, showing it off. (That loveable, arrogant bastard.)

Kyuhyun's solo: Chinese song! One that we (Joanna and I) didn't realize wasn't in Korean until halfway into it. I think Fion said the title was 新不了情? Or was that another part of the concert?

Sungmin's dance segment: SEXY. And he touched one of the backup dancers' breast. Not full-on, just around the side as he trailed his hands over her body. Oh god, his abs. His entire demeanor just makes girls hot. *faints*

Donghae and Eunhyuk's dance segment: Also highly sexy. Not for the faint-hearted. That female dancer is extremely blessed. Hyukjae, your dance moves leave me in utter awe. EunHae! They seem almost as if they were fighting over that girl. In an angsty, love-pained way. One in black, one in white, awe-inspiring dance moves, incredible vocals, minor-stripping, and near-flawless couple dancing.

Encore: The members speaking in very mixed languages without any subtitles on the screens to aid us with the parts spoken in Korean. The songs. Donghae shouting "Give me music! Next time, I do solo!". Siwon going on about a new album (to which everyone screamed in approval) and Donghae interrupting with "Four years later!" (to which everyone loudly protested) and then a "Kidding! Just kidding!". Leeteuk, ever the humble leader, furiously waving and bowing to the crowd while thanking us profusely. Sungmin dumping water on his fellow stage mates and the audience.

After today, if there were any doubts that Super Junior could not sing live, they are utterly destroyed. Sure, sometimes they missed their parts, but hey, if the fans were screaming at you and reaching out like madmen in hell, wouldn't you get distracted, too? Some parts they had to lip-sync, but I didn't mind, and if they hadn't done remixes on their songs, I would've thought they lip-synced the entire concert. Yes, they were that perfect.

Need I tell you that it was the best concert ever?

---

Tired. Memory fried. Hyped. Will be watching the vids I took and flipping through the photos. Oh, and admiring the (very expensive) merch I bought before the concert. Do not disturb.

Uploads soon. But I have to say, I am pretty ashamed of my very fail photo-taking skills. Though the slow-reaction camera certainly helped in that area. I need a DSLR. Just let me borrow it and then turn back time. Please?

---

Edited 31st Jan. Thanks Fifi. :D

Quote-dom.

2011-01-13T02:39:00.000+08:00

Since it's gonna be a mushy, dramatic post, the title will naturally be as blah and lame as possible.

Just to be ironic.

But it really is what it's gonna be about. Sort of. Quotes and quotes and more quotes.

---

"Giving up doesn't always mean you're weak. Sometimes it just means you're strong enough to let go."

It's something I have to think about very often. Particularly since September last year.

(Odd to think of 2010 as last year, huh?)

You see so many doors open, waiting for you to choose, so many keys lying in front of you for those that are locked. The doorways glow; the keys burn. All with an intent knowledge, a deep potential in each and every one of them - something that lies in wait, something that just promises, if you would only choose it.

I see them, but I have no guts to walk forward. No guts to make my own choices.

But it's not all about guts. Fighting talk, all that talk surrounding you. Choosing. Torn between choices. There is good in everything, and sometimes I wish I never see that point. Rationality takes part in this, too - it has a stake in this.

It's a tough life everywhere, man.

I can't get past my own shame, my guilt. Something twists in my gut every time I watch someone else get a decent job. Teaching. Office work. Hell, even studying. I'm glad for them, that they didn't drive themselves too deep into horseshit, but I'm jealous. Some part of me bares its teeth and snarls at them for getting what I want. It hurts, badly, but I manage to fight it. Because I truly am happy for them.

(And it's just not right to hate them, not when it's my fault, but it burns inside me whenever I think about it and it hurts)

Is that human instinct? Or something more primitive, more animalistic? I can't decide. Can't think straight.

But back to the quote.

I want to be strong. But I don't feel strong. Because I feel so helpless, so weak, so tired. I want to fall asleep crying and start dreaming abstract dreams and never wake again. Those abstract dreams don't give me room to think; only to feel.

I really want to look back at this decision someday, and decide, once and for all, that I was strong.

---

Another wish that I want to become. I am slowly learning, slowly finding out what it means to truly understand this. It's a painful process, tedious no doubt, but rewarding. Not like the rush of pride in the face of instant gratification, not like the heady glow of a victory well-earned. It's a steady flame, one that flickers at times, but still bright enough. Like slow heat, a warm blanket that eases up around you against the frigid cold.

---

Pertaining to love. Yes. I build walls because I want to know who would care enough to break them down. So much of the time it hinders more than it helps, but I believe in it, and I stand firm.

(Desolation never is a good condition to go in. You die that way, you live that way. People will always see you for that desolation that ruled your life. Even after you're long dead. Dead and gone.)

But you learn, as time passes, that sometimes, when someone doesn't tear them down, it means that they love you, too. So much more exists in the heart than just one kind of love. When they don't tear it down, they trust you to do right by yourself and by others. They respect your boundaries, respect you. They accept you as you are, walls and all.

Some kinds of love can only grow after destruction. Some kinds of love never need that.

---

And thereby ends my long rant of melodrama and emo-ness.

I am, always,

your little ball of angst and sunshine.

(How's that for irony?)

(Wait, that's a binary of sorts, isn't it?)

(Fuck incomplete education.)

Who says the guy sucks? Raise your hands and stuff your fists in your bloody mouths.

2011-01-07T13:43:00.000+08:00

Really. Jim Butcher is one hell of a fine writer. Not his looks. That could do with some help in my humble opinion. (Which of course holds no weight whatsoever.) His works are swell. Or, well, the Dresden Files series, at least. Funny as hell in a dry, understated manner. Decent plots. Great characters. Excellent punchlines. A little draggy at times, but then again, that could be me.

And advice for those going through book withdrawals? Try Christine Feehan. George Orwell. Rachel Caine. J R Ward. And if you can find it, Dante Alighieri's Divine Comedy. I would swear by them. Though I make no promises that my life is placed as part of the stakes.

One last thing. Popular authors sometimes don't mean they're good. They just got swept up by the hype somehow. So don't try Pamela Palmer, Jillian Hunter, Julia Quinn, V C Andrews. Stephen King will freak the lights out of you, Anne Rice will suck you in so hard you won't remember your name, and R A Salvatore has so many books it would take you forever and a half just to find them all.

Sorry that this post is all about books (which I practically breathe everyday). Can't help it. Jim Butcher makes my hands itch. I wanna write. And he makes me laugh on the train like a madwoman. (That's happened at least three times. Good novels. Can't live without them, can't live with them - unless you're self-sufficient and illiterate.)

Signing out to kick my own ass. ...And to bathe.

Ramblings

2010-12-18T02:20:00.000+08:00

Think I'm beginning to dip into depression again. I don't know. It's just, I keep feeling this heaviness inside, like there's a weight pulling at my chest, you know? Every now and then I stop focusing on the world around me and just turn inwards. Like a light bulb is slowly dimming and finally dying out. I feel my expression change, feel the growing stillness of my body, can almost see my eyes turning reflective, somber, maybe a little sad. And I think about people, about the world, about myself.

And the future looks like it's just a solid wall in front of me. I'm happy to be where I am, honestly I am. But I've lost so much to gain this happiness that, sometimes, I wonder if it's worth it at all. You can't define happiness, least of all true happiness and contentment, and so you can't know what it feels like to have it. I keep repeating this, but it's only because I still can't seem to believe it. Working in retail, dealing with customers, earning low wages - something that, just two years ago, I never would have imagined. The person I was two years ago cringed at the thought of handling people, of being paid less than a thousand a month, of working at such a low-level job.

The person I am now genuinely likes it. The experience is familiar, now that I've been working for over three months. And time to time, I earn praise from my coworkers and my boss. Every day, I'm learning something new, and I'm smiling more simply from seeing people showing respect for me and being polite and cheerful in general. I'm finally doing something I'm fairly good at, after nearly two years of being terrible in my studies.

Part of me still wishes I went through with As. Don't get me wrong - I'm glad that I did quit. But I would be lying if I said I don't regret making my choice. I'm glad that I quit school, but I regret my choice to do so. There's still so much guilt left behind, and I found out nostalgia can be a powerful thing. Being forced to interact with strangers every single day can be draining - and yet, I find myself becoming less hesitant and shy.

It's a habit, I suppose, being brave and outgoing. I've even been experimenting with my outfits, many of which have gotten positive results. I'm proud to have learnt what I learnt in the course of this job, and while I know I still have a lot more to master ahead of me, I look forward to it all. And I'm happy to realize that I know more about classics than many of my coworkers do - the credit of which must be given to the time under the care of my various teachers. Some books I take higher interest in, and so know more about - such as L. J. Smith's works, though I still refuse to watch the TV series for Vampire Diaries. And Torey Hayden, Jim Butcher, David Baldacci, Lori Foster, Pamela Palmer, and so on. Having an interest in things really does give you and advantage.

I also find myself indulging in that obsession for tidying and organizing - the one obsession I've starved over the years for fear of going overboard. But I'm able to control it quite well, and I've used it to pack shelves and organize books by author or series or title. I'm slowly leaving my mark on the branches I've worked at, as well. Book jackets I've made, prices I've tagged, little notes and reminders stuck all over the walls behind the counters. Even seeing my handwriting on receipts as well as in the reservation books makes me happy. Because it feels as if I belong. As if I have control over my environment.

There are still low points, despite all of that. Mistakes made in settlements, directing people to the wrong shelves, fouling up a simple task... they get me down every single time. Not that I'd be depressed for the whole day after that - I actually try to snap out of it pretty quickly. But during the trip home, or on the Internet, I obsess over the littlest details. And when I try to drown it out with music, they appear in my dreams.

(Speaking of which. The dreams have not stopped, not once since early this year. Every night it's different, I think - I can't remember them. But some I can recall - vaguely - and they always carry this sense of wrongness, no matter what I'm dreaming.)

That day we met up. I'm still upset about it. It was supposed to be a happy affair - Jes said she'd hug me, or was that Arina? Guan Hong? Joanna?, we were supposed to laugh and talk about stuff like we used to, it was supposed to be fun and light and a relief from that damn nostalgia and yearning. Instead, I watched them talk and laugh, listened to them talking about a life I'm not involved in anymore, kept my head down as we ate to avoid them feeling pressured to talk to me. The awkwardness was there, so thick I could barely breathe without crying, the way we seem to have fallen out of connection. Not through phone or the Net - we seem to have fallen out of sync as friends, as people who knew each other, as mates who have gone through the same experiences. We fell out of sync. It's a strong distance, a heavy one, one too wide to overcome and too much my fault.

It was exactly what I was afraid of.

But I seem to always get the outcome I think heavily on. Is this a twisted version of wish fulfillment? I always seem to be able to get the exact outcome I dread, no matter how hard I wish it won't end that way. Like goodbyes, or the lack thereof.

Yan Ling, if you read this, I'm sorry you feel you haven't been a good friend. You are. We've just had our own lives to deal with, that's all. I don't blame you for taking care of yourself, and you shouldn't, either. I don't mind that you didn't know - I just want to know that you're happy and well and getting on with life. I'm satisfied with that, whether or not I'm in your life. Don't feel bad.

I hate not going to church. Everytime I wear the ring I feel like a fraud. Even looking at the Bible makes me feel condemned, makes me think I'm not good enough for Him anymore. I tell people I'm Christian and I'm ashamed of myself for lying. What Christian am I, to be missing out on all related activities? I even stopped talking to God, except when I'm being reflective or in need of help.

(Yet He responds each time I talk to Him. Every single time, I get an answer from Him, telling me one way or the other that He's still here with me. I feel peaceful when I smile at Him, when I thank Him, when I think about Him. Warm and protected and loved. And every time He helps me out in His way, I seem to realize that it's His doing almost instantly. I feel like I'm being soothed from the inside whenever I look to Him with troubles in my heart, when I ask Him if I'm still human, still worthy of His care and love.

(It's a small feeling, not even intense, but I feel Him take a bit of pain away each and every time, and just knowing that He's still there helps me walk myself through another day without reaching for the scissors. I haven't cut myself in months, not since I started talking to Him in little pockets, though I still have this longing to feel the pain again.

(But sometimes the longing gets intense. Remembering the penknives at the counter make me practically itch to dig in. I suddenly become hyper aware of my fingernails, all of which I'm confident of being able to use to inflict wounds. I can bear through them, but they're strong, and God, it hurts so bad.)

2010-12-16T12:58:00.000+08:00

Before and after photos. Of sorts. First photo was taken at my balcony Oct 8 last year. Second was taken, same place, Dec 16 this year. Oh how time flies. Now the construction's gotten so high I can't even see the bloody MRT tracks anymore. Just an irritating mass of scaffolding and construction workers.

Sobs.

2010-12-12T01:29:00.000+08:00

I can't deny that watching other people have the life I always wanted to have doesn't hurt. It hurts to all hell. But at the same time, it makes me wonder what is it that I truly want. Maybe I only thought I wanted to teach, to write. Whether it suits me or not remains to be seen. Whether it reflects my true desires or not remains to be seen.

Not that I will get the chance to see that day. It's an extremely slim chance, to be certain.

---

I have come to realize that when I try to talk about less selfish issues on this blog, somehow, nobody ever pays attention to it. And again pops up the question: Is this a reflection of myself, or of my friends? Or is this something society as a whole needs to think about? As in, it's not worth the time if it's not about me. Or somebody else only thinking about themselves. And some such stuff.

---

Whatever.

I just felt like saying whatever. Don't mind me.

---

I'm beginning to feel the accumulation again. You know how it gets. When things start to come your way from all sides, whether all at once or one at a time. The stress and worry builds and builds inside, but you keep it withheld anyway, despite knowing that only an explosion can relieve all that pent-up pressure.

Does it feel the same for everyone? Or is everyone else actually able to deal with their emotions effectively?

What sucks now is that I'm beginning to avoid Facebook for the sake of avoiding. What am I hiding from? Watching other people get a life, for one. Watching the world moving on without you, when deep down you so badly wanted to be a core part of that world.

I fully acknowledge its stupidity. But does that make me selfish, I wonder? Hiding from others in an effort to block yourself from pain, when really you should be happy for them. Particularly your closest friends.

---

I understand how messed up the world is. Looking at a person, you can barely see just what they've gone through in the past. Seeing someone, knowing someone, and understanding someone are totally different things altogether.

Could you possibly have known, by watching a 45-year old mother with her teenage daughter, that she has had three boyfriends in the past, one of whom was a loanshark and the latest of which is fifteen years younger than herself?

Or could you have guessed, by observing a 41-year old female soldier, that she holds great respect among her colleagues and yet faces cold attitudes in her very house? That she bears grudges against half of her siblings as well as her mother, loves her family mroe than she is able to communicate, and faces a possible threat of cancer?

I wish people had a sixth sense. Something that is established as fact, not what is speculation and half-mired in superstition and myth. Just so we wouldn't have to invade each other's innermost thoughts, as telepathy is wont to do, yet still be able to know exactly how to treat each individual we interact with in the most suitable fashion. So we could tell whether to be firm or gentle, authoritative or submissive, direct or subtle.

I don't believe there are people on this earth who are totally bad. Nor do I believe that there are people made up of only good intentions. I have a very strong soft spot for others, I suppose, whether I want to have it or not. All I do in front of rude customers is give a sidelong glance to my coworker or mouth dry sarcasm to myself with my back turned. I can sympathize and forgive people faster and more often than I really should.

Perhaps Mrs Ang was right? Looking after others so much made me neglect my own emotional needs.

But I know she didn't know everything. I've complained enough over the 'Net, in SMSes, with friends, to myself. Cried dozens of times because of my own selfish needs. That would be called dealing with my emotions, wouldn't it?

---

And as a reply to the comments on the post about my lurking presence on blogs.

MY, GH, it was very nice of you both. I appreciate what you said, and will honestly try to keep your words in mind.

Guan Hong, I don't think there is anything you can say even if you found the words. It's the way all this turned out, by my own doing; I just have to pluck up the courage to deal with it.

---

The above post was actually typed on Dec 11. Fell asleep halfway through. Sue me.

2010-12-08T22:35:00.000+08:00

Okay whoever's reading this, I'm very curious as to what your opinions are on the subject of homosexuality. I've been wondering what today's Singaporeans think about this issue for quite some time now. Talk about anything related to it - Prop 8, religion, DADT, what your views are, what society's views are/should be, so on and so forth. Both short and long comments are welcome. :)

2010-12-03T02:32:00.001+08:00

So I went over to re-read what I recognize as the best collection of poems ever posted online, and I found out, just seconds ago, that the entire collection has been removed due to plagiarism.

The author removed it on Dec 1 2010. Just one day before I went up.

Which goes to show just how precious time can be.

It breaks my heart to see something that obviously meant so much to the poet, be so callously treated by other people with no sense of shame or personal morals. What is so appealing about passing off someone else's work as your own? What kind of satisfaction does that give a person? Does a person feel proud of managing to steal something so close to people's hearts?

A piece of writing is never what it seems to be. Like all things unspoken, the sum of the total is hardly ever equal to all the bits put together. It's always more, so much more. Have you considered the effect one piece of writing has on the readers? Its own maker? I firmly believe in the butterfly effect, even to a degree as microscopic, as intangible, as something like this. A piece of writing has the power to change very little things at first - an inconspicuous, unconscious notion. Then a change in beliefs, in actions, and finally a huge but undetectable shift in the way the world spins. You don't know about it, but that doesn't mean it's not there.

It's why I can't comprehend not writing. In a way, writing creates life, sustains it, feeds it. There is no pretense, no mimicry, no stereotype. Everything is the way they should be, and they exist not only as a part of the big picture, but as individual pieces, individual souls.

So next time you read something, don't take it at face value. Even a sex scene means something deep, if only to just the author himself. Words can be telling about the person who wrote them, and about the readers who react to them. It's not difficult. Think about it.

2010-12-02T01:39:00.000+08:00

Lurking on blogs make me emo. They always do. Makes me wonder - is that a reflection of my character, or of all my friends'?

But anyway.

Jolene, I wonder if you know just how much I envy you. You had the guts to accept retaking your J1 year, to willingly swallow another year of school if only to get yourself that A cert. I hated myself for quitting, and I still do, to a degree.

Why envy Meng Yee and me? We had a very long struggle with ourselves and everyone else before we finally decided to do it. In a way, we were also forced to grow up too fast. I don't know about her, but I've had to get a job to make myself useful. Help with family finances. Working hours are even longer than school hours, though I can't tell you who has an easier time of it. Spending time with people I don't know for six days a week, enduring all sorts of attitudes from customers - you get pushed out into the big bad world because of one choice you made not to sit for less than a dozen papers. And until now there's still that fear of stigma - most of my extended family still have no idea. Is quitting JC really that much worth it to you?

Tabitha. I don't know if you read my blog still, but I want to let you and Joey know that I love you guys and I miss you so much. You're the sweetest, cutest, most sincere juniors I have ever had the privilege to know. And I'm very grateful that you decided to keep in contact with me, even though it's only through email and blog comments. I won't forget to reply your mail - I'm already halfway through it, in fact. But it will take longer, and I have no excuse.

Jeslyn - I know you guys think of me every once in a while. It feels nice to know that you still have me in your thoughts. I haven't really talked with anyone from 28/09 for a long while now. Most times I keep busy with work and concentrating on paying attention to my coworkers' lives, but when I get home and check Facebook and lurk on blogs, I wish I never quit JC and just went ahead with failing As. At least I would be going through the same things as you guys, and not be so much of an outcast now. I miss every single one of you, and I go to bed scared of losing contact with any one of you, scared of losing a part of me, scared of not even getting a chance to say goodbye because we've simply drifted apart.

Guan Hong, Sakshi, Fion, Arina, Joanna, Jeslyn. I really do miss you all. Sometimes it's like we're living in two different worlds. We no longer have anything in common to talk about. I wonder if that would affect any future gatherings we might share, and it gets me so scared when I think about not even being able to relax in front of my closest friends. I hate goodbyes, but even more, I hate the lack of it.

Every time I think about the future I flinch. It's as if everyone else has gone off to a better place, somewhere with greener grass and higher clouds. I'll still be stuck here, in a thankless, deadbeat job, living the rest of my life amongst books and dust and strangers.

I used to think I was smart. Hell, I still am, within my family, that is. One of the best, or pretty damn close, at the very least. And all of a sudden, at 3am in the morning, I've gone from intellectual to idiotic. It's not as if I keep failing my secondary school years - I chose to quit JC because of stress. Do you know how weak I sound when I give that reason to others? It's the truth, but there's more to it - and yet, I can't tell the whole story to anyone, because they won't understand.

People can be more narrow-minded in the real world than you think. Don't ever doubt that. I've met dozens of homophobics, of people who hate skinship, of people who discriminate according to race, of people who treat me as if I were mentally challenged because of my job. I've met people who sneer at and make fun of the mentally disturbed, who talk to girls as if they were sexual objects, who make a fuss out of something ridiculously trivial.

I hate myself, guys. I really do sometimes. All that talk about celebrating the end of As together, about going overseas and visiting each other, about getting great jobs with high pay and personal satisfaction. I broke away from that wonderful possibility of a future by quitting.

What a loser. Quitting JC. Not strong enough to survive stress. Stress so many others go through every single day. Not strong enough to at least see through the remaining two months. Not strong enough to take that opportunity to start again the next year.

I feel like a complete failure. And I've lost all sense of dignity, or pride. It feels as though I'm completely on my own now, with no close friends by my side. Even my own brother told me to just die already since I'm completely useless without finishing my studies.

I feel so tired, so ashamed, so abandoned. I keep telling myself that's not the case, they all still love me, but then I get evidence that suggests that nobody does, really, and I have to fight myself all over again.

It's so tiring.

Crude content. Parents are advised to advise their children to go no further beyond this piece of invaluable advice.

2010-11-29T02:28:00.000+08:00

Knowledge comes in many forms. It's a very vast ocean out there. I'm beginning to understand just how vast it is.

It comes to people, always not quite in the same way or taking the same form. Sometimes you need to be on the verge of death for it to come; other times you need only be perfectly alive and well.

Even about the same issue, knowledge can be extremely different. Some believe that coming to blows is the best way to solve an argument. Others believe compromise works best. Another group swears by giving in to the other party. I'm gradually beginning to realize that, personal opinions aside, all of these options are equally as competent in resolving a disagreement.

See, for some people it really does work best to give in. Others, to outrightly win. And for the less inflexible, a compromise. There really is no such thing as an absolute truth. All facts and beliefs are true. You just need conviction, enough of it to make it reality (and not just seem like reality), and a very open mind.

(So maybe Oranges helped my way into this conclusion. It's not the main factor, though. No, it was my work that made me think hard about this. That, and an excellent book I came across recently.)

Back to it. To expound: say a fight breaks out between you and someone else.

You have many options at this point - aim for his nose, aim for his eyes, aim for his groin. Attack his ribs. Punch his throat. Grab a gun or a knife. Run away. Call reinforcements. Attempt to seduce him. Set him on fire. Let yourself get killed. You get the idea.

All these choices have merit, in some way or the other. Break his nose, and you get to laugh at his nasal screams of outrage as blood pours down his chin, as well as see his nose broken. Get his eyes, and he's blinded, however temporarily or otherwise, and you get to see a face of pain and anger and watch him flail about. Smash his dick, you get a feminine sense of satisfaction, watch his masculinity get compromised, see his contorted face of pain and anger.

And it goes on.

Bottom line. In every single one of the abovementioned choices, no matter what, it works. You still get away, one way or the other. Sure, so you might end up dead, or you end up raped or get your face so fucked up it's like a mess of blended pig organs, but no matter what, you get past that event. No matter what happens, no matter what, in the end, it ends. You don't just keep getting stuck in this situation forever. You don't keep having to fight and choose an option to run with for eternity. The time for choosing will pass, the fight will end, you will wind up somewhere else licking your wounds or crowing over your victory or both.

The main point of that last paragraph? It's not the process but the results.

(I hope you're understanding me so far. I barely even understand the words myself, even though the concept is clear as diamond sparkles in my head. And it's about to get even worse.)

There's an alternative, or should I merely say another way of thinking. This isn't black and white and you don't get to choose between contradicting ideas. There is no contradiction, merely another pair of eyes.

First, throw away all thought of that notion. Let's say the process does matter. (In a way, it always does, in any case. Even when I tell you it's the results that matter and not the process.)

Now think about the process itself. Looking at this objectively, as coldly rational as you can, accept the belief that every single choice you get carries some small modicum of success. We'll use the "screw with his family jewels" option as an example. If you succeed in whacking his balls and thusly win the fight, that's obviously an obvious success. If you succeed in whacking his balls but lose the fight, hey, at least you got his balls. If you fail to twist his nuts but still win the fight, then it means that you got him to submit in other means. If you can't twist his nuts and can't win the fight, I have nothing to say to you except LOSER.

I'm kidding. If the last scenario happens, well hell, you damn well tried, and that still gains some respect in my books. The only way to absolutely fail is to not choose, and that is in and of itself entirely impossible if you have enough brains to think it over thoroughly. (Try harder. You might get there someday. You know, after the first five thousand years.)

Main point. Right. Bottom line is, every single choice you make has just as much likeliness to succeed as they are to fail, and they all have equal potential to work out well for you.

So all those self-help books telling you to study hard, keep your head down, ask questions in class, do your homework, be eager to learn more, never be late for assignments or projects or lectures? Trash 'em.

Radical concept, I know. Don't keel over from shock.

Really, though. Self-help books and advice from teachers, counselors, friends, peers, seniors, parents, siblings, whoever the hell is giving you advice? Those are suggestions. That means "no, you moron, you're not supposed to follow what I tell you blindly and expect them to work for you like some miracle drug". That means "absorb them in your own way, your own time, do whatever it is you do to make a decision of your own will, whether or not you think it through properly".

Ultimately, you yourself hold the power to decide what the next few seconds will produce. And that turns into minutes into hours into days into weeks into months into years. Don't always think "well, since the success rate of this option is the highest of all the choices among all the people who had this situation before me, I'm gonna walk down this road". At some point, those ready-made pathways are gonna corrode and screw you over, and it's not gonna be their fault, baby.

Of course, I'm already beginning to contradict myself. Since I'm saying to do whatever works best for you and only you, why am I telling you not to follow the book at all costs? It's an odd concept I'm working with, but then again, those are beginning to show up very often lately.

To answer that, you have to consider a technicality. Minor or not, that's up to your judgment. I'm saying not to follow the book all the time just because you think it's the only way that will ever work for anyone, anywhere. You should only be following someone else's path because you truly believe that this will work out best for yourself. Be selfish once in a while. It's your life, you have a right to be leading it.

Okay. Long rant almost running out of steam. All I wanted to say was that any choice has potential. No matter what people say.

---

On a perpendicular vein lying on the same plane (haha! I make math look gooood), I came across a few situations during work recently. Which is what made me think about the issue about choices.

I guess today morning is the best summary I could use to illustrate what I mean.

Within the first two hours of work at the branch in United Square, my coworker and I had three separate run-ins with customers. Three, at the very least. All run along the lines of "how can you say that the condition of the book has worsened while I had it with me within the rental period, the time was so short and I took great care of it and how do you know it wasn't your fault instead of mine?".

See, the books - brand new when we rented it out to them, I know because the stock only came, what, a week before? and no other brand new book would have gotten so dirty or yellowed in our hands because hello, we lust after our salaries and our jobs as much as you degree-carrying well-dressed office workers do - had gotten so yellow that the term "brand new" couldn't bear the shame of being associated with them. So you had the book for five days, big deal, that doesn't mean you can't have mildew and cockroaches and water affecting the books. It depends on where you put them, how you read them, how long you leave it at a certain spot, blah blah blah. Does it matter if you're a regular or not? I could care less if you were Queen Elizabeth.

Bottom line. They didn't care for the book as well as they should have. Even for the average person the books should not have gotten this bad. Yet they all claimed the books were already in that condition when they rented it, that we failed to notice them, that it is us who are in the wrong since we're trying to cheat their money.

It got me in a very bad mood this morning. Three such arguments when we were barely two hours into work? Not pleasant. Having our integrities and meticulousness questioned hardly made us cheerful little soft toys willing to pander to your every need.

And that got me thinking. Do I give a pissed-off face and start a yelling match? Do I intervene and try to explain to the customer as clearly as possible? Do I stand and watch as my coworker argues? Do I smile and give in, or compromise and deduct less, or hold my ground?

My conclusions? Don't even ask. They were long and complex and belong to as grey an area as grey matter can be. A part of them are on the rant before this section, so feel free to try to make sense of it all over again.

(One last thing. The book I mentioned I read? It's called "Storm Front" by Jim Butcher. Fantasy section, excellent writer, the first of a pretty long series.)

---

Onto another vein that is just an perpendicular as its predecessor.

I appreciate you now, all retail workers. Sales assistants. Customer services people. Whatever you call yourself that can vaguely fall into these categories. Really. I do. Don't knock it till you've tried it, indeed.

It's honestly extremely tough, trying to maintain your professionalism as you deal with people from all walks of life. There's a very delicate balance hanging between utter servitude and complete asshole. That balance is labeled "people who deal with customers of all kinds".

Anyway. To cut it short(er), I'll give you a list. I'm too lazy to name it. Think of a name for me.

Firstly. No matter what we're called in lieu of our jobs, we are ultimately human beings. We have emotions and some modicum of intelligence in us whether you like it or not. We're not mindless servants who are honour-bound to obey your every command. You shouldn't expect us to fall over our feet in our eagerness to serve you like you're the queen of the universe. Newsflash, you're just a customer to us. Who gives a fuck if you have one or fifty degrees. My body temperature's thirty-five degrees Celsius, five degrees Celsius when the air-con decides to mate with the huge November/December storms. Compare that. I could care less if your dad was Martin Luther King. Well, I would care, but that still doesn't excuse you not giving us some form of respect.

Next. Again, we are human beings. We do not control the weather, the prices, the humidity levels of your house, or the brightness of the ceiling lights. Nor do we get to decide when the writers finish writing their damn stories. Seriously. Some people act as if we can tell them everything. We know a bit more than you might, sure, but that doesn't mean we're infallible. Hello? Human being here. Not synonymous with supercomputer or divine being.

And just what is it that possesses you to rearrange our shelves as haphazardly as some of you do? What sense do you see in putting a book back on its shelf with the spine facing inward? Perhaps you see perfect sense as well in placing the book back upside down? Putting them in the wrong shelves, I can understand, as well as jumbling up the order of the books that are part of a series. Those things happen. But seriously, why upside down or with spine facing inwards? It's pure thoughtlessness, is what it is. If not to make our lives a bit easier, be more considerate of the other customers at least.

There you are. The short but highly sarcastic list. Forgive the snippiness.

Oh, one last thing. Don't read the books inside the shop. There are price tags on the books for a reason. Don't let their purpose be unfulfilled.

Let's make better mistakes tomorrow.

2010-11-23T16:35:00.000+08:00

I don't know what to say now. Days before, hours before, minutes before, I knew what I wanted to say. So many things to talk about, so many things to obsess over, so many things to share. And now I have nothing to say. The words are a landscape of silence, blank, quiet, flat.

Tamed.
There a muted channel is set in stone.
White walls, static, the deaf light
winks, on and off, on and off.
Begging to speak, unsure,
hesitance at the unresponsive room.

Stereo lights flash time as it passes by.
Urgency quiets, slows its speech, as she
sits in the only chair. The fanfare of royalty
arrives, pauses, fades.

Wine. Sugar. Scents waft through, murmuring,
begging leave for a brief respite. And there
a dragon bows, hooded orbs, tamed flight.
Its tail is a fickle being.

Dust motes settle.
She sits, held hostage, melancholy
a private affair. Never wanting it,
always getting it. Stolen moments.
Snatches of another memory flash and fade.

The screams are tamed tonight.

---

`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting -

`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!

Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!

Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!

Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!'

Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

---

It's a curious mix of lethargy these days. Weariness, exhaustion, tire, lackadaisic. Languid. Lazy. Like an undercurrent running deep in my bones.

I wonder how it feels like to be old.

2010-11-18T04:47:00.000+08:00

我的心, 好痛, 好痛.

你怎么能说你不知道, 不在乎, 不疼爱?

Why is it that whenever I want to tell you how much I love you, you aren't there? That whenever I don't know how to tell you I love you, you walk away?

I feel as if I've experienced a death. So many deaths.

A father, a brother, so many friends. One in a country so unstable, one in the army and hates home, so many others in the midst of exams and living their own lives.

You hated me when I had to rush to work right after seeing dad through the airport gates. Shouted at me when I refused to speak against bro about his girlfriend and himself. Tried to guilt trip me when I mentioned how much I missed my friends.

Oh mother, mother.

I miss the feeling of being loved. Of being respected. Of being close to someone. I've lost all respect from my cousins and aunts, now that I've quit school. Lost the feeling of being hugged and accosted and teased by my friends. Lost the feeling of serene silences between people who understand each other. And with my work schedule, I miss being at home and reveling in my own company.

Somebody hoped I would be happy with this life. In some ways, I am. In others, I am not.

I suspect it will always be this way, no matter what happens.

Watching a colleague with her boyfriend, I kind of miss the way I used to be held by a boy, as well.

But that will not happen. Not for a long time.

Does growing up really feel this terrible? Juggling family and work, making money and being happy. Losing so much even as you gain a whole new world.

There's a profound sense of helplessness that I can't shake off. I'm not ready to grow up. I don't know how to deal with thinking, and so I don't think. I focus on work instead, on the internet, on reading. I pretend to busy myself with NaNoWriMo, redirect the urge to blog into a rush of inane words on paper. Lies. Lies. Lies.

I don't know how to deal, when I think there's a possibility my father may never come back. I fear that thought so much I shy away from it. I fear knowing that I love him and hating how I don't tell him, realizing that there is as much a chance of him returning in a casket as there is of him returning alive and well. I hate the thought of an incomplete family, hate how the grief would tear us all apart.

Prepare for the worst and hope for the best. I tell myself that sometimes, and I barely manage to hang on to my sanity by working out the former. I would... ask for long leave. Cry in the shower till I run out of hot water and tears. Do all the housework I can to take up the slack. Hold my family together in any way possible. Watch them grieve, watch them regret, watch them struggle to accept. Work harder than I ever have and earn as much money as possible. Stay up all night to work out finances and future plans as a distraction.

Of course, I am always the dramatic sort. But it is hard to deny how I have always, in some way, held the family together.

Is this fear or is it paranoia? The painful clench when such thoughts hit me convince me it is love. But there is a distinction between the mind and the heart, and the mind sometimes tells me, you just want a real reason to be pitied and suicidal, don't you?

I hate how I second-guess my own emotions sometimes. I truly am my worst enemy, aren't I?

The dreams do not stop. As always, I can't remember them for long. But I don't bother recording them, because there is no practicality in that, chasing dreams, and I'm afraid that bad things will come out of it. Irrational? Maybe. People always are.

I don't know how to solve things with my brother. His girlfriend is too needy, too immature, but then again, I know how it feels to want to be completely dependent on someone else. He himself is too stubborn, too hotheaded, too prideful, but then again, we are of the same blood. My mother and sister are too nosy, too anal, too rash, but then again, I see the make and model of their shoes.

我不知道怎样去爱, 但这不代表我不爱.

Do you know how to control your own life? Teach me.

28/09, With Love.

2010-10-27T05:45:00.000+08:00

You have no idea how much I'd been thinking about the farewell concert. Or, well, maybe it's more accurate to say the day of the farewell concert.

If you suspected, yes, I didn't get any sleep for 2 days straight because of it. Saturday night I was moaning over having work on Sunday but not being able to do anything about the lack of sleep. Luckily Sunday I had someone more forgiving with me, and she very nicely bought me coffee. At 3pm.

Kind of a given that I wouldn't sleep that night, really. I literally perked up after that one cup. She ended up more like a zombie than I'd been that morning.

When Monday finally came I was terrified. Not least because I couldn't finish the gifts for everyone. What if I got barred at the gate? Would there even be a familiar face I could greet without having that instinctive need to run the other direction? Would the class even welcome my presence?

To answer those questions, I - very obviously - didn't get barred. The first familiar face was Joey from dance on the bus. Then Ashley, also on the bus. Then the Dance exco walking out from Scope as I exited the washroom below the Lit Room. Then, finally, the Lord-blessed Jeslyn.

I was so worried someone would cry. I'd anticipated it. I'd been scared I would cry.

As it turns out, though, nearly the entire day was spent in laughter.

For that, I can never thank everyone enough.

Guan Hong and Jeslyn, just seeing your faces was enough to brighten up my entire day. The look of happiness on Jeslyn's face when I first met with her - though that might have been because she finally had a familiar face to stare at - was better than any sort of coffee, any form of drug. And Guan Hong's weary but still accepting presence, so comforting, so simply there that it eased nearly all my fears. If everyone turned their backs on me, I still had them.

Fion and Arina. I couldn't tell you how happy you made me by nearly bowling me over. It's the closest I've ever been to getting a hug ever since I last met up with the crew. I don't even hug Annia anymore, nor my family - not that I've ever done that voluntarily. The relationship between coworkers really leaves a lot to be desired. Just that simple act of trying to kill me made me so happy I showed up - made me so relieved to know someone could react to my presence that way.

Sakshi. Your welcome was more subtle, but no less wonderful. So many things with you always felt like a secret, one that I had to pick out and smile over by myself. The way you sought me out even before we left our seats after the talk in the Audi; that look on your face, in your eyes; the grin laden with your usual mischief and - or so I like to think - a certain happiness that I was there.

Joanna. You speak less than you would have to me. I nearly had no idea what to say to you. I got scared all over again, looking at your face as you looked at me. Further compounded by the very brief hello Tara gave me. But you'd always been a friend, and you always will be, no matter what. The fears were paranoia in a caffeine-deprived girl with a penchance for depression. We were stiffer, but we spoke, and there was still that little spark I feel every time I'm around my closest friends.

The first time I was conscious of how the day was not meant for me was during the talk within first period. All mention of As and results suddenly felt so alienating. Something that distanced me from everyone else in that vast space; something that felt like another life, a distant dream; something that filled me not with trepidation and fear, but with longing and guilt and sadness.

And so it went on.

The next few times occurred in school. All of them. When the gifts from the principal and the school were given out; when people I once considered friends never turned even once to look at me; when that damned quiz was handed out; when the slides by Mrs Ang were shown; when I was dragged to a locker and made to hover at the table at GNC; when I sat at the Arts Hub for the last time; when I bought drinks at Temasnack.

The concert itself was the worst. I tried so hard to enjoy it, and I did; immensely. But it would pop up every single item, every single time the teachers sang or spoke or presented something. All of this isn't for me. Yet I was still there, pretending to be someone I'm not, pretending to deserve it, pretending to not care that it wasn't supposed to be a part of my memories.

It would have been crippling, had I continued to think about it. I never did. Just laughed and smiled and cooed my way through it all.

The most wonderful part of the day was after, at Seoul Garden at TM. Not once had I ever had cause or time to feel even the slightest bit of shame or guilt or pain. All I felt was euphoria. Peace. A sense of belonging; inclusion. Of fondness, intimacy, a bond held between everyone that allowed us to shout and tease and laugh whenever and however.

For that, I have you to thank. Jacinda, Guan Hong, Jeslyn, Joanna, Sakshi, Shuyin, Joshua, Zhao Yan, Chor Hung. Fion, Arina, Xiao Wee. You'll never know just how much those few hours meant to me.

Predictably, by the end of it all I was dropping to sleep. It'd been so trying that I couldn't hold it back any longer. Not even quenching the thirst of wanting to spend time with people who loved me overrode that need to rest. Fitting ending, perhaps? It was exactly what I'd been doing all my days in TJ, after all - hate my eyebags but be unable to deny sleep at the most inopportune of times.

All emotions were held off. I cared only about sleep. I slept my way through the entire bus ride home for the first time. Dragged my feet home, washed my face, removed my contacts, dry-sobbed for five seconds about the day coming to a close, turned on the fan, fell asleep on the sofa in the living room.

I did not fully wake until 8am the next morning.

My dad swore they all tried to wake me up thousands of times. He'd been forced to throw my dinner away because I wouldn't wake. I sat up for a while, he told me, and then fell asleep with my head in the other direction before he could pass me my food. But all I remember is waking at 3am to the sound of the TV, waking at 6am to the sound of incoming text messages, waking at 7.30 at the sound of more texts, and finally waking for real at 8 to the sound of my alarms.

Still, after such a long nap, I could not bear to think about the day before. I had work to slough through before I would allow myself to sink into all the emotions.

The most distinct part of the nap, I remember, are the dreams. That, and the odd, irrational feeling of terror at the thought of having lost an entire day unconscious. I still dreamt of being late for the concert, being late for exams, being late for work. Dreamt of Eastpoint, of the school, of church, of so many people I'd lost, in so many ways. It was a whirlwind of nightmares, and I'd awoken to cold sweat, the overwhelming urge to cry, the terrifying pressure at my gut and chest.

I spent my morning shower thinking about the dreams and getting another round of palpitations in return.

The hot water scalded me back to duty, responsibility, reality. And it was hot. I turned it full blast to the maximum temperature allowed the entire time. Stepping out of the bathroom was like airing a gas chamber.

But here we are, in the end, with all knots firmly tied. Separately? Tangled in the same ball of string? I suppose I won't know for a very, very long time.

I always wanted to thank the class for giving me this gift. Thank God for blessing me with 2 years of memories and joy. I never found the proper way to say it, to justify my true feelings.

I have a feeling I never will.

Through it all, rain or shine, we inched past and came out to end up here. We are here - we have come out not victorious nor defeated, not set loose nor restrained, not joyful nor unhappy. We are here, here where we should be, here where time has left its mark and will etch new engravings on our hearts. We are here where the wind will tell us who we will be, where the heart will show us who we are, where the soul will remind us who we used to be. We are here, another notch in space and time, another year of the future, another bunch of white hairs, another shelf of trophies and scholarships and legacies.

It is the one thing that I can never forget.

Bittersweet memories.

With all our heart, with every bit of soul, we've only managed to stay afloat with support from you guys. More support than you ever could have imagined.

You didn't know how many times you stopped me from giving up on everything. How many times you reminded me of responsibility, of duty, of obligations, owed debts, promises, oaths, pacts. How many times you made me hate you for tying me down to life, yet love you for making me stay alive. How many how many how many times you gave me a reason to live.

I first used freakyAngel as a means of escape, an outlet, another life to work out and puzzle through. She is now painfully ingrained in my life in ways I never could have imagined. That you honoured her as well as me made me hope. Hope for redemption, for better things, for second chances.

freakyAngel started out with Nicole's baggage, her memories, her dreams. Then she opened with imagination, translating real scenes into fiction, dreams into oneshots, experiences into poetry. She forced Nicole out so she could finally speak out without being personally condemned.

Someday I expect we will both come under fire for every single work I've ever written. Which is taken from reality, which are dreams, which are just pure imagination. Particularly the more provocative pieces. But there is no joy unless there is an equal amount of pain to balance it out. Someday I will be able to tell you what made me the way I am, the pain and shame and joy and tears.

To 28/09. To Guan Hong, Jeslyn, Sakshi, Joanna, Fion and Arina. To Brandon and Xiao Wee and Jacinda and Zhao Yan. To Qing Yi and Wensi and Sudi and Tara.

You left me still alive after 2 years of struggling. There is nothing I can say that will ever convey the gratitude both of us have for that. Nor the gratitude of my parents for keeping me reasonably sane.

There will always be a part of both of us that remains forever with you.
Love has never before seemed so insignificant a word.
Wherever you may be, whoever you may become,
I hope you always look up to see sky.

- With everything,
Nicole and freakyAngel

2010-10-16T23:59:00.000+08:00

Some days, days like these, I just want you to be happy, you know? Be content with what you have, be happy with your life. I'm not even wishing that it'll all be perfect; just that you'll be happy in general. We have a good life, we always kind of did.

While I do like thinking that my smile could make you somewhat happier than you are now, I still wish that you were happy to begin with. I like that you know just how to cheer me up and make me smile, solely for the reason that making me smile makes you smile. I like how you always seem to lighten up slightly after we talk, even if we're only talking about video games - which I don't play - or books - which you don't care about. We so rarely have a chance to talk anymore, or even to see each other... I look forward to seeing you every Saturday, if only so I get to see someone smile at me, talk to a person who I know loves me no matter what.

Despite everything we've ever gone through in the past, I never hated you. So much of it was my fault, after all. All my memories tell me that I started it in the first place... I can't ever blame or hate you for it. I don't, and I never will. I like knowing that, as well as knowing that you know it, too.

All I want is for you to be happy. Watching you come home with a bitter look on your face hurts. I know what it's like to hate home, too, but I wish you never felt that way. I'm part of this house. However selfish or arrogant I seem, I hate to think that not even I can help erase your hate of this family.

I do love you. I'll never say it, because we're not the types who say such things, but I do. It's enough for me that you show hints of it, and it's enough for me that I try to show it every single time I see you. No matter if we're teasing each other or arguing or even just sitting next to each other in the car. I hope it's enough for you, too.

2010-10-14T01:00:00.000+08:00

Yay.

Just the other day I saw this hugeass moth near the main door of my house.

The fact that it can even be caught on camera from this distance should already tell you how fucking huge it is.

Want a closer look?

One glass square is about the size of my splayed out palm, by the way.

The day before I took these 2 photos it was resting on the door by the garbage chute along the corridor. When I got home I jumped clean into the air. The corridors here are pretty narrow, and the size of this thing is just... unbelievable.

Man.

On another note.

As seen amidst a sea of pinks at Giant Tampines.

And guess what? When I took it off the shelf to see if there were any more Twilight Barbies, I found nothing. NOTHING. Which means this is unique. (For now, anyway.) Why the manufacturers wouldn't make a Jacob Barbie first, I can't fathom. How is this Edward sparkly? Why does he get to be the first? Where the fuck is Bella Barbie? And what about Alice and Jasper and Emmett? (I don't like Rosalie. Or Carlisle. Or what's-her-face.) Damn bastards.

Apologies to Twi-hards. I like the series, too, actually, I just don't like the characters. Or the writing style. Or the plot.

Alright, so I actually sorta hate it very very deep down. Blame my cold-blooded alter-ego.

And on another vein.

It's been precisely one month since I quit school. (Alright, one month and a day, who cares?) It's hard to believe just how much has changed within this period. From staring at my friends everyday to never seeing them at all, from attending school to showing up for work, from studying and revising and taking tests to observing and practicing and freaking out at the thought of my senior coworker's eyes glued to my handiwork at the counter.

Some things never change.

I still see the same people day in, day out. It's just that it's a different set of people now. And I'm still being tested, only now more on skills than on theory. I've still got a schedule to keep, only now I wake up for work and sleep early from being exhausted from basically remaining in the same small area every single day.

Go figure.

It's odd to think that almost every single one of my coworkers spread in the different branches are over 20 years old. In fact, I'm nearly 10 years apart from them. And quite a few long-timers are from Malaysia. And they're so very Mandarin in speech. That, or dialect. Cue awkward silences, and pretending to be busy to excuse yourself from awkward silences.

Still. I like it. Somewhat. I mean, I could do with more stimulating conversations, and maybe a bit more customers, and better reception, but hey, I'm surrounded by books. BOOKS. I can't really read them since I have to watch for customers and all, but hey, I get to observe reading patterns and trends and suss out good authors and heavy writers and crazy plots. I'm actually getting interested in Chinese novels, God help me. There's an entire wall dedicated to those things. And most of them are romance novels. No, wait, a wall and a half; the section rounds one corner and fills two more shelves of the adjoining wall. And the floor has another row full of stacked novels. And atop the shelves are more stacks.

Ooh. Interesting tidbit. Opposite the wall of Chinese novels is an entire row of shelves (6 shelves, to be exact; I counted) of comics. Both English and Chinese, but more mangas are in Chinese. And at the very corner of that entire row of shelves, right at the back of the store, is a tiny section dedicated to - take it it - gay romance. I BLOODY LOVE IT. This is just freaking hilarious to me for some reason. I found out about it on my first day at work, when someone returned 5 of those books. And when I snuck a peak inside, I realized they were adult books. I gotta tell ya, it was pretty weird for me to read a sex scene written entirely in Chinese. Hahaha.

PS. If I sound like I'm gay-bashing, I'm not. Really. I support homosexuality. Don't kill me. I just find it so cool and so funny, is all. Heaven only knows why, but I do. The funny part, I mean, not the cool part. There's nothing wrong with it being damn cool.

Another thing. Reading TIME magazine has suddenly ignited in me a fierce curiosity for all things Beatle and Lennon. I'm itching to listen to songs by John Lennon as well as The Beatles now. Somebody HELP ME.

(No, not to cure me of this itch. To download and/or rip.)

Tally of the people who know I quit school now:

28/09
Meng Yee
Sock Hwee... and the rest of the CG?
my immediate family (duh)
Annia... and her family?
my brother's gf... and her family?
my teachers
Qingyi

Those who don't know:

my less-immediate family on both sides
my juniors?
TJ-Modern Dancers?
Jolene and gang
Sabrina
my grandmothers (fuck would that make the world explode)
Navina? (would Tara have told her?)
the rest of the people in all my combined classes? (Lit class, Physics, Econs)

Hoo boy. How many times do I have to be subjected to the "WTF ARE YOU SERIOUS?" reaction?

Moving on.

... I'm actually done.

Gonna conk out soon. Gotta stay awake for work tomorrow. Ugh.

Signing out.

Poetry

2010-10-07T23:21:00.001+08:00

A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness.

Robert Frost

Each memorable verse of a true poet has two or three times the written content.

Alfred de Musset

Genuine poetry can communicate before it is understood.

T. S. Eliot

Poetry is nearer to vital truth than history.

Plato

Poetry is an orphan of silence. The words never quite equal the experience behind them.

Charles Simic

---

Literature
by Damien Sin

My critics say I can't write,
My editors say I can't type,
But my dear readers... rest assured.
I know what I'm doing
- it's Literature.

Some people say, I have no future.
It's better to have, a job or career.
Or so they say... but I don't hear.
I only hear the muse
- of Literature.

I got no car, and I got no girl.
But I got chance, to be Immortal.
Immortal for what?... that, I'm not sure,
But I'm sure as fuck stuck
- in Literature.

So I ask Russell Lee, I ask Salmon Rushdie.
But neither of them, has got back to me.
People don't return your calls from around here.
In the hallowed hollow halls
- of Literature.

And so it goes, and so I go on...
You think I'm through? I've just begun?
To shoulder the cross... for the cause of Literature.
Getting older, mad
- and bitter.

(from Saints, Sinners and Singaporeans: A collection of poems by Damien Sin)

2010-10-04T06:51:00.000+08:00

I would apologize about the insanely long post I published previously, but then again, it covers two weeks' worth of emotions. Fuck apologizing.

I'm up to my ears in quotes right now. Pulled quite a lot off the 'Net over these few days. 14 pages worth, and I'm not even close to being done yet. Oh, no, those 14 pages were only off 2 websites. The Web is a large, large place, and I plan on utilizing it to the best of my abilities.

I think I know why I've been so obsessed with slash fiction lately. (For those who don't know, slash is a term for homosexual themes. So is MXM, yaoi, shounen-ai, so on and so forth.) It's a working theory. But I won't explain it now, because really, talking so much with my fingers gets tiring sometimes. Especially when I've already sort of mentioned it before.

So moving on.

Just two days back I realized that one person's decisions really has a bigger effect than anyone ever imagined. Saturday afternoon saw my family - sans sister - and myself as well as my brother's girlfriend having lunch at Nihon Mura over at Tampines Swimming Complex. It went well for the most part, till near the end, when Jeslin got my brother over to the washrooms. To talk, obviously, in private.

When they emerged she was trying to hold off tears. She'd already cried some, you could tell, but for whatever reason she held off in front of us. Which was when my brother explained.

Apparently Jeslin had witnessed parts of my decision to quit school. I presume my brother had told her what he knew of the whole thing. She saw that I couldn't take going to school anymore. Saw how my parents were so supportive of my decision. And somehow, she compared her own situation with mine. At that point she was looking for work while studying at the same time. Deciding she wanted to quit school as well, she'd told her parents prior to Saturday and hoped that they would react the same way my parents did.

Surprise. They didn't.

Her mother was furious, and refused to accept her claims that it was too stressful for her. Her parents paid for her education, but she had no allowance and was expected to support herself. But with the curriculum being so demanding, she couldn't handle it anymore, and not getting a job would leave her with no means of feeding herself.

Major breakdown outside of the restaurant. I won't lie, her sobs are seriously loud and dramatic. Slightly embarrassing as well, but hey, I can't say anything, I've been a public disgrace ever since I quit school. Her mother called, and she was crying so hard she could barely speak into the phone. She even asked my mother to talk to her mother over the phone, to try and help her explain. Didn't go well. Jeslin ended up being escorted home by my brother while I went with my parents to Ikea.

By that point I had gotten slightly upset. That she would use me as an example, and that the result had been so different. It made me think about how lucky I was for me to have supportive parents, and about the mindsets of parents these days.

Also, before we'd left the restaurant, my brother had asked, "I never really knew why you quit school in the first place?"

It kinda stunned me for a moment. Nearly three weeks, and he only asked me now. Here, right in front of his girlfriend, out in public with no respect for my privacy. After three whole weeks, when before he left for NS he had two days to talk to me about it.

Then my mother joined in. "Yeah, why did you want to quit in the first place? Weren't you getting better towards the end?"

"Yeah, I noticed that as well, you really were getting better after a while." My brother added.

It made me question just whose bodies they'd been switched with. I was utterly bewildered. Hadn't she been the one who told me, right after I confessed to her that night, that she was glad I'd taken the initiative to pull myself out of the situation before I went too deep? Hadn't she been the one I'd turned to and explained everything? Had she not been the one who held me while I cried? Had she not been the one to tell the VP and Mrs Ang that I had suicidal inclinations as a result of studies, that I couldn't sleep much or sleep well, that I stopped smiling at all?

So how could she ask that? How could she have said I was getting better? How?

You know, bro, ever since that night, I've been wondering. The night I told mum I couldn't handle it anymore you were actually still awake. Awake, and in your room, laughing loudly about some anime you were watching. We heard you in the living room; I always wondered if you'd heard my sobs, too. You even used the bathroom once, when I was still in the living room sobbing my heart out. And after, at 5am, you shut your door and went to sleep.

Did you not hear a single thing? Or had you chosen to ignore me? I hadn't cried in front of the family for years. Now that I was sobbing loudly, were you not the least bit curious? Had your late nights made you blind to the blazing lights in the living room? Were you so absorbed in your animes that you couldn't hear your sister crying, or your mother trying to comfort her?

And I thought back to how you told me repeatedly that you wanted me to get a boyfriend so you could beat him up for me. How you wanted to tease me for being in love and intimidate the boy just for kicks and because I was your sister. I thought back to how you were the first one to let me sleep on you in the car, even though I once hit you in the groin by accident. How you'd agree to have lunch with me and talk endlessly about everything and nothing at all. How you'd put an arm around my shoulder or my waist when I told you about things that had gotten me upset, and tell me not to let such things get to me like that. How, when I told you about my self-harm, you told me that it was hurting you the way I was hurting myself.

Then you tell me, later that Saturday, after dinner, that I was useless since I couldn't complete my A Levels. That I might as well rot away at home and die. And you insinuated that it was my fault Jeslin decided to quit school and cause this entire fiasco.

Do you realize just how bad that hurt me? I am the kind of person who takes the blame for things that even I myself know are beyond my control. I'm still trying to deal with the guilt, still trying to work out my life, bro. Why can't you see that? Why do you have to show me just how little I meant to you after my education was gone and you had a girlfriend?

I didn't even let you see I was upset at the time. I just waved it off as a joke in front of you, and continued laughing and talking shit with you. I let you drag me all around Eastpoint that night while you bought tools and cables and whatnot. I had you stand outside the store for moral support while I went in and asked about a job.

I haven't cried yet. It's building up again, those walls of mine, only this time I'm so aware of it and hating just how easy it is to do. I've gone back to keeping my mouth shut, to following meekly behind everyone, to stopping myself from even smiling in front of my parents.

Do you know, even during the two weeks of Prelims, while I couldn't tell anyone a single thing, smiling and laughing felt like a crime. It felt so wrong for me to do it, even though I couldn't stop myself from being happy. It felt wrong to be happy. It felt wrong to be happy. I hated myself for being so insanely contradicting, for being so easily saddled with guilt.

And do you know, whenever I give up and let myself let go of the tears, I can't cry. Every time I do I stop quickly because a thought pops up in my head saying I was being dramatic for the sake of it and I immediately hate myself for being so scheming.

Those seven people, you've finally convinced me about needing professional help. But I won't be getting it, will I? Because my mother believes I'm "not that weak", because I can't afford to waste more money, because I still need to find jobs to assuage my guilt. Because I'm expected to know how to cure myself. Because no one will help because no one thinks they should interfere. Because of fear.

Someday I really wish there would be one person in my life who cared enough to take control and turn things around for me. Who cared enough to let their own fears and my kneejerk reaction wash off their backs and carry on helping me feel human again. There is no such person because reality isn't a story with happy endings and perfect characters. Because nobody is willing enough to at least try.

That's okay. One day this all will end. I don't know whether to be optimistic or pessimistic at this point, but I do know that this will all end, one way or the other. If I die happy or worldweary; if I die early or with grandchildren surrounding me; the essential part is that I will die. We all will, won't we?