damn gay song, but very relatable.

Say that I'm changed
Say I'm different
Maybe I finally understand
Say I've let go
Say that it's obvious
I tell myself over and over
And over and over again

I'm ready I'm ready
I'm ready to believe

Tell me I'm strong
Tell me I'm weak
Tell me I'll never, never bend
Tell me I'm fire
Tell me I'm cold
Cold I tell myself over and
Over and over again
I'm ready I'm ready
I'm ready to believe

'Cuz I want to feel my heart
Yes I want to feel my heart
Yeah I want to feel feel feel my heart

So tell me I'm strong
Tell me I'm weak
Tell me I'll never understand
Oh, but I'm readyI
'm ready I'm ready to believe

all the world (i tell myself) - correatown

sometime last week, i found myself shimmying to backstreet boys' "as long as you love me".

too much talking, too much talking, breathe, smoke, scream, sing, cry, way too much talking, puking, loving, breathe, speaking mandarin, faith, random chinese people, too many chinese people, weird cream suits, booze.

a much needed escape. a feel a little better about life already.

so why am i here in the office on a saturday afternoon paginating 1000 over documents for fat swedish guys who owe money? so happening.

Marriage isn’t certain. I often have the urge to ask my father this- when do you cross the line between being in love with someone and just plain loving someone? He has definitely crossed that line since he cheated on my mother and indirectly, on the entire family. And when do you differentiate want and love? When you strip bare of your personalities and feelings, is that it? Did my father, 27 years young, strip himself bare and devoted his entire 27 years of growing up and living and falling to be with my mother? And if so, when did he stop? When did he decide that, oh, this is the point of no return. This is it. I wonder if he ever thought of me, when he’s there. With whoever. I wonder if he brings a picture of my six-year-old self looking up to him in his mind whenever he cheats on my mother. I wonder if he ever heard me under the covers, hiccupping through tears and tears of disappointment and remorse. I still think about myself back then and boy did I feel sorry for the 12-18 year old version of me. What a sad sack. My whole preteen-teen hood has been overshadowed by my father’s infidelities. Not that I’m blaming him for what has become of me right now- I’m just saying that a fraction of whoever I am now is a reflection of my father’s many mistakes.

he's real to me. that's why i want it. that. him. i don't want to stop having feelings for him. i know i'll be dead inside (-.-) if i stop. i'm scared to know what i'll be like if i didn't think it's real.

i need to stop writing about heartache.

wow am i on an emotional shitfest.

i really miss my grandfather. i am really feeling his absence during ramadhan. usually he'll call and ask about general things- what we're gonna eat, what we ate the day before, kuih, the house...and i would hear him go on and on about who gave him what, etc. i really miss that. i miss his voice. i wish i could remember how it sounded when i'm old. i want to tell my kids what a great and beautiful and amazing grandfather he was to me. i'm such a failure now. i hope he doesn't know what i've been up to. but i think he does? they have a way of knowing, don't they? he's probably shaking his head and asking himself how did she come to be like this. i don't know either atuk. i guess i just slipped and never got up.

but i will soon. just not now. there's something comforting about 'living in sin', it distracts you from the things and people who really matter. but things/people who matter bring you down and wear you out, so the best way to deal with it is to really just turn to God, or drink up.

i'm just like the person i hate most. what a fucking hypocrite i turned out to be.

i just finished reading "The Naked Husband" by Mark D'arbanville, and i must say, it has put adultery in a different light. i'm not sure if the book is out to justify it, but it certainly explains a few things but misses out the obvious- why, then? why marry that person you married if, years later, you desperately want to end it? when do two people who are in love with each other cross the line where they just love each other and not be 'in love'?

i wish my father had the answers.

looking back, there were too much shouting and screaming and crying, but there was also silence. every waking hour of everynight. all i hear is myself, pleading why.

i wasn't being honest to myself when i wrote that i was glad we grew apart. i mean, there is a certain amount of truth to it, i guess being 'glad' is a more mature way to look at things isn't it? to move on, already. to accept the change, adapt to it, then fucking move on. i guess a part of me still hasn't, but when i look at how you are and how i am now, it's impossible for us to carry on a conversation or just hang out. what could we possibly talk about, what would we say to each other? how do you make up for lost time, for three whole years. three years of what- exactly? silence? resentment? regret?

what a load of crap this is. i'm really trying to explain myself here, but i still haven't sort out my feelings just as yet. i need to sort this out. i have to seek some sort of closure. our friendship has become a silent blog war battle- or is it just in my head? i have this bad habit of relating every bad thing she says about either friends or friendship to myself- i have to, don't you understand? the internet is all that's left of any connection between us. God bless whoever created livejournal/facebook/friendster.

i don't miss her. i wish i did. an explanation is all i want. i called. and we talked. and i felt so empty afterwards. like i'm on a race for something which i'm not sure of, but the track is just whirling about leading me to nowhere. what did i get, really, out of that stupid phone call? she was too tired to talk about it. i, on the other hand, wanted to say everything. i was hell-bent on vindicating myself and hoping that i get something out of it. she's so non-confrontational about it, it's frustrating.

i want an ending.

i sound like i'm in some sort of a lesbian relationship drama. i ponder on friendship too much it's ridiculous. i act like it's the only thing that's keeping me together, and yet, ooohhh, how it tears me up insiiiiddeee.

I saw him today. Wow. How do I begin to describe this feeling? I think I’m still in love with him. Oh god. I love him. I love him I love him I love him. I love how he is, I love how he makes me feel, I love him so much. And yet he doesn’t know. I think I must cry this out. Cry everything out and then wake the next day and think about him again. He is so good. So pure and perfect and I love him. Oh my god. I can’t stop. I won’t be able to stop thinking about him now. I love him. His face, his smile. And he saw me first. I didn’t see him at all. And I listened to our song earlier. Gosh, ‘our song’. It sounds so juvenile. Black, black heart. I listened to it in the train and thought of him. I thought of him. And now im replaying it back in my head. How my colleagues and I were stepping into the food court and how I felt so new and mature and corporate-ish and great and how I was really hungry and was surveying the area for food, saw a couple of generic-looking malay dudes then bam- he caught my eye. He was smiling. He was smiling at me with that same smile, and it was exactly the same. I felt exactly the same. I felt new and old and shocked and I was in a daze. I started to panic. I gave him a normal smile, of course, and I mouthed oh my god and waved. Then I went off to find food. I love him. It’s surreal. Encounters with him are surreal. It’s like for once my body and mind was present but my heart wasn’t. then now im back here, in the office, alone, and old again. I feel old. I feel wasted. I’m not myself anymore and I want him. At least, I want to be able to see him once in a while. To just talk to him and look at him and see him smile and laugh and feel like how I used to feel. And feel. I want to feel. I want to feel myself when I’m around him. I want to be able to feel happy and sad at the same time. Not like now. Now I’m so angry. Gosh I can’t believe I saw him. The love of my life. He doesn’t even know.

everyone else is falling in love and breaking hearts and writing poems and crying their eyes out and i think, i want me some of that.

help. i am slowly losing myself.

oh god i hate everyone. i hate what life doesn't offer me. i hate it all.

why can't people just stay true to themselves and not be so, i don't know, showy? like why can't everyone whom i thought were perfect and down-to-earth just freaking stay that way? why are people whom i thought i fucking knew are now so fucking PRETENTIOUS!

yes. pretentious. i know i say that a lot (and with certain airs, to boot) but it's true.

and why are people suddenly talking about marriage!!!!! that is what's more suprising. i hate it when people change. i hate everything. i just want to get away. i especially hate, hate, hate it when people whom i'm close to are ~IN LOVE~ and seem to be blinded by the reality that i may be plummeting to some sort of breakdown and that they're all slowly vanishing.

yes, that mariah carey song. when syesha from idol sang it i cried. i fucking cried. suddenly when you're lonely it's like every fucking sad song suddenly, somehow, relates to you.

up yours mariah. what do you have to be so sad about. so what if your friends aren't there for you anymore. at least you're not broke.

i wish i could visit my 16 year old self. i would have changed things. i can't change things now because either i'm too proud or too afraid. mostly afraid. i have everything to lose.

here i am chasing after things which are so irrelevant. why do i chase after people's attention? because they're not just people. they're friends i thought i could rely on to. they're friends i grew up with. as exaggerated and pathetic as it sounds, they're friends who left me, and did not bother rekindling things back.

well one of them tried i guess, with a big fat "FUCK OFF" in my face. not literally but i felt enough to cry about it.

i can't get over things, yes.

anyway, my late atuk's been gone for 6 months. i can't even think about it without hating myself.

i feel weird. i haven't been emo in a really long time. the last 'emo' conversation i had was around sometime last week, possibly triggered by sheesha and a wobbly feeling i had in my stomach. but it wasn't very thought provoking, it was more of a friend and me spitting out our frustrations about our respective best friend/s.

a guy just died from a motor accident. he was only 23. 23, man. that's like 3 years from now. what if i'm gone 3 years from now (for the love of god, do not smack a wooden table and shout "choi") ?

a good friend of 7 years, who's Singaporean and has lived here his whole life, whom have had probably a good share of malay friends, just asked me why i chose to eat with my hands. he said this, i remember it clearly cos i found it quite amusing (albeit in a bad way), "Singapore is a rich country what, have fork and spoons, why you eat with your hands one? won't it get dirty?"

!

okay, this is going to be a sentimental post. i'm here at starbucks on a rainy day with the most melodramatic soundtrack you can possibly hear. i've read two of my friends' blogs, both with equally sentimental posts about their 3 years in school. and they left me feeling nostalgic. i know, i could have used a word which is not that obvious but that's how simple my feelings are right now. they're just that. nostalgic.

i'm not sure what i'm so sad about really. i feel like my transition from tertiary student to officially school-less should be more panicky instead of teary. but well. i hugged almost everyone on the last day, hoping to leave a little bit of myself in their memories. i looked into their eyes when i spoke, hoping that whenever they would see a fair malay girl wirh awesome curly hair they would think of my eyes and nothing else. yes, i'm the kind who hopes too much. i'm female, so it's perfectly excusable.

what should i write about in this paragraph? how about the fact that i'm still not sure who my real friends are in poly? friendship talk is overrated. everyone is always wondering, always doubting simple gestures and simple conversations and overanalysing things. i say my new goal (if you could call it that- i say it's less serious-sounding than i let on) is not to make more real friends, but to make friends whom i can hold a conversation with. and it's gotta be a two-way thing. not the kind of conversation you'd imagine to have with tyra banks- the one who's ALWAYS relating every single problem you have to herself. i mean, we get it, you're black and you were hideous as a youngster, but that doesn't make you an amateur, overpaid psychologist. being 'from the hood' does not entitle you to know how i feel. how could you possibly know how i feel!? i'm muslim!

that really isn't very funny. back to the whole issue of being like a sentimental fuck. i need to channel this somewhere. i can't be in this state of nostalgia when i don't know where it triggered from. it has to have a starting and ending point somewhere, this dazed feeling. it has to have a catalyst, and it has to have closure.

i fear that i will forever be this way.

damn you to hell if you're so fucking sensitive and read in too many details on everything. i have better things to do than spend 3 seconds of my short life thinking of a word that could somehow mitigate whatever negativity i am about to say. sarcasm may be the lowest form of wit but at least my brain isn't stuffed in between my ass wondering whether the new girl gives my boyfriend a better blow than i did.

wow, pissy post. enjoy?