How To Run On Empty

2012-02-04T02:35:00.002+08:00

I will not fear giants. I will be lion-hearted. I am good enough. I am good enough. I. Am. Say it until it hurts and crushes your old crooked bones and makes way for unbreakable ones, say it until it beats in perfect rhythm with your heart and your heart sings it like a bird proudly belting out its triumphant song, say it until you have carved the words deep into your spirit like a precious secret tattoo that you feel with your fingers over and over again, trace each alphabet, spell it out, to remind yourself that it is there all along.

2012-01-23T07:24:00.000+08:00

in the fleeting seconds between wakefulness and sleep, you remember who you are, and which direction your life should take. but like hansel and gretel, who left a trail of bread crumbs to find their way home, every piece has been gobbled by the wild birds in your dreams and you spend the rest of the day trying to recover that strange, comforting sense of peace.

2011-12-15T02:24:00.000+08:00

To forgive, myself, and others. To be gracious. To be patient. To have faith. To always have a sense of humour.

2011-09-23T04:32:00.004+08:00

It always hits home hardest when you let your guard down and lose the vigor to shield your heart against those closest to you. Wham. Bam. Bam. You say you knew it, you're not surprised, it's nothing new, what's the big deal? But it crushes your spirit out of you and quietly and secretly you have to tend to your wounds just so that you are able to catch your next breath.

The reason I love writing is because it gives, albeit temporarily, a sense of order to chaos, structure to unpredictability, and a framework to reign every emotion and event in. I need that. I'll always need it.

The reason I love fashion is because it makes everything look so beautiful and interesting on the surface- textures of fabrics, prints, colours and shapes, all playfully but carefully matching and mismatching. Surely, if every little detail can look so fascinating on the outside, it must reflect the beautiful complexity of people on the inside and there is still hope that people may surprise you pleasantly and life therefore, must be worth exploring with a little bit more optimism and faith.

2011-08-01T02:29:00.003+08:00

i did not wake up that day knowing i would lose a friend. years of friendship thrown to the wind and wolves. i have lost too many friends, and each time i lose somebody, somebody who will go on breathing and walking and experiencing life without my knowledge, without me in it, it feels as though i have died a little. but the most wretched thing of all, is to wake up, and be haunted by the realisation that you never knew that person, that you are mourning over something that you thought you had, but never did.

2011-07-14T02:25:00.000+08:00

i find myself unable to grapple with the shades of grey that this world is made up of. i always loved grey. it is a pale dreamy colour barely a shade darker than white. it does not draw attention to itself. rather, it blends in with the other colours and draws them out. it is a trace, a shadow. it appears and disappears depending on the lighting. yet i have come to realize that the colour is everywhere- in people and in situations. i used to embrace this, but now it overwhelms me, these shadows running amok. i have trouble placing my trust in anything or anybody, including myself. i find myself wanting clean and crisp answers- yes or no, black or white. like a finger on a piano that presses a key and releases a note that rings loudly and clearly throughout the air. a finger that does not hesitate. a note that does not tremble. a finger which belongs to a pair of firm and confident hands. a note which belongs to a simple but unfaltering song.

2011-06-27T05:02:00.002+08:00

some days i lose the strength to crawl out of bed and i don't know what i'm living for, what i'm doing with my life, where i'm going, and if i'm even worth anything at all. i am no longer satisfied with the answers i used to tell myself and i doubt a lot of things i used to hold as true. i have come to appreciate the simple and frivolous pleasures in life, like dressing up for instance. thinking of what to wear and pulling it off gives me a sense of purpose for that day- i am going somewhere- and the permission to act in a certain way, like an actress whose costume helps assimilate her into her role.

it is important to surround yourself with positive people who will love you and support you no matter what you did or what you will do. when you lack the confidence to believe in yourself, to believe that you have something to offer to this world, they will be that confidence for you. they will be the hands that lift your body off the mattress and the legs that kick the blanket off and the feet that plant themselves firmly on the floor. they will be the voices in your head that tells you to roll with the punches. to give it your best shot, come what may. to keep moving. to keep moving forward.

one day i hope to attain the courage to laugh about the past. to not beat myself up over every little thing and wish that i could rewind time and spend hours fantasizing and agonizing over what i should and shouldn't have said and done. to let go and hold no bitterness.

life is hard and very short, and i wish you well, from the bottom of my heart, no matter what happened between us. i wish you well and i wish you love.

2011-05-12T04:27:00.004+08:00

and in the middle of the night, you find yourself confronting yourself with surprising frankness and readily accepting the truth- that you are weak, lazy, and afraid, of yourself, and the imaginary expectations of others- and so your battles have been hard-fought but half-fought; you lose steam and give in to distractions and descend into absolute wastefulness. tomorrow will be better, you say. tomorrow is a new day and i will try harder to change. but tomorrow, when the glare of the sun exposes and scrutinizes your every move and the heat scorches your flesh and challenges you to put up a fight with your willpower- to show what you've got- you'll find the effortless promises you made to yourself the night before a burden to bear. you'll find it easier, so much easier even if it is wrong, to turn your face away and run towards the warm comforting embrace of self-pity and self-destruction.

2011-05-06T05:29:00.006+08:00

For the Dead by Adrienne Rich

I dreamed I called you on the telephone
to say: Be kinder to yourself
but you were sick and would not answer

The waste of my love goes on this way
trying to save you from yourself

I have always wondered about the left-over
energy, the way water goes rushing down a hill
long after the rains have stopped

or the fire you want to go to bed from
but cannot leave, burning-down but not burnt-down
the red coals more extreme, more curious
in their flashing and dying
than you wish they were
sitting long after midnight

I've been having the strangest dreams. Yesterday I dreamt of a funny bald merman with a round belly. He wanted so much to get out of the water and see the sun, but each time he tried to swim upwards he would be ruthlessly dragged down and thrown onto the seabed by an invisible force. Each time this happened I would giggle and clap my hands like a child. He tried for one last time and just as his face was about to break the surface of the water I yelled, "Wait!" He looked at me, shocked, and was instantly dragged back down. I woke up feeling very sad. Even though I didn't complete the dream, I knew instinctively that he had died in that final attempt. I don't know why I stopped him.

2011-03-30T01:47:00.002+08:00

when did i stop caring? when i realized that the answers were not in any of the textbooks or study materials they gave, that there were no answers but what was left clinging to my fingers after pouring through and ripping every belief apart, that my hope hides itself slyly in the white spaces between each word, that in the pauses between each murmur in my head i could dream up a storm.

2011-03-17T01:32:00.002+08:00

My dad likes to say, "some mistakes cannot be made". But I've watch him all my life. He's made so many mistakes. And have I learned anything from them? In turn I have made mistakes of my own, the same humiliating ones, day after day. I nurse the same wounds, watch them heal and pry them open, watch them heal and split open.

I have learned that some mistakes are made with eyes wide open, because sometimes, 'getting it right' just isn't that important- This voice inside, promises something so much more.

And so I will always take that risk, trust my impulse, my gut, more than my head, blow my cash on outrageous clothes, change my hairstyle, desire to dye my hair a different colour even though everyone tells me that it will be a disaster, and beyond the superficial where I can afford to go wrong, I can only hope that this compelling little voice will guide me through.

2011-03-08T20:42:00.006+08:00

I fantasize a great deal, and sometimes I get so excited about what I could be, what I could create, that my heart feels as though it is leaping from the edge of an unbelievably high cliff into an ocean of glistening possibilities; my heart feels as though it is on the cusp of a loud and crazy scream, and I don't dare utter a single word, my heart pounding and pounding, for fear of breaking the wondrous spell that I've cast upon myself, for fear that I may really, really let out a cry, first victoriously, and then later out of self-conscious embarrassment, or worse, that I may burst into fiery flames of passionateness and then everything would vanish in an instant. So I hold it in, grab it by it's tail and keep it close in sight like a flying kite, I wait until the strong current of air subsides and it slowly begins to falter the way the flame of a candle flickers in the dark and eventually, finally, dies out.

I have never screamed hysterically before, never screamed the way stars do in movies, stopping on the highway in the middle of the night, yelling gibberish at the sea, throwing their cellphones down and feeling light and free. I'm too practical- my phone is too expensive, I don't want to get a sore throat. But maybe I should, just for kicks. Hold anything in for too long and it starts to stink like a rotting carcass.

2011-02-24T02:52:00.002+08:00

Half the blogs I 'follow' have either been deleted or have gone permanently stagnant. It makes me feel sad and somewhat abandoned. It is as though I was having an on-off telephone conversation with a friend that lasted for years, and suddenly, without warning, the line gets cut and the voice on the other end disappears. Hello? Where did you go? Please, talk again.

What do we have as proofs of our existence? Dead blogs filled with random rants, faded photographs we don't even remember taking, distorted memories and the occasional thought that drifts in with the wind of someone from out of the blue- Hello. How are you? I remember you.

2011-02-09T01:21:00.002+08:00

Beautiful.

2011-01-29T02:37:00.008+08:00

Each time you hear your parents quarrel, you silently swear to yourself that you'll never end up like them. Miserable and lonely. Never ever. You learn like this- you make little promises to yourself along the way. You learn who you want to be, how you want to act and react, what you want in life. But how little promise those little promises hold. Never ever say never. You flare up without warning, something just triggers it somehow and you fly into a passion and in the midst of it all you catch yourself off-guard, red-faced and flustered, and you stagger to a halt and ask yourself, "What's wrong with me?" And then the realization hits you hard in the face: I am just like my parents, their blood running through my veins.

It is carved into your bones. You grew up watching it and knowing it intimately- what it means to feel defective. To wake up and loathe what you see in the mirror- your mother's eyes, your father's lips, the sound of your voice when you speak- a weak squeak at best, the way you walk- you hunch too much, and the way you interact with other people- too careful with your words, too awkward and too loud when you try to overcompensate. What it means to feel unloved and out of place. You carry all these things with you, and you wrestle with them, agonize over them, every single day. It takes every effort in the world to remind yourself, that you are not responsible for your parents' lives, that you are not responsible for their entire happiness. I love you, but there's only so much I can do. But you are completely responsible for your own life and your own happiness, and you can and you have to take charge and birth a new you.

2011-01-24T02:24:00.029+08:00

I spend way too much time on the internet, browsing through (I lie, I obsess over) fashion blogs and online shops. I left-click and double-click tons and tons of images of clothes and put them into 'carts' and 'bags' and 'saved items' and watch as the total cost hit the roof and rise sky high. I never buy any of them. I can't afford to. Even if I could, I don't really want them. I just like to pretend that I'm going to buy them. Sometimes, I convince myself so entirely of this undertaking that I end up searching around my house for a measuring tape, winding the plastic tape around my breasts, my waist, and my hips and mentally taking note of the numbers.

I never buy anything. I'm saving for the future you see. I have this glorious and fanciful picture of what it would be. I like to imagine the kind of clothes I would wear in the future- I'll be in London, with my dog and my boyfriend. (Somehow, we'll be able to afford the air tickets and the rent and the transport fees and the school fees for further studies.) We'll all be dressed ever so stylishly. My dog will wear a cap and a tiny little winter coat when it snows. She's going to have so much fun. Everyone will adore her. And I'll force my boyfriend to wear blazers and jeans and covered shoes instead of t-shirts and shorts and slippers. And I'll always know what to wear for every single occasion. I'll always be exquisitely dressed.

I like to think that if I dress the part, I'll look the part and overtime, maybe, just maybe, I'll actually be the part. The part that is a little more beautiful, and self-confident, and healthy, and happy. The part that fits nicely into the deep vacuum of space between the dreary unsatisfying present and the longed-for fragmented past. The part that puts an end to this brainless surfing and wasting away of hours night after night. The part that finds conciliation and eventually, peace.

So I go on clicking and blinking and clicking some more, as if finding the perfect dress leads to the perfect resolution.

2011-01-09T23:22:00.079+08:00

I used to get upset, whenever my words got plagiarized. In junior college, a junior copied a whole chunk of words from my blog, pasted it onto his blog and claimed it as his own. I confronted him, and he apologized and took them off. It was embarrassing for the both of us- embarrassing for me because the words I wrote were so self-indulgent, immature, sad and silly. Embarrassing for him because he had claimed those sad and silly words as his'. Embarrassing for me because when I write, I write in secret, and what I write is so incredibly private. Whenever someone else reads them and lets me know that they have read them, I feel painfully abashed and vulnerable. Yet I still continue to write in a public space, because I like to think that someone out there must feel the way I sometimes do, and it would be nice for us to be together in that moment- the obscure writer and the accidental reader, connected by a string of words, feeling the exact same emotions at some point or another.

So I no longer get upset, whenever my words get plagiarized. What I have written and am writing and will write- they have already been written by others anyway, only in a different manner, a different order of a vast jumble of words. We are all plagiarizers in our own little ways- stolen quirky phrases from the television, an unconscious imitation of your lover's sitting posture.

I know what it is like, to feel something so strongly, and to want to chase, to hunt after it with words. To struggle in vain and be unable to find your own words, to have to take the words of someone else from somewhere else in desperation- a poem, a song, a religious text- to be able to cope. Sometimes those words are perfect; just what you need, better than yours will ever be. I know what it is like, to wrestle tooth and nail in order to pin those feelings down into a palpable form so that at last, what has been haunting you can be clearly seen. There you are. Let me probe and push and prod you around. Let me name you. So that at last, you can say those feelings out loud, and you can keep saying it over and over again until you don't even know what you are saying anymore, just a vast jumble of words, the sounds reaching your ears like music.

2010-12-29T02:39:00.011+08:00

In the mornings I wake up and I tidy my bed. The blanket is folded into a rectangle and then into a square. I lay it at the foot of the bed. The pillow goes on top of it, and the bolster on top of that. I tidy my sister's bed, my mother's bed and then my father's bed in precisely the same manner. The clothes and towels are folded into neat, perfect little squares. I stack one on top of another, like pancakes. The floor is mopped with long forceful strokes. Up and down, up and down, from left to right and right to left. The same amount of pressure applied for each stroke. It is all so automatic. My arms and my legs move about on their own accord. They know what needs to be done. My head is completely light and empty. Wiped out. Up and down. Up. Down. I open the windows. Dust out, sunlight in. Gosh the morning air always smells so fresh. I take in a deep breath, soak in a second- I just need a second, one single but solid second for me- of absolute silence and serenity.

It is all strangely therapeutic. The house is clean, and my soul, is purged.

2010-12-02T03:14:00.022+08:00

When we first started dating, I told you that I was a plain and simple girl. A wallflower. You fell in love with that.

Then I told you that I wanted to be a writer. A painter. Later, a photographer. More specifically, a wedding photographer. Recently, a fashion designer. You fell in love with all of those things. You encouraged me when others scoffed at me- the stupid girl with the big fancy dreams, dreams I can't eat or drink, dreams I can't even hold still and master. They said that I was a jack of all trades and master of none. But you bought me sewing books. You paid for the needles and the thread rolls and the bulk of cloths I never touched. You got your father to teach me how to use the antique sewing machine. I fiddled with it just once and never again. Your father brought it back inside his room and kept it for good.

Then I told you that I didn't know who I was. Even now, I don't quite know, who or what I am. I say one thing but I do another. I constantly change my mind. I never remember the decisions I make. I am always breaking my promises. I make so many mistakes, day after day after day. Sometimes I feel so empty and worthless and confused- how do I connect this strange head to this foreign heart? How do I move this body forward when it is paralyzed by waves of fear and shot down by uncertainty?

But you know just what to do in your sensible and practical way. You make it all okay. When I am depressed, you ask me if I want ice cream. Or chocolate. Or both. When I am upset and I clam up, you speak to others on my behalf. You never ask me questions I don't want to answer. You know that I will speak when I am ready to. When I am angry, you hold my hand and quietly lead me to one of our favourite restaurants and allow me to rant it all out. When I am done, you raise your hand and beckon the waiter over and order all my favourite dishes.

More than anything, you make possible a life of absolute ordinariness that I have always ached for. You show me how to put one leg in front of the other and move forward.

2010-11-24T05:43:00.011+08:00

i wish i could have open, honest and artless conversations with certain people in my life- the people i have lost or whom have lost me or perhaps we simply did not hold on to each other tightly and tenaciously enough and we have lost each other amidst the currents of everyday living.

i wish i could have these conversations without any consequences and backlashes. where i can ask the questions that only seem to arise at 5am in the morning, such as, how are you? no really, how are you? what happened? where did it go wrong? what did i do wrong? why so much distance? why so much hate? i want to offer my apologies, i want to offer them so sincerely that i end up being unable to offer them at all. for i am sorry, i am sorry, i am sorry i do not know what i should be sorry for except that i am, truly, truly sorry. you deserve to be happy. i wish you well. and a thousand other hackneyed statements one only finds in greeting cards but which my heart has carved into itself. i bleed the words out to no one in particular. i know it is too late. we have past the reconciliation expiration date. we have lost each other amidst the currents of everyday living. i bleed the words back into myself, pump them right back into my body and struggle to contain them until all the questions and futile wishes drift out into the morning air and explode without a sound.

2010-11-10T18:53:00.002+08:00

Mum is talking extremely loudly on the phone, but there is no one on the other end of the line. She just wants my dad, parked in front of the computer, surfing soccer websites, to hear what she has to say about the evils of gambling. I think she also wants to pretend she has someone to talk to- this Alan guy is funny, rich, and most importantly, he listens. Maybe I should try it sometime.

2010-11-09T01:01:00.006+08:00

i spent too many hours of my life thinking about the past, deliberately hurting myself by probing into every nook and cranny of it, deriving some sort of perverse pleasure by exploring every possibility, every what if, every if only, every ask me to forgive, grant me that release, waiting, almost begging for closure and being denied over and over again, only to realize, that closure is a gift only i can give myself.

the strings lie before me. i clear the tangles, straighten out the ends of it. it curls every now and then. i guess i can live with that.

i tie a firm but simple knot.

2010-11-02T02:07:00.000+08:00

the night is always so much harder to endure than the day. the stars must be lovely, but they are too far away.

2010-10-25T03:51:00.004+08:00

i'm terrified of the silences in which i suddenly recall a voice, a face, an etch of a memory that still holds the power to stab me wide wide awake. i am not afraid of being alone, i am just afraid of being alone during those haunting instances. so i fill my ears with bursting music and my eyes with visual spectaculars and i surround myself with people i love and people i loathe- they can say what they want about me, the hell they try so hard to build with their mouths opening and closing and smoking all the shit they stir up can never match up to the self-constructed hell inside- so desperate, so desperate, to never be caught alone grabbed by a hand that holds me by the collar and puts another hand around my eyes and forces me to see what i do not want to remember.

2010-10-15T01:07:00.000+08:00

so much fear

i have stared it in the eye, stared so hard it turned into fuzz
or are those my lashes?
now it has taken root on every surface of my body

how i would like to lie in a safe place
adrift somewhere in space

2010-10-06T03:47:00.000+08:00

I spend too much time dreaming of what I am not, where I am not and what I do not have. Such dreams, such great dreams.

2010-09-24T02:56:00.001+08:00

Flight
by James Tate

Like a glum cricket
the refrigerator is singing
and just as I am convinced

that it is the only noise
in the building, a pot falls
in 2B. The neighbors on

both sides of me suddenly
realize that they have not
made love to their wives

since 1947. The racket
multiplies. The man downhall
is teaching his dog to fly.

The fish are disgusted
and beat their heads blue
against a cold aquarium. I too

lose control and consider
the dust huddled in the corner
a threat to my endurance.

Were you here, we would not
tolerate mongrels in the air,
nor the conspiracies of dust.

We would drive all night,
your head tilted on my shoulder.
At dawn, I would nudge you

with my anxious fingers and say,
Already we are in Idaho.

2010-09-24T02:50:00.003+08:00

it is strange, that despite the amount of pain they both feel in their lives, they are not able to connect with each other. is it possible, that pain is not just pain? that as terrible, as shitty as it is, it has subtle nuances? that a person can be more alone than alone, more in pain than in pain. that we can each be in our own different planets, alone and in pain, with no way in, and no way out. just waiting for the bubble to burst. a speck of a speck of a dust of a poof!

2010-09-23T23:47:00.010+08:00

The perks of having the cold for 2 weeks, your period for 1 week, falling off your bike in Pulau Ubin and getting 8 stitches and then gastric flu the week after:

Your boyfriend spends every single second with you- watches you sleep, wake, feeds you, gets you water to drink, entertains you, lets you treat him like a punching bag, accepts your shamefaced apologies, cheers you up, listens to you put yourself down- your hair looks like shit, you are breaking out all over, you are like shit and your life is like shit- and then picks you up and puts you back together and tells you to dream big and get out there and conquer the world.

Your dog cuddles into a ball and sleeps next to you on the bed. She follows you into the shower and watches you bathe and sticks out her tongue and laughs at you- your right hand is wrapped in a plastic bag (what your boyfriend terms 'the doraemon hand'), your right leg is wrapped in three plastic bags to prevent the wounds from touching water and you put your leg on the toilet bowl and do an alien dance and bathe half your body.

Your dad drives you to the hospital and to school and to home and your mum fusses over you and they take turns to ask you how you are and if you need anything and they quarrel with each other over how the other isn't taking enough care of you.

Your friends shower you with text messages telling you to get well soon and how much they love you.

The downside:

3 essays and 1 test next week.

Here we go :/

2010-09-14T09:19:00.004+08:00

last week i missed three lectures and one tutorial. this morning i woke up and missed the first hour of my class. by the time i got to school, class was as good as over. i clearly remember setting the alarm, but i don't think i set it properly because when i checked my phone, there was no record of an alarm. i must have set the alarm in a dream.

all these spurts, these fruitless attempts, towards a better something. i'm gonna be good, i'm gonna be better, tomorrow will be better and then even before the inspiriting declaration is complete, the self-destruction button is punched with a closed fist.

i've been on an edge these past few nights. the afternoons are wasted away in a dull and drowsy state and the nights are spent suppressing abrupt attacks of despair. self-control, i tell myself, self-control! it takes all i've got not to give in. pull yourself together and rein it in. i'm gonna be good, i'm gonna be better, tomorrow will be better. suck it up and dig in.

2010-09-09T20:22:00.008+08:00

These days I find myself secretly casting glances at myself in the mirror just to make sure I still exist. When I get out of the shower, emerging from the cloud of steam, I check. After I dress up, I check. Before I leave the house, I check. In the lift on the way down to the ground floor, I check. Each time I go to the washroom, I check. Hello, are you still there? Yes, yes you are.

It is strange- I think I look a certain way, I definitely feel a certain way. But when I look at myself in the mirror, all I see is a wide-eyed, young, skinny, very typical-looking girl (eyes there, nose there, mouth there) with typical-looking dyed brown hair staring back at me asking, "What? What were you expecting? What do you want?" And I tell her I don't know; she took me by surprise.

2010-08-14T22:32:00.006+08:00

i spent a great deal of time wondering why she couldn't understand me, why she couldn't get me. i am- i am- before i can ever finish my sentences, she cuts in with her own. she remarks that someone said something really funny about me. do i want to hear it? in my heart, i say, no, but it doesn't really matter what my answer is because she is already in the process of telling me. that someone said, that i wouldn't understand anything, because i am too young. just not matured. really, the thinking, is just not there. she laughs and asks me, isn't that funny? no, it isn't funny. oh, comes the retort, but it's funny because it's true. no it isn't true. over and over again, i am slammed and shot in the head, in the chest, right in the pit of the heart with the words, immature, childish, ignorant, and shallow. you're so shallow, she would say. you're so damn shallow.

in the process of trying to heal herself, in the process of trying to talk out her issues, she breaks me down and crushes me into smithereens. it is as though we are both in the middle of the ocean, and she can't swim, and neither can i, but i can keep myself afloat somehow, and she can't. so she holds on to me and she pushes me down. she pushes me down in order for her head to stay above the water level. and i am underneath, my eyes wide open, looking at how blue and how green the water is, and wondering if i should struggle, if i even have the right to struggle against my mother, or if i should just accept my fate and enjoy how blue and how green the water is. eventually i will stop breathing anyway. it is only a matter of when, and how.

2010-08-03T01:00:00.006+08:00

you don't feel lighter because you're finally free.

you feel lighter because you've misplaced something (and you can't decide if it was precious or not).

2010-07-31T23:35:00.005+08:00

mum, i cannot listen patiently to you, listen to you talk about why this woman doesn't love you, when all i give a shit about, is why you don't love my father.

why don't you love him? why don't you love us more? love us, not control us. love us, not own us. love us, not kill us a little by a little inside until we all become like you, constantly hungry, starved, for god knows what exactly, desperate to please, constantly empty, constantly searching for a way to fill in, fill up the cavities. nothing is ever good enough.

whole hole hole.

2010-07-31T00:49:00.000+08:00

(It is awfully, painfully, quiet, when you are not with me.)

2010-07-23T04:04:00.006+08:00

While she was going on and on and on and onnnnn I suddenly had this strong visual fantasy of the boy in a gladiator outfit throwing out energy balls and going, "Run, Faith, runnnn! I'll cover you! Just go!" Ah, what a laugh, what a scream.

Reality is a dull and constant ache. Pa dum pa dum pa dum. Your heart bleeds it out into your veins, your lungs fill you with it and exhales it out to get more of it fast right now this instant! because it knows how quickly it sours. Reality is too complex; even the word 'complex' is too simple a word to fully encapsulate it. And even at this age, I can't seem to handle it. Can't quite seem to contain it before it bites me, fills my soul with its immense weight and sinks me all the way down and leaves my feet rooted to the ground. I think they call this 'gravity'- they actually celebrate its discovery, like it is supposed to be a good thing, when I clearly recall that I was meant to fly, that I was meant to fly to somewhere else, that I was meant to fly to somewhere else more quiet and safe and gentle where the voices don't go on and on and on on on ononono. (Did I mean to type a string of 'on's or did I mean to type a string of 'no's? I can't quite remember.) Until you just want to roll your eyeballs inside your head so that the darkness comforts you and brings you peace and you can no longer see the ugly mouth crammed with ugly teeth moving incessantly. The same mouth that kissed me, that taught me how to speak.

I just... I clearly recall that I was meant... to be... somewhere else... somewhere else more... I can't quite remember anymore.

2010-07-22T01:02:00.002+08:00

2010-07-08T12:57:00.001+08:00

I sometimes hold it half a sin
To put in words the grief I feel;
For words, like Nature, half reveal
And half conceal the Soul within.

But, for the unquiet heart and brain,
A use in measured language lies;
The sad mechanic exercise,
Like dull narcotics, numbing pain.

In words, like weeds, I'll wrap me o'er,
Like coarsest clothes against the cold:
But that large grief which these enfold
Is given in outline and no more.

-Alfred,Lord Tennyson : In Memoriam A.H.H.

2010-07-02T04:32:00.006+08:00

(we will pull through. we will hold each other tight. how many dark nights have we survived. nights without stars. nights without any artificial light. one more night. one more hour. any minute now and the sun will rise and shine and smile at you, my dearest. put a warm tender kiss on your forehead and throw you a big warm hug and say, "Hello darling, did you wait long? Silly you, I was always here, just that you couldn't see me. I'm always here." And smile at you, smile at you, smile at you until you smile right back, my dearest.)

2010-06-29T01:40:00.003+08:00

You wonder why you remember the most insignificant things in life. Moments that don't seem to matter, or rather, that shouldn't matter. Except they do- a word here, a gesture there. These things, they come back and haunt you, taunt you from time to time. A last glance. A last chance. The instance in which you lost someone without realizing how precious he or she was to you. Or maybe just a point, a point in time, which wasn't necessarily better, brighter or happier... Just that it is a point in time you can never or will never go back to. Not necessarily something you regret either. The strange silly nostalgia for nothing in particular. You sit by yourself in your own head and feel a little sad for a while. It is like sitting in a bus looking out of the glass window and watching the road and the trees outside blur into one and the dying orange light makes everything look so beautiful and mysterious and you miss a stop you should have stopped at. What else did you miss? The sky on a particular day. The shapes of the clouds. Who you were with. Who were you with? Did you two hold hands? Did you want to? What you wore. Your shoes. Did they hurt? How comfortable were you? The air. Your hair. The rest of the world passing by. Whoooosshhhhhh.

2010-06-27T00:29:00.000+08:00

Go to google.com

Type in: Who's the cutest?

Click: I'm feeling lucky.

2010-06-08T02:14:00.008+08:00

The doctor says, "Can you describe him in one word?"

She says, "I hate him."

He says, "I mean, just one word. To describe him."

She says, "I really hate him!"

He says, "Okay... Er... Why?"

She says, "Because I find that he's a real..." She frowns. She can't find the word.

For a moment there I think she will say, "Bastard" or "Fucker", but those words are too American.

She says, "He's a very... irresponsible man." She frowns. She's not satisfied with the word.

"Irresponsible," he says. Finally, one word! SCORE! He writes it down on his notepad.

"I just feel like I'm... I'm trapped," she tells him, "in a loveless and meaningless marriage lor."

He looks at me, "Can we discuss this when your daughter is not around?"

She looks at me, "She knows! You ask her!"

They look at me.

I look down, stare at my open palms, at the lines which criss-cross on them. Stare at my right wrist. Stare at the two long vertical veins that travel all the way to my elbow. Stare at the tiny horizontal scars I used to reward myself with, some brown, some white. Time and the sun are fading them away.

Be a big girl now. You will spent the rest of your life trying to pay your parents back for what you never asked for. Be a big girl now.

I look up and give a small smile, a small nod, to tell them to go on.

2010-06-03T02:36:00.001+08:00

your airplanes

from No Means Maybe
written by Rachel McKibbens

I.

over breakfast,
my father asks what you see in me.

I bite the inside of my cheek,

shove a forkful of pancakes into my mouth,
notice the salt shaker eyeing my wounds.

II.

you launch "I love yous"
from a Brooklyn fire escape.

they travel 3,000 postcard miles
and collapse into my ear, exhausted.

I pinch their noses,
breathe new life into their lungs,
fold them into airplanes,

send them back to you
and wait.

III.

there isn't a building
taller than two stories
here in Orange County.
not a single fire escape.

no point in jumping.
the worst that could happen
is a broken leg or heart.

this is why the sad kids get
so goddamn creative around here.

the mayor's son rigged his noose
to raise with the garage door
when the Mercedes came home.

a nine-year old leapt into the lion's cage
at Prentice Park Zoo after
her dog was hit by a car.

IV.

on our wedding day,
when I tell you "I do,"

it's because I do.

it's because you understand
how ten-thousand dollar apologies
still keep fathers worthless,

it's because my ribcage expands
every time I think of you,

it's for all the things
you see in me

and pretend
not to notice.

2010-06-02T03:43:00.006+08:00

2010-05-22T03:29:00.003+08:00

*Edit:

Look what I found:

---

Love it when fashion is serious about not taking itself too seriously.

2010-05-12T00:55:00.002+08:00

Elsewhere, Mon Amour
by Nick Flynn

Leaning from the platform, waiting for a glimmer

to braid the rails

the eyes of the action hero cut from the poster

all that concrete pressing down

A fine edge gleams around your body

as if it could be contained

The way each finger is licked, dipped in &

rubbed across the gums

until the teeth go away

Even my hands kiss you

A night broken down into grains

If you find yourself lost, dig

a cave in the snow, quickly

you need shelter against the night

A candle could keep you alive

the engine of your lungs

will heat the air around you, someone will

miss you, they will send out dogs

You must be somewhere, right?

2010-05-11T00:53:00.002+08:00

2010-05-08T04:13:00.008+08:00

These days I ask myself, "What does it matter?" and I find it easier to let go and let loose. In the larger grander scale of things, what does it matter what little people do to little people. We won't be here for long. We will vanish before we realize it. But the sky will be just as blue as it used to be, (or grey, depending on how you want to see it). Your room will be exactly how you left it, as if you just went out for a while. No point being petty, holding on to so much bitterness, anger, fear and resentment gnawing at your heart, eating you alive bit by bit. I won't live like this. It is very tiring.

I forgive you. And in forgiving you, I forgive myself.

The dog it was that died.

2010-05-04T01:19:00.006+08:00

A White Story.

2010-04-30T02:44:00.000+08:00

2010-04-30T01:54:00.002+08:00

Shoe porn!

2010-04-30T01:36:00.004+08:00

(I will marry you if you dress like this.)

2010-04-25T04:14:00.005+08:00

i should be studying :/

2010-04-23T18:44:00.001+08:00

hello i am brain dead and nothing much went in even before that

2010-04-22T23:51:00.002+08:00

i could go for days without opening my mouth and uttering a single syllable

2010-04-22T02:53:00.001+08:00

Motes of dust

suspended

in a sunbeam.

Even dust, is beautiful.

Ashes to ashes,

dust to dust.

I, ay, ay.

2010-04-21T04:10:00.005+08:00

I

want to stop

borrowing

the words of other people

and start using my own

except

they, these, aren't even mine.

2010-04-13T02:23:00.001+08:00

16 months anniversary spent watching full metal while lying on his bed. life couldn't be simpler, and happier, than this.

2010-04-11T17:34:00.000+08:00

Walk and pick things up as you go. Nothing too heavy, nothing too light. Weigh each item against your soul and if it measures up, take it with you. If it makes you weary or it loses its significance, leave it behind for someone else to find.

Keep only that which you need.

2010-04-04T04:24:00.011+08:00

in retrospect, we are probably better off without each other. we were more serious, determined, productive and independent as individuals. you fell sick less. i wrote a great deal more. for some reason we were also more intelligent. or maybe we just bothered to put up a front and paint in the intricate details and actually maintain every single bit of it. but we were also more sad. so much more, so much more sad. at 4am now we are throwing partially incomprehensible lazily typed words at each other on msn. ha ha ha. sian. sleepy. how abt u baby. gg to slp? orh. soon. back then we sat in the dimness of our separate rooms, containing our emptiness inside the hollow shells of our bodies and then projected them into various other spaces and the eyes and opened mouths of people interesting enough to make us believe in the idea/philosophy/high-definition 3D Picture of Love and Hope, interesting enough to distract us if only for a moment, and we chase after their vanishing warmth and shadows, write emo blog entries and cryptic love poems, go online, offline, send a dozen smses, pick up a phone call, make a phone call, watch tv, read books, listen to music, to piano chords and deep but fragile voices openly bleeding their hearts out for us so that we don't have to do anything but sit in the dimness of our separate rooms; sit and be still and silent and sad and pray desperately for sleep and then violently refuse it when it kisses each strand of our eyelashes. in retrospect, we are probably better off together, even if it means we become stupid, ugly and fat.

2010-04-04T02:06:00.004+08:00

me:
i wanna get my mum an iphone since my contract is up
but
my frigging pay isnt here
how much do you think it cost?

him:
with new contract it's about 400
but hor
monthly it's $50
which u obviously cant afford

me:
so i pay $50?

him:
no
it means the monthly bill is $50
if u opt for a lower monthly bill
then the phone costs $500

me:
so i have to pay $500 upfront

him:
yea

me:
and the $50 one?

him:
is monthly bill
for the next 2 years

me:
so i pay $5o per month
for the next 2 yrs

him:
yes

me:
oh
ok
then i'm gonna have to wait

him:
buy a cheaper phone?
actually it's not about the phone
it's the monthly bill
unless u buy a phone without contract
marry me and i'll consider paying the bill :)

me:
HAHAHAAAAAAAA
NOOOOOOOOO
SO SAD

him:
dont regret

me:
I DONT WANNA MARRY YOU JUST BECAUSE OF PHONE BILLSS

him:
that's life

2010-03-29T02:23:00.009+08:00

This is not who we are. We are the ghosts we left behind, in the garden filled with fuschia flowers that look like they're made out of delicate paper. We did not tear them into pieces, we did not put them into our mouths and swallow them whole because we could not stand how beautiful they were. No, we left them alone. We left them alone to die on their own. We are the ghosts we left sitting on the wooden swings, still swinging, lightly kissing each other on the cheeks, throwing their heads back, laughing without sound, feet high up in the air, leaving footprints on the clouds, feet dug deep into the soil of the ground.

2010-03-27T16:53:00.003+08:00

Next time:

-Artwork by Jim Hodges.

"I loved his work of nine attached canvases, slightly graduated in height, and attached to one another to form a circular space. I could make out vague shadows on the back of the canvases that seemed a bit like modified camouflage. From the inside, the canvases had designs rendered in gold leaf, some with geometric patterns, others with emanating rays. I was reminded of temples in Thailand and their use of gold in meditative spaces, and how the color works to transition from earth to sky, from the everyday to the transcendent."

-Taken from http://tmagazine.blogs.nytimes.com/tag/bruce-pask/page/3/.

I miss painting.

2010-03-22T01:40:00.009+08:00

so exhausting just pretending to care.

it is less painful to stab a fork into the back of my hand than it is to put a smile on my face and talk to pee-pearl peeper people who make me feel so sick i wanna throw up all the time and dig my fingernails deep into my face and claw the whole thing off; scratch the surface of my eyeballs, tear those pupils out so i can't see anything anymore and my ears what do i do with my ears so i won't hear all those things anymore and hold my heart with my hands and squeeze it so hard it bursts like a blood-loaded balloon because i'm so fucking disgusted of being a part of the whole human race.

please see me through.

don't let them get to me.

mustsurvivemustsurvivemustsurvive

2010-03-20T03:09:00.006+08:00

YOU CAN DO THIS.

YES YOU CAN.

YES YOU CAN YES YOU CAN YES YOU CAN.

Everything is going to be okay.

Make me teachable, always willing to listen, willing to learn. Teach me how to control my emotions, how to laugh at myself and the situations I plummet into and the people I find myself having to deal with. Teach me how to go on living and loving life.

2010-03-15T04:51:00.013+08:00

I feel sad that I spent so much of my life in fear of something or somebody. In primary and secondary school, I skipped months of classes. And each time I dragged my feet back to school after a period of absence there would be the fear of how my classmates would treat me, how my teachers would treat me, how I would behave. Each fear was always proven true. And then there was the fear of the discipline mistress, and even the prefects, who dished out punishment without compassion or understanding. Run, run, run. For every minute that you are late, you have to run one round around the carpark. Run! The fear each time I woke up at 5am in the morning and knew I had to find my school uniform- probably still in the washing machine and wet, find my school books, find my unfinished homework, find my strength and dignity. The fear each time I was late for school (which was almost every day). Sometimes I snuck in from the back gate and hid inside one of the cubicles of the washroom and stood for hours (there was no toilet bowl to sit on, every cubicle contained the squatting kind) staring at the strands of hair on my legs, my stick-thin jaundiced arms, scratching the dirt off my teeth with my fingernails because no one had taught me to brush my teeth. The fear which forced me to endure the pungent smell of urine and shit and rotting menstrual blood spilling out of pads littered all over the sticky floor as I waited for the Majulah Singapuraaa and the oh let our youthful voices ring, with all their joyfulness, with praise and gladness let us sing, of paya lebar mgs, of paya lebar mgs to be over so I could join in the flow of students walking back to their classrooms. The fear of talking to people, so much so that I didn't even dare to buy food. For five years I ate char siew bao for lunch because it did not require eye contact with the canteen auntie, I knew how much it cost and could give the exact amount and there would be no complications, no cause for worry or embarrassment and it was the fastest thing to take and go. The fear of touching people, of being touched. The fear of loving, of being loved. The fear, the fear.

Life is too short. No more fears. No more tears (unless they are happy ones!)

2010-03-11T04:33:00.005+08:00

262/1300 words.

Faith is not a lean mean essay writing machine anymore :(

I am really sleepy and I want to give up.

Shouldn't have deleted what I wrote previously. I always do that, thinking that it isn't good enough (because it really isn't!)
and then drawing to a complete blank
and staring at a perfectly blank white microsoft word document
and then out of sheer immense exhaustion
begin to contemplate the tempting and gloriously sinful
but absolutely delicious notion
of giving up
and falling into a
deep
deep
down
down
sleep.

2010-03-07T03:30:00.002+08:00

I poured my heart out, you see. I poured my heart out and it bled out words.

I think I will always choose to pour my heart out anyway, even if they crush it with their fists incapable of feeling or stroking, just hitting and hitting and hitting away.

2010-03-02T01:14:00.011+08:00

We will soon sleep like that, two peas in a pod, surrounded by a never-ending sea of books (considering how the books on your shelves are growing and spilling out all over the floor).

Pictures I already envision my future life to fulfill:

Little kid with tiny little hands pushing up over-sized glasses (my glasses) hiding under my skirt- bright pink with white polka dots- and the skirt billows and lips stretch and curve upwards and there is the sonorous sound of unison laughter. Poster child. Poster mother. Poster happy like what the advertisements promise on TV. Balloons would be nice. Fine delicate laces. Firm hands. Shoes with shoe laces. The occasional high heels. Cashmere. Silk. Satin. Black eyeliner. Smudged. Bubblegum lipstick. Ice cream. Red lollipop. Strawberry cheesecake. Raw salmon sashimi.

Writing and dying to write something better, something so much more, dying while writing, dying for writing, dying without writing.

Sunset in Paris. Two glasses of wine. One red, one white, for the heck of it. Enough alcohol to feel loose and comfortably melancholic but not enough to soothe the mind and keep the heart warm. The cold gust of wind causes the strands of hair on the back of our necks to stand and our bones to shiver and we run for the bus, run for the train, run for our lives knowing that if we run fast enough until we are almost out of breath we could pick up enough speed and hurl our bodies up into the air and take off and flyyyyy! And if we don't at least we'll be so cold we are no longer cold anymore. We'll sense the heat from our bodies rising into the night sky as if our souls were trying to escape from our shells to take at least a scrap of us where we can never dream of going.

2010-02-26T01:36:00.008+08:00

Skipped school today for the first time this semester. What a thrill! Didn't have to breathe the fucking air of the fucking suffocating space, and face the people, gosh the people.

Had a lot of beauty sleep. Feel a lot better about myself. Have more steam and courage to carry on now.

Sometimes it is not about what is right, or what is wrong, but what needs to be done in order to go on living.

2010-02-25T03:42:00.003+08:00

Another night where I go, "I so fucking want to sleep!" and don't, because there is work to do. And when the work is finished, I can't seem to fall asleep anymore. Too much adrenaline running through my veins. Pump, pump, pump. Strange, how I am able to invest so much of myself in things that don't 'count' in the practical sense. What I do isn't going to pull my grades up.

I wish I cared more about my grades. I used to do so well, and now I slip below average and want to vanish into thin air. Each day I drag my feet to school, back hunched, frowning, empty, hollow, empty, yearning for something so much more, hungry to escape the small rooms full of people full of talk.

My greatest regret is always giving up on myself. Each time giving up on myself just when I was about to hold on to the edge of a dazzling star.

Can't keep on doing this to myself. This must stop!

2010-02-22T06:48:00.001+08:00

I should be sleeping :(

2010-02-16T01:11:00.006+08:00

What I've left behind constantly comes back to haunt me. The things I could have done. The people I could have held on to. The places I could have gone. The roads I could have explored.

So easy to give up. So easy to let everything fall apart.

Now now now. Moment to moment to moment. Breathe in. Breathe out. This is me and this is my own body and I belong to me. I belong to me.

Simin, let's check ourselves in together. You purple hair me blue!

2010-02-13T01:48:00.010+08:00

Pretty hectic life these days. Have been going to school and working on my set (for play production) and attending rehearsals every single day including weekends. Thank goodness for chinese new year!

My handphone had a near-death experience. Dropped it on the road when I was coming out of the bus and the back wheel of the bus nearly rolled over it but I dragged it an inch away in the nick of time.

My slipper snapped into two just as I was about to leave school, and it was nearing midnight too! Luckily the boyfriend was with me, and we took a cab all the way to J8, where I promptly walked into shoe shops barefooted and very sheepish.

Did an interview with The Straits Times and after that had a photo-taking session with the cast and director. Most awkward experience ever, not knowing what to do with my body or how to smile or where to look, while all the actors did what they do best- act. The worst bit was when we had to pretend to laugh at some imaginary joke. Urgh. Hated it. Felt so stiff and self-conscious and shy.

Had the best 14 months anniversary ever with the tremendously romantic boyfriend today! Received super huge pink roses. (He actually put them in a plastic bag! Again! Poor roses were nearly wilting inside.) Watched Valentine's Day. Not that fantastic leh, as compared to Love Actually. Had this amazing 7-course meal at Dozo, where the waiter literally knelt down to take our orders and some of the chefs personally brought us the dishes that they cooked and everyone who served us explained to us exactly what we were eating and how to eat it. Crazy fine dining man. Very pretty food I must say. So pretty I couldn't bear to eat some of it.

Some days I want to rip my face out and crush my eyes with my fists and shred my lips into pieces. But somehow, the power of being in love, of feeling like I'm still in this honeymoon period, this bubble, keeps me going further than I should, and keeps me stronger than I should be. When I was holding two jobs, I used to collaspe in bed in tears because I was so tired, so tired and afraid of being empty. Dear god, when I prayed for a little help, you sure gave me a thousand times more than I asked for. Thank you for the amazing people you have surrounded me with. Thank you for your amazing grace, your amazing love, which sustains this amazing Faith.

2010-02-09T01:31:00.005+08:00

I like how there is this trend of re-blogging and re-re-blogging what pictures others post on their blogs. It reminds me of how we are all the same. How we crave, yearn, hunger, lust, hope, and wrestle for the same.

2010-02-01T01:20:00.009+08:00

Felt depressed today because I felt ugly. New haircut makes me feel like I'm back in secondary school with severe acne, lousy grades and suicidal fantasies. Looked like shit in all the photos taken today. At night I sulked and slammed the house door on my boyfriend's face when he said that he was leaving. Had meant to walk him to the bus stop where he takes the bus home, but did not. Instead, I lied flat on the bed and cried for a bit, got up and washed my face, slapped on pimple cream and acne patches and pushed my hair back with a hairband and tried to stop feeling sorry for myself.

Started to search for my phone and realized that my boyfriend must have taken it by accident- I had dropped it into his pocket. Called my boyfriend. Turned out that he was still at my house area, waiting for me while trying to act cool and aloof and utterly furious with me. All the while he was secretly fantasizing that I would rush out of the house and run to find him and hug him from behind and smother him with thousands of kisses and hugs and beg for his absolute forgiveness for having ill-treated him.

Obviously, this did not happen.

He had to walk all the way back to my place and pass me back my phone. Despite the glory of the very prominent acne patches on my face, he still found it in himself to smother me with thousands of kisses and hugs.

Feels so good to be loved so entirely and unconditionally. Thank YOU baby.

2010-01-27T01:26:00.000+08:00

What Do Woman Want?

By Kim Addonizio

I want a red dress.
I want it flimsy and cheap,

I want it too tight, I want to wear it
until someone tears it off me.
I want it sleeveless and backless,
this dress, so no one has to guess
what's underneath. I want to walk down
the street past Thrifty's and the hardware store
with all those keys glittering in the window,
past Mr. and Mrs. Wong selling day-old
donuts in their café, past the Guerra brothers
slinging pigs from the truck and onto the dolly,
hoisting the slick snouts over their shoulders.
I want to walk like I'm the only
woman on earth and I can have my pick.
I want that red dress bad.
I want it to confirm
your worst fears about me,
to show you how little I care about you
or anything except what
I want. When I find it, I'll pull that garment
from its hanger like I'm choosing a body
to carry me into this world, through
the birth-cries and the love-cries too,
and I'll wear it like bones, like skin,
it'll be the goddamned
dress they bury me in.

2010-01-23T03:23:00.003+08:00

I was singing Leona Lewis' "You cut me open and I, keep bleeding, I keep keep bleeding love" when ****** whacked me on the head and said, "Why are you singing sad emo songs when you're happily in love!"

"Oh yah hor. Haha. I dunno. The song is catchy what."

"Damn retarded."

2010-01-21T11:49:00.004+08:00

me:
Hi, do i know you?

jimmiealtenberger6@hotmail.com:
hey

me:
sorry, who are you?

jimmiealtenberger6@hotmail.com:
i'm 21/f your a male right?

me:
im sorry darling. im as female as you can get.

jimmiealtenberger6@hotmail.com:
nice, I just got off work and finally got some time to relax which site did i msg you from again?

me:
i have no idea. i just got a request from you to be added onto my msn list.

jimmiealtenberger6@hotmail.com:
I know a way we can chat and have a better time.. do you cam?

me:
where are you from?

jimmiealtenberger6@hotmail.com:
I'm from Cali/Modesto but i'm currently living in Houston

me:
ah, okay. well, i have to go now. take care.

jimmiealtenberger6@hotmail.com:
Well i don't do yahoo cam or any other cam because i have been recorded before... But i do know one site you can watch me on cam, that assures me no one records...

me:
no one records what? what are you talking about exactly?

jimmiealtenberger6@hotmail.com says:
I mean... Do you want to see me on my cam?

me:
haha why do i want to see you on your cam??

jimmiealtenberger6@hotmail.com says:
Ok go to http://twurl.nl/phnvcu accept the invite on the page baby

me:
no thanks baby

jimmiealtenberger6@hotmail.com says:
lame... no wonder ur single...

me:
no wonder you love making assumptions. haha you're funny.

jimmiealtenberger6@hotmail.com says:
sweet, fill out the info ur info.. i can not wait for you to see me baby let me find something nice to wear

me:
i'm sorry baby. i'm not that type. you need to get a life.

jimmiealtenberger6@hotmail.com says:
its the sites policy to ensure no minors get access to the site, so they might ask for CC to verify your age babe.

me:
read above babe.

jimmiealtenberger6@hotmail.com says:
What color Panties do you think i should wear? i might have you favorite color here somewhere...

me:
read above.

jimmiealtenberger6@hotmail.com says:
Your such a good boy, i'm gonna show you what good boys deserve.. you can tell me to do anything you want me too!

me:
i already told you i'm female.

jimmiealtenberger6@hotmail.com says:
Ok let me know when you get in so I can invite you directly to my cam.

(a walking aspiring blank) said:
good luck with your life. bye.

jimmiealtenberger6@hotmail.com says:
Well if you must leave... tell ya what if ya want to see me later on my cam goto http://twurl.nl/656hfw just accept my cam invite.. Its fast and easy.. we'll prolly be online for the rest of the day so you can go and see me on my cam. Take care

me:
you take care too

2010-01-21T10:34:00.004+08:00

This week (and the week hasn't even ended!), I learnt that:

You need to give people a reason to like you and respect you as a human being, but you don't need to give them any reason to hate you because they'll come up with a hundred reasons on their own.

People genuinely do want to see other people do well in life. People genuinely do feel happy for other people's successes.

One person's joy, is another person's sorrow. Always be grateful and thankful for what you have and who you have and appreciate it.

(I should make my boyfriend angry with me more often. Every time he gets angry with me, he gets angry with himself for getting angry with me. The end result being, I get to eat all my favourite food in one day! Sashimi! Ice cream! Chocolate! I'm drooling. I shall stop here.)

2010-01-20T00:37:00.004+08:00

sometimes, to assure myself, i say, "together, together, hold it together."

it rhymes in a very comfortable way. sometimes i just mouth it. the words stay on my tongue and takes an infinite loop around. i say it slower, and slower, until each syllable takes a whole breath of air and i need another to go on, and then i hear myself saying, "to get her, to get her, hold it, to get her" as if i'm outside of myself talking about a total stranger.

2010-01-19T04:24:00.005+08:00

Dear Sexy Secret Lover,

don't give up on yourself, no matter how tough things get. Don't beat yourself up or put yourself down just because of the psychos surrounding you. It is not worth it.

I love you just as you are.

Remember our promise to stay alive and be there for each other. Leave me first and I'll whack your head.

Love,

your not-so-sexy-but-definitely-charming fiancee.

PS: I AM HUNGRY FOR SASHIMI!!!

2010-01-11T02:15:00.002+08:00

Tired of being awake. Tired of being asleep. Tired of being tired and afraid.

Here we go again.

Live, live, live, love, lift yourself up.

Breatheeeeeeeeeeeee.

And leap!

2010-01-06T03:53:00.000+08:00

Sweetest Decline by Orton Beth:

She weaves secrets in her hair
The whispers are not hers to share
She's deep as a well
She's deep as a well

Another day wastes away
And my heart sinks with the sun
A new day's dawning
And a new day has not yet begun

So, anyway
There I was
Just sitting on your porch
Drinking in your sweetest decline
Your sweetest decline

What's the use in regrets
They're just thing we haven't done yet
What are regrets?
They're just lessons we haven't learned yet

Another day draws away
And my heart sinks with the sun
It's like catching snow on my tongue
It's like catching snow on my tongue

So, anyway
There I was
Just sitting on your porch
Drink in your sweetest decline
The sweetest decline

What are regrets?
What are regrets?
They're just lessons we haven't learned yet
It's like catching snow on your tongue
You can't pin this butterfly down
Can't pin this butterfly down

2009-12-29T03:52:00.015+08:00

Babies learn to walk by falling. Babies learn to walk by holding their mother's hand.

My sense of space and distance has been altered. When I want to say that there is too much food, I say that I am not an X. When I want to say that I cannot walk very far, I say that I do not have X's legs. When I want to say that I want to give up, that I am stupid, that I do not care about anything anymore, I say that I am not YOU. And so, I learn who I am by declaring who I am not.

Loneliness is the empty space which you used to occupy.

You make the boundaries and the perimeters of my world. When you are the darkness, I am the light. When I am the light, you are the darkness. You are my alternative universe. You are my mirror- You are what I want to see and what I do not want to see. There is always a distance between the mirror and the image, and the infinite distance of the mirror which extends and repeats the extension.

My hand is cold because your hand is hot. Your hand is covering my hand and giving me the warmth that I lack. Your hand is two times bigger than my hand and so my hand is small and your hand is big because my hand is small.

I can afford to be insane, because you are sane. And when you are insane, I am sane. But no, that is not exactly right. If you are my mirror, you are a reflection of who I am. You must be a broken mirror. But no, that is not exactly right either.

I have been thinking, that perhaps, I am that creature that appears when the spaces between our foreheads, the bridges of our noses (your's crooked, mine barely there), the indentations on our upper lips, the downward slopes of our chins and the gaps between our crisscrossed fingers disappear; when the air that we breathe in and out merge and vanish and the darkness and the light blends and swirls and turns into a single solid colour. I think that maybe I, we, I am, we are, I am that colour.

2009-12-25T02:30:00.008+08:00

Merry Christmas :)

2009 has been hell and I am glad that it is coming to an end. I know that it is just a mere change in numerical digits, but I feel as though I could really really start anew, start afresh for real and for good.

What has made 2009 live-able so far, and sometimes, even inexplicably beautiful and wonderful to me, has been your presence.

Each day I thank god for his forgiveness and for his mercy upon me. That he saw it fit, to grace me with your very presence, if only for a finite amount of time.

Thank YOU.

I feel truly, truly, blesssed, and very grateful, for each and every one of you.

Thank you for loving me. I am sorry for all the times I ever hurt you. Thank you, for loving me.

2009-12-24T03:18:00.011+08:00

The taiwan trip has been good so far. My elder sister and my dad are like two tigers on a mountain, and you know that you can never have two tigers on a mountain- says my mum. They want to go exactly where they want to go, and do what they want to do, and the rest of the family just follows.

I do not really care where we go. It is nice, just being together. Sometimes at night we lie on the bed- we joined two single beds together- and we talk about our childhood days. I used to force my sisters to call me Miss Orange, and I would teach a sea of soft toys how to spell and how to count when back then I couldn't even spell or count properly. I put small circular batteries inside my nose and on the way to the hospital I sneezed them out in front of my petrified mother. I stuck a pen inside my ear and the ink leeked out and turned the inside of my ear blue. I liked to put foreign and dirty objects (picked up from the floor) inside my mouth. I was lactose intolerant but insisted on drinking milk and eating ice cream and then later vomiting all of it out. I peed on the bed frequently and could never hold my bladder very well. (Still can't). I told everyone that I was very pretty, and tried to convince my maid to take a cab down with me to TCS (now known as Mediacorp) because I was too pretty to be true. I enjoyed taking pictures of myself. When my dad whipped out his gigantic and complicated camera, I would stand in the middle and use my two arms to push everyone aside. I thought Xie Shao Guang was cute. In short, I was a walking and living hazard, but they loved me nonetheless and they still love me now.

Family can be a pain the ass. I have cried countless tears over each and every one of them. They have driven me to the brink of hopelessness and death, but they have also lifted me up in ways unimaginable. The dearest of friends, they come and go. I have lost too many friends. And those who stay, (for some miraculous reason, they stay), they become family. And family, family sticks man :)

2009-12-17T04:40:00.003+08:00

List of things to buy:

1) Iphone for my mum.
2) Ipod for my dad.
3) Microphone for his dad.
4) Microwave for his mum.
5) Shampoo!
6) And shaving cream!
7) And cardigan!
8) And a nice tote bag in just the perfect size and material with the perfect artsy print and strap length for him.
9) Mac make-up brushes for my sister.
10) Striped t-shirt.
11) Bag that doesn't weigh a ton on it's own.
12) Lots and lots of shorts!

Now I just need to wait for money to fall from the sky.

2009-12-17T04:10:00.010+08:00

The other night, I bumped into a friend on the bus. I was with my boy, and he said rather worriedly, "Oh no, this is the first time your friend is seeing me look like this." This, referred to his baggy shirt and even baggier shorts and rubber slippers. We had both literally just rolled out of bed, and our hairs were horribly messy and we were dressed very sloppily. I beamed at him and pinched his cheek and said, “Never mind lar. I also look like this.”

Later on I remarked that ever since that friend got into a relationship, she dressed amazingly well. Not just that, but she looked supremely gorgeous and extremely confident.

“So, after getting together with me, where is your newly found confidence?” he asked me.

I took a quick look at myself and laughed, “Dunno! Don’t have.”

“I know,” he said, “Your confidence lies in you being able to look like this.”

And then I realized that he was right. I knew (and perhaps I knew so well that I was abusing this priviledge), that I could walk around in an oversized t-shirt, secondary school shorts, with a hairband pushing up my fringe so that it wouldn’t touch my greasy face- I hadn’t bathed the whole entire day- because he loves me. The poor sucker. Well the good news is, the feeling is mutual- I love him too. Hence, we're both growing fat and ugly and yet we still think that the other is the most attractive person in the whole wide world. Ah, feels good to be so deluded.

(We've past the one year mark and I still feel like we're in the honeymoon period! Please bear with me if these posts are still as painfully and annoyingly sweet as before.)

2009-12-13T12:14:00.003+08:00

2009-12-12T02:44:00.005+08:00

My boy bought me boots!

Happy happy happy!

Only you, will indulge my slightest whims and fancies to the full.

I am being spoilt rotten and loving every minute of it :)

Thank YOU.

2009-12-02T02:00:00.006+08:00

I had the strangest dream! Not going to get into detail, but, for some time I was naturally (man I hope it's natural) afraid of my boy's ex-girlfriends, ex-infatuations, ex-crushes and ex-flings. The fear didn't even coincide with any form of jealousy or paranoia, even though it certainly brought out all my insecurities. I don't know what I was afraid of. It got to the point where I was hiding behind pillars just to avoid seeing some other girl. This, I think, is where it sucks to be younger by half a decade. He had a considerable head-start in the love games and mind games, even if it doesn't necessarily mean that he got very far. Also, lesser time for me to literally clock up ex-es of all kinds equals me seeming over and hyper-sensitive and unreasonable and him, mature, experienced and jaded.

Today however, I woke up thankful, that there were girls he could love (or learn just how to love), and girls to love him (the way he deserves to be loved), before we met each other. As greatly romantic as it is to be The First- the first to kiss someone, first to hold someone's hand, first to hold someone's heart- I have to admit rather reluctantly, that it is somewhat idealistic. Not everyone is lucky enough to fall and marry and stick with their first love. And to be fair to him, he didn't know that I would be entering into his life, and neither did I. In the meanwhile, all we could do was play Trial and Error, Generate and Test, Guess and Check. Honestly and quite scarily, we could still be doing it now and not know. That said, past relationships make us who we are today, for better or for worse. And it is who we are today, that is being loved and cherished.

I said to him, "You're the sort of person who'll wait for the girl no matter what, even if the girl doesn't love you anymore. Because you've watched too many Japanese dramas and romances and it's just... internalized lar."

"Nonsense!" he exclaimed dismissively, "If that was true I wouldn't have moved on. I'll still be in love with one girl, no, I'll still be in love with all of them!"

"Ey, actually, that's true in some way. As in, when I look back, I think that every person I've met, no matter what the nature of our relationship was, has made me who I am. I mean, I think I'm the sum of all the people I've ever met."

"You're the subtraction."

"No, I'm the sum."

"You're the subtraction."

"Why? Because I only take what I like from them and make it mine?"

"Because you're changing every day."

Ah, yes, I'm changing every day, for better or for worse.

I am thankful that we met at the right time in our lives and at the right place.

I am thankful for the time that we have now.

I ask, to ask for nothing more. To be always grateful and content.

(10 more days to our 1 year anniversary! See, I do remember.)

2009-12-01T15:56:00.008+08:00

Flower Power!

Si Min (during dinner): Faith put make-up. Eighth wonder of the world sial.

Faith wearing (or rather, intending to wear) boots like those, ninth wonder of the world :)

2009-11-30T19:21:00.001+08:00

2009-11-26T04:17:00.014+08:00

If I am, a disgusting liar, a backstabber, a hypocrite, a fraud; if I am worth nothing at all, then God, please use me, use me to wipe dirt and spit and mud off the soles of people's feet or clean shit and if I'm not even worthy to do that, break me and break me and break me, destroy me until you find something in me that you remember to be useful because there must be something in me or you wouldn't have birthed me isn't it? And if I'm not even worthy of that, what should I do? Left to my own devices, how much, or what else, can I do?

I need, to believe, that there must be something, even if it isn't true at all.

Start from scratch, baby. Build some worth, some meaning, a little purpose. If it comes crashing down, do it again, and again, and again. And if you get tired, rest, and do it again and again and again. And if you get too tired to even rest, we'll see what to do, and where to go from there. But for now, you're only just beginning.

One breath at a time. One step at a time. One day at a time. Moment to moment to moment.

2009-11-23T02:37:00.012+08:00

When I was younger, I used to watch those melodramatic Taiwanese or Korean TV shows where the girl is always alone and sobbing like a proper damsel in distress, and the boy will have to run all over the place just to find her. When he does find her, he holds her and hugs her as tightly as he can, and everything becomes okay. I used to scoff at scenes like this. So cliche, I would say, so stereotypical, so corny and wrong on so many levels. And then the exact scene happened to me in real life. Except this time my prince was decked out in an old t-shirt, shorts and slippers. He sat beside me, rubbed his small sleepy eyes, gently put my head on his chest, and wiped my tears away with the bottom of his t-shirt. And suddenly it became the most romantic thing in the whole wide world.

Next time, (if there is a next time), we'll switch places. I'll put your head on my chest darling.

2009-11-22T04:13:00.004+08:00

Excuse me but can I be you for awhile
My dog won't bite if you sit real still
I got the anti-Christ in the kitchen yellin' at me again
Yeah I can hear that
Been saved again by the garbage truck
I got something to say you know
But nothing comes
Yes I know what you think of me
You never shut up
Yeah I can hear that

But what if I'm a mermaid
In these jeans of his
With her name still on it
Hey but I don't care
Cause sometimes
I said sometimes
I hear my voice
And its been here
Silent all these years

So you found a girl
Who thinks really deep thoughts
What's so amazing about really deep thoughts
Boy you best pray that I bleed real soon
How's that thought for you
My scream got lost in a paper cup
You think there's a heaven
Where some screams have gone
I got 25 bucks and a cracker
Do you think it's enough
To get us there

Cause what if I'm a mermaid
In these jeans of his
With her name still on it
Hey but I don't care
Cause sometimes
I said sometimes
I hear my voice
And it's been here
Silent all these...

Years go by
Will I still be waiting
For somebody else to understand
Years go by
If I'm stripped of my beauty
And the orange clouds
Raining in head
Years go by
Will I choke on my tears
Till finally there is nothing left
One more casualty
You know we're too easy easy easy

Well I love the way we communicate
Your eyes focus on my funny lip shape
Let's hear what you think of me now
But baby don't look up
The sky is falling
Your mother shows up in a nasty dress
It's your turn now to stand where I stand
Everybody lookin' at you here
Take hold of my hand
Yeah I can hear them

But what if I'm a mermaid
In these jeans of his
With her name still on it
Hey but I don't care
Cause sometimes
I said sometimes
I hear my voice
I hear my voice
I hear my voice

And it's been here
Silent all these years
I've been here
Silent all these years

2009-11-20T02:12:00.027+08:00

I just took this with my phone! My dog is sleeping on a cushion on top of my lap while I type this.

I love my dog. She doesn't remind me that I have a paper due today and an exam on Saturday. She doesn't judge me for having slept the whole day away. It was raining and I love to sleep when it is raining. The air smells so fresh and the bed is so warm and every dream is sweet and light and easy on me. She doesn't judge me for giving excuses like the ones I just gave.

Anyway, I went for a haircut with my mum!

Not gonna meet you guys any time soon so I might as well post a picture up:

I'm sorry the photo is kinda act-cute-ish. I think its the hair lar. Haha. The back is way shorter. I was perversely happy watching all my severely dry and damaged dyed hair get snipped off. My mum loved the cut so much she asked for a similar one too! Can't show you her picture though, she'll kill me. Will show in private. :D My elder sister said that with this new hairstyle, I have succeeded in making my boy look like a cradle snatcher. I told this to him and he replied in jest, "What do you mean. I already am one what." My dad said I look younger and more cheerful. I retorted, "So you mean last time I looked old and depressed?!" "Yarh. Something liddat."

As you can see, I am on a gone-case premature holiday mood. Love does this to you.

Study hard and I'll see you all after the exams kay! :)

Edit:

My boy comments on this entry:
What's with the primary school language??!

Me:
I talk to my friends like that?

My boy:
Hahahaha.
No.
You're a primary school convent girl now .

2009-11-15T02:10:00.010+08:00

i wanted, wanted so much, so hard, to be so good. but there was no place left for me to sit or to even stand. the writers and the poets and the singers have got all my words and even my silence with them- but better, always better of course- and i bruise my mouth and cut my tongue against the letters of the alphabet and each and every sound that rises and falls with the spinning of this world and i get nowhere. a loaded bag of cliches and used and reused ideas and no place left to go. all taken, taken, pending... oh sorry, taken as well. i want to say- but it has been said before. but it can be said again. is there a point? why not. okay. yes. let me try again. i. i, don't remember anymore. i. aye. eye. lie. sigh. bye. die. no place to go, no skin to slip into, no face to look into, no memory left to hold on to. i want to scream my name but already the sound sounds foreign in my head. i want to scream my name to remember who i am but can't because i never knew who i was in the first place. i. i wait. no echo. i am my own echo. i! i! i! each time a different tone, a different emotion. start. stop. calculations and miscalculations. start. don't stop. run, baby, run and catch the very foot of the sun as he flaps his wings and pull him down and kiss him and hold on tight until he takes you to the place you've always belonged in- another world, another language, another you, another i.

2009-11-13T05:50:00.025+08:00

Perhaps God said to me, "Faith, I am about to put you on this earth. But before I do that, let me ask you: What would you most like me to bestow upon your life?"

And perhaps (like some free-spirited anything-goes hippie) I said, "God, I just wanna live LIFE man. Give me the whole deal. Don't mince any of it down for me. You only get to live once. I don't want a single dull moment in my life. Like everrr. I want colours. All sorts of colours man."

So you know, all that drama at home and emo episodes and all those fucked up modules at a supposedly university level in a fucked up school where the only joy is derived from seeing the familiar faces of dear friends... And all those almost farcical scenes that pepper the days of my life like: My boy accidentally punching a dog in the eye and I watch as it flies backwards and hits the grass with a shockingly human "Ahhh!" and then it gets up and starts spinning around in circles; an angry (for some unknown reason) stout old woman whacking my boy on the head with a broken umbrella which has its metal spokes dangerously sticking out while we are on a moving bus and he glares at her with his impossibly tiny eyes, "Oei Auntie!" and she jumps a little and looks at him innocently as if unaware of what she has done and ignores him completely and decides to pick on another smaller-sized boy instead and calling that boy a pervert...

I was thinking, yup, I really can't complain.