Am I Enough?

Yes.

Yes, you are.

You are enough.

You are more than enough.

Your words, your memories, your hands and all your feelings. 

Remember. 

You are made to be enough for yourself. 

Not to fill sentences, fill gaps, fill hearts and to fill the air. 

You are not a spare part. 

You are yourself. 

Living, breathing, dreaming and wide awake. 

You are enough. 

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If I Ever. 

“If I ever say fool, you have to leave,” she whispered into his ear as they shared a single bed, tangled under sheets.

 –

Stay. 

“I will stay until you find someone else to love.” 

Stay. 

Please, stay. 

(Your arms would not let me go and I had difficulty breathing. It did not matter what we were fighting about anymore. I was too caught up with the endless flows of tears running from your tired eyes and your voice cracking in the thin air.)

Stay until you don’t love me anymore. 

Don’t go. 

Don’t go. 

(My heart broke but silence kept me captive.)

Don’t go. 

– 

She turned her back and hugged herself a little tighter than usual.

As the moon hides under her veil of black. 

As the birds stop singing and his breathing gets shallower. 

“Fool.”

Visit. 

(The skies are still blue and the clouds still hang above, but the wind tastes a bit salty. Like the sea, or maybe tears. People still pass you by, and the little sparrows still sing. And I listen to the temple bells ringing to the dance that never ends. Another one, another one, another one.)

Denial is the mind not catching up with the heart. 

Days would suddenly seem like the darkest hours while nights might comfort. 

Daffodils start growing beneath your ribcage. 

Disappearance can be in more ways than one – emotional, psychological, presence and physical. 

Dreaming becomes unwanted reminders. 

Death pauses more than one life. 

High.

Your mind drugs you and your heart weakens

Your lips craving for nicotine and your throat waiting for the alcoholic burn 

Black and blue, black and blue

Lose all feelings and all inhibitions 

You lost them on clouds, fumes 

On your way up 

What is reality when you can no longer walk straight

Words dance around you and you try to taste them 

But always a step too late

You say

You love too much; it consumes your being

Come closer; body to body is the distance when your spine can no longer support 

But you never hold the hand that tries

You prefer the silent one

How do you know Love’s face when you are never sober enough to see its true one

Alphabets hold you to sleep, voices sing a lullaby 

It is goodnight only when the sun is up

Bird. 

Growing up with grids all around

Crawling on those wires that form a hardened bubble that is

More real than your dreams

Craving for freedom 

Wanting to break out and look back in

But once you get the limitless space 

It is all loss, confusion and always trying to 

Break 

Things 

Down

You don’t know what to do with it

Just sitting with a blank face 

Caging yourself up with your prison of a mind. 

In Harm’s Way. 

(From July 10th.)

It has been a long day. 

A full day at school. Bumping into familiar faces on the street. Travelling to the wrong place. Finding the path back to the right destination. Watching a theatre show. Making small talk. Taking the slow train home while listening to strange comments – eh, seven children leh, how they afford sia, siao one – and listening to my iPod touch. Finally thinking positive thoughts – school wasn’t so bad, maybe this is what I want – and opening the locks on worn out gates I will not be seeing in three weeks. 

And there it is – tiny angry words, like black ants, swarming the walls on the inside of this four-room hdb flat. 

In minutes, my skin was covered in bite marks and has turned red. 

“You are so troublesome, you know. I already made two trips (to the old house) and you still say these clothes are wrong?” 

“You think easy is it? I am damn tired okay. Always want to take, take, take things. Walao.”

“Don’t even know when can move. So many things. Go and throw la. Keep, keep, keep all these rubbish and nonsense don’t know for what!” 

So red. It is almost a shade close enough to imagine the bleeding that is taking place under my thin skin. 

Burst veins and malfunctioning arteries. Too much sadness. Pressured from the shock of coming home to this. 

(Did I say home? What is home?) 

And I thought to myself: Maybe the worst I can do to my person is not the splitting of skin against blade. Maybe the most pain felt is not pouring detergent down my burning throat. Maybe courting death is not done through alcoholism, smoking cigarettes and starving myself. 

Maybe the best self-harm is living with a family that

Priorities their own feelings and bounce them off you like a punching bag. 

Defeats your minor victories one by one. 

Uses their own “good will” to guilt trip you or hurt you. 

Abuses what love is supposed to be and twists it so you never learn how simple or pure it can be. 

Makes you feel less than your gender, your looks, your sex, your skills, your decisions and your own person. 

Is toxic. 

– 

The saddest thing is, these small aggressions linger, manifest and yet I find myself still staying. 

It is funny how these realisations occur only after many years of daily incidents. It makes me wonder if I am conditioned to think that this is the only way to grow up. It is slightly strange I get so angry but I don’t fight anymore, because I know how it will end. 

What if I am still here because I lack the will and am secretly courting death? 

I scare myself sometimes.