20th October, 11.30am. 

I just couldn’t do it. 

I was preparing myself the whole week: sleeping earlier before disruptions can possibly happen, not think about it, be prepared for the class and plan it. Telling myself that it will not be as bad as anything I imagine. 

Just stop thinking so much. 

You will be fine. You will. 

I was running all possibilities up, down, right to left in my mind. It hurt. My brain felt like a worm out foolscap paper that I have used a blue ballpoint pen to trace lines on it repeatedly. Obsessively.

I even tried to talk myself out of the anxiety. There will be people there. I won’t be alone with him. He can’t do anything. Just pretend. It’s fine. Go for class, survive it, game the system and get out of there once it hits one. How bad can it be? Don’t let him under your skin. He deserves no authority to haunt you like that. If you choose not to get hurt, you won’t. Be tougher. Why are you so weak? Can you just stop crying? Don’t be so bloody sensitive. Stop. Just go. You aren’t special. You can’t run forever. Maybe you deserved everything he has ever done to you. They are just microaggressions. Nothing big. Are you overthinking it? 

Then the night before, I dreamt of the entire session. I went to bed fine but once I fell into sleep, I kept waking up. 

My brain just kept going and going and going. 

Why won’t I listen to myself and just get through it? 

The day started out fine but right before the session was to start, I was panicking. The walls were coming in. I couldn’t breathe. I threw things. It felt claustrophobic and everything was collapsing. 

I can’t do this. I can’t do this. I can’t do this.

But I calmed down, with the help of friends. I took deep breaths. Convinced myself that I will be fine. Take things one step at a time and nothing can go wrong. You said you will survive it, so do it. Prove it. 

Then I heard his voice. 

And I lost it. 

Hyperventilated. Eyes going everywhere. Tears stinging. Heart losing it; speeding insanely. My hands were shaking. Body limp and curled up; closed and shut tight. 

I lost. 

I just couldn’t do it. 

Maybe it really is my fault, and I am not strong enough. But I couldn’t. 



An idea of vanity, or out of necessity. 

The bathroom at home no longer has a mirror. 

It used to be stuck to the wall above the sink. Then it fell one day. I heard nothing and no one was home, but it fell silently. Just an unwitnessed collapse. 

Now all that’s left are the tiles that used to be hidden, and unscrappable remains of aged cement. 

What used to reflect what we can see has become a reflection of how we felt at home instead. 


My spirit and person has left this blog for a while now. 

I used to queue up posts and try to write as much as possible; to improve and just keep going. It is just a digital space for me to throw things out here and let go, or generate possible ideas, or simply try to write. 

Whatever writing truly means, really. 

Many things have happened in my life, in a very short span of time. Even though it might not be a drama that directly involves me, I still very much feel the effects of it and am trying to rationalise or figure out how I truly feel. 

Many things about me have changed, whether I notice them immediately or not. 

I dress in black more often. I have become quiet in many expressions. I avoid people I know. My facial muscles are tighter than usual. I find it very hard to find a reason to get up in the mornings. My thoughts are sparse, messy and fragmented. I type poetry, writings and notes less. I try to sleep more often, but still find myself tired. 

Oh well. I don’t know what’s up with me, but I am coping. Somehow, some way. 

Anyway, my posts on here are slowing down because of this. 

I actually have thoughts of shutting this blog altogether. I find myself constantly asking: what’s the point? I can talk to myself in my own brain? Why contribute to data wastage? 

We’ll see. 


I need to stop telling myself that I have to like everyone, no matter how they treat me. 

I need to stop trying to keep in contact with people that hurt my self-esteem, my self-worth and my dignity. 

I need to stop letting myself be hurt by remarks that do not and should not matter. 

I need to stop holding on to things that should never define me – how people think I look, how people think I behave, how people think I am undeserving, etc. 

I need to stop thinking that all adults deserve to be respected just because of the age difference. 

I need to stop accepting excuses from others and myself, and start doing something about it. 

I need to stop not wanting to ask for help whenever I hit a new low. 

I need to stop biting my lips until they bleed or dry out. 

I need to stop overthinking and not sleeping or eating. 

I need to stop shrugging off people and being by myself majority of the time. 

I need to stop telling myself that nobody really cares. 

I need to stop listening to all these voices in my head telling me to just off my life. 

I need to stop struggling to live by standards that are not mine, and breathe, and live by my own rules. 

The Forever Question. 

Breaking up, separation and divorce are common topics nowadays – for better or for worse. 

Many are saying that love is dead. It is funny since nobody is able to properly define what “love” is. 

Maybe it is not dead but simply evolved over time. Our expectations, idealisations and the things we want to feel safe and good have changed. 

Nothing is forever. 

Or, forever is just as long as we want it to be. 

I have lost my train of thought. Will be back when I manage to get on the next ride. 

Personally, I still think love and romance are entirely different things. They are not mutually exclusive, but they are also not the same. 

Love is a sort of commitment, a pact and almost a promise. The journey of discovering and holding on can be romantic, but that is barely all there is to it. It is so much more than just idealisation and letters in beautiful smudge-proof cursive calligraphy. 

Romance is life through rose-tinted glasses. The one ingredient that nostalgia runs on to make everything in hindsight beautiful and breathtaking. Romance can be real, definitely, but it is also a perspective one can take to experience life and love. 

But who knows what exactly are these things and what these words truly mean? 

Nothing in life can really be fully embraced by strings of alphabets put together. Nothing in life can be deciphered into language and kept frozen in time. Nothing in life can be defined completely. 

I am not yet halfway through my life and maybe a revelation will happen for me to change my opinion all over again. 

Because opinions are forever changing. 

Just like what we love can no longer shine the same way the next day. 


(Another old piece of writing found on my  phone.)

Childhood of penetration 

And pink stained cotton pads 

A mother that’s never there 

His lullaby haunts my sleep 

His last breath 

My freedom 
Childhood devoid of emotion 

And big warm hands 

A mother that’s always there

His presence shadows my will

His last breath 

My regret