23 years.


(I sit in my little comfortable corner, right at the back of the car playing club music and am typing this while waiting to cross the causeway back home.) 

I cannot believe I am still alive at the age of 23. Somehow along the way, the little things started to add up and convince me that I might have gave up on life before this. Yet here I am, still alive in the very basic sense of existence. 

So maybe things aren’t all that bad. At least I hope that life will start looking up by now, and I can stop imploding. 

Stop killing myself slowly by sleeplessness and poor appetite and whatever I have done. 

(Isn’t it funny that people never take your word for it, and then they wonder why people cut, bleed and self-harm? It is for control. It is for proof. It is for you to believe what they have been saying all along.) 

Horrid things have been happening, and keeps adding to the weight my shoulders bear this year. If you are a close friend of mine, perhaps you already know all there is to it. There’s no need to air it here. 

So with this, as the Moon guides my way home and cheerful “I feel like a millionaire” lyrics start filling up this car, I shall will myself to write about the good things this year. 

1. I am still in school, and I finished two shows so far. The first one being such an honour to work with a gentle and nurturing teacher. The second one being an act of pure brazenness and I am proud that I did it. Everything I set out to do. 

2. Instead of leaving, I chose to stay and work on the relationship I am in. Leaving has always been so easy for me, with so many examples presented in my life, but I am happy so far that I held on. That I recognise how vulnerable love can be, and should be. And I put my money where my mouth is. 

3. A small one, but I have a page featured in this up-coming literary book that half the word is featured in anyway. But I’d like to think it is a victory for me to keep working towards my writing. 

4. I haven’t jumped off a building, even though it hovers at the back of my mind so casually. 

5. Writing letters to the people I love, and care about. That I kept to this tradition I have built for myself, and to force myself into the perspective of always appreciating no matter how much or little I have. 

6. My friends are all so far away geographically and sometimes schedule-wise. But always always always so near to my heart and being so loving all the time. As long as I reach out, their hands are always there to lend me strength. 

7. Slowly working on new things, starting up creative ideas and flowing with them. 

8. Cleared my things and kept only what’s important. Physical decluttering that I have wanted to do for so long, and finally managed to let go of certain sentimentalities that no longer mean anything. 

9. Trying my best to cope with life, even though I am doing a lousy job, but the trying part is kind of a good effort la.  

10. Not killing this blog. Yet. I kind of wanted to let this go, but now I really use this more for myself than just posting random writes I have. And it helps. And I found enjoyment in it, so I guess this is good. 

If any of you can think of any good things I should remember, please share with me too. Because nothing actually comes to me at the top of my head at the moment. 

But I think these ten are little red flags marking the various months. In some ways, I think I did quite well for someone that feels so much darkness. 

Thank you for all your patience, kindness, love and if you understood just a fragment of what I am going through, thank you. It means a lot to me. 

A lot of love to all of you. Sincerely. 

I will work towards happiness. I will try my best. 

Happy 23rd Birthday to me. xx

Appetite.

I haven’t exactly been eating well. That is a statement more than a judgment upon myself. 

Mostly due to the fact that I have very late nights, I would get out of bed only close to 11am. Then I would stare at the bottom of the upper bed for a bit before showering. Afterwards, I will immediately dive into doing work and get so engrossed until 7pm. Only then, will I feel a slight hunger. Even so, sometimes I just push it aside until I complete whatever I have on hand. Just don’t like leaving things halfway, in case I lose the momentum in me to keep going. 

This pattern has been going for a couple of weeks now. 

Am I stressed out, which is nothing strange from the usual, but a new side effect? Or am I still subconsciousless grieving? 

I don’t even know anymore. But the body always has a funny way of unknotting and expressing whatever is going on inside. 

If only my mind can be easily forthcoming. 

Observation June 8th. 

It is surprising how guilty I feel when I choose to stay in bed for an hour more, or two, on rare occasions. 

I stay in bed because I am tired, my dog just passed on and I just need a break. So I bury myself under my comforter, hug my safety blanket and lay my head on the only pillow I have. Stay still. Eyes shut and breath quiet. I slept at 5am the night before, or rather, this morning. My body feels heavy and my flesh weak. 

Maybe I can afford to just take this day off. Not do anything or engage in work. Just go through my emotions and rest. Let the mind quieten before all the errands I have later in the day. 

Always sounds like a good idea. Rest. 

I can always go back to the grind tomorrow. Taking a break happens so seldom that surely I deserve this? I earned it somehow. Must I even earn my right to rest? Can’t I just choose to rest? Shouldn’t my choice be enough, especially when I do balance it out with work on other days? 

But guilt seeps in and plagues me. It is funny, really. 

I choose to rest but I also choose to let this guilt eat away at my mind, and torment me. 

Lazy. Pig. Irresponsible. Failure. Passive. Not hardworking. A drifter. All achievements go down the drain. Think of your deadlines. Work isn’t that bad. Why can’t you do it? Move on. Who are you if you don’t work? What are you doing? Doing nothing and resting is a pleasure, a luxury. Hello? Get up get up get up!

And yes, I am not well off. My family only has enough or less. No one knows who I am, or even cares, especially in the bigger picture. 

So who am I if I don’t work? Work hard enough for people to know me and notice? Who am I without this? 

C&P: One. 

Living in the mind 

Living in my mind – the only mind I know of 

Real life is not a body but a thought 

The thought lives and breathes through 

Me – the vessel of philosophy and 

Psychology 

Analyse me and you shall receive 

Unless you miss because I am

Always a step ahead 

Perhaps you would like to try again 

A tango is made for two and this 

Game is played by two 

The words take shape in my arms 

My legs walk through streets 

A blurry mess before my reddened eyes

Seeing nothing but only the necessary 

Thoughts seep through my skin and lead

Never doubt the body’s memory 

Here I go – is it still I? Us? 

Can I be in a body that is not mine? All

The words repeat overlap shout and shapeshift into 

New text each night 

Looking at the Little Neva so

Bloody quiet 

My heart is still beating in mute and my

Lips dried in a fixed smile 

Of confusion and self-loathing

Where are you

Wake up curl in a ball laugh at me 

Come back

Note: June 1st. 

How do we unite 

Differences when all we are

Taught is to differentiate 

Right from wrong 

White from black 

Bruised from porcelain 

How do we speak 

Up when all we are 

Told is to tone 

Down shut up 

Recognise privilege 

Lash and burn 

Abuse each other 

Left right are just sides 

And choices can run along a spectrum 

Grey is still a colour of more

 Shades than one 

Hold each other’s hand and do not let 

Another fall into the gap 

Gaping wide

Swallow him whole then choose 

To understand too late 

Hold him

Hold him

Hold 

– 

Some days I am ashamed of the colour of my skin. 

Father’s Day. 

Father’s are figures of strength, a sense of resilience to keep the family together and the epitome of responsibility. I really believed that. When I was younger, being closer to my father was easier. He always seemed to be home more often, less strict and he is good with playing games. 

That was a time obliviousness clouded the future implications my father’s choices would have on the family. 

(More time at home is equivalent to less work, which means less money. So on and so forth.)

But when you grow up and that imagination has been proven flawed, it is difficult to reconcile what my father is, to me. And then, the questions come. 

Does a single mistake, even though it doesn’t seem like he regrets anything so far, enough to reduce everything else he did for me? 

He loved us, does he still love us despite the choices he chose to make? 

Did he really love us? 

Why does he not see the consequences of his actions? 

When he grows older and comes back to me for money, would I give? 

Is it ever an obligation to give your parents monetary allowance when you start work? 

Even when you know the money will be spent on ridiculous choices you never agreed with? 

What happens when you become an adult and your values go against your parents? 

When is the time you are able to speak up against your parents, as an equal? Is it age, holding a job, what is it? 

Does that time ever come? 

Is there even a time for that? 

The questions come and go. They make me recognise that I am not entirely okay with the current situation. It frustrates me that no straight answers exist and even I, am lost in my questioning and confusion. Never knew how annoying advertisements can be until I fund myself in this place. 

At this point, now, what is there to even celebrate anymore? 

That figure in my life, has gone. Beyond recognition.