Monday, 30 December 2013


I sent my last text, maybe I should blog a little, and now, I'm here. I would always be spamming my regular morning, or goodnight messages and suddenly, I'd be in the mood to write like how I always do because of a sentence, maybe, that sparked up a distant memory from long ago, or sometimes, memories that were made not so long ago. Just now, it was something from my days as a kid, during the times I'd spend with my favourite aunts, Karen and Mun.

I say, if I had to name two of my most favourite people in the world, I'd name them. Why? I'm not really sure why, honestly. They are the closest ones I'm with, among my 999 aunts and uncles. From when I was young, I'd be with them every holiday, naturally-- except for when I went on board ships with my dad. Even when my mum was a little girl, they'd take her in during the holidays and just like how she enjoyed her time with them then, I'm enjoying myself now. I don't know how it came to be, but I've always liked them, and for as long as I can remember, they're the ones I always look forward to meeting, even until now.

We don't talk much. Aunt Karen is a woman of little words, and unless needed, she will not voice out. Despite always being silent, seemingly distant and out of reach, she observes me really well. It surprised me. Well, who doesn't know that I love eating, anyway? Or that I love to read and write. Aunt Mun is the friendlier one, warmer to new people, greeting them with a smile and chatting them up. I remember the first time I brought my ex to meet them. Aunt Karen just watched tv while aunt Mun talked to him, kept him company while I was ignoring him and taking a shower? I forgot what I did. I only remember the fact that I was a horrible girlfriend, because he never fails to remind me of that.

I've come to realize that I like people of little words. Maybe it's inherited, for my dad always complains about my mum and her incessant, utterly unnecessary spoken words in quiet times, or when matters are being discussed. My brother dislikes it, and my sisters, too. We make fun of her often, and shut her up in the funniest ways, and she'd claim to never want to speak ever again, but you know what? Barely a minute later, mum would be saying something nobody really ever cares about again. All our eyes would be fixed on her, glaring. An innocent "what?!" is blurted out.

This is the story of a certain afternoon.

On the way back to my dear aunties' house, we passed by the Malacca zoo. This time of year, when everyone is having work-free, study-free days, surely, the zoo, as a tourist attraction, would be packed. Our eyes could see it too, very clearly, how the cars lined up by the road side, tour buses as well as the classic, orange Bas Sekolah parked by the street. As the atmosphere in the car was still, nothing could be heard except for the engine and the sound of the road being conquered. That woman, had to break the silence, with an unnecessary comment: wow, so many people al the zoo!

"mm hm, let's all stop the car and go down for a visit shall we?" as McDonald's came into sight, I added "well, McDonald's is right here, you could even go down, get a burger and feed it to the elephants." I was calm, soft and irritated.

The rest of them were holding back their giggles. Dad, behind the wheel, said she deserved it, for speaking unnecessarily.

"when you have nothing to say, then don't say anything at all"

That's something I grew up with, and that's something my mum will never understand.

This. This. This!!!

This is two separate blog posts in one. A new year's special, maybe? Since Christmas is over long ago. Shall I make it a three in one post? Hahaha.

Ask me how my Christmas went.

Horrible. Maybe?

I only received one gift, a gift that was wrapped with so many layers of newspaper that I thank the guy for it, making it feel as if, Ah, I received so many presents! I was tearing apart a hundred gifts! Dennis bought me my present last night at IKEA. A snake. A stuffed animal snake. He's changed a lot, my brother. I like him more now, and would definitely shower him with gifts like how I often buy tokens of love and thought for my grandma, two sisters and mother.

Aunt Karen and Mun never want gifts. Sometimes, the best presents can't be bought. Maybe one day though, I'll be able to give them a gift that would really, really make them happy. An all expense paid trip to somewhere, maybe? As they love to travel. Of course, I'd have to earn a lot! My parents already told me that I had to buy them fancy cars when I grow up T^T

I had best go rob a bank.

This is enough for today. I'm going to need to do a lot of saving for the big dreams of mine. My heart broke a little when my over excited brother said that we were to save a small portion of our allowance each month when I start college, so that every now and then, we'd have enough money to buy new furniture for our condo. But... But... But... I'm saving for plane tickets to the Netherlands!

I'm doing a lousy job with managing my money. I must... Get... A job!


Yes. I should definitely rob a bank.

Sunday, 3 November 2013

A House of Memories

A sofa, fit for three persons. It's not often that these seats are filled. After all, only two elderly people live here, the woman in her mid-seventies, though not a strand of silver hair is visible on her head of shoulder length hair. My grandma often dyed her hair a deep maroon when it faded. The man, is younger than my grandmother-- my grandfather. Dark brown skin, with a thin layer of snowy hair at the top of his shrunken head, a pair of old-school huge framed glasses resting on his slightly flared nostrils, sometimes, you could see his nose hair peeking out of the dark holes. Since the failure of his liver, he's lost weight. The once pot-bellied old man now owns a tummy flatter than mine, able to make fun of my fat gaining body.

The three of us reclined on the decade old sofa leaning against the wall of the cozy TV room. I sat in the middle, constantly turning to my left, to my right, to face each of my grandparents, explaining to them the many functions of the cursed inventions called smartphones. Grandma just received dad's old Samsung Galaxy Note and is struggling with its many functions, including her new Facebook account-- yes, even my grandma is on Facebook now. Blur as ever, grandma doesn't even know when she has a missed call, whatsapp message or emails. Though her notification bar may be filled with all sorts of logos and words, she'd still be oblivious of the many messages waiting to be answered. Grandpa is slightly better, since he's been using Lisa's Ace for some time, with no data plan; no 'complicating' applications.

Since when have I ever been so close to the both of them?

"ALRIGHT. Just hold his button here, and speak. Release when you want to send your voice message." I pointed at the record button.

She held her finger there.

"So what--"

"Speak! Speak! You're recording!"

"Huh? Oh!!!" she laughed, "hello, Andy, Rachel's staying over! It's late, so there's no need for you to come pick her up." she released the record button, two ticks appeared beside her whatsapp voice note.

What? Grandma. Since when did I say I was staying over?

I didn't say it out loud.

I agreed to stay over--after she confirmed it with my dad-- with an enthusiastic smile that magically spread cross my face even though my heart was aching to go back to my bed, my Winnie the Pooh blanket, and hopefully, my lover's voice. Most of all, my body was yearning for my bathroom, my papaya shower gel and my facial foam. It's been a whole twenty-four hour since my last shower.

Deep down inside, I was glad. I wanted to stay over. I missed it. I missed this house. I missed my childhood.

The smell of Naphthalene, with a faint tinge of detergent and a powdery scent greeted my nose as I pulled open the antique wooden cupboard doors that slowly creaked open. Ah, the memories of being eight years old, standing in front of the same cupboard with no clothes on and a grandparent waiting to wash me in the shower.

I turned on the fluorescent light at the top of the stairs, a task I used to dread doing a decade ago because my brother told me the Boogie man was going to eat me in the shadows.

Everything is the same as it was before, except for a new shower set that's more modern than mine and a metal handle agains the wall built to support my weak grandfather. The pale green mosaic tiles darkened over the years. I looked up as I let the water spray against my neck. The ceilings were slightly moldy, and the light pink walls that stretched up to it were stained with age. White tiles lined half the height of the bathroom wall. Shoots of baby green bamboo were printed on selected tiles. I smiled. Then I looked to my left, and my smile grew wider, a warmer feeling in my heart. Grandpa's towel hung on the same bar, in the same way. It was years ago since I last saw that sight. On the sink, the familiar dove shaped mold held a bar of soap.

I went into the room that my grandmother calls "backroom" to get changed. The walls, still the shade of red that spooked me, as if it was a prayer room. There hangs black and white pictures of my deceased great-grandmother I never met and an aunt of mine that died as a child. I put on a red shirt that belongs to aunt Iris, with the words Niagara falls in gold thread sewed in the middle. A souvenir from Canada. The blue beach shorts that I had to force up my legs were going to be a tight fit. Not unlike yoga pants, they held on to my skin, but their presence slowly faded over time.

I trotted downstairs, footsteps heavy.

I hung my towel on the yellow banister, the spot reserved for us kids to hang our wet towels ever since the first day we took a shower at this old house. The towel carries the bittersweet scent of chemicals and flowers.

Time passes so quickly, huh?

Grandma just said it to me. I nodded solemnly.

Just like old times, her sweet, genial voice gently asks if I wanted anything to drink, a cup of Milo, perhaps?

Watching late night tv, sipping a hot cup of Milo. Can things get any more nostalgic?

Not everything is the same.

There isn't a drunk grandpa at the dining table having supper, no steaming hot roti canai or tosai with chicken curry to spoil us before bedtime. Nobody is standing here with a stern look, telling us to go brush our teeth before bed with a faked angry voice. My toothbrush isn't here anymore, though the tap still squeaks when I turn it on, that same sound of water lapping fills the quiet ground floor.

We weren't the last to go to bed back then. My brother would be home, in his green stripped t-shirt and long cotton pants, bullying me, instead of being at the snooker centre at this hour. I would be having high blood pressure and killing Dennis in my head a thousand times over instead of writing this post. I'd be in bed already. We both would.

The boy who lives a house apart got married today. I attended his wedding. I didn't realize how much time has passed until I heard the news of his engagement. We used to play together, I remember. He has a sister, the same age as I am. We wave to each other at school, that's all. I used to tell her she was my best friend.
Silly me.

Much have changed over the period of ignorance. Albeit I don't notice it and make much of it, once in a while, I lie down alone and as the crickets outside calmly make merry, I would reminisce the times of long forgotten happiness as I hear the ceiling fan above me stir the wind, as if stirring my emotions and the memories buried deep.

Swinging on the metal door is no longer thrilling, staying up past ten is no longer an achievement, my life is no longer as simply.

Saturday, 19 October 2013

I Welcome You to Bore Yourself to Sleep

It's almost 1A.M now, another five minutes, and it'll be the start of...


My sisters just ran in, panting, scared. We just watched Curse of Chucky, another installment of the ever so disturbing story of the ginger killer doll who ruined everyone's god damned childhood! My doll phobia started because of that bastard. Anyway, the two brats were having a midnight snack, but they heard weird noises coming from the bathroom... Ooh, how convenient! In the movie, Chucky hid in the bathroom. Meh. I hear my sisters running up the stairs. They're going to have a sleepless night, I'm sure.

Sigh. It's about time I sleep. Band practice tomorrow. I feel incomplete though, that's why I can't bring myself to turn off the lights and set my Goodnight's Sleep Alarm to monitor my sleeping activity. Just in case you were wondering, I'm not some rich ass bitch who bought a thousand-dollar sleep monitor because I wanna see how I sleep, I SIMPLY DOWNLOADED IT FOR FREE AT THE PLAY STORE!

I feel incomplete. Yes.

There is a fine line between obsession and love. Damn. Can that line be any more vague?! I daresay I am not obsessed. No. At least I don't send him t-shirts that read "back off, he's mine!" Funny story: he's not even mine in the first place. Hah! Life's like that. It will always be flawed, never will it be perfect. Except for the few weeks we hope to spend together SOMEDAY.

I miss him.

I wonder who I'm talking to now? Myself? You? Probably you, dear reader, unless you are the "him" that I am referring to, otherwise, I guess I'm addressing you directly. I have nobody particular in mind. I'm missing someone, yes,  but that's not the point. I wonder who I'm writing this to, specifically. The ex that still remains as a close friend? The person who is far away that I call friend? The busy friend with two part-time jobs to numb himself? The sister of the person who is on my mind? Perhaps, even his mother? Or just you, a plain passerby that somehow stumbled upon this life that nobody really ever cares about-- there are a few exceptions, of course.

Writing like this... I feel disconnected with my work. I can be whoever I wish to be. I can't lie with my handwriting, but I sure as hell can with this digital font. I feel like another passerby, reading the words of a stranger.

I am blogging from my Android.

I should sleep soon.

I should study.



Ignorance is a choice. We sure as hell know what I chose!

In less than three weeks, I will have to walk into the examination hall and face it all. There's only one chance for this shit. Not technically, but whatever.

My hair is still damp. I feel it's getting thinner again, my hair. Am I really that stressed? All I do is watch movies and Skype all day! As if my last episode of alopecia areata isn't enough, my body wants me to go full bald? Come on! I just got the hair back! Now I'm paranoid and won't stop feeling my scalp. The last time I came across my bald spot was during additional mathematics class, right after I came back from Australia. Played with my hair cause I didn't understand anything! Surprise surprise! You have no hair!

... Ended up writing far more than I should have.

I lack motivation. Please, help me.

That's it. My sleeping schedule is still messed up.

Goodnight. Weltrusten.

Yes, I said it in Dutch to my phone and my phone understood me! Gonna sleep in peace.

Thursday, 3 October 2013

Things Aren't Simple When You're Oceans Apart

If this is love, love is easy~

No, McFly; NO. LOVE IS NOT EASY. It's a sweet song. I wish things were that simple.

Remember how all the passed years, my problems about silly infatuations were because of my unrequited, one-sided feelings? This time around, it's a different complication.  Those pathetic squirms seem so far away now. Far away, huh? Haha... Far.Away. ...

My dream is reflected on a still pond of water. I see it, and it feels as if I can reach it just by extending my arm down to the calm pool that mirrors my fantasy. It makes me happy, how I can see myself reaching my goal. Then, my fingers touch the surface of it, just slightly, and the ripples that form distorts the image of my perfect dream-like life, making me realize how naive I am to think that my wish would come true so effortlessly, as if the falling stars had heard the outcry my heart's desire. I crouch beside the pond in horror. Pain. Sadness. I smile. It's the only thing one can afford to do in a state of desolation.

My bank account has barely 2k in it, my purse, other than a few light-blue RM1 notes, and some RM20, along with 800baht, 20AUD and some coins from various countries, I couldn't survive a month even if I planned on running away within the country. All I have isn't enough for a plane ticket.

Sometimes, things aren't easy as they appear to be.

Hop on a plane, get on board a fast train, and I'll be hugging you in no time.

If only they didn't have transport fee, eh? Or if I could make my own decisions without my parents shaking their heads and frowning at each word that comes out of my mouth.

All I am... Is a man... 

Shut up. Head, shut up! Stop singing!

Frankly, I want to act like a spoil little brat, rant about all that I want like a girl at Toys R Us whose daddy won't get her the pink Barbie. But, I'm not going to. It would ruin me completely.

Why complicate life, huh?


I want to be with you.

That, is all I want.

Some say that distance isn't a problem, others find it hard to bear. As dull as I am, as uneventful as my life is, distance was never a problem. So, why am I here, acting this way? Reassurance. I don't have that. Then, you may call it petty, shallow and quite laughable-- ridicule me all you want. I acknowledge I am the fool, so what is there to laugh at now? One does not make fun of the clown who is serious.

Like always, I am always the one to lose everything.

I'm no stranger to the heartache and the pain. But this, this is new to me.

Sunday, 29 September 2013

Truth? Or Mere Words?

Often, people yearn to find truth to satisfy their undying curiosity, but when they have found what they sought, it is not enlightenment they come to, it is, in fact, the suppressed, old feelings that one thought to have died, that comes to light again.

Happiness. It is short-termed.

Putting one's past behind, and letting bygones be bygones, burying the hatchet with a smile, the intention to be good again, turn over a new leaf. It is nothing but a lie one tells oneself.

We never change, do we?

Months, and months, I've been laughing together with her again. I seem to have gotten back what I have lost: the happiness I threw away because of December's mistake. We aren't close, not at all, but, she radiates the life around her and though I hate it so, there's a strange affinity holding me to her. I, rely on her to feel alive. I rely on her to feel safe. I rely on her to restore purpose into coming back once I'm gone.

It's not like that at all.

She's like that to everyone else.

Kindness, it seems, is a sort of poison. Given by the wrong people, forced upon the ones who cannot be saved, the vile venom flows through the throbbing veins slowly, burning them with its corrosive nature, reminding the infected of guilt and regret, driving them insane, eventually. Pure kindness from the wrong people is a malady that sickens and kills from within.
What was it that I truly wanted to confess?

I had found my truth, the closure which I have been yearning for desperately since December. At first, I thought that my curiosity had dissipated into mere indifference after the months of embracing the girl again. Now though, I admit to myself that I'd always wanted to know the truth, and have always had a loathing towards her. I have betrayed myself with my own optimistic lies of letting bygones be bygones. A Scorpio never forgets, and I am cursed to live with that trait which the stars have forced upon me.

My greedy heart is never satisfied. It wants to know even more, more about the truth which it doubts. This is but the beginning, I fear.


Pure blasphemy!

What I have just wrote is merely thoughts of my confused brain. They may or may not be true because I'm sleepy and my eyelids are losing their strength. If I have caused you misunderstandings or worries, I apologize dearly.

Is this...

A good enough ending?

Monday, 23 September 2013


With each plastic container that I put aside, I cursed myself more and more. What am I doing? My hands moved on their own, rummaging through the dark cupboard, looking for a transparent box that isn't too big, nor small.

Why am I even doing this?


I had just finish making sushi. It's been a while, but tonight's sushi turned out to be just a little less than perfect. Same old, same old-- kyuuri, tamago, Chinese sausage as the filling. I love cucumbers.

Is this love?


Deep down inside, there's a boiling pool of jealousy, the volcano kept dormant only by the ugly self-righteous conscience that tells me otherwise, the socially induced morals that determines what's right and what's not.

"Let it go..." it warbled beside my ears.

Then, as a smile hung on my face, my heart was blaming me for everything that I was doing. I didn't want to do it. But, I badly wanted to do it.

I wanted to give her my homemade bento.
Was it a smile of happiness? Or was it a sombre curve that formed on my lips due to days and days and days of being close to her, only to see from a third person's perspective that she is indeed loved by everyone else, even those who I call best... Friends?

History repeats itself.

It's as if she's stealing from me again.

I shake the thought away. No... Her being accepted, liked by the majority of us, is because of her easy-going nature. I, being alienated, being neglected, is because of my own detachment.

Is it all true though? That I am in this state because she's loved by everyone? Is this jealousy, or merely my own hatred towards myself for also loving her?



I hate myself for loving someone that I've always been fond of, but for a short while, was all that I was disgusted by.

This is a perverse kind of friendship. Distorted by the lines of kindness, jealousy, love, and melancholy. I laugh with her, sit with her, touch her, and care for her, with a heart no less than pure, a soul no less than grotesque.

This is a different sort of love.

Her happiness brings me pain, and how I wish to see her cry, but it hurts me too, when she is truly down, though in the depths of my heart, those tears, bring  enlightenment and utter joy.

At this, I don't know whether to laugh, or to cry.

Happy birthday.

Friday, 6 September 2013

Mine Are... A Different Sort of Memory

"Eh, there's nothing special about those two, they're always together, and the class is already used to seeing them being lovey-dovey all the time."

Shirley, Shu Jing and I stand close to each other, observing the couple that's enjoying their last moments of school together, walking ever so slowly on the pavement, like senior citizens with serious leg issues. Now, aren't those two the sweetest? The three of us huddled together, letting out the cries of forever aloners.

"Heh, you shut up, Rachel!" the two of them let go of me and started embracing each other. "You have your 'your' already, so don't you dare say you're one of us!" I wanted to snap back at them with the tease of their respective match-made sweethearts, but all I could do was laugh and shake my head slightly.

I always wondered how it'd feel like to have my very own high-school sweetheart. I am a girl after all. I do read shoujo manga and end up with my head floating above the clouds, lying in bed for hours, hugging Suzuki-san while I fantasize about the love life I would never have. In school uniforms, walking side by side, exchanging the highlights of our classes, feeling shy along with the ticklish flutters of butterfly wings in my belly, and a smile that shines brighter than the two o'clock sun on my face, my chubby cheeks a little rosy. I will never experience it, I realized the truth a long time ago. A smile spreads across my face as I dismiss the thought, letting my own happiness overwhelm me when I walk alone-- I do have someone.

"It's a kind of memory, the way they are," I nodded to the smiling pair of boyfriend and girlfriend, "something we won't experience, I guess." For Shirley and I, this is our last year of high school. Goodbye old blocks of classrooms, beautiful, huge and ancient trees, haunted grounds and ugly uniforms! As for our favourite junior who is a year younger, we strongly believe that she'll never experience it either. After all, we're talking about Shu Jing, the shorty who always hangs with guys and acts like a guy.

They didn't disagree with my opinion of it being a memorable chapter in life.

A wind blew, bringing dust to our eyes as it disturbed the sleeping sand scattered all around the roads, the cemented floor. Cars endlessly sped by the busy street right outside NH's newly painted gates, making the small town life seem not so relaxed as it should be.

"You have a different kind of memory. A special one, one that stands out from the rest." Shirley looked up at me, nodding her head, pleased with what she had just said.

 A different memory, huh? I can't deny the fact that I am happily in love with someone who feels the same, but they're misunderstanding the situation, we're not boyfriend and girlfriend at all. Albeit so, mine is a unique memory indeed, one worth reminiscing over and over again after its time, a chapter... No, a book, that's worth every single second spent reading and rereading even after a lifetime of going through endless stories.

Leaves rustled in a distance.

Nothing can compare to the way we are. Mine are...

A different sort of memory.

Wednesday, 4 September 2013


This is a bad time to blog. I'm currently studying for my test tomorrow, a subject which for the past two years, I have ignored completely by either sleeping through, or writing through its classes. I pity Mr.Siah. He loves me so much yet I repay him by doing horribly in the subject he teaches. One time, he even told me to never go near science again since linguists is my forte. Hah, a physics teacher telling his student to forget about science, it just shows how horrible of a logic-grasper I am!

5.3: total internal reflection of light. All the drawings of light rays drive me absolutely nuts! Skip skip skip--ain't nobody got time for that! All the angles remind me of mathematics, another subject I loathe with every reason of my existence, yet, taught by the same person who I love ever so much, Mr.Siah! T^T I hope the old man enjoys his retirement. He's retiring this year, and I must say, it's an honour to be his most horrible student during his last days of service. Bow.

Candidly, I've forgotten what I read for the past hour or so.

During the last 60 minutes of my--ahem--study session, I've fitted at least half an hour of doing random shit! First of all, I would pause my ineffective last minute studying to go on Facebook, look at some rage comics, feel bored and resume torturing myself with something called a physics workbook. At one point, I had the urge to try out dresses that I never wear, and I did.

I left my book on the bed and started trying out the outfits I have but never ever put on. The Leo installation is on the 21st this month, and I have no idea what to wear, so I just rummaged my small cupboard for dresses I think would suit the occasion. Admiring my fat self in mirror for a little while, twirling in the pieces of feminine clothing, I weirded myself out and came back to my senses. What the hell? Physics, not dressies!

Back to bed and flipping through pages of physics!

Barely finishing paper III of heat, I decided to move onto the next topic. If it's not gonna come out tomorrow, then I'm not gonna go through it! Fuck this shit!

And somehow, I unplugged Shiro-san from the charger and turned on its Wi-Fi. Bzz bzz bzz. Two unread conversations. Two siblings, from a land far far away. Come to think of it, this is the first time I'm acquainted with a friend's older sibling through their introduction.

Now, I'm just here, blogging, and talking to Shiemy-san. She's actually in class right now! But the universal problem of boredom persists, and she's infected by it. I do feel bad for replying to her text, since she's in class after all and I'm a sort of distraction!

I should probably press the Wi-Fi off button. Dinner is making my senses tingle and my stomach is begging me to feed it again. I need to go on a diet, but I don't really care about the extra chub because I'm actually happy. If you mind a little flab on me, then you won't matter. Like what Dr.Suess says: those who matter won't mind and those who mind won't matter. I love my organs so much, I protect them with a layer of fat. Pinch pinch. Poke poke.

I sound like a fat cow who weighs 200 kilograms, don't I? Hah! So what if I am?! Hmm... Probably gonna die of a heart attack in that case.

I've been staying away from Macca's for months now, thanks to a specific person who managed to rub off some of his views of how disgusting the food actually is on me. Associating the golden arches with his frowning lips is something like a habit now though once in a while, I do take a bite of the greasy, poorly prepared food. Honestly, I've come to like McDonald's a lot less.

I've spend longer than expected here. I still have two and a half chapters left to cover. After finishing light, I'll need to move onto electronics and radioactivity. Lord have mercy on my soul!

My eyes are getting pretty tired, and I already slept my afternoon away! That's why I ended up opening my book only in the evening ==


Right, I already finished my Chinese paper this morning so no point blogging in that highly sophisticated language.

I always study last minute. I don't usually get the motivation to do so unless it's the day before sitting for the paper, but this round, I don't want to study at all. Nothing's pushing me and I haven't even the slightest hint of stress weighin down on me. In fact, I'm going to Pangkor this coming weekend to get a taste of its island festival despite having the sit for the more suicidal papers next week. Additional mathematics on Monday, biology on Tuesday, followed by chemy on Wednesday and ending with moral on Thursday. I don't know shit about chemistry either, and since my mathematics is already as useless as a rock's, my additional mathematics can't  even compare to the most pathetic existence in this universe.

Despite my stupidity, I'm happy. After all, fools are the only happy ones in this world.

Monday, 26 August 2013

Days Without a Journal

... And I asked how normal people lived.

"Normal people, they can remember things even when they don't write a journal, right?"

"No. They can't-- we forget a lot."

It's painful, having to face an empty desk everyday. The smooth surface, with blots of blue ink here and there, some words scribbled on it, has been with me for the past eight months already, but not once has it been this empty that I can even see the virgin spaces untouched by pens or highlights. I haven't a notebook to write in, so I look at its emptiness, staring back at me; blankly.

I sigh.


It's my second week without writing a journal. The days that have passed would have added up to twenty pages already. In the days that I've mindlessly lived through, I thought I would remember their every detail, but in truth, I've already forgotten even the looks on my classmates' faces and the little, unnoticeable but still memorable events that took place in the small confinements of class 5SD. All I can remember, is how tough reality is, how I never really learnt to face it, and how hard it is to survive on my own, without my book shielding me from the attention of other people. In a way, I lived without putting myself into reality. I lived as an observer. Now that I have nothing to separate me from the rest of these beings, I'm forced to be a part of their society. I've never talked that much until now... Though, people ask about my diary more often then they do about me. Every single time they see me, it's not "how are you Rachel" it's "how's your diary going?"

Miss Diary. That's the nickname the class gave me. The girl whose journal never seems to end.

Each passing day, I regret more and more, not having a book to write in. Don't get me wrong, it's not that I deliberately torture myself like this, I did go to the bookstore the other day, they just didn't have notebooks that fit the criteria.

This morning, with each flutter of Jalur Gemilang, a needle stings my heart; I have nothing to record it down, how each flag danced to the morning breeze and the weak artificial wind created by the slow as hell ceiling fans. It's patriotic month. They decorated the classroom, Jalur Gemilang hanging down from the entrance and the backdoor, making 5SD look like a Japanese-style restaurant. I wanted to write about it, how they swayed above the doors, annoying people who came through the wide-open doors, some ducking, some not even tall enough to touch the flags that hung down-- I silently giggled at their height in my heart.

The girls, they made cards, with each person's nickname written on them. When they stuck it to the board behind me, I felt like I was punched in the stomach; I have nothing to write it down with. I cursed them for being so lively when I haven't a notebook with me. The nicknames, ranging from plain stupid to ones that actually suit the person, got a bunch of us guessing which nickname belonged to which fool.

If I had a book, I wouldn't be here right now. I'd have already written about how Shalala(the nickname WeiWei got; ikr, wtf) skipped school again, leaving already miserable me in the doldrums once again. I numbed myself with work, as usual. If only I numbed myself with concentrating doing my own homework eh, instead of just copying answers from my friends like a human photocopying machine. It can't be helped-- it was last week's Chinese homework that I completely forgot about once the songs of freedom played at 1230 last Friday. The Chinese teacher was terribly disappointed with the lot of us, reprimanding us with a despairing look on her face. We're not taking our own culture seriously, being so sloppy and unappreciative of the Chinese culture. It's not entirely correct, yet all very true at the same time. I am interested, I'm just not very good at writing Chinese characters, which kinda sucks, I admit. I can use fancy proverbs in conversations, I just can't write them out or memorize who wrote what and which freaking ancient book each proverb is from!

This is how my journal would be like if I had one. I am holding back now though, since not everyone enjoys long ass posts.

I had my head hung down. Sigh. How long more til the end of this dreadful Monday?

There was a knock on the door.

"Looking for Rachel"

Huh. Nobody ever looks for me, unless the English teachers need a favour.

He handed me a gift pack, with stationary and an A5 notebook. It's from the school's English panel, a little thank-you gift for representing the school in the district elocution contest which I--to everyone's dismay-- did fucking horrible in.

 I smiled.

It's settled then.

I am starting a new journal.

Friday, 23 August 2013

Choices II

He asked about you again. I wonder why. I had finished writing Happy Life no.2, the records of a little less than two months of my seemingly uneventful life, but they wanted more. Is it so interesting? I think not. It's weird, how people like to read about the thoughts that swirl in my illogical universe and what happens in my life. Nobody knows where Happy Life no.2 is-- not even myself. 

We don't always talk, he and I-- I'm not very close to my friends anyway-- but whenever we are together, I always recall the retarded twelve-year-old Rachel I was and all those embarrassing feelings I had. I find it hard to make eye contact with him, unlike how I would stare into Quah's huge eyes until the both of us end up laughing our heads off and hitting the table. What am I guilty about?

The conversation he stroke up during our break left me thinking. He always asks about you. I finished my milktea in silence after he walked away, my lips pursed. I felt uneasy, but I couldn't explain what it was exactly. One question has always been on my mind since the barbecue at Thuang's last weekend, I just never asked because I wouldn't succumb to my pride or stray from my principles about nosing into other people's business. I overheard the gossip about who is trying to get who, who is dating who and why who doesn't wanna be with who. I admit, it froze me when I heard that a girl friend of mind was trying to get him on her hook; I don't particularly like that bitch. I convinced myself that I didn't care, but no matter what I tell myself, the truth is that out of the corner of my eye, I observed them closely for the rest of the night. 

Not so high and mighty now are we, Rachel? 

I spent the remaining time in the lecture hall thinking about that question of mine which answer I yearn for ever so badly. I even stuck as close as I could to Zinc for some physical comfort and warmth, though she thought I was only playing with her as I wiggled and knocked into her arm from time to time. It's a relief that none of my friends know that when I'm in a horrible mood, I seek human warmth, skin to skin. It makes clinging to them much more easier, for they won't know what's wrong and just cling along; it's comforting. I can't help but glance over at him nervously.

Should I ask him, or should I not? I crashed into Zinc lightly, time and again. She bounced back. It doesn't involve me, yet I want to know so badly; I guess there's a busybody inside of even the most ignorant of persons. It's been a good while since I've let myself ask questions that nobody really ever cares about. I've been suppressing the need to update my gossip knowledge for as long as I can remember, which is why I'm totally oblivious about what's going on with my so-called friends.

After playing visual novels, I have a habit now, of pondering every option available to me. What should I do, I ask myself. Go and talk to him or just let it slide and hope the feeling goes away? I stare at the options that are floating in front of me, thinking long and hard about what would happen if I chose either. I'm used to running away in real life, so this time, I might take a different approach and do what I've been itching to do. Life isn't a game, and I can't go back to the save point in case things don't go accordingly, but what have I to lose? A little question once in a while can be a good thing. Heck, people might even start to think that I really do care about them!

"Thank you. You may now go leave the lecture hall."

I scanned around for him, and as he got up, I did too. I went ahead, and I wasn't sure if I'd catch him, but as students jammed the door, he ended up beside me. Okay, thank you universe, it seems like it's inevitable that I satisfy my craving of getting information I do not need. I seized the perfect opportunity that the universe had arranged and went straight to the point, no greeting or beating about the bush; zero bullshit. The straightforwardness made him take a step back, even his quick mind couldn't process it and answer so quickly, all he managed was a surprised "huh" and a little while later, a stupid filler of how did I know. 

"So, what's the relationship between you and her?" was my question. I finally satisfied that unexplained desire of needing to know. I used need because if I only WANTED to know, I wouldn't have given it so much thought. For something to be on my mind, to bug me for so long, is unnatural. Usually, if I want to know something, I couldn't care less if I didn't find out. But this was different.

Just friends.

We walked together back to class, and I no longer felt that weight on my chest. I kept telling him to be honest with me. As he kept repeating that they were just close friends like Quah and I, I endlessly nagged him to quit lying. Of course, we were both laughing along the way. I couldn't come up with anything to say at the time, so I kept on telling him the words "don't lie to me" even though I know he wasn't bluffing. Like Quah and I, eh? It's been a while since I had a brotherly talk with him. 

"You should find someone too!" 

"But, there's no one else, everyone in our gang... Um... They already have theirs..."

"Oh, you want someone close?"

I just shrugged.


"Oh, hell no!'


"Like fuck I would!"


I shrugged again. He kept asking me who do I want, but I just shook my head at each repetition. 

I'm perfectly happy right now, and to be honest, I've never given ANY thought at all about dating anyone so soon. When asked if I could have any guy at all that I want, I couldn't come up with an answer, though if the question was changed to "If you could have any girl that you want, who would it be?" I'd have three answers. 

Back in the classroom, I beckoned Quah to take a seat beside me. As he copied my homework which I too, had just copied from another, we had another brotherly talk. I asked him if it was okay to nose into other people's business, or if I'd be too much of a busybody if I did that. He said I should care more about my friends and talk to them more, stop hanging with the guys and try forcing myself to fit in with the girls cause the guy who likes me would get jealous if I hung out with the boys all the time. I laughed so hard at his advice that I think he kinda felt insulted! WHO THE FUCK EVEN LIKES ME? I said in a hysterical laugh. Well, he had no comment for that one. 

For the rest of the afternoon, I sat alone and used my spare time to make out the life I would have if I had made a different choice. Would I be hanging my head in regret if I didn't ask? I would have walked alone back to class without a smile on my face, that, I knew. What did approaching him trigger? Maybe a thought, or change in ideas? Hm. I guess I will find out some other time. 

There was another choice I made that day, and it was to read manga. It was a horrible mistake; I got too engrossed in it. If I hadn't turned the first page, I wouldn't have started. If I didn't start, I would have went to band practice. If I'd went to band practice, I wouldn't feel as useless as I feel now. But then reading manga again, it made me want to join another scanlation group. I love doing things that I love for no reason at all, and if it'll benefit people, then why not? But of course, I'll do it after SPM. I will once again bury myself in my work and ignore the world around me. I have a feeling that by December, I will have to numb myself again with endless chapters of translations. 

Have a little faith, Rachel!

Everything's not lost.

Choices I

Choices. Sometimes, I wonder if I made the right ones, and other times, I wonder if I ignored what's better for me. It leaves me wondering about what could have been, so I use my imagination and picture the other routes that were possible.

Whenever I come to the crossroads, I choose which way I should travel with my eyes closed. When I've passed the other paths, I look back, and faintly see the possibilities of those future acting out in front of my eyes. Then I shrug-- I guess I will never know how the other roads will end. Perhaps someday, I'll experience the little things that happen along the other routes without knowing it. Some things though, stay the same no matter which way I go.

What if I had written this last night and went to bed late? Would I have finished preparing my bento, and managed to write a little post with the fifteen minutes left before I leave for school? No. I wouldn't have. That, I know, because it has happened way too many times before.

Choices. I hate how my heart throbs and make them for me.

Wednesday, 21 August 2013


This will the first time in years that I go through my days without a book to write in. It's hard, I admit, but I have to accept reality at some point in my life. Now, I try to live a little, without relying on words to make me feel alive. 

There comes a time where things fall apart.

When you're so close to perfection, you'd wish that you'd never gotten so far in the first place. When you've never tasted victory, then you are at least spared the knowledge of defeat. One wrong move, and this game of chess will be over. I'm not one to think before taking my actions, my strategies rash and clumsy-- if I even come up with strategies-- and those impulsive decisions made by the rawness of my emotions have led my queen to become vulnerable once again. Pawns surround her, desperately, to protect her, in futile. It won't be long before the pikes and peasants succumb to bitter reality. They will fall. She will be taken again then-- by death.

The cycle repeats itself. A new game starts, though not very soon.

Wounds they heal, but scars, they never leave, do they? Unless you go for plastic surgery, of course. Wouldn't it mean concealing who you are, when you remove your scars by force? They are like the reminders of your past, memories and tragedies alike; they make you who you are now. Sometimes, I brush against the keloid across my heart and think of you. I smile. It'll never go away, that ugly reminder of you. But still, I'm happy. By now, you should have guessed that insecurities have once again trapped me in their endless echoes of negativity.

No. I don't want to talk about it.

I can't even write about it...

No. I shouldn't even be thinking of it-- yet.

I'm still drinking my cup of tea, calmly-- or so it seems. Poised and silent, I sit across from the king who can take me down at any moment, but inside, I'm burning and withering away. I'm being something I'm not, holding back the screams that desperately shout for attention with trembling hands that do what they are told for the better. If this makes me a better person, then why not? Nobody will end up in despair, but myself. Walk all over me, use me, and abandon me when victory is triumphed, she cries.

I'm tired of playing chess. This be my second battle that I give all my heart and soul.

"Every single day that I can breathe
You change my philosophy
I'm never gonna let you pass me by
So don't say 
your goodbyes
you know it's better that way
we won't break
we won't die 
It's just a moment of change
All we are, all we are is everything's that right
All we need, all we need is a lover's alibi"
One Republic
All We Are

Monday, 19 August 2013

Like a Bowl of... Mixed Nuts!?

Remember how I said I'd marry you if you cycled to my place? Well, that was before I tried paddling out of my comfort zone. We all know Sitiawan isn't that big a town, but whenever people were to travel to my place for some unknown reason, they'd be complaining about Lot 16 of K.D.S.K to be too damn far from their homes! I don't get it, really. The city council should invest in cycling paths in this small little town so everyone can get around with ease. Cars are all we need? Pfft. Fuck you. I can't drive yet!

I don't always go to the post office, but when I do, I make sure I risk my life cycling there like I'm sending an illegal package that's worth a ton over the black market.


Courage the Cowardly Dog has always been my role model, although he may seem like the worst character a kid could learn from, lemme tell you, he's the most loyal one you'll ever come across! Trying your best for someone you love is only natural, don't you think? At least I didn't follow in Spongebob's footsteps and ended up frying patties at some fast food restaurant! I never even liked that yellow sponge with the annoying laugh in the first place.

Stepping out of the post office with a grin that stretched from ear to ear, the five o'clock Sun couldn't have felt better on my skin. My rusty bike was the only one parked outside the building when I stepped out. All the others have already paid their bills, sent whatever they wanted to and rushed home before the lady behind the counter told me everything was taken care of, that I could leave. I saw the mail men load up their trucks. Mine wasn't going to be on its way until tomorrow. But I smiled anyway. My journal, it seems, is going international. Happy Life no.2, along with my Australian journal, are flying to a faraway land called Netherlands.

I was tempted to get a cup of Okinawa milktea at Poppers after dropping my package off at the office, but since today's a Monday, I wasn't sure if they were open for business today. Maybe some other time? But it's not always I cycle out of my safety zone. To be honest, I was worried that I might get run over at any time and become roadkill; no telling what will happen when you put impatient imbeciles behind wheels. The wind was nice, and I enjoyed my little trip, but the vehicles zooming past poor little me wasn't the least bit pleasant, especially when they were speeding lorries. Got honked at-- TWICE.

I want to cut my hair.

I always feel like that on Mondays. It's like the stars are in all the wrong positions on this wretched day, forever making me hate my magnificently grown head of annoying black hair. If I was a lion, it'd be great. But no, I'm human, and my friends can't stand it when I let my hair down and whip it back and forth... Wait, no, I don't whip it back and forth at all!

Milktea! No pearls, please; disgusting little things.

If you sit me down and ask me to think long and hard about how I came to love the one I love now, I can't give you an answer. To me, love comes naturally, and I don't NEED a reason to be in love. I just love because I can and because I want to. I think if it's meant to be, then it's meant to be, and if it's not, there's no point fighting for it. I allow myself to fall knowing that the pain will haunt me after the days of sweetness have gone. But hey, live for the moment and don't stress the future. I'm done with planning ahead; see what happened to us? All the empty promises we made. It's not the most important aspect of my life--I daresay--but it completes me and makes life more interesting. Don't you think so? You should know by now, when it comes to a person I don't dislike, I'm kind enough to let them walk all over me.

I don't have a boyfriend.

I'll come clean here, the reason why I wrote so much today is because I have no where else to do so. I finished my journal and while I contemplate about getting a new one, bloggie is going to be the one who gobbles up most of my words.

I LOVE MUM. It's not mother's day, I know. But... I find it hard to face her these days and she's down. I don't even try, I think. It's not making it any easier for her because she's trying to approach me. There's this gap between us, and I don't know what to do... I can't clear my thoughts and let things go back to how they used to be, because she doesn't see what I see and I definitely can't grasp her point of view.

Sigh... Just getting it off my chest.


We've come to the last piece of nut in our bowl.

Wednesday, 14 August 2013

Holidays Turn Me into a Zombie Otaku

I think I’ll just do what I do best. Write. Hm. Although, I think it has become a rather serious problem for  me, writing, it’s like I’m obsessed with it. I know very well that isn’t the case, since I sometimes complain about it, but still, it’s the only thing I can think of in situations like this where I feel alone in a sort of comforting yet somewhat awkward silence.

Should I write a letter to you?

I’m writing, on my computer and also yours .  It’s kind of frustrating, that I see almost every word with  a jagged red line underneath it. After all, I’m writing in a language that’s not set as the laptop’s default language so I guess it’s understandable that it keeps highlighting my “mistakes”.

I have no idea what I’m doing actually. I have access to your computer, yet I’m just here, writing? I can write on my own laptop, or even in my journal, so why am I doing it here? I have no  God damned idea. Okay, I admit, I was going to fill this page with sweet words, write a love letter to you so that when you come back, you’d see my surprise but I guess my plan backfired. Yeah, typical.

All these Dutch words on your screen looks fascinating though. Sticky notes are plaknotities—very cute. I wonder if you’re having a hard time reading this, since most of the words are underlined; it looks like a poorly written highschool essay by a three-year-old! Ah, that’s better! Changed the font size from 11 to 12!

I want to write you a poem, but nothing seems to be twinkling in my head right now. All I can think of is the crap I’m putting down as each second floats by.

This is a rather creepy software, allowing us to access each other’s computer like this with just a mere click of the Mouse! I browsed through the pictures, your music library and videos folder. I don’t dare click on anything else, since I’m afraid I might end up screwing things up. I ended up here with the romantic idea of leaving you a letter after rummaging through your libraries. Yes, yes, this isn't one bit romantic, I know. Heck, I might even post it on my blog! If you allow me, of course; after all, this was supposed to be a letter for YOU! Now, wtih almost every word underlined, I really can’t tell if I made any mistakes.

The Sami is online. Whut? Since when did I have a contact named The Sami. Did Ladybird change his name? Then, I realized, The Sami is YOUR contact.

Sorry hon, this little note isn't romantic at all… Did I just say “little note”? This is no note… This is one long ass piece of my mind! The human brain is a wonderful thing, it can come up with so much crap when it’s not occupied and when you need it to process critical thoughts, it comes up with this: poop.

I whip my hair back and forth… Sorry. I used conditioner on it just now and it’s just really soft now; couldn't resist.


Yeah, I typed that on someone else's computer.

What do you know? It's a quarter past two in the morning and I'm still in front of my laptop! This is why I don't watch anime. Once I start, I don't stop! I guess the two-week break turned me into this zombie otaku again... 

Earlier today, I had a little chat about anime, and it made me realize how forgetful I actually am! I said I've never watched Fate/Zero before, but then, in the back of mind, a plot unfolded and scenes from the anime I don't remember watching flashed through like shooting stars, so I Googled Fate/Zero. I realized... OMG, I've watched it before! I was not very pleased with myself and it bugged me for a good while, that I forgot watching it. I frowned, wondering just when the heck did I watch Fate/Zero! After I finish this post, I'll look through my old blog posts that have the anime tag on them. Hopefully, I'll find something! I never fail to visit bloggie whenever I'm in otaku mode~ It just adds to the late-night-I-should-get-a-life feeling. 

Right now, I'm watching To Aru Kagaku no Railgun S. Jenson suggested the anime, and yes, things are getting pretty interesting in this season! I expected more, but I'm not gonna complain since I sorta like it. Fufufu. Once in a while, I call out Kuroko's name~ 

I wonder if I should read some manga... I never really did have patience with them. I abandoned Ao no Exorcist, Jigoku Shoujo, Petshop of Horrors, some yaoi manga and even the one I used to translate! I'm just horrible really, when it comes to chasing after chapters. I guess I'm not very attached to anything... As always, laziness rules and I succumb to its slob. 

Not gonna think about that.

I would love some ramen and green tea. Man... I haven't had tea in a while. Oishi brand green tea is making me miss Thailand a lot... I CAN'T WAIT TO BUY EVERY GENMAI FLAVORED OISHI GREEN TEA AT SEVEN ELELE WHEN WE GO TO THAILAND THIS DECEMBER!

I Love Green Tea

Monday, 12 August 2013


I find it weird, leaving.

A person can be with you for days, weeks, months and even years, but it only takes them one minute to disappear down the bend at the end of the street. You watch the car go. You know they are coming back, but somehow, it feels as if they've gone away for good.

Goodbyes are never enough, it seems. A kiss on the lips and a hasty take care, I love you, and they rush out the front door, their bags weighing them down instead of the parting. Usually, the person walking away doesn't feel as sad as the one standing by the door, looking at the distancing silhouette of a person they love slowly go out of sight. You lean against the frame of your front door, your heart is slowly starting to miss the person and you wonder if the light peck on their lips was enough to show that you love them, that you care about them. It annoys a part of you somehow, that your parting wasn't good enough. But then again, parting was never supposed to be pleasant in the first place-- unless it's with someone you'd rather not see ever again.

The person is some time away now. Leaving, it makes relationships look so fragile. It only takes one minute to take away a person's existence yet it takes what feels like a lifetime to let them be a part of your life. The house feels empty now, and it is-- I'm the only one here. The halls are empty, the rooms are vacant, and everything is still, not a sound is made for there is no one there to make it.

The dogs are barking, there is someone outside. I choose to not acknowledge the fact that someone is outside, and I choose to ignore the ringing telephone. There isn't an emergency at all; there rarely is. The people who would drop by the house? They are for mum, but she's not in, so why bother going through the trouble of putting on clothes just to entertain them? I'm not exactly a very sociable individual, and unless I'm forced to be nice and act like the social butterfly I'm not, I'd rather stay in my dad's old navy blue t-shirt all day with unkempt wake-up hair, appearing as slovenly as I possibly can.

The birds are chirping, newborns are calling out to their mothers, "FEED ME!" I seem to hear those words among the incessant chirps of the nestlings in a nest somewhere in the garden. The palm trees are swaying, the sun is shining and you are still asleep. I know how much you love the sun and the palm trees; tall, just like you are.

I miss you, and the talks we had.


I'll be home with my sisters for the next few days, absolutely no parental guidance or anything like that! I'd love to watch movies, but I just can't figure out what genre I feel like watching! I wanna watch a comedy, but romantic comedies kinda hurt at the moment and I don't feel like watching horror because I've been overdosing myself with horror flicks ever since months ago! I need to study... I DON'T WANNA! T^T

P.s. KEVIN, if you are reading this, I apologize if I made you worry cause I haven't been replying you! My phone is down; hardware problem. I'll text you once it's fixed. Have a nice life and how's Linda? =)

Friday, 9 August 2013

To a Special Someone

I like to pretend you're my boyfriend.

They say one should love like they have never been hurt before. Honestly, I didn't think I could. All my troubles seem so far away now, like I haven't a care in the world. After all, love makes the world go round. I must admit, it does hurt a little despite the overflowing sweetness in the river of our raw emotions. We're not thinking about the worst; we're just hoping for the best. 

You're so far away.

Why does it always have to be this way? The people I love are never close to me, and those who are actually close to me are the ones I don't fancy. When will my heart finally settle down for someone who I can see everyday, hold everyday and smile at everyday? I smile for you, but you won't see it; I whisper your name, but you won't hear it. 

People learn from mistakes. 

I'm putting what I've learnt to practice, be like the girlfriend I should have been; someone more forgiving and understanding. I find it silly, that I dated someone which had absolutely nothing in common with me and the worst part was that I hated everything about him. I should have found you sooner, then, I wouldn't have wasted my emotions. But then again, I wouldn't be this patient and forgiving if it weren't for my last relationship. 

I'm much more happier these days.

It amazes me, how you light up my world. You make every morning worth waking up to, and every afternoon worth coming home to, and every night an unwilling end. Of course, now that Rei is in the hospital, my mornings have become dull again since your words won't be there to greet me when I open my eyes. I've been waking up later, also going back to bed more often now that I have no way of receiving your morning greetings. 

I feel like a stupid girl in love.

The things we say sometimes, it's as if we're ten-year-olds playing boyfriend-girlfriend. It makes me laugh, all the attachment-- the overly attached sort. It secretly makes me happy, that you're another fool for love, because you'd do anything for me, just like how I'd do anything for you. I even did my math for you, so you better feel fucking special! Losing sleep and exercising is nothing compared to doing mathematics! You bastard. You make me so happy that I'd even do the one thing I loathe most in the universe for you. 

"Do it for me..."

Yes, my lord.

I would look at your picture and go to sleep with a smile on my face if I had my phone with me. You're gaming today, keeping your friends company. Come to think of it, we won't be spending much time together at all from now on... Need I remind you about SEPTEMBER? Well, since you always always ALWAYS avoid the topic, I'll remind you right now.

You, my dear, are going to have a bad time if you don't think about SEPTEMBER. For the love of God, have you found out what you wanted to do yet!? Dammit, hon, this is no joke. It's already August. Dave is over for the next ten days, so you'll say bye-bye to your research until then, which will be the mid of August already. But oh, YOU HAVE A JOB THE FOLLOWING WEEK. I don't mean to ruin your happy life, but you have about three weeks left before you go to uni. I don't care how much you wanna talk to me, you better do your homework and find out what you love-- fast. NO, YOU CAN'T SAY YOU LOVE ME. 

Your happiness is all that matters, remember? I know I'm making you unhappy by simply reminding you about SEPTEMBER, but hey, if I didn't love you, I wouldn't have bothered with it. I would have just gone along with your ignorance. I can't live with myself if I don't do this. I don't wanna show my mean side just yet, so be a good boy and do what's good for you. 


But ah, we are just friends.

Friday, 19 July 2013

Short Whines

It's a Friday and I'm walking home with a frown on my face. It's a Friday. I'm unhappy on a Friday. It's unusual for people to frown, drag themselves down the pavements further and further away from the rooms of torture on the last schoolday of the week. Even for me, it's rare.

Why is it always up to the band to decide how happy I can be? My attendance is like the drops of comfort that fill up my happiness meter because all that I have, everyone around me, is a part of it. Just because I don't show up for practice, I get alienated, stabbed in the back and cast out. These friends of mine aren't really friends at all, are they? Right now, it feels as if the only relationship I share with those people is nothing more than just members of the same group that never care.

I always feel this away after not going for band practice. It's been a week since I last showed my face in band. The form fives are relieved from practice already so we can prepare for SPM, but that's just what's on the surface. Under the thin layer of excuse, it is clear that we still need to show up every single day on the dot, without fail. So why then, do they even relieve us? I have no fucking idea.

I wouldn't be this miserable if I wasn't appointed the role of section leader at the start of the year. The higher you are, the harder you fall after all. Obligations, responsibilities, appearances to keep up... I really did not sign up for this shit. I think I wouldn't even need to elaborate further to make you feel my frustration.

Again, I'm avoiding my so-called friends. I can't even look them in the eye, to be honest. Especially the band leader, my trombonist, the one who takes up my role to teach the younger trombonists because I'm useless as fuck. Again, I think no elaboration is necessary. My displeasure is obvious-- the disgust towards myself.

I can't write when I'm upset. I'm trying very hard to stop my hands from shaking. It's taking every fiber in my body to suppers the rage that's boiling at the back of my head, slowly making me dizzy.

All I can think of is how useless I am. I just want to give up, you know? I'm not good at anything and I have no talent. I can't even bring myself to sit down, open my textbook and study properly. I feel sorry for my parents actually. They've wasted their time, money and emotions on someone who is totally unworthy, a creature that should have never been born to begin with. What good am I? What good is my existence doing to the world? Aren't I just another being shuffling on the face of this earth, wasting space and resources? Nobody needs me and I benefit none. Sometimes, I really think that I should just let it all go, get buried and become a part of the nitrogen cycle-- at least by dying, I'd do the world a favour.

It brings me back to the suicide note of a distant relative.

Tell you the truth, it worries me how close my thoughts are to that of a person who took her own life. I wouldn't deny to the fact that I hate this life, but I'm not brave enough to cut myself free from its bond.

Right now, there is someone who needs me.

Adapted from Happy Life no.2

Saturday, 6 July 2013

When I was Cutting...?

An apology was made to each lifeless piece as they were beheaded. Cold, and gray, they didn't squirm when  my bare hands wrapped around their heads as my thumb pressed hard against the segment which connected their too large heads to the slightly curved bodies, severing the bond between the two parts with a pull of little force.

I shut my eyes every time I heard a damply crisp sound of heads being torn apart. My hands were shaking and I was repeating the words "I'm sorry" over and over again, my voice in a slight tremble. With each pull, something oozes out onto my fingers, making me feel the ridiculous guilt of hurting prawns that have already no life.

They were dead anyway, so why did it matter? It's not as if they could feel the pain of being viciously torn apart-- even if they did, it was done in an instant so not much pain would be felt.

A thin strand of intestines--gooey and filled with undigested substances-- bounced against my skin as I removed them like pulling on a weak semi-elastic string. I had to strip the creatures of their protective skeleton, using the help of a blunt knife to make a fine opening in the flesh before I could reach the digestive tract.

Peeling them one by one, my thoughts shifted to the possibility of a parallel universe where at the exact moment, there was a shrimp standing in the kitchen and skinning a human being in preparation for lunch.

I look at the limp creature in my hand.

It was born for this. To be killed, to be peeled, to be eaten. Bred in a farm in town, probably.

Ah... How unfair is life? It had no freedom of its own, coming into this world only to live a short meaningless life in a pond with a million of others who share the same fate.

Perhaps it was from the deep blue sea? If so, it was a waste that it got caught in the fisherman's net.

There was a rhythm to when the knife hit against board. With one hand, I move the knife in a steady beat, while my free hand shoves the cut segments of purple bulbs into the man-powered chops. Since when did my cutting improve? It used to take me minutes to finely chop onions-- or anything for that matter.


I've never once shed tears for this purple bulb of tantalizing sweetness that owns a rather feisty personality. Layers upon layers, I never got how people stung their eyes because of those smooth skins.

I seem to be enjoying myself, making a mess of the kitchen as I go. I take forever to cook as I enjoy every moment I spend preparing, thinking as I peel, dice or stir.


I would love to write more, but after I gobbled down my spaghetti, I seemed to have forgotten everything I wanted to write, the things that went through my mind as I observed my own actions.

I'm going to be late for my movie if I don't hit the showers! I smell like seafood at the moment!

P.s. Gonna bake cookies when I come home later~

Thursday, 4 July 2013

Studies of a Horrible Student

My internet is being ridiculously slow these days, so what better way to stop myself from smashing the modem than to blog? Once this "write post" page is loaded, I can spend as much time as I want here, without having to wait... Until it's time to press the orange button that says "publish"

Honestly, I came on here without anything in mind. There's no topic, no emotions that I want to pour out, nor is there anything interesting that's happening at the moment. Right now, all I'm looking at is the screen, I didn't even know that my fingers knew the positions of each alphabet so well! I still have my socks on, my bra is lying on my lap and I'm making a sort of the-fuck-did-I-write-that-for face.

July already, huh?

This morning, I finally forced myself to do some mathematics exercises... CHAPTER ONE T^T I'm a horrible student, I know. I wonder how Siah Pang Seng felt when he walked over to my desk only to see me, his student for a year and a half already, start the first page of the workbook when other people have already finished all the exercises inside.

Even so, it's never too late to start. Hey, at least I'm trying, okay? I know I'm not the best, but I'm putting a little bit of effort into learning something! This is the first time in seventeen years that I voluntarily take out my mathematics book and ask my friends to teach me. I wonder if I'll be able to get a C for mathematics in SPM... Yeah, my hopes aren't too high for it since I'm aiming for the more arty subs like literature and history.

To all my juniors out there, if you choose to go into the science stream even though you know you suck at science and maths, YOU'RE GONNA HAVE A BAAAAAAAAD TIME! Heed my warning! My brother was kind enough to tell me that I'd regret the fuck out of going into the science stream back when he was in form five, but stupid little me didn't take his advice. Please, don't make the same mistake that I made... Albeit bearable, you'd still be left behind.

 Dennis facepalmed himself when he found out I was a science student. Everyone knows just how hopeless my ability to understand logic is, and thus have given up on ever hoping that Rachel Cheong Yun Xuan will ever ace mathematical and science subjects. My parents have one eye closed when it comes to me and maths-- shows just how horrible I am, doesn't it? Even grandpa stopped tutoring me... T^T

Biology is the only one science subject that I'm actually good at, probably because it doesn't need much logic and has very very little questions that requires calculations-- thank goodness for that! I failed chemistry because there's too much calculations but passed physics because at least I've got some common sense in me!


What am I doing? Going on and on and on about my studies. It doesn't comfort me at all that I'm a horrible student! What's worse is that I'm making it known to the world!

Man, now I'm gonna feel all depressed again because I feel under prepared for my SPM. Literature? Still got a handful of poems to study, a few short stories to read and a drama to re-read and analyze. Sigh... I wonder if I can do it after all... I have doubts, you know? I can't remember the texts so well...

Alright, I'm challenging myself. I'll study all the required pieces for literature this Sunday, and I will finish them while sipping a cup of coffee-free caramel frappucino. Of course, I'll enjoy each written piece of art as I go, it would go against my principles not to! I don't believe in brain-dead studying =)

Mr.Internet, I hate you. I have to utilize you now, to search the world wide web for the poems and short stories in my syllabus, not to mention the analysis for the novel Holes and the drama An Inspector Calls. UGH.

Wish me luck. I'm aiming for seven As.

Wednesday, 3 July 2013

Something's Missing

Looking at this dark brown marinade in front of me, I can't help but feel that something's missing. Did I put enough rock sugar in it? Or did I added too much soy sauce into my mixture? Is the mirin too little?Something's missing, but I don't know what.

An oriental soup spoon rests in the middle of my glass bowl, a little bit of teriyaki sauce flooding its center. It reminds me of the cough syrup Lisa poured down my throat hours ago. Brown, dilute and seemingly unpleasant.

Something's missing.

I'm not talking about my teriyaki sauce anymore. Even in me, my world, something's missing.

Relationships, a gap in them.

The stitches of the finest surgeon is surely flawed as well; the miniscule gaps between the thread and the wound still exists no matter which doctor holds the needle. It feels as if it's perfectly pulled together, but we all know that it's not. Then again, who are we to complain? At least our hearts are still beating.

What was my point in the last paragraph, you ask? Well, I'm not sure if I can explain it either since if I could, I wouldn't have used the surgeon, thread and wound metaphorically. Hah. Don't want to or can't? Honestly? I'm just too tired to explain.

I'm like this I guess, drawing comparisons between things that seem ridiculously impossible to be related to; put together.

I'll try my best to explain, despite being only half awake, with bacon still left to marinade.

The surgeon would suggest a person who is by my side right now. The wound would be my world, the phantom gaps are the missing things I feel but can't seem to grasp. But I can't complain about it, can I? Compensation-- this is as good as it's going to get.

Time to put the bacon in my marinade, wrap the bowl, keep it in the fridge and go to sleep.

In a few hours time, I'll be sitting on this very same chair, preparing my bento for a dreadful day of school.

Monday, 1 July 2013

I Honestly Don't Know What to Call this Post

I wonder what's my source of inspiration. Haven't been feeling the urge to write for some time now. Writer's block, again? How many times a year do I need to find myself standing in front of this magnificent wall? UGH!!!

For some time now, the days have gone without me sharing the joys I feel with someone who once meant a lot to me-- not that he doesn't matter at all now, just that... He wouldn't want to be of significance to me anyway. 

"Oh, I went to see them run today-- my friends. I didn't even know Qi Shun could run that fast! Got second place in the event!" 

That was something I would have said last Saturday night if things aren't the way they are now. I'd have told him how tired I was, who fainted, how I cut myself some slack under the morning sun and which of his friends were there with their bulky DSLRs acting like professional photographers. That, would be something that should never happen again. A surreal reality that--once in while-- makes me lose myself. 

It's fun to believe in things that don't exist, like Santa Claus or the Tooth Fairy. Belief, it's what keeps people happy as it's like a thread of warm sunlight in this dull society of hopeless individuals. I believe in Santa Claus.

If only we all could see the world through a child's innocent eyes, then it would certainly be a better place. We'd find wonder in everything we see, even the little dust that floats in the air or the beetle that crawls in the dirt would seem marvelous. 

I'm waiting for the pink phone to start ringing.

It doesn't seem to come, his call.

Speak of the devil...

Tuesday, 25 June 2013

While I Download Anime...

As I type each word, my download is slowly being completed; kilobyte by kilobyte. Every time my finger lands on a key, it makes this cute sound-- though I doubt that anyone else would find the sounds of plastic keys being hit as cute.

Tap tap tap tippy tap tap tap~

Roughly one hour more until my download for season I of A Certain Scientific Railgun is completed. Since I have tomorrow off thanks to Mr.Haze, the rather suffocating guest from Indonesia, I'll probably stay in my room ALL day and watch a marathon of 24 episodes! It's been a while since I've been like this and I kind of miss it. Ramen at midnight while watching anime with my legs folded in front of me, the steam blurring my spectacles that I find myself lost without... I feel like starting the marathon right after it's done downloading, but I know, it's bad for my health if I stay up all night and sleep when the sun begins to rise.

What now, what now?

I actually just erased two paragraphs. I didn't think that they were suitable, and even if they were, I didn't feel like sharing. I don't know... In my head, the Carl Orrje Piano Ensemble's version of  After You Become Used to the Sea is on loop. I love that song, though I didn't enjoy the anime very much. Maybe now that I'm older, I should try re-watching Only Yesterday and Ocean Waves, see if I like them now! 14-year-old me didn't quite get the meaning of those two Ghibli films because Spirited Away left me wanting adventure, instead of watching something more down to earth.

After You Become Used to the Sea is a very nice song, but the sheet music for it is hard to find since it isn't composed by Joe Hisaishi. Even in the Studio Ghibli Best Collection Piano Book, this nostalgic piece couldn't be found. I searched online all morning in vain. The sign that let me know it was time to give up was that even the China website didn't have the song! If it isn't even on a China website, you bet that it doesn't exist! If I'm desperate enough, I might try searching for Japanese websites!

Neh, this is a rather boring post isn't it?

It's not a video. It's just the music that's been stuck in my head.

One little percent by one God damned little percent! I wonder how long this will take... In the mean time, I'm  probably going to help dad with a favour since mum can't be relied on when it comes to doing things on the internet. Dad's in South America at the moment, Whatsapping with mum, giving instructions that's driving her nuts. He texted her: "Show Bom-Bom(my nickname =-=) this message, she'll know what to do when she's there(website)."


Did the upload just fail...?

Monday, 24 June 2013

From Smoke to Smiles

The sounds of the piano flood through the halls, echoed up the stairway and squeezed themselves into my room through the little gaps underneath my wooden door. A Wise Bud, played by bony fingers of a thirteen-year-old girl waiting for time to pass. The front door closes-- I hear it too. The car engine yawned to life, barely resting for an hour and its owner wants it on the road again; poor, poor machine! Outside my window, Indonesian smoke shrouds the neighborhood, blurring the night. Even the rays of the streetlamp cannot penetrate this misty clusters of dustiness.

Once again, our good neighbour Indonesia's annual forest fires has affected the air quality. It has successfully proven that yes, open burning has a severe effect on the environment. It's amazing, that clouds of smog can travel so far-- across oceans and acres of land! Thanks to a convenient and free form of transportation called wind, smoke can now enjoy holidays in Singapore and Malaysia.

After a week of stopping by Singapore, the pollutants have decided to fly north, making its way across the borders to the peninsular. Mr.Smoke is almost done with its holiday in Malaysia, reaching the North(where yours truly resides) quietly last night as we were sound asleep in our beds, dreaming about cookies, cream and whatnot.

The haze arrived at my doorstep just this morning, greeting me with an unpleasant breeze that reeked of the burnt. It got worse throughout the day, and by the time I was in biology class after recess, my head grew heavy and I wanted badly to be able to breathe. I could still see through the ashes, though my eyes started to feel a stinging sensation towards the end of school.

All this smog is making me feel as if I'm in Silent Hill! Only, there seems to be all signs of life all around me. I told Sarah that we should go out in the dead of the night, when everyone was visiting the realm of their unconscious minds.

Nelson Mandela is staring at me. No matter where I am, it seems as if his eyes are fixed on me and nothing else. It's annoying when Reader's Digest put a person's face on its front cover! I always hated it when magazines featured famous people on their front page. Who in the world would want someone staring at them while they look at the highlights listed on the front cover!?

My favourite part of Reader's Digest is Nury Vittachi's column. It's always interesting and I like his sense of humour! It never fails to make me laugh out loud! In the July 2013 issue, Nury talks about what sounds good in one language might spell disaster for the other. Reading it made me realize that English is indeed a big mistake! This is one paragraph that I would like to share:

A French reader told me about a Parisian chef who in 1765 started selling a tasty liquid he call a restorer, which is "restaurant" in French. The English got it mixed up and told the world that "restaurant" meant "a place to eat out". Germans were soon dipping sops(Deutsch for chunks of bread) into the delicious warm bowls of restaurant. The English, confused again, told the world that the new dish was called "soup". So the English sentence: "Sitting in a restaurant, I drank some soup" actually means, "Sitting in some soup, I drank some bread."
Nury Vittachi
Now I finally understand why Europeans hate English!

The column made my day!

Other than that for a happy event, I received emails from Lisa, telling me that a package is on its way here to me! I'm SOOOO excited! Ohboyohboyohboy! Pictures and gifts and greetings! Apparently, she got my birthday mixed up with another darling of hers, but oh well, it's the thought that counts! Can't wait for it to arrive at mah doorstep~!

Of course, like every other day for more than a month now, there's a certain person that lights up my world. I've been smiling a lot, and I've never been happier. Call it breaking free, or whatever it is that a female feels after realizing that they're not in love with their past lover anymore.

There are many fish in the sea, the first catch would of course hold a special place in your heart even after you've set it free but instead of sobbing on a boat in the middle of the ocean, why not dive in and forget about everything? Swim with the fishes and become a mermaid. You'll find that letting go and moving on is a part of life, a lesson learnt. Open your eyes.

Seeing your name appear in my inbox was a pleasant surprise. Three little alphabets mean so much.

10. 15. 18.

Sunday, 16 June 2013

Practice on a Sunday

Exercise 5.

I go from one warm-up exercise to another. My lips aren't particularly happy that I'm stressing  them out on a Sunday evening. I wonder why I'm here sitting on the steps with my back towards the empty classrooms, instrument in hand. Three clear holders, a tuner and a stained yellow polish cloth are my only company. The sounds I make echoes through the deserted corridors as if searching for another's sound, yearning to blend with someone else's music instead of slowly dissipating into the lifeless atmosphere that surrounds me.

Crimson petals are scattered all over the ground, adding colour to the dull soil and twisted roots that juts out from the ground. Patches of grass make that stretch of dirt road seem more lively. The Erythrina are staying still today; not a breeze is blowing, not a petal is dancing. Even so, beneath those coral trees lies the bold petals of those who have fallen long ago. Bright red even though they're slowly withering away, it's no wonder the Balinese regard the plant as a symbol of life-energy.

Ants are making their way across the drain.

I look at the sight before me, the Erythrina petals that lie still on the ground reminds me of the crime of passion. I sigh. A knife that stabs the middle of her beating heart, a fading smile on her artificially painted lips and a teardrop in the corner of her eye, with her last breath, she mouths the words "I love you" to the liar who takes her life. The fallen petals, shades of a foolish woman who loved with all her heart.

Sitting here for almost an hour now, my natural cushions are already numb. I look up at the clear sky through the narrow space between the blocks of buildings, thinking about tomorrow. On a Monday morning, sleepy students that yawn and shuffle across the hallways wouldn't even begin to notice the beauty of the flowers, let alone admire them or imagine a story-- it's a sad reality. Imagination takes us everywhere. It's a pity that not many people choose to acknowledge the rainbow resting above their heads.

Folk Song Suite no.1, Seventeen Come Sunday.

A year and a half ago, I couldn't play the third trombone's bass solo because I found the range to be too low and my air capacity was very limited. A year and a half from then-- which is now-- I find myself blasting it without my head spinning and my vision blurring. I've improved, even though I don't acknowledge it on a daily basis... Improvement? Hah! I still think I'm a horrible trombonist.


Mum's car drove through the gates of Lot 16, KDSK. Our silver metallic Vios comes to a stop on our front porch, the engine is put to rest. After the fifteen minute drive home, I finally realized... I left my Yamaha resting magnificently on the trombone stand at school... WELL, FUCK!

At the end of the day, I'm still a horrible section leader.

As for my bass trombone, I phoned trumpet's section leader to help me keep it back into the trombone cupboard that seems to be falling apart. I can't wait to clean my mouthpiece tomorrow! Si Kai probably didn't bother washing it for meh =|

The senior trombonists of 2013 are so forgetful! Band leader takes the win for forgetfulness though. Can't find his wallet when he leaves it in a place he always leaves it, doesn't remember giving people the keys of his motorcycle, reminds me to tell him what to say to the band after practice but we both end up forgetting it anyway...

Roses are red,
            There's no dinner.
A horror movie is loading,
      Chips and yogurt for dinner!