If You've Known Me...

If you have known me for long enough, then you would know, that the quality and quantity of my writing increases drastically when I am left aside, to chew upon myself, after having spend almost all of my time pouring my emotions into one single person.

To see so much words, pages after pages of once traceless papers, inked with the handwriting that gives body to my thoughts, is often not a joy. Like I said, if you have known me for long enough, you would know why I stain the finely processed skin of dead trees with ink. I frown when I see the stacks of newly written thoughts. Albeit so, focusing solely on what I want to write is happiness. It is a sweet escape for me, that brings me closest to heaven.

You know, my friend, how lonely I can get. You know, the worst is when I am unable to sleep at night even after replacing the cap on my pen, finishing tens of pages of what I thought would satisfy a void in the chest. Frankly, words would never suffice. That is the sad truth I have come to realize over the years. But I don't mind; it doesn't matter-- that's what I tell myself, anyway.

It's why you are even able to fix your eyes on this right now. My thirst for solace. In the night when I have had enough of sitting at my desk, scribbling away, I come here, in hopes that I will ultimately write enough to admit to myself the naked truth that I don't want to accept. It's not hard for me to say it, because I already acknowledge it, that I am in fact happy. That's just what I want myself to think, of course.

Beneath this plaster mould of a loner, somewhere deep within my soul, I feel a mourning a cry. A knife, a thin one, with a blade long and slender, is being pushed deep into my heart. It goes in with ease, as the pink tissues have no intention of pushing the blade away. The malevolent shadow that is torquing the knife ever so slowly is a sadist indeed. What are you trying to get out of me?

I will admit that it hurts, but I won't scream. I can't. My voice, has been taken away from me. The only telltale fragility that is capable of giving me away, is lost, somewhere in this pool of pride that unknowingly, I have pledged to.

At the end of the day, it's still about doing the right thing. In Counting Stars, Ryan sings: I feel something so wrong, doing the right thing...

I feel wrong.

But, who am I to tear apart two people who have lived their whole lives alongside each other? Even if it would certainly satisfy my unreasonably selfish yearnings, it's not worth it.

Aside from all of that, I failed my driving test and the aftertaste of this afternoon still burns at the back of my tongue. The wait, the anxiety, and how I actually failed everything that I could possibly fail... It's making me sick, and yes, I want to cry. And yes, I am thinking: "Fuck driving. I will cycle for the rest of my life"

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?

Grotesque

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?

No.

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?

Yes.

Indeed.

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.

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.

Chess

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

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.

THE THINGS I DO FOR LOVE!

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.

Goodbye.

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

Leaving

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? =)

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.

Onions.

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~

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.

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! 

Paragraphs of Changing Emotions

It's pathetic how I only blog about uneventful things. What about the picnic I had earlier today? Why didn't I write about that, huh? Why don't I write about it? Too much work? Well, writing crap right now sure isn't one bit tiring! I'm waiting for my movie to buffer on Asian-Horror-Movies dot com. I'm watching a Japanese thriller today, Lesson of the Evil. Ever since a month ago, I've been visiting the website almost everyday. Honestly, I'm getting really impatient. Last twenty minutes. How long, internet, how long are you going to make me wait? I certainly am not smiling right now.

"Write about the picnic Rachel," my brain is urging me to do so. "You know you want to." Well, God damn it, brain! If you wanted me to blog about that, then why don't you MAKE me? Instead, now I'm writing down all the random sentences that you won't stop producing! You scumbag!

So, yes, I went to the beach again today. I was happy during most of the morning when I soaked myself in the salt water. Walked along the whole stretch of sand today, from this end to the other! I never realized how short the distance was until today. My friends tell me that I walk fast, a bit too fast-- hah, that wasn't even my normal speed!

The sand, the water, the rocks, the leaves, the narrow path of the woods, the calmness of the morning, the smell of the sea, the thoughts, the smiles, the hopeless dreams, the bittersweet wandering, the healing wound... On top of the rocks at the edge of the cliff, I sat looking at the clear sky, at the distant island, the burgeoning construction of what seems like a bridge and the ships not far away. It's beautiful I thought. Yet I knew, my eyes could only see so much... When you can't see it, it doesn't mean that it isn't there. We all know very well that the waters are tainted.

Sitting on the boulders, it made me smile. It wasn't a happy one. It was a grateful one, but underneath, it is with the shadow of regret. The soft breeze that caressed my cheeks and danced with my uncombed hair giggled beside my ears, it was okay, they whispered and left a tantalizing touch of longing in my heart. In the forest behind, the cries of the Higurashi masked its eerie appearance; forget about the rotting chalets and the abandoned water park, the cicadas sang. The leaf-covered tracks seemed magical, even. I notice the ants that move in a line on a root that juts out of the soil.

I'd go out there again. Alone, next time. Preferably, if I could, I'd sit on the rocks and enjoy the view with my lover... Walking barefooted on the beach, going up rough stone steps without anything protecting my feet, moving through a narrow forest path and feeling the damp leaves cushioning each heavy step of mine... If only I had someone's hand to hold, that would cast the shadow away from my smile... If only, if only...

"Alone again? Tch. Always alone." Those words rang in my ears. A distant memory from months ago, before shattered hopes and abrupt endings. The moon was bright that night, so was the flame of my hope; bright as ever. I reminisce, I smile, I shake my head and then laugh at myself. If drinking wasn't bad, I'd be waving a bottle in my hand while I cry to miserable pop songs.

No, I'm not thinking about you. No, I'm not thinking about him either.

My skin is feeling hot. I'm a few shades darker again. Bikini lines are sexy as fuck? I think not. These marks will be there for a good long while... UGH! Even the ones from the Gold Coast are still there! And I thought the Sun here was horrible!

I look like roast pork. Red nose, red cheeks, crispy-coloured skin... A drunk would be more like it, considering the fact that my hair is unkempt and my eyes are barely open... Roast pork, it doesn't have hair and you bet, it looks neat on the dinner plate!

What am I saying...?

My nose... BURNS...! When I rub it.

I know, this isn't the first time I've posted Kazenagi here. :')

Why can I endure the things other people can't? Why don't I see what they see? Why can't I just comprehend the thoughts of the average human being, of you and I. 

Random Sentences

My chest has been tightening. I find it harder and harder to breathe. I'm feeling the pain of what has yet to come. The heart is cracking a little everyday. I don't know what I'm doing. I'm frustrated.

Coldplay is playing on my Walkman. Be Careful Where You Stand, from the album Parachutes.

Hmm...

It's distracting.

Here, I'm just going to quote half a sentence of Baudelaire's poem: ... The sweetness that charms, and the joy that destroys...

I'm in too deep. I don't even want to try pulling myself out.

SPM year, huh? Shit really happens.

Few months more... What will TIMBC 2013 bring? How will passing out be like? Where will I go next?

I always think too much and bring myself down.

This post is me, writing down whatever that comes to mind. No editing whatsoever, not even giving these words a second thought.

Pan's Labyrinth soundtrack is on. Beautifully haunting.

I had a hard time figuring out what was bothering me, but as I was out on the roof looking at the starless night sky, it hit me. I knew what was bothering me all along, I just didn't know how to put it into words-- I still don't.

Hmm mm mm mm mm mm hmm...

I'm scared of being thrown away a second time.

12 subjects, 5 months left. I'm aiming for... 7As. Hopefully, I'll be able to get at least 5.

If one day you wake up and find that you're missing me, and your heart starts to wonder where on this Earth I could be... Sorry, was singing in my head. Man Who Can't Be Moved, by The Script.

Will you wait for me?

Say what you need to say... Say what you need to say... Now, what song was that? I'm not really sure. I've heard it on the radio before, but it isn't in my music library. I wouldn't want it either. If I didn't download it in the first place, it means that I probably didn't like it.

I feel like listening to Suga Shikao's Kazenagi now. It always makes me want to cry. Crying at a time like this isn't a bad thing. I need to get the feelings out somehow. If I can't put them in words, might as well just let them come out as they are.

Never trust a happy song, eh? Suddenly, Grouplove's album just popped into my head.

This was a rather useless post. Sorry for wasting your precious time, dear reader. Time is important, and while you just wasted about one minute of your time reading this, the same minute could be used to save a person's life.

I'm always so pensive after my heart cracks.

I just realized that I'm upset. What an idiot!

Waking Up on the Wrong Side of the Bed

Clearly, I've woken up in a bad mental state. When all I should feel is overly-attached to my pillows, blankets and very soft bed, rolling in bed first thing in the morning seems to be the last thing on my mind at the moment. I could even feel the frown on my face. My eyebrows are a bit sore from joining together since I've yet to do my unhappy-face warm-ups-- after all, I just woke up.

I woke up on the wrong side of the bed-- literally. I tucked myself in nicely last night, sleeping in the center of my queen-sized mattress, but when I opened my eyes this morning, my legs were touching the cold tiles, only a part of my head was resting on the edge of the bed while some of it rested in thin air. Somehow, during my eight-hour sleep, I managed to rotate ninety-degrees.

"When you get yourself into a sticky situation, you can either try your best to pull yourself out or get sucked in deeper." I told myself a week ago. These days, my Facebook statuses are often pieces of my frustration. After updating each quotable status, I write a blog post with them as my base. Mum has been posting pictures of quotes on my wall; it seems that she gets the feeling that I have trouble letting go. I won't deny the fact that I have the memory of an elephant when it comes to regrets and mistakes, since I remember even the slightest distortion in my life from more than a decade ago. The reason why I can't forget is because I always want to undo the things I've done. I was a spoiled brat. I wish I hadn't jumped on the bed that afternoon, she wouldn't have... if I just listened to her and stopped jumping... Yes, I still remember very vividly the afternoon. Her, resting on the old mattress, the round-table lunch going on outside the door, laughter and very loud chatter... Blood, vomit, clanking of bowls, tears, flustered people and the guilt that enveloped my heart... Even as a child, I blamed myself.

I should stop.

Everything in life is temporary. So, if things are going good, enjoy it because it won't last forever. And if things are going bad, don't worry. It can't last forever either.

By posting that quote on my wall, my mum has made me ten times more depressed. It isn't a very positive post, if you ask me!

I want everything to last forever. That's just me. I believe that they can last forever. We just have to put effort in them, so they can continue to walk with us along our paths, be there until the very end. Sometimes, I'll desperately hold on to the things I don't want to lose, even after knowing that they're never coming back. I'm scared. I really am scared. It's only a matter of time before my ship gets wrecked again, I'm sailing right into the typhoon because I'm ridiculously courageous. I know what the outcome will be, yet I'm sailing full-speed ahead. Fuck myself, I know. This tantalizing taste of excitement is truly something that would cause the end of me someday.

Every time a person disappears from my life, my heart would break a little. No matter how insignificant or worthless they may be, I'd still feel hurt. I still have faith in humanity, if not, I wouldn't be this silly little girl that's still wearing rose-coloured glasses.

Thoughts in an Empty Shell

Thoughts in an Empty Shell 

Few days have gone,

much have changed,

yet once you have gone,

the house is empty again.

Now, 

you make me wonder who I am.

More heartbroken than I should have felt, 

more lonely than I thought I would be.

Cruel are the Gods.

I had lost everything I knew, 

then They sent you,

only to take you away so I'd fall yet again. 

Now,

I ask myself who I am.

Loner that feels no love?

One too broken and afraid to yearn for companionship.

Alone again,

not much have changed,

you are gone,

I am empty again. 

Now,

the night is quiet and still,

you are not here to call my name or lean or me...

Farewell, cousins! 

Minding Other People's Business

Honestly, I don't know what the media these days is up to. Have you guys read the news about a couple posting sex videos, erotic and nude pictures of themselves on their blog? I for one think that there is nothing wrong with doing that. The girl dreams to be a porn star after all, so who are we to judge?

Like Vivian (girl in the news)  said, it's okay for westerners to post nude pictures of themselves online but not for Asians? Well, hello Asian society, look at the world's largest population and we'll know who is horny. Hmph. In this country, I'm not sure whether the Malays are hornier or the Chinese... Judging by the population though, I'd say the Malays are more horny.

I find that all Asians are hypocrites. It's not that we are closed-minded--though most of the people in my town are--we just don't want to expose ourselves, and when some of us does, SOME people don't want to accept the truth that Asians are, well, not innocent.

Anyway, I'll be siding Vivian and her boyfriend on this one. I have two reasons, one of which isn't very valid at all. First, it's up to them if they want to 'share their love' all over the internet. I have no objections because I'd actually like to see a real couple having sex instead of porn stars overreacting in front of the camera. I would follow their blog, and I would have, if I had discovered it earlier OR if it wasn't forced to be shut down. I don't see why people need to make a big fuss out of this thing.

They say that our parents will be the ones who will be embarrassed the most when we do nonsense because they'll be blamed for not raising us properly. People, we all know that the wrong things that we do have NOTHING to do with the way our parents raised us; we have a mind of our own, and we know damn well that often we regret the things that we've done because of our parents. Really, whenever somebody does something wrong, their parents have absolutely no idea. The thing is, if nobody bothers to raise an issue, then nobody will get dragged into a big mess that's not going to benefit anyone!

Back to the topic, it's not nice to report someone when they post lovely pictures of themselves on the internet. I find Vivian cute, so it's totally fine for her to take erotic pictures of herself and posting it online; she'd be doing a whole bunch of people--myself included-- a huge favor. My wise brother once said: "Taking self portraits when you're ugly is a crime."

If people found her and her boyfriend's blog offensive, I wonder how they'd find ArielDogLover.com... TRUST ME, YOU DO NOT WANT TO CLICK ON THE LINK. Ever heard of zoophilia or bestiality? It's a love for animals... The kind of love you give to a lover, not your pet. Now, Google was the one who found that site, not me. Yes, I know, blame it on Google.

I asked mum what she thinks... I guess she's like any other auntie in he market. Sad. She says that Vivian is out of her mind, saying that she wants to star in porn. I don't see anything wrong with being a porn star =-= it's a job, isn't it? Once, I watched porn starring a college girl. When asked why she's doing it, she said that she needed money to buy textbooks... Just randomly mentioning... Anyway, I just had sushi and donburi.

I feel like posting a picture. I bought new shoes =] Totally irrelevant, I know.

Samedi (Saturday) Post

I landed myself on a part-time job as a librarian. I guess this is my first part-time job... But if you count being a translator at Obsession Scans a part-time job as well, then I guess being a librarian would be my SECOND job... Hmm...

I don't know what I want to write actually... We all know that I can't write with seriousness about myself because little me just isn't the practical type. Sometimes, I wonder if knocking my head too often when I was a baby loosened the screws in my head. 

I only work once a week, 4 to 5 hours on Saturday. The very kind and understanding owner of Smalltown-Books, Mr.Ing, says that I should focus on my schoolwork instead. I didn't tell him that I don't do my homework though, in case he thinks I'm a very irresponsible person... Well, there aren't any homework to begin with. I like being at the store; surrounded by more than 3000 books just makes me feel at home. My job is simple, and I get to read so many books... I'm so happy I could die! Although, looking through the bookshelves did give me a major headache... This could be a great start for me to improve my writing and find my own unique style of telling the story.

I learnt some French today =D

French sounds really fancy, probably because they add 'la', 'le' and 'les' in front of EVERYTHING... Almost everything... I actually don't know what the 'la', 'le' and 'les' are for, but if I guessed correctly then 'la' means the, 'le' is singular and 'les' is plural... I don't know... I read a French book for kids!

Today's post title also has a French word in it. Yep, 'Samedi' is Saturday in French. 

Bread is called 'le pain' in French. I told Zongxu that I wanted some 'le pain' and he smacked me--through the phone. Shorts are called 'le shorts'... I know... They just add a 'le' in front to make it sound all fancy, Haha. Cookies are called 'le biscuit'... Candies are called 'bonbons', which in my opinion, sounds really cute. Shower is called 'douche', which reminds me of douche-bags, and soap is 'savon'. An apple would be 'le pomme' and a pear is 'le paire', if I'm not mistaken. Ah, and a cat is 'le chat' which sounds a whole lot fancier than the evil creature deserves! Kittens are... well... 'les chatton'... Acorns are called 'le bud' for some reason. Ah, let's not forget 'le escargot', which means snail in English. Oh, oh, and 'le fromage'(cheese). 

Okay, I'll stop now. I want some bonbons. 

I wonder if I should take up French, haha. Looks easier than Japanese. A whole lot easier. I think I kinda get how French works already... It sounds kinda stuck up actually, the person who invented it must be a really proud person because it sounds like everything is being scorned at, that's what I think anyway. I haven't read about the French language on Wikipedia. 

My, my, it's getting late and I'm getting sick. I wonder if I am fit to parade tomorrow.

...

I lost you,

where are you,

I can't see you,

where is the light?

Turn on the lights,

I'm going round in circles,

just looking for you.

I can't feel anything,

I'm feeling with my hands,

where are the walls,

where are the floors?

Can't you hear me calling you?

Can't you feel my desperation and loneliness?

Where are you, I ask you again.

It's wet.

It's warm.

A dim light shines.

I see you.

You're lying on the floor,

knife in your hand.

It's your blood I felt.

I stand there.

I drop to my knees...

...

Well, how was that little thing I just wrote? It was inspired by the song 'Not Tomorrow' from the OST of Silent Hill. I've been playing that song on the piano since yesterday, and I just needed to express it with some words... I still haven't completed Silent Hill because I'm too scared to continue. I need someone to play with me, so I don't get scared alone!