Aeons

So I've stumbled upon this little gem and reading through the past has just made me cringe in equal amounts of embarrassment and appreciation. Was I really that apathetic? But then again, some of the things written here make me feel so nostalgic, so lost.

I really haven't written anything in a while. The only times I've ever done was compulsory work for assignments which were always filled with structure and a timbre as unemotional and austere as an empty room housing a single, lone metronome. The old bulky ones with that metal slider. I remember writing with a certain, ambivalent fondness. I always had quite a good grasp of vocabulary but most of the times I hardly knew what I was trying to write. Just a mis-match of things that sound good together so that I could at least pretend I was showing off. When in reality, I didn't even have anything to show off, let alone an audience to show off to. 

Looking back I realised that my hiatus was not without reason. I was off in my university studies, in the real world and not the locked cyberspace where cover charge is equal to hours lost on youtube and a fantasy that can never be true. I don't know if past-me really wanted to crawl into a hole. If she really wanted to run away or if she was just scared of running so she made up excuses. If everything really was all that bad. Looking back, I don't think I'll ever know.

I'm so different now.

Don't you ever think about how things happen and wonder how you could ever have been such a person in the past? Well that's my moment now. Being older and wiser - though not by very much, I think upon my past self and look down at her with a kind of strange, maternal clinging. Some aspect of pity but a selfless, forgiving mercy that bears little resemblance to the apathy I was so contained in. A more acknowledging of how I continued to play victim-somewhat; where I would yell to the hilltops, pretending I had some kind of dank poetic depression hidden inside me that I was capable of unleashing. That 'thing' - that black dog was just never there. I think I just loved the idea of it being present - like a little girl forbidden from a puppy but wishing for it so fervently that I created those posts. Reading back, very angsty they were indeed.

So here's to the new age. 

Here's to less pathetic ramblings and personal grievings. 

Your life is not that bad, nor is mine.  

I apologise for everything I've said in the past but I have to admit, they are quite amusing to read. 

I was so naive.

I don't know if I will continue this quiet, miserable thing. Maybe change it up a little.

No one need know.

and Oh, I've gotten over that kpop stuff.

Gotten over and gotten old. 

Ages

So really, it's been a while... hasn't it?

It's been so long that I can't remember what state of mind I was in when I was last here, typing away my woes - just like this time. It seems like I can always be counted on to faithfully and oh-so loyally to return to this blog when I'm in dire need of counselling... which surprisingly isn't all the time.

So what is it this time? - she'd ask with her pen poised to scribble enigmatically on some ambiguous clipboard. I've decided that the clipboard will be a red, one of those scarlet, burning colours that makes your skin tremble at how closely it resembles the falling of light on blood in a dark night. Yeah, that kind of red.

So I uncross my legs, look down at sweaty palms that aren't really all that sweaty and tell her.

I think my life is fine, but I'm a coward. The problems I am facing shouldn't be that much of an issue but I can't seem to solve them.

Number 1. I've found a job...
It's not one that I particularly like... but I don't really hate it either. I mean, I'm getting paid and all but I'm not enjoying it. See, just like everyone else that's a silent sufferer. Today on my shift, I was told by the manager that I can't talk to my coworkers... Like, seriously. I can't even have a nice chat to the girl that works with me - like, what degree of Nazism is that. And the place I work isn't even that shady - it's a clothes store for crying out loud. I can't even have friends visit me and we can't even have a conversation like that. The job is smothering me and I'm too much of a coward to leave.
And just tonight, maybe at 7-ish - I found that I had two missed calls from them and it already began to make my skin crawl. This is so wrong. So unhealthy. I shouldn't be afraid to answer calls from work. I shouldn't be afraid of talking to my manager. I shouldn't be dreading my next shift.
What am I even afraid of anyway?

Number 2. Friends...
Ever since graduating high school, I (naturally and obviously) don't see my friends as often anymore. Even the people that I'd just say 'Hi' to in the hallways are now absent which is something that shouldn't concern me at all. But being absent, they've really made me think how much I took it all for granted. Do you know how hard it is to organise something where all your friends can't see each other at the one place and one time? It takes so much time, so much effort and limitless communication to get it right - all of the things which I do not have and cannot give. It's perverse really... I want to see them but I can't be bothered. I want to let them know that I care, really, but in all honesty, I really don't that much. I want to know these people and be a part of their lives but how can I do that when I am barely a part of mine?

Number 3. Results...
I've always been a 'results' oriented person. I strive for success by cheating the system, beating it to pulp and running rings around it. So, imagine my despondency when this time round, those tactics which are all I know, can't seem to save me from myself. I keep thinking that I'm not good enough - that I'll never be where they want me to be. The results I got from the test that ultimately defines the future for a highschool student was on the good-side but it's not what I wanted. I wanted something practical and instead, I was given a number. And when I cast it away, I seem ungrateful and condescending - knowing that others would be more appreciative if they were in my shoes. I ask myself all the time whether I am good enough or not and the answer pains me.
Really, I don't know.


I was on the bus to work this morning. I've always been an advocator of greener methods of transportation - not specifically because they benefit the environment, though that's certainly a plus, but because they are slow and primitive and they give our minds time to think.

Walking is the best way, or bicycle riding. The feeling of being carried, of carrying yourself to a place far away and independent. I was on this bus trip that gave me 40 mins of that feeling before the horror set in once I was in view of my workplace, but prior to that, I would think.

I had a strange thought today. Suddenly about the Hail Mary. I can't remember why but upon recitation of the prayer the line 'pray for us sinners now, and at the time of our deaths' stood out to me in one way of another. Looking out the window and pressing closer as the bus turned a round-about, I thought, then the Blessed Virgin would be praying for us every second of the day, because in every living moment we have, a little part of us dies somewhere, somehow.

Maybe it was abused. Maybe it was neglected, or kidnapped by a trapiezing masked villain. But that part of you just vanishes into non-existence and you don't even notice that it's dead.

You don't even realise that the Holy Mother is weeping and chanting for you, because there in you, lies a little corpse that you can never be free of. Rotting and stagnating inside - till it becomes you. And that's when you truly die.

Does this mean that I'm technically counted as 'dead' too?

The frenzied chaotic look that Pianists stare down upon at their fingers.

Lana Del Rey is just so gorgeous it fucking hurts.

After listening to her song, Ride and Summertime Sadness, there's this overwhelming desire that washes over me craving for escape. And this feeling is once more magnified as I am in the throes of feeling poorly sentimental, like creatures burying water in the sand before the drought, hiding relics under the ground for strangers to tread upon them mercilessly.

I want to run away from it all, but I'm a fucking coward. It will never happen for me.

Where would I go? I'm not dreamer enough, I lack a dreamer's courage - unchained by reality and rational thoughts of money, of possibilities and most of all, of the consequences. As much as I want to run, I have no where to go. No place will take me and so I am trapped. A pathetic weed forever cursed to remain their whole existence in the same unmoving plane of thought, of tangible physicality.

I would love to run.

Pity though,

I'd run out of breath.

Pen down a new MEMO

So I was contemplating how the best of my stuff - stuff as in terms of writing and work, always blurts out of me when it's like this: where I don't have to think too hard or worry too much about how to write it or who will read it. It always sounds the most convincing, the most authentic that I feel almost obliged to continue. It's like I'm sticking a large neon sign up on my forehead that flashes, 'look! no Bullshit here!' while I type because as much as I'd hate to admit it, there's freaking bull everywhere, even in my head, even when I type it down here and hope to god to convince some poor victim otherwise. I imagine it would have just as large a flashing sign, if not more monstrous than the one occupying my head-space reading, just as rambunctiously, 'No, she's fucking lying. There's bullshit everywhere. Watch your step.'

And it's true. Partially. The part that I say I'm lying bit. I don't know where it comes from but lies just slip out of my mouth like it had been impregnated into the damned orifice before I was born and is now just escaping after years and years of abuse. I honestly cannot help it sometimes, it's so strange and sometimes even sounds natural. I read somewhere shady that this flow of superfluous trash is due to my starsign, Gemini. Apparently because I am graced with a horoscope of the twins, I all of a sudden am magically embodied to be a pathological Bull-shit advisor and which is only one of my flamboyant and obnoxious attributes. Apparently, I also like to talk and be 'social' at parties, I'm intelligent, like my books and enjoy long nights drenched in chocolate behind a stereo system blooming the blues and a dozen exotic pets, excluding a toucan, because we all know toucans are overrated.

I've always wanted a toucan...

Actually. no. not really...

See? bullshit everywhere.


Watch your step.

ERROR: Apology DENIED

So I had QCS (sort of like university entrance exams) today and when I came home everything was all a blur. It wasn't even that significant. Then one thing led to another and somehow, I found you again, after a long daydream and inexplicable twists and turns of neglect.

Then all of a sudden, I just thought about books and how I've been meaning to finish reading some but never get to it. I have this massive pile on my bed next to by pillow featuring Nabokov and Schlink - I started reading Thomas Mann's Death in Venice and I'm slowly working my way through Anais Nin's erotica 'Delta of Venus' which is alright I guess.

I wonder what other people are reading. Are they enjoying it or is it out of duty. Are they even reading? I've always wanted to read something that was satisfying but I'm not too sure where I can find something like that. I need something I can cherish and adore - like an idol (*cough* kpop idol *ahdjkadklsajk*)

And then that leads me off a tangent to talking about what I actually - well not really, wanted to say before I was so rudely interrupted by my digression:

That split second before someone smiles - the gorgeous transition before a somber, sober face to the euphoria that is contained within their features, the crinkle of skin as a smile is let loose into the world. I just want to revel in it, to lie and watch it all day. I find it so attractively alluring that I completely melt into the folds of my flesh and buckle at the knees. It's like I suck in a desperate breath every time someone breaks into a cheeky grin. But I'd have to acknowledge it only works with some people. It's that moment that flashes by before they turn from indifferent to happy that I am utterly bound like a hopeless drunk. I contend myself to be quite the purest of hearts and I think this, along with holding hands is the best that humanity has to offer its lovers.

If you don't know what I'm talking about, I have some to show you:

Call me a fangirl - and I am, but these gifs are just gorgeous.

Waaaaaaahhhhhhh... kpop why do you do this to me...

Hey Jude, Don't Make it Bad.

... Hi.


So I'm feeling a little confused and despondent. It's always like this on the day of my birth. Yes. Today is my birthday and I spent the most of the day replying to birthday wishes on my facebook page, wishing me things like 'have a great day' and 'lots of love', but ironically, I think today is when I feel it the least.

A few minutes ago, my parents sang me happy birthday and cut up the cake. I just left them happy in the living room as I walked back to my room barefoot carrying my slippers in my hand. It was like I was bi-polar; smiling at them, grinning like an idiot, to then shedding silent tears onto the dinner table. Somehow, I love my parents for loving me, but sometimes, I just hate my existence. I hate my birthday. It's when I feel the love is most forced.


My brother went out of his way to walk by a supermarket after school to get me a cake. It was a nice chocolate mud cake but a cheap one that smelt of overused baking soda and oil and he beamed with pride as he showed it to me, but it's the only nice thing he's done for me all year. Three petty candles were placed on my cake. I had a sudden urge to immolate all the supermarket brochures lying carelessly on the table and burn the whole house down. Thoughts like these scare myself, but I'm sure it would all be over in a few minutes. The 'family thing' only lasted about 10.


Dad told me to make a wish. I had to say two outloud and the third I kept for myself. In that instant I thought about how stupid wishes were and how I needed THREE of them. Why three? Isn't that a blatant suggestion that the wishes itself are useless - refuting the very purpose of their existence. If I needed three, then the things I'm wishing for are pointless. They should be precious, but they're not. I wanted to cry.

I sat there thinking about what wishes I'd make. The candles burned away and I tapped at the burnt wick with a knife and it fell onto the cake. It swiped the ash off and hope that whoever was lucky enough to receive the contaminated piece would just gorge themselves on my misery and combust so that I'd be free of worry. A gory image appeared in my mind and I blinked it away with melacholic apathy. I remained silent. Dad stood beside me, energetic. 'You made a wish yet?'. 'No'.

I wanted the candles to burn out and melt over the cake so that no one had to eat it and live my dilemma, and so that I didn't have to blow it out and make a wish but then dad kept urging me to make a wish. I hoped that tomorrow would be a fine day. I hoped the day after would be a fine day. I hoped the day after that would be fine also. After I made them I blew out the candle and my heart sank in my chest. I wondered if they were a waste. The sun had better be there waiting for me tomorrow or else I will seriously slit my writst.


I could've hoped for health. For my family to be safe, happy and healthy but oh, no. I fucked that shit up big time. I could've wished for my aunt to get better. I could've wished for a high OP to get into university but you know what. FUCK THAT. FUCK ALL OF IT. I just want to sleep and never wake up. I thought from previous years, they'd understand why I hate my birthday so much. I've always hated it. Always. Ever since they instilled in me the importance of self-sacriffice and money, I've always hated my birthday. It's like I don't deserve to be happy.


Another thing which angers me is the little effort my friends go to make my feel better. I'd much rather them forget than wish me well and be on their way when I go out of my way to buy presents and give them actual, and unforced love. I don't know how this thing works. I hate being 17. I've never even had a birthday party. I'm a fucking selfish little brat. I want to die in a hole. I want to never wake up. I want to put my head in gas and die like Lux Lisbon. I want people to go away. To just go the hell away.

Fukced up.

Yeah, so my family life is so messed up. I'm sorry for neglecting you in this way but today is the breaking point of all my agony and frustration and though I can't really 'let it all go', I can write it down... for therapeutic reasons obviously.

Well, on April the 12th, or 11th... maybe 9th- It was April, early April and the holidays had started to separate Term1 from Term2. My family, having emigrated to Australia from Taiwan, has this annual obligation to return to our home country to visit family and what not- Just in case the oldies die or so they say.

Obviously, the flights are always booked months in advance with money the family doesn't really have but because we're an Asian family, what the elders say: 'I want to fucking see my descendents so that I can fucking yell at them for not getting in Med School before I die!' - goes.

Anyway, because the flights are extremely expensive, my mother thought it'd be a good idea to take a detour to Tokyo because apparently, it costs the same amount even if we didn't go. So, being the cheapskates we are- we went to Tokyo for 6 days. The hotel- if you could even call it a hotel- actually, it was more of a cesspit fit for mice- which we paid rather expensively for, was extremely welcoming and the people- Oh you Tokyians are just so lovely, you. Makes me want to drop another freaking atomic bomb and form maybe a Peace Park in Ueno, so that all of you can learn about the superiority complex you have over other fellow Asians. Fakku you all.

I digress, Tokyo was not enjoyable and it was a complete waste of money. We then flew to Taipei, where the rest of my family was and evereything was fine and dandy until the last day. I love you God... I love you a lot, but why do you have to be such a bitch sometimes.

My aunty, who is only 45 and extremely healthy, suffered a stroke. My mother had to remain behind in Taiwan, while my brother and I flew back to Australia by ourselves. Everyone was so strong in that time and I admire my amazing aunty so so much. Her daughter is only 9 and she keeps such a strong face for everyone. My aunty had to have a brain operation and then a heart operation and as such, her left side suffered terrible compromise. Currently, she is receiving treatment in physio and rehab of her muscles to learn how to do the things we all take for granted.

At the airport while my brother and I arrived in Australia, my dad arrived late to pick us up. We didn't have any money on us and were worried we'd have to live in the airport like Hanks in The Terminal, seeing as it just had been broadcast on TV, a few days prior to our departure. My father stayed behind in Australia because he had to work for the dollars we were spending. I know he hates the job he currently has but he never complains. He works the afternoon shift, from 2pm to 10pm but doesn't actually get home till about 10.30 the earliest. My brother and I usually are in bed before then and so in the time that our mother was away, we could pass weeks without ever seeing dad. Which was good I guess, because everyone was so tired of life.

I had packet noodles for a week and sometimes didn't even bother with lunch.

Money continued to be a bitch and sometimes dad forgot to pay the bills because now that mum wasn't in Australia, she couldn't work and she was the one who paid the bills. We were lucky we still had running water. Our family suffers from the middle class discrimination all other families like us have to endure. We are the ones paying the taxes but always just above the mark to receive the benefits. So we work tirelessly, often in self-apathy and always in shame.

I tried to pray for my aunt as best as I could and sometimes I just gave up and couldn't be bothered. My brother didn't bother either. In that time, we weren't really on good terms. I feel that he's spoiled and never has any pressure to do anything right while I pile the weight of responsibility onto my shoulders like a masochist. He makes me out to be some kind of monster that tortures him and we argue all the time - not friendly banter the Brady Bunch suffices to, but swearing and screaming and the little old lady who lives next door has to listen to it all and I feel awkward talking to her the next day.

None of my friends know this. How can they help. Why would they even want to know. No one fucking cares.

Today, a few minutes ago, I broke down crying. It was after my mum drove dad to the airport to go back to Taiwan. Turns our his sister has breast cancer. He was talking about leaving us kids and going back to look after his family. I felt so betrayed. When he left, it was just my brother and I at home. I cried so hard until I couldn't breathe through my nose, until a scratching itch nestled itself into my throat and until even the teardrops took pity and left my eyes. I felt so empty. I cried cos they couldn't hear. I cried because my dad was leaving again. I hate it when he does that. Ever since I can remember, my dad's never been a part of my life, always in a different country looking after some strange affair, always absent. And to make up for the whole, my mother had to rip herself into two and patch up what was missing and in that, she had to compromise herself. She was too busy trying to make things better that she wasn't a part of my life either.

I don't want to make it sound like I'm complaining but I can't help it. I know I'm better off than the orphans in those developing countries, disabled and begging for food, but somehow, I just want to be selfish and worry about my life.

I just want to sleep and never wake up.