Zestless Zephyr

2008-11-10T22:00:00.004+13:00

I saw this on PostSecret today. It made me wonder if this person was trying to justify her suffering by putting down those whose lives are a walk in the park. Or a case of sour grapes, because she could not live that way?

The sweetest thing in life is to emerge triumphant at the end of the tunnel, having defeated the troubles that plague you. This way, life would have greater meaning, as we have experienced the double-sidedness of life.

But what about those who are lucky enough never to be beset by misfortune, and continue soar and achieve greater heights without once meeting a giant stumbling block? I don't think anyone would complain against having that kind of destiny.

Life's just that way and everyone has different fortunes. We may do all we can to justify them, but in the end, those justifications serve no more purpose than to console ourselves (if we think we're unfortunate) or stroke our own ego (if we think we're fortunate).

2008-11-06T20:49:00.003+13:00

I may have forgotten how to read, but I haven't forgot how to laugh.

Next up, Life Lessons From The Mother - if I feel like writing.

Preparing for exams is killing me (especially for goddamn genetic engineering!). I painstakingly read my course notes until I get a headache which mysteriously manages to creep to my throat. I kid you not. I strain to read so much at times that I end up with a sorethroat.

It's 1 week and 2 days to go before the end of the education phase of my life! I'm a little sad it has to end on such a bad note, but relieved that it is anyway, considering I had been at it for the past 16 years or so. My brain's had enough!

Here's to hoping I'd manage to scrape through the other 2 exams (I've conquered 2 already - kudos to myself). Cheers *glugs*

I'm Suicidal

2008-10-20T16:19:00.003+13:00

It's the last month of the semester and there's a cavalcade of assignments and exams to be done with before I can finally reach the end of this torment. I slog for each of them - each time getting mentally burnt out quickly and having to force myself to nap in a state of frustration and despair. It's not like the work I have to do is difficult - if you're familiar with me and my multitude of idiosyncrasies by now, you should know it's the doggone reading problem.

So after today's assignment was finished, I fell into a deep state of despaired reverie, thinking what have I turned out to be and what will I become in the future. Things have not been fine for the longest time ever - no doubt there have been fluctuations and I have had some good moments in between - but in general, I feel very mentally and emotionally crippled to go on living this life. It is very cliched, but I often wonder what's the point to continue living?

I've labelled myself the love scavenger because it's exactly what I do. I scavenge from anyone, anywhere who can afford to give me some random display of affection. I'm a person who can't function without getting some solid love from the outside world, despite having a family who has smothered me with love (notwithstanding the father); and I've become convinced that my many strange problems stem from the fact that I'm deprived of love, not unlike a little child who has been abandoned by parents and grows up psychologically troubled.

I know, you might wonder, why can't you try to be independent? I guess that's not how I'm wired - I'm an emotionally dependent person as Hong so aptly put it. I'm not like my sister, who's very socially awkward, but is quite happy to live in her solitary bubble as long the family is still there to be her backbone.

I am alone right now and flailing and gasping for air every single minute (except when I'm inebriated). I've been deserted by two boyfriends in the span of a year and it has left me with a gaping wound to tend to, emotionally. I'm lacking friends because I don't know how to socialize.

Since socializing and reading are two of the most fundamental skills required in life, and I'm struggling with them now, then, yes, what's the point?

You might wonder how exactly is it that I scavenge for love, since we all know that scavenging is actually the term coined for tramps looking around in the trash for anything that might be useful to them in their pitiful, destitute lives. Well, obviously I look for the ex (the one that lives in NZ), but I'm lucky if I can get the scraps of his time. I'd log on to MSN and talk to people whom I hardly know, hoping to get some of those emoticon hugs and cuddles. I'd send out a flurry of texts across this part of the globe, for the sake of the little joy everytime a text pops in my inbox. But like the tramp, these are means by which I just get by in life, they barely nourish me in my hunger for love.

Please love me.

2008-10-16T23:47:00.003+13:00

I pity my mom. Everytime I cried piteously in a state of drunkenness, she would be there patting me and crying for me. I didn't want her to see me in this state, so i ordered her to leave....

Poor mother. What kind of daugher did you give birth to? I'm so sorry.

After Sundown

2008-10-12T19:42:00.004+13:00

After writing the previous post, and reading it to check for errors with some difficulty, I tried to commit myself to my homework. Barely half an hour later I am scrunching my face in agony and tears are pouring down my face non-stop. To read each word hurts me and to read many thousands more can only cause the agony to mount even further and the tears to flow unhaltingly.

It's been a year since this reading problem came back in full-force. And yet, it has never failed to make me feel like a freak, a wretch, a failure each time it accosts me. What's wrong with me? Am I the only person in this whole wide world with such an anomaly?

Only a month to go before my uni life ends, and I can't bear to imagine the amount of suffering I have to endure in that period. The fact that uni is ending soon isn't any consolation at all when I feel like I have lost one of the most basic skills to live. What happened?

Bounce-back Sunday

2008-10-12T18:46:00.004+13:00

After the many drinking sessions, my sleep these days have featured lengthy, detailed dreams about things done, undone, and waiting to be done in real life. In them, I lived my life with much gusto: I severely chastised my dad for his lack of emotional presence in the family and for being a pretty crap father in general; my mom and aunts weren’t spared the tongue-lashings either for the way they brought me up and made me turn out the way I am. But it wasn’t all ugly though: I carried out day-to-day tasks with great aplomb, without anxiety being a pesky hindrance; I laughed and socialized with much joie de vivre; and loved and made love with reckless abandon. My life in dreams has been a substitute for the life that I want to live in reality, but have not been able to.

So this morning, I woke up rather perky, uplifted by my alternate reality and quite frankly, sick of the drunken slothfulness that I had been engaging in in the past couple of days. I hadn’t showered in two days so I stepped into the bathroom and had the most invigorating steaming hot shower that I greatly relished. The therapeutic effects of scalding water thundering upon and cascading down your body, the hazy steam swirling and dancing about you and the peaceful emptiness of your thoughts as you carry out the familiar routine of washing yourself, is really second-to-none.

And boy, I sure needed that shower. The two days of not showering had left my hair in a greasy limp state, the unremoved makeup from my face being the catalyst for more angry pimples, and my body emanating various odours that only someone head-over-heels crazy for me could adore (pheromones!). After the corporeal spring-cleaning, I spruced up and gave myself a good grooming down. A few hours later, I was ready to step out of the house.

I initially (and with great reluctance) intended on going to university for a gym session and starting on my mountain of assignments. So I boarded the bus with fatigue and arrived there with still greater fatigue and forced myself to pound the treadmill. I hadn’t been to the gym in a week and had forgotten the miraculous effects that a mere 20 minutes of running would provide: a satisfying trickle of sweat down my body leaving a healthy sheen on my skin, and the flow of endorphins that would buoy me for a couple of hours afterwards, at most.

There was this song in my iPod – Papa Roach’s Last Resort that I had been refraining from listening to, lest it drag me deeper into a negative state of mind. But listening to it while running today was surprisingly gratifying because it truly reflected my sentiments of late – that I was in great agony and suicide was a very appealing way to end it. Contrary to what you may think, the suicidal ideations that depressed people have aren’t actually bad, because in a perverse way, it gives them hope that their suffering could come to an end. And when the ray of hope shines through, we actually want to do something positive about our lives rather than ending it. Bad roundabout explanation maybe, but hope you guys get it.

I already knew that I would be abandoning my plan of studying at uni after gym. Coincidentally, Hong was in town and we had a quick first-time real-life meeting after a year of randomly meeting via Friendster and subsequently being MSN buddies. That was cool since we had wanted to meet for a while but never quite got down to it. The highlight of my day, really, was the sporadic affectionate hair ruffles he gave me :D After a year of listening to me whine about how deprived of love I was and how I had a tendency to beg and scavenge for scraps of love from random people, he, out of the blue, pulled me to his chest and gave my hair a good ruffle. Aw. Being the awkward one that I am, I said it felt weird doing that because we weren’t a couple, so he stuck to exceedingly platonic hair ruffles after that >.<

We had milk tea, deciding to brave the melamine-tainted milk fiasco, but found out that they tasted rather odd (though it’s probably not melamine-related). Hong announced that this had put him off milk tea for a while, and I certainly wasn’t going to visit that place ever again. We sojourned to Dunkin Donut’s afterwards, where he and his entourage bought truckloads of them back to where they came from: Christchurch. Apparently, Christchurchians (I made that name up) are so deprived of DDs that when they pop by Auckland, they have to buy them as though DDs was The Souvenir of Auckland. After an hour of so of our rendezvous, we said our goodbyes as he boarded his shuttle headed for the airport. No more hair ruffles :(

And so, after this relatively eventful and unslothful day, I walked back home with a slight spring in my step. Being the monkey-see-monkey-do person that I am, I had bought my share of half a dozen DDs as well. My lifestyle of the past week,where I had avoided gym and sat on my laurels drinking, had added a kg to my weight, and after devouring my decadent purchase tonight, I’m sure I’d add another.

Note to self: remember the benefits of running (shedding kgs and piling on endorphins) and do it as much as possible.

Chronicles of an alcoholic

2008-10-11T13:07:00.005+13:00

I guess I portray the image of someone who drinks her days away, since most most my posts are written in a drunken stupor. That is quite true now, but more importantly, I can only be fucked to write when I'm buoyed by alcohol.

Does that make me a good-for-nothing person when I drink so much? I'd like to think that I have been a good girl in attending most of my classes the whole week, and suffered much in the process, and that I deserve it on a Friday night. However, that may not be true now, as I discover that I'm slowly succumbing to hedonism and wanting to be as pain-free as possible.

I drank on a Thursday night, on a Friday, and am now drinking on a Saturday afternoon. I can't justify my drinking anymore in the way some people drink after a hard day's work to unwind. I can't say that my drinking sessions are deserved after a stipulated amount of hard work.

All I know is that I drink because my yesterdays were painful. The pain spilled over to the current day, deeply burning into my memory, so that I needed to banish it from the forefront of my thoughts. Yesterday I was traumatised by my lab because I couldn't read the simple instructions without the jitters in my hands. I was traumatised when I went shopping with a friend by the vast array of items for sale available everywhere that it made me confused. Pah... small insignificant worries you may say. But you could not imagine the horrible suffering I had to endure during these simple day-to-day events. Put yourself in my shoes and you would begin to wince as I do and eventually turn to the bottle.

..........

I'm a terrible writer. I can hardly string my thoughts together to come up with coherent sentences and paragraphs. And it's not because I'm drinking. It's this fucking anxiety and self-consciousness that has robbed me away of all my faculties. Things that should be so easy and can be accomplished at the blink of an eye or a snap of the fingers, I find them terribly difficult.

I often write my blog in my mind and hope that when I'm up to it, I could type them out in the way I had written it so fluently in my mind. But it never works out that way. As I'm writing this, I am frustrated at my lack of articulateness and even thought about deleting this blog for good. I had told myself countless times that this blog would be an avenue to chronicle my life and that I shouldn't be worried about the expectations of readers. But it didn't work. I stumbled many a time as I wrote this.

Sigh if only there was some way where my thoughts could be accurately transduced into written form. Then I would be able to tell you the many fascinating thoughts that crossed my mind. Like how when this morning I woke up and saw my mug on the coffee table. There it was standing alone: a receptacle for carrying liquids for my consumption. But it has a 5 year history behind it - it was bought by me and my aunt when I first immigrated over here. My aunt has since passed away, but the mug still stood there unfazed and proud. Over the years it has carried various innocuous drinks, but lately this has been replaced by alcoholic drinks. Thats how this mug has evolved in the past 5 years: the humans associated with it have changed in many ways, but it per se hasn't changed at all - only its contents.

Leave me to this pleasant haze of surreality now. I regret that I haven't been able to express my thoughts and feelings as I would have liked to. There are so many things to be regretted. But why regret, when we can live for the present moment? And thats how I chose to do it - clutching my mug filled with this potion that I think is the key to the shackles that so weigh me down in life, and lets me be free.

The not-so-well laid plans

2008-10-04T01:19:00.007+13:00

Goodness gracious what are some of you still doing here? Don't you know that commitment always results in an innate desire to avoid it? I said I would fill out that post below, and indeed I did write it out in my mind many a time, but I guess nothing I write could ever do justice to the oomph of the title. That, coupled with the knowledge that my blog is another of those meandering things that try to justify my pathetic little life.

Life, as usual, has been pretty crap. I struggled to complete this psych essay, and in the end handing it in 2 days late - not because of a lack of time, but a very significant mental block which disenabled me to understand any of the journal article crapology i was reading. The suffering that I endured - wanting to sleep to avoid it, setting the alarm at every few hours only to turn it off and go back to sleep, and in the end struggling to get through the very last hurdles - was something that I didn't wanna relive.

So, today on a Friday night, I indulged in a bit of angry rebellion at the ugliness of my life and turned to the bottle. Almost the entire bottle of vodka has been drunk and 3 movies (PS I Love You, Momento and Paris Je t'aime - highly recommended!) have been watched with a lot of pondering about life in between. Not the regular person's idea of a fun Friday night, but it satisfies me nonetheless: couldn't ask for more.

Let's meander now to the fact that I have been commanded by my psychologist to think more positively. On that note:

I will have a beautiful life, but I can only somehow see it materialize by peeking through the curtains of intoxication. I've got it all sketched out though, I only pray that I would have the gumption to see them through.

Okay whatever that means. Take care. XO

The love scavenger

2008-09-06T12:51:00.003+12:00

This is a commitment to write a full post elaborating the title. Right now I'm feeling under the weather - haven't had my dose of storybook-reading, and riddled with anxiety for reading other stuff - so I'm gonna go back to sleep hugging my bear, despite it being 1 in the afternoon.

2008-09-05T22:05:00.005+12:00

Haha I'm a Neatorama junkie - there's always some fascinating trivia there to blow me away. The latest is about mental savants: people who are on-the-whole disabled/retarded but possess superhuman mental abilities that you can only dream of having. Fictional superpowers from Heroes, step aside, for here are the real-life ones who can read, remember, calculate, play music with preternatural aptitude. But, with the unfortunate strings of cliche attached to the human condition: with great power comes great sacrifice. But still, these savants provide bristling evidence of the remarkable possibilities of the human brain, and the study of them trembles with the possibility of creating savants without the concomitant sacrifice of all other faculties just for one astounding, superhuman one (anyone up for knocking your brains out in exchange for the ability to memorize phone books?).

Eugenics

2008-09-04T20:57:00.004+12:00

Here's an article about the birth of the eugenics movement in that country which everyone seems to put on a pedestal, and which spread to the hands of Adolf Hitler who blew it into, literally, genocidal proportions. This happened less than a 100 years ago. Who knew that social mores could be so easily mutable within the span of a century? Or do they still lurk beneath the apparent political correctness and altruism that currently hold sway? I, for one, am a bit of a eugenic: I profess to be a feeble-mind and don't think I deserve to procreate. However, I think that in the end, I should be allowed to have the choice; the so-called powers-that-be right-types do NOT have a say on the reproductive abilities of the wrong-types. They had no right to go messing around with the testicles and fallopian tubes of those deemed 'unfit'. Thank god, a century later, it seems our mindsets have been righted, but there is still a lot that needs tweaking.

2008-09-04T19:53:00.002+12:00

Today I caught a whiff of a scent that is strongly reminiscent of heady lust and weak-kneed anticipation... but it just made my heart bleed.

What's new

2008-09-01T19:45:00.005+12:00

I added this music playing thingy at the side to share with you my love of music. Music has been my salvation during these tumultuous times, and it's never failed to cheer me a tad when I'm listening to my iPod while walking on the quiet streets. A few numbers are just orgasmic, others evoke a deepseated nostalgia, and still others have lyrics that just ring true with respect to my life.

So although my sis mentions how she hates blogs with music on them, and I've to admit I do too, I really wanna add another flavour to this blog of mine - and that is by letting you guys listen to what I like listening to.

But... at the moment it seems like it's not working. *tears hair out* If it still doesn't, I'll try to work it out next time. *hangs head in failure*

EDIT: I've removed the music playing thingy out of a whim, simply because I think its colours don't match my colour-revamped blog. Go pink :P

In Memoriam

2008-09-01T18:20:00.004+12:00

Yesterday was the first anniversary of my aunt's death. You are often in my thoughts and dreams. We dearly miss you.

2008-08-27T13:38:00.001+12:00

Tears are stinging my eyes as I am pushing myself to go a lil further, despite screaming inside that I don't wanna do this anymore.

2008-08-27T12:39:00.002+12:00

There's officially something wrong with me today. I just woke up from my nap and all I wanna do is sleep again. My test is in 3 hours.

2008-08-27T11:13:00.003+12:00

Uh oh I have a seriously bad case of apathy. I have a test in 5 hours and I'm barely prepared and I don't seem to care.

I. am. just. so. burnt. out.

Had a few thoughts that I wanted to pen down, but apathy got in the way too.

Anyway, my hit counter tells me that I have a tiny stream of visitors coming here. Most of you I probably don't know, and whatever you may read about my life here, I hope you wouldn't judge too much okay?

Have a nice life, strangers and friends alike. I might take a nap now, if my conscience would allow it.

2008-08-25T07:22:00.005+12:00

I've just pulled an all-nighter and managed to finish my essay (thank god) and I'm almost done with studying for my test. But I'm just so so so sad right now, as I usually am when I'm reading for academic reasons. I don't know what in the world went wrong with my brain to cause this debilitating disruption in my reading ability. Then I start comparing with the days of yonder when reading was such a breeze, so automatic, so mindless, and I worry and panic about my current state. I know I've been through all this before and I've persevered, even succeeded with flying colours. But it's just not the same anymore compared to my whizz-kid days. I hardly register what I'm reading and studying has boiled down to mechanical rote-learning; it's almost as though I have no brains at all to understand all this stuff. Don't know what to do about it except put my nose to the grindstone and keep going at it in a desperate daze, and if it gets really bad rely on the trickle of endorphins after a run. Right now I'm going to take a power nap and wake up to finish my last lecture and cram all my notes in a few hours before the test starts. Somehow I'm rather proud of myself for managing to accomplish all this despite having thought I had little time left and basically stewing in deep shit. *pats self* :)

2008-08-24T10:59:00.003+12:00

This morning I woke up and started thinking that my life couldn't get any crappier than this. I'm not making much progress on my work, and frankly, I'm much too down to get into a frenzied rush despite having so little time left. I realized too that within a span of 1.5 years, I've lost 3 people dear to me: my aunt died and I broke up twice; and each of them have been an enormous blow to me and have taken a great toll on my well-being.

When you've lost as much as I do, you start to be grateful for the littlest things that you do have. Everyday I go through the rituals of counting my blessing: for the remainder of my family still alive (yet, I know I have little time left - everyone is getting on in years); for limbs that are still intact and a general state of physical well-being (after studying biomed and psychology for this many years, you start to appreciate how easily things can go wrong with the body); for being financially comfortable and having a roof over my head and material things served on a platter to me; for having the pleasure of reading a good book with minimal evil, intrusive thoughts; for the companionship of a handful of friends that I have. I am fervently thankful for these things, but yet it's not enough to make me feel much better. Because right now, my mental health has gone to the dogs.

Well, there is a sliver of a highlight to my weekend though. After the breakup, I unwittingly developed a roving eye for the opposite sex - I'd like to justify it by saying that as females we have limited validity periods and can waste no time in finding a mate >.< Anyway, there was this guy that I've had my eye on for a while - initially by the virtue of both of us always sitting in the back row of the lecture theatre, more often than not disinterested or snoozing on the table; then after that I thought he was actually kinda cute now that I'm single. We had barely talked and I didn't think he even knew my name, but lo and behold, he added me on Facebook last night. But he's got a gf wtf.

Hah you see how the silliest, most trivial things can please me? However, I'm in no way looking forward to be in another romantic relationship soon, whoever may come my way. I can't bear to suffer another heartbreaking loss. And I'm inclined to agree with Edward that I'm not suitable to be in a relationship. Heck, I'd always knew that even before I hooked up with him; but now, it's a case of once bitten twice shy. Enough is enough.

All I want from life now is just to curl up and burrow under the covers with an enjoyable book. I'm contented living vicariously through storybooks - they can give me all the love and freedom and zest that the real world could never offer me. At least not now for sure.

There's nothing like...

2008-08-24T01:49:00.002+12:00

good, humorous chick lit to bat away the blues. I've never had so many amused chortles and snorts out of a book, and that's Sophie Kinsella's Can You Keep A Secret? Absolutely identified with the protagonist who's this 'nothing-special' girl with a penchant for blabbing out secrets and getting into sticky, cringe-worthy situations. And her winning formula to a solid relationship (romantic or platonic or familial) is really to be honest. And I fully concur, despite my mom telling me not to reveal too much about myself to anybody, faults and all. Reckless honesty will always be my policy, whether to my own best interests or not. I just don't believe in keeping secrets.

Desperate attempts

2008-08-23T19:44:00.002+12:00

I've got 2 tests and a major essay due early next week and I'm struggling right now because I can't read well. And it's times like these when I start looking for comfort amongst friends, especially my ex over here. But even he said that 'he can't handle me' and needs to lay off for a while.

So I'm reduced to a heap of tears, bemoaning the fact that I'm such a misfit in this world that nobody can really stand me. I do try to stand up on my own and be strong, but in pressing times like these, I really need that human comfort.

I won't be able to get it in this crucial, demanding weekend; what with no uni to go to, so I can't even pretend to have a semblance of a social life by mingling among the stranger crowds in uni or hanging out with an acquaintance. So I'll take a swig of cocktail later and go out for a run in the wintry night. I'm that desperate to feel better coz I really need to get that work done.

2008-08-18T22:46:00.002+12:00

Okay. I fought tooth and nail and I think I concede defeat. After that shouting competition we had over the phone, which in my semi-lucid state I managed to mouth various profanities and threats.

Funnily, I managed to find some humour after all this. My aunt holds with great conviction some bizarre theories that actually tickle me. Hey, Ed, she thinks you're a sex maniac-cum-rapist out there to prey on unsuspecting girls over the Internet. Pardon my cuckoo family, I must admit we're a bunch of dumb cunts. And right now I'm sniggering that fact.

2008-08-18T20:12:00.000+12:00

I resolve not to look for him anymore, not to call him anymore, not to talk to him anymore. It’s just plain foolishness. He probably hates my guts now. So no more contact is probably for the best lest another horrible argument erupts again.

I think girls can be such fools for loving jerks.

Dark murky feeling

2008-08-17T23:27:00.000+12:00

During the times when I’m flustered about my reading idiosyncrasies, and riding on a wave of low self-esteem, I often conclude that I’m not worth loving. Who would want to love this girl who’s mental, hasn’t the slightest inkling in taking care of herself, let alone be a high-flying career woman or supermom? That’s what I’m feeling right now. I’m agreeing with the notion that I don’t deserve love from a guy and the hand of evolution is barring me from propagating my boo-boo genes at all costs by having all these guys fall out of love with me.

It’s 11pm now and I’ve raised the white flag on my assignment. I’m feeling moody from my less-than-superb reading ability, the quiet loneliness tugging at me, and the general feeling of being a loser. Pessimism, to put it succinctly. Then I’d retire to bed and hope that sleep would erase out all my dark thoughts and replace them with renewed fervour and stoic the next day. Fervour to up productivity pertaining to my assignments (not reading novels - I seem to have developed a knack for reading manically for hours on end, if only the same could be said about schoolwork); and stoic to help me brave a new day of my life with its multitude of self-created stumbling blocks.

The week that was

2008-08-15T21:01:00.003+12:00

It was a rather eventful week (in a bad way). I developed a different perspective of life, thanks to the innumerable anecdotes my mom regaled to me when she was consoling me round-the-clock the past few days. From this, I'd also developed a newfound respect for my mother, and concede that her mature years have a great bearing on sharpening her views on life; and I more readily adopted them compared to before when I was a smug, self-righteous brat.

There was an overwhelming show of solidarity on the part of my family. My aunt, even more advanced in years than my mom (hint: old enough to be my grandma) had her share of love stories and concomitant heartbreaks to divulge. She did this in a two-hour marathon phone call from Malaysia, although being the senior citizen she is, she never failed to repeat each story at least a few times. Still, it was heartwarming to know that my old unmarried aunt, with her face etched with the years and her bone-thin frame, had actually been a young desirable woman who had been wooed, had loved, but had eventually resigned to the life of a singleton (but a happy singleton nonetheless, she pours the utmost devotion unto her nieces).

Friends near and far also displayed concern over how I was doing and offered words of uplifting encouragement. There were recurrent themes here: how there are still many fishes in the sea, that I'm still an eligible chick (I beg to differ), how I should just give him up because he failed to persevere in his love for me, and worse, he'd hurt me. Also, I was pleasantly surprised today when Karina gave me a mini box of Guylian chocolates to cheer me up - it's the thought that counts, although my mom gobbled most of the chocolates away.

There was a resounding message that stuck with me, and that was to be strong. To be able to continue living life bravely outwardly, despite my cowering little heart. To go on fulfilling my commitments and living up to my family's and friend's expectations. I realized that my family had given me their all, did their best in bringing me up, and showered me with all the love they had, so I have to do my bit in putting a smile on their faces. Yeah, finish my degree at least. Don my regalia and pose for the camera for the umpteenth time with a certificate that really soaks with all the blood, sweat and TEARS that were spilled in the past four years. God willing.

And so, despite my nervous breakdown for the first three days of the week where I was crying non-stop (in public too), scared to the core of my heart, paralysed to even go to uni (something very reminiscent of my secondary school days when I had the most gobsmacking absenteeism record in Malaysian education history - I was so afraid my current situation would be a repeat of the past), I mustered enough courage to go on with life so that I could finish this last semester of my degree. I was surprised that I had this latent strength in me: the myself I'm acquainted with had always fled and hid from life when crises struck. I hope I can keep up with this. Going to the gym has been beneficial in staving the sadness to a certain degree, thanks a bunch to the power of endorphins, and I resolve to do this everyday if I can. Come to think of it, given my dwindling appetite for food and my increasing diligence in gymming, I can imagine how much I'd downsize for the next few months. YM would surely exclaim the next time she sees me, The rubberband has shrunk! :O How did you do it? Teach me!

But despite my attempts at being strong and courageous, I'm still constantly sad. It's no longer that overpowering melancholy that beseiged me a few days ago, but has been replaced by a heavy sadness that weighs on me and occasionally threatens to squeeze out a few tears from me. It is this sadness that causes me to pine for him still, and unabashedly plead for him to love me again through desperate phone calls and MSN conversations. He remains unswayed in his decision. Despite people telling me to forget and start anew, I'm still listening to my heart, and won't give up without first fighting tooth and nail, and will continue while my heart still aches. I feel like an absolute loser for being like this, but I can't help it. Silly old me huh? :(

Stop wallowing

2008-08-11T21:08:00.003+12:00

When I’m in one of my bouts of depression I know a lot of people expect me to snap out of it quickly. Hell, even I expect myself to snap out of it. I want to live fully to the potential that was really my birthright – I want to be happy, healthy and succeed just like I did when I was young… so that I could be loved like just any regular person.

I kept telling myself to be positive. I even called upon the god I was acquainted with in childhood but had forsaken so long ago to help me. But when the blues strike, it strikes hard, and no amount of positivity can redeem me.

If you have someone who is suffering from mental illness and you want them to just shake it off magically, think about this scenario: you are crippled from a car accident and the people around you tell you to SNAP OUT OF IT. Unbelievable isn’t it? But that’s how it is with mental illness sufferers. It's as crippling as a physical limitation, and a positive attitude can only take you so far.

If you know someone in the same predicament as me (i.e. having mental health problems) and you believe to love them, please, be there for them. Stick it out for as long as you can, fuelled with the hope that they would recover. Be propelled out of the sheer force of love for them. What you do makes all the difference in their journey to recovery: YOU would be their ray of sunshine and dose of positivity.

Still reeling from the pain

2008-08-03T19:09:00.007+12:00

The reality is sinking in inch by inch that we're history, but being the weakling that I am, I'm still harbouring hopes of us returning to our previous status of togetherness.

These couple of days, I have been in a sort of paralysis - mentally speaking. I couldn't bring myself to take driving lessons from my dad (something you were so adamant I did so that I could improve myself a notch in your eyes), work (yesterday I'd called in sick; and when the manager asked me whether I had the flu when he heard me sniffling on the phone, I said something like that while on the verge of tears), recreation (today I cancelled my badminton and movie-going plans with Andrew), study (I had been wandering aimlessly in the blogosphere, despite having a test in 4 days).

I become scared stiff when the thought hits me that I'm back to square one - I'm boyfriendless and without that love and emotional support that I so crave from a guy. And being deprived of that, I become as dysfunctional as I can ever be, despite trying hard to put up a brave front and wearily fulfilling life's commitments. This thought hits me and and again, and I curl my toes in fear and try to engage in a bout of escapism in reading.

Yes, reading... something that has been problematic for me for a substantial part of my life. The stresses of my recent life have taken a toll on my reading ability that more often that not I'm unable to read in the normal, fluid, careless manner that everyone else does. The book that I finished today (Haruki Murakami's The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle) didn't have the kind of uplifting cheer that I needed (it's the first time I had ever read his work); and frankly, it was rather a strange book. But there was another thing that was interrupting my reading at such frequent intervals - and that was apparently insignificant things that were mentioned in the novel: a hotel lobby, a beverage, the dialogue between an estranged husband and wife - started to stick out like a sore thumb when these seemingly innocuous references cast back memories of us which are associated with them. So my reading would be interspersed with bouts of tears, and I'd wipe them away, bent on continuing my obsessive style of reading.

And again, being the weakling I am, I sought my ex (now my ex ex, to be politically correct). He was gracious enough to accompany me for a whole 4-5 hours, all the while soothing me with the pat of a hand or a mini-massage on my face. Obviously, he had sexual designs towards me, but I know this was not the sole reason why he entertained me yesterday (at least I'd like to think so), and I was half-apologetic for not being able to give him what he wanted - to play tonsil hockey with me or to get into my pants. Not while I still pined for him whom I'd just severed a romantic relationship. Still, I felt extremely lucky for still having this one ex in my life - who was generous enough to comfort me while I broke out in sporadic sobs and bared my miserable soul to him, though I'm not sure how long I could continue doing that. Thank you Ardao, for being there yesterday, and for having this warped type of ex bf-gf relationship with me.

Back to the here and now. I performed my ritual visit to Pinkpau's blog, and her most recent post was about loving someone unrestrainedly - live unbuttoned was the catch phrase for what, a bit unfortunately, seems to be an advertorial for Levi's jeans. Nonetheless, this post was still very meaningful, and it struck a particular chord with me that I left a comment (no. 17) there. I wasn't trying to being an unabashed attention-seeker (okay, maybe I am), but I needed an outlet to express my sorrow - I wanted people to know what I was feeling, despite the haphazard and clouded way I tend to express myself. I blog-hopped to this guy's extremely well-written blog, found another post which struck a similar chord with me, and left a comment there too.

I guess the point of this post is to give you a sense of the pain in the aftermath of our split. I can imagine you being happy as a bunny out there, prancing around with your friends and whatnot, while I'm just... hurting. My pining for you is churned with confused anger for having just stopped loving me out of the blue and serving me a dish of cruelty because of its suddenness. I still regret not being able to pinpoint the juncture when you had this turn-around in your sentiments towards me, and that causes the confusion. Why? Why? Why?

Also, I guess deep-seated in my rants is a sense of injustice. The comments and their links to this blog are like an invitation for the world to sort of judge who is the more wrongful party (obviously I think I'm the one who is more wronged). But bear in mind that despite my anger, I harbour no potent animosity for you. How could I when our relationship ended so abruptly and I'm still steeped in my feelings for you? It's just you that managed to throw your love for me out of the window on the pretext of me just not being good enough and not meeting your expectations.

Know that I tried so hard to be good in our relationship, to the point of being perpetually afraid of what you thought about me and being apologetic for my depression. I'm cheap and desperate enough to take you back in a heartbeat... but I'm not that cheap to keep up a relationship if you don't love me anymore. I recall wistfully the time when you did love me 100% not so long ago despite us having a long distance relationship; but somehow, ironically, you didn't anymore when I came back to see you.

Cries

2008-08-02T01:08:00.003+12:00

I'd never come out of a relationship with so much anguish like this. Not when my feelings are still raw, but yours had no indication they were wilting away.

Reminiscing about the sweet (though regrettably tainted with my depression) memories we'd accumulated in the short span we were together only makes it hurt even more. You may say that I'm too hung up on the past, but why can't I cling on to those beautiful snippets when I know there'd there be no more in the future?

Why did you say you love me so much before only to have it dwindle away so quickly? Within a month or so when our relationship was on the rocks, and you let it slip away so easily.

I'm in shock cause I had never imagined that it would end abruptly like this. They say love hurts, but I've never felt that to be truer until now - now that I'd been spurned by someone whom I feel so much for.

And again, summoning up the past, I wistfully regret having said Yes or not remaining adamant on a fling. It's precisely another heartbreak like this that I'd been trying to avoid. But as the cliche goes, better to have been loved than not loved at all.

I'll miss you. I hope that soon I'd be able to forget, but in the mean time I have to mourn the loss and hurt. But thank you for once having loved me and being part of my life. That was a good chapter of my life but now I reluctantly leave it because you no longer feel the same.

Honeymoon Period and Relationship Woes

2008-07-21T17:54:00.006+12:00

Nothing beats the novelty of a new semester, when the world magically rights itself and I seemingly have more enthusiasm for reading and socializing. But of course, I know myself all too well; that this is merely a honeymoon period before I plummet into another depressed rut.

My first lecture lasted two hours long – can’t remember the exact name of the course but it has to do with statistics in psychology. Oh why are the female lecturers for psychology such hot mamas, who are amazingly articulate and animated in their teaching to boot? I was seated in the very last row of this cavernous lecture theatre today, but I could tell that my lecturer was hot, and she wore this shirt with a plunging neckline paired with suit pants – nicely dressed without being overkill. And she spoke with such a pleasant lilt in her voice that you just had to latch on to what she was saying. And today, she quoted Galton, 1889:

I know of scarcely anything so apt to impress the imagination as the wonderful form of cosmic order expressed by the “Law of Frequency of Error.” The law would have been personified by the Greeks and deified, if they had known of it. It reigns with serenity and in complete self-effacement amidst the wildest confusion. The huger the mob and the greater the apparent anarchy, the more perfect is its sway. It is the supreme law of Unreason. Whenever a large sample of chaotic elements are taken in hand and marshaled in the order of their magnitude, an unsuspected and most beautiful form of regularity proves to have been latent all along.

It’s merely referring to that statistical entity we know so well.

The normal curve lol

Isn’t it inspiring how the most mundane of things can be taken and transformed into something so alluringly described, by the mere power of beautiful language? For this, I salute great writers out there who can so breezily do this and manage to paint more colour in our more-often-than-not dull gray lives.

Anyway this lecturer with her generous revealing of d’ecolletage has motivated me to move several rows in front next lecture round so that I can eyeball her a little bit better. Pity that this course has apparently been squashed so tightly into a semester, when it used to be taught over the length of two semesters. She was whizzing through the content faster than a runaway train. Stage 3 papers. Haih.

Socializing-wise, I felt proud of myself today for being more outgoing and managing to talk to catch up with more people than I do on an ordinary day (which is 0 persons). There was a gratifying sense of freedom in my unwittingly lowering my guard, thanks to the tinge of enthusiasm that always characterises the first day of a new semester. Again, I can safely say that I’d very soon retreat into my own dark shell, put on a hostile and unsmiling face, and trudge through the crowds as though I were wading through a sea of monsters. Any attempts by people to tease me out of this shell would either be met with glum expressions that could turn the sky a thundery gray or shy nervousness as I scurry away from the offending person.

Lastly, I have truly become disillusioned with romantic relationships which involve me. I tried so very hard to resolve things – speaking earnestly albeit sometimes angrily, my voice choking with tears, and later incoherently blubbering about the silly ingredients of a relationship like love and oh… expectations.

Expectations? I have long been worried about this issue, knowing that I am fundamentally flawed for a person my age, and had warned him prior to the start of the relationship that I would be a little bit hard work and that he shouldn’t expect me to be able to change me, but instead be there for me. Sometimes I’d get so worried about falling short of any expectations he might have in a girlfriend, but at that time he merely brushed it off by saying, “What expectations am I supposed to have of you? Be a good wife and take care of the kids?” =_=

That time seems like a far-flung and carefree past in comparison to the choppy waters that rock the boat of our relationship now. All of a sudden he talks about how I haven’t budged one bit in my bid for self-improvement, that our relationship dangles precariously on the lines of me getting my act together, and that I’d better do it fast. I was mortally wounded by what he said; but tried to keep a level-head amidst teary attempts to iron things out.

I should have known that this relationship wouldn’t be any different to those in my past. I was naïve to invest any optimism in this one. In the end, the story unfolds like déjà vu – person tries to change me but can’t; person can’t stand associating with a chronically depressed person; person leaves for good.

I’ll give things a break. I think there are some serious cracks in the foundations of our relationship; and I’m not sure how to mend them, because it takes two to do that and I don’t think he wants or knows how to. In the mean time, I pray that this sliver of a sense of freedom and empowerment that has been bestowed on me today can last longer through the semester, but sadly, I can already feel it slipping through my fingers like grains of sand that were never mine in the first place.

2008-07-16T04:26:00.003+12:00

Happy birthday to me. It's been a long, and difficult road travelled, and I often wonder when this road ends. Or when my companion travellers suddenly disappear into thin air forever. Or if new people would take it upon themselves to guide this lost traveller along her arduous journey.

I don't promise to be the best travel companion, but I'll try to hold your hand when you are feeling lost, offer a listening ear to your troubles, and a shoulder to cry on should you stumble and fall hard. I'm just not very good at reading maps and leading the way, and am contented at meekly following.

But right now, it feels like I'm travelling alone. Happy birthday to me.

I only blog when life sucks

2008-07-15T14:09:00.003+12:00

It's been two weeks into my holiday and predictably, I've descended into that depressed rut that has characterised my whole life. Evil thoughts have once again infiltrated my mind and taken it hostage. And all this while, I've been mentally writing my blog, stringing words together so fluently to describe this emotional upheaval that I've been experiencing the past couple of days. The keywords are DISSATISFACTION and DISILLUSIONMENT. However, being inarticulate as I usually am, albeit less so when writing compared to speaking, I've chosen to delay this outpouring of my soul indefinitely. After all, I'm still on holiday and I have to make the best of it, so I'm going out shopping. There, blog, you do not have the satisfaction of me tending to you today; because to do so would be to stroke my grievances, and a holiday is surely no time for that.

Bits and Pieces

2008-06-26T00:56:00.006+12:00

It's 1 am and I'm wolfing down a bowl of not-so-yummy instant noodles, all the while aware of the queasy feeling sneaking up my esophagus. Damn these sudden waves of nausea -- they mostly subside after a while -- and to date there's only one isolated case where I actually barfed in a furniture shop (not on the furniture, thankfully).

I wonder if it's the medley of pills I take daily....

I hit a particularly rough patch in my studying over an hour ago. Frustrated at the insurmountable mental block I faced, I proceeded to huddle under my duvet and tinker mindlessly with my phone. It's an incredibly useless and time-consuming activity which I'm guilty of partaking every single day.

In the morning I wake up, and being reluctant to get out of bed, I brandish my phone which is tucked somewhere in the curves of my body, or the grooves of the sofa I sleep on. First thing I do is re-read some or all of the texts in my inbox, outbox, or archive; sometimes with a twinge of nostalgia, at other times out of sheer habit. After I get bored of that, I start playing that ball game Bounce which comes with all Nokia phones I think. I have done this religiously every morning and during bored spells for so long that I can play the game with one hand and one eye closed while contemplating life's biggest mysteries.

Yes, that's the main reason why I start fiddling with my phone in the morning or when I'm bored, stressed or want to tune out from life. Its an incredibly mindless thing, playing that Bounce game. Reading my old texts aren't so much mindless as it can be torture now; but I've saved the most memorable ones for my future perusal, and I peruse I shall. They are evidence of snippets from my past where the people who are/once were in my life injected some form of friendship, care, humour, empathy, lust and love into it. After a dry spell of not reading some of these old texts, reading them again can light a little flicker of warmth in my heart.

So there, a post about absolutely nothing, just to amuse myself on this lonely, cold night with the howling winds and occasional rolling thunder. This instant noodle really sucks, am craving for spicy Korean ones. Queasy feeling gone.

Resigning to apathy

2008-06-23T04:06:00.007+12:00

I wanted to get this message across with a flowery post detailing why exactly, but I realized that apathetic people can’t be fucked to write flowery posts. To top that off, I’m also sick of pretending that I can write fluidly, but the truth is I struggle with each word; which isn’t surprising considering how I struggle with everything else in life.

*****************

I’m tired of trying to be on top of everything. I’m sick of always being hyped up over nothing – my heart races over the silliest reasons – and I’m always stuck in fifth gear when I have perfectly no reason to be. I want out of this god damn rat race.

That’s why I’ve proactively decided to resign to apathy; to be emotionally detached from life when I’m relatively not swamped by commitments. Yeah, I still have this thing called conscience which requires me to fulfill my duties which currently is studying for and sitting exams – the thing is I don’t quite care if I haven’t memorized every single thing to a T, much less ace them.

By the way, it's so peaceful when you try to detach yourself from life and living. When you're on a roll that way, the world out there could seem surreal, people moving past in slow motion, with their voices muffled up. As you observe them, you sometimes sneer at their ridiculousness in being caught up in the rat race.

I also love walking on a mild-weathered night, gazing at the stars; the music from my iPod playing at crystal clarity in the dead of the night as though it was the background soundtrack to the surreal scene enveloping me.

***************

I want to live a relatively painless (mentally and emotionally) speaking life. I don’t care how I achieve that goal; I’d gladly do it by any means even if it means being blatantly irresponsible. That’s why I had a gobsmacking 12 hour American TV series marathon – Grey’s Anatomy, Psych, Monk – you name it, I saw it. While at it I also downed a couple of glasses of whiskey mixed with whatever flat soda left in my fridge to numb myself. Ew that’s not a concoction which pleases the taste buds. I’ve got to do some grocery shopping with a pre-written list in hand.

I inwardly scoff when I see the lights of my sister’s room peeping from the cracks of the door in the wee hours of the morning. She complains that studying is a bitch yet she still does it like its some hobby. Okay, maybe on some level she does enjoy it, otherwise she couldn’t possibly be so diligent in turning her day inside out – studying when the sun is down and retiring to bed at daybreak.

I mean, hey, that’s no way to live is it? Being cooped up in your room all day, forgoing all forms of entertainment and human contact for something which you aren’t half passionate about and probably don’t have a clear idea why you do it. But the truth is, despite all my efforts to get out there and smell the roses, appreciate life’s simple pleasures, I’m still worse off than her. I hate studying because of how crap it makes me feel – but avoiding it by indulging in a TV series marathon in a half-drunken stupor is even more pathetic.

Sigh but to justify today’s escapism overload, I did have a rather good time watching them, even if I was in a terribly awkward posture for the whole day. I was able to have a break from the hateful activity called reading (and life in general), and this is also justified considering how I’d been semi-slogging for the past few weeks for exams (semi because my study sessions have been very frequently interspersed with blog-reading sessions).

So hopefully after unwinding today doing a bunch of decadent activities, tomorrow I’ll be back up and bouncing, and study well enough to kick some ass in my last exam.

Some things never change.

PS: Ah but despite this overflowing pessimism, I have a smidgen of anticipation for the impending homecoming. See you babe.

Reads Just Like A Real Diary

2008-06-20T04:47:00.007+12:00

I'm not sure how many of you out there have kept diaries or at the very least jotted down some of your thoughts which reflected the current state of your life. The stuff that goes into a diary -- especially one that nobody knows of and is kept hidden in a corner of your desk drawer -- is likely to contain the juiciest and most scandalous details of your life (if it was remotely interesting in the first place).

Now, most of the blogs that are out there do not possess this delicious quality of furtiveness. Especially if the blog owner has been daring enough to step forth from the comfort-zone of anonymity. Thus, the only blogs out there which contain enough minute detail of the blogger's life to quench the thirst for gossip of people like me can only be those where the blogger remains anonymous.

Enter Heartbreak Soup, the blog which I have been manically reading for the past few hours instead of actually studying for my exams XD I caught wind of this particular blogger/writer when I read her bare-it-all 10 page long article on the perils of revealing too much in a blog, and how it messed up her life. Even in that article she managed to divulge a fair bit of information, which I guess, since the damage has been done, why not?

I'm not going to go into the details here, cause nobody needs to have a random stranger give a vague synopsis of what went wrong with her life. Suffice to say she was really an ingenuous young woman who happened to be conspicuously in the public spotlight due to her (now former) job, with a penchant for reckless honesty. That article led me to her (formerly anonymous) blog which contains bit and pieces about her job and love life. Mostly her love life.

Of course since the blog is no longer secret, she has taken the liberty to password protect some of the posts (bet these are the juiciest ones! all of them also came under the category of 'i may have a drinking problem' ... interesting...). However the remainder that are not password-protected, have a fair bit of juice in them and I lapped it all up like a hungry kitten.

Heartbreak Soup is what a diary should read like. It was open and honest because it thought it was protected by anonymity, but unfortunately that wasn't very well preserved. It also packed a different kind of punch compared to wholly anonymous blogs because I knew who the blogger was, could put a face to the words, and that just heightened my interest in what she had to say. Cause, really, we're all visual creatures and we like hot chick writers. Right?

Blogs which have the blogger's real identity tagged to it have to tread the blogging waters very carefully in not divulging too much info, cause that would lead to extremely sticky situations in a world where we all need to remain diplomatic and exchange niceties even if we hate each others guts. Unfortunately, blogs that gloss over the fine details to end up with a hazy description of what happened isn't as exciting as getting to the nitty-gritty.

So, as much as I like to read the blogs listed to the right there (especially Pinkpau's -- that girl leads a semi-charmed life), they have to cloak their writing with vagueness because they have chosen to forgo the privilege of anonymity. And as these very bloggers can probably attest to, that can take the oomph out of chronicling the story of one's life. It's a trade off between airing your thoughts in the open to the Internet populace and being able to bitch about the people who have peeved you.

Back to work. *clucks fretfully at the time and little amount of work done*

This is an extremely sterile post

2008-06-12T20:42:00.004+12:00

I don’t deny that I’m in want of some creative juice. Studying for a degree which only demands that you feverishly memorize all the facts the night before and regurgitate them onto the exam answer booklet the day after really saps all creativity out of you. Even with my currently distorted reading methods, where to register the meaning of each single word seems like a monumental effort, I can get away with the unforgivable studying technique above – and with above average grades too.

The passivity of reading where you just soak up the literature in front of you pleasurably is lost to me; although I hope this is not a permanent thing.

In the time-honoured tradition of making notes when exam-studying, which always contains some form of LIST, I shall list the symptoms of my malady below. I had jotted them down so that I could regale my condition to the psychologist I would be seeing with ease. Or shove the list under his/her nose. Whichever, I’m hoping they won’t be completely flabbergasted and would actually devise a workable plan to bring me down from this plane of meaningless suffering

Extremely sterile list of symptoms of my reading problem

Strong subvocalisations
Impaired continuity – more focus on each word than normal
Bodily twitching when mentally exerting self to read
Apprehension when about to read
Repetitions (obsessive-compulsive)
Heightened consciousness about reading performance
Easily tired even after reading a few words, can result in headaches
Need distraction to read better – sensual pressure, noise, alcohol
Stereotyped reading posture – have to have limbs positioned a certain way
A sentence is harder to read than a paragraph (a novel is infinitely easier too – it’s like I have to surrender to the mountain of words and assume a semblance of normal reading)
Condition exacerbated by mental stress

Exam-studying really hones your list-making skills. Especially when you make copious amounts of notes like me to compensate for your reading impairment >.>

PS: I know I come across as an extremely self-indulgent whining, wallowing bitch. Hey doing the aforementioned is therapeutic ya know? Why do you think emo blogs are mushrooming in every nook and cranny of the blogosphere?

Backfire

2008-06-06T17:25:00.003+12:00

Omg what is this evil force that compels me to just keep reading and reading my novel with obsessive persistence? Even though I feel that unpleasantness permeating my mind and every word read becomes torturous. Common sense dictates that I should give it a rest, since I’m no longer deriving pleasure from it; but no, I will myself to continue this mind-destructing activity with any iota of reason thrown out the window.

I’m just so desperate to relive those magical, idyllic moments during my earlier years when reading was actually fun. Now, once in a blue moon, I am granted that wish – but it is only a fleeting one – and if I overdo it, all hell breaks loose and its damned gates would not close.

I pick up my storybook again, bent on taking my procrastination from studying for exams one step further, and none the wiser.
:(

Alcoholic in the making

2008-06-02T14:47:00.003+12:00

I have been imbibing this pleasure-giving, anxiety-soothing form of toxin everyday for the past week now. I know it's not good for me in the long run, and would supposedly make my depression and anxiety worse. But the present benefits are far more tangible and tempting than the benefits gained after an indefinitely long period. And I want to feel better. Now.

It's funny how lax my mother is about my frequent alcohol consumption. No advice or reprimand from her - she even tells me where she stows the bottles of whiskey and DOM Perignon (used in the household primarily for cooking). A sterling example of her questionable parenting skills; not that I'm complaining.

Anyway I foresee this bad habit becoming a daily ritual - drinking before I start doing my school work, drinking to forget my struggles, drinking after a conflict with the boyfriend, the list goes on.

I'm not totally surrendering to alcoholism yet, of course. I have some saintliness left in me *cough* I'm hoping during my first meeting with the psychiatrist at the community mental health centre I'd get a stern warning about the dangers of alcoholism and a prescription for anxiolytics.

Till then, bring on the whiskey doused with Sprite.

Muddled

2008-06-01T22:02:00.003+12:00

I don't know what's wrong with my mind. It can never seem to organize thought patterns coherently and everything is a jumble of mess, leaving me so confused.

I can never seem to fully grasp the gravity of a situation if it pertains to someone else. Maybe I'm too caught up with myself; maybe I am that selfish.

Everywhere I'm surrounded by words and they swim stubbornly in my head - leaving me little capacity for processing life's occurences - which really seem trivial in comparison to the words which I have to obsess about anyway.

*********

I'm different to most people but I have to conform to social norms. It's just so hard and I feel exhaustion eating at me with each passing day. Get a degree, get a job, stay bright and cheery, be diplomatic, strictly no commingling with the ex.

And now I'm emotionally blackmailed into the last one. I could willingly for you. But the thing that hurts is how cruel you were with the string of threats you laid in front of me.

Whatever. I've always been on the losing end. The exile you imposed on me begins.

I just wish you didn't give me ultimatums if you love me.

A Good Numbing Down

2008-05-31T00:40:00.003+12:00

It is the only thing that could bring out my true character. A character unhindered by doubts and anxiety. One that is not given to fucking ostentatious and pretentious writing.

I love the warmth that radiates from the soles of my feet which then inches it way up to the depths of my mind. Numbing all the pain and confusion. It is almost like a jeer at the cards that life has dealt me.

It's ironic that it allows me to think straight. Otherwise my thoughts would be marred by that hateful thing called consciousness.

I feel like I'm truly alive when I'm drunk. I wish it wasn't so, but it truly makes me feel better.

After all, we're all hedonists aren't we?

Paranoia

2008-05-30T20:14:00.008+12:00

So there have been unsettling thoughts that have been plaguing me relentlessly, no matter how much I try to catch them and rationalize them out. My arsenal of rationale is along the lines of – they’re unsubstantiated, you’re thinking too much etc. I know that wielding some control over these destructive thoughts are necessary, lest they turn into self-fulfilling prophecies, as I am particularly adept at turning things into self-fulfilling prophecies.

Seriously, I don’t know why thoughts like these would surface. What I can surmise so far is that maybe the excitement that accompanies the novelty of a fresh relationship has dwindled; this long-distance relationship has started to wear thin; we’ve grown to be more distant, and there’s less carefree banter and more silence as we watch each other through our webcams; he prefers spending an astronomical amount of time out with his friends rather than stay at home with his cyber-girlfriend.

But I’m mainly confused about why I care so much. I’ve always been a uber sensitive person, and becoming hurt/offended by the slightest provocation or neglect is second nature to me. I know that taking a teensy suspicion and ruminating on it till it snowballs into paranoia is what I’m good at. Thus, I have always reminded myself to lighten up, and enjoy what the current moment offers me; rather than ruining it all with uncorroborated thoughts.

Relationships with people from the outside world have always been my Achilles heel. I can recount the numerous times when I felt like I had been abandoned by someone. And that almost always equates to the end of the world for me, because my modus operandi for navigating the human social jungle out there is to have a single, close relationship with someone – friend or lover.

There was JL, who was my best friend from the beginning of primary school up till Standard 4 when she decided to buddy up with the newcomer; SM and gang who blatantly excluded me from their clique, god knows why; and last but not least, the infamous CA who decided that she had enough of me being her walking shadow, and caused my world to come crashing down into this surreal but painful state of phobia and depression.

After that I decided I had enough of girls and decided to bank on guys for love, support, and companionship. I was extremely clingy on my exes and would get insanely jealous when they were seen to be happy with anyone that wasn’t me – boys or girls. I thrived on love-hate relationships with them (in particular DH), but it was obviously unsustainable. And I know that all these stem from having to solely depend on someone as my social pillar of strength. I couldn’t have it any other way.

Oh, the excruciating loneliness and the cold fear that clutches at my heart when I know I don't have someone out there who has my back. I could not bear to live through another moment of that.

**********************

These nagging thoughts have been chasing me in circles, no matter how much I try not to entertain them. And it’s because I’ve allowed myself to be too emotionally involved in this relationship; what with the free-flow of love proclamations - something I’m not used to. God forbid – that’s the way I am – becoming excessively concerned and overwrought about anything that means something to me. And I know I can’t afford to remain this way – I have to trade whatever dark feelings inside me for the warm, tingly sensation that is a romantic-sexual relationship. Cause I’m head over heels over you.

Cynicism to the brim

2008-05-27T18:27:00.001+12:00

Today hope has forsaken me. This has largely been fuelled by my casual flipping through sundry biology textbooks, and coming to the gloomy conclusion that we are basically machines – very sophisticated ones, no doubt – but still, machines. An intricate mish-mash of cells; the healthy ones of you out there have them working beautifully in sync (apart from the occasional bacterial/viral attack), while others have something wrong, tangible or intangible – and have to suffer with it for the rest of their lives – if it hasn’t killed them yet.

The outlook for humans – and for any living organism for that matter – is bleak. Notwithstanding the various minor afflictions that befall us, we are in a general state of decline, and the inevitable outcome is death.

All this is set in a stage geared towards survival, and the dynamics of human relationships are played out to cater to that cause. It’s a constant battle to outdo others, but hidden behind a veil of diplomacy and altruism. Procreation is also a major agenda as we (unwittingly) strive to propagate our genes; and if we’re successful, nurture and guard them with single-minded determination. We can’t be bothered to associate with people who are unable to play a role in achieving that goal towards survival and fullfilment.

Now, to what end does all this cynicism-bordering-on-preachiness serve? I don’t know. I’m one of those people who believes that something is inherently wrong with their cellular dynamics and wiring of neurons – and I’m just here to rant about it. While I continue to live the rest of my life in despair.

2008-05-22T13:41:00.002+12:00

Scribbled inanely and repeatedly on my notes during the midst of a crying spell in the library...

I dont know what have I become
Somebody help me

Fear

2008-05-17T18:04:00.000+12:00

I’m very well-versed with it. It has been a faithful companion since time immemorial; we’ve been inseparable ever since. It shrouds me, engulfs me, inundates me; until I could no longer see nor pave the life path that I desire.

It is the reason why a black cloud constantly hangs over me, my constant need to retreat into the darkness and curl my toes defensively. It makes my heart heavy with grief, sometimes so heavy till it sinks to where my gut should be.

We have been each other’s companions for so long that it would not let me pursue my own hopes and dreams. All it wants is for me to pander to its every whim, clinging on to me like an insatiable leech.

Occasionally it does get off my back, and I see a glimmer of Hope that it might never return. Hope envelopes me with a warm optimism and retrieves that pair of rose-tinted glasses that I’m always misplacing. It whispers soothing words of encouragement, that everything will be okay. Hell, sometimes I’m delirious with optimism that I think the world could be my oyster.

But like all faithful companions, Fear always returns and resumes it endless teasing and taunting. Hope is relegated to a corner while Fear regains dominance over my mind.

I’ve never lost sight of Hope though. I see it huddled in that corner as Fear prances around in full glory. But I know it is not yet defeated, it is merely biding its time and summoning its resources before it strikes back again.

I’ll help Hope to destroy that putrid relationship I have with Fear. Then we could build a harmonious lifelong friendship together. But we also need you to help us – will you?

The same principles

2008-05-12T02:22:00.000+12:00

Being someone who could never forgo her (much-needed) comfort food, I never fathomed why anorexics did the things they did. How do they manage to live a daily vicious cycle of induced-vomiting, constant body weighing and over-the-top griping about their current state of thinness (or fatness, as they fervently believe to be the case)? Do they not see how the strive for ultimate thinness is really turning them into grotesquely emaciated skeletons whom the general population would perceive as unattractive? Where do their motivations derive from and what clouds their judgment and grossly distorts their perceptions of beauty?

It was during one of those enlightening documentaries aired on national TV (20/20) that I had a glimpse into the attitudes, beliefs and tortured life of anorexics. It was revealed to me that anorexics are very success-oriented and perfectionists, and these values extended to their body image. In a current world where adipose-challenged models grace magazine covers and television airwaves, the mentality that 'thin is beautiful' has become stubbornly ingrained into our psyches. Anorexics just took it one level further to the concept that 'zero fat is beautiful'.

Now, I know for a fact that they do not intentionally adopt such a mentality. They could not possibly if it would incur the tremendous amount of distress and disruption to life that accompanies this eating disorder. They merely and unwittingly focussed their drive to succeed and perfectionist values on one arbitrary aspect of their life - their body image.

This is when being thin is never good enough; and there is always more fat to shed and more swallowed food to purge. Food has become a diabolical entity, only to be expelled with utmost vengeance by sticking two fingers down the throat. Yet, due to their obsessive and compulsive fixations, a particular body weight would never be achieved; and even if it did, the target just keeps getting lower and lower.

Thus I explain the title of my post - The same principles. We, human beings, have an innate desire for acceptance by society, the need to feel loved or held in high esteem. It is an unfortunate fact of life that society greatly approves of things like physical beauty, academic and career success or fame. People who do not possess a semblance of these are deemed to be inferior and we just don't want to befriend or suck up to them as much. The anorexics merely operated based on this desire to succeed and be accepted; unfortunately, they have done it in excess, without realizing or being able to control it even if they did.

You and I could be just like them. Because in the end, we all operate according to the same principles that define the human race.

This blog was born out of procrastination

2008-05-05T00:56:00.000+12:00

Everybody procrastinates. It's something that we do when we wanna avoid whatever unpleasant task we have at hand. Thus, procrastination has always had a negative connotation - it's the accomplice of other vices such as laziness and lack of commitment. But does it really deserve such a bad name?

Maybe procrastination is just one of the many ingenious ways our defense mechanism comes up with to buffer a possible emotional and mental burnout. Otherwise, without knowing it, me might just overstep that cliff and fall headlong into insanity.

The antithesis of procrastination has got to be conscience. It is what that is dredged up from the back of your mind when you are trying to fend off any thoughts of the work that resulted in procrastination in the first place. Conscience is what makes our attempts at enjoying procrastination go sour, and we grudgingly go back to work.

For me, I know that procrastination is one of the most valuable assets I have in my almost depleted repository of defense mechanisms. Otherwise I might just push myself beyond my limits and cause irreparable damage to my already fragile sanity.

Damn conscience.