Rainy Weekend.

It’s been raining all weekend, and we’ve all been stuck at home for the most part. Luckily, my cat happens to love being indoors, especially on cold wet days like this. She’ll play with her toys, and then sit near the window and watch the rain outside.

Plus, with Chinese New Year around the corner, our house is filled with delicious treats.

But don’t let her fool you. She’s a monster, constantly finding things around my room to eat, tear, play with, etc. She’s always had a weakness for tissue boxes, so here’s my latest defence: A cookie tin car, with an airtight lid. That should keep her out.

 

J & D.

It’s heartbreaking to think about all the possibilities, options, consequences and any other variable in this ginormous binomial equation of love.

Because we all change. We all try to be different, and yet we try so hard to keep ourselves the way we are.

It’s heartbreaking to think about everything at once. Nothing gets done, nothing gets said, nothing changes. You just feel sadder, angrier, and more hurt than before.

He wanted to be a romantic. A manly macho guy who planned to be spontaneous and charming. He learnt his style from sources. He learnt new things and they immediately became his favourites. He was so sure he had found the princess in his fairy tale, he was so ready to hold onto it, and it only.

She wanted the world. She wanted to look like all those gorgeous people in spreads and ads, and she wanted to be successful and earn her own right in this world. She can’t bear the thought of having anything less than what she’d expected, because all her life she had been her best, and it had paid off. It’s almost as if, if she didn’t do her best, she would have failed at life. But what’s really happening is that because she hasn’t fallen before, she’s more fragile than anyone would expect. And nobody, not even he, can understand her because of this fragility.

She can’t control herself. She splits herself into two, and its difficult to control either sides. She wants to be successful, and active, and reach deep into her career prospects and pull out the richest part of it. She wants better, and she knows she can be. But the other her is a letdown, and is sadly a majority of her mind. She is sensitive to everything, and feels everything in the words of people, in their actions, and in their behaviour. It hurts to look at the way people treat each other, and she can’t stand it. She can’t stand herself. She hates herself.
And she’s madly in love with this boy (man, guy, whatever you wish to call him) and strongly believes in spending as many more days with him as possible. She’s got this strange feeling, like it’s all going to end soon, and the dream will be over, and she’ll have to wake up. But because of all her insecurities (and the fact that she can’t articulate them to people) she’s losing grip of this beautiful, wonderful boy, who isn’t ready to settle down, who isn’t ready to pull himself into her picture 100%. She knows this, and it breaks her heart.

Zombie Apocalypse.

Basic necessities:
canned food, instant noodles, bottled water
flashlights with lots of batteries
matches,  stuff to burn like charcoal, wood, paper.
radio**

Weapons (yeahhh):
knives, all kinds.
rope, ladder, steel cables, glass bottles of sorts.
bats, clubs,  blades

I’m glad I live on the twelfth floor. Zombies shouldn’t like stairs if they’re always breathing so heavily and drooling and stuff. Good view also, to look our for air support, or ground support, or any other kind of support.

Am I seriously planning this? Right. I need to do homework.

Ten Thousand Miles.

The way we skype in the afternoon here
when it’s evening there
when it’s evening where you are
where you are
ten thousand miles away from me

when I point the cam towards the sky
towards the sunset here
when it’s nighttime there
when it’s nighttime where you are
and we watch my sunset together here
I told you I thought it was romantic but
I didn’t tell you I also thought it was
a sad kind of sweet.

You are my sweetest downfall;

The warmest rainy days,
The sweetest summer afternoons,
The nights 27 floors above the world,
The after hours in the studio,
The times you wipe my foolish tears away,
The many things we have in common,
The tuesday afternoon naps,
The late night essay writing,
Our first game of chess.

And the night when we stood quietly outside the hotel room in Venice, bathed in yellow hall lights and feet on musky red carpets. And even when there was nobody there, we whispered our goodnights.

I’m not going to let all that go, just so you know.

Fragile.

Sometimes I feel like it’s not me inside me.

Thank You,

Madness.

Why does this feeling overwhelm me so much?

I hate it.

absolutely hate it

Empty Inside.

All at once, the world can overwhelm me
And there’s nothing that you can tell me that can ease my mind.

-Jack Johnson, All at Once.

 

I hate the feeling.
It’s like putting a pencil on a piece of paper, but every time you do, the pencil breaks.
And all you do is patiently sharpen it, over and over again.
And all it does is break, again.
Why?

Why am I so angsty? Schoolwork isn’t that difficult. I’ve done it all before. I can do it all again. If only this stupid sickness will just leave me, and let me carry on with my work, I can get my As. I can get my grades. I can get my scholarship. So I can get my money.

It’s funny how now my dreams are all so vortex-y. It’s all swirls, and colourful masses. And amidst those colours I see familiar faces. I see your face. And I miss you.
But why? I see you almost every day. There’s no reason to miss you, cause you’re with me all the time. 

And sometimes I see you too. I don’t know why. I have this deep dark dislike for you, but I cannot bring myself to hate you. I never wish to see you again, and I haven’t seen you for about 3 years, so why do you reappear in my dreams with SUCH SCARY CLARITY and haunt me? You’re always the stall owner, the construction worker, the person who is responsible for something somewhere in my dream. What’s that supposed to mean? 

But in real life, I’ve forgotten what you look like. 

 

But not to worry, one day I’ll wake up, and this angst will be gone. One day it’ll find its way back into the back of my head, and stay there and let me carry on with my life. 
Until it comes back again.

Ashamed.

Of the previous post. But nevertheless. We say things we mean, but we don’t have to be mean saying them. All we gotta do is take things with a pinch of salt (two tablespoons, in my case) and grow up. Because being insensitive and oversensitive at the same time makes us immature.