riveted

nay

 pathetic how I'm dying to be told I make somebody happy

I've been prodding my ulcer with my tongue for days now. It hurts like hell but I can't help myself. I think we humans are all self-mutilating creatures like that. We beg to be hurt. We want to be damaged and broken so we can whine about it to the next person who seems to care before we get hurt by them again. Vicious cycle, I welcome you with open arms. 

Apart from overindulging in self-deprecation, I've been spending a lot of time having internal monologues with myself as to why I am feeling such unadulterated fatigue and loathing towards everything. I find myself completely drained and heading to bed before 12, and considering I have yet to complete my assignments it is an unthinkable option and time for a JC student. It is in bed where I lay just running through the most minuscule and redundant of anxieties and details in my mind - which has been the perfect playground for doubts and negativity and darkness to fester. 

Maybe this is me sucking at handling my stress, maybe this is me sucking at balancing my time, maybe it is the time of the month and excessive estrogen is getting me cranky, maybe this is my loneliness manifesting, maybe it's all in my head.

It probably is and I am once again dramatizing every single thing that is meant to be kept simple; peripheral. 

I just cannot help but wonder what I'm doing wrong.

I want to get new ink so desperately but I know this cannot be a reckless, misinformed lapse in judgement because unlike everything else, it will be permanent. 

Like all good fruit the balance of life is in the ripe and ruin. Somewhere, someday.

Got a follow from this band, checked them out and fell in love very alarmingly quickly.

girl crush

sew me good

Just close your eyes

and count to five

let's craft the only thing we know into surprise

set down your glass

I painted this

to look like you and me forever as we're now

I'm shaken then I'm stirred

when your eyes meet mine

I lose simple skills

like to tell you all I want;

is now

you sing, and I'm killed

I'm just not the same

as I was a year ago and each minute 

since then

my jumper tears

as we take it off

you say you'll sew me good as new and

I know you will

Issues

Did a fair bit of walking today. Always see instances like these as opportunities to air out more intimate thoughts. I'm not ready, I decide. The worst thing you can do is jump into something without the necessary prerequisites, applies for academic choices as it does for affairs of the heart. I question my ability to love anyone, explore his entity, disgustingly ironic seeing how desperate I am sometimes for someone to do the same. For the destructive interferences of our quirks and habits; souls. I struggle enough to love myself. These things will have to wait but yet I prophesy myself foolishly taking yet another leap of faith because loneliness always triumphs.

prolific

this will not be about love
why should it be?
when it is only dignified by the hearts in its wake
dignity that is questionable when the mind is sound
but tossed aside in wanton abandon 
when sensory and emotional overload
muddle conscious thought
I shall talk about me instead
not the the vital organ;
the silent killer
the size of a hand-grenade
damage akin; ready to implode under your skin
how I swore to turn a blind eye; a deaf ear
an ear weathered down by empty phrases
to teach it the art of imperative non-commitance 
as soon as glasses clinked and lips puckered
to usher in another 365 days to 
ostentatiously promise to promise
and make resolutions only to
break them a few days into the new year

I am acutely aware of my inadequacy
but my dependency on the wrong breed
on their hypnotic incantations
are blindingly obvious
to everyone but me
more often than not the bats in the belfry
pick at my scabs and drink from
the salty pools that collect in my ears
I cry as much as any ordinary person
maybe even less
but nothing chokes as bad as the 
onset of tears that will not give 
the honor of falling



This song has yet to make its exit out of my head and heart since Natasha Khan sang it mere metres away from me last Saturday at St. Jerome's Laneway Festival 2013. It was a day I cannot fathom into words, and I thank Jesus and St. Jerome whoever he is for granting me such an incredible experience. I am currently lacking severely in the adjectival department so 'incredible' is the best word I can think of. I fulfilled one of my lifelong dreams of watching Alt-J live and despite the technical error that rudely interrupted Joe Newman before he could sing 'My heart still thumps as I bleed", it was earth-shattering to be in their presence, grooving to the songs I've had on loop since I got into them.

Like all good fruit the balance of life is in the ripe and ruin, words that I think deserve to be etched permanently on my skin.

Not forgetting Kings of Convenience, Polica, Of Monsters and Men(who were ridiculously fun to sing along to) and Yeasayer. Despite my burnt back in dire need of the careful ministrations of a gentle hand and aloe vera gel, I look back at those 12 hours with immense fondness.

Nursing a very angry pus-filled ulcer near the web of my tongue and I feel an onslaught of sore throat, flu and the works impending. I am worsening my circumstance by eating biscuits and crackers and granola, as well as probing the little nub with my tongue every 3 seconds, but I am kind of reveling in the pain and finding myself wanting to fall sick so I can sleep the entire day or just waste away without a twinge of guilt. And I would love that.

little talks

I covered OMAM's Little Talks only because I am shameless and bored and not afraid to flaunt my lousy voice

There

I never give up on anybody.

I just don't have it in me to lose complete faith in anyone, especially if he/she mattered.

You mattered, no matter how fleeting the moment was.

But now you don't.

And I am giving up on you.

Faith, trust, respect; you are getting none of it.

do's and don'ts

Obsessed with this band at the moment.

I spent most of my Saturday under the hardly flattering, harsh white lights in my physics tuition center, braving the cold and fighting sleep. 4 hours, back to back, left me mentally drained by the time they passed but at least I fulfilled my study quota for the day.

Managed to find my way to my Aunt's house where we made several batches of pineapple tarts and chocolate cornflake cups, has me looking forward to CNY.

Money, goodies, barbecued meat, gambling, and most importantly - holidays!

(My choice of punctuation is irking me a little more than it should, must be the enthusiasm so rare on this space that it seems forced somehow)

I'll just have to weather through the annual profiling by distant relatives and mentally prepare myself to repeat my ambitions no less than 5 times per house.

Church in late morning and three tests to study for so I really should be turning in now.

Please never return

I can't quite put a finger on exactly how I am feeling right now but perhaps a "in disbelief at your audacity and lack of tact so much that I am incapable of fury" will suffice. The other option would be nothing, I feel nothing.

Who do you think you are?

Park your presumptuous, conceited self somewhere else, you are no longer welcome here.

    

   

It's midweek already and the days are blurring past at a very alarming, increasing rate. Cognitive or not, I say it's the fault of time acting up once again.

This week alone I have spent more hours on an instrument than I have in years, and I must say it took quite a substantial amount of resolve in me to put my uke down and let the day's trials and perplexities trail their way down the drain and out of my life for those short, lathered moments.

I'd say singing and strumming have proven to be great therapy for my frazzled mind and desolate heart, but I need to master the all elusive art of time management to make sure I have ample time for my obligations as a student. That hardly leaves me with any time to workout and due to my sheer exhaustion from everything else, I am forced to simply reside in that unnerving knowledge and try not to let it eat away at whatever positivity that remains inside.

Just 2 more days to the weekend, now.

12.24am
Just one of those nights where I crave to be in love.

But you don't rush these things so I shall just keep a patient wait and pray my heart does not insinuate otherwise.

peace

I don't think you are very nice.

In fact, you have no qualms about stepping all over me.

Take me for granted, sometimes for dead.

I may not be fazed by your (half-hearted) attempts at conversation,

but

I

think I'd like to see you try.
 So, go ahead.
"Show me, don't tell me."

I still don't think you are very nice.

Would all of you be so kind as to clap for the girl who has endured all kinds of bullshit from the dreadful, conceited imbeciles who are also commonly referred to as men, in the past few months?

Thank you for being such gentlemen.

this is the life

Oh my God. Two Door was beyond incredible. I'd say our seats were pretty good for $111.
Nothing beats hearing your favourite songs live, nothing.

Alt-J, OMAM, KoC, Bat for Lashes, Japandroids, Gotye, Stars, Ellie Goulding, I am so ready for you all.

So psyched, this is how you start the year right.

I am feeling so emotional now listening to Tourist History when I have to be up at the ungodly hour of 8 on a Saturday morning because of SAJC's Open House.

I never want to forget any of this but it seems like every gig outdoes the previous one and I'm left with a bunch of muddled memories.

I seek connection.
Conversations that bring out the child in me, and the sparkle of enthusiasm and excitement in his eyes.
I will sometimes trip over my words, or momentarily find them stolen from me, when concentration on his face, yes the one that contorts in the most adorable of ways when he laughs, overwhelms me.
It bewilders me.
That out of all the places and people he could be in and with,
He chose me.
And that alone is worth some seconds of silent worshipping, pausing of dialogue.
My mind is glued to the spot on the back of my hand where his thumb is tracing in the tiniest of circles.
It has been that way, for minutes, hours maybe.
Time is not accounted for when one is so deeply lost in conversation, no intention to be found.
We don't kiss, or mind the subtle tingling in our loins.
Because at this moment our decibels and hertz are wreaking some kind of kismet havoc in the air.

Some days we turn on the tv, but it seems we watch more off each others' eyes, than the screen itself.

I submit

I hate feeling the way I do;
helpless

Because when you lose the connection you have with somebody,
there's no getting it back

I can't meet your eyes during,
fleeting moments throughout the day
and not think about the incredible rift between us both
Sometimes the flicker in your gaze
Makes me wonder
if we can't share tales
Then maybe we'd share sentiments
But;

I can't bring myself to take
the first step in talking to you
because these periodic spurs of emotions
will always be
easier to handle than
the staggering disappointment when
we talk and I'm reminded that time;
time apart has conceived a distance too large
too vast; to abridge

sorry to be heavy, but heavy is the cost

been forever since I last listened to this

It's Tuesday, the second day of the academic year, and I feel like these 11 months are going to go by extremely slowly despite one too many warnings from tutors and lecturers that "time will fly past and you'll be sitting for your A' Levels".

Yeah and I will probably look 44 by the time those dreaded exams are done with.

I had a mini nervous breakdown yesterday but I was too busy being nervous and breaking down (because that's what a nervous breakdown entails right?) to blog about it at that moment, and also because I have no interest in being those obsessive bloggers/tweeters who feel this compelling urge to blog/tweet about every single detail of their insignificant lives, and confuse generic stress-ruts for breakdowns, you know?

And people say you grow less humorous with age. 

So anyway the highly possible reasons pertaining to my breakdown would include the anxiety of having to take my goddamn height and weight the following day, the pile of assignments and holiday revision packages that have magically added up just enough to swamp me, and as usual, the perennial question: WHY AM I NOT LOSING WEIGHT DESPITE EVERYTHING I'M DOING?

By everything I mean regular exercise and clean eating.

and the fact that TDCC is on Friday and I have no outfit to render me attractive enough to score myself a decent guy with good music taste and preferably nice shoes, maybe in brogues and beige and baby blue because that combination pretty much does it for me. Or alternatively he could be in boots and dark jeans and a leather throwover, I would tap that. No, but really, I think gigs are the perfect place to meet someone because I'd really like to be with someone who has similar musical preferences to mine.

Not any guy's going to approve having me walk down the aisle to Bloc Party's Signs you know.

No, but really, I need to conjure up a decent outfit that is practical and stylish although I did swear that practical and stylish can never be in the same sentence except in the ones before. So, I suppose like most times I'd go for the latter, it's not like I'll be jumping and grooving and headbobbing and fistpumping and whatever it is you people do at concerts in stilettos anyway because I don't do heels.

I am craving any form of carbohydrates that does not include oatmeal. Pancakes or pasta or a bowl of tonkotsu ramen with the amazing hanjuku egg. Typing alone is making my mouth water, oh God. I want to quit this torture but new year, new body.

It's going to pay off, it's going to pay off, it's going to pay off, it's going to pay off, it's going to pay off, it's going to pa...

calm and reposed

So call it quits, or get a grip. You say you wanted a solution, you just wanted to be missed.

Is there the option of moving out of this state (of mind) ?

stupid, stupid, stupid

I should've seen this coming
Don't know why I'm surprised
Cause every vessel on its way down
Takes with it the captain's life

-

Maybe one day, you would've managed to banish the darkness in your heart. Do away with the knitted brows. Cast out the demons that own your every conscious thought when it's late, and everybody's asleep, and you're alone with your thoughts - when you're alone. Demons that lull you to yet another fitful sleep, littered with dreams of people you don't want to dream about anymore.

I hope that one day you'll be happy, content, at ease.

And when you look at the empty seat in front of you I hope you'll think of me, and how I could've filled it up, if only you had let me in. You know how proud I'd be.

I hope you'll think of me.

ironic

If Barbie was an actual woman, she would be 5’9” tall, have a 39” bust, an 18” waist, 33” hips and  size 3 shoes.

• Barbie calls this a “full figure” and likes her weight at 110 lbs.

• At 5’9” tall and weighing 110 lbs, Barbie would have a BMI of 16.24 and fit the weight criteria for anorexia. She likely would not menstruate.

• If Barbie was a real woman, she’d have to walk on all fours due to her proportions.

 • Slumber Party Barbie was introduced in 1965 and came with a bathroom scale permanently set at 110 lbs with a book entitled “How to Lose Weight” with directions inside stating simply “Don’t eat.”

spineless

So often I've let careless words that have slipped out from loose lips govern my every thought and action. I can never forget the feeling that leaves me trembling whenever my over-analytical brain reads too much into what may possibly be just a sweeping statement - a fleeting comment. When people say I don't look 'fatter' or anything, and in an instant it sends my mind reeling, and all I can think about is I must be perceived as pudgy for the term 'fatter' to be used instead of 'fat'.

Insult my lack of punctuality, my style, my mannerisms, and I can take it, but insult my weight or body shape and I surrender. It's K.O for me and you will most probably have me in tears.

Some part of my body is knotted up, in anxiety and fear, whenever a photo of me is being taken that I have no preview of. Group photos, class photos, passport photos. When I ask to see them I don't let go of the breath I am holding, until disgust or relief upon revealment purges it out of my system.

I never forget backhanded compliments or 'playful' insults thrown in my direction, ever. Long after my permissive, gracious heart has offered forgiveness, I am still able to playback your exact words in the exact same tone in my head, and it's what I like to do sometimes as a form of self-mutilation when masochism champions hedonism.

Contributes to the school of thought that you can forgive but forgetting is a whole other story.

I want to embrace my body, my mind, myself. But I am weak, and I am very, very human. To be honest, I have let society alter my visions and mindsets and because of that I have this irrational fear of being marginalized. I want in. I want to be in the revered centre where I am skinny and beautiful and I say the right things and do the right things. Right because the media said so, not because my mother said so.

Isn't that tragic? That my mother tells me I'm regular and that's okay, and that's nice, and that's good. But I choose to listen to society who is so hell bent on insisting I need that gap in between my thighs and that line in the middle of my abdomen to be happy, to be accepted.

The saddest part; society triumphs in the end. Because as much as I am acutely aware of this deception I continue to sink deeper and deeper into my character.

The Holocaust is not over. The 21st century is Nazi Germany, the media is Hitler. Only the torture chambers are in our heads. I am but a 1940s Jew falling to my knees at the feet of the Fuhrer.

thought catalog

But there is only so much I can convince myself about how you feel and what you think before I am making a fool of us both. I am not interested in being the person who follows you around, the embarrassing little girl whose inability to control her own emotions makes it okay to treat her however you want. As much as I look forward to your temporary lapses in judgment which allow you to tell me everything you know I want to hear, I know that they are not good for me.

I know that I have been allowing this game to be played for far longer than I should have, and that there is nowhere positive for this to go. So I will fight that instinctive desire to be hurt and walk away. I won’t make dramatic proclamations about erasing you from my memory or wishing I had never known you. I must learn to take away the power over me that I have given to you and put it towards parts of my life which aren’t so dead-set on hurting me. And even if my newfound independence inspires in you a renewal of your desire to exert your control over me, your efforts will be wasted.

Just a more dramatic rendition of my feelings right now, but thank you Charlotte Green, you said it, girl.

bio

I'm not one to play games.

I never understood the concept of playing hard to get. Why do the ones who don't care, get anything and anyone they want? By doing nothing at all, their hands are full; with everything. I am patient and I don't give up on people, instead, I give away second chances to the point second changes into multiples of the number itself. I don't see the need, the glorification of revenge.

I forgive.

You can do anything to me. Manipulate me to do things in your favour. Take my heart to places you will only abandon me at. Bring me flowers and prepare for me candlelit dinners only to spike my wine. Make me believe in the existence of even the slightest smidgeon of affection directed at me when it was always at another person. Make me a part of your ruse, it's what I deserve anyway.

It's what I deserve for always instigating dates and plans. For turning down appointments with friends and family to make myself free just in case you were. For making mental notes to bring you here whenever I stumble upon any place I think you might like. For reserving myself for you. For dressing, wearing my hair, a certain way I know you fancy. For choosing flats over platforms because I know it bothers you when I have to tread carefully. For considering your feelings.

I don't give up on people. Long after the dirt has covered the track, I still find my way. This stubborn belief that the you who once moved me with your honeyed words still exists for me to uncover again is akin to a light that cannot be snuffed, and the knowledge that those words were uttered mindlessly is still rendered useless because I will always find new excuses for that fact. He meant it, he probably just has trouble keeping to his word. He struggles to express himself sometimes. He's going through a rough patch.

Before I know it, I am complaining about you to friends but yet the minute I sense a backhanded compliment or subtle insult directed at you I am suddenly jumping to your defence.

I give too much, and I care too much, I could change. I could start caring a little less, replying a little slower, shortening my texts. I could start acting like every other girl in this screwed up 21st century world that we live in. Maybe I'd actually garner some affection and attention. But of whom? Thrill-seekers who are truth be told insecure, competitive bastards who are only looking to prove something to themselves; to gain reassurance that they still have it in them to make someone who previously could not give a shit, give a shit? But I would be acting, and I would be cheating you of my true self.

I actually like my true self. Call me needy, obsessive, dramatic, emotional, neurotic, clingy or hypersensitive. But I am full of heart, and I am full of honesty.

I will always be real with you.

relatable

"Yes, you misled me with enough half-truths and vague semi-promises to love me that I filled in the blanks with what I wanted to hear, but that was my fault." -Charlotte Green

The Kind Of Girl I Am | Thought Catalog

The Kind Of Girl I Am | Thought Catalog

I am this girl.

cereals stuff

I'm back to questioning my choices in life, again.

School starts come Monday and it's triggered an entire whirlwind of deep thought and I feel my heart plummet at the thought of having chosen the wrong educational path, especially.

"You want to do Mass Comm? Then why are you in science fac? Why are you in JC?" 

"Why didn't you go to poly?"

I don't bloody know okay I have always thought myself to be spineless and aimless and prey to perceived expectations of people. I've always been nudged in the direction of professionalism; law or medicine. I never thought I had it in me to make known the truly saddening fact of the matter: that I have no inclination whatsoever to the two. Field trips to the supreme court and conversations with med school kids never succeeded in manifesting in me more passion.

In reassurances from the people around me that I was still young and there was still time to find direction and figure out my goals in life, I drew comfort.

I was told law was too serious for me, I wouldn't bode well with rigidity and I should seek out something that would complement my bubbly personality(I do not think of myself as bubbly but people seem to think so)

What am I passionate about really?

I guess I'd say, food, fashion and writing. 3 things I wouldn't mind immersing myself into for days at a time. Drowning myself in a bottomless pit of bread and butter pudding and creme anglaise, very tempting no?

I remember wanting to be a merchandiser when I was younger. To a girl that was beginning to know the difference between a messenger bag and a satchel, being paid to shop seemed like a dream. 

I know I have a hell lot to learn if I ever want to write as a profession, but perhaps I will only dabble a little in journalism. PR and Advertising and Events Management sound just about right though.

I really don't know. An epiphany soon, please?

Simple needs

What you are is a complicated girl with simple needs. You need your books and time to read, and you need a few friends and you need someone-not to take care of you, but to care for you. If you have all those things, you’ll always be alright.

-“Breakable You” by Brian Morton

Love this

"I once dated a writer and..

Writers are forgetful,

but they remember everything.
They forget appointments and anniversaries,
but remember what you wore,
how you smelled,
on your first date…
They remember every story you’ve ever told them -
like ever,
but forget what you’ve just said.
They don’t remember to water the plants
or take out the trash,
but they don’t forget how
to make you laugh.

Writers are forgetful
because
they’re busy
remembering
the important things."