breached

It wasn’t what you said. It was what you did not say that broke everything.

Alas, I’d probably not feel safe telling you anything personal. For a long long long long time.

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The only constant

I’m always changing.
My perspectives, my speech, my language.
Change would be my constant.

If you can only accept the ‘yester-me’, then hold your grudge and go away.
Because I won’t stop for myself, neither will I stop for you.

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Of thoughts, talks and actions

What mattered, what really matters, and if anything truly matters after all.

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A very ‘cat-ified’ Sydney trip

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It’s only been about half a year or so, but I found myself once again walking on the famously busy land of Sydney. This time round, however, I didn’t get to stay with any of my relatives, mainly because they were accommodating their soon-to-be in-laws. But it was a good thing, because I did managed to sate my long overdue yearnings for some ‘cat time’.

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Irritated kitty because I refused to feed her my lunch.

Irritated kitty because I refused to feed her my lunch.

All three cats were extremely vocal, not only during meal times. I guess, I was a little nettled by one of them, because she was behaving like some overly-possessive crazy bitch (this is definitely a female thing. like seriously). But other than that, I managed to get some talk-to-the-cats-as-if-they-understood-me time.

Also, besides the cats living in my accommodation, my cousin’s place also had two cats! But I only managed to take a photo with one of them, seeing that this ginger kitty was greedier while the other was too shy.

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The cousins

Anyhoo, this trip was pretty fruitful. I got to hang out with one of my distant relatives (cousin’s cousin), Titus, for a bit! I haven’t seen him for nearly a decade (or more?) and he hasn’t exactly changed a bit!

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Buddha display

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Me being me, it’s no wonder that I went around looking for things to see. And there you go, the Sydney Buddha.

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They were huge! Just look at the size of the curious humans around! The non-metallic Buddha statue reeked of fertilisers and was said to be destroyed as time passes. That probably explained why some portions of that statue had disappeared.

Symphony at the domain

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I had been planning to go for this event ever since I’ve heard of the Sydney Festival! So, naturally, I scheduled the Symphony in the Domain into my trip! My cousin decided to come along and we ended up going there as a group.

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It was a really pleasant experience, honestly. I was expecting it to be crazily crowded (it’s Sydney, after all…), but it was surprisingly enjoyable! Although that event attracted throngs of people, there was enough space to comfortably accommodate everyone. And the amazing sound system and live broadcast ensured that the performance could be seen and heard by all the attendees, despite the distance they were away from the stage.

That probably summed up my Sydney trip. Had lots to reflect on, tons of quality time spent with my cousin and had my share of cat-talks. I’m pleased. (:

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The unfolding insecurity

Awoken to that awful twilight just before dawn, with only 3 hours clocked in my ‘sleeping logbook’. It was 4am, and sleep owes me 2 more hours.

But I was up, and all that resounded in my head was, ‘In any event, BRAKES.’

This always happens when I’m either planning for a long drive, or if I’m about to drive a friend somewhere. It’s a funny thing how my brain remembers all the warnings that were given to me about driving and accidents and car damages and that whole shebang, especially during the period when I was still on my L-plates. They probably were given to me out of goodwill, but nonetheless, those words came to me with a motive of instilling fear. So now, whenever I plan on driving a less familiar route, I get the jitters, the butterflies and the cockroaches.

So I laid there, staring at my grey ceiling, with thoughts about how much damage the car will get and, funnily, nothing about how I would survive if an accident were to occur. I wondered, how much of those ‘words of advice’ consisted of true concern of a person’s life, and how much of it were just purely worried that I would ruin the car?

I probably realised something else too.

Insecurities are personal. No one can resolve them or be blamed for them, except the very person him/herself. Because no assurances or affirmations from others were successful in curbing my anxiety attacks when it comes to driving, but any discouraging or disparaging remark will just sink my insecurities further. It’s a downward spiral, and no one can ever save me except myself.

At times I wonder, how long will I need to grapple with these insecurities? Are they just them or are they born from an even deeper and greater pool of insecurities that I have yet to discover? And, when will I finally see it fit to let them go?

Oh wells, one thing at a time. Let me just deal with driving for now.

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The cutest grandma I know

IMG_20150116_220734 She is the cutest and liveliest grandma I’ve known till now. Her attitude in life, her mannerisms and the sharpness in her mind would never betray her physical age. She, on her very own, is secure and happy. Despite only meeting her for no more than a week, I’m pretty sure she’ll pop up in my mind every now and then whenever I’m feeling pessimistic about life.

If I dare say, she is probably one of those people who are meant to bring a sense of hope to other people. I, on the other hand, would probably be the complete opposite. I reckon I bring the end of constructed lies in humans. As such, those who choose to believe in the invisible elephants will end up hating me.

I’m never a fan of longevity. Personally, I’d rather die young than delay the greatest departure I would have in life. Till now, my decision is unmoved. I can’t really explain this perspective without sounding like a depressed person, but really, it is not as depressing as it all sounds. But well, no point throwing pearls before swine.

Nonetheless, in this cute grandma, I saw something that might stick in me for a while. She showed me that, no matter what we’re here on earth to do, whatever missions and marching orders we have to fulfil, and however long or short our lives would be, we can always be happy. That, despite everything life can throw unto us, there is always a way and a possibility and a choice to be happy.

In my very short span of life, that would be how I wanna live.

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Thanks grandma. I don’t know when I’d get to see you again. But even so, you’ve left your mark. (:

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Scars remind us that the past is real

All that unnecessary drama.
After all these years, how much further do you want to play that push-and-pull game?
Because loving you had already become a chore, and yet there is no shunning away.
Really, those drama, are they even real?

I’d love to say, ‘Snap out of it!’. But I honestly don’t think that’s a possibility.
Still, be well till I see you again.

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Oh, it’s 2015?

In 2014, the idea of not wanting to live a crazily long life (like anything beyond… say 40 years old?) was reinforced. I have yet to collect all the fragments of that beating organ hidden within my ribcage, and definitely not near gluing them back together. Because some things can be fixed back to how they were before they were damaged, but some people can’t.

Still, I guess, my job for 2014 is done. Hopefully, 2015 won’t be so devastating.

I’m sorry that your smiles are now all fake, and that you’ve so adamantly chosen hate. I would’ve missed you, and if you were patient enough, we could still have conquered the sun and the moon and the stars. But my job is done. If you’ve gotta hate, you’ve gotta hate. Still, I pray you smile and you laugh and you love with all your heart. And at the end of it all, find a way to be truly happy. Goodbye my once-friend.

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Is it time to say goodbye, again?

In slightly more than a month’s time, I’m gonna bid my goodbyes again. I don’t think I’ve ever, for a moment, taken my dear friend for granted, but knowing of his imminent departure somehow got my thoughts running.

I’m reminded of those times where I had to stand alone on my two very wobbly feet. The day when I left Machans Beach and moved out to stay alone. The day when David left Cairns for Tasmania. The day when I had to send Cooper off. The day when Mum left Brisbane. The day when David left Brisbane. The day when I sat on the steps outside my place, looking at the back of a person who would not return again.

I guess I’ve grown to become dependent on this friend of mine, almost expecting his presence to be near. He’s like a brother and I had probably developed a reliance on him. But I guess, it’s time to feel that fear again. Time to once again know that I’d be alright alone.

Time to remember those days when I realised how independence could no longer be a matter of my own childish denial, but a matter of how and when. And as painful as it is, as helpless as I am, as afraid as I can be, I could only welcome those goodbyes and not resist them.

Some days, I’m still trying to figure out what I really want to learn and remember from this life. Some days, struggles are so silent, only those who struggle would know. Some day, it would probably not matter anymore.

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Remember me to one who lives there

I draw lines all the time.
While my lines can come in all forms (thin, wavy, straight, curvy), I will always draw lines.

I’m sorry, but I’m strict like that.
Because I refuse to be a hypocrite.
Because I have to be an example of my words, despite difficulties and pain.
Feel my heart, and know that it knows no malice.

We live with values, and we die by them.

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Run away

I can probably hold my nose up in the air now and brag about how I’ve survived overloading my studies with five courses and one part-time/causal job throughout my whole final semester.

Yet, it wasn’t good enough. I didn’t try hard enough. They weren’t tiring enough to break me. Wasn’t enough to push me over the edge. Wasn’t even enough to numb that hurt that never healed.

So much for bragging, Tng.

I guess, I did come close to breaking. Just that some survival instincts were activated, so I live. Damn. But running away is tough. One second of freedom and you’re gone. You cry. You feel that crack in your gut and you feel that hollow space in your chest. You feel that damage and you know that, even if you heal, you will only be a product of a damaged good.

Because that’s escapism. Because the fear of facing the pain is greater than the fear of running away. Because the living has got to live.

And you see the ugliness of people. Those who are irresponsible. Those who brag of their everlasting love but will shun away because their apparently-very-wholesome love cannot even encompass your changes. Those who can only comprehend that which is ‘different’ to be ‘wrong’.

But on the bright side, I guess I’ve also got to see those who will embrace your changes, your dilemmas and your contradictions. Those who understand that humans can be unsure. Those who can comprehend that life is a series of constant metamorphosis, and while changes can feel unpleasant, they still fully accept who you are. And they are those who truly love, truly judge but truly accept.

Damages to the heart will always be irrevocable. But for those who appeared on the bright side, I can only be ever grateful.

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Suicide

What a controversial topic.

Should I judge those who committed suicide as murderers that threw away their precious lives when others are fighting to live? Or should I applaud their courage to abandon the illusionary importance we’ve all placed in what we’ve come to know as ‘life’?

Disparaging act, maybe. Yet, Death might not be the most pleasant person to meet, and to catch Death before it catches you, might probably take as much courage as to continue facing Life.

I won’t condone with self-murder, but I’d probably not condemn it too. Because, while ‘to live is an act of courage’ (Lucius Annaeus Seneca, Letters to Lucilius), but not many realise that it is because of our cowardice and fear of our inevitable audience with Death, that we continue living.

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When distraction doesn’t work

You fall right back into the same inferno. The one that incapacitates you. The one that turns your guts inside out. The one that reminds you that your heart isn’t quite in one piece or two, but in smithereens that act as a whole body just to keep you functioning.

C’mon already, Death. I’ve waited for nearly 5 months, acting as if it doesn’t hurt, going on as if I’m whole, breathing as if it’s an easy thing. Yet all this while, I bow my head in fear. I cower behind my blankets so Nightmare doesn’t find me. I stand indifferent because I am supposed to be fine by now. But I’m not. I’m not, and it kills me bit by bit, yet not enough for me to die. So fucking claim me as your own already. You’re so fucking late, and my patience is waning. 

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Reticence.

Why question the solitary eccentric?
Because rightful reasons would inevitably become excuses.
And you, you will always be right, no?

Why question the withdrawal?
Because why should one speak when words won’t be heeded?
And why should one gather, when one had so obviously been disregarded?

Why question the cold feet?
When your hearts will always be warm, while mine would always be bleeding.
And when your minds will always be perfect, while mine would always be flawed.

A new slash on an unhealed wound.
Why, I thought it was numbed.
Why, oh why, does it  add up to actually, and still, hurt?

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The half

I should probably blog a little more here. Read more, learn more new words, and learn to apply them a little more. It’s been my personal space for such a long time, ever around despite all my tantrums and running away.

Yet, I can’t be fully back. My less-than-jubilant facade would not completely and truly hide the half soul that is fueling my emotional responses and the half spirit that is weary from breathing.

The sound of the heartbreak still reverberates in my ears and its crushed remnants still bleed with fresh blood. Insidiously, I’ve changed. Change to a craven. Changed to no longer have the courage to put my heart on the line.

Oh the stupidity. Yet why does the black hole in my chest not subside? Why does my eyes still well up with tears?

The broken spirit will lead a half life, give a half smile and chuckle a half laugh. But I guess, it will survive. Just another decade would suffice.

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Sorry, not sorry.

For now..

After a long day, I’d rather be alone than be chatting with strangers. / I make sure I have enough alone time on a daily basis, even though I do enjoy spending time with people. / I love eating chocolates, despite of its ‘sinful’ properties. / I don’t recover easily.

Oh sorry (not sorry), just me and my flawed thinking.

But in that case, I can probably make the bold statement of saying that anyone with any form of personality and any kind of personal preference would be deemed as flawed.

Because it is essentially saying that desiring alone time is just a flawed thinking of being reticent, enjoying chocolates is the flawed thinking that the body would remain healthy after consuming all the sugar, and taking a long time to recover is the flawed thinking that recovery takes a long time.

At the end of the day, you don’t need to be a mad-keen religious being to behave just like the Pharisees and Sadducees.

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Happy birthday H

I won’t say that I’m fine, because I’m not.
And I can’t say I’m not angry, because I am.

But as much as I’m ever so sure of your awesomeness, right now you’re a fucking piece of shit.

Be happy. Be wise.

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Not a single step

When you realise you haven’t shifted a single inch away from the pain you thought had gone away, you realise how time doesn’t make any difference.

At all. 

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Sigh, hello May.

I should probably avoid wearing anything brown for now, because I’m not too keen to look like some tree that got electrocuted on the top. But anyhoo, Michymoo’s superb hair dying skills had once again achieved success on my broom-like hair! I guess I can officially pass off as some Asian-gangsta-girl. Perhaps a couple of additions to my unusual body piercings and a tattoo?

Photo on 30-04-2014 at 8.23 pm I was, obviously flushing after drinking the VERY MILDLY alcoholic Buchi Kombucha. But it’s really nice, though. (:

Well, I suppose my bed is well prepared for winter.

  • ONE layer of blanket as bed sheet
  • FOUR layers of blankets as blankets

I should probably be able to fall asleep if I can find a way to stop my mind from entering the same thought-marathon that happens every night.

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When 9gag makes sense

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Because hon, for oblivion you tore a treasure out of my flesh.
And you trampled on what was precious to me.

Yet will you ever know?
That the pain came not from the impossibility,
But from my precious broken treasure that you heartlessly regard as naught.

Be well, hon.

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