Day 22: 2011

2011 was the year where everything that could go wrong, did. It was the year where I was drowning in everyone's expectations but more importantly I was pushing my own head underneath the water. And I couldn't breathe. Every time I think back to that year, I find myself hyperventilating.

I'm afraid of failing.

2011 was the year where I let myself fall into temptation out of desperation. It wasn't love. And it wasn't quite lust either. It was just two lonely people seeking comfort in each other's warmth. At that far corner of my mind, I knew you were using me but I let you because I was using you too. I needed to feel my heart bashing against my ribcage. I needed to feel loved. I needed to feel alive.

I was afraid that I was dying inside.

2011 was the year where I died inside my head almost every night. I thought I was going crazy. I was losing a battle with the crazies inside my mind. I spent my days psychoanalysing myself. I was one step away from a mental breakdown. And I didn't want anyone to know. I didn't want anyone to know that I was losing.

I was afraid of my own shame.

2011 was the year where I barely survived. I came out of that abyss with scars that would haunt me for life. It was the year where I met you and learned to doubt emotions. You told me what I wanted to hear. You tainted my precious words. Promises to you meant nothing: they were simply sweet nothings.

I'm afraid of promises.

Day 19: One of Those Nights

Tonight is just one of those nights
Where weeks and days have taken their toll
And I just want to pull my hair and scream out of control
Tonight is just one of those nights
Where a double bed is twice too large for an empty heart
And I just want to fetal curl and fall apart
Tonight is just one of those nights
Where I pull out that hidden bottle of vodka
And drink myself into a schizophrenic coma
Tonight is just one of those nights
Where calculations of money is lost in The Tardis
And I can't remember what I purchased
Tonight is just one of those nights
Where I would get lost in momentary danger
And wake up next morning with a stranger
Tonight is just one of those nights
Where a bottle of vodka simply won't do
And the burn is just a cheap replacement of you

Questioning

When I wake up from nightmares, I am at my most vulnerable state. I am weak, shivering, shaking, terrified, angry, lost, confused and relieved. I am every emotion imaginable yet really I am just one: fear. It consumes me. My every nerve, every pore, every fragile heart beat.

I whisper chants in my head until it hurts. I am safe. I am safe. I am safe. It was just a dream. It was just a dream. But no matter how many times I repeat that mantra, my body is rooted to my bed. I am frozen, shell-shocked. The world spins off it's axis. Everything is not alright.

When I wake up from nightmares, I am at my most vulnerable. I question people. I question myself. I question humanity. Because in my nightmares, people are always at their worst. They kill, they lie, they torture for the fun of it, they commit adultery, people cry and yet people still die. What compels one to kill while another to save? What drives people to the point of no return? Where they are doomed to be enslaved in Hell? Why would they make such a choice? What makes people do the most stupid things?

This morning, when I woke up I questioned myself. Why would I go to the one place I hate the most on Earth? The one place that I'm at my weakest? Why would I willingly go to the place I fear the most in the world just to chase after someone that didn't want me? It's so stupid. But I must have loved him a lot.

Sometimes, I hate the mornings. Being a morning person means I'm awake when everyone is still alseep. That means when I wake up from nightmares, there's nobody there. And I wonder how long until I find someone to wake up to?

Whisky

Rain is my whisky and rum.
At first it's pleasant, it washes me away.
It drowns all my doubts and sings me to sleep.
But it's cold finger tips run shivers down my spine.
Is not enough for my longing heart.
More. I want more.

The pencil is my only lover.
He listens to my silent words.
I really don't need any other.
The pencil tucks me in at night.
He is still without a name.
But he knows to leave on the night light.

Lies are my gun and taser.
It protects me from physical pain.
There is no better bodyguard from harm.
But it can't wrap warm arms around me.
He is as cold and fragile as myself.
All I have is whisky to drown myself asleep.

I need you here beside me

Inspired by: Barry's post- Sex and Guilt

What good is a man if he's only visible within my dreams?
If the only voice I hear is fabricated from my imagination.
How can he prove his love when he only knows the perfect me?
He cannot leap onto the streets to defend me from nightmares.
Or wrap his arms around me when I need a shoulder to cry on.
How can he when he's not real?
I need someone solid who will hold my hand during the cold nights.
Someone I can wake to in the early mornings.
Who has unruly hair I can weave my fingers through.
I neither need a prince nor knight to rescue me from dragons.
A fairytale ending is not necessary.
Just be there for me when I can't stand tall on my own.
I just need a man who I can kiss, touch and hold.
Someone who is right here and now.
Someone tangible.
I need you here beside me, where I know that you are real.
And not a figment of my fantasies.

Like magic

 Note: It's been a while but this follows on after the post, Underneath my skin from that series of short stories I was writing before.

                                              ---------------------------------

I am running. Running. Running. I am running out of breath. Running with no place to go. Simply running, out of desperation and out of fear. My thighs ache. My heart clenches with each gasp of air I force down my lungs. I cannot stop. There is no option of resting. He is right behind me. I can feel him on the edge of my hair. I can smell his alcohol stench creeping closer to my pores. Suddenly, I fall. I try to stand up but I cannot feel my legs. I look down and realised that I am suddenly without them. And he is on top of me. He is inside me. He is everywhere. I scream. I scream. I scream. No one hears me. I am nowhere.

I open my eyes.

With the room spinning around my head, I rush to the bathroom and hurl my stomach into the toilet. I threw up everything: my breakfast, my lunch, my dinner then when there was nothing left, I spewed my stomach walls. I watch as blood swirls with half-digested food at the bottom of the toilet bowl. Disgusting. Repulsive. Even now, I can still feel his tobacco breath on my skin. Itching as though fleas are biting me, I crawl slowly into the bathtub. I close my eyes but do not dare sleep. I’m too tired to return there. Hell.

I walk into the lounge room after ensuring that I was thoroughly clean by rubbing until thin layers of skin peeled off. With one hand holding my towel to my body, my other searches through yesterday’s mail. Most of the letters were either for Sally, my room-mate or scams for poor misguided fools. Finally, my eyes are caught by a flamboyantly decorated envelope. I flick a glance towards the calendar and let out a small smile. Was it that time of the year again? I rip out the letter and merely examine the first sentence for confirmation: Darling, you are invited to Chris’ 25^th birthday!  I knew it. 

From experience, I have about two weeks until the birthday party; plenty of time for gift hunting. I tap my fingernails on the dining table as I stare out the window while thinking with an absent mind. I listen to the predetermined ticking of the clock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. In the near distance, Sally is quietly snoring. I hate early mornings almost as I hate the night. I hate waking up before dawn, where the morning is a carbon copy of the night. In my mind, there is no difference. It’s dangerous either way.

I pull out my mobile and dial Neal’s number with practised ease. It takes a while and I listen to the mechanical ringing. He finally picks up and groggily tells me that if calling people so early in the morning was an act of crime, I would have been put into jail many times over. I laugh and ask him whether or not I could come over to his place then later go shopping together for Chris’ birthday gift. Begrudging, he replies, ‘Go ahead, I’m awake now anyway.’ I slip into my flower-print dress and grab the keys before escaping out the door. Without breakfast.

Neal opens the door with his eyes half-open, welcoming me. I hesitate before passing by him with a quick peck on his left cheek. He clenches onto my wrist and growls into my ear, ‘You should know by now what happens if you come over my place with eyes that scream hold me. I am only a man after all.’ I know. I know him very well and I came here expecting as much. It doesn’t matter if it’s only for a moment. I want to be held by him. I want to feel safe. I let him cling to me as we kiss, even though in the corner of my eyes, is a photo of her.

I watch him button up his shirt as I stir the scrambled eggs in the pan. I add a pinch of salt and pepper for flavour and scoop it onto his plate. He eyes me warily, ‘Where’s your serving? Have you already eaten?’ I shuffle my feet nervously, there is no point in lying to him, ‘I don’t have much of an appetite.’ Neal lets out a sigh and eats, ‘Ever since you came back from New York, I haven’t seen you eat. You do eat right?’ I give him a slight nod. I could never tell him what happened during my trip. He would book the first flight out of Australia and slaughter every man on the street of New York.

‘Did something happen while you were there?’

I drop the glass of orange juice I was holding and watch in shock as it broke into shrapnel oblivion. I quickly try to clean up my sudden mistake but Neal was on the ground in an instant. He gathers me into his arm and plops me onto the couch, pointing his finger at me he barks, ‘Stay! I’ll clean it up.’ I watch in a nervous shiver as he sweeps all the broken glass and dumps them into the bin. 

He returns to me and sits down beside me, ‘You’re hiding something from me.’ I look away, not daring enough to answer, fearing that once I open my mouth, everything will spill out. He touches my shoulder and I flinch. Not good. I’m starting to feel ill. A sickening feeling builds up at the bottom of my stomach and I know what’s going to happen. Before Neal could utter another word, I run into his bathroom and lock myself up. He shouts from the outside, ‘Emma, what’s wrong?’ I don’t answer. Rather, I couldn’t answer.

All I could do was vomit bile and blood into the toilet. 

I don’t know how long I spent inside the bathroom, but eventually I stumbled out and sleeping next to the door was Neal. At least, I thought he was asleep. He turns his head at me, ‘Tell me what’s wrong. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me.’ I walk into the kitchen and poured another glass of orange juice, ‘I don’t have to tell you everything that happens to me.’ I know that he cares but he is the last person I want to know about the incident. He stalks up to me and places the glass down and pulls my wrist until our faces are inches apart, ‘I have a right to know.’ I push him away and this time I glare at him, ‘Like hell you do. You are not my boyfriend; you are nothing but a fuck buddy!’ Immediately, I regret my words, I touch his arm, ‘Neal…I’m sorry.’ He storms into his room and I follow him, I watch helplessly as he seizes his keys and walks out, ‘It’s best that we buy Chris’ presents separately.’ 

I fall to my knees crying. Why does it always end like this?

At the party, I don’t see Neal. After weaving through mashing bodies of sweat, I end up at Chris’ private bar. Scanning through his collection, I pick the bottle of scotch and walk off with it, much to the protest of the bartender. I escape into the balcony and watch the stars. The only time, I can safely enjoy the night is when I’m distanced from it. 

I hear footsteps behind me and turn to see one of Chris’ friends that were introduced earlier. Adrian, I think his name was. He nods at my bottle of scotch; instead of passing it to him I take a long hard swig and glare at him. He chuckles at me, ‘You know, drinking too much isn’t good for your health. Especially, a whole bottle of scotch.’ I give him a side-glance, ‘What are you, my doctor?’ He laughs and combs his moppy hair with his hands, ‘No but I’m a psychologist, so a doctor of some degree.’ I let out a sigh, great he’s a shrink. Probably thinks I need counselling.

Instead of pressing my issue with alcohol, he looks at me carefully, ‘You know, I didn’t see you eat at the dinner.’ I watch him with tired eyes, ‘Please stop. I had an argument with someone earlier today about my appetite.’ He tilts his head as though to peek into my mind, ‘Your lover?’ I shrug my shoulders, ‘Something like that.’ He smiles and pulls out a packet of skittles and offers them to me, ‘I often find that eating some sweets when you have a poor appetite helps relieve your stomach. They’re like magic medicine.’

I grab a small handful and pop them into my mouth.
I grin back at him, ‘Like magic.’ 

He who is more than a friend.

I open the cardboard lid and place photos, notebooks and last year's smiles away at the very bottom of the box. They're either joining the rest of boxes for the new house or in the charity pile. How do I know what memory to keep or not when guilt dirties all the days of sun with smog? Guilt. Hatred. Jealousy. All ugly emotions that I will crumble into paper and throw away.

That is why I'm leaving.

No matter how pretty the words I use to explain to friends, the true reason as to why I'm leaving is because I can't stand how ugly I've become. I will leave him when I still have the logic to. Because we both know that this cannot continue any longer. Smiles that I can only see. Secret glances. Touch lingering longer than needed. My fingers brush through the fur of the plush dog he gave me. I stare at its honest eyes. He was always like a large puppy. He kept me warm on rainy days. He made me laugh when I felt like crying. He liked to sleep on my lap. He was always gentle. Always.

He loved me like family.

But I secretly wanted him all to myself. I won't say those three words. Feelings are too complicated to be broken down to merely three words. I was happy for him to be my friend but always I cringed at her name on his lips. Feelings are complicated. So I still don't know how to describe my feelings for him. All I know is that things used to be simple and now they're not. And that his smiles were enough.

I wonder, if they still are?

I kiss the nose of the dog and imagine for a second that it's him. I gently cushion him between my other toys in the charity box and close the lid. I'm glad that I met him. All those years of memories will fill me a lifetime. All those laughter will sing me asleep on quiet nights. I won't forget him. He who is more than a friend.

Good bye.

Uncertain path

I wobble and skip along the pebbled path to somewhere.
Where light and clouded darkness meet in a single place.
They twirl around my fingers and brush along my earlobe,
whispering promises I can't hear and neither wanting.
My pink faded toes are streaked with stains of wine
That bind me to the claws of yesterday.
Yesterday is today gone passed.
And today is tomorrow that just came.
They are all the same. Yet slightly different.
Why do we often let tomorrow become yesterday?
When it should always remain today.
In the distance, exploding flowers and bodies
of sweat celebrate the passing of time.
The future is uncertain like a drunken man
blindly searching for the street home.
Where should I go this year?
Turn left into half-open eyes of pool shallow smiles.
Walk to the right into hands of open chances that are tightrope thin.
My feet are quivering and my hands have no where to grip.
So lets hold onto each others hands and brace the icy waves.
Maybe we'll find happiness in fireflies that live forever.
Or maybe we'll get lost on the way.
But at least we're not alone.
And anything is better than that.

Please come out from where ever you're hiding

It took me a long time to realise this but Adrian has taken the role of a prince. This story was never meant to be a fairytale. So why is Adrian so perfect? I find it so sad that he's so idealistic. Why can't such a man exist in this world? Why doesn't he exist in my life? Where are all the Adrians playing hide-and-seek? I'm so sick of this game.

I'm still wondering around aimlessly, playing trial and error.

And it's so frustrating. It's so damn frustrating that I can't find him. And I'm still young. I know that. But I'm not going to continue being young forever. Tomorrow I turn 19. I'm almost 20. I've almost lived 20 years. If I live to 60 than that's 1/3 of my life. If I live to 80 than its 1/4. I feel that I'm quickly running out of time.

But I don't know where to look. Or if I should just simply sit and wait.
I hate waiting the most. I hate waiting for people. Because I'm scared that they'll never come. And I'll just be standing there. In that little corner, wasting away. That has happened before. So I really hate waiting.
I don't want to be that pathetic lonely little girl. Ever. Again.

People give me sad looks when I talk about Love. I know what it means: She's desperate. They say that it shouldn't matter. That I don't need men to find happiness. But it sounds so disbelieving when the people who are telling me this are already in long committed relationships. Did you know that in psychological studies that there are evidence that people in relationships are more happy than people who are not? That relationships are one of the keys to happiness? Even psychology is backing me up. I can't be wrong.

God. I know that I'm rambling. And that I said that I wouldn't blog about such depressing things again but I don't know what to do. I really don't know what to do. Adrian is based on someone that is real. Now I don't know what to do with him. It's just so damn frustrating. It shouldn't hurt. It shouldn't hurt at all because I said that I wouldn't care. But this time, I actually thought that I had a chance. Now I don't know what to do.

Instead of being a great writer, I'm just simply a very lonely woman.

Are you happy?

Sometimes, I wish that I'm the one that stands besides you only.
But when I think about how lucky I am to be part of your life,
I can't help but smile.
Maybe, this is more than enough.

Sometimes or rather most of the time, I'm annoyed with you.
I hate you for being my first because I deserved better.
More than anything, I despise myself for being weak
But I can't help but fear for the future.

Sometimes, I wonder at my progress.
One step forward, three steps back. Am I going anywhere at all?
Memories shackle me to a never ending cycle.
And I question whether I actually want to escape at all.

Sometimes, I wonder if just anyone will do?
Just as long as they fill in the holes inside my heart.
But I know, that is not actually true
Because, I've been there, done that. And it doesn't help.

Sometimes, I wonder if you're happy
I repeat that question in my head every day
Maybe, one day there will be an answer.
But the main question is....
Am I?

Blind

She walks around carrying a memory in her pocket. It weighs like a child steadily growing every day. It's worth however, is questionable. Is it comparable to the world or to a penny? Sometimes, it's more precious than the most valuable gem. But, all that glitters is not gold.

It's a pair of hands that covers her eyes and watch her walk the streets blindly of the world. Rip off the blindfold and throw away that burden into the ocean. Watch it wash away. Watch it fly off your chest. Breathe. Walk away from your mistakes and skip along the pebbled path that is your life. Live. How else could you tell stories to your grandchildren? Don't merely stand on the inside of the mirror. Break through and walk through the day with others.

You're not the only who make mistakes. You're not the only one who wants to live only in the past. But what of those who are in your present? Don't they matter at all? Don't you hear their voices beside your ears? Feel their warm breath tickle your neck and enter the chambers of your heart. Let them breathe life into your lungs. And walk instead with everyone that's important flowing underneath your skin.

You're no longer blind.

Playing Chasies

 
Playing chasies with the past is like searching for footprints in the snow. Nevertheless, he still wants to retrace those footprints even though they long ago been blown away. He cannot give up. He has to find her. Sarah. Where could she be while it's so cold outside? Was she wearing the scarlet scarf he gave her for Christmas? Maybe she went to the local book store? Sarah loves books. So in the howling snow, he trudges to the book store.

    He pushes open the glass door. The sweet twinkling of the bell informs the sleeping owner of a customer. He nods his head towards the elderly woman and continues to weave between the thick shelves. In between the dusty covers lingers the scent of coffee. Sarah usually sneaks in a coffee from the cafe next door. Ah that's right. The cafe. She is probably in the cafe to shelter from the icy wind while drinking her daily dosage of caffeine. A Sarah without her caffeine is a baby without his lollipop: cranky and a headache.

    Standing outside, he rubs at the condensation on the window of the cafe. He sees couples huddled together as close as possible to the massive fireplace in the back corner. Children drinking hot chocolate while their parents sips down coffee. But no Sarah. Where could she be? Maybe she was buying groceries for today's dinner? Maybe she was walking Travis? He does love long walks in both rain or shine but. . . Something is not right. Something is nagging in the back of his mind. What is he forgetting?

    Admitting defeat, he sits and gazes out onto the lake that became an outdoor ice rink. He should take Sarah out ice-skating sometime. He could almost imagine it: Sarah flying gracefully over the almost transparent ice with the snow fluttering like cherry blossoms in spring. Tears fall and become miniature ice balls on the ground. He's crying but he doesn't know why. Then he notices a couple walks by, swinging hands with their daughter-.

    Emily. His six year old daughter. When was the last time he fed her? Did he pack lunch for her today? Is she wearing warm clothes? Is she at home waiting for his return? Shit. He had totally forgotten about Emily. Standing up, he almost slams into an elderly woman and runs home. He barges into his house and bellows, "EMILY." His young daughter leaps off the couch and into his arms, "Where were you Daddy? I was worried." He holds onto her tightly and smiles sadly, "I'm sorry. I was searching for something and lost my way. I'm sorry. I won't leave you alone any more." He walks to their fireplace and picks up the photo of a young woman with amber hair. He kisses it's icy glass gently and begins cooking dinner.
Sarah.

Let's Not Go There

Why are some boys pricks while others are so God damn nice???
Why are some boys so nice that everything they do makes you smile?
I've always been a sucker for nice boys. Because, don't you want someone who treats you well?
Someone who respects you?

Lately there has been someone I've been thinking about a lot. He is someone I haven't known for long, maybe around 3 months the most. One of my closest friends in university. I shall call him N. N is for nice.

Why does he have to be so nice to me? I wish I can tell him to be mean. To be cruel, that way I won't fall for him. That way, I won't be affected by his warmth. I wish he wasn't so nice to me. I can already see the future of these feelings. And I don't want to go there. I'll end up with another broken heart. And a lost friend. I don't want that. I just want to be friends with him. To be able to stay beside him honestly and truthfully. I will stop these conflicting feelings before I find myself at the bottom of a hole I cannot escape from.
Because, I want this year to be full of precious happy memories.

Why does he make me smile so easily? His touch is caring. His touch feels gentle. They feel like Love.
But its wrong. Its so wrong. He already has someone that is special to him. They're a perfect couple. They love each other. She is the one that made him who he is now. He changed for her. And I can't compete against that. I won't be happy with their break up. I can't take someone else's happiness away.
Its not me.

I miss the warmth of another's hand. I miss holding a larger hand in mine and knowing that he belongs to me. I miss smiles that are meant only for myself. I miss having a shoulder to cry on. I miss Love.

Sometimes, I second guess myself. I'm unsure of my own feelings. I don't know if I like him or not. If I'm merely affected by his kindness. Maybe I'm just mixing up friendship with something else. Sometimes, I don't think I even want love. Sometimes, I can't picture myself with anyone in the near or distant future.
Sometimes, I just feel nothing.

I just wish that he wasn't so nice to me. That he wasn't always so close that I could feel his warmth. Sometimes, he is very protective of me. Someone, he hasn't known for long. And I wonder why we get along so well as though we've known each other for years. When there are still so many things that hasn't been spoken about. I wonder why I feel so comfortable and safe with him when usually I'm shy?
All I know is that I'm glad I met him. But I wish he wasn't so nice.
Boys are cruel. They're misleading.
Boys shouldn't be so nice to girls that they don't love.

Because I'll fall for them. . .

Quoting Mondays

 

Why is love intensified by absence?
                       -The Time Traveler's Wife -

 

 

 

 

A Lovely Thinker

University is still sadly a dog. After finishing 4 assignments I received 3 new essays to do.Fun. Good news is that I started writing a new story which will hopefully will be thought stirring. But unfortunately, its going to take a while. So if anyone is interested in guest posting, please email me. It would be rude of me to not  find a form of entertainment for my beloved lovesick fools.Today I have with me, a lovely thinker by the name of Safia from Thinkers Reverie. Her words are beautiful and very thoughtful, definitely a deep thinker. Please enoy!!!

---------

Suggest which of us is likely to suffer more

The trusting or the trusted

The one who gave her heart into another’s keeping

Or the one who misplaced what he did not deserve

A jewel more precious than either of our lives

Given all too readily

Broken all too easily

Suggest which of us is likely to suffer more

The lover or the loved

The girl with the empty space where her heart once rested

Or the boy with the seeds of guilt sewn into his spirit

An organ too fragile for either of us to handle

Given all too readily

Broken all too easily

Suggest which of us is likely to suffer more

When the time comes to take back our words

To turn the tides of emotion that seemed to overcome us

When our thoughts are laid bare for all the world to see

Who do you think will hurt the most?

I who loved you with no thought of consequence

Or you who took for granted what should never have been yours

My trust, my love, my heart

Given all too readily

Broken all too easily

Hidden once more and elusive to all but you

Such as you were

3 years' Unknowing: Scar (Final part)

Writing this made me feel so many emotions. I was happy and then I was sad enough to cry. I hope that with this, I can finally move on. I'm sorry if its too long but many things happened last year.
------------

 3 years Unknowing

Part 1: The Beginning
Part 2: Digging Deeper

            Part 3: Scar

We file out of the cinema with the murmur of people around us. I turn to him asking: Where to now? He opens his mouth to answer but instead what I hear is the sound of stomach rumbling. He chuckles softly: Food it is. We walk pass stores with shining glass that are almost like mirrors; mirrors reflecting my fleeting dream. I glance at the image of us through the windows and see an almost happy couple. Almost, because we're not lovers. We enter the Food Court and I order a Roller from KFC while he buys a Big Mac from McDonald's. I sit across from him and stare at passing strangers behind him. Couples, walking hand-in-hand. I envy them. But right now, I am with Victor and that's all that matters. For a little while, I can pretend.



I gazed out the window of my new bedroom. In the end, we moved back to this neighborhood. If it was early last year, I would be overjoyed that once again, I'm living in the same town as Victor but now, everything seemed for nothing. Outside the window, my street seemed so peaceful and happy that I couldn't help but longed for the rain. If only it could rain inside my house. I wished that the rain hid the fact that I was being pathetic. I wished the rain drowned my tears.


Days turned into weeks and mashed into the last month until I welcomed the New Year with a pained heart. Every night, I would talk to Victor like how I usually would but soon the conversations were filled with her. Reading his words on the screen, I could picture his smile. I knew that smile too well, the same dreamy smile I always had when I thought of him. Instead, he always thought of her. I watched as he slowly made progress with her. Always, encouraging him. Why is it that he always came back to me, with updates and smiling so happily? Because, I was his good friend. That was merely it. And I was left watching him walk away, step by step.


Every day, I wrote him love letters. Every day, I said that I would send them to him but every day, the letters were tucked away. The contents were always different but they all held the same message: I love you. Underneath my bed, the letters piled up slowly like my feelings with nowhere to go. I was scared of the already knowing answer: No. But I wanted him to recognise those feelings that was so precious to me because if it was Victor, he would understand. Or so I thought.


Somehow, with my last high school year progressing deeper, Victor and I spoke less and less. Sometimes, I sent him my short stories but mostly he never replied. Soon, I stopped sending them . I already knew that they were left unopened in his inbox. There was no point. One day, we stopped talking all together. Even though, I saw him every Sunday. It was like we were strangers with no connection to each other at all. It was as though nothing ever happened. He no longer wanted me. He no longer needed me.

The only thing that kept me together were his songs. The sweet twinkling melodies of his guitar that laced around my heart, delicately holding it into place. If only he would sing, then I could always hear his voice. What happened to the voice that once said that I was cute? If only he would say those words one more time. He was the only one that made "cute" special. One day unexpectedly, I received an offline message from him. It was my gleaming beacon of hope. But inside, merely had two sentences: I finally got her email address. We're close friends now.

What about me? Why? Why would he go through all that trouble just to leave such a message. He stopped talking to me for weeks but out of nowhere, he said that. I felt like such a fool. He didn't understand at all. All my days with him were like dust, whisked away into oblivion. They were meaningless to him. Just like my piled letters of love. I ran upstairs and dug out the letters. They were my only evidence of such a pitiful one-sided love. I wanted them gone. I wanted no more of the pain that throbbed all over my body. I wanted to no longer love. One by one, painful rip by painful rip, I hacked away at the letters until they were shredded like my heart. That night, the sky was littered with snowflakes and rain.




The next week, Valentine's Day came with dread. My school held a Valentine's stand so that secret admirers and lovers could express their feelings. I was not looking forward to seeing roses and hearts fly around the school. It was as though, everyone was mocking me. Tormenting me. Then, I was given a rose and a intricately scribbled card. That day was the first day in a while that I smiled so freely. It was a reminder from my friend who shared my same name:
    "Dear ****
      It sucks not being able to be with the person you like,
      but there will always be people who love you. 
      Remember that.
      Love,
      Your bestest friends who love you"    

It was as though I just opened my eyes. It was the first time I noticed my surroundings. It was the first time that I noticed that my brother had been inviting boys from our street into our house. He had already made new friends. My brother had always been quick to move on. I found that I disliked his new friends incredibly. Especially the one by the name of Justin who was around my age. He was always laughing too loudly and always teasing me. I could never tell if he was joking or being serious. I caught him reading my diary a few times. He promised that he wouldn't ever read it again. Sometimes, he was nice and bought me lollies and sometimes he was an annoying fool. He invaded my personal space. I loathed him. He always knew what I was thinking. He could voice my thoughts before my lips even parted. He crawled under my skin and got inside me. But. . .he made me forget. He was a shoulder to cry on. He hid me from the scar.


A month later, Justin's confession tumbled and collided into my life. It was short, sweet and innocent. He asked if I liked him too and I could only reply with 'Yes'. Because, in truth I did. I thought I was happy with him. I thought I was content. Simply, because I was loved. A few nights later, as I walked him to the front door, he bid me good night: Sweet dreams. I love you. I returned his words with a hesitant smile. The words, they felt dry on my tongue. They felt so unnatural and strange that I wondered for a second, if they were actually mine. In a few days, 'like' had turned into 'love'. I didn't quite understand. But because, it was my first relationship I thought that maybe it was normal.


I came to realise quite soon that Justin was someone that needed a lot of attention. We were always together. Almost, every minute he was beside me. Even when I studied or when I woke up from my afternoon naps. He was always there, watching and waiting for me. Thats what I came to love about him. I was never alone. Later, Justin's friends became my friends. His cousin Kevin also befriended me. All my days were filled with smiles and laughter. Pages of my diary became full of sunshine. However, I was not entirely opened with sharing everything with Justin. I was never someone that voiced my emotions. And he demanded to know everything about me. 'Don't you trust me?' He would ask. I felt like I was put into spotlight but I was guilty for making him think that way: I trust you but I don't feel the need for you to know everything about me. I am my own person. Please don't force me into telling you everything. In the end, he always won. I always became the one at fault . I hated seeing him upset. I didn't want him to hate me. I always apologised first.


Sometimes, I talked to Justin's cousin Kevin. Somehow, he was different to how I first thought. He was indifferent to Justin. Kevin didn't care about him at all. Justin, I discovered got jealous easily. He didn't want me to be too close to his cousin. Justin said that his cousin was trying to take me away. I didn't understand. But soon after that, Kevin plagued me with flirtations and offers to be his girlfriend instead. I didn't understand why he even liked me. We never met. All our conversations were via Justin's msn. One day, I woke up to my Facebook status telling lies: I love Kevin Ly. I couldn't comprehend what happened. How did it come to that? All I knew was that I was left with one heartbroken Justin and myself on the brink of murder: FUCK OFF KEVIN LY. LEAVE US ALONE was my new Facebook status. A few days later, Kevin had the nerve to talk to me on msn again. It seemed like he was always at Justin's house. My brother Jimmy said that something was wrong. Jimmy was a born detective. He told me to continue talking to Kevin. So while I continued the conversation, my brother along with his bestfriend, snuck to Justin's window. Inside, they saw something unexpected. Justin was on the only computer in his house. What if, the person that was trying to break us apart was Justin all along?


My mind had turned tipsy turvy. Things didn't make sense. Why would he do that? Nothing made sense. I couldn't put my finger around what happened. My heart was rescued out of the rubbish bin but only to have my scar ripped open and bled endlessly. I believed him. I trusted him. Was it a test? Didn't he see how much pain I had gone through? I thought he understood me. But I didn't understand him so I did the only thing I could think of. I confronted Justin. He told me that he never pretended to be his cousin before. That day was the only one. I knew that it was unlikely for that to be true. But, I couldn't leave him. I didn't want to return to that state of nothingness. I didn't want to be alone.


Being in a relationship had many ups but almost more downs. I had known Jimmy's best friend Alex for nearly 10 years. Jimmy, Alex and I were always together. We were even going to start a band together with Jimmy on drums, Alex lead guitar and I as the singer. We all got along well dispite the age difference. But then, Justin came to me with his sad eyes: You like Alex don't you? I was speechless. . .How could he have thought that? Alex was a kid (no offence Alex). He was practically another brother to me. Justin wouldn't let the subject drop. He always bombarded me with his doubts. It was unfair, I couldn't be close with my other male friends without Justin doubting me. Most of my friends were boys. Justin, always dug up my scar. It was though, he enjoyed seeing me bleed. Every now and then, Justin would mention Victor. I was forced to listen to my boyfriend badmouth my first love. There was nothing I could do. Whenever I defended Victor, it was like a double edged sword. Justin would question my loyalty. It was unfair.


Because of Justin, I stopped listening to Victor's songs. It pained me because they were my tranquilizer. But Justin said that I only needed him. I should only depend on Justin to lift my spirits. And he did. He like always, listened to me and encouraged me but sometimes it wasn't enough. Year 12 was pulling my hair out. My Art teacher was always disappointed with my artworks. She always changed her mind about what I should have done. She complained endlessly that my sculpture was not up to her standards and that I should do what I was told. She was the only one that didn't like my sculpture. I wanted so badly to rebel against my teacher. I wanted to scream and shout: No. But I was too weak. I cared far too much of how people perceived me. I spent almost every lunch break and afternoon locked inside the art studio. There were always students or teachers walking passed. They all loved my sculpture. But my teacher hated my sculpture and I came to no longer love it. Art was no longer my release. Art became work.


Mother and I argued many times in my final year of high school. Mainly about my career choice. I wanted to be a psychologist. To be able to do something to help others because people always helped me. My career choices changed every year but inside my heart was one constancy: Writer. But writing was merely my own pleasure. I wanted to be more active in people's happiness. I wanted to be a psychologist. However, I was uncertain of my own abilities. I was not confident. It didn't help that my own mother discouraged my decision. She wanted me to be a teacher. I didn't have the will to fight her every day. I gave up.


Halloween came with excitement as it provided a break from my constant studying for the final exams. It was my first Halloween away from my old home. I gathered up a group with Justin and my brothers. It was supposed to be my last Halloween as a teenager. Next month, I would be an adult. Everything was going so well. We collected bags upon bags of sweets and were headed back to my neighbour's house to end the night with horror movies. But then, Justin started being angry with me. He even swore at me. I didn't understand what I did wrong to be treated in such a way. God, I don't understand boys. I don't understand Justin. And that hurt.


He ignored me for days. For the first time in ages, I was all alone. I found myself crying silently during my last exam. All my tears, blurring answers to the questions on the paper and in life. His friend told me that Justin was angry because I teased him on the night of Halloween. I couldn't even remember the words I said but did that make it worse? Was I that much of a cruel girlfriend that I couldn't tell when I hurt his feelings? I hated being alone. I apologised so many times but I was scared of Justin. He walked around my house with a face of a troll. It hurt. It hurt so much that he was ignoring me. It tore up my old wounds. I didn't want to be alone. I was sorry so why didn't he come back? Why wasn't he beside me when I cried myself to sleep?  He lied. He said he would always be there for me.

There was no one to soothe my scar. It slowly became undone until I was left naked. I needed something, anything to hold me alive. I resorted to my last hope: Victor's songs. All I needed to do was close my eyes and allow the gentle strumming to sew up my scar. I fell asleep and woke up to see Victor playing the guitar on my computer. Within that second, something struck my heart. The feeling was familiar, it reminded me of the first time I fell in love with Victor. I loved him because of the way only he could make my heart feel. But it was too late. I now had Justin. I wished Justin would quickly return so my confused feelings would go away.

Something uncomfortable was happening. It was annoying because Justin and I made up. This was all because he left me alone. I was thinking about Victor again. I couldn't believe what was happening. I didn't want this. It was hideous and ugly. Being with Justin didn't make the confusion go away. He made it worse. He constantly insisted me to return to Victor. He made no attempt to keep me. I was desperately trying not to fall in love with Victor again. He was happy without me. I wanted to be happy with Justin. I wanted Justin to make it all go away. To make me love only Justin. But he didn't. He only served to amplify my confusion.
I didn't want this.

The day before my birthday, I came to an epiphany. Justin and I were different. Maybe, I had already known this. But I thought opposites attract. I fell for Justin because he saw through me. But the relationship, somehow it felt lacking. My heart no longer had any room left for Justin. He had left my heart inside out with no feelings. Only a numb sensation. I still cared about Justin. I didn't like seeing him sad or hurt. I especially didn't want to be the cause. But I didn't know what to do.

After my birthday, we took a break. During that time, I confessed to Victor in hope of moving on. I was so afraid that he would hate me but I was washed with a great sense of relief when I read his reply. But I realised from his words that he had always known that I liked him. I wished that he had stopped me before I fell far too deep. But then again, even if he had said anything, my feelings would had still continued to grow.

I wondered. . .All those years together Victor, as friends had he ever thought, 'Ah I could come to like her' or 'I really like her'. Had he ever liked me? Even for just a fraction of a second; I wanted to know that my feelings reached his heart. Even for just a moment. It hurts. It really hurt when I thought like that. Victor was the first one that I loved with all my heart. He was the frist one I wanted to know completely. But I didn't think he ever liked me. We were only friends. Why did I still think like that? Why? Why must I love someone that didn't do anything? That no longer cared? But there was a time he used to care a lot. There was a time when we were extremely close. What happened?

On December 3rd, I sat Justin down and said: Sorry. You're not who I'm looking for. I couldn't do it anymore. I couldn't say that I loved him anymore. It was Victor. It was always Victor all along. Mother thought I was stupid to break up because of a one-sided love. But I didn't think so. Those feelings may had been one-sided but they were still my precious feelings that warmed my heart for all those years.  

Being with Justin made me happy. I could be myself. He made me laugh and saw through me. But sometimes, I wondered if he was real. If the things he said held any truth. Sometimes, I felt emptiness. A void. I just wanted to be happy. I wanted to find my happiness. My very own happiness. But I didn't know where it was. I was still quietly searching.






We walk to the bus stop and I face him just as the bus parked beside us: Thank you for today. I will remember this always as I will always remember you. I'm glad I met you. I can't imagine ever not meeting you. I brush my lips against his ear and whisper my last words: But from today onwards, I will no longer wait for you. Farewell my Unknowing.

I let myself be whisked away with the bus like flying dandelions floating away from its home. I hope to find a new happiness. I hope to bask in the new light of a new sky. There will be a more loving field somewhere. Somewhere, anywhere. I know that somewhere, my fate is tied to theirs. I allow myself one glance back at Victor because I hope that I have left inside his heart a mark like how he left inside my heart a scar. However, there will never be a full stop to this story because sometimes, scars don't fade and sometimes I want this scar as a reminder of something I hold dear. This scar is a reminder that one day, someone else will steal my heart.
One day, I wish to flutter away on floating tutus of dandelions. One day, someone will touch my scar and love me completely

 

Thank you for the patience and the time to read this. I means a lot to me. I hope that one day everyone will find their happiness.

3 Years' Unknowing: Digging Deeper

3 Years' Unknowing

Part 1: the Beginning

Part 2:  Digging Deeper

I watch the screen as the actors moved about. A film. We're watching a film but am I suppose to concentrate on their dialogue or their actions? How can I focus when he is merely centimeters away from me? I can feel his heat under my skin and wonder how much of his warmth I could consume. From the corner of my eye, I see him flick his growing fringe from his face. I wonder, how soft is his hair? He leans into me and whisper warm breaths into my ear: So why are we watching Dear John again? I try not to laugh too loudly and took my turn to lean into his warmth: We're not watching Alice in Wonderland because you lost to me in scissors-paper-rock. I wait for any objections but none came so I steal a glance at him. He catches my eyes and smiles: You haven't changed at all.

Eleventh grade was the start of my senior years: intense studying and preparations for exams. Somehow, I had still managed to squeeze time for him. He was my companion during the late nights of dim lights and owl eyes glued to the computer screen. He was my sweet lullaby, the image I conjured the second before my eyes closed. In my dreams, all I heard was the sound of his guitar.

Every time I was depressed or anxious there was always something that could calm me. For other people, its shopping or spending hours in front of the television playing COD but for me, it was merely closing my eyes and listening to his song. The sweet melody that tingles my toes and clenches my heart, it was always only him.

February for the Chinese/Vietnamese community meant the Lunar New Year. For traditional adults that meant weeks of slaving in the kitchen to prepare offerings to the Gods or forcing children to do a whole house clean so that during the Lunar New Year week, families can relax without caring for any chores or other forms of work. For me, Lunar New Year meant fireworks, lion dancing and martial arts. That particular year, my plans also included him. That year, while the night blew sweet kisses, I watched fixated as Victor participated in the dragon dance.

 I was always with Victor, every Sunday now that I was in his Vietnamese class but sadly that also meant that I was in the same room as Anthony. I sat in the second row with my friend Sandy who under low breath, discussed popular music. I tried to pay attention to both my studies and Sandy but I felt uncomfortable. Someone was staring at me. Who? The people who sat behind me were May Anne and her friends and behind them in the last row were Anthony and Victor. I decided that the first person to approach me when lunch started would be the culprit. I was right. It was Anthony. He approached me just as the bell rang saying: Hey, I like your clothes today. Great, I just felt like I was being stripped with his eyes.

The warm seasons came and past then soon were the bitter-sweet rain of Winter. I longed for Winter the most. When it rained, visions blur and people become lost in their environment. Rain, it surrounded me and hid my feelings of him. Though I loved Winter, Winter did not love me. It usually left me shivering uncontrollably. Once, while standing out in the cold with Anthony, he grabbed me and pulled me towards him saying: I'll warm you up. I pushed him away and wished that Victor was not absent that day. Wished that Victor was there when I needed him. Wished that who I want was there instead of Anthony.


One day, I received a email from Anthony. It was a confession.I knew it was coming sooner or later. I just hoped much later or never. The day after which happened to be a Sunday, I was found pacing between stepping stones. How do you decline nicely? He was never someone I wanted to be with. His confession, should have been in person but it was not. Wasn't it more sincere if done in person? I wanted to at least be the better person and give my reply to him directly but I was much too scared. I sat depressed upon the garden rock but was saved by Victor who said I should just merely return his email confession with another email. It was quite expected that Anthony was disappointed but unlike how I hoped, he still sat too close and still shadowed me like lingering phantom.

My favourite Anime, for a while was Millennium Actress. It told a story of a love that was discovered in the shortest moment but had a connection that would last forever. But then Victor showed me 5 Centimeters Per Second and I fell in love with the film that depicted such realistic emotions, they were almost like my own. Everything that I was became undone when I met Victor. With each and every new day, I was becoming someone else, someone new. Someone who could become closer to him. Or so I thought.

Because of our shared passion for  5 Centimeters Per Second, we began to discuss our first childhood crushes. I discovered that at some point in our early years, we lived in the same town and attended the same primary school. If only I hadn't moved houses. Somehow, our topic of childhood crushes changed into current love interests. Even though I was so confident that there was no one else closer to him than me, inside my heart it began pulling the blinds to the window. My heart didn't want to know. I didn't want to know that he might like someone else. But the clock had already turned its hands. There was no going back.

I would always remember that day. The day that he spoke these words: I love someone in my class. Her name's Thanida. Who do you like? 
How could I have replied to that? I stared him in the eyes and told the hardest lie: I love someone you don't know.

As the screen fade into darkness, I blink away my tears. He sat beside me laughing: You haven't changed at all. Always crying in films. I don't look at him when he peered into my eyes, laughing. I gently push him away, merely saying: I cried because its a happy ending.

To be Continued. . .

Treasure Box

Today, while I was cleaning out my room, underneath my bed I decovered a pink shoe box. If you weren't the owner of the box, you couldn't tell that its pink because all over like delicate scribbles were love quotes in my messy handwriting. That box was titled 'Treasure Box' because during the almost 5 months of my first relationship, it hid all of my memories of my ex-boyfriend.

When I opened the box, a bear smiled at me with words of love. "I love you" is now meaningless.
My ex-boyfriend now hates me. I don't actually blame him but I never lied to him about my feelings. When I was with him, he made me happy. I never lied to him when I said "I love you". I was lying to myself. I truely believed that I was happy but deep down inside a part locked from my heart was the truth: I was lonely. I wanted to be loved by someone. Anyone.

He was always there for me but there were times where I knew that beneath his smiles were lies. Lies because he wasn't who I wanted. Lies about his personality. There were times, where he hurt me so much for reasons I couldn't understand. The relationship was messed up; I knew it but I couldn't let go. I couldn't say: Let's break up. I didn't want to be alone even if it meant I was living a lie. Even if happiness was merely a mask tied really tightly. However eventually, I realised that things could no longer drag on like this. I had to let go and because truthfully my heart was still unconditionally filled with music strummed by someone else.

I'm sorry was what I said when we broke up. I thought he had undestood me but apparently spending almost 5 months with me was not enough for him to understand the type of person I am. Truelly, I was sorry but he became angry and said words more hurtful than mine. It's ok, I think because I learnt something from this. It's ok because I don't need someone who doesn't understand.

The Treasure box, I no longer will keep it. I'm a little sad to let go of memories but I don't need something to remind me of someone who doesn't understand me enough to know that I wouldn't lie about love.

When I say "I love you" that means I want Eternity.

PS: OMG I absolutely adore the new Blogger designs. so easy for someone who can't do the HTML codes thing.

Lovesick Fool's expectations

My best friend, he had told me once that maybe the reason as to why I'm alone is the fact my expectations are too high. I agree with him, somewhat but to me my high expectations are like a wall, a fort of protection. Hiding me away from those who may harm me. I also think that, by knowing what I want, I would be happier in life. Know thyself is therefore knowing life.

Sometimes though, I am lonely and I wonder if I should lower the bar a little so that I merely won't have to bask in my own company. Just a little sunlight in order to grow. I did that last year and I still regretted it. I opened the gates to someone who was so different to what I was looking for because I was lonely. I thought then that I was happy and that maybe this was it. I being very naive was wrong. He was my first boyfriend and my first mistake. I was happy with his company but later on I realised that my happiness was very shallow. I hate to admit this because I only realised much much later that . . .my first boyfriend was a distraction to my loneliness from a painful unrequainted love towards a guitarist who may never think of me the way I think of him.

It is quite sad that whenever I think of my ideal man or perfect lover, my thoughts fall upon the guitarist. Now that isn't so because I love him but it is more of that he ticked off everything on my list. Soemtimes, I believe the reason I can't let go of my hold of him is because of the very reason that he fit the image of my ideal man. He is someone. I may never encounter again. But then when I think about it. My ideal man would be more ideal if he was actually in love with me.

Lovesick Fool's expectations

1. Good morals
2. Muscian preferably classical guitarist
3. Determined
4. hard worker
5. good sense of humour
6. Buddhist
7. Vietnamese
8. intelligent enough to hold a good conversation
9. martial artist
10. Has goals in life
11. Independent
12. Respects others no matter who
13. Warm voice
14. Gentleman
15. Loves books as much as I do
16. Honest and truthful
17. Loyal to friends and family
18. Likes children
19. Good patience
20.  Strong willed
21. Good heart/understanding of others
22. Listens
23. Likes to help others
24. Nice smile
25. Loves me completely and loves me because of my flaws

Generally, if my heart says so it's usually right. So follow heart's instincts. Those who are meant to be will eventually will be. But I would like to find someone who I love so much that maybe these expectations will crumble away for.

What about you? What are your expectations in men or women? Does your lover fit your list? And does it really matter? Voice your thoughts.

Nothingness

It has finally hit me. Wordless. Speechless. Writer's block. My heart has run out of things to say or rather it has become too numb to generate feeling. Emotions are the basis of my writing. I am nothing without feeling. Simply, I am nothing.

Here is a poem from the novel Looking For Alibrandi by Melina Marchetta. Its a must read. A novel about finding who you are in a mist of confusion. About change and the necessity of change in order to live.

Can you see what I see?
No I don’t think you can
I see images of nothing
and I attempt to make that
nothingness mean something
As hard as I try there is
still nothing and that nothing
is meaningless
I am somewhere else now, outside
I am surrounded by people and                             
the sky. I see the people and the
blueness of the sky
but still nothing has changed
everything remains the same
I am still alone.

           Looking for Alibrandi