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We met today in a cafe. I reached awkwardly for his hand, and I struggled to say the words I have been rehearsing inside my head. But nothing comes out of my mouth, only tears streaming down my eyes.
He keeps asking me what’s wrong, what’s been bothering me for the past few days. And I looked at him, and I thought, how could he not know? And so we finished our drinks in partial silence and awkward chitchat, and we drove to the beach.
The sky was so blue, and the day was so bright, I thought I couldn’t possibly do what I planned to do. I still had a glimmer of hope that we could fix things, that we could make it right again.
Yet as I looked at the ocean and the people with happy faces on the beach, I felt the sting from a broken heart. Here I was, at a lovely beach, on a sunny day, getting my heart broken again and again. And to make things worse, a bird pooped onto my bag. My WHITE bag. Luckily it rubbed off, but I was so angry and upset and confused by then that I demanded to go home.
He told me we just grew apart. That I’ve given him too many chances. That we would still be friends. That he’d been thinking about ending it for months.
The last one hurt me the most. I never knew, never had an inkling that he felt this way. In November, he bought me a ring, to show his commitment to me. To tell me he’ll wait for me when I leave for a year.
Suddenly everything seemed like a lie. I went from being upset, to being angry. And from angry, to being disappointed.
Just like I thought, he didn’t even bother to fix things. He just said, ok, let’s end this. It was something I hated about him, the way he seem to not give a damn about anything, although I knew that deep down, he cared. I hated how he was always so rational, and never seem to cease thinking with his brain. I wanted him to stop thinking, to tell me what he felt. And still, he said, I want to end this. This is what I want.
The world turned dark. I sniffed, and I said, okay. Okay. It wasn’t what I feel, but I said it because I felt like he needed it. And because he was my friend before he was my lover, I came to accept it. I stopped crying, and I stopped whining, and calmly, we went for dinner. Our last dinner as a couple.
That was it. The end of what became ‘us’.
Except it wasn’t the end. I couldn’t give up. And I refused to give up. And it was a good thing I did. Because he wanted the same too. But as usual, his brain got in the way. He thought he was doing what was best for me, without realising that he was the best thing in my life.
I commented that I ran out of milk and cereal at home, and he said he’ll take me grocery shopping before dropping me off. I joked, “Does that mean you’ll come pick me up whenever I ring you?” He gave me his small smile, and said, “Maybe.” I looked at him, and I couldn’t tell if he was serious. “You know, we can’t keep doing this,” I told him. “We’re not a couple anymore.” And at that point, he broke down. And I forgot my pride and any sense of indignity and I asked, “Do you want to give it another try?” At first, I thought he was going to reject me once more. And I felt so foolish and so stupid for even suggesting it. But then he said yes.
So I got home with a red nose and swollen eyes, and yet I couldn’t feel happier. I’m determined to keep this relationship alive. He said I’ve always been the better half of our relationship, but he didn’t realise that by finally letting his heart speak for him, he became a better man. I’ve always been a girl who uses her heart, and couldn’t care less about using her brain. For him, rationality and logic always comes first before emotions. So for him to have broken through that invisible barrier, I knew that he truly cared. For once, he forgot about his pride.
And suddenly, my world was whole again.
I’ve just looked through my phonebook several times (what was it? three times? four??) and yet there was no one that I felt I could call. No one I could ring for a comforting chat, or for a good old cry. No one I could go out drinking with, so I can dance all my sorrows away.
Not for the first time, I felt utterly alone.
And not for the first time, I think about ending things with him.
It wasn’t due to the fact that we were so different. I tried to do the things that he liked to do, hung out with his friends, pushing myself out of my comfort zone. He, on the other hand, just tried to change me. Sometimes I resent him for that. But sometimes I am grateful. Because of him, I pushed myself to be more active, to be more sociable, to not settle for second best. How ironic it is that I now feel I shouldn’t settle for him, because he simply isn’t the best anymore.
I feel as if I’m always saying sorry, and he’s always saying sorry. Should a relationship be filled with this many apologies??
I hate the fact that he never seems to make an attempt to make our relationship work, as if he just can’t be bothered to. I know he cares about me. I know the idea of losing me hurts him. But maybe it’s just not enough. Maybe I’m just not important enough.
Sometimes, he gets bored with me. I know this because he told me so. He actually told me that I bore him sometimes. What. The. Fuck?! Who the hell tells someone else this?? It hurts me to know that he rather go drinking and playing poker with his friends till late than to spend another hour alone with me.
I’m so tired of being second best. I will never be good enough. I will never be smart enough, tough enough, sexy enough, happy enough. I don’t want to spend my life pleasing someone who will never be pleased.
So maybe it’s time I get myself out of this sticky relationship. I always dreamed that he will be the only man in my life, that my first relationship would also be my last. But dreams don’t always come true. It’s like chasing my own shadow, so near yet forever out of reach. Instead of clinging onto impractical dreams, maybe it’s time I faced with reality. It’s time to let go.
Right now I just feel completely exhausted and worn out. My tears have dried, and I’m determined to be strong through all this. I feel like I could do anything, yet I also feel like I would just succumb to his small smile, and forget all about what I’ve felt tonight. I don’t want to ‘talk it out’ anymore – we’ve done it so many times to no success. Maybe tomorrow I can summon the courage to tell him. Or maybe I’ll feel calmer by tomorrow, and like so many times before, I would forgive him and give him a kiss. Maybe I can just enjoy the ride for now, and worry about the sickness and pain later.
Or maybe I’ll just rip the bandage out, nice and fast.
I am back, at a home in which I’m not entirely sure I belong in. I got a break like I wanted, a time to clear my head and organise my thoughts. I did return with some perspective about my life, but I don’t feel any more relaxed or any less stressed than I was before I left.
I am so not cut out for holidays.
No matter how long or short my holidays are, I somehow find myself being stressed, angry, frustrated and upset. It happened when I went on my first long holiday with the boyfriend. It happened when I went on a 3-day trip with newly made friends. It happened on my most recent holiday with the parents.
Somehow, for some reason, I am bad at having a good time during a holiday. For the past two weeks, I have fought with my mum, get yelled at by my parents, got irritated by rude passerbys and harassed by a stranger. I have cried too many times, got angry and moody too much to forgive-and-forget, and found myself wishing that I had never agreed to go on this holiday.
The very last day of the trip was the worst. There was already tension in the air, and all I wanted to do was go back to the apartment and binge on ice-cream. I just wanted to throw myself on that crappy, thin sofa bed pull-out mattress and sleep the day away. I was already upset and my nerves were fried. Then this strange man kept following me around. I walked closer to my parents, thinking he wouldn’t dare try anything with them around. And when I actually walked slightly ahead of my parents, he actually touched me. Not that he actually did anything – all he managed to do was touch my back with his dirty hand. Normally, I’d ignored freaks like these and walked away. But I was already so angry and tired and stressed. The moment his fingers laid on my back, I turned around and growled, “What the FUCK do you want?!” I thought my parents would defend me, tell him to stay away, or at the very least, stare daggers at him. They did none of the above. They yelled at ME, asking me why I would say that to the stranger. The bastard started calling me names, insulting me with words that barely hurt me, but as I walked away, I gave him the finger and told him to fuck off. As a result, my parents yelled more at me, telling me off for asking for trouble. I cried all the way back to the apartment, and continued crying as I laid in my makeshift bed.
It was a horrible last day.
How glad I am to be finally home. Although things are not the same anymore. I view my parents with different eyes. I already try so hard to accept my parents despite who they are, who they were and what they did. When I told my sister about the incident, she wasn’t surprised. When she was much younger than I am now, her tuition teacher put his arms around her when she was on the phone. When she got home and told my parents, they told her it was her fault, because she put herself there in that position, so she had no one to blame but herself.
When I was a kid, I always thought my parents would be my security blanket, that they would protect me and shelter me from any harm. How wrong I was. Instead, they are now my model of what kind of parent NOT to be when I have my own kids in the future. Everything they’ve done wrong, I’m determined to correct. I was once passionate about having kids of my own, but now I am dubious about being a parent. I am worried that I will commit the mistakes my parents made. I do not want to be like my parents. I do not want my kids going through life the way I had to. I do not want my kids to see the ocean and want to drag themselves in with stones tied to their feet. I do not want my kids to imagine what the impact would be like to fall off a building everytime they saw a high-rise building. I do not want my kids to be me.
So yeah, I got some sort of perspective after this trip, but no, it was not a real holiday or a break. I did have some good times, but sometimes, I still wished I never left home for that supposed holiday. But what happened already happened. There’s nothing I can do to change that. Life doesn’t allow for rewinds or deletes. And so I live with it. And I am, surprisingly, okay with that.
I wish I knew how to let go. Let go of my anger, and not let it ruin my day. Let go of friends, who are no longer good for me. Let go of painful memories, so I no longer get haunted by ghosts.
But I can’t. I can’t let go… because I don’t know how to.
I’ve clung onto way too many things in life than I should have. I keep everything inside my heart, lock it with a key, and I throw it away. Sometimes I thought the boyfriend found this hidden “key”, but no, no matter how much I reveal to him, there is always something, just that little something, that is tucked away in the darkest, farthest corner of my heart.
Sometimes I wonder why I chose to study psychology. Is it really out of genuine interest? Or is it because I was trying to find out more about myself? Why am I so secretive, so uncomfortable with disclosure?
Now that I’m nearly done with my studies, I don’t think I should go down the path of psychology at all. How can I help others, when I can’t even help myself?
Someone, please fix me.
It’s 5th of November and I STILL have no idea what to write for NaNoWriMo!! I was thinking of maybe just writing short stories instead, but 50,000 words is a lot!! The length of my short stories average at 1000 words, so 50,000/1000 = 50 STORIES!!
As if.
On another note, I had a strange dream last night…
I dreamt that for some reason, the boyfriend’s dad rang me to ask me to run some errands for him or something (he made me hang up curtains at his house before wtf). Then the line got cut off so I was quite relieved. But I knew I had to ring back, so I did, and was met with verbal abuse from the dad. He was swearing (he swears a lot in real life – who says old people don’t have potty mouths?) at me for hanging up the phone. When I tried to explain that the line was cut off, he ignored my explanation and continued insulting me, calling me names and telling me how I was such a shit.
Shocking, isn’t it?? Not that that’s happened to me, but he has insulted me in front of my face before and blatantly tell me to leave his house.
But anyway, I was fuming with so much anger that I exploded and said, “ARE YOU DONE?!” He was quiet over the phone. I continued, “You know what? I don’t care what you say or what you think about me anymore. You’re an asshole, and you’re a shit of a father. Your son loves me, so nothing you say matters. Your son certainly doesn’t care about what you think. Just leave me alone from now on.”
And I hung up.
Sigh. As if I’d ever have the guts to do that in real life. I have never felt so bold and empowered in my whole life as I did in that dream. But I’m a coward through and through. So for now, I’ll continue to be meek and submissive in front of the boyfriend’s dad. 
I have no idea what to write for NaNoWriMo!! I’ve never written anything (that’s not uni-related lol) over 2000 words. How the heck am I going to churn out 50,000 words?!
ARGH.
On the other hand, I have completely and utterly failed in my vow to stop shopping (after I bought the stuff from VR – which should be here by next week whee!). I was feeling pretty good from doing really well in Monday’s stats exam tso I decided to take today off and relax.
I went out to town for yum cha with friends, but it was kinda strange cos it was me, my sis, my friend J and my sis’ friend D. J and D only started becoming friends this year as they’re studying the same course, but I’ve known J for years, and my sis have known D for years. But we’re not exactly each other’s friends. You know what I mean?? And I didn’t like how J and D seem like such besties (sigh, it’s the green monster talking here) when they’ve only really known each other for half a year.
I feel like I hardly see J anymore cos she’s so busy, yet apparently she’s not too busy for D and her friends. And I hate how J and D and their little gang love posting up pics of every single thing they do together on Facebook. Stop flaunting your new friendship la!! *decides to let green monster out* Sometimes I just feel like telling J to her face: “You are such a BITCH. You’re a completely horrible friend. Fuck you for finding a new life without bothering to notify me.” But of course I would never say that. Would I?? I don’t know. I’m kinda too angry right now to think straight.
Anyhoo, after yum cha, my sis and I decided to just go over to one of the malls and do some shopping. Sis needed to get presents for friends and I thought I’d just window shop. But MY OH MY how have I failed!! I bought a sequined headband and pink gingham bow hair clips for $10 (buy 1 get 1 free yaya!) from Diva. Was tempted to get a pair of cute yellow bow hair clips but they were full-priced so I walked away. I thought it was quite okay ($10 only mah, and for 2 clips + 1 headband), but I just bought two headbands last week from Equip. And those were full-priced, $10 each. So I spent a total of $10+$10+$10 = $30 on hair accessories alone!!! Aiyo what in the world is wrong with me?? I have no self-control, honestly. Ok la, will really stop spending (for myself – for the boyfriend doesn’t count lol) after today.
I had a strange dream last night. I dreamt that I went back and I was surrounded by my relatives. My cousins were all confused as to how old I was. And the odd thing was, I was confused too. Am I forgetting who I am? I don’t want to be forgotten, especially not by my cousins. I love them all so much. Although I speak to them on the phone and every now and then I go back to visit them, it’s not quite enough. They’ve all grown so much. I’m worried that they’ll eventually forget me. If they don’t know who I am, do I know?
the picture that has always been in my wallet
I don’t know why, but I felt especially frustrated today. I feel stupid, I feel fat, I feel ugly, I feel average. The worst is the feeling of being average, or worse still, of being less than average. I feel like I’m not keeping up with everyone around me. Everyone else is smarter, prettier, thinner, better. I feel like I can’t compete, that I’m not even on the same wavelength as everyone else. I’m just at the bottom of the pit, just muck and rotten moss and absolutely inconsequential.
I’ve always thought I’d be/do something great one day. That my life wasn’t limited to the 9 to 5 office lifestyle that both my parents were trapped in. I was eager to break out of my dull and dreary life, and I was so convinced that I could do it. But I haven’t felt like that in years. I noticed how painfully average I am, and it really hurts to think that I am destined to be nothing more.
I used to dream of becoming a ballerina. I worked harder than anyone else in class. I skipped grades, but suffered because none of the girls liked me. But still I persevere. The principal of my ballet academy suggested to my mum to send me overseas, but back then, we were still struggling to pay off the mortgage for our house. It was a few years later when both my parents got promoted at work that we’re living the comfortable lifestyle we’re in right now. I really thought I had a future in ballet. My teachers told me I was their most hardworking student. But back then, I didn’t realise that ‘hardworking’ didn’t necessarily mean ‘talented’. I learnt the hard way that life is unfair. When puberty hit and I gained weight, too much for an aspiring ballerina, my teacher took me aside and said, “You’re the most hardworking student in class, but you’re not the best. Ballet is cruel. If you don’t have the right body shape, you can’t survive.” And I knew, from that moment on, that no matter how hard I worked, I would never be the ‘right’ shape. My closest friend in class was the one with the ideal body shape, but she was one of the laziest. I used to be resentful of her, and sometimes, I still feel that way.
Fast forward to a few years later, and I discovered my love for writing. Writing makes me feel at ease with myself, just like the way I felt when I danced. My passion for writing consumed me the same way ballet used to. There were days when I was contented to stay alone in my room, doing nothing but write, write, write. I used to write fanfiction (I used to be obsessed with Harry Potter) and submit them online and I would receive flattering comments. Then I attended a creative writing workshop and everyone seemed to enjoy my stories. The tutor even asked me to read my story aloud in front of strangers at the very last day of the workshop, when students from all the other creative writing workshops gathered together at a party. I knew I was a long way ahead of becoming a published author, but I was convinced it was not an implausible idea. Then somehow, my inspiration seemed to dry out, and I felt everything I wrote was rubbish. Yet another dream goes down the drain.
I never really realized how fearful I was of being average. It scares me to know that my life would just be another unnoticed blimp in history. I would never have had an impact on anyone’s life. I would never have had an impact on mine. Maybe that’s why I want to get a job where I can interact with people, where I can help them and contribute back to the community. I feel as if that’s my life’s mission, to help others and to have an impact on others. It may sound selfish, but I don’t want to be forgotten. I want to be remembered, even if it’s only for making a patient smile. I want to change people’s lives, and to change mine. But how can I do that if I’m only average, if I’m lower than average?
I feel as if every step I take can change the future. So any mistake I make now, even a minor one, can affect how my future outcome is. And maybe it’s a bit too late to realize this. If only I studied harder, if only I worked harder, if only if only. I feel like my whole life’s at stake here, and I have already unwillingly spun the wheel that would determine my fate. Round and round it goes, where it stops, nobody knows.
I originally intended to post up my birthday pictures, but I had a look through the photos and I looked terrible!! Whereas pictures I took of other people looked good. This is what you happens when you get other people to take photos for you and you don’t check how it looks like. Grrr. Birthdays are the one day you’re supposed to look good no matter what. Instead, all I saw was double chins, shiny face and oily hair. Gah! I hate how I made an effort to look good, yet I looked worse than when I made no effort at all. And to top it off, my birthday celebrations were marred by accidents and incidents. Happy birthday to me, indeed.
Before I met the boyfriend, I liked 4 very different boys.
The first boy I liked wore glasses. He was funny, the clown of the class. He was always smiling and grinning at everyone, and his mere presence would lit up the dimmest, darkest room. While boys in my class teased me over my dark skin, he was the only one who would stand up for the girls in class when they were bullied. In a sense, I guess, he was my hero. We were ten. Then when we were eleven, his dad passed away from cancer. He took a week off from school. When he came back, the ever present grin had disappear. He became silent most of the time, and slowly, he blended into the background and just… disappeared.
The second boy I liked was a school prefect popular with the girls in school. I was thirteen, and I was an awkward teen barely out of puberty. He had a wicked smile, with uneven teeth that I somehow found cute. Once when I got into an argument with his friend and got pushed onto the wall, it was he who pulled his friend away. We hardly interacted with each other, only the occasional ‘hi’ or ‘bye’. I dreamed of telling him how I felt, but never had the courage to do so. I didn’t even dare tell my friends. He was my secret.
The third boy I liked was my friend. We first met each other when we were fourteen. He was a devout Christian, yet never press me to change my non-religious ways. He was nerdy and geeky in every way, but he was the sweetest boy I’ve ever met. He was tall and scrawny, not quite Prince Charming. We would chat endlessly with each other, sharing inside jokes no one else understood. He would walk me to the bus stop after school every day, pulling his bicycle after him. My feelings for him was not one-sided, I believe, but he already had a girlfriend, a girl much prettier and sweeter than I was. When I left home, he broke up with his girlfriend. We’re still friends now, although we’re not as close as we used to be. Sometimes, I can’t help but wonder how life would be if things between us had changed.
The fourth boy I liked was a boy who sat next to me in class. He was always noseying about my business, demanding to know what I was doing every minute and every second. We exchanged sarcastic remarks, throwing insults at each other, but deep inside, I looked forward to seeing him every day. When he found out I was migrating to another country, he said he would miss me. To this day, I still don’t know whether he was joking or not. But at that moment, my heart skipped a beat. I was fifteen.
For the next few years, my heart never skipped a beat for anyone. I was eighteen when I met the boyfriend. He did not leave any impression on me, and I dismissed him as a passing stranger. I met him again through a friend when I was nineteen. Again, he did not leave much of an impression on me. I was not interested in dating, only interested in studying and hanging out with my friends. But then, he seemed to be always around when I hung out with friends, or even just studying in uni. One day, when we were talking, just him and me, my heart skipped a beat. I had forgotten how it felt like to have that fluttering feeling in the pit of my stomach. My heart beat against my ribcage like crazy, and my face flushed feverishly. Our fingers touched, and he held my hand. The rest, as they say, is history.
We didn’t have much in common, and to be honest, I didn’t think the infatuation would last. But it’s been about two and a half years, and although my heart doesn’t skip a beat anymore, seeing his face makes me smile. Holding his hand makes me feel secure in a way no one else can. To sit next to him and to be able to put my head on his shoulder is bliss for me. And I never fail to be surprised by his thoughtful and romantic gestures.
When I was younger, I always lamented over my single status and over how I was an ugly duckling that never seemed to have grown into a graceful swan. My older sister was adored by many and would often be showered with gifts on Valentine’s Day, whereas I never received any attention from boys that wasn’t platonic. But now, I’m glad that the boyfriend was my first. I know it sounds cheesy, but I really think we’re destined for each other, that we are meant for each other. There was no need for others, because all we need was each other. We may be different, but we accommodate each other, like yin and yang. He loves gaming, but I rather sit in bed and read. He loves gory horror films, while I detest them. He studies engineering, I study psychology. We have different tastes in music, fashion, even food. But the love and passion we feel for each other are the same.
Before I met the boyfriend, I liked 4 very different boys. I only love one boy, and he’s mine. 
