Dark – and twisted

It feels like I have been taken back in time. To the time when everything I slipped through my hands.

I laid there watching familiarity fade into the distance. I inhaled once deeply. The scent that lingered around dissipated. I took a second breath. It wasn’t there. My trachea constricted and I gasped for air. Third. Forth. Fifth breath. It was gone. It was gone.

My hands grew cold and my body stiffened. My left hand grabbed my chest, as I curled up into a ball. Each inhalation proved to be harder than the previous. My breaths shortened and quickened. I clenched my right hand into a fist.

I laid there, in a fetal position. Gasping for air as my body tensed up. It gave a shiver and jolted.

I jolted up and sat on my bed, with both my arms propping myself up. My chest thumped. In and out. I clinched the bedsheets. My head throbbed. What. What is happening.

I turned my head. To your side. The sheets were flat. Neat. Unmeddled with. The little indentions you left on the bed were no longer there. I clinched the sheets tighter. The scent was gone. You are gone.



I am scared of falling asleep. I am scared of that feeling. That fear that chokes me. That helplessness that sets in. That incomprehension of reality.

I don’t want to wake up gripped with fear, pain and brokenness. I don’t want to wake up knowing that you’re gone again. I don’t want to ever wake up.


I can’t do this again.

Once – I was twenty

Once I was fifteen years old, I understood what it meant to go wild, be crazy and have fun.

Once I was sixteen years old, I understood what it meant to fall in love and succeed in something you worked hard for.

Once I was seventeen years old, I understood what it means to have my heart broken and struggle to get back up.

Once I was eighteen years old, I understood what it meant to break my parents heart.

Once I was nineteen years old, I understood what it meant to grow up and be responsible for my life.

Now that I am twenty years old, I understand what it means to have so much weighing on your shoulders but no one to share them with.

Parents don’t always get it. And I don’t blame them. Late night outs. Staying up through the night. They think it’s all fun, game and laughter. Some nights it is. Many others it’s about responsibilities. I don’t say much because I know their “freak out” alarms will turn on. I can’t say much because I know if they knew, I can never wonder the streets till late at night. I wish I could tell them more. Be  responsible. Be accountable. Be every other thing a grown up should be. But how can I tell them that I stay out to make sure troubled friends get home safely. How can I tell them that I get calls from crying friends at four in the morning. How can I tell them that, sometimes, I leave the house in the middle of the night just to comfort a friend. I rather deal with them yelling at me to get up because it’s way past noon. I rather deal with them telling me that I am an unaccountable and irresponsible person that gives no fucks about her parents. Than deal with the guilt of not being there. Three years I wasn’t there and look at where things are now. It’s three years I can’t take back or change. And ever since I knew, I lie awake every single night asking myself what if. What if I didn’t leave. What if I had been there. What if I fucking had the balls to patch things up earlier. Damn it val. I could have done something. I could have possibly prevented it. I could have fucking been there. I could fucking have. And now, I spend every waking moment thinking about damage control. Thinking about how to better get through to them. Thinking about what I can do differently. So I’m sorry. I’m sorry if I am this aloof fuck who treats this house as a hotel. I’m sorry if I am a disappointment who gives no shits about family. I’m sorry but, right now, I cannot be a daughter and a friend.

I guess this is what growing up means.

Dancing – on my own

 

Three years was a long time. A time of learning to let go, move on and start over. To piece back what’s left and find yourself again. To get busy and occupied. To know that you’re doing just fine all alone.

Three years was enough time. Enough to realise that through it all, the thought of you. Of us, came creeping back when I least expect it. Enough to notice that I’ve been shelving all these emotions because I never thought it would be possible. Enough to finally understand that the whole time, I’ve been doing it wrong. Enough pretence. 

Three years was too short a time. Too short for sufficient personal growth. Too short to start believing again. Too short to hope for more. Too short for a new beginning.

So you wait for another three more years.

I’m giving it my all, but I’m not the girl you’re taking home.

Two – broken souls

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I use to think that I could fix a broken soul.

That I could be what that shattered soul need.

Comfort. Support. Healing.

But I met you.

And then I realised that some souls.

Like mine. Were far too damaged to be fixed.

And in our valiant attempts to fix each other.

We cut ourselves on each other’s shattered pieces.

Leaving only more hurt and grief.

Can two broken little persons.

Ever find comfort in each other.

 

Such a shame how we all became fragile little souls.

From – our eyes

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Not many people get it. They sort of empathise. They sort of try. Try to relate or “understand”. But I haven’t met anyone who truly understood how it’s like.

They know. They know that when we face problems, we will turn around and run away. They know that we give up easily. They know that we are too afraid to try.

But they don’t know. They don’t know that every time we face problems, we never intended to run  to away. They don’t know that we give up because we had one too many setbacks. They don’t know that we really do want to try.

They say get up and try again. But that very simple act of getting up and getting a grip is probably the hardest thing to do for us.

How hard can it be?

Imagine with me.

With each failure, you tell yourself the next attempt will be better. The next opportunity arises and you try. And like before, your genuine attempt takes a wrong turn and you end up crashing into a wall. Annoyed? Yeah, definitely. But instead of taking it within your stride, you flare up. Throw you hands in the air and call it quits. You leave furiously, swearing you will never try again.

But you walk away only to realise moments later that you never truly wanted to give up. You were just frustrated. Disappointed. Upset. That your hard work just wasn’t enough. That you weren’t enough.

You want to go back. You want to try again. But going back just seems rather awkward now. And you fear that you will once again throw in the towel when things go wrong. So you find yourself giving up simply because you wouldn’t give yourself another chance.

Take it from me. From a girl who fails in probably everything she does. From a girl who feels like she lets everyone down over and over again. From a girl who no longer has confident in herself.

We really want to try again. But somehow we just cannot see things objectively. Instead of seeing that particular failure as it is, we see it as an addition to our already long list of failures. Thus, when faced difficulties, we fall back into our same old pattern. Instincts.

And each time we give up, we feel smaller. We hate ourselves a little more. Until it comes to a point when we give up before we start trying. Because we no longer believe in ourselves anymore.

 

Change – just because

 

It has been too long. Too long that I can’t remember when I last did something for myself.

You get defeated. Once twice thrice. And everything is not going your way. 

Most people would tell themselves to recover and try again. Some would die trying. Other would give up trying.

But I gave up before trying.

It is about time. Time to start trying.

Enough of feeling sorry for myself. Enough of feeling inadequate. Enough of feeling deserving of all these negative things.

I am capable of doing more. I am worth doing more. I am deserving of more.

So for the rest of the sem, I really do hope that I will get my shit together and try again. Because the only time you really fail is when you give up on yourself.

And the journey begins.

One day at a time.

Just hope I wouldn’t give up on myself again.

Sell – this soul

 
Weird how we always go around asking for advice when all we need to do is decide.

It’s not as if we are completely clueless of what we want. We question. We ask. We deliberate. Just to seek some affirmation or some sort.
Truth is somewhere deep down we already know what we want. We know what’s best for yourselves.

Problem is, we are looking for a reason not to give it a shot. A reason to pin the blame on when things go wrong. A reason to run away from things we do not wish to face.

And in the end, what we put ourselves through is nights and nights of torment and distress. The constant deliberation of choices. Weighing of opportunity costs. The perpetual state of being so heavy hearted.

Why can’t we just decide and move on?

Don’t sell your soul to someone who simply doesn’t care.

Let – love and let live

 
It’s not easy. It hasn’t been easy.

It hasn’t been easy to pin a smile on my face and get on with things. It hasn’t been easy to concentrate on work.

Decisions to be made. Deadlines to be met. And all I am doing is running away. Yet again.

Perhaps I am just not like everyone else. I wasn’t built for greatness. I wasn’t built to achieve much. Maybe I just wasn’t built for anything at all.

There is the void which I can’t seem to fill. It’s not like I want company. Some will be good at times. But I rather much be alone.

It is just something. Something more than the routineness of life. Something more than the ordinary. Something to keep me going.

In any case, I just can’t. I can’t invest in anything knowing that all I get in return is disappointment. I can’t invest knowing that everyone will walk out on me. I can’t invest knowing that I will always mess up when it counts the most. I just can’t.

I no longer have the capacity to keep hoping. To keep believing. To keep trying.

I used to believe that good things happen to good people. But with each heartbreak. Each mishap. Each let down. I began to think karma is picking on the wrong person. But then again, perhaps I am just not good enough a person to deserve anything.

These accumulated disappointments have broken me. So much so I no longer believe. No longer believe in anything.

I am just a soul so far gone there is no turning back.

And maybe the only way to move on is first acknowledging what is. 

The – serenity prayer

 
Someday, we will all come to a point in life when we feel completely helpless.
When the displays on the medical monitor show nothing but straight lines.

When the friend calls you on the phone crying.

When the eyes are so full of sadness that nothing you do can rid them of the pain.

We feel powerless.

And maybe that’s why as humans. We need to believe in something greater.

In hopes that. Maybe. When we don’t have everything in control. We have something to hope in.

Because as humans. Sometimes. The only thing we can do. Is pray for the senerity to accept the things we cannot change. The courage to change the things we can. And the wisdom to know the difference.

So let whatever be may be, may be.

Bits – of humanity

 
It is amazing sometimes what life brings. And I am glad that I get to catch a glimpse of its beauty every once in a while.

I wouldn’t say the trip was all fun and laughter. On the surface, yeah perhaps. But on the inside, I was a total wreck.

We all grit our teeth and find a way to go though the day. They say compartmentalise. And so I tried. It wasn’t always easy but you get better at it. So much so, you can go about any day without feeling a tinge of negative emotions. They say – well done. I say – scary.

The way this compartmentalising thing works is rather simple actually. Chuck those little bits of party poopers into tiny boxes in the back of your mind. Drag those mood dampers into your internal trash can. Done. Three seconds, that’s all it takes. To snap out of it and get back to work.

Do that every single day. Seven days a week. Fourteen weeks a semester. And you’ll make it through the term. Easy.

Too easy in fact. That you forget that those tiny boxes still need to be opened and packed. That the trash still has to be reviewed and emptied. That you need to let people in.

On the plane home, there was a baby crying when the plane was descending. And of course, a mother who was frantically trying to hush her child. As expected, the baby just keeps crying and crying and crying. Just then, the unexpected happened. A few girls from the Singapore national netball team started singing nursery rhymes. A few others caught on. And their voices resonated throughout the cabin. (We were flying budget, it wasn’t very big.) Like every other recount, you pretty much would have guessed the ending – the baby stopped crying.

I looked out my window. And smiled.

Life is unpredictable. Messy. And frustrating. It was meant to be this way. But every now and then, I catch sight of what it means to be human.

Some believe we are inherently selfish. Evil. And self-consumed. That indeed we are in island. That flying solo is the only way to go.

But I always chose to believe that there is some good in all of us. That when the time comes, we will be there for each other. To sacrifice. Give. And share.

And today, I got reminded (once again) that it is okay to let others in. To let them carry you when you are tired. To let them – simply be there for you.

It is okay. To be human.

This is my war to fight. Not theirs. But it doesn’t mean I couldn’t use a little help when I fall.