Girl, Interrupted

Susanna: I’m ambivalent. In fact that’s my new favorite word.
Dr. Wick: Do you know what that means, ambivalence?
Susanna: I don’t care.
Dr. Wick: If it’s your favorite word, I would’ve thought you would…
Susanna: It means I don’t care. That’s what it means.
Dr. Wick: On the contrary, Susanna. Ambivalence suggests strong feelings… in opposition. The prefix, as in “ambidextrous,” means “both.” The rest of it, in Latin, means “vigor.” The word suggests that you are torn… between two opposing courses of action.
Susanna: Will I stay or will I go?
Dr. Wick: Am I sane… or, am I crazy?
Susanna: Those aren’t courses of action.
Dr. Wick: They can be, dear – for some.
Susanna: Well, then – it’s the wrong word.

Dr. Wick: No. I think it’s perfect.

I am a rock,
I am an island.

And a rock feels no pain
and an island never cries.

The Complete Meme Of Your Life

Dear Cassandra

I don’t really know how to tell you this, but you’re a pervert. I think I realized it when I quoted Santa at the mental hospital and I saw you carve your initials into my best friend. I’m sure you’re man enough to understand that Santa doesn’t exist. I’m returning your ring to you, but I’ll keep my virginity as a memory. You should also know that I told in my confession today about Oprah Winfrey imitations.

In pain,
Germaine

 

But This Is All That I Have

It’s been a long time since I’ve felt that I had anything to say. I don’t have anything interesting to document, all I’ve been up to is trying to keep myself sane – not because everything else is chaos but because everyday has become so much of a routine that I’m desperate for something different. Each new day unravels itself in the same way as it did yesterday, and every hour passed only serves to make me a torpid, pathetic person. The only thing keeping me lucid is the fact that I have weekends to look forward to, and the constant repitition of ‘I am not a boring person’ that loops in my mind, to remind myself that maybe, this is just a phase, a plateau that will reveal more in time.
Maybe its a dream, and if I scream, it will burst into seams and this whole place will fall to pieces.

When The Sand Runs Out

Its been a long time and I’ve been everything but introspective, and I guess its time to address some things that people find hard to justify even though it seems only natural for me. Maybe I shouldn’t be writing this at all, because having to justify myself for my actions seems to only contradict my belief that if it feels right, I shouldn’t be hitting the walls with the frustration that some people Just Don’t Get It. But nevertheless, I suppose its time that I put this out and hope for the best that it would serve well for mutual understanding.

Its hard for me to comprehend why I should be put down for being happy, for being contented, just because a few months ago, I was far from it. Granted, I don’t have the basic reason to be happy because after all, the situation with G isn’t what I should content myself with because I deserve better than that, but I just find it useless to fight for something better when I’m satisfied with what it is now. Basically, an argument for argument’s sake. Is it just so hard to accept that I am someone who is easily satisfied? I could very well be walking into a bottomless pit but right now, its just not something I want to worry about because well, the scenery is to damn nice for me to worry about anything.

Just because I seem to be offering myself completely doesn’t mean I haven’t built my walls. I know its hard to trust that I have because I’ve been fallen one too many times, but its precisely because of that that I’ve built my walls high and thick this time round, and just because you don’t see it doesn’t mean it isn’t there. You say you’re watching out for me, and I appreciate you for that with all my of heart, but maybe that isn’t what I need. Maybe what I need is that support that everyone seems to have forgotten to give, maybe what I need is you not telling me that he isn’t worth it, but that some things just need the patience that you’re sure I have in me.

Saying that you hoped what I had for him was just a phase pissed me off because frankly, that’s what I’ve been hearing from some of the closest people to me, and to hear it from you – someone who I held my faith in to support me in this because you’re the one who understand me most – it was simply the last straw. I don’t know what I expect the result to be when this is all over, but what I know I want from you and everyone else out there is not to say “I told you so” if it screws up. ‘I told you so’ doesn’t serve to make anyone feel better. In fact, it doesn’t serve any purpose other than to boost an ego, something which I find uncalled for especially when consoling someone else.

I bear no grudges for you or anyone else, because you are all my friends who I love and cherish most, and I hope you will take this in and accept my actions toward this, even if it isn’t what you agree with.

Smoke Your Cigarettes, Make Your Love

It’s not about geography, or happenstance
You need to fly, and take a chance
You don’t need to soar to emptiness
Float on high and forever dance alone

You’re scared, scared, scared
’cause i feel like home.

Why I Am Not Asleep

Results are out and I know its hardly any cause for celebration, but THANK GOD I’m still in school and not getting my ass kicked out. GPA wasn’t half as bad as I expected it to be, but truth to be told, after I got past the “oh yeaaah I’m not expelled!” stage, it kind of reeled me back to the reality that yes, I am stuck in a rut. For one, my total number of CUs don’t even come close to what the others in my course are boasting about, and I am a hair’s breadth from becoming worst in the level. Actually, I think I am probably the last in my cohort, no prizes for that. But fuck, I am still in school. I never thought I’d be happy to say that. No more resting on my laurels now, its time to unleash my hidden hardworking-ness. Kinda late, but shut up.

And now for updates on how mundane my life has become. My house is becoming a bakery, for I have discovered the wonders of a convection oven and chocolate. Never underestimate what chocolate can do for a 19 year-old like me who isn’t drawing income at the mo, because I can tell you, all that stands between me and an extra few bucks from the parentals for the weekend is a fudge-filled brownie. My brownies aren’t perfect, but to my parents who have been urging me to put an apron on for years, it isn’t too bad. I still can’t cook with a stove, but anything that doesn’t involve fire, I’m a-ok with! Bake parties anyone?

Other than filling tupperwares with cookies and brownies, I spend the rest of my days sleeping, watching Las Vegas and eating the damned cookies and brownies I baked. Because if I didn’t, my house would soon become one of those little candy houses that you see in theme parks,complete with the gingerbread man at the porch waving (which would be my dad, of course). In fact, I think I put on some weight. But funny thing is, all of it seemed to just accumulate on my face. Why has nature decided that the best place for fats to accumulate on me is my face and not my boobs?! I swear, if I took all the fats from my face and surgically enhanced my breasts with it, I would be…a B by now. DAMMIT. Screw you, Mother Nature! *flips the bird at the trees* Say goodbye to Earth Hour! (I’m just kidding, play your part and turn off your damned lights, dude.)

And so I end this entry with a reminder to all my friends out there having their internships: GERMAINE IS STILL ALIVE, and she is oh-so-very sympathetic to your OTs, 1-hour lunchtimes and limited smoke breaks. Muchos love everybody, see you on Saturday for pondok reunion. Be there or be square!

Batman And Superman: Merger

If this was me, I’d be kinda stoked because of the dual superhero names, but then the excitement will be killed the moment I realise having their names doesn’t equate to having flying skills, and that I should have chosen a shorter building to experiment my skills on. Dammit!

/edit/ WHY is everyone going to Taiwan except me?!?! I want to shop till my wallet’s a big empty hole, I want to eat good cheap food and I want to bloody meet Jay Chou on the streets and let him serenade me (HAHA I KID, I KID).  I WANT TO GO TAIWAN DAMMIT. I AM BORED OUT OF MY MIND AT HOME BOOHOO. SIP IS DISGUSTING STEALING ALL MY FRIENDS OMG ACCCKKKK COME BACK AND KEEP ME COMPANY! Okay fuck, I need to go Taiwan. I need to go get a life.

Audi A4 Cabriolet

This is gonna be mine.

In like…156482 years. Maybe not that long, if I can convince my dad that Audi is the way to go. Screw the Ford, dad! 200 horsepower! And it looks way sweet especially in red with black leather and inlays. Its too heavy to play but driving this on the road with the top down would make up for all of it. Even if the wind in my hair is polluted.

 I’ve been spending the past 2 days dreaming of this Audi and checking out other cars, and I haven’t even taken my BTT yet! Talk about counting your eggs before they hatch. But no worries, finally having something to study is making me pore over the BTT book like a studious mugger (minus the glasses, I’m a new age geek). I never thought this would come out of my mouth, but I miss studying so much. There’s something nice about being able to memorise when your headlights are supposed to be switched on and the differences between all the damned continuous and broken lines.

Dad says if I can start working and earn some money to contribute to the family income, he’ll get this car. HAH. Tricky little old man he is. But yes, I’m looking for a job since its the holidays. Lobangs, please let me know!

Brownies Aren’t Frownies

Hah! I’m not a total failure in the kitchen after all. Check these out!

Yeah they don’t look like perfect fudge brownies but its my first time and I think I did pretty good. At least…nothing caught fire! Brilliant. I didn’t burn my hands or any other part of my body, and nothing in the kitchen is broken or burnt. Achievement of the year! Now…just need to find someone to try them. Anybody?

Sentosuh Mentosuh

I will never in my life step foot in the kitchen again, ever. I was inspired by watching Jamie’s Chef, and since it made me hungry to watch, I tried to to cook ham and eggs for late night supper. But while frying the ham somehow it starting to smell like it was burning, and I kept looking at the ham and it looked perfectly fine, but next thing I knew, the newspaper I was using to cover the pan was on FUCKING FIRE. I was like WHADAFARK ZOMGX I’M GONNA DIE $*@)%#*! ARRRfuckGHH!!! And the worst thing is? Instead of dumping the newspaper in the basin I started waving it around like a maniac, thinking it would douse the flame. Like wtf what I thinking?!?! I swear if it wasn’t for my brother who told me to just leave the paper on the floor and extinguished it with water I would have already been burnt alive. (I know I know, it wasn’t a big enough fire to practically burn me alive, but it was enough to like, cause facial scarring y’know?)

I’m swearing off cooking for now. Damn, just when I was so totally into wanting to bake cupcakes and cookies for someone. Ugh. And my ham and eggs ended up looking like charcoal and…some brown-black carcinogen. I am so gonna get cancer from all the burnt food. Oh wait, I’m already going to get cancer from smoking, DAMN. Oh well, live fast die young! Life is short! Carpe diem!

/edit/ I just realised I don’t have an oven to bake with. Beyond brilliant. I shan’t ask anyone to lend me their kitchen because after this post, I guess no one would dare to offer for fear of their apartment being burned down. But if anyone would take the risk (and keep a fire extinguisher on hand) please let me know because I am in desperate need to bake cupcakes for someone’s burstday! Dank choo belly much and lub choo lawng tyme.

What the FUCK?!

你说把爱渐渐 放下会走更远

或许命运的签 只让我们遇见

只让我们相恋 这一季的秋天

飘落後才发现 这幸福的碎片

要我怎麼捡…

Mars Bars Are Full Of Sars

I anagrammed “germs kinda lame” out of boredom and severe insomniac syndrome, and I came up with these!

Managers Milked
Mamas Drink Glee
Karma Dingles Me
Karma Singled Me
Karma Singled Em
Madame Leg Rinks
Madman Glee Risk

I personally like Mamas Drink Glee the best, though Karma Singled Me comes close. Amazing things an internet anagram server can do for curing boredom, eh? Also, I am hell bent on getting a polaroid from the Spectra series, because they can do multiple exposures! How fucking cool is that?! But film costs a bomb, since it doesn’t utilise normal 600 films, and even if they do, prices for 600 film are skyrocketing because of Polaroid ceasing to manufacture any more film. Let’s just hope some other camera company takes up Polaroid’s offer of selling their technology. It would be too sad to say goodbye to such a unique photographic experience.

Sidenote: I’m starting to love Jay Chou. Yeah yeah I know, I used to be one of them watchamacallits who dissed chinese songs, but Jay Chou is good. People change. I guess its never too late for me to want to brush up on my Mandarin. China is gonna take over the world yo?! Don’t say I didn’t warn ya.

And we know our hearts are just made out of strings to be pulled.

OMG

I am dying from nicotine withdrawal. Fuck it, I’m going to the nearby 7-11 and getting a pint of B&J’s. Say goodbye to cigarettes, and hello to cookie dough!

The Change-Your-Life Time Of The Year

I am stuck here at 4am in the morning trying to figure out what qualitative research is, and how to go about carrying it out. Absolutely redundant, it is. I could just chuck it out the window like I did for most things in my life, but it’s time for change. Everything is starting to feel like an overplayed pop song on the fm, so I guess this is God’s way of bringing new “light” to my stagnant lifestyle. He sure does have a brilliant tack for things like this, don’t you think?

Another change to mention: I am quitting smoking as of Tuesday. Like, no-hidden-cigarettes-in-the-wallet, no-lighter-in-sight, no-bumping-ciggs-off-of-friends kind of quitting. It’s going to be one hell of a week, but the guy in Supersize Me said that if you get past the three day hump, you’re gonna be fine. Which I will, of course. How hard could it be?

Okay, who am I kidding, I can’t even get past 2 hours without a smoke, its going to be the worst three days of my life. But let’s not despair, this cranky-personified Germaine is going to be a healthier person by the end of the week! Though not necessarily less grumpy, but a whole lot healthier without the whole cigarette smoke aura around her. Keep your fingers crossed and don’t ask me for a light, I’ll scream and find a huge-ass one to light your hair with. No kidding.

The Bird, The Cow, And The Cat

A little bird was flying south for the winter. It was so cold the bird froze and fell to the ground in a large field. While it was lying there, a cow came by and dropped some dung on it. As the frozen bird lay there miserably in the pile of cow dung, it began to realize how warm it was.

The dung was actually thawing him out! He lay there all warm and happy, and soon began to sing for joy. A passing cat heard the bird singing and came to investigate. Following the sound, the cat discovered the bird under the pile of cow dung, and promptly dug him out and ate him.

Moral of the story:

Not everyone who shits on you is your enemy.
Not everyone who gets you out of shit is your friend.
And when you’re in deep shit, it’s best to keep your mouth shut.

Tell Me Something I Don’t Know

Fantastic book, and I’m not even halfway done. Sidenote, Athlete is greatest band ever formed next to Spoon.

The Art Of Enticing The Dog

Too often, the thing you want most is the one thing you can’t have. Desire leaves us heartbroken, it wears us out. Desire can wreck your life. But as tough as wanting something can be. The people who suffer the most, are those who don’t know what they want.

I can’t bring myself to just pretend this is going somewhere, when clearly things are so restrained and ambiguous between us. I don’t know where we stand, and what we might stand for in the future, and I can’t continue acting like it doesn’t cause me serious doubt. Its like we’re on either side of a fogged up window. I can’t see much of you, and all I want to do is wipe it clean and if I could, do away with the window all together. Why does it feel like I have a restraining order against me?

I want more, more attention, more affection, more time, but yet I am afraid to ask. I’ve grown accustomed to not having you around, but that doesn’t mean I feel any lesser for you. It just means that…maybe you could try to want me a little more, give me a little more than I need. More is something I’ve never been able to refuse. I don’t say ‘when’. And I don’t doubt its the same for everyone else. More love, more sweets, more anything. There’s always something about the possibility of more.

I can’t keep playing games anymore, and I can’t pretend I don’t need you when I really do. I’m done with hiding, with covering up and pretending. Its time I took this great leap of faith. Yes, I know in the end, I might be the one to get hurt, and I might be the one who ends up on the curb, broken and ruined. But the best things in life, they don’t come free.

Overqualified

In light of the internships coming up and everyone scrambling to get their portfolios up to standard, I’m posting this cover letter by Joey Comeau, the best writer alive. His “Overqualified” series can be found here.

To: Microsoft
Re: Programmer

Dear Microsoft.

Thank you for taking the time to review my resume. I am excited for the opportunity to work for the company that saved my marriage, and you can rest assured that I will give my all. As my resume indicates, I’ve been a computer programmer for sixteen years. Wanda and I were married for eight of those.

My resume indicates my professional experience, which is a good rundown of my skill-set, but I’d like to talk about my personal projects, which I believe show my ability to think outside the box. You see, in the months before I lost Wanda in a car accident, I started teaching her to program.

Those few programs that she left behind were simple, and very often flawed, and they are all I have left of my Wanda, besides her journal entries. She programmed on your operating system, and with a little internet research I was able to make a list of what appliances were running Windows.

It was short work to program each of those appliances with the remains of my lost wife, fragments of her journal, snippets of her programming. I was suddenly living in a William Burroughs romance novel. Cups and plates rattled when I passed, and spoke in their Microsoft-approved synthesized voice “July thirty first. Joey is still spending more time with the computer than with me. I am worried that the romance is gone for good this time. My mother suggests that I pretend to share his interest, so that we can…”

The vacuum drives around in circles in the living room, saying “We must have left the condom wrapper in the living room, but I can’t find it for the life of me. If Joey finds it, how will I explain? Jack says not to worry. He’ll be there to…”

Sometimes, my doorknobs won’t let me inside at night. “September sixteenth. He’s forgotten the anniversary again.” But it’s a success, Microsoft. Not a single day goes by where I don’t get a glimpse of my wife. Not a day goes by where I don’t hear her voice, simulated and authentic at once.

I would be an asset to your company. I look forward to hearing back from you about this position.

Yours,

Joey Comeau

A Softer World

Rain Beyond The Window

Hasn’t been the greatest of weeks, but that’s nothing new anymore is it? The weather has been a bitch, and nothing gets my moods in a turmoil more than lousy weather. Met new people this week, and I can frankly say, year ones aren’t such a bunch of morons after all. At least, Larry, Edison and Joey aren’t. Went for Selegie beancurd, Night and Day, and finally settled at Home, even though it hurt to even think of going there. Shan’t go into it though. But we had a bunch of fun playing truth or dare, eating leaves, finding out each other’s sexual escapades (that one good what!) and doing stupid dares (pinch the bouncer’s sausage!). I guess it was a good thing that I threw my stereotypes out the window.

I’ve been coping surprisingly well, though there are still so many questions unanswered and so many doubts still rippling the surface. I’ve come to think that maybe I don’t need those answers, and I don’t need the explanations for something that was a lost cause from the start. Of course, you’ll always be the one who makes me feel more like myself than anyone else, and nothing comes close. That, I can’t deny. But at the same time, we have spiralled so out of control that I don’t know how to save it anymore, and I’m exhausted from trying. I want more than this, more than what we have now (I want more than just ok) but yet I can’t bring myself to ask, or bring myself to even question why you wouldn’t give something so simple and easy to me. All this back and forth is eating into me, so much so that I just can’t continue being normal. I don’t even know what normal is anymore.

“Communication. It’s the first thing we really learn in life. Funny thing is, once we grow up, learn our words and really start talking, the harder it becomes to know what to say. Or how to ask for what we really need.”

Happy Valentine’s! (assholes.)

The Tale Of The Piles

So I was watching a drama serial just now on the cube and one of the characters had piles, and he did a good job acting like it hurt. A lot. So I turned to my mom and said, “Yeaah like piles could do that to you.” And she decided to turn into Mrs. Piles Encyclopedia, and told me how they hurt like a bitch and when they were tying it back up she almost fainted. She described every single gruesome gory detail and it went through my head like a taser shock. I was BEYOND grossed out. The image of someone’s rectum disintegrating and the doctor “fixing” it just kept replaying in my head till I was almost sick all over the carpet. And then my mom had to break the news to me: “Childbirth causes piles, you know.” I almost died.

Then Dad said, “Nah, just use an epidural and you wouldn’t have to push, the baby just pops out! Mommy wanted to have a natural birth, that’s why she has piles. Hah!” I was thinking, noooo an epidural doesn’t do that, does it? I thought it just numbed the pain? But I knew my dad was smart (so wrong) so I kept quiet. My mom then replied, “That’s rubbish, the epidural numbs the pain but you still have to push y’know? So either ways my dear, you’re bound to get piles at some point in your life. Don’t listen to Daddy, he’s a man. Men don’t give birth.” She proceeded to give my dad the evil eye while he laughed and stuck out his tongue. Yes, my parents are that childish.

I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. At that point I was still mulling over the sentence, “You’re bound to get piles at some point in your life.” I couldn’t ever imagine having to go through pain in my arsehole and having a doctor peer into it and fix it, however a doctor fixes piles (YOU DON’T WANT TO KNOW. SWEAR.) I am traumatised beyond words. I couldn’t stop thinking about it up till now, and I googled ‘piles’ and after seeing one picture I decided I didn’t want to know anything but precautionary steps.

So now, I won’t read while taking a dump, and I will eat my greens. Faithfully and conscientiously. Promise. Swear to God.

Blew half of my earnings from CNY on cocktails and margaritas at Harry’s. And cigarettes.

Need. To. Stop. Smoking.

Peter Panic

Haven’t you heard I’m stuck on a verse
I’m stuck on a boy who fills me joy
I knew I was wrong to jump straight on into this picture so pretty
but he is so pretty to me.

It hasn’t been the greatest of times recently. I experienced my first panic attack on Friday, and all I can say is, the thought of it makes me worry so much I might have another one. Nothing comes close to that feeling, and the thought that nothing you do can make it better, makes it worse. Everything was on the verge of exploding, but it just couldn’t ignite and all I wanted was to be over and done with the goddamn exploding because as crazy as it sounds, the build-up was just too much, much more than the exploding would’ve been. I wanted it to stop, but it wouldn’t. It was wicked as ever, because before it I was a bundle of nerves, laughing even though I didn’t want to, but it was all I could do. I wanted to be sick right on the floor, all over the food, all over the damn cigarettes, but all I could do was to grin. Is this how a clown feels? Is this how he feels when he sees children around him crouching behind their parents because mommy, that painted face scares me. Is this how he feels when he thinks, why the hell am I doing this when I’m scaring the children away?

I need time, that’s all anyone ever says. I need time to heal the wounds, I need time for memories to fade into distant etchings on the barks of trees, I need time to pass into that bottomless hourglass. I need time. Of course I do. It passes, slow and painful as each step you take when you’ve just fallen down. It passes, with each tick of the second hand an aching reminder of that bruise you have to tend alone. But, pass it does, I know it, I’m just hurting too much to want to stay here any longer.

Rachel, I miss you a truckload. Your texts from nowhere are the best things that keep me going. We grow up much too fast, but part of me wants to because I know we’ll one day be sitting at some kickass hotel having high tea and talking trash about our lives. Can’t wait for that day.

A couple of hundred years ago, Benjamin Franklin shared with the world the secret of his success. Never leave that till tomorrow, he said, which you can do today. This is the man who discovered electricity. You think more people would listen to what he had to say. I don’t know why we put things off, but if I had to guess, I’d have to say it has a lot to do with fear. Fear of failure, fear of rejection, sometimes the fear is just of making a decision, because what if you’re wrong? What if you’re making a mistake you can’t undo? The early bird catches the worm. A stitch in time saves nine. He who hesitates is lost. We can’t pretend we hadn’t been told. We’ve all heard the proverbs, heard the philosophers, heard our grandparents warning us about wasted time, heard the damn poets urging us to seize the day. Still sometimes we have to see for ourselves. We have to make our own mistakes. We have to learn our own lessons. We have to sweep today’s possibility under tomorrow’s rug until we can’t anymore. Until we finally understand for ourselves what Benjamin Franklin really meant. That knowing is better than wondering, that waking is better than sleeping, and even the biggest failure, even the worst, beat the hell out of never trying.

An Interesting Detachment

Trust is not about how much you trust one person or another to do right or wrong. How much you trust another person is a function of how much you trust yourself to be strong enough to deal with their imperfections.

This Takes Effort

Remember how when you were a kid, and you believed in fairy tales, the fantasy of what your life would become. That white dress, the knight in shining armour, who would carry you away to a castle up on a hill. You’d lie in bed all night and close your eyes, and you had complete and utter faith. Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, Prince Charming – they were so close you could taste them, but eventually you grow up, and reality kicks in. You open your eyes and the fairy tales disappear. Most people turn to the things and the people that they can trust. But the thing is, its hard to let go of that fairy tale entirely, because almost everyone has that smallest bit of hope, of faith, that one day they will open their eyes and it will come true.

Life wasn’t exactly a bed of roses before you came along, but I was happy. Even though I was only happy-right-now, I was still happy. But when you arrived and stepped all over my turf, and claimed me as yours, I was poisoned with the belief that I could be happy-ever-after. And for awhile, it seemed like it, like that kind of fortunate happiness could happen to me. When things went wrong and you had to make that choice, everything fell to pieces, and what we had broke into more pieces than it was ever made of. So much so that I couldn’t pick them up, couldn’t find all the pieces to glue back together. With each and every time I promised myself to pretend you never existed, you had to call or send me a text and reaffirm that what you really needed was me. Me. And each and every time, I’d present my heart to you, relentless of how many times you’ve hurt it before.

Do you know when to walk away? Do you know when not to take less than you deserve? The problem is, I don’t, and I don’t know how the hell to go about doing it. 

Guilelessly

Friday was a day of quality times spent with quality people. All the pondering, the musings, the neverending cogitations on issues that float on the surface and bury deep down our skin – all worthy because it was the best friday I’ve spent in my life. No intoxication, just giddy highs caused by laughter of the best kind, the kind shared among people who mean the world to you. Everything had a meaning , and its like I’m seeing everything for what it is now, and I’ve uncovered what kind of a person I truly am.

I am neither delighted nor smug to know I’m someone who is a sucker for neutrality in every situation, even though I should be, and I guess the right word to describe it is “afraid”. Being an accepting person doesn’t make me a better friend, it just means that when I break down, I go into a realm so deep that it might be impossible for anyone to bring me back up. It is this understanding that’s making me fret, but at the same time, I’m taking it as it comes. Though I’ve never been a big believer of “I’ll cross the bridge when I come to it”, I guess I need some time to take all this in and decide what to do.

I am thankful for so many things this week. I am thankful for Alvin, Rodney and Eileen, because our day of substantiated conversations have given me so much more than a good time. We’ve never started out as the best of friends, and I wouldn’t say that’s what we are now because I don’t want to be embarrassed if that’s not what you guys think, but I am eternally grateful all the same. Good times to come, I’m sure.

I am thankful for you, because you have brought me back into the light, and you’re keeping me here where the only dark shapes I see is my own shadow. You are what you are, and what you are is beautiful. FTIB, and please keep safe, wherever you are right now.

“Today, I am thankful…”

I am afraid of not knowing who I am. I am afraid of losing who I am. I am afraid…of sadness. Most of all, I am afraid of being the disappointment, being the tragedy that my parents unknowingly brought into the world. I am afraid of all these, and all at once, they seem to be coming true, like my worst nightmare that replays till I am sucked into it. Reality is becoming something that is so undefined and ambiguous, like vapour, which eventually fades into…nothing.

Thank you for having faith, and putting it all in me, even though I might just be the one who wastes it all. Thank you for clearing up the fogged windows…and believing that the shape behind them is the one you want to be with. Thank you…for your little gentle pushes, which never turn to shoves no matter how hard I resist. Thank you for looking out for me, even if I couldn’t look out for you. I’ll try harder, I promise. Cross my heart and hope to die.

Hey Child things are lookin down
That’s ok you don’t need to win anyways
Don’t be afraid
Just eat up all the grey and it will fade all away
Don’t let yourself fall down. 

Gimme That!

So now I am a kEwTsiE. Yes, Germaine is a kewtsie. Rawrrr I likez.

You cannot imagine how much I giggled while typing that. I am beyooonnnnddd eggcited. Nice to know that at 4am in the morning, when everyone is dead asleep and dreaming of bluebirds and pineapple tarts, I am still remembered and missed. This deserves <3 xcorez forever tillinfinitybeyondandeverafter.

I am wishing for a lot of things, and its surprising that many of them can’t be bought with money. I never knew I was that unmaterialistic. But right now I really want for a hotel room, great kickass kiddy pyjamas (preferably with alphabets on them like my old ones),  ice cream (cookie dough!) , cable tv, my camera (sob) and a crazy boy with the same initials GC as me, and I’ll be all set to have the greatest slumber party everrrr.

 I WILL BE KEWTSIE NINJA! Rawr…

Complexities Of Time And Love

I’d spin the rest of my life, for you. If possible, I’d hope for you to spin with me too.

Intellectual Cyberninja

The Wild Rose

Random Brutal Love Dreamer (RBLD)

Colorful, but unpicked. You are The Wild Rose.

Prone to bouts of cynicism, sarcasm, and thorns, you excite a certain kind of man. Hoping to gather you up, he flirts and winks and asks you out, ultimately professing his love. Then you make him bleed. Why? Because you’re the rare, independent, self-sufficient kind of woman who does want love, but not from a weakling.

You don’t seem to take yourself too seriously, and that’s refreshing. You aren’t uptight; you don’t over-plan. Romance-wise, sex isn’t a top priority–a true relationship would be preferable. For your age, you haven’t had a lot of bonafide love experience, though, and this kind of gets to core of the issue. You’re very selective.

The problem is them, not you, right? You have lofty standards that few measure up to. You’re out there all right, but not to be picked up by just anyone.

Always avoid: The Bachelor (DGSM)
Consider: The Vapor Trail (RBLM)

-

Okaaaay, so not what I expected at all. Not even close. “For your age, you haven’t had a lot of bonafide love experience.” REALLY?!?!

Okay, 20 minutes have passed since I typed the previous sentence and now I guess its true after all. 2 years in a relationship doesn’t measure up to a “bonafide love experience” considering that I was only 16, but it opened my eyes to a lot of things. I guess right now with every guy that comes and goes, my expectations only gain a notch, and I am uncertain whether its a good or bad thing, or both. Right now I am uncertain about a lot of things, so many that it hurts just to think about it. I’m uncertain about my future (though I’m getting a pretty good picture of it, and its bleak), I’m uncertain about friends, uncertain about love, uncertain about the choices I have to make, and all this uncertainty is making me confused about what I am, who I am in essence. I’d love to say love doesn’t need justification, because its poetic and it makes people dreamy to think about it, but at the same time I lie awake at night thinking about how much, just how much does he love me? There are too many doubts, and too little reassurances. Again and again, I tell myself to trust and to believe with all of my heart, because if not I shouldn’t have the right to be in love with him. But yet, I am guarded and my walls are getting higher and higher, and I can’t help it. I want to protect myself, but yet I am afraid that this very act will prove to be my downfall. How much can I trust myself to do the right thing?

“Its one thing to not be able to trust someone. But if you don’t even trust yourself, I would like to say you’re fucked, Germaine.” FUBAR.

When Did Your Heart Go Missing!

The lyrics to the Rooney song by the title above so doesn’t match up to what I’m feeling and going through now, but its just so happy and dancey that I’ve had it on repeat for about an hour now. I’m feeling ecstatic beyond words and I can’t help but want to call everyone up and tell them that I love them. I might just go bonkers soon, and I sure hope I don’t end up jumping into the fountain in school just for the fun of it, though its something I’ve always wanted to do, complete with clothes and those hats that have those colourful tiny umbrellas on them. How dope would that be?!

Looking forward to friday like I’ve never looked forward to anything before. Today I crossed my fingers so tightly that they went from pink to red, and I guess you could say I’ve got sacred fingers (even though they were quite damaged and tingly after) because I got what I was hoping for. That phone call at 1024pm would remain a momentous event in my little thumping heart forever till infinity and beyond and ever after. When he broke the news to me I was punching my fists in the air and got cigarette ash all over my hair, and all that happened while I was silent as a muted radio and acting all nonchalant. Talk about great skills in pretend! I am so multi-talented, bow down and call me Master you little people.

So, to sum everything up, the week DID end pretty well after all, though that damned week-changing moment had to come almost 2 hours before the week ended. How…strange. Well, guess some things work in weird ways, like me. I leave you with this picture I came across while ogling at Adam Brody online.

This has got to be the weirdest way a guy could tell a girl he loves her, but at the same time it makes my heart reduce into a puddle because I guess that’s the way I want someone to watch over me too. Don’t mop the floor yet! I’ve got to collect that damn heart puddle of mine…

Run

What a night. It was fun while it lasted, and part of me wished it wouldn’t end. Hung out with Cherry Terry Ho Jiewei, Marcus and Alvin, and paint the town red we did. I never imagined that pure stupidity came in threes, and they proved to me that it was possible with every single pain-inducing game we played. Its a real wonder how Marcus ever came up with nonsense like that, but thank the lord he did because it was the shit. And its also a wonder how I thought it was dumb to a point of no return, but yet when I tried it for myself, the satisfaction of seeing pain on someone else’s face was just a classic xcorez! moment. Fun and games soon took on a whole new meaning when we came to the topic of “the fainting game”, and I never thought I would have the balls to allow myself to black out. This was probably peer pressure at its best, and soon I was on the floor with slight fits (according to them) and totally fucking gone. I never thought I’d say this but that feeling was just dope with a capital D.

It was such a strange feeling for me, and while I was taking those ten deep breaths I was shaking so bad and my heart felt like a machine gun in full fire. When I awoke everything was just fucking surreal and I had no inkling of the right before and during of time that I drifted off. Nothing felt as good as that. Nothing. I was in total contradiction with myself, even right before, and I guess part of me decided to do it because there was every possibility that I might not get up. The feeling of losing control combined with the recklessness of such a decision was probably the main reasons why I said yes, and I don’t regret it. I guess that says something about me. Right now I’m just in the mood for losing total control and not giving a flying fuck, and knowing that it might just be detrimental to my well being is what thrills me the most. Rebel alert.

Face cramps and stomach aches and more “neng-ing” times are what I look forward to now, and Jiewei, you better fucking watch out because I shook your hand goodbye with good faith and trust and you took advantage of it and nenged me. WATCH OUT I AM SO GONNA GET YOU BACK. Cunning, cunning.

Chan Mali Chan

Last night at Zouk was just the best, though the guys were just a tad disappointing, and I didn’t get laid. Hah! But of course, partying with Eileen, Jia, Rodney, Doll and Shirley just made my day, or my week actually. Let’s see, 2 tequila shots, half a flaming lambo, 2 long island teas and half a jug of vodka redbull and you can officially pronounce me high (NOT DRUNK). Helped me forget a lot of things I didn’t want to remember, albeit only for a few hours. I hope this doesn’t make you guys blush but its really awesome spending time with people that I know love me most.

I got home sane and sober, knocked off really quickly and awoke with my phone ringing. Well, who would’ve thought, he finally called. He might have gotten knocked down by a car and I wouldn’t have realised, why? BECAUSE THE CALL WAS SUPPOSED BE COME AT 5PM YESTERDAY. No worries, I’m over that. Say hello to a celibate Germaine. Think I might have to start knitting pretty soon. What a joke. Me. Knitting. But thank god he called if not I would’ve failed APEL by now, and thanks to Ally for being such a sweetheart and calling me too, though I think her intention wasn’t to remind me about class but to tell me that she would be late. Haha! But thank you anyways. I got to school 40 minutes late for class, when I could have been on time. Three words: Fucking cab driver (just to clarify I am not pissing on all the cabbies out there, just this one because he’s a real dickface. Ask why another day.)

I’ve given up on telling myself to give up, it just doesn’t work anymore. I change my mind like Flash changes his underwear, and all it takes for that to happen is one phone call from him with a normal conversation. Telling myself that I might get a perfect ending is making me sick too, so this is pretty much one big suckfest, with shit falling from the sky and all that jazz. Not just normal shit, but the most awful kind that you don’t need the details to. Think 2girls1cup. The fact that I’ve spiralled down so deep into this is insanely contradicting and soon its going to drive me into psychosis. What a horrible end to what was almost a perfect week, don’t you think? I’m starting to realise this is a pattern in everything I do, and its making me wonder if “life’s just like that” or if I got all my bad luck at one sitting, because God decided that I deserved it since I am the biggest sin he ever created. Oh well.

“I wanted a perfect ending. Now I’ve learned, the hard way, that some poems don’t rhyme, and some stories don’t have a clear beginning, middle and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what’s going to happen next.”

“The dream of falling in love, marriage, death, love.”

This dream seems as if it lasts for hours, although it always takes place in the five minutes between my returning from the field and being woken for dinner. I dream of when I met my wife, fifty years ago, and it’s exactly as it happened. I dream of our marriage, and I can even see my father’s tears of pride. It’s all there, just as it was. But then I dream of my own death, which I have heard is impossible to do, but you must believe me. I dream of my wife telling me that she loves me, and even though she thinks I can’t hear her, I can, and she says she wouldn’t have changed anything. It feels like a moment I’ve lived a thousand times before, as if everything is familiar, right up to the moment of my death, that it will happen again an infinite number of times, that we will meet, marry, have our children, succeed in the ways we have, fail in the ways we have, all exactly the same, always unable to change a thing.I am again at the bottom of an unstoppable wheel, and when I feel my eyes close for death, as they have and will a thousand times, I awake.

Each moment I wait seems like a lifetime, an eternity. Its hard to be the one who stays put, while the world pushes past with such vigority. Its hard being left behind.

Why is love intensified by absence?

TILL INFINITY AND BEEEEYOND AND AND AND…EVER AFTER!

23rd Jan is probably the best day that I’ve had for the past few weeks, and I guess the greatest invention ever discovered is the almighty cellphone. Ah, the magic of telecommunications! Even though I didn’t get to see the people (or person) I’d have liked to see, the effort made alone far surpassed my expectations.

The day was filled with silly guffaws and insane stories that made something that was turning so bleak and disappointing into something that probably could work out. I’m crossing my fingers so tightly that they’re turning pink in the shadow of my back. Hope is probably Love’s ally in this cruel game, and it seems like I’m always their target. But what can I do except to succumb? What else can anyone do in the face of Love except to give in?

Thanks Alvin, for the ghost stories (I’m not sleeping tonight) and being my lucky charm (OMG HE’S CALLING!), it’s been one hell of a rollercoaster ride, and still is actually. But we’ll get through this all the same.

-

And you…I wished I didn’t have to grow up, so we could forever be this silly and insane, like nothing mattered more than that joke we just shared, or the way you tried to stop my laughter by covering your face with your hands like I do (COPYCAT). You’ve been the only person I’ve ever really told about my future plans, and the only person who knows the true reason behind me not wanting to leave for Melbourne. You’re the cream in my Oreos, and even that doesn’t fully describe how speh-she-yall you are to me. Second priority isn’t always the best, heck it never is, but if it makes you this truthful and this unabashed then its what I’ll settle for. TILL INFINITY AND BEYOND AND EVER AFTER.

I’ve crashed so far down that it I’m clawing and clawing to find a space to breathe.

 My dear brother, you have no idea how much I want to talk, how much I want to have that conversation with you. I want you to help me pick up the pieces from the ground and sew them up into something decent enough for me. I want you here to listen listen listen and not give a damn about what a poor young hopeless soul I am, and instead feel eager to educate me about the ways of the world and how love is an ugly, ugly thing, but tell me that some good can still come out of it, like how it worked out for you.

You have no idea what a fortunate person you are, and sometimes I wonder if I was the first out of our mother’s womb, would things have turned out better for me. I can’t help but feel so utterly useless and fucked up when I stand next to you, and yet, I am so goddamn proud of the way you are, and I just wish you’d take some time out of your busy schedule and hold my hand and tell me about life. Not in the harsh way you always work with, but in the special, I-care-about-you-and-cos-I’m-your-older-brother way.

I need you like a little sister again, and I would gladly do your art homework if you had any, just so you’d want to be nice to me for a few hours. I need that few hours, but I don’t know how to ask from you anymore, because we’ve grown so far that I don’t know how to start a decent conversation with you. I hope you see this, my dear big brother, I really hope you do.

4366685683968.

I am not here. I am not here. My hands are shaking and my heart is going too fast, too goddamn fast and I want it to fucking stop but its rambling on like I am doing here, now. This is all too surreal, too goddamn fucking surreal and I was actually happy 15 minutes ago. How could everything have gone wrong so quickly and so goddamn rapidly? Like it was just waiting for me, ambushing with a vengeance as fierce as it can possibly get.

This is it, I am leaving with a curtsey. Not with a stomping of feet, mimicking my heartbeat as it is now. No, I am leaving with a goddamn curtsey, and a graceful one at that. Good riddance to your miserable life and your miserable beliefs, because none of it will be of any use to you when you finally realise that I am the best you could’ve ever had. You wouldn’t be able to breathe, you would choke and you would cry and you would be looking, searching and calling out for me, but I will never answer because by then I won’t hear you. You will be dreaming with a broken heart, and I’ll be waking with one renewed.

Breathe, and I will be tangible.

“1, 2, 3, 4 tell me that you love me more…”

Because I can’t shed tears at all, they flood inside me instead. And today, the dam opened and a deluge of tears has emptied upon my heart, my lungs, my veins. If I can’t cry through my eyes, the only way is through my blood instead, because they flow through my veins like a meandering river. My blood isn’t red any longer, its clear and transparent as the morning sky. It tastes like the sea breeze when you stick out your tongue while walking on the beach with the sand in between your toes. Its consistency is as light as a little girl’s footsteps when she has a lollipop in her mouth. I will bleed my tears till I’m dry, but looking how broken we are now, its not going to be anytime soon.

When patience is short in supply

Feist is in my soul.

All I need is reassurance, that one thing that I will ever ask for, the one thing at the centre of my core which will assuage this irrational monster that is eating away at everything inside of me. Its not even too much to ask for, because I am feeling so shortchanged, seeing what you have been up to with your object of utmost priority now. It disgusts me, and it makes me feel like all the words in the dictionary that describe the word revolting. Actually, you disgust me. And right now I just don’t feel like being the understanding party anymore because that’s all I’ve been the past week, and what I get in return is not even close to appropriate.

I haven’t blown up in quite awhile, and all I do is accept accept accept, from anyone and everyone. I am tired of apologising, tired of being someone else’s punching bag, tired of being the ever ready listener who will never fail to be there when someone is in need of an ear that actually processes the words that are going in, and bother to dish out humble words of advice that are rarely taken anyway, no matter how hard I try to drive them in like a nail to a concrete wall. Who will be my listening ear, my humble dish-outer of famous last words?

We were born with two ears and only one mouth. Its for a single reason: its twice as hard to listen than to talk.

Life ain’t strictly business

I am a hateful, hateful person today. So much so that I could scream and hurt and damage and it still wouldn’t cease to stop the enmity in me. My eye bled today, and it was fun looking at the blood pool on my pupils, and then see it rain down my cheeks in streaks of red. Sadistically pleasurable, that’s what it was.

I want someone to hold me down while I kick and scream in refusal, of what I do not know. But still, I want to fight back, I want to fight for that control over myself. I can only gain it back through physical means, and its better than nothing. Right now I’ve lost control over my heart and my mind, and they’re out playing, running circles around the field that is my own sanity. I want to bite and tear and hit and curse, at anyone and anything, until I am spent, until I am certain that my physical self is exhausted as much as I am on the inside. Because I hate having to drink myself to sleep, and since it seems like my tear ducts have decided to retire on new year’s, I have nothing left to lull myself into that blissful state of rest which I need like a baby needs a mother’s touch.

The taxi driver said today, your life is in the hands of God. Read: We are all of God’s puppets, and it seems like since I’ve been broken beyond repair, he has left me behind in a pile labelled “Destined for the Dump.” Whoever said God wasn’t as sadistic as the creatures he created?

As I said, I am a hateful, hateful person today.

“Shhh…”

I’d like to stay in bed and feel the sheets on my skin, entangling like my hair through your fingers. I’d like to taste that unique snowflake, the very one that was destined to fall on the tip of my cherryade-stained tongue. I’d like it to rain rain rain, and let it flood the streets, so I can finally play on the roads like I owned them. I’d like to jump on a hotel bed, until the springs are busted. Then I’d laugh loudly and wake the old people next door, and I’d scream to you, “I LOVE YOU LIKE I LOVE ICE CREAM!” and do a little jig.

Its broken into more pieces than it was ever made of.

5683

Alvin is “The Lit Guy”, and I’m “The Speculator”. Call us if you’re in need of detective work, our specialty is deciphering song lyrics and the agendas behind them. Sidenote: I’m also available as a relationship consultant. You know, the most lucrative business nowadays. So. Fees are $50/hour and we’re available 24/7, except when Boston Legal, House, Las Vegas and Brothers and Sisters are on the cube. Namecards will be available soon, priority to friends. Watch out for us! We’re gonna paint the town red.

-

Today I discovered that my heart is made of steel, and I’m the most sadistic girl I’ve ever known. Its a feat, figuring these two out on the same day, and as much as this makes me sound weird, I’m kind of proud of myself. But even though my heart melts only when its 1510 degress, it doesn’t make it hurt any less when I’m thrown with disappointments every turn I encounter. It just makes the red flow onto white a little bit faster, just like a drop of blood in a bowl of milk. (Its funny when I say this because our national colours are red and white, oh gosh, how ironic.) It makes sleeping a lot less easy, and it makes the confusion whirl around me more too, though I doubt it can get any faster considering the shit I’ve been through these few days.

I’m eternally grateful for Alvin, you’re the best. The hotline might ring soon, so keep yourself on your toes. Same goes for you, my hotline is always available. Always, literally.

And the red will flow onto white perenially, and the thump of blood rushing will never stop. Forget forget forget, its like an eternal struggle, its like a constant in my mind, like a sticky note in neon pink or some other nu rave colour that drives me up the wall. I want to put everything I’m feeling in ink, on paper, anywhere that will leave its permanent mark – in the hopes that it will replace what I’m feeling in my heart, so that the suffering will cease. But I’m afraid there wouldn’t be enough paper, nor enough ink, nor space, to fill everything in my heart. Maybe all I need to do is skip the paper and ink, and cut my heart out, slice it into pieces, paste it all over the walls, covering it like wallpaper. Red red red, a colour of anger, a colour of passion.

And when the blood dries it will be black, black like scribbles of ink, black like your eyes, black like me.

5683

I put my hand on him. Touching him was always so important to me. It was something I lived for. I never could explain why. Little, nothing touches. My fingers against his shoulder. The outsides of our thighs touching as we squeezed together on the bus. I couldn’t explain it, but I needed it.

Sometimes I imagined stitching all of our little touches together. How many hundreds of thousands of fingers brushing against each other does it take to make love? Why does anyone make love?

Nice day today. I want to forget forget forget but all I can do is remember remember remember. Forgetting will protect, remembering will hurt, but caught between either is the most painful, and it is the place where I least want to be, but unfortunately, I am always at. There is comfort in his voice, in the way he says I’m funny, and in his eyes. But that comfort is not enough. How much will ever be enough for me? How much? Maybe it will never be enough. Maybe I will never keep wanting. I hope he never keeps giving.

Today wasn’t enough. The days pass and the less we entangle, the more our feelings are lost in the web of unspokenness and hazy confusion. Irony, right in your face. The intensity of my wants and my shouldn’t-do-its are crashing like waves to rocks, and sometimes this waging war leaves me desperate for an escape.

I should have, I should have, I should have.

“It was enough just to know it was there.”

“It’s getting almost impossible to hear you,” said the young girl from her bedroom in Manhattan as she squinted through a pair of her father’s binoculars, trying to find her friend’s window.

“I’ll holler if I have to,” said her friend from his bedroom in the Sixth Borough, aiming last birthday’s telescope at her apartment.

The string between them grew incredibly long, so long it had to be extended with many other strongs tied together: his yo-yo string, the pull from her talking doll, the twine that had fastened his father’s diary, the waxy string that kept her grandma’s pearls around her neck and off the floor, the thread that had separated his great-uncles’s childhood quilt from a pile of rags. Contained within everything they shared with one another were the yo-yo, the doll, the diary, the necklace, and the quilt. They had more and more to tell each other, and less and less string.

The boy asked the girl to say ‘I love you’ into her can, giving her no further explanation.

And she didn’t ask for any, or say ‘That’s silly’, or ‘We’re too young for love,’ or even suggest that she was saying ‘I love you’ because he asked her to. Instead she said ‘I love you.’ The words traveled the yo-yo, the doll, the diary, the necklace, the quilt, the clothesline, the birthday present, the harp, the tea bag, the tennis racket, the hem of the skirt he one day should have pulled from her body. The boy covered his can with a lid, removed it from the string, and put her love for him on a shelf in his closet. Of course, he never could open the can, because then he would lose its contents.

It was enough just to know it was there.