Blind

He was young, frail,
      in need of protection
Mother Earth, in her grace and gentleness
      allowed him Her kindness
sang him to sleep with the soft humming from her belly
   fed him to satiety with tears of happiness
      rocked him to peaceful with the gentle shifting of her legs

Slowly and surely he grew strong, sure-footed, mighty
Stretching his roots, rustling his leaves
Raised with tears and sweat and blood
He was Her pride, Her joy, Her love
Her child.

But he grew
his roots slowly sinking deeper and deeper
digging, stabbing, spearing Her fleshy womb
leeching off Her tears of pain and hurt
proudly rustling his branches as She writhed
She bleeds in the dead of night, a slow trickle, as Her child slowly reached for the skies.

and still She gives.
and still She loves.

For what is Love if not blind?

To Love

Try as I may, I cannot forget
The pull of your skin against my skin
As it scrapes across
Inside my wrist
Tiny kisses that linger
Long after your sheets turned cold

I want
So much to love
To crawl inside your arms and never leave
Rest my cheek against the planes of warmth
        thump thump thump 
        The angry drive of want

Try as I may, I cannot forget
Our fights
As well as our kisses
Vicious, two animals fighting
For ground
A ground we wanted together, but could not share

I long
For your touch;
Rough, heavy, punishing; bordering on possessive
As we lick our wounds
          To want so much that I lose control
          To be wanted so much that you lose control

Try, as I may, I cannot love
Not the way I wanted to love you;
Gently, the wings of a dragonfly on still water, barely rippling the surface
Softly, a mother's kiss on her newborn's brow, barely denting the skin
Tenderly, a girl's hand in her man's, intertwined, bared for all to see.

I want to love you so much

But all we do is tear, crash and destruct

And build walls around what's left of ourselves. 

Midnight : Ramblings

Sometimes I wonder if I overthink things. Some things are meant to be simple. I think.

But I can't help it when my mind goes into overdrive. Is the silence awkward? Should I fill the silence? What should I fill it with? Would they be offended if I just sat there and not talk because I don't feel like talking? Would they feel uncomfortable if I ask them out but proceed to sit quietly instead of engaging verbally?

Because I know I would. I would be uncomfortable if the silences grow long and awkward. I would be offended if they ask me out just to look at them stare at their phones.

But that's what I feel like doing sometimes. To just sit silently in each other's presence, basking in the ease of silence. Sometimes I just want to sit quietly and watch people talk. And when things start to get awkward, my phone becomes a shield.

So how can I fault others when I do the same?

Or do other people don't care this much, and I'm just overthinking stuff and being an idiot, as usual?

Most hurts, I've come to realise, stem from me thinking too far in advance, too much in advance. Preparing for something that hasn't even been confirmed. Planning too far ahead for people who probably didn't even intend on that much itinerary. Caring too much for people who just don't really feel you're important enough. It all only ends in disappointment; the dull throbbing emptiness and hurt.

I've always had trouble in maintaining relationships. I ... lose contact. I become too lazy to keep in touch. I'm bad with communicating what I really want. And when finally the opportunity presents itself for a reconnection, I find that we've become too different, too far. And my laziness and fear and anxiety takes over, and there goes the relationship.

I analyze and morph and analyze and morph again, trying to appease everybody. It's so instinctual and I hate it but I have to constantly remind myself to not overdo it and everything becomes even more complicated and not at all natural. Where is the line, what's overdoing it, what's being an indelicate arsehole, what's being a stage player in his own show, what's caring too much, what'll risk me ending up as a foolish idiot who overestimated  her importance.

And so, sometimes, I lose contact because I can't find the naturalness anymore. That's is why certain conversations are precious to me; for they require near zero effort and I can be free.

I suppose my self imposed solitude had negative effects; I'd become too lax in the government of my emotions. I'd swing between the extremes of putting on a show and hiding all my emotions and true needs behind a mask, and laying it all splayed out for the world to see regardless of anybody else's feelings about it.

I'm an actor, born and bred. I suppose it's a side effect of being an overachiever. We act, and show others what they want to see, and hide away all the gory parts in the dark corners of our cupboards.

And so, I act, whether I like it or not. And recently, my acting antennae is malfunxtioning. I can't judge which mask to put on, which role to play, which disguise to wear anymore. It may possibly be the results of prolonged solitude, of me being rid of the need to act for too long. Good thing, or bad? I can't tell.

All I can tell you is, few people are precious to me, because our conversations are natural, effortless ( though I must confess, that I fend much better behind the shield of written words, for if I'm exposed to facial expressions, it's instinctual to read and adapt -- my actor side escapes.).

But fewer still, of these people, who I can feel comfortably silent with; whom I can feel safe with. Safe from abandonment. Safe from awkward silences. Safe from unequal sense of importance. Safe.


So how would I ever find that special someone?


I don't want to be the single friend who third wheels everyone. I don't want to be the only one cuddling a pillow when watching romcoms. I don't want to be holding my own hands while everybody around me clings to each other.

But j don't want to be rushing. I don't want to be in a special relationship just for he sake of it. I don't want to force myself through awkwardness and general unease. I don't want it to be uncomfortable.

I don't... I don't know what I want.

Maybe it doesn't have to be complicated. Maybe it's not about matching interests. Maybe it's not about conversational topics. Maybe it's of clicking and the je ne sais quoi. Maybe it's of feeling comfortable and on edge.

Maybe it's just about throwing caution to the wind and taking a step.

But I'm not ready for that.

What Do You Want?

What do you want?

I want...

 I want to know my favourite colour.

 Is it red? Is it pink? Is it purple? Is it blue?

                                           Red is for passion, for excitement and for anger.

                                           Pink's for when I'm in love.

                                           Purple is for deep affection, of calm acceptance,

                                           Blue's for when I'm sad and rejected.

I love all colours and shades, in all their vibrance and brilliance.

But,

What's my favourite colour?

.

I don't know.

What do  you want?

I want...

I want to know my favourite food

             Chicken or pork? Lamb or beef?

                            Japanese or Korean? Western or Chinese?

                 Leafs or tubers? Proteins or carbs?

                         Emmental or cheddar? Fries or wedges?

I eat everything and anything, persuaded to like most things.

But,

What's my favourite food?

.

I don't know.

What do you want?

I want...

I want to know my favourite music.

          Classical? Jazz? Opera? Choral?

      Pop? Rock? Metal? Hip Hop?

              Piano? Guitar? Cello? Saxophone?

                      Male? Female? Oldies? Contemporary?

I listen to everything; my mood dictates the music, and vice versa.

But,

What's my favourite?

.

I don't know.

What do you want?

I want...
I want to know what to want.
I want to know if I'm able to want.
I want to know if I'm capable of sufficient thought enough to want
I want to know if I'm capable of courage to want.
I want to know if I'm strong enough to want.

I want to know what I want.

Why am I so unfamiliar with myself?

What do I want from life? How do I define success?

What is it that I need to be happy, to be content, to feel loved?

Fickle minds reside in one single body, fighting for dominance.

The Gemini Twins wreaking havoc.

I want security, I want spontaneity.

I want to be free. I want to be told what to do.

I want to lose control. I want to be in control.

I want solitude. I want company.

I want to be successful. I want to be content.

I want.

I want.

I...

I just want to know my own heart.

Because, how can I learn to know others, when my own heart is a stranger?

浪花

犹如浪花自我摧残，只为那瞬间的灿烂；

我也希望拥有那勇气为那一瞬间而努力。

可那无头绪地直往岩石猛撞的海浪，是勇气还是傻气？

每一次的受伤或许会让一个人成长更多

也会把一个人逼到极限；

到了崖边，

傻气和勇气之间那条细线在哪里，

握跨过去了踩上去了却站在哪边了？

站在海边等着海浪化为浪花的那一刻，那个完美的瞬间按下的快门，

捉住的是浪花的璀璨还是独自旅行的无限自由？

捉住的是浪花的摧残还是独自旅行的无限寂寞？

Some Days, I Miss You

Some days, I miss you.

Like the wolf missing the moon when it ducks behind a cloud, 

     like the river missing the sea who accepts and accepts, and accepts, 

          like the broken-winged missing the sky who was everything good in the world

Did you take my eyes when you took my heart?

My sense of smell, my tongue, your touch

I lost it all

In that (un)forgotten pocket of shared heat

Months ago

We melted ice

     creamed between the brief feathery touches

     and equally feathery kisses

Feathery emotions, 

     dandelions, scattered in 

     gusts of winds. 

Lost. 

I lost the map back to you

     I lost my soul and everything that told me what I was

     I left it with you

I left you. 

And some Days, I miss you. 

I know you're there,
but I cannot go near you--
I fear my sanity;
     I fear for yours.

I would rather not take the risk of crushing, of shattering; 

Instead,

I'll just risk cracking.

New Year Resolutions

1. I vow to stick to there resolutions. Yeah, right, good luck with that
2. Study. Not fanfiction. Not novels. Study Medicine-Related Stuff. But Drakeypoo is so adorbs how can you not? 

3. Pick up after myself, EVERY TIME.  And stop losing pens.

4.  Stop fangirling over fictional or unattainable men/boys. HOW?! Maybe if you'll STOP making fabulous men/boys!

5. Only 2 Cheat Days allowed per week!! That means no more munching on Oreos secretly in the room every night. 

6. 10,000 steps! Can I do em horizontally, preferably on a bed? With me in REM sleep?

7.Do laundry on time, i.e. every week. No more space in room to pile clothes, no more space in room to pile clothes. 

8. Don't lose contact with your friends. But sometimes I just don't feel like talking. Or typing in a phone. Or exist. 

9.  Be content being single. I am content. Most of the time. Sometimes. When I'm in a good mood. Or  asleep. 

10. Find yourself. And don't lose yourself along the way. <3  

Anxious.

I no longer feel like I constantly have to be on the move, but now it takes too much time for me to start moving.

I no longer feel the urge to scream and cry, but now it feels like one day everything is going to burst in a great big explosion.

I no longer feel like I need to be in control, but now it feels like I'm losing control of everything that makes my life mine.

I no longer feel like I don't belong in this path I chose, but now I know that this is not where I belong.

I no longer know what I am or who I want. But now, I.

I.

I.

I.

I sometimes feel like going on a long drive and only stopping for petrol, with no one in the car but silence and my solitude.

Mistake?

I suppose I should issue a warning :

Hormonal, emotional, negative, incredibly selfish writing below : Do not enter with judgement. Or rather, do not enter AT ALL. 

Warning issued. I'm writing with no restraints whatsoever here. If you think I'm talking about you, you're probably right. Maybe.

Like I said, no restraints. That means my ethics is questionable in the following.

For once, I'm writing in a blog for myself. Because it takes too much time to write in a diary, and time is a luxury now. Thoughts in my head come and go at a speed my pen cannot follow. I'm writing my thoughts without a filter, without an edit. This is therapeutic writing. This is cathartic. This is for me. 

If you can't take it. Don't read it. You have a choice. *backspace*

*********************************************************************************

I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. I shouldn't be.

But I am.

I am constantly surprised at the extent of the effect you have on me, regardless of past experiences. You alone possess the singular ability to strike this hard, this deep, this long. That I'm still in danger of falling back into what I think is a mistake.

But is it?

To feel so strongly after so long and so many times, to have such difficulty keeping you away from this mess of a mind; is falling back into it a mistake, or is keeping my distance a mistake?

Perhaps you were the only one who've ever tried to strike me. Perhaps this is my mind's default response to all strikers, but so far you were the only who've tried.

And boy, what a strike.

Sighs.

I suppose circumstances led to this...relapse.

Circumstances like D event. Circumstances like now.

It doesn't help that D event constantly puts a wedge into my social life. I fear rejection more than ever now; and yet life cannot go one without rejections. I fear rejection so much that I go out of my way to avoid it. Perhaps I've set myself up for rejection in the past. Perhaps I've been going to the wrong person, to the wrong places. Perhaps it's simply me being selfish again. But being rejected hurts. 

I understand, rationally, that not everyone thinks like me, behaves like me. God knows I have a certain ... eccentricity. I understand, rationally, that nobody is obliged to accept your extended invitation. I understand, rationally, that everybody have their ways of living, and that medschool life is not something where you can simply give in to frequent spontaneity.

I understand all this. Rationally.

I used to invite people every time I plan to do something; dinner, movies, cafe hopping, long drives, sports, jogs; even grocery shopping. It's like a reflex; to search for companionship. After D event, I would've expected myself to be stronger. More independent. To be more content being alone. But no. Even though I spend most of my time alone, and actually feel comfortable alone, I lament the lack of companionship.

I fear myself when I'm alone. I become this monster who simply loses all control. Because I'm alone, I don't have to wear a mask of amiability, of being considerate, of catering to another's needs.

Because I'm alone. Because when I'm alone, I'm free.

And Freedom is something to be feared of.

Thus I ask. I don't want to become the monster I hate. Recently my control over the monster has been slipping, that sometimes it rears its head at my friends and colleagues.

Thus, I ask. But the answer I get 90% of the time is no.

I understand, I do. Rationally.

But it still hurts.

Especially when I found out they go out on similar excursions. Without me.

I sincerely hope that the exclusion was simply due to thoughtlessness. That I was simply not important enough, that they don't see me frequent enough to remember me. I hope the exclusion isn't intentional. I do hope I have not deteriorated to the point where people took measures to avoid me.

*shakes head vigorously* I mustn't think of things such as this. I simply mustn't. I cannot afford to.

*shakes head*

Back to rejection. Back to the dreaded 'no'.

I didn't realise I was dejected, I didn't realise I was disappointed. I didn't realise I started to go out without asking. I didn't realised I'd stopped asking. I didn't realise I feared. Not until one day I realised I'd stopped asking, and turned to the mirror and asked myself why I stopped.

I feared. I hated feeling the way I do every time a 'no' comes my way. Like a rubber bullet, not deadly, but hurts like the devil. I'd become so intolerant to hearing 'no' that I'd simply avoided putting myself in its striking range.

So I stopped asking. I stopped asking anybody for anything.  I became the one person I'd feared the most when I was younger. I went to places on my own. I do things on my own. I flit in and out on my own schedule, without informing anyone, without telling, without asking. I started to hate human contact. I started to hate being asked where I am, or what I'm doing, or where I plan to go or do.

It reached the point where it became a game; how many places can I go alone? I've went for breakfast in a crowded roadside stall with nothing but a phone for company. I've went to the cinema and shared anecdotes and comments with myself because I don't know the strangers on either side of me. I went to cafes and sat in a dark quiet corner wishing for company but enjoying the silent comfort of being free of company. I went to coffee festivals and sampled all the coffee and chatted up baristas. I talk to myself, negotiate with myself, out loud, a lot. I'd done a lot of things I wouldn't have done otherwise.

But I hated being alone. I would go on long drives because I didn't want to go home to a dark empty room. I would go on long drives and cry in the car when the loneliness suffocates me. I found myself rubbing my own arm unconsciously when queuing behind an old loving couple in Tesco. I talk to myself, a lot. I relate to sad songs a lot more than I used to. Even happy songs can make me cry. I hated that I have a choice to be happy, and I chose otherwise. I hated that I needed others to be happy.

What happened to being self-sufficient? What happened to choosing happiness?

I know I'm being selfish. That I  feel that the reaction of others have indirectly led me to this. But as I write this, I realised that I have no one to blame but myself. I have other friends. I have other acquaintances. Why do I keep going back to the same ones? Why do I write off the people who'd been there for me, who'd let me indulged in my spontaneity, who'd even enjoyed being with me? Why do I get all worked up over people who probably doesn't care that much about me?

Why do I always care too much about people who shouldn't matter, and ignore those who should?

You see, I know this all. Intellectually.

But it seems that my intellect is no match for my emotions.

GAH.

The point of all this was to try to rationalise my relapse. To tell myself that it happened once. It happened twice. Maybe thrice. It didn't work. It never really did. I admit that I need to learn how to voice out my needs, my wants, my concerns. I've hated conflict ever since I can remember, and while I'm learning how to face it instead of avoiding it like the coward I am, it's not going well. My avoidance has proven to be useful at multiple points in my life and it's hard to ignore the instinct to turn a blind eye. Ignorance is bliss, after all. Even pretend ones.

But that is beside the point.

I thought I was over all these. My life is complicated enough with all the tutorials and lectures I attend. I thought my mind would be too busy to dredge up history, to dream up all these make-believes. I thought solitude would calm this mess of a mind down.

But no. It had to dream up possibilities. Unrealistic, idealistic, impossible possibilities. All serving to sink me deeper into my desolation.

So much for thought.

I've never been a big fan of marriage. The idea of so much responsibility was terrifying to a younger me. But now I'm beginning to see the merits of it. The appeal of lifelong companionship, of sympathy--if not empathy. The appeal of a shoulder to rest on when life goes too fast. The appeal of an arm to rely on when responsibilities weighs you down. The appeal to offer the same for another, to share such a bond that giving becomes a pleasure, that being able to help brings relief. Of shared burdens. Of shared joy. Of shared problems. Of shared reliefs. Of sharing.

The appeal of a family.

Friends are just that. Friends. There's an end. I've learnt to not put so much heart and soul into what will end one day. It is, indeed, a precious--but incredibly rare--moment if you found someone who, while not related to you by blood, who puts up with your bullshit, who holds you up when your legs are too weak, and puts you back together when you're broken. Most times, people just run.

Most times, I do. Run, I mean.

And blood; I've been blessed by blood. So incredibly blessed with my experience of blood. I know not everyone's the same. But my blood. Its thickness and viscosity just engulfs you whole, even when you're a mess, even when you're broken beyond repair. It sweeps you up and drowns you in familiar comfort; thick, warm, soothing. It cradles, it nurtures, it fixes you up. Regardless of who you are, where're you're at, or how evil you've been. Blood's forgiving. Blood's accepting. Blood's blood.

All this is making me miss home.

I know I probably don't make sense. I'm much too distressed to actually write coherently. I swear, I'm only writing to clear my mind up.It helped quite a bit, surprisingly, considering my current state of mind. These few days have been...tumultous. My eyes are swollen from all the crying, and I swear PMS hasn't even hit. I guess the loneliness is more evident when holidays are upon you; short ones, where you can't go home, where you can't go anywhere but into the dangerous recesses of your own mind.

I should stop.

I will stop.

p.s. I need to remember that there are some people who rarely says 'no' to my spontaneity. I need to remember how happy I felt when the occasional 'yes' comes my way. I need to remember good things too. I need to stop fixating on the negatives. I need to stop being selfish. I need to stop.

车里的那个女孩

偶然转身

发现车里有个女孩

抱着方向盘

却不知该往哪个方向前行

大路上挤满了车子

空荡荡的车里

女孩手臂的长度

却饶不了方向盘的宽度

当每个人都有了每个人

而女孩却只剩下不懂驱使的方向盘

曲终了；人散了

剩下的脚步声陪着女孩度过

告诉自己不能放弃

泪却已默默的抹黑实现

身边的空位曾满座

每一句的回应现在只剩空气

她重视的人不够重

是她。

女孩轻浮于雨滴的无视里。

雨滴的沸腾

雷雨比不出上下

漫长的夜里

拥挤的车道

孤寂的车里

有个女孩在默默的哭泣