A part of me…

Still wants to give up. To walk away and never again think of what happened.

Sunset

I think I now see why it is so hard for a drug addict who’s gone clean to stay clean, how a criminal who has completed his sentence get into yet another tight fix.

How one keeps picking away at his own flesh and can’t stop.

I was completely catty, paranoid, possessive and I disgust myself. But deep down I know no matter how low I stooped, it was a provoked attack. And I honestly couldn’t care less that a fugly girl who speaks little english attempts to retaliate with grammatically senseless insults.

Yes I am insecure.

I feel like I’ve lost so much in one week. One suicide, one near-breakup, one loss of principles, one death, one distant family, and complete numbness. I am rambling right now because I hardly know what to feel. My mind has been blank for days, with the exception of a few seconds every hour, when the gravity of events of the past few days sinks in.

I am at complete loss of words. With you, and with myself.

Whatever floats your boat

“This is for passion,” she says.

Horoscope for January 28, 2010

The universe hasn’t quite had its fill of inspiring you to push the envelope when it comes two overdoing it. That’s the ‘official’ reason for the mood you’re in. The unofficial, private reason is that you’re in love, and you want your lucky partner — or prospective partner — to know just how wonderful life with you can be. Relax. They already know. You don’t have to wreak total and complete havoc on your checkbook to prove it.

Am I really there? That impassioned state which once eluded me and everything was just detachment?

All because of this shell anklet with purple beads and this odd wish of wanting to date a barista, leading up to the daydream that one day my life would revolve around beaches. Which is now one half of me true. If that makes sense.

If certain individuals stop telling me whatever floats my boat, I could have illustrated the causal relationship of these odd variables. But no. No one’s drama/tragedy matters but your own. I hope you stop denying Passion access, one day.

Blocked nose, mental congestion

I can’t remember the last time I feel enlightened — this brief moment of ohmmm when you finally discover the links between little fragments of thought, and a hot humid afternoon feels like a cloudy morning and given that you’re outdoors, you can just see that bird against a gorgeous blue backdrop. Cheesy but symbolism is eminent when the brain isn’t slacking okayyy.

After what seemed like years, brain efficiency finally peaked (plus minus) five percent today and this bastard of a mind block was finally dismantled. In one morning, I’ve figured out my research methodology, pieced together the scoring of the assessment tools I need to use, and written a blog post that isn’t completely incomprehensible and escapist like when I tend to be vague.

Now I just need to put this processes I am visualizing in my head on paper, and then venture into the dark and long corridor leading to my supervisor’s office.

The year that was

I am still at a standstill, almost as if the new year hasn’t begun for me. But I’ll get there, soon enough. I always catch up just in time.

I’ve been wanting to summarize my year, but at every attempt, I realized, so much has slipped my mind. I couldn’t remember little little details of the year to commemorate the year that was, but here are the three things/people who changed 2009 for me (including random, incoherent notes of whatever I can remember).

Hazel, flap, Hazel clap, Hazel high five, Hazel look at Patchy, Hazel don’t sneeze at me, Hazel say excuse meeee! Putting Hazel to sleep while Voxtrot plays feels like once upon a time ago. Hazel teething, Hazel bit my finger. Hazel stop changing my channel. Hazel I think this is love.

He’s the island boy, I’m the girl who wanted to intern at Harper’s Bazaar. He steered the direction of my year away from (further) self-harm, and I ran from him so many times. Running was empowering, but I finally learned to (almost) stop thinking that I function as a single unit. I cannot remember what life was like before 100+ texts/day. Saying I love you back was usually a little difficult, and never a reflex, so every time I do, I really mean it.

The third is not a person, sort of a state of mind induced by multiple persons full stop.

Okay

I’m okay.

Sure, I would prefer to be in a safe place where I know what I have now will remain in my future, even if not a permanent fixture. None of us wants to waste four, five years. But right now, I am still this grounded child. And I don’t call the shots. The more I seek independence, the more it eludes me. Sometimes I wish I weren’t Chinese to begin with.

So all that hysteria and panic has died down a little since mom’s snooping and interrogating everyone who knows about “my situation” — like her daughter has a personality or eating disorder that she cannot mention. And I have to tip toe around everyone. Texting under a pillow, texting under blankets, making calls on the balcony, swapping sim cards all the time so my calls can’t be traced.

And he took it all so calmly. I was sobbing and I couldn’t stop, and I had expected him to be furious, but he was just so sensible.

It’s such a long story, and I can’t wait to get to my point — so I panicked, I sympathized him, I doubted myself, I tried to break up with him, but then he got furious and then fifteen minutes later we were okay again. And my point is, everyone’s been asking what I see in him, what do we talk about, can we sit down and talk intelligent things.

But we shouldn’t have to be similar if we complement each other.

Predicament

Do you know what I am drawn to? Like absolutely inexplicable attraction.

A story.

When I find out the story behind intentions and motivations, everything makes sense and I begin to make excuses for your actions, as well as inaction. It happened once, and it’s probably going to happen again. I adooooore you to bits, for now, but seriously, fuck patterns.

I live for stories, but stories ruin me each time.

One week later

I haven’t done anything.

I have been stalking though; facebook is poisonous. I don’t know why I will always be this insecure. I keep sizing up all these other girls that I have never met and will never meet, wondering if there’s more to them underneath their blatant ah lian-ness and then I look back at us and keep thinking that I am not the right solution to this near impossible mathematical problem.

I am better. I am better. But no one else believes it and sometimes, I think even I don’t.

This is

love.