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Jan. 1st, 2014

Quiet

There is no rushing drumbeat of a racing pulse, no corresponding flush as circulation concentrates and conspires to give away runaway thoughts, no chills to shiver the spine nor the tickle of perspiration in areas you never knew had pores.

You breathe deep, regular, eyes shining briefly with something inexplicable. Quiet, then, an exhale to match the equally unremarkable inhalation, every breath even with the steady beat of an unwavering heart. There are no surprises, only something akin to sorrow as you wall away everything resembling emotion, leaving a flat calm behind, undeterred.

There is nothing to yearn for, naught to dream, perchance to hope. Just a cleansing silence, and an abiding peace.

Dec. 30th, 2013

Desperation calls at 3am

When anything I write will turn out too much like a confession (notice me please I beg of you) and everything is just too raw I can't draw breath for fear of suffocating...nonsense no sense and everything's muddled because this can never happen and it will all end very badly...

There are no happy endings in this.

Everything is raw and blind and want, naught but too much. Just stay by my side, nothing more. I don't need anything more from you. Just be there, and that will be enough.

Please? 

Life. It sucks.

What to do when you miss someone so much it feels like a physical ache?

I don't want to fall again. It hurts too much.
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Dec. 25th, 2013

So, it's that time of the year again

As the title says.

Normally, around this time of the year, I fall into fits of madness and rage and despair mostly due to my unhinged side coming out in full play, magnified by loneliness in a season for love and family.

It has been better this year. Oddly enough, since I haven't really been doing anything. Which may have been the point. Work keeps me busy, too busy to dwell on things, and more to the point, there haven't been any traumatic events this year (unlike last year, or the year before that, or the year before that as well). That does serve to bolster me against emotional upheavals. There's something to be said in favour of a boring life.

I have been happier this year. Happiness really is a choice. I make a conscious effort to smile, to make myself embrace joy instead of clinging to pain and sadness. There are too many things in life that could get us down. Life is hard enough without having to bear the burden of sadness. So I skate across the surface, with a different facade from before, a joyful smile and cheer to all I meet.

I look back and hope to embrace my past self. Who was hurt, who hurt others and was mad and sad, selfish and generous and holding nothing and too much back. I do not think I could love someone such as myself, but I could live with her. I kind of have to, considering disassociative personality disorder could be an issue.

Learning to let go is an important life skill. Feigning simplicity until it's no longer an act...there is joy in being uncomplicated. I like cute things, pretty things, penguins and idols. I love music and singing and I secretly want to dance. I'm silly and goofy and not very graceful or tidy, but somehow I manage. Dancing through life~ Even if it's not entirely me, it's a side of me that I'm happy to show the world, the side that is happy to be unremarkably nothing.

The geeky, the crazy, the sadism...subverted to benign eccentricities. A blunted knife doesn't cut as well, even if it can still be used to poke an eye out in a jiffy. I've never really changed, if I even can change. I reinvent my external face every so often, and this is the most successful iteration yet. I might even keep it.

Who knows? It seems to suit me. Still, I miss the intensity of feeling,  of emotions so intense I want to crawl right out of my skin, of rage and sensation so primeval I could claw at my skin and raise great furrows and not even express a fraction of the turmoil underneath. There is a flatness to this existence that I am grateful for, a condition oddly familiar to someone who has once been on anti-depressants. This happiness is fleeting and possibly hollow, though I try to put a good face on it.

I am...content. Not truly happy, just...not unhappy. And considering all the things that has happened in my life, this is not unwelcome. Excitement pales after a while, and calmness can be appreciated on a cool day with no others to disturb you. I do get...restless occasionally though. Nothing to ignite my passions, to the point where I doubt that I even possess the faculty to even have them. There is a disconnect within myself, from the me who felt so intensely that it could tear a mind apart, and this present self where Zen is a hidden byword. I'm still myself, but I do find myself...bored. At times.

And then I remember what happened before, and resolve never to get into situations I cannot safely extricate myself from. I stand on the sidelines now, admiring because it is safer to look than to touch and feel and experience. You can't break something you never touched. I can describe the shape and look of it, but I do not touch it for myself. I am clumsy, and will probably break things if allowed to handle them. Things, people, feelings. I can pay for the first, not for the next two. There is no restitution for that. Not anywhere near enough.

And no, no one ever offered to pay me for the damages I suffered either, but such is life. There is risk, and one must absorb losses as they come. Any insurance company could tell you that.

I no longer feel special. Or particularly loved. I am loved, to some extent, but so is everyone else, in their own way. I am unremarkable. Nothing to earmark me from a crowd, unless I happen to be standing up in an Asian city, then yes, I will stand out whether I like it or not. Heh, height jokes never get old.

I wonder why hiding myself feels so normal, because it feels unnatural to talk about who I really am, instead of the persona I play. I feel somewhat disgusted when I feel obliged to cover up my gay side. I don't even know why I cover it up. I just...feel completely uncomfortable telling other people about it. It's none of their business, and normally it's not even an issue until they make completely insensitive comments that offend me, but I just swallow my objections and soldier on. I am not very brave, when I think about it. I like to think I am, but I really am not. I'm not brave enough to admit who I really am, after all. If I even know who I am.

Thing is, I blend in relatively well. Not perfectly, but well enough that people don't straight up ask me if I'm gay. Haha. It amuses me. But yet, when they do find out, they're not particularly surprised either. I'm...unconventional, after all. The stereotypes bother me a lot. LGBT don't have to look a certain way. We're just people. And people come in all shapes and sizes. Why be limited to just one thing? That's the one thing that always gets me. I can usually tell with some people, not because of how they look, but by how they act and what they talk about. There are tells, if you know what you're looking for. But then again, why should it matter? I'm far more interested in people beyond gender and sexuality. It's a part of who they are, but it's not the totality of their existence. Just as it's not a totality of mine. Part of why I don't discuss it, but it would be nice if I could talk about it. Sometimes. Nice to feel...untrammelled. Free, to some extent. An illusion, but a nice one nevertheless.

Look at me getting all maudlin. Well, I should get going. Nothing good will come of dwelling on these things.

I should know. I've been there before.
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Dec. 17th, 2013

Frozen

So I watched Frozen. I cried. I actually cried.

Me. I did that.

It was Elsa, really. I felt a certain kinship with the Winter Queen. I really hated Ana for a moment during "For The First Time In Forever".

Conceal, don't feel, don't let it show

Don't let them in. It's just for a day.

Watching Elsa struggle not to get found out...it hurt to watch. It hurt like a physical blow. It felt all too familiar. Too many memories of me hiding while struggling with my gender and sexual identity (which are two different things!) as an adolescent. I felt a yawning hurt, watching Elsa holding it all back, to try to be "a good girl" and not let them see who she really was, what she could really do. I identified so much with that moment, I remembered how it felt like to be young and scared and isolated again.

It's easy to let time wash away these things. I'm back to hiding again, where I am. It's easy to spout things that I find disgusting inside, just to blend in. I hate myself for saying the things I do to blend in. To be someone not entirely myself. Locking away one part of me because I don't ever want anyone to touch the deepest part of me, because nothing good ever comes of it...yeah, I can see why Elsa spent half her life locked inside her room because she was scared.

I'm scared. I know it doesn't matter, but, fear isn't rational. The people who already know, know. Those who don't, don't. Why should I share what's private with others? It's not like telling anyone solved anything. I'm still me. It's a part of me that won't ever go away. It's a part of me I can't change. That I don't want or need to change. And yet, the things I do to hide it...it's almost as if I'm ashamed.

When the real reason is that I'm scared. I don't want to be different. More different than I already am. A part of me wants to be that good girl too, but I'm not, not really, and it hurts, alright? To be oppressed by default. And by the people who love me, or claim to do so. It cuts deep. I remember. I remember too much.

I don't forget. That's the bad part. I remember being slapped for saying who I might be. How to love and trust like this when you get rejected by those closest to you?

That's why watching Frozen and hearing Elsa sing Let It Go was so affecting.

Couldn't keep it in, heavens know I tried

Conceal, don't feel, don't let them know.

I'm still in this phase. Halfway. If not for the internets and all the likeminded people out there, I would still be in my very skeleton filled closet and never seeing the light of day.

Even with those closest to me. As in, people I actually see. Of course. I have no close friends who understand, who really understand, what it's like. Oh, they pay lip service to it. They kind of accept it. They just don't talk about it and how could I blame them? They have no point of reference to it. And those who do...well, some of them want to put it far behind them, and I don't blame them either. It's not an easy identity to embrace.

I want to be able to sing Let It Go someday too, and mean it. It's like a serious LGBT theme song for us growing up. But it's so bittersweet, so much like life itself.

Let it go, let it go, you'll never see me cry
Here I stand, here I stay
Let the storm rage on


It broke my heart to see it. I wept because I still haven't gone past the whole ice-castle-in-the-mountains phase. With eternal winter swirling all around and an ice golem outside my doors. And no Olaf. I fail with no Olaf. XD

Also, no one's going to rescue me. I don't wish, I won't even start. (see what I did there :P)

Favourite word from Let it Go? Frozen Fractals. I don't even know why. It's such a pretty word. All sharp and shiny and gorgeous! Frozen, like an icy crystal sculpture...

The cold never bothered me anyway~
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Oct. 9th, 2013

Growing up

I wish it did not matter, but it does.

I wrote about a Traveller and a Key, and all I want to do is bury the Key somewhere I cannot reach. Travelling's hard work, and opening pathways, even more so.

Read Ocean at the End of the Lane. That was what spurred me to write Traveller and the Key. OceanLane was about life and growing up. I didn't like it only because I don't like growing up. I did like how it made me think though. How it made me feel. That's important, as a book. Why read if it does nothing for you?

Sometimes I realize that it doesn't matter if I were 15 or 25. I'm still me, and I haven't changed all that much. Underneath the competence and apparent unflappability, I'm still me. Still here, and unchanged all this time.

Growing up is overrated.
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Oct. 7th, 2013

More internal dialogue

"Well, that's my life, it ain't much to talk about, but it's..."
"You know, you really fucking annoy me."
"What?"
"I'm telling you. It pisses me off. Your blase attitude. The nonchalance. The way you shrug off hardship without a second thought. You let pain wash over and off you like it never touches you. It's enough to give someone an inferiority complex, ya know? Makes us feel like we can't even complain, that nothing we'd go through would ever match up to what you've been through...and you know what? It sucks. I can't even feel properly sorry for myself when you're being a goddamn martyr on that giant cross up over there. A lesser person would run away from you, they wouldn't be able to deal with how insanely strong you seem."
"But I'm not strong at all, I'm weak..."
"And you know it. You know your weakness, you admit it, you face it, and you know it's there ready to trip you up. That gives you a different kind of strength altogether. You gotta know where a pitfall is in order to step round it."
"More like a minefield at this point, honestly."
"You're no saint, and you can be preachier than a whole gallery of nuns, but damn it all if you aren't strong in your own way. Someone weaker would have fallen apart already, but here you are."
"I had help. A lot of it."
"Everyone needs help. People who help you are part of your strength too. They give of themselves and it becomes part of you. You have to want to be helped, and people have to want to help you. It takes two hands to clap, and you met your end of the bargain at least."
"Broke it half a dozen times though."
"Still."
"Yeah. It's just...I don't feel like I deserve it."
"None of us do, kid. If we had to deserve help to receive it, the world would be a sorrier place than it already is. Don't kick a gift horse in the mouth."
"Now who's preaching?"

====================================================

I'm seriously my own psychiatrist.
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Aug. 1st, 2013

Just another day

I haven't posted anything worthwhile here in the longest time, having confined myself to 140 characters on Twitter nowadays. It's a good way to skim across the surface of my thoughts, never dipping more than a toe into the murky waters, and generally staying high on idol clouds with all its glitter and sparkle dust, an endless Neverland where Peter Pan does grow old, only to be replaced by a newer model when the old one loses its shine.

I try not to think too hard now. I try not to gaze too deeply into myself. I acknowledge some things, let it be, and move on with the practical things in life. This, I suppose is adulthood. Where you lose the concept of magical thinking, where youthful optimism is ground down to gritty reality and the rat race -- through which I stroll, never troubling to exert myself beyond a shambling walk with the long limbs I was born with. Some people have purpose, a goal, a vision they seek. They dive deep, race hard, and either come up fulfilled or bitterly disappointed. I coast instead; not dreaming, not hoping, not wanting. There's a kind of Zen in an absence of a fixed desire, or desires. I do not hope for happiness, only to avoid sadness, however small a desire that is. I do not wish to want anything for myself, because that way leads to madness and broken dreams. I live and I let live, because hating someone would require effort on my part, and loving everyone in a universal sort of sense is sort of calming. You are human and I care. I would help you out if you need help. The joy of others feeds that little humanistic spark within me. I might not know what happiness means for me, but if I can help others achieve theirs, I would gladly do so. It's a peculiar kind of altruism.

I could have turned bitter instead. Sabotaged others, spread cruelty instead of occasional acts of random kindness. I am not a very good person, but I am not an intentionally bad one. If anything, I might be depressingly normal. Our parents lived in a post-industrial society; we live in a post-post-industrial one. In an advanced society like Singapore, we have become far removed from the processes which keep us alive. We work for money to pay for the necessities that keep us alive, but we no more consider the grain we eat than the paper and metal bits that change hands every day. It's all so fragile, when one stops to think about it. Our society is built on a web of promises, and when those promises collapse...well, you have Greece.

I find it difficult to devote myself to anything now. I have my idols -- where I would be without that bubbly analgesic, I cannot imagine -- and it provides an outlet for me to express emotions that I too often repress. To what purpose, I wonder? This repression of mine. But because of my idols, I can smile, laugh, and cheer. I experience a wide range of emotions from a safe distance. I enjoy being involved in something, at my own pace. I even enjoy the ability to turn up a snobby, elitist nose at people I find inferior to myself; I do not deny that my ego is considerable and that I carry my arrogance quietly...nowadays.

It comes down to one really specific thing: I cannot bring myself to care anymore. I love idols because they're transient, like a comet streaking across the sky, but the memories they leave are eternal. We forge our own Neverland with distant figures, moving them across an imaginary playboard in a Dungeons & Dragons game we never really outgrew -- at least I never did. I pay lip service with a minimum of effort, I parrot what is expected of me, and I live my life wondering if being happy is really just as simple as deciding not to be sad. Nothing actually matters, nothing is important, and I repeat this to myself to avoid forming attachments, because everyone leaves in the end. Whether they leave, or whether I leave, separation occurs, and I resign myself to being a passerby in the lives of strangers. I no longer believe, nor do I hope, that I can be anything more than a tree in the forest backdrop.

I am not a kind person, so when others are kind to me, I take it as it comes. If they are mean to me, I shrug it off as water off a duck's back. I am indifferent to both. Come what may, I remain. Call me ungrateful, or perhaps resilient? If I were to take every kindness, every cruelty, personally to myself, I would have shattered years ago. It is easier to be alone, I find. At least no one questions why.
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May. 25th, 2013

Nobody Reason (english translation)

The rose that blooms on a battlefield for the reason they don't know
It is crushed by the catepillar treads that can move only forward
Hates and pain, hatred only increases
Hates and pain, this is a sign of the times
Please hold me even more strongly
In this restless night, hearing your voice
for the reason they don't know, all around the world
The news that the world will one day be flowing in blood
Please make me forget, I don't want to know
Nobody reason, nobody is sure where is the end
The fragile ark that we can't rely on, if you come out in the dark
Nobody reason, no one confess that it was wrong
Ah at least just for a while, even if it's a lie, sing gently to me
The complicated news from the mass media, see for yourself
They tell us how awful things have become
Reason is combustible, we're at an age where we lack deterrence
How far can we devote ourselves to accepting this baptism of fire
We are gently deceived by this story of a dream
Before we know it we have all fallen asleep
Gradually our fates wither away
Keep it away from me, hey, I don't want to notice
Nobody reason, nobody is sure where is the end
We are lost in this unknown ocean, we're in the Noah's ark
Nobody reason, no one confess that it was wrong
Even if it's just a tiny bit of pride, I am unable to discard this cowardly life of mine
Let me dance in your arms, even if it's all just pretend
The flood that has begun, even now it rises gradually up from our feet
With a defiant smile, I continue to parry with cha-cha and go-go
Like a life vest that might get across but wouldn't
The disaster prevention equipment you can't use in times of emergency
The things we can't get except by fighting
Are the things we can live without even if we never had them from the start
But in this creaking system, we now cast away our pain
Find our inner compass once more, and once more defy the storm in this ark
The catepillar treads that can only go forward crush everything again today
Hates and pain, hatred can only increase
Hates and pain, we gotta feel this now
Nobody reason, nobody is sure where is the end
The fragile ark that we can't rely on, if you come out in the dark
Nobody reason, no one confess that it was wrong
Ah at least just for a while, even if it's a lie, sing gently to me

==============================================================

So I love this song. What.

Feb. 6th, 2013

(no subject)

It probably surprises no one who knows me that I have major trust issues.

I'm not going to blame anyone for this. I must remind myself. Trust is a two-way street, yes, but I have to make that decision to trust someone too, when they prove themselves trustworthy. Of course, since I slammed that particular door shut, it'd be easier to dance the can-can into Fort Knox than it is to gain my trust. 

I don't trust easily. Oh, I can tell you my whole life story if you asked. No skin off my back. I was brilliant, I fucked up majorly at various points in time -- still fucking it up actually. Making a right mess of my own life. As usual. I can cry on command if I just push the right buttons...or have them pushed for me. But it doesn't change a thing, does it? The talking, the crying, the wisecracking. Doesn't change a whit about me, about the shitstorm that's always going on inside my head. Y'know, my very own teeny weeny Bermuda Triangle. In and gone, no explanation necessary.

I bawled like a baby once at this one story, see, it's about soldiers and holding it together and family and all that good stuff. Plus all the fun pack dynamics and social drama of acceptance and what-not. 6 years down the road I read the same story, and feel fucking nothing. I think I've gone and chipped off a few more crumbly little edges. Not sharp enough to cut, not unless you drive yourself full force onto them. I'm pretty cuddly despite the glowering, really. Cuddling. When was the last time that took place? 

I'm no good at this talking crap. Sometimes I do want to talk about things, but then I look around me and wonder...who can I talk to? Who in this world can I really relax around? Who can I trust to not judge me? Who can I trust to give me that kick up my behind when I need it, and to tell me that no, I'm not always fucking it up (even if I am doing it now), that I can do good and not have to run away when things get piss-hard? I always run away from my problems. Bad habit. I shut out the world and people who could probably help me...this much I acknowledge. I know there are people who will listen. Who might actually give me the time of the day. It's not them who won't help. It's me. It's me who won't open up to them. Who can't. Who is fucking terrified that anyone who sees the real me will hate me. That they'll look at me and think "what the hell is up with this creep?", "who does she think she is, some kind of martyr, when all she is is some kind of whiny loser who can't help herself". 

Cos I'm really afraid of needing someone. Of becoming dependent on them. I can't be dependent on someone. It's an awful thing. I don't want to need someone. Wanting and liking people, I can handle. Needing them, not so much. I can't be a burden on them. I'm afraid that if I need someone, my need will take over and I might suffocate them with my dependency. I can't do that. I'm not sure if I can control myself. I don't want to be needy. That's awful. No one should have to suffer that. I can't stand needy people, and I don't want to have any more reason to dislike myself. 

So I wind up isolating myself. It's completely counterproductive but I have no idea how to break out of it. I can't trust anyone. I feel like a caged dog tearing at its own leg in frustration. I self-medicate with idols cos...cute, funny girls. Can't go wrong with that. Heh. Good distractions. I feel my foundation crumbling around me, I know what I can be capable of if pushed. I'm too sane to lose it. Except I've already gone off the deep end. Pew! Pew pew! Blasters have nothing on me. I don't have to be lured to the Dark Side; I'd already jumped in headfirst. Go me, huh?

Point of this post? I'm not sure. I think there was a point at the beginning, I seem to have misplaced it along the way. This happens with distressing frequency. I forget what day of the week this is. 

Oh, right. Trust. Yes. Major issues there. How does it work anyway? How do I trust people? I seem to have learned how to lie along the way, well enough to interact smoothly in public without having to give anyone the keys to my soul. No, those belong to me, with me, and even if others can pierce my flesh, they can't have what's inside. My madness is mine. My darkness is mine. That churning turmoil of confused motivations? All mine. 

Besides, if not even alcohol can loosen me up, nothing will. I find that the only capability I lose is motor skills when I drink. I can walk in a relatively straight line. Just not for long. Damn lightweight at it, I must admit. But even if I do talk a bit more if engaged while drunk, I remember exceedingly clearly what I say and better still, I can still hold a decent conversation, as long as no walking is involved. I guard my secrets even when inebriated. What else can I say? Kevlar has nothing on my hairy heart.

I batter down the hatches and smile at the world. Everything's fine. Moving on now.
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