You.
January 29, 2014

“Treat yourself the way you treat your favorite characters. Look into your back-story to understand your current plot. Sympathize with yourself. Recognize your flaws, and appreciate your strengths. Defend yourself. Cheer yourself on when you go into battle. Appreciate every relationship you make and always look for hidden potential. You’re the protagonist in your story. You’re the main character. You’re the hero. Treat yourself like one.”

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Keep.
March 10, 2013

Some moments in life bring me more clarity than others.

The hazy daze I’m floating in prevents me from sleeping though my body desperately needs it.

“Does it feel like you’re in control?” she asks.

Her familiar voice brings me comfort.

“Yes?” I reply timidly.

“Yes?” she repeats with the same tone of debatable certainty in her voice.

“Yes,” I say with more force. More assurance. More confidence.

“Good,” she smiles.

I’m not even sure if I was trying to convince her or myself. I mirror the smile nevertheless and a silence falls between us.

“But are you?” she asks, shattering the silence that sits between us so smugly.

“Not at all,” I chuckle.

“Good,” she smiles complacently. And just like that, she disappears without a trace. As if she’s made her point and there was nothing more to say.

I sigh to myself.

How long before it’s too long?

How far before it’s too far?

I’m not crazy. Really.

I’m aware that having a conversation with someone who’s not there might fall under some mental health grey area, but I find this need to sometimes seek you out. Talk to you like you’re still here. Imagine what you’d say when you caught me having a moment.

I’m not lonely either. Not really.

My heart is full and occupied, I have no more need for you, but I’m holding on to you like a child holding on to the toy they’ve had since they could remember because it’s comfortable. Familiar. Easy.

I just want to keep you for as long as I can. Is that really so much to ask?

“Isn’t it funny how day by day nothing changes, but when you look back, everything is different.”
C.S. Lewis.

The Things You’d Rather Forget.
August 23, 2012

I just keep thinking about that night, that ride back.

The god awful smell of ‘herb’ and spice and the not so subtle sour twinge of sweat. The alternating light and dark as we zoomed past streetlights. The stillness or about as much of you that you can get riding around Kuala Lumpur in an old taxi cab in the wee hours of the morning. The annoying whir of the engine groaning and our steady breaths. Your head on my shoulders. Contentedness.

But I find the details slipping from me too quickly.

I don’t think I even remember your face anymore.

And I keep listening to the songs that make you remember the things you’d rather forget.

It’s been two years.

I miss you.

“This is to a girl who got into my head,
With all the pretty things she did.”

A Fine Frenzy.
August 14, 2012

To be honest, I don’t know how we got here. Or why we’re here. I read and re-read our old exchanges dating back 3 years and I still don’t know. But I feel the need to clear this up.

If I were to die tomorrow, morbid as that sounds, I want at least what I am going to say here to be clear to you.

I didn’t know how to explain then. I didn’t know how to tell you that saying goodbye that first time didn’t mean I was giving up. I was tired; I wanted a break, a breather, an easy out. Because it was exhausting what we had. Truth be told, weren’t you a little tired too? Not just physically, but mentally and emotionally and whatever other –ally’s that you can come up with?

The truth is that I had to get away from myself more than I did from you.

Because I was so far from the person I needed to be. So far from the perfection that was demanded of me. The perfection that, in retrospect, I put upon myself more than anything. Because 3 years ago, I saw myself through a movie screen, a high definition, grand resolution, 10 storey high film screen that had my flaws and mistakes and slip ups sprawled across it for me to wince and bite my nails at every step along the way.

And ironically, our situation was probably the perfect recipe of a badly constructed romantic comedy that neither one of us would be caught dead watching. Except it didn’t end nearly as peachy or as corny as a romantic comedy should’ve ended. And for a very long time I found myself being stuck. Stuck because I wanted you, but I couldn’t have you.

And even though I never admitted it out loud, I clung on to the hope that we were still heading off in the same direction. That we were still sharing the same orbit, a gravitational pull that binds us together by something so much bigger that the Earth’s pull on humanity. That maybe someday, if we both don’t stray too far from the path, we might just crash into each other again.

But we have an expiration date. We did from the start. And we never really were, even though we felt so strongly and so much.

I’ll admit that you a left heartcrack so fragile that I thought no one could ever fill that dark and treacherous rift. But I will always maintain that the best mistake I ever made was at 18. Because sometimes, talking to strangers can be the best thing a girl can do.

And since we’re in the business of truth telling, I might as well; I do miss you.

I miss telling you everything. I miss talking to you about everything. Every detail, every insignificant moment, every inconsequential impulse, every trivial matter. I miss talking to you. I miss our conversations.

But at the same time, I don’t.

Because people change. Feelings change. But it doesn’t mean what we had wasn’t true or real. It just means that we’ve grown so much from who we once were. And along the way we grew apart. But I will always be grateful for you, no matter how much pain we caused each other along the way.

I’m self destructive, I’m fickle and I’m a hot bed of emotional mess (as you’ve become so well acquainted with) but I’m no longer that girl you used to know. I’m better at living with my decisions now, despite having to bear the consequences of it.

That first goodbye was not a first goodbye, my darling. That first goodbye was the goodbye. And no amount of Jack and Coke or heartache can ever change that.

I said nothing when I should have said so much. And I’m sorry for that. But we could’ve talked forever and never come to a proper close. So here I am.

“Goodbye, my almost lover,
Goodbye, my hopeless dream.”

The Anywhere-But-Here-Syndrome.
August 9, 2012

I go to seek the great perhaps. And I’m glad you do too. We can seek it together perhaps.

“Not all those who wander are lost.”
J.R.R. Tolkien

Humour.
July 23, 2012

Sometimes I lie awake and think about him.

Does he think about me still? Did he ever? Is he still seeing her? Is he seeing someone new? Is she serious or is she just someone he’s seeing for now? Does she love him? Does he love her? Has he ever loved anyone? Does he talk to her? Does he argue over every insignificant little detail with her? Has he told her? Is he sad a lot, angry a lot, depressed a lot? Is he happy? Does he sleep well? Did I hurt him? Does he know how he’s hurt me?

But it struck me that I no longer wanted to know. And I haven’t. Not really. Not in a while. They’re just the whimsical, lyrical, far from erudite ponderings of someone who has a trouble letting go of things.

There was the period to the story of us — beautiful in its chaotically long and directionless run.

Because we never were, darling, even though we felt so much.

“I don’t ask you to love me always like this, but I ask you to remember.. I’ll be different, but somewhere lost inside me there’ll always be the person I am tonight.”
F. Scott Fitzgerald

Trapped.
May 31, 2012

There are good days and there are bad days.

Some days, it’s easier to laugh it off.

Other days, not so much.

And those are the days that are spent being so incoherently sad that there are no other words more suitable or appropriate to describe it. You’re just. Sad.

“People fall so in love with their pain, they can’t leave it behind. The same as the stories they tell. We trap ourselves.
Chuck Palahniuk.

Sense.
May 30, 2012

I jerked awake, my phone buzzing beneath my pillow, anchoring me to reality. I hit the stop button, the first time in weeks, instead of the snooze button and instinctively reach up to touch my face. Dampness. From sweat? Tears? A combination of both?

It was a dream, I told myself. And it’s weird and I can’t begin to literate it, even in my mind while it’s so fresh, but I remember you. Your face. An image I desperately cling to as if I knew I was never going to see you again. As if you were secretly saying your final goodbye with the painted smile on your face, young and fresh but so full of pain. And there was a voice in the back of my head, yelling for me to do something, anything, to stop you. As is a part of me  deep down, knew what you were about to do.

Awake and free from the fog and the blurriness of dream, I think it must have been what it was like for you in your last moments, your mind made up and unchangeable.

If my face had not been damp from tears then, the realization that it wasn’t something that I was afraid you’d do, but something that you’d done, brought upon a wave of tears from within that I couldn’t stop. The kind that rouses something primal from within that you cannot contain and spills over without any vestige of control.

I lay there. Completely immobilized. A pathetic lump of tears and fears and shadows of the past creeping into the present.

And that was when it hit me. Or grazed against me, more like. The lightest breeze that carried you, your smell. And I had to double, treble check that you weren’t actually there next to me. And as swiftly as it came, it left, like dust in the morning light as your eyes adjusted to the rays of the newborn sun.

I barely had the time. Barely any time at all to seek it’s touch. Inhale it fully. Revel in the precious wave of something that was so profoundly you. I ‘m not making sense. But I sense you around me today.

“By now, you should know enough about loss to realize that you never really stop missing someone – you just learn to live around the huge gaping hole of their absence ”
Alyson Noel, Evermore.

It’s You.
March 23, 2012

It’s the taste of whiskey and coke, the trail of smoke upon your breath.
It’s the reckless abandon, the fleeting moment, the plunge of thought into sweet death.

It’s the exhilarating pain, the intoxicating pleasure, the bitter refusal of defeat.
It’s the heavy breaths, the spreading warmth, the rise and fall beneath the sheets.

It’s the lingering sidelong glance, the shivers up my spine.
It’s the willowy touch of wisp and smoke, the way we intertwined.

It’s a kiss, long and lingering, the breaking point, the edge of desire.
It’s you.
The way you make me feel, the way you make me remember.

Happy Birthday.
January 20, 2012

Not for the first time, I opened my eyes this morning, wishing you were here. You weren’t. It was just another product of my imagination condemned to be felt just in the deepest corners of my mind.

I laid in bed this morning, wishing I were where you are. I’m not. And it’s awful to know that while your imagination is taking you to a place in which you want to be, the bitter cold of the morning nips your skins telling you condescendingly that it’s time to face the reality you don’t want to encounter; that you’re holding on to something that’s gone.

The silence that greeted me was clear and loud. And I think for the first time in all the years that we have played this push and pull, I am thankful for this silence.

I don’t know where you are, or what you’re doing. You’re on your own now. Completely independent from me. And I from you.

And then sharp pain stabs at me because I remember how much I wanted you. And not like full of sex, or like baking cakes or watching films or the usual soppy shit. I wanted to be able to read a book on the sofa while you watched the telly, and just be utterly comfortable. I wanted you to laugh at me when I’m singing to the radio or when I’m just laying on the bed depressing as fuck after having a shit day. I wanted to be able to go on walks at like 3 o clock in the morning, watch the stars until the sun comes up, and then we can realize how insignificant we are.

And for a brief moment, the silence hurts more than anything.

But then I remind myself that I need this silence. And the pain ebbs away.

Three years ago, I never would have imagined someone’s silence would be able to have such an influence in my life. Two years ago, this silence would have killed me. A year ago, within the silence, I wondered how differently our story would have played out had you have not found me and gotten me so hung up on you.

I still do. I wonder every now and again. Would my story have played out any differently? Would I have met someone else? Would I have the courage to want what I want today? Would what I want be any different if I had spent all my time talking to other people that weren’t you?

These are just some things I will never know.

“Happy Birthday. I love you, whoever you would’ve been.”