Is Perfect From Here

The plan right now is to get a huge piping hot bowl of udon with heaps of tofu, seaweed and broth, then curl up under the covers with the headphones trickling Jason Mraz's 'Details In The Fabric' while I read my Trixie Belden mysteries over and over again.

In sadness, there is solace. In soupy noodles, familiar books and the songs you sing to me when we're alone, there is love.


February Air

The saddest part of letting go is knowing that I'm not going to be the one standing beside you and holding your hand. All those jokes you whispered into my ear as we pretended to write out Math equations and punch random figures into our calculators, they're not mine to laugh at anymore. It's not my face that you'll be scanning the crowd for as we head off wherever we're going, it's not my voice that you'll be listening for.

The hardest part of moving on is giving up that particular combination of food that I've come to love so much after you tempted me with it. I remember thinking how weird you were, because no one else had remembered every single thing that I'd said, despite you not being the person I'd said it to. I want to stop crying to tunes that I used to love, just because you were the one that sang them to me.

It frustrates me to no end when I go over every single detail in my head with a fine toothed comb, wanting to know where the first thread snapped. It was that moment with the playing cards, wasn't it? I saw how you stared at me, with that pity and uncertainty swirling about in your eyes. Your mouth was open but you weren't saying anything, and I stupidly stupidly smiled at you because I thought you were still ill. Were you the one who brought up the topic of leaving someone behind, was it your way of edging into the matter and testing the waters?

Right now I want to slap myself for caring too much, even while I said that I didn't. I always swore that I wouldn't end up this way, that I wouldn't write you into my fairytale and let my heart beat faster around you. How come everyone but me saw this coming, the diamond walls replaced by bubbles that burst when I chose to brush them gently? Was I that deeply disillusioned and trapped within my own dreams, that my own tangled web drew me in too far to escape?

If it's any consolation, I was happier for that short while than I've been in years. Now take your thank you, those last words hanging in the air that I said to you, and leave me to my crayon box. 72 colours to replace the rainbow that you painted over. At least now I won't have to breathe in nicotine laced air and listen to lies that you believed were the truth, you fool.

I think I'll live.


Static Cling

All I wanted was for you to understand. And you say you need some time. So I'll wait.

Sometimes I feel like biting down hard on my bottom lip till I draw blood, because I've heard that the physical pain detracts from the mental. The only thing preventing me from doing so is my fear of hurting myself too much. But then I remember that nothing could be worse than what I'm feeling now.

It's hard to be caught between teenage life and being an adult. I've never dipped my toe into the other side because no one's ever asked that of me. All my life I've been called responsible and mature, yet everyone's always treated me like the youngest. A fragile thing that could break at any minute, therefore I've never grown up really. A female Peter Pan, I guess. Sad but true. And now that I've finally had to make some decisions for myself, it's been harder than anyone can imagine. Of course I've only got myself to blame for this, I should have stood up for myself and told everyone to back off. Still I had the childish belief that someone would always be there to hold my hand and walk me through life. This will be a good lesson for me to learn, I think. Better now than in the future.

I wonder where it all started falling apart when I see my friends soaring higher than I can see. Their thoughts and actions are far beyond my comprehension now, one ounce of my childish words is countered by mountains of logic and rational thinking that I could never hope to understand. Where have they gone, those days when we all were more or less the same? Now as I watch them fading slowly away into a world which I cannot fathom myself in, I wish fervently for some shining star to grant me one simple request.

Please don't take away the very things that make me me.

You called me your Alice in Wonderland, but I feel more like Wendy Darling who had to leave Neverland and grow up. Except I'm not the one who actually left.


So Will You Repent?

I was looking through some blogs of friends and thinking 'god how good it would be if i could emo like that' because everyone else can form some semblance of order from their chaotic thoughts and turn them into something beautiful. And obviously I cannot, I can't even write a 500 word essay without wanting to introduce my head to my desk and lord college is so stressful right now it goes without saying.

There is no time for anything else right now. Whatever wisps of a social life I once had are now long gone. Although my books and I have struck up a rather odd relationship, in which I yell at them and cry while they sit in a pile on the floor. Not even fluorescent highlighters and cute sticky notes can turn my frown upside down. It never is good when you (try to) take advice from a 15 year old whose bare back caused more controversy than the hurricane in Myanmar. Shameless, people.

I have considered shutting this blog down many times because it is an annoying voice at the back of my head. Abandoning it for this long made me feel so guilty so I had to check on it even though I'd forgotten the password. Since I've almost finished emptying out my head to make way for the Periodic Table and math formulas consisting of more alphabets than numbers. Besides, it's not as if anyone really reads it besides my friends who try desperately to get me to update time and time again. Even though they only comment via instant messaging. 'D is this true, what you wrote on your blog? Answer me!'

But they can always mail me you see, and I wouldn't mind a call from them once in a while. The last post wasn't even a proper one, it consisted of two badly done tags smashed together to form a poor excuse of literacy. Disgusting. This isn't what I expected from myself, where is the creativity I keep insisting I have? It's probably disgusted with me as well.

Yes it is at times like this that I wish I'd been slightly more rebellious during my school going days and delved into the wonders of smoking or drinking. Then I'd have an excuse for walking around like a mental patient who has no sense of direction. Instead, these books that keep growing heavier and looming exam dates are all that shape my path in life right now. I don't even understand what I'm doing anymore, why I've chosen to subject myself to things I never wanted.

Anyways I do have happier things to talk about, and I'm actually pretty optimistic that my days will be filled more joyously when the exams are over. Firstly I got a full scholarship from the college to do whatever I want to right now. Which means sticking with the rubbish I've gotten myself into. And also people are getting increasingly nicer, sickening even. Especially since I've been sick for the past month, showing up to class crying because I've just choked up phlegm and struggling to breathe. They're very polite, I'd have slapped myself for all the noise I make during lessons, coughing and wheezing like a nicotine addicted junkie. I may look like one, but my lungs are clean. For now.

Edit: Obviously you know why I had to delete this whole paragraph. Some people talk too much.

And also I've lost some weight but I can't tell if this is a good thing or a bad thing. I'm already slightly underweight which makes me look like a real druggie now. Add that to my daily outfit of ratty tee, short shorts and dragging cardi and you've got yourself the perfect image of someone you'd find snorting coke in a back alley. Of course the girls think this is a good thing, you can NEVER lose enough weight is what they say. The painkillers did this, I would never purposely starve myself. I cannot believe I was stupid enough to pull a muscle and had to be carried around for a while.


Is this post depressing enough for you? I do hope so. My soul has not been darkened enough to produce ramblings that befit my mood. Even as I struggle to think of a song to match my emotions, the only one that comes to mind is some Rainy Day song from Winnie the Pooh. Whom we could all learn from, because honey really is good. I should know, I've had a bottle since the month began. Delicious. And really, it does feel good to wear the shortest shorts you can under a huge tee in this sweltering heat.

Thank you Pooh.