What purpose does this blog truly serve? It is a meagre replacement for the listening ears and caring eyes of a friend. Once this exam is over, I will search for new friends and grow closer to old ones.
This blog will be obsolete.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
O-C-D
It's only been four days since she came, the miracle. It's been 4 days since I held her hand and felt the infusion of her care in my blood. I asked to hold her hand because I miss the sense of assurance it brings and I was euphoric with the way she held onto mine - not limply, but with all the strength her tiny hand could say "It's ok because I'm here with you".
Of course she was tense, people don't go around asking to hold hands regardless of the other party's gender. But I felt that she cared and was sure of it. After all, she did come to visit me despite her busy schedule. I'm addicted to her, but it's not a romantic love. I cannot define it. It's like a reciprocal love but so... precious to me. I love her because she loves me, but I also want her to admire me. I think I want my tenacity to produce outstanding grades despite my circumstances and at the end of the day, I want HER to beam proudly at me. What is this love?
4 days since and I'm backsliding. With each slide I feel like my spirits are cut - slide, cut, slide, cut - like a bar of soap on rain-moist rocks. The confidence is fading fast and getting the answers right doesn't seem to count for much unless someone else esteems me for it. I suppose that's what the school system does: it prices recognition on grades but no matter how good my answers, only Mr. Sim ever gives me any praise for it.
I just want to hold her hand again. Small things mean a lot in times like these. I want to call her again, I want to hold her hand again - I want to hold her - and feel the warmth and comfort only she seems to able to give. It's different, special. But I tell myself to be strong and stand on my own again. I want her to see me strong and tall, not some fragile miserable creature... but I can't deny that every moment I wish she was here with me. Do I want to win her? To possess her love?
OCD means I write my notes, crush them, write them again, tear them, write tear crush write tear crush write tear blanco crush to make it "pretty and perfect" - but all I'm writing is how crushed and torn I am inside.
Back to my books.
Of course she was tense, people don't go around asking to hold hands regardless of the other party's gender. But I felt that she cared and was sure of it. After all, she did come to visit me despite her busy schedule. I'm addicted to her, but it's not a romantic love. I cannot define it. It's like a reciprocal love but so... precious to me. I love her because she loves me, but I also want her to admire me. I think I want my tenacity to produce outstanding grades despite my circumstances and at the end of the day, I want HER to beam proudly at me. What is this love?
4 days since and I'm backsliding. With each slide I feel like my spirits are cut - slide, cut, slide, cut - like a bar of soap on rain-moist rocks. The confidence is fading fast and getting the answers right doesn't seem to count for much unless someone else esteems me for it. I suppose that's what the school system does: it prices recognition on grades but no matter how good my answers, only Mr. Sim ever gives me any praise for it.
I just want to hold her hand again. Small things mean a lot in times like these. I want to call her again, I want to hold her hand again - I want to hold her - and feel the warmth and comfort only she seems to able to give. It's different, special. But I tell myself to be strong and stand on my own again. I want her to see me strong and tall, not some fragile miserable creature... but I can't deny that every moment I wish she was here with me. Do I want to win her? To possess her love?
OCD means I write my notes, crush them, write them again, tear them, write tear crush write tear crush write tear blanco crush to make it "pretty and perfect" - but all I'm writing is how crushed and torn I am inside.
Back to my books.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Dawning
It's 5.22am, the second day of what I can only describe as a sanctuary period. I am hiding, delusional, refusing to come out of my own little world. After yesterday's breakdown, a few things dawned on me.
What my doctors call 'anxiety' cannot be separated from despair. My anxiety induced something tremulous, like fear, only less pronounced. Like some mirror flaking with rust, it slowly put me in a state of despair and because that despair was suffered quietly - alone - for so long a time, it made me anxious about life and love. This loneliness is also loveless insofar as I couldn't be honest with anyone about my feelings. Even when I talked to Xue Wen and couzzie, the words did not come easily. It is hard for neatly defined words to match vague, confused emotion, but sometimes I simply did want to verbalise the same sentiments that have been repeated over and over and over again. I simply wanted them to hold my hand, just to be with my when I cried.
They were the only two souls who softened every blow with a touch of humane tenderness. It's not as if I wanted a romantic sort of love, just one that gave the noun 'friend' all its warmth and preciousness. I always strive to be strong and independent but it's obvious there will be times when I can't rise up again without some help. A broken crutch cannot mend itself. That's why I need them. They provide a softer, gentler kind of love that my male buddies cannot provide. Indeed, they fail to grasp the issue and pontificate with ineffectual goodwill. Their failure to respond constructively only made it worse because - well, it's worse when you're alone in a crowd.
It's not their fault, I think. But I blame them for their callousness because it hurt me so badly. That's why I turn to Xue Wen and couzzie and only them. XW doesn't pretend like she knows while couzzie actually does - both will sit with me and talk, and listen, and simply be with me. Their company is as precious as their words, but the buddies don't see that.
I'm scared of falling back into despair, yet I realise a breakdown is the only way to purge this terror. I suppose I do want to break down but only if there's someone holding my hand as well. But they have their own lives too and I must wait till they're free. In the meantime, I hide myself in an insular world where everything is filtered and censored in self-defense. I also eat, for the warmth in my tummy and flavour in my mouth is soothing, somehow.
It's 5.45am. In 15 minutes the world will make up and buzz about their business, but not I. I will stay on the internet and hide myself in that world where no one knows what's truly authentic and what's not. I will indulge in fiction till I am worn, then I shall take my pills and sleep as the sun passes over, waking only to go online again. This is my insular life, one that I shall stay in until this storm passes over and the warm hearts that care for me give me sanctuary and rest in their loving care.
With incoherent thoughts and sentiments,
Me
What my doctors call 'anxiety' cannot be separated from despair. My anxiety induced something tremulous, like fear, only less pronounced. Like some mirror flaking with rust, it slowly put me in a state of despair and because that despair was suffered quietly - alone - for so long a time, it made me anxious about life and love. This loneliness is also loveless insofar as I couldn't be honest with anyone about my feelings. Even when I talked to Xue Wen and couzzie, the words did not come easily. It is hard for neatly defined words to match vague, confused emotion, but sometimes I simply did want to verbalise the same sentiments that have been repeated over and over and over again. I simply wanted them to hold my hand, just to be with my when I cried.
They were the only two souls who softened every blow with a touch of humane tenderness. It's not as if I wanted a romantic sort of love, just one that gave the noun 'friend' all its warmth and preciousness. I always strive to be strong and independent but it's obvious there will be times when I can't rise up again without some help. A broken crutch cannot mend itself. That's why I need them. They provide a softer, gentler kind of love that my male buddies cannot provide. Indeed, they fail to grasp the issue and pontificate with ineffectual goodwill. Their failure to respond constructively only made it worse because - well, it's worse when you're alone in a crowd.
It's not their fault, I think. But I blame them for their callousness because it hurt me so badly. That's why I turn to Xue Wen and couzzie and only them. XW doesn't pretend like she knows while couzzie actually does - both will sit with me and talk, and listen, and simply be with me. Their company is as precious as their words, but the buddies don't see that.
I'm scared of falling back into despair, yet I realise a breakdown is the only way to purge this terror. I suppose I do want to break down but only if there's someone holding my hand as well. But they have their own lives too and I must wait till they're free. In the meantime, I hide myself in an insular world where everything is filtered and censored in self-defense. I also eat, for the warmth in my tummy and flavour in my mouth is soothing, somehow.
It's 5.45am. In 15 minutes the world will make up and buzz about their business, but not I. I will stay on the internet and hide myself in that world where no one knows what's truly authentic and what's not. I will indulge in fiction till I am worn, then I shall take my pills and sleep as the sun passes over, waking only to go online again. This is my insular life, one that I shall stay in until this storm passes over and the warm hearts that care for me give me sanctuary and rest in their loving care.
With incoherent thoughts and sentiments,
Me
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
I just wanted someone to hold me while I cried. Then I realized all the love I could get came through the phone, so I cried again and again and again because I couldn't help it, because I couldn't correct the situation, because I couldn't help myself. I wanted a hand to hold and an arm to cradle my wretched head, but of course that didn't happen.
I wanted couzzie, the cousin I've always looked up to, to help me. I wanted Xue Wen, who has returned some measure of tenderness to me, to hold me. But they were on the other side of the island. I didn't know who else to call.
Junwei will blame me. Again. That's why I called him and told him how much I hated him for what he said last year after karate. He blamed me. Hon Ding is too callous to understand, so I didn't even try.
Then I realized how they could all be counted on less than one hand and I cried even more, and howling, and calling for a God who never gives a straight answer. It is ironic that I'm reading the book of Job now.
That was 30 minutes ago. The outer tears are sporadic but the quiet ones echo on and on in my cold and callous heart - broken.
Broken.
I wanted couzzie, the cousin I've always looked up to, to help me. I wanted Xue Wen, who has returned some measure of tenderness to me, to hold me. But they were on the other side of the island. I didn't know who else to call.
Junwei will blame me. Again. That's why I called him and told him how much I hated him for what he said last year after karate. He blamed me. Hon Ding is too callous to understand, so I didn't even try.
Then I realized how they could all be counted on less than one hand and I cried even more, and howling, and calling for a God who never gives a straight answer. It is ironic that I'm reading the book of Job now.
That was 30 minutes ago. The outer tears are sporadic but the quiet ones echo on and on in my cold and callous heart - broken.
Broken.
sigh
Burnt-out, sinking, the charred remains of a derelict vessel on its requiem into the deep.
turquoise slivers
of dilute light
quiver in thin streaks
of bright tinfoil
on mobile jet:
pale flounder
waver by
tilting silver:
in the shallows
agile minnows
flicker gilt:
grapeblue mussels
dilate lithe and
pliant valves:
dull lunar globes
of blubous jellyfish
glow milkgreen:
eels twirl
in wily spirals
on elusive tails:
adroit lobsters
amble darkly olive
on shrewd claws:
down where sound
comes blunt and wan
like the bronze tone
of a sunken gong.
I want this calm oblivion
I wish it could be this easy.
If only the figurative were the literal.
Two years of anxiety, continual struggles and vacillations, I just want it to end.
I'm so tired I can't study, can't smile with friends when we watch movies
I'm so tired...
I need someone to hold me
Make sure I fall into rest, not a hard crash
Lie my head on a pillow and kiss my forehead
Instead of a free-fall with the cold kiss of the concrete floor.
Plath's aquatic nocturne, full of slow calm and silent depth,
with pretty flickers of light...
deep in liquid
turquoise slivers
of dilute light
quiver in thin streaks
of bright tinfoil
on mobile jet:
pale flounder
waver by
tilting silver:
in the shallows
agile minnows
flicker gilt:
grapeblue mussels
dilate lithe and
pliant valves:
dull lunar globes
of blubous jellyfish
glow milkgreen:
eels twirl
in wily spirals
on elusive tails:
adroit lobsters
amble darkly olive
on shrewd claws:
down where sound
comes blunt and wan
like the bronze tone
of a sunken gong.
I want this calm oblivion
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