I wanted to be adored. And I was adored me for everything that I am, that I wasn’t and attempt to be. He tried so hard to understand every piece of me; literally piecing everything together from my past writings, to inner circle disclosure to my intimacy. He tried so hard. Perhaps that was the problem. He had to try. He didn’t understand simply. He had to see me crawl out of my multi layered skin I shed here and there to understand the complexity of what he truly loved. I couldn’t live with it. I was losing it. Losing my head at the slightest thing and barking his head off . Every smallest little thing that was not understood was magnified to reiterate that he is not the one for me. Perhaps I am not the one for such giving and selflessness. Either way, I saw it and it took the better of me. As much as the inner circle would think otherwise, it pains me to be aware of the way I’ve been treating him towards the end of it all. Because he didn’t deserve any of it. It is so corny to say he deserved better. But have we all seen too much in this lifetime to label everything corny, to agree that he really does deserve better. I had in the gutter of my palms pure adoration and I didn't adore in return. I couldn't. It drove me crazy. I couldn't contain it.


I remember the mistakes I’ve done before and how it comes rippling back to me in the blink of a distant eye, at a turn of an unsuspecting head and in the midst of my wishful hope of a calmer life. I remember past relationships built on superficial affection, momentary adrenalines and fear of loneliness. I remember wasting time so foolishly on relationships I didn't believe in, in guys I didn't really love, daily bickering and unnecessary emotional turmoil. I remember going through motion and forgetting the things I've learnt. It was pathetic and this is my conscious attempt to steer away from that. To not waste each other's time. Love bears different magnitudes and my deep affection didn't equate to his love.


And so I lied. I said I would help him to hate me, if that is what it takes for him to let go. If that makes it easier for him. That was my pride talking. Now he most probably does and I cannot live a normal day. I am indeed selfish. I want him to continue to adore me; the idea of me. Because even though I cannot adore him, I hold a deep affection for him, for the things he has done for me, for the gentle kindness and endless generosity. And that makes me a sick and horrible human being. A self centred egoistical scum.

We've tried and we can't go on trying without belief and conviction of our feelings, thoughts and actions.

I fear if I had stayed any longer, I would destroy him. I am afraid of Karma. Very much so.

Forgive me. Perhaps it was all a facade that inspired such adoration. Perhaps I am just a very well constructed facade.

This is my attempt to start writing again. I don't know how I am going to keep up with it as I can't even keep up with my life. But I miss reflecting and then writing it down (well typing in this case). I also miss the fact that my friends read and then leave comments. Rather egocentric with that part. But most of all, I think my friends know, I write to keep myself sane. To map all the thoughts that connect and those that contradict each other. To have a better understanding of situations and circumstances. Most of all to understand myself. A little bit to feed my ego. Sometimes I write to piss other people off because they pissed me off. Sometimes I write to feel powerful. But I realise my better writings are depressive ones. Though I am not really a depressed person, I just tend to sound so. But I would be lying to say I'm the happiest person you've ever met. I have my days. And I have my moments. Moments of glory, moments of shame, moments I'd like to flush myself in the toilet bowl, moments I'd like to capture on video but I can't and yes I have my blonde moments. But yea perhaps all I can attempt to do is write and stay sane.

i wrote this 5 november 2004. i still feel the same way in 2007.

stage left: life-size silver swinging pendulums- beats and broken beats.
stage right: a purple plastic bench and a life size rubic's cube.
centre stage/backdrop: 1940s box cameras lined up in semi circle which gives off flashes. only 2 spots on at one time.


I would rather be an honest elitist than have a bunch of parasites riding on my personality; especially when they wear ugly clothes, listen to bad music and has a christmas tree for a best friend. I say go get your own personality and popularity. I can't help it if I was born popular. I am aggresive but I am utterly affectionate. I deal better with anger and melancholy now. I am calmer but it makes me passive and I don't like passive; in myself that is. Passive behaviour from other people is fine bacause I tend to be domineering. But please don't give me hopeless passive. It frustrates me. When I project hostility, the aftermath makes me sad. I like the monster when it's asleep but the bitch mode is always on standby. I don't like to press that button because it traumatised my friends. Terrorising other people who deserved it is ok though, I try to rationalize. But still, never would I have thought that in the turn of the century, my own hostility towards other people would make me sad. I appreciate the value of non-materialistic things but it makes me a sentimental bitch. I keep scraps of letters or proses given to me. I like it stained and yellowed. I heal very fast but I repeat my mistakes. I love parties and parties love me. I don't like busrides because I can't read in buses and they impose an overdose of self reflection. I love sunshine but I also love grey skies but rain makes me lazy. I am not afraid of heights but I am terrified of falling down from a height. I'm not sure if there is a difference in scientific terms. I love the company that I have and the effects they have on me. Most times hilarious, sometimes good, sometimes bad. But note... some bad-ass goodness are always welcomed. I don't trust boys who say they trust me. But I want to trust and be trusted. When I fall madly in love with a song I put it on repeat mode for months to come. I love to be spooned and I love to sit on benches hugged from behind. A whole seat is mostly redundant to me because I sit on the very edge. And no one has ever noticed that. I like to trot on pages. Give me stories, any story... how you dropped your last tampon into the toilet bowl, the arguments you have with your bf over kissing butts (literally) or why your grandma (who has a huge hole in her stomach because they took out her intestines) is the cutest thing in the world. Give me techno, tech-house, give me electro, give me bass, give me drums, give me keroncong, give me hums and spoken words. Give me pictures. I have snapshots of the little things people do. They don't know. But it's vivid. I can take you on a fantastic magic carpet ride but can you survive the bumps and humps or will you jump off when the magic takes a break. I like a queen-sized bed with a group of friends binging and talking endlessly, teasing and mocking with caustic sarcasm. I like it queen-sized coz i like to see friends' heads on other friends' laps and friends' feet up against the wall beside the ugly painting. And I like to see friends cussing over space when it's time to sleep, if we get ever get to that. I am random. Supersonic activity. But i think I'm slowing down. I never knew what exactly i wanted to do with life, but it's always the little things... colorful little things that matter to me.

*I'M NOT FINISHED. I'M NEVER FINISHED.*