Lots to Get Off Of

"When I was young and knew everything
And she a punk who rarely ever took advice
Now I'm guilt stricken, sobbing with my head on the floor
Stop a baby's breath and a shoe full of rice now
I can't be held responsible
Cause she was touching her face
I won't be held responsible
She fell in love in the first place
For the life of me I cannot remember
What made us think that we were wise and
We'd never compromise
For the life of me I cannot believe
We'd ever die for these sins
We were merely freshmen
My best friend took a week's vacation to forget her
His girl took a week's worth of Valium and slept
Now he's guilt stricken sobbing with his head on the floor
Thinks about her now and how he never really wept he says
We've tried to wash our hands of all of this
We never talk of our lacking relationships
And how we're guilt stricken, sobbing with our heads on the floor
We fell through the ice when we tried not to slip, we'd say"

"因为还是会
窗前站好一会儿
月色明媚所以舍不得睡
不久前她还在我周围
寂寞的气味不去
在空气里头流动
这个房间闹哄哄一些时候
回忆有她多(就)生动
有时候觉得没什么不同
可能从来没忘过
那快乐生活
拥有比遗憾的事件来得多
有时候想放手向现实低头
以后就重新来过
却没有把握
因为还是会
有想她的一股冲动"

I once told a person that things, relationships between people do not break; they are merely changed. Everyone has been through break-ups, boyfriends/girlfriends/partners/group mates etc and some has been through what I would call the ultimate break up, a loved one separated by death and only kept alive through memories. And the two song lyrics kinda symbolized that and how I feel with what I feel and how I could deal with it. And I wish I am writing this with a heart that has felt calm.


I've got tons in my head that I needed to get out from so it is going to be long update. You don't have to read if you don't want to. I know nobody who reads about me.

The world lost Tara when I was like almost 16, now I'm 21. It has been only been 5 years or rather, it has ALREADY been 5 years, whichever way it's up to you to decide and who you ask. I was in my last year in high school obviously and I was a darn bad grader. I couldn't do any of my 9 subjects except for languages which I didn't have to put in effort for. Now I wish I have taken like Japanese or French or Italian then, since it looked like I've a knack for languages or something. Anyway, I couldn't tell you how I even got through those 4 years in school being so horribly inadequate. My self-confidence was at its lowest, and personally I looked nothing short of crap. And I didn't even know the term 'homosexual'. I was that ignorant but somehow happy with odd reasons. Some say their time in high school were their happiest, I can't say I felt the same. It's a never-ending nightmare that is still rearing its head once in a while.

Her name was Liesl Tara Oppenheim and it took me a while to remember and to spell. (I'm glad I finally got it :P) She's, obviously of some quite complicated heritage which I can never imagine and never got figured out but I think it's cool and pleasantly wonderful. Liesl's an Austrian name, that I learnt from watching the musical 'Sound of Music' and I can't decide if Oppenheim's a German last name but it is the name of a German city. But you know what, the name doesn't matter. I called her Tara because nobody knows exactly how to pronounce her other names correctly at first glance and that nobody being me, decided on the easiest one. Her friends called her Lis. The Britons would called her TA-RA while me being more of an American influence called her "TEAR-RA", which I think I loved more. She's born 16 October 1984 in Germany so she would have been 24 by now. She had a older brother with a goatee called so very uncharacteristically Donny which I think was short for Donald. It's so weird and darn comical. Who could live with the name Donald, I know I couldn't. Her mom passed away when she was 17 from brain cancer and life has been shit then on, what with her abusive father and crazy brother and a crazier clan of relatives. Tara was brought up brainwashed by her bastard of a father that all women in the family would be submissive and be at their absolute beck and call and that anything else like education was just plain redundant. And Tara bought the whole work indeed. The girl has got so much talent and good in her that that shit her men would feed her couldn't even dream to be on par.

Anyway, after her mother passed, by the way the only good soul in the entire tree, Tara applied for scholarship to leave Germany, or rather, to leave her family. I couldn't remember the details of the scholarship but it brought her to me or Singapore. She took Greek Art, Literature, Sociology, Psychology, Maths, a whole shitload lessons of English, and I didn't think she could ever succeed in Sciences but she was incredibly naturally talented when it came to remembering names of strange herbs and stuff which always seemed to be in ancient Latin. God knows where she found those information but she did, all right. She had this collection of jars and bottles filled with the most exotic plants and powders and whatnot. And she could never get me to remember their names and what they could do. But they were meant to do good, I don't know.

I would normally just tell people that I met Tara in school and that she's my senior and such because I didn't wanna have to explain the why and how and whatever. That how we met, of course doesn't matter. I can't quite frankly remember and that is my wrong. The part where she and I were still alive is fading away, and I have said umpteen times how frightening that is for me. I don't wanna forget but I can't remember either and it made me feel like a selfish person. If ever comes a day where I would forget about Tara, I would really just die.

There are times where I thought 'ok, she's died, I should move on because that's what normal people do' and many a time I would say to myself 'ok, we've talked this out, you've promised, there is no way you could ever go on without her and you know that in your very core.' I used to be really furious about finding out the why and how, about getting resolutions. Why she died was due simply to human means, which to me is as ironic as it can get but absolutely sense-ful as well. I don't know how to move on without light, without love, without guide, without feeling so much of the warmth of Tara at night. Her voice, the color of her intense blue eyes, her long honey blond hair which she inherited from her mother no doubt and her flawless pale skin and savory lips. I don't know how to deal with it. I am just this stupid. That deadly reliance is still in play today, and it is still hurting me badly, cutting me up like a loaf of bread and while I absolutely adore baguettes. All these years, I still don't know how to shake it away, to find my own direction and light to follow. I must have been born blind.

I can't sleep quite right at night, I stop smiling but I'm always happy for someone else, and I cry a shitload, (I don't anymore) and half the time, I don't know what I'm looking at. I wanted to escape, to break away but I was often just abandoned and left behind once people are done with me. I'm only left out to lick my own bleeding wounds and to find some way to stand and walk again...

I am born gay and would go on to die tattooed and still gay. A week ago, it struck me that I might be getting tattooed because it's a way to deal with insecurities and stuff that is life. It's always great to feel nice about yourself, to feel happy with choices you have made and crazy things you've said. It's not always nice when I don't feel that. I wanted to get tattoos when I was like 12 and way before and after that. I've always been seen with Ash-made masterpieces on my left hand because I'm a right-hander. And I only use this particular Pilot brand black ink pen. I think it's great. Getting tattoos isn't an impulsive thing for me. I believed in the various properties of tattoos as much as I know I'm gay. Tattoos help to deal, to heal, to move on, to remember things/people, to forget some other not so good things/people, an open statement that life can and should be darn well better and that you rock. There are of course people who are drunk and decided on a bad tattoo on a bad night out but I'm not like those people. I would never get myself drunk, much less get a horrible horrible tattoo. Walking on the streets with tattoos made me a walking exhibition and dartboard. People look and stare, people make remarks and ask silly questions just so they could make more remarks and it's so human. I enjoy being lavished with that kind of attention, even if the word seems such a big word, I think most tattooed people do. But sometimes, I'm tired of that kind of awkward attention and I would go out all covered up and just blend in with other non-tattooed people. It's less exhausting that way and since most of the time, I'm by myself on the streets.

Coming back to insecurities, I think having tattooed imbued me with some kind of superiority and that I'm different. And that actually compensated for some degree, my rock-bottom self-confidence. People might diss me for it, some people may think that it's great and whatever it is, I'm special. No one is going to take that away from me.