If I die today, please give this to whom I have loved so much and let down. If I die, it is only because of what I've done. I am trying to do what's right, in another's eyes. To go to that school, to study for that subject I have no absolute comprehension and desire for, to make that move because that is politically and logically the correct one. And to have failed so miserably, over and over again. I hate looking forward to fear, to waste precious time and space to such unhappiness. I may truly have a mental problem, sir. A phobia I can't overcome, the first step I have refused to take; operating life with not a brain or the fire of passion to learn and win. I am afraid of repetition of patterns and being the odd one out. I am a coward who couldn't see the value of this existence. I'm petrified with committments, and examinations simply because they are like mirrors reflecting flaws. My own.

The above entry almost came off as a suicide note. Almost, being the operative word, I guess. I've been depressed as of 2 days ago. It was my last paper and I thought I could at least pass it. But on the great contrary, I handed it in blank answer sheet. I sat there for a hour, struggling to find a way round it, to feel the light somehow, to magically be able to remember what I've learnt the day before, to start writing remotely. I just want to get through the paper, the day. To have that dinner in peace and relief like everyone would be. To be braced for that wicked internship to come and save up for that trip. But all was shattered. I realized I do not know one thing about the particular subject. I didn't attempt any past years papers because I was too fucking scared and of something I can't understand.

There has always been a fear, almost innate, just waiting to rip me apart if I let it. I have never been diligent or motivated enough to overcome that fear. Hell, I was never motivated to do anything but watch time pass and see where my grave fits in the bigger picture of gravestones. I have a hidden phobia to numbers and logic, things I can't see in my head without actually seeing it on a piece of tangible paper. I still can't remember table and seat numbers in the restaurant I've had the Service Practicum for the past months. I have never ever pass Math and Science.

Today, as I was sitting on the floor, thinking about ways and methods to pass the supplementary paper, I could. I've gotten past years papers from my classmate who by the way, thought the paper was super easy. I could work on them immediately if I don't vomit and die of a sort of a heart condition first. I could picture myself at lunch after the supplementary paper and being happy and relieved about passing it. And I will do it, just so I didn't have to kill myself. Now I know fear.

Dear World of the Happy and Relieved,
Why have you allowed myself to do wrong? I have not done good for myself today. I was horribly incompetent and it showed. I allowed panic and fear and unwanted thoughts of failure to set in and overwhelm me. My heart was pounding so fast I wish it to stop. Oh yes, I am a coward who rather die then sit there a humiliation and going through rounds and rounds of absurd questions that have got no good for me. This has happened before, as I walked out of the room before anyone did, as I handed in the answer sheet filled with nothing but shameful scribbling of futile attempts.
"How could I not do this?" My brain and everyone asked. And I said, "how could I?" Inconceivable thoughts crossed my stupid brain as I sat there, my hand no longer trying to pick up the pen. Scenarios of retaking the subject and not graduating or simply quiting the fucking course and all I've done for the last 2 years...It was the nightmare come true and mine only. And right that moment, I've not the slightest bit of an excuse or a clue of the fucked up person I am. I hate to know me for me. I shouldn't even be here; someone more eligible should. Whatever I wanted to do, accouting's not one of them. But if I could do something different, I would give up anything and believe me, I will.
My head was spinning as I tried to breathe, to make a noise to say that I'm ok. And I've failed.
Yes, I've failed.
Am I even fit to feel such overwhelming and surging emotions? Have I not do this to myself? Have I not give it my best just to stop that beating heart and fainting spells? Am I to fail, after staying the night to do what I can, with that fear tearing me apart? I suppose it didn't cut it, whatever I try to pull. Hours I've stayed up for the crazy breathless moments I've been avoiding all these years. Hiding and dodging my past self just so I don't have to face failure. I have never been so frightened before, of the known, of unthinkable consequences. And they will come back to haunt me, for they aren't shadows that disappear when the light no longer shine.

It amazed me how freaking easy it is to screw up, to see the light in a person's eyes disappear and that person actually cared for you more than you ever would yourself. I'm sorry. Please forgive me and see me for who I truly am; how incredibly fucked up I've let myself become. It was fear I can't comprehend, fear of numbers and logic, of what I can't see immediately. I looked around and nobody was like me. Everyone has got something to do, has their lives, at least for that 2 hours all figured out...everyone but me. I don't know what exactly happened but it happened as soon as I flipped open the paper and all I see and felt was coldness and pain. I hate me! I will fail that next paper again and I am so scared...and helpless...and nobody can help me.

I'm envious, all what I can't have, because it's just the way it is. I'm watching the Oscars now and I'm like, 'how come I'm not part of that?' I wanted to be a screenwriter, to be the gal to write a film so people can fork out a few bucks and 2 hours of their time to see what I can tell them. I've always like that but I'm sure I can't deal with it all...the money, the temptation to forget your primary goals and the women...yes, never forget the women. Assuming I'm at the same time, hot.

I like the glamorous to life, I believe, how surreal it can be sometimes. How fake, everyone's faces...and in their eyes. Hollywood, baby. But even if I were there, I could just be the screwed up asshole by the roadside too, and nobody can tell, really. I might not be able to speak English, for all I know. Maybe I'm happy here, right where I am, where I can be or cannot be.

I have always written and I always had trouble because everything is going on in my head. It played out, with sound and unsound conversations, rational and irrational sex, and nobody ever smokes in my head. They always had other kinds of addictions and nope, smoke is not one of them, kid. I wanna write and see it panned out on screen, or on the stage, whatever. I wanna see real people bringing their own interpretations and personalities through my writings and direction, talking and smiling and cursing and fucking. I'm already seeing the whole R-21 all over it but really who the hell cares? It's all I want...It's what I want.

You know, if it doesn't pan out, me and her, and the plans. This might just happen.

I think about how it might have beenWe'd spend our days travelin'It's not that I don't understand youIt's not that I don't want to be with youBut you only wanted meThe way you wanted meSo, I will head out alone and hope for the bestAnd we can hang our heads down as we skip the goodbyesYou can tell the world what you want them to hearI've got nothing left to lose, my dearSo, I'm up for the little white liesBut you and I know the reason whyI'm gone, and you're still thereI'll buy a magazine searching for your faceFrom coast to coast, or wherever I find my placeI'll track you on the radioAnd I'll sign your list in a different nameBut as close as I get to youIt's not the sameSo, I will head out alone and hope for the bestWe can pat ourselves on the back and say that we triedAnd if one of us makes it bigWe can spill our regretsAnd talk about how the love never diesBut you and I know the reason whyI'm gone, and you're still thereSo, steal the showAnd do your best to cover the tracks that I have leftI wish you well and hope you find whatever you're looking forThe way I might've changed my mindBut you only showed me the doorSo, I will head out alone and hope for the bestWe can pat ourselves on the back and say that we triedAnd if one of us makes it bigWe can spill our regretsAnd talk about how the love never diesBut you and I know the reason why

Ok, it's the last day of the week and I am so tired but it was ok. I always am when the week would come to a close. Typically, I would have had Service today and would not have otherwise been crying. It was an all-new today. I caught 2 movies in a row. The first one was PS: I Love You starring Hilary Swank, Gerald Butler, James Marster and Lisa Kudrow (Phoebe in Friends) and the other one was Ah Long Pte Ltd starring Fann Wong and Mark Lee. I watched the first one first. It wasn't a total full score from the book itself with the same name written by Cecila Ahern, an Irish author, when she was still in school and book published when she was 21. There were parts added in and parts not added in. It's a new thing away from the book, if you have read the book, that is. I would recommend Kleenex and no popcorn for this. You wanna avoid the mess.

Ah Long, on the other hand, didn't quite do it for me. I was totally just watching for Fann Wong because I really like her, no matter what anyone would say. I didn't go in knowing the plot or the ending or the comments and reviews. I was just along for the ride. It is supposed to reflect life as some of us would know it. How money can change a person's life, how power can devour. I personally can't live without knowing I have money in my wallet and in the bank account. I've yet achieved that level of security. My family isn't exactly well-to-do and we are owning money, corporations and banks and maybe people, I wouldn't know. And it's a good feeling that I have some money to do what I want. And I could go out anytime, like today, on a Friday for movies, which I never ever do. And I would like to keep that feeling.

I spent my last 20 bucks on a piece of CD. I was very excited. I've not bought a CD in ages and I was trying my luck in the store, reading on the R's because I was looking for her.


Her name's Rachael Yamagata, she's 30 and well, god bless her. She writes and plays the piano and the guitar and she has actually came to Singapore for one of the Mosaic Festivals thing. She has cats and a wicked sense of humor which I liked a lot. Her mother is of Italian and German heritage, is a painter/artist while her father's American Japanese. She's really good so please, people, if you know what's good, look her up! But if you are already friends with me, you know what to do.

It's the exams next week and I've been trying to kill myself over it, with lecture notes and my own notes and throwing questions from the year-end papers but I am still not doing enough. This is me, it's how I deal, and not ideally. I would never study for anything. I suck as a student and probably as a person but come on, life's shorter than the expressway. I don't wanna live reading from books, studying for exams, even though I really should...but really, who I am kidding here?

Last evening before I turned in, I asked myself a question, one I obviously did not get an answer. But I might just be writing up a story about it.

So the plot or rather the crazy bits and pieces in my head goes: Alexandria Kaede, a schizophrenic chef in her early 20s was diagnosed with mild depression a year after her fiancee, Adrianna Gallagher was shot by a mugger in Central Park, New York. She refused to give up her wedding ring and amidst the struggling, she was fatally wounded in the heart. It was apparent Alex's grasping and trying very hard to come to terms with Adrianna's death when her mother realized that she has stopped medication for her schizophrenia. She was so caught up in her grief that she couldn't go to work or get out of the house. Alexandria begun having severe hallucinations. She believed Adrianna has came back to her and that everything was normal and couldn't be better. The wedding will go on as planned, if only the caterers and flower people would just listen to her, the adoption documents would pass and their new home by the beach will be ready by the end of summer. As far as her mother and friends are concerned, Alexandria's terribly disturbed and in danger. So her mother had no choice but to spike her drink with her medication (apparently the duo was doing cake and champagne tastings). Alexandria regained herself and she broke down. It was the first time she allowed any display of emotions since Ad's funeral. She decided to go for a trip while her mother cancelled all wedding preparations on her behalf. Alexandria told her mother that she will return the daughter she knew and the woman Adrianna loved. She didn't exactly know where she was going but she knew it was a trip to heal and to forget and move on. She knew she had to continue her medication and re-ignite her passion for cooking. That would be what Adrianna would have wanted.

Weeks passed and Alexandria found herself in Miami, Florida where she has gotten her first tattoo. It was Adrianna's middle name and Alexandria has always loved it and nobody calls Adrianna by her middle name 'cept her so it was very special. She begun seeking solace in tattoos and taking long walks. On one of her long walks by the beach, she lost her medication. And whenever she stops her medication, Adrianna returns to her. Alexandria is caught between choosing reality and her only love. Apart from the fact that she sees her lover and feels her, Alexandria is pretty much ok. She could still cook, if not better. She sees things, beautiful things and colors. And so for a while, she stopped medication for good, just so Adrianna would continue to be at her side. She met a freelance English photographer, Victoria McLaren when she brought Adrianna along for one of her usual long walks. Tori was simply stunned at how beautiful Alexandria is, when she would lift her head and look into space with her lips slightly open or the way she would smile, the michevious glint in her blue eyes. She was completely mesmerized. (Tori'll come to realize that Alexandria was not looking into space but at Adrianna, a figment of her imagination) She thought Alexandria to be the perfect subject for her exhibition and she followed her. Victoria never knew love, growing up in an abusive family and living on food coupons until her father died and she's adopted by a family she never knew and understood. She wants to capture love and true human emotions with her camera. Victoria was drifting from one relationship to the next, from one stranger to another. As Victoria learns and realizes the source of Alexandria's love and inner struggles, she found herself falling in love with the mysterious woman and what she could give and offer. Victoria too, has to choose between convincing Alexandria to continue on her medication or to keep that innocent, in-love side of Alexandria, the woman she has fallen in love with.

How does one tell reality from what's not? How does one choose to live in a painful and cold world? That was my question. Do not worry, I'm hardly schizophrenic. The question came to me after I've watched Dirt, starring Courtney Cox and Ian Hart. Ian's character, Don's schizophrenic and he went off his medication after his only partner, Tristan, i think the name was, died of cancer. It was a cat but it was all he had and he begun having this really cool hallucination that helped ease any grief and loneliness that was devoring him. Eventually he went back to his medication and he woke up the next morning to find a box/litter of kitties just outside his door. He found love and company again. I'm probably driven mad but I don't really care. I don't know what else to do anymore but think and write.

Going through life's motions is exactly what it has been for my last years. Only turning in the break of dawn and never waking up when the sun rises. And wakin' up in tears, desperate for any hint of salvation, of her scent. I reckon a rude awakening is in order now, don't you think, kind souls? I could die right now and she would refuse to see me. Her death, a drug that has put me away for good. I looked at this fucked up world and I see her face. I looked at its even more fucked up insignificant hordes of humans, I see her face.

For just one time,
I wanna write something.
Something that is yet abstract, yet forgotten.
mynamewas something i can't quite remember
her name was quite something i can't forget ever
am i living?
for another, gone?
am i breathing?
for another, stopped?
am i in pain?
for another, numb?
will i ever get on with life, i'll ask
will i ever see the sun, i'll ask
will i ever see you again, my love, my last?
things were simple
love was all that is
us were what mattered
but you left
and rendered me blind and insignificant...

It must be Tuesday.

I am not sure if I'm any good, when I wake in the mornin'. It was Tuesday and I liked the ring of it. It meant I could get myself half-drunk, just screwed up enough to be not here and I didn't even have to pay for it. Right this moment I am sowing what I've exactly reaped. It's midnight and I should be sleeping now but I am still feeling a lil' on the high side. I'm not going to be doing this anymore; it was already the last tutorial and so yeah, no more free wine for the 22 year old kid no more. I am no alcoholic, so no big. Light, maybe, light.

It has been a hard morning to wake up to. For some reasons, I wanted to cry my heart out and then, be hitting a guy or anyone, no one in particular right in their faces so bad that I wouldn't even know why. It was hard to grip, I couldn't do neither. I am impossible to grip. I don't know how many fucking times I've said this and if I'm even exhausted. I miss her like crazy, I wanted to hold her so bad, to kiss her so hard that I could die. That I wish I died. And I'm only just recovering from a drunken stupor one way or another. I wish I could lose this feeling. This feeling of loss, of having lost, of being lost. Constantly. It's scary and frustrating, when you are just standing on your own there and emotions surged right through your every fibre and you don't know what to do about it.

You wake up every mornin', first thing you wanna do is to put your fist through the bathroom mirror and you wanna put your heavy head back down in your bloodied hands and pretend nothing has happened. If you could hear my voice, you could tell just how much I wanted to die but not literally, just a voice that yelled 'i've had enough'. I wouldn't die even if I kill myself. It's a silly thought to even be contemplating.

It's another morning, and I still wanna cry but it's like you're so ready to jump, off a building but you can't move and time is still moving forward and it's fucking irritating, if one must insist. It's just like a screencap, a particular scene stuck in time and motion, just remembering it all and never gettin' out of it.

If I could take you awayPretend I was queenWhat would you sayWould you think I'm unreal'Cause everybody's got their way I should feelEverybody's talking how I, can't, can't be your loveBut I want, want, want to be your loveWant to be your love, for realEverybody's talking how I, can't, can't be your loveBut I want, want, want to be your loveWant to be your love for realWant to be your everythingEverything...Everything's falling, and I am included in thatOh, how I try to be just okayYeah, but all I ever really wantedWas a little piece of youAnd everybody's talking how I, can't, can't be your loveBut I want, want, want to be your loveWant to be your love, for realEverybody's talking how I, can't, can't be your loveBut I want, want, want to be your loveWant to be your love for realEverything will be alrightIf you just stay the nightPlease, sir, don't you walk away, don't you walk away, don't you walk awayPlease, sir, don't you walk away, don't you walk away, don't you walk awayAnd everybody's talking how I, can't, can't be your loveBut I want, want, want to be your loveWant to be your love, for realEverybody's talking how I, can't, can't be your loveBut I want, want, want to be your loveWant to be your love for realAnd everybody's talking how I, can't, can't be your loveBut I want, want, want to be your loveWant to be your love, for realEverybody's talking how I, can't, can't be your loveBut I want, want, want to be your loveWant to be your love for realI want to be your love, love, love

why can't i change the past?

It was not meant to be. I could come back a thousand times and watch her die a thousand ways. I could never save her, not now, not ever, not this lifetime. It’s strange how a revelation should hit you and so many times over. I was just showering and remembered singing along to Justin Timberlake in the bathroom and my world changed as soon as I turned on the television and watched a poor but devoted man spent 4 years of his useful life inventing a time machine just so he could go back to saving his wife-to-be who died right after she said yes to his marriage proposal. Warm tears flowed without restraints down my cheek, not that I am any gorgeous and with a distinctive jaw line but they flow anyhow. The film is called The Time Machine, perhaps produced by the States as they always have such imaginative creative mind filled with agony and a desire to attempt the impossible, like bringing back the dead. And failing but always learning.

I used to ask, if I was any capable, if I could save her. I realized I probably couldn’t. And I hated it. I hated how I couldn’t do the slightest bit for her, after what she has given me. To think I yearned the power to resurrect but only her. She who gave me light and darkness, she who gave me black and white is not non-existent anymore. Memories of the past are as good as knifes if they were any tangible. It is astonishing how one could live like I did. Everything she once liked surged through my broken head. She has fancied roses, and specifically that of red and she was kind. Too kind for her own benefit some might say. And a coward like me is trying to fill her shoes just to fill my own soul. I don’t know what and who I am, if I am anything good. All I know is I am nothing without her and I know what people are going to say about that but nobody’s me. I can say and feel whatever I want because it’s just the way it is. And it’s foolishly hilarious; some time later I am not going to remember all this shit because I would have been dust by then. But till then.

I am still watching the film as I am typing this and it’s beginning to seem to be gravitating towards a more ‘the guy character has to save the world now’. And it is beginning to lose its meaning, for me anyway. It has become rather of the bigger picture which the selfish part of me refused to give a shit about. I am so not caring at all. Monsters are appearing, grabbing boys and girls and into sand pits. Maybe I should just turn off the darn TV and go to sleep. I’ll be waking in time to romaine lettuce and deciding between homemade mayonnaise and commercial.

All these years, I’ve refused to let go, of what is now a faint shadow of how things were. And I have fallen quite sick, I believe, relating to problems of the heart and breathing literally. In fact I am hardly breathing well at all. Sometimes when it happens, it was really unbearable. I mean, one should expect that when one can’t breathe.

I bear not the slightest idea how I've lasted so long, walked this far. I lacked greatly in every department possible and I am still lost. And I will die alone. Perhaps it is such blessing that I should bear this alone. I miss her.

I've been writing, seemingly ridiculous entries these past weeks and I'm sure I will eventually come back and delete them in time to come. But that time's not now, I guess. I'm keeping 'em, people, but who the fuck really cares anyway?

I've been making plans all my life, hoping I'll have to do something about them, like school for instance. I am quite delirious now as I'm writing this so please, pardon me. My mom and I were having this conversation about nothing at all and I told her I wanted to get a motorcycle license and of course, she wouldn't let me. She said no one in our family has ever done it and so I should conform to that fucking tradition. I was so totally rolling my eyes and shaking my poor head and I told her, ''there is no fucking way in this fucking world that I would ever fucking do what others did just so I could be the same." We've been at it for ages now and I really didn't wanna talk about it anymore. Of course I shut up and walked away really really pissed, it wasn't even about the motorcycle license anymore when the conversation ended but about who I am. My mom and family would never take me for who I am. I can't even say more about that. All these while, I knew I've not accepted it, the fact that I am given the death sentence because I'm different. I was really angry, still am maybe but I can't show it to no one.

I am not feeling so well and I wanted to study for my tests but I couldn't concentrate. I just feel like running away, really fast in a direction I can't tell. I wanna jump in joy about something that isn't even happy and I wanna scream so loud I would go deaf. And if I had my acoustic guitar with me, I would be staring at what little debris and wood it would be rendered at the floor right about now. I'm not sure the source of my energy. I feel faint-y, I am extremely bored and I still wanna break something (been thinking about it all day...)

I wanna be everyone for everyone. I wanna be there in the nick of time, to save someone, a friend, perhaps. But I can never save myself. I refused so.