Hello world.

19 January 2014

Today, I am so scared. I wanted to express this on Twitter or Tumblr or Facebook or my other Tumblr but none of that seemed to make sense. I am genuinely, with every beat of my heart right now, feeling so, very scared right now. It's several days after the new year started and I feel like I'm about to start my life over right now. I'm scared because I don't know what to do now. And I'm scared to take my A Levels again. I'm scared. I'm scared that it's already more than halfway through the first month and I haven't started studying. I'm scared that without television and without videos on Youtube, I'd have to face reality and that makes me so scared. Growing up. It's what I need to do and this, this right now, moving on right now, it makes me so scared. I don't know what to do and that scares me. I'm scared.

7:53 PM

15 August 2012

For the first time in my life.
I cried and I don't know why.

7:53 PM

24 April 2012

Do you know what it feels like now?
Now that I don't have any major personal issues.
I find myself focusing on other issues.
Which I wouldn't normally be bothered by.
It's so strange and frustrating.
Because I'm no longer distracted by a sole, significant problem.
And now I find myself having to face the existence of all these other issues.

Hmm.
And the biggest itch that I have is this.
It's that.
These "issues" that have got my mind preoccupied lately.
Wouldn't have necessarily bothered me as much had I still struggled with my own personal issues.
Maybe because I would've seen it as a branch of my main problem.
But now.
Now.
I have nothing to peg these issues to.
I have nothing bigger or underlying to blame.

Ugh.
You know what.
I'm not thinking straight right now.
I'm full.
I'm tired.
I'm sleepy.
And I need to shit.

12:41 AM

19 March 2012

Know how to be different?
Don't study for your CTs.
That's different, all right.
Especially when you're in a school where everybody studies for every bit of test.
And no less when it come to major exams.
It's taboo not to study.
And I think that's why I don't study.
Or at least that's the situation I find myself in right now.
It's a mere 9 hours to my first paper and I have not read up a single thing.
I am as unprepared as I've never been.
I'm so fucking lazy.
But no.
I don't think it's just laziness.
It has to be more than that.
I think it's because I like it.
It.
The thrill of knowing that I know so little.
The adrenaline of taking this new risk.
A risk that gets riskier and more foolish from one exam to another.
To see the possibility of how narrowly I'll somehow manage to walk away from all of this.
It's sick.
But it's so exciting.
The latent, somewhat nauseating, feeling that I get.
Don't you think it's crazy?
To step into an examination not knowing shit.
I've never really tried it.
Sure, I've been testing it out the past few exams.
But never really full-on.
Hmm.
It's stupid.
I know.
But.
I don't know.
I guess everyone just has their moments.
I can actually come out of this calling myself a rebel.
A deviant, rather.
Because I'm not really rebelling against anything or anyone in particular.
In fact, I couldn't give a rat's ass about rebelling.
A deviant.
A fucked up deviant.
A fucked up, lazy, deviant.
Oh, Amirul...

4:26 AM

13 February 2012

I love my family.

12:02 AM

12 February 2012

So here's what I know now.
Things that I should've known.
Things that I forget.
But no longer.
Yesterday was one of the most uplifting days of my life.
It just took that one lunch to help me through these next few treacherous months.
For me to realize that answers don't come with 18.
Comfort doesn't come with 18.
Changes don't radically occur with 18.
Confidence doesn't build up with 18.
Courage doesn't just happen.
I've been living in this little constricted bubble where I keep telling myself that the whole world's against me.
And perhaps a big part of it is.
But I forget so easily that there's that other part.
Of people who appreciate me no matter what I am.
Preconceived notions aside, these are the very people who, as much as I don't open myself up to much, are the very people who care.
In their own, subtle, strange ways.
Raging against the machine.
That's what I've been doing.
It explains the hell-hole that I've kept myself in all these years.
My self-consumed delusion that everyone's pointing at me and laughing at my expense.
I've been so self-conscious, so insecure.
And while it's understandable.
It's no longer right.
It's never been helpful, never been healthy.
And I'm a fool to let all of that define who I am.
Because no one else can define.
1. Who I am.
2. Who I can be.
3. What I can offer.
I have to get it out of my mind.
The self-inflicted nightmare that I'm the victim.
Because I've been told that I have drive.
And that I have so much of it.
And that this should only serve to drive me further.
Life's shit.
And I have to deal with it.
Deal with it instead of whining about trying to hope it moves along faster.
Instead of endlessly hoping that school would just end already.
Because the end of one suffering doesn't mean the end of it forever.
It doesn't mean that after JC, all my problems will be solved.
Because it most probably won't.
And if the only place that the problem exists is in my mind.
Then I'm the only person who can stop it.
I'm going to free myself.
Let go of my insecurities.
Leave the belief that somewhere in the corner, someone's talking about me.
It may be true.
But it's not always true.
And even so.
It doesn't matter.
Especially when I have people who love me.
If one person's enough to amount to something.
To mean something.
Anything.
Then nothing else matters.
And I know.
I just know that I have at least one person.
It gets better.
And I'm going to make it better.
So.

I should be okay.
I'm going to be okay.
I'm okay.

Thank you for lunch.

7:15 PM

08 February 2012

Hihi.
That's what you say, right?

Right.

I am uncomfortable.
Very uncomfortable.
You know.
We all talk about other people, right?
Be it gossip or just a simple observation.
We have said something about another person.
I'm guilty of that.
Sure.
I say the nastiest of things about some people at times.
And other times I say nice things.
But you get the point.
Everyone talks about everyone.
But.
You see.
My itch with that is that...
When I do talk bad about someone else.
I have the courtesy of not saying it to the person's face.
Behind the person's back, sure.
But not literally behind the person's back.
Yeah, that sounds super hypocritical of me.
Blahblahblah.
But if you've gone through as much as I have and heard as much as I shouldn't have.
Then you'd understand.
Sure, we say things like if you've got something to say, say it to my face.
Or if you've got nothing nice to say, don't say it at all.
I agree with both.
Somehow I do.
But here's the catch:
Don't fucking talk shit about me when I'm a earshot away.
How fucking deaf do you think I am that I can't hear your words when I'm just three steps away from you?
And you're clearly looking my way and throwing fucking shade.
How the heck am I not supposed to notice that kind of shit?
It's pathetic, it's cowardly but mostly it's just mean.
Sure, call me gay.
At this point, I'm not sure why that still irks me.
It shouldn't.
Wait, no.
Actually it's not that I'm called gay.
I'm okay with that.
It's...
Fundamentally.
It's about the lack of tact.
The lack of consideration that you have when you insult and humiliate someone.
It's that by calling me gay under your breath, (despite my acceptance that being called "gay" is nothing bad) it implies that you mean it in a negative way and therefore your intention is to humiliate me.
You don't even have the balls to say it to my face and you call me the gay one?
How backwards are you?
Are you so insecure in your own sexuality that you have to poke fun at mine just to make yourself feel better?
What are you trying to make up for?
How fucking short your dick is?
What?
Because I don't understand people like you.
I really don't.
I don't see how it's rational to even think of poking fun at someone who's never ever wronged you.
It's just wrong.
And as much as I don't want to understand why your kind exists.
And why it exists in large numbers.
I need to.
I need to understand why my life and the lives of many have been unruly plagued by the likes of you.
I figure that since you don't and won't ever understand me, I'd perhaps take a shot at understanding you instead.
So that I can finally find it within myself to forgive you and your currently meaningless existence.

10:44 PM

02 February 2012

I'm taking a stand.
Or at least I've been making a stand.
Because I feel that if I take a stand, than that means I'm at least not a coward.
Holding on to what I believe in.
I really can't stand homophobic people.
Or any kind of people who discriminate other people for being different.
That's such a jacked up way of thinking.
Like.
Really fucked up.
It makes me so uncomfortable being around bigots.
Narrow-minded idiots who think that the world revolves around them.
I mean, sure.
To each his own.
But I don't think it should come to the point where you infringe upon another's comfort.
It just infuriates me.
I know this ignorant homophobe.
I see him everyday.
I am in his presence 5 days a week.
And it makes me want to throw up every little bit of my insides just thinking about him.
Whenever he's near, my skin starts crawling and I can't help but feel like tearing it all off.
I feel disgusting and disgusted.
He juvenile.
And he's so full of himself.
Fuck it.
Why am I even tainting this blog with shit about him?
He's not even worth the thought.
Let's get back to what I was talking about in the beginning.
I'm taking a stand.
I dislike him.
I detest him.
I won't wish him bad things.
But I most certainly won't ever wish him happiness.
But that's not the worst part.
The worst part is this.
It's that there seems to be this silent rift between me and my friends, the very people I used to consider close friends.
And it sucks.
It sucks not only because I feeling like I'm losing them, but mostly because they don't see who they're affiliating with.
They don't see that he's a prick.
A douche.
A shitfucker.
They don't see him for the bigot that he is.
And despite his childishness and stupidity being as clear as day, they still seem to be okay befriending him.
Harbouring a prisoner.
That's how it feels like if I were to consider him as a friend.
It goes against every will in my body to accept him.
To like him.
It's just fundamentally wrong.
I hope they see him for what he is.
And I hope they don't associate themselves with him.
Because if they do, then it speaks volumes about where their priorities lie.
And it just shows how much I'm nothing like them.
It irks me to have to go to school everyday and go through the same thing over and over again.
It's my last year.
And I didn't want to have this heaviness, this, feeling of disgust hanging over my head.
Shit this.
I'm above all of this.
I know that.
God, please help me through this year.
I need to make something out of myself.
And I can't do it when my mind's preoccupied with matters so unnecessary.

 I feel sleepy.

1:54 AM

27 January 2012

Today someone broke my heart.
And he didn't even know about it.
I thought I'd be completely broken.
But I feel strangely okay.
In a way I've always known.
And was somewhat prepared for the truth.
I know that sometime soon, it will hurt a bit.
But not utterly.
Because you can't lose what you've never had.
Right?
Isn't that what the heartbroken sing about?

But I think something made the blow less severe.
A friend of mine told me.
A story of bravery.
Of himself and a bully.
It's really quite silly.
But it gave me a sense of empowerment.
He told off a bully with the very word that the bully only knew.
I got him to reenact it.
And it was amazing.
I felt liberated just hearing about the experience.
And that made me happy.

That made me smile when I felt like shit after finding out the truth today.

You know.

I have a picture of you that I keep in my secret stash.

 I named it "Daydreamer".

Because that's what you remind me of.

A daydreamer.

Distant.

Unaffected.

Uninhibited.

Pure.

And also because Adele's song reminds me everything about you.

You're such a boy.

And like daydreams, my version of you is so unreal.

I think god's listening to me.

Because he seems to be looking out for me.

To snap me out of my delusion.

This unhealthy fantasy.

To crush me at just the right time.

As much as I would've loved to prolong this sweet fantasy.

It's best that I let go of it right now.

Now instead of later.

So, I guess.

Thank you, god.

A wise person once told me.

That JC's the time to crush (on someone) and be crushed.

And in a way, I've gone through that twice already.

Now onwards I want to start looking for the real deal.

For the one.

Not the one in the distance.

But the one I can hold on to.

The one who's not anyone else's.

The one who's my own.

8:37 PM

Hi there.
It's been, what?
2 months since I last posted?
I'm sorry about that.
I know, I know.
It gets old.
Time and again.

Having to apologize everytime I don't post for extended periods of time.
But I really do feel sorry each time.
Why, you ask?
Well.
It's because I feel like I cheat myself.
Cheat myself of the opportunity to express myself.
The only opportunity, really.
So it's quite stupid of me.
To keep everything bottled up.
And opt to spend time on less meaningful things like Twitter, Facebook and Tumblr.
It's not like I don't have anything to say.
I have a lot to say.
Every day.
Thoughts just flood my mind like rain in December.
So many things that's funny, that's witty, that make sense, that's true.
Things that make me feel sane by letting them out.
But I don't.
Or at least I haven't been doing much of it.
Not much of letting anything out these days.
And I feel so...
Unheard.
Tell me if this is strange.
I've never been the kind to mind having to leave school alone.
You know, make my way to the MRT station all by myself.
I never wanted anyone to be walking with me.
I never had a problem with walking with my thoughts.
But nowadays.
Walking alone makes me feel so...
Isolated.
Not a mere sense of isolation.
But as if someone.
Or everyone.
Like everyone's alienated me.
It's a silly feeling to get when all that I'm doing is walk out of school.
But it's a feeling no less.
And I don't understand why I feel it.
My own company used to be enough.
It used to be all that I asked for.
All that I needed.
But now.
I feel so scared.
Scared of walking alone.
By now I'm sure you're thinking that this is all a metaphor for something bigger.
Like 'm starting to appreciate the importance of friends and whatnot.
And maybe you're right.
Maybe that's what I'm starting to see.
Maybe.
I have been spending a little bit more time with my friends outside of school more.
Unlike me, exactly.
But I'm trying.
Trying to make something out of this last year of seeing everyone everyday.
Because I think I'm going to miss it all when it's over.
Hahaha.
About a year ago that kind of thinking would make me hurl.
In a way, it still does.
But I'm trying.
To go against everything in my body to have lunch with my friends.
Friends.
I used to wonder who needs them.
Or who needs a lot of them.
When you can have the few that you really care for and know that they care for you.
You know.
I don't profess to comprehend it.
But I think that some people just aren't meant to have friends.
I really think so.
Like.
I think they strive best without having friends.
Like I said.
I don't know how that sort of thing works, but I think that that sort of people do exist.
I'm not talking about myself though.
I do need friends.
And I need myself too.
More than anyone else really.
But I need friends.
Sure.
Of course.
Friends.
A good friend of mine called me overly sensitive the other day.
Because of something someone else said on Twitter that turned out not to be about me or my other friend.
And yeah.
I agree with her.
I am overly sensitive.
Her observation didn't make me angry.
Not at all.
But it struck a chord.
Because I feel like one shouldn't make such statements without understanding.
Understanding why I'm so overly sensitive.
She's not wrong, like I said.
She's as apt as anyone who doesn't know me can get.
And I trust her as someone who makes on-point observations.
But that aside.
Let me scratch the itch that I have with what she said.
I am overly sensitive.
I am.
Overly sensitive.
I'd like to keep it short.
(Not because it's 1am and I need to shower and start on my GP work.)
Because if I were to explain everything it would take another 18 years.
18 years.
Let's start with that.
18 years of being in the dark.
18 years of doubt.
18 years of fear.
18 years of not having anyone else to be honest with.
18 years of not being like anyone else.
18 years of crying in the most odd of places.
18 years of not even having my family to turn to.
18 years of worrying that the slightest bit of revealing myself would spell the end of me.
18 years of people making fun of the way I walk.
18 years of people insisting that I tweaking my eyebrows.
18 years of whispers.
18 years of sneering.
18 years if laughter.
18 years of side-eying.

18 years of people talking behind my back.
18 years of being called a sissy.
A girl.
Pondan.
Bapok.
Fag.
Fruitcake.
18 years of being called gay like being gay's the end of the world.
Like it's a punishment from god.
18 years of feeling that I don't belong.
Of feeling that there's something wrong with me.
That I'm wrong.
It takes 18 years of all these things.
And more.
It takes all of that to explain everything.
To explain why I'm so fucking broken inside and so put together outside.
It's all of these.
All these people.
All this time.

That's made me the insecure little boy that I am.
That's made me.
As my friend so conveniently poignantly put it.
Overly sensitive.


I'm 18 years old for fuck's sake.
And I'm still so all over the place.
I'm fucking 18 and yet I feel like a fucking zygote when I stand next to a group of secondary ones.
18 and I still can't look at someone in the eye without wondering what judgement of me they're forming.
18 and I'm still not able to grow up.
Despite promising myself the world.
Despite comforting myself that things will get better when the 7 becomes 8.
That some miraculous change will happen.


You know.
I sometimes feel like I'm a product of some tragic cosmic hiccup.
That my existence wasn't warranted.
Wasn't meant to be.
I don't say such things out loud, of course.
Because it makes me sound self-consumed.
Like I mean something bigger than I really am.

I know I'm not that significant.
But sometimes I can't help but feel like I'm a mistake.
That every person whose life I've entered is suffering the consequence of my existence.


But then it sets in.
And I remember.
I wonder then.
Why does it feel like I'm the only one suffering.
Like I've committed an indelible crime.
A sin since even before I was born.
Things that go along the lines of "It's not fair." and "I've never had my way."

But again, I don't say such things aloud.

Because I'm just a speck in the whole mass of billions.


But back to being overly sensitive.
(If I even left it.)
Nothing much else to say.
I was being overly sensitive.
I am overly sensitive.
Because I don't want to have the added burden of constantly wondering if and why someone thinks so negatively about me.
The burden of not knowing.
The burden of worrying what everyone else thinks of me.
Because really, I already have all those burdens.
And quite frankly.
It'd be quite selfish if I were forced to be left wondering if what was said what directed at me.
It's be fucking selfish if I were to go through this year.
The final year.
My 'A' levels year.
Preoccupied with such thoughts.
Selfish that if it was indeed true (which I know now it's not,) that I'm left feeling like shit, having to go through emotional and mental torment when someone else feels better about himself by belittling me.

You know.
That's one of the reasons why I don't get the majority of the people in school.
Or maybe just a select few.
I don't get how they can live with themselves.
By living on the very basis of thinking that they're better than everyone else.
It's silly.
It's laughable.
It's pathetic how they have this delusion of running the school.
Actually, maybe they do.
But I don't get it.
I've not tried, but if I did, I don't think I'll be able to comprehend the brand of ego that they subscribe to.
Such conceitedness.
And in their own way.
They're bullies.
Typical bullies.
Who, just by their very presence, make you feel like a victim of ridicule.
Yes, I just ranted about a group of people who don't deserve my time.
But I've always wanted to get it off my chest.
And here's a little something you should know about me.
One thing, if anything, that I'm completely am certain about myself:
I hate bullies.
I hate bullies.
When someone causes someone else to suffer, when someone is scarred, is tormented due to the actions of a bully, I think that's the lowest that anyone can go.
That that sort of person deserves hell for making someone else's life hell.


18 years of emotional abuse.
Perhaps mostly perceived.
Or self-inflicted.
But either way, I don't want to have to go through more than what I've been going through already.

So I hope you understand.
I don't like having to explain myself.
In fact, I think that it's irritating to have to explain myself.
But I found this necessary.
Because no one is just overly sensitive.
No one is overly sensitive without reason.
Least of all me.
18 years.

2:26 AM

07 December 2011

Hi.
I haven't blogged for quite a while now.
And I blame Facebook, Twitter and Tumblr for that.
It's like I spend time on those outlets that by the time I get to thinking about posting something here, I'd feel too spent to express myself coherently.
And there's so much that I want to write about.
But I can't remember.
So I guess I'll just talk about my current situation.
I'm rotting away at home.
I feel like a pig.
It's December already and I feel aimless.
Actually no.
I have certain aims that I want to reach before the year comes to a close.
But I just can't seem to get myself to start on anything.
I had a brief plan laid out in my mind.
That come December, I'd finish satiating myself with as much slacking as I wanted.
But it's the 7th.
And I haven't started running.
I haven't finished Housekeeping.
I haven't started on Richard III.
There's 4 fucking Literature essays to complete.
And I haven't studied.
Which, to me, is the most important item on my to-do list, next to running and losing weight.
That's another thing.
All this lazing around has made me fatter than ever before.
I don't mind a little meat on myself.
But huge fucking thighs are not appealing.
Flabby calves are turn-offs.
Man-boobs are just sad.
And you know you're crossing the line when your stomach folds whenever you sit or bend. And I know stomachs naturally do that.
But it's really bad when that sort of thing FEELS uncomfortable to the point that you can't sit peacefully on the bus or while watching television shows.
Speaking of which, I've been watching Futurama, My Name Is Earl, Mike & Molly and The Walking Dead.
But as I was saying.
I'm hoping to do some running afterwards.
I'm a trifle (tad bit) nervous though.
I'm not the kind who, you know, exercises actively.
I hate the gym and I think people who go there are downright vain.
Okay, I know that's a stupid generalization but what do I care.
So I don't know.
Maybe that's why I've been procrastinating.
Could be that I'm scared to let go of precious rest time.
But I've got to hustle.
Like really hustle.
On the revision.
On the self-development.
On everything, really.
I need to eat less, or more balanced, study more, manage my time better yadayadayada.
Because I want to start next year well.
I want to feel fresh.
Feel good about myself.
Because that's all I have to pull me through.
I don't have a boyfriend for me to turn to.
I don't like school in the slightest bit.
So I really want to motivate myself with the knowledge that I'm prepared for next year.
Academically, and personally.
I want to be taken seriously.
So yeah.
I will go running later.
And tomorrow.
And the days after that.
And I will finish reading Housekeeping by Saturday.
And start on Richard III.
And start doing push-ups and crunches and lunges.
Just these three because I know I will get bored.
I'm going to pray.
I'm going to clean up my act.
I'm going to rise!

And I'm going to sleep on time.

Here's to not burning out.

This post could've panned out so much better than this.
But no matter.
I'll try to post more frequently so that I get a healthy dose of releasing my inhibitions.
Haha.
See ya.

12:18 PM

01 November 2011

Today was projected to be a real sucky day.
I swear.
I came into it already knowing that it wouldn't be the best of days.
What with half of the class gone for their Mother Tongue paper.
But I have to say.
Now that I think about it.
Being in tutorial and lecture with just us four was not as bad as I thought it would be.
Not awkward.
Not too boring.
Not weird.
It was okay.
And it continued to be okay once we ended at 11.30am.
GP got cancelled.
Mind you, I did realize that I'd have 5 hours worth of break before rehearsals started.
5 fucking hours.
But this only occured to me a while later.
I spent the first hour of break with the rest who finished their Chinese paper already.
More specifically with Dyon, Sara and Rachel.
That part was okay.
Like normal, you know?
Then I had a meeting with Booth and Jasmine.
Which actually went better than expected.
So far, so good actually.
I could have denounced my own foretelling that the day was going to suck right there and then.
But little did I know that things would take a turn for the worst.
Meeting over.
3 more hours.
No one in school that I could hang out with.
I was pissed.
More frustrated, really.
With the fact that I didn't know where to go.
I was alone.
I was tired.
It was raining and dark.
And I just wanted something to fill my time.
You know.
It was during this time that I realized how amazing it would be to have a boyfriend (or girlfriend).
For some reason, a partner comes with the certainty that he'd be there.
And it's not just a friend.
He'd be someone to comfort you affectionately.
Keep me warm amidst the rain.
I was jealous.
And I was mad.
Mad that I didn't have anyone of that nature.for me to call to.
For me to turn to.
For me to wait for.
For me to be with.
I was.
If there was ever a better time to use the word 'pethatic', it would've been that.
So.
I brought myself over to the secondary side.
Hoping that Ms Sara would have something for me to do.
Or at least time to spare to talk or whatnot.
I was in need of company.
She didn't reply so I just sat waiting at the circular area outside the staffrooms.
Yes.
The one that my friends and I camped every other day last year.
I swear it felt so normal and usual.
Sitting there.
I didn't feel that nostalgic or it didn't bring back that many memories.
But I felt strangely typical.
Like I've always been sitting there.
Which isn't a bad thing I guess.
But I think one of the things that made me feel that way was the interactions I had with some of the teachers that passed by.
Really made my day.
My decision to plunk my fat ass on a seat at the circular area has got to be one of the best decisions I've ever made.
I chatted for a bit with Mrs Seow, Cikgu Hafizah, said hello to Mrs D'Cruz.
Like I was a year younger.
It was nice how these teachers remembered me.
But really, it was just nice that these teachers even bothered saying hi and actually stopping by to ask how I was doing.
Not Malani though, 'cause I never really knew her that well anyway.
But she was nice enough to wave and all.
Hahaha.
Yes.
But the best part of today has got to be, hands down, my (somewhat) brief conversation with Dr. Alfiani.
For one.
I thought that she had left the school already.
So I was confused to see her appear out of nowhere.
I thought that she'd just say hello and a word or two and walk away.
BUT NO.
She sat down and talked to me.
TALKED TO ME.
And I swear, our conversation felt like it was between two old friends who have not met in a really long time.
And it felt good.
It felt like she was opening up so much about herself.
And I learnt so much about herself and about life and about the shittiness of school in that 15 minutes talking to her than I did throughout the year that she was my RE-SL mentor.
I really appreciated every single thing that she told me.
From her experience in JC to anthropology to personal developments to her take on life.
It was amazing.
I really did not expect any of it at all from here.
In that short period of time, it truly felt like I was talking to a friend rather than a teacher.
It was THAT comforting.
It made me so happy.
I'm still happy just thinking about it.
I think I've found a friend in her.
She told me about how it took her, a nerd back then, a year to get the captain of the rugby team.
Which was so hilarious.
And how JC time is a time to have crushes.
In fact, to fall deep into crushes and have many crushes.
And to actually act on it.
That being and feeling embarrassed is the thing to go through during this time.
That the distraction of a boyfriend actually has its academic benefits.
Something to that extent, at least.
Before she left, she told me how she truly wished me the best in life.
That she really, really wishes that I succeed and achieve what I want etc.
And you know.
I actually believed her.
I really believed those last few words that she left me with.
It wasn't just something that someone says to end a conversation.
It wasn't just some obligatory concluding paragraph.
It was genuine.
And it sucked.
Because she had to leave to see her husband.
When all I wanted was to continue talking to her.
To learn more.
To be inspired.
I told her that I'm thinking about pursuing anthropology.
And she seemed very supportive about it.
The whole discussion segued into her perspective on life.
Which I felt was spot on.
I felt comforted and satisfied with the things that she told me.
That being silly is actually what I'm supposed to do in JC.
That studies is important too.
That I can actually make it too.
Her results were more or less the same as mine.
So I'm determined to succeed like her.
She doesn't seem to think that highly of her achievements.
But I think that to be in a place that she is in is good enough for me.
You know.
To ultimately be happy in life.
And she looks happy.
And that's all that I want.
To be happy.
And she showed me that there is hope.
So I'm not giving up.
I will find happiness and love one day.
And it doesn't have to come at the cost of religion.
That's another thing that I found out about her that I never really did figure out in 2 years.
She doesn't seem that religious a person.
But she's faithful.
I don't exactly know what she meant by "pray", but I think what I got from it is to never lose sight of what you believe in.
And that you don't have to sacrifice religion and your beliefs.
But that it also doesn't mean that you're a bad person if you don't completely, fully subject yourself to religion.
As in.
As long as you ensure that you have the fundamentals close to your heart.
Then you're set for the world.
Because you still need to believe in something and having God with you is actually comforting.
So yes.
That.
I learnt a lot from her.
Officially one of the best teachers I've ever had the pleasure of knowing.
Heck.
One of the best persons I know.
She's such an inspiration and I hope one day that someone else thinks the same way about me too.
That someday I can provide similar guidance and friendship.

Thank you so much, Dr Alfiani, for making today one of the most meaningful days of my life.

I had a really long conversation with Zachary too.
And by now I'm actually too tired to expand on the details of what we talked about.
But I'll have you know that everything he told me was super useful and meaningful too.
It's like a guide to taking on J2 life.
History.
I need to consolidate and categorize my content early.
Like this holiday early.
Literature.
That I need to love what I'm doing.
To really understand and interpret something, uninhibited.
To appreciate and open myself up.
To really think.
Thinking is all that you need in analysis and evaluation.
And to love it and have your own interpretation of something is important to do well.
Appreciate the books that you read and try to relate it to yourself.
Maths.
To listen as much as possible during lectures.
And to consolidate what you learnt or recap on the same day, during a break or at home.
Tutorials are meant for asking questions only so you must come prepared.
And you need to revise this holiday.
ELL.
Consultation with teachers goes a long way.
You shouldn't be getting U's for any of the CTs and Prelims next year.
You should be improving from one exam to another.
CT1 is designed to shock you from the December lull.
CT2 is designed to shock you more.
Prelims is supposedly more reasonable and more accurate gauge of your A's.
It's important to study during the December holidays but it's okay to have a little more playtime.
5 hours play and 2 hours study per day.
That your time will be somewhat more freed up without PW.
That, really.
You need to enjoy studying.
Because it is possible.
And it will help you achieve.
It really goes a long way.
I've never really talked talked with Zachary before (I think).
So again, this was way unexpected.
I'm really thankful for his cautionary and wise words.
I can, for one, admit that I can learn from my senior's experience.
I feel a bit more prepared now.
Now that I know a little bit of what I'm getting myself into.
I have a renewed confidence, really.
Yes.
That's what today gave me.
Renewed confidence.
A sort of reawakening of the wonders and potential of life.
That talking actually gives you perspective on life.
And different perspectives on life from those who have lived it longer than you, no matter by a year more or a decade more, is really a wonderful thing.
Today, I am inspired.
Today, people managed to uplift me.
I feel humbled, in a way.
And touched.
Truly touched.
I love today for what it offered me in life.
I learnt a lot today.

1:28 AM

26 October 2011

I hate Facebook.
I hate Twitter.
I hate Tumblr.
OMG.
I fucking hate social media.
It's sapping out every single bit of my life.
It forces me to share everything about me that I don't even have to share.
It's disgusting.
The feeling is disgusting.
I feel different.
Like.
I don't know.
It's all so fucking superficial.
If you would ask me right now what my biggest regret is.
It would be agreeing to come back to social media.
And come back with a bang.
It's all so foolish.
To quench a thirst for constant updates.
It's so fucking unnecessary.
A lot of the things are so superficial.
So fucking trivial.
It feeds everyone's vanities.
And I feel so polluted by the allure of it all.
I knew that I wanted to come into it to get your attention.
But I'm getting and craving and fucking lusting for attention.
It's scary.
I'm scared and disgusted and appalled by what social media is making me,
By what social media allows me to do.
It's all just wrong.
No one should have to know everything about everyone.
It's not necessary.
We can progress without having to know what the fuck you're doing every second.
OMG.
I'm so angry with myself right now.
What shit have I got myself into?
FUCK FUCK FUCK.
I hate this.
I want to deactivate my Facebook account.
I want to remove my Twitter and Tumblr accounts.
I just want to get away from it all.
Not all of them are my friends.
It all feels so wrong.
So twisted.
I hate it.
I despise it.
I detest it.
Social media repulses me for what I allow myself to do.
It annoys me for making me realize what little self-control I have.
HOW?
What am I going to do?
I can't possibly delete my accounts.
Then it'll just be a tired trick.
When it's not that at all.
Granted.
The first time I deactivated my account I wasn't sure what I was getting myself into (or out of).
But now I know.
I know that I want out.
And I know that I want out fast.
This all is not for me.
The forced attention.
This fake world.
It's all so fucking wrong.
WHAT THE SHIT FUCK HAVE I GOT MYSELF INTO?
I know now.
With full certainty.
That social media is not for me.
Maybe in the slightest.
But not fully.
I just hate the feeling of having a part of me out there, unattended.
Even if I put my profile on private.
There's the other hundreds of people who see my shit.
And then there's the pressure.
The pressure to not just post anything.
To not just express myself anyhow.
Because at the end of the day.
It's still about how I want others to perceive me.
And I just can't control myself with social media.
It's hard to keep to yourself.
It's hard to feel good about myself.
It's hard to feel reassured that I'm above everyone else in that I don't bother with the kind of shit that they do.
AGH.
I feel like a hypocrite for some reason.
But fuck it.
Social media can go fuck itself.
I hate it so much.
Blog.
I will always cherish you as the one true platform for me to express myself.
For me to be myself.
Uninhibited.
Unrestricted.
This is so much for liberating and less time consuming and less tiring.
It's more real.
It's more me.
No.
It IS me.
What you see of me on Facebook, Twitter and Tumblr.
Is a bit of what I want you to see of me.
A bit of what I am not.
A bit of what I'm expected to be.
And only insubstantially truly me.
It's not a good thing, this whole social media thing.

ARGH.
FUCK IT.
FUCK IT SO MUCH.
ONE OF MY BIGGEST REGRETS.
I SHOULD'VE STAYED IN OBSCURITY.
I SHOULD'VE JUST LET WHATEVER WAS HAPPENING ON FACEBOOK HAPPEN.
NONE OF IT MATTERS TO ME.
I DON'T CARE.
What do I do.
What do I do?!
I want to escape but I don't know how.
It's such a huge burden that even if I don't update it.
It'll still be there, online.
I don't want it there at all.
I don't want to be in there.
Fuck.
Help me.

2:29 AM

18 October 2011

Do you have any friends?
Do you know what sort of friends you have?
What makes a friend?
Is it wrong to have certain expectations of friends?
What does that say about you as a friend?
Do you have good friends?
Are you a good friend?
What kind of friend are you?

I think my parents and my sister think that I have no friends.
I think my friends take me for granted.
I think I expect too much from a friend.
I don't think that I'm a good friend.
I think that I'm a bad friend.
I think that I'm inconsistent.
But you know.
I think that I don't like to settle.
I think that I'm mindful of getting myself hurt.
I think that I have trust issues.
And I think that that's okay.
But I think that that's detrimental.

Friends.
Hah.
I'm at Season 8 now.
Just realized that.

What would you do for a friend?
What would you do for a friend?
See how both questions are the same and yet different?

Friends.
Who needs them?
Everyone?
Or just most people?

12:01 AM

17 October 2011

I think that one of the things that people don't know about me is how sexual I am.
And how vulgar I am.
Or at the very least.
The vast amount of sexual knowledge that I possess.
Or even more basic than that.
How sexual I can actually be (as compared to them.)
I'm generally referring to the people around me.
My friends.
My acquaintances.
My family.
Strangers who see me around.
I really think that none of them are aware of the sort of freaky I am capable of.
I curse, you know.
I know to myself doesn't count.
But I do.
A lot of times that I'm about to blurt one out, I realize that I'm in the company of those who don't and have never seen that part of me, so I restrain myself and say crap instead of shit or fish instead of fuck or just mother without the fuck(er).
I'm self-restrictive that way.
And you know.
I've never had sex.
But I'm very certain that I'd be good at it.
Or that I would know how to enjoy it.
Relish it.
So no.
I am not innocent.
Just a loser who knows a lot about sex sans the experience to boot.
One of the ways that this dirty animal inside of me manifests itself is through my outrageous, weird and outrightly strange demeanour whenever I'm around some of my friends.
Trust me when I say weird.
I am like weird.
Like nonsense spits out of my mouth.
I'm able to quite figuratively make shit happen whenever I feel like it.
It's mostly an insecurity kind of thing.
You know how people overcompensate with humour?
I do that.
Just that I go a step further and sometimes (or a lot of times) cross the line of weirdness.

But it's not completely strange.
To me.
If I'm comfortable enough to, in a paradoxical sense, let down my guard and be weird with you.
I don't see why you can't receive it graciously.
I mean.
You don't have to understand the crap that I'm spouting.
But it doesn't mean that you have to be mean or awkward about it.
I mean.
Fucking take it with lumps of salt.
I'm trying to lighten the mood with my weird humour.
I don't get why you feel the need to bring it down with taking things so seriously.
Yes.
You're not supposed to take whatever I say seriously.
But what would you prefer?
A dull dumbfuck who doesn't want to interact or a friendly freak (who, in case you're too stupid realize, actually gives you a reason to pat yourself on the back for being normal.)
You seriously don't see it?
It amazes me, really.
How some people don't know how to appreciate friendliness.
Even if it's packaged in a form of strange and outrageous jokes.
You know.
I don't know how to respond to stupidity or rudeness when all I'm being is nice to you.
You don't have to appreciate the things I do or say.
But don't subject me to your judgmental ways when I'm not even being mean to you.
I mean, really.
Bitch, please.
I can make a million and one remarks about the kind of wrong that you are.
But I don't.
Because I know that underneath that hard, brutal exterior.
Is someone who's been tormented and bullied and picked on for not living up to convention.
So don't even get me started with you, okay?
Make all the jokes you want about how I walk on my toes.
About how I'm most likely to impregnate a man first than a woman.
About how I'm a girl.
It hurts, yeah.
But I'm getting used to it.
Trying to, at least.
May never.
But you never know.
Just know that I wouldn't drag myself to that level.
Because years of mental torture has made me wiser.
I know better.
And perhaps, to some extent.
My parents taught me better.

Enough about you.
To all of you.
Who keep saying that there's only girls in the CCA.
First of all.
You're stupid for bringing down the CCA to such an expected, overplayed stereotype.
Too stupid.
And especially those directed to me.
I have this to say.
Doesn't it bother you that I'm able to be a much better girl than you are even though I have a dick?
That you probably could never measure up.
I know that could be used against me and my lack of boy-ish attributes.
But at least I'm ostensibly secure enough of myself to not have to take out my fucked up insecurities out on others.
If you think about it.
There's no use to having a vagina if you don't know what to do with it.
Me, on the other hand.
I know the sort of wonders my dick can do.

But you know.
What's the point of having a dick if I'm never going to get some?
I guess cat got my tongue this time.

1:42 AM

11 October 2011

"He's gay, right?"
Such was what my friend asked me about another one of my friends today.
Why she couldn't ask "Is he gay?" instead is beyond my comprehension.
Assumptions.
An evil thing, it is.
As an oft-victim of nasty assumptions, I plead you.
Don't pass judgment so easily.

Anyway.
I promised I would elaborate on the things I had stated in the previous post.
Basically.
I had a three-part dream.
Or dreams, I guess.
Involving Kelly Clarkson, a Literature examination and a pregnancy.
This is how it goes.
Kelly Clarkson appeared in my dreams.
And the scenario took place in my parent's room.
A version of it, at least.
It was vaguely reminiscent of her Mr Know It All video somehow.
Nothing too exciting.
Other than she turned out to be as I expected.
A nice person.
It then transitioned into a scene at the Blue Room (in school).
Where I took my ELL promo paper.
It was the most tiring and stressful part, really.
I was fucking thinking of points to write for a Literature essay.
Had I expended more energy, I think I could have remembered what my entire essay was going to be about.
How depressing is that?
To have examinations haunt you in your dreams.
To actually be intellectually thinking when you're in dreamland.
Like some sort of unresolved issue that taints a dream and turns it into an academic nightmare.
The only good part of it all was that I didn't get to writing the essay.
Just the outline.
My dumb ass was saved by the next dream.
So with all that done you'd think that things would take a turn for the better, right?
Well, from how I look at it.
It actually does get better.
Okay.
You might think that this is weird.
And I guess, in many respects, it is quite weird.
But I find it really beautiful.
So.
Here goes.
I was pregnant.
But I wasn't concerned with any of the how's or why's.
I was too preoccupied with how amazing and precious the experience was.
As in.
Not to go all maternal and gender-switcheroony-crap on you.
But it was an authentically emotional experience.
Like.
I felt such an attachment to what I thought was in me.
The feeling was indescribable.
And you know.
The saddest part of it all was that as the (what seemed like) months went by.
My tummy actually became smaller and smaller.
Like the possibility of me giving birth and holding my baby at the end of it all quickly diminishing before my very eyes.
It was sad, really.
Heartbreaking.
But okay.
Let's look at this dream symbolically.
You know how they say that dreams are of the things you think about, right?
Usually of things that you're subconsciously thinking of.
It all makes sense then.
I've always wanted to have a little sibling.
Or a little child or baby to take care of.
To shelter and care for and love and protect.
So this dream was a manifestation of that desire.
As weird as it may be.
It actually makes sense.
Overall.
One of my favourite dreams.

I had only one period for school today.
PE.
I was happy and all.
Coming to school, not thinking about anything in particular.
Not expecting much except to enjoy PE.
But you know.
Coming to school for just PE was simply too good to be true.
Guess what we did for PE?
We had soccer.
Not just that.
It was in-fucking-doors.
But wait.
I will admit.
I enjoyed myself.
Partly because I didn't suck as much as I usually do.
But mostly because you played too.
Who'd fucking expect that?
It was amazing.
I watched you play and then I got to play against you.
Though.
I was scared to get near you.
Didn't want to accidentally kick you in the face or something to the extent.
You know.
I didn't want to allow myself to do anything that would make myself repellent to you.
But yes.
One of the best PE sessions ever.
You're cute as fuck.
But very much like a boy, you are.
But that's okay with me.
Ah.
Today I am a very happy boy.

Though what's up with having your phone with you like all the time?
Who cares.
I played soccer with you.
I'm not complaining.

10:55 PM

07 October 2011

Will expand on these afterwards:
Pregnant
Literature exam
Kelly Clarkson
Dreams

4:49 AM

04 October 2011

I just had a thought.
Know what would make my 18th perfect?
If I could celebrate it with you.
That's all that I ask for.
To have you by my side.
No amount of presents could top that.
And I won't even ask for an ice-cream cake.
Nothing but you.
You're all that I want.
A quarter of a year left to go.
You never know.
But maybe I shouldn't dream so big.
Like Phoebe says.
"I find that if I keep my dreams small enough, they can come true a lot more often."

9:12 PM

She's clingy?
You're one to talk.
It kills me that you don't see that you're so fucking clingy too.
The irony isn't even funny anymore.
Sometimes I just wish that I could tell it to your face.
Because honestly.
I do not want to be around you all the time.
And I don't want you to be around me all the time either.
So just fucking back off, okay?
Don't make me dread having you as a friend.

1:32 PM

I think I would make a perfect slut.
No kidding.

2:32 AM

01 October 2011

"I want you to be happy.
Laugh out loud.
Thrilled to be happy.
Smiling all the time.
Happy.
And if you think that this world won't give you the things that you want.
Love.
Kids.
A family.
Then I am going to have to change the world because I will not have it change you."

All that from a trailer.
A mother to her son.
What I wouldn't give for that kind of understanding.

2:28 AM

30 September 2011

Okay.
I get that you're trying to be more open with me.
Make me feel more of a brother.
But I'm sorry.
I don't do that kind of thing.
Growing up, I've never opened up to the family.
And I don't intend to start doing so anytime soon.
I don't mind talking about how my day went.
Little things that are detached from any emotional baggage.
But just don't expect me to do it all the time.
Don't expect me to want to be in your company all the time.
Because I'm so used to having my own space.
To having no one to talk to.
And I most certainly don't want to talk to you all of the time.
No offence.
That's the kind of thing that I grew up with.
And I'm not willing to let it go.

Just like how going out for lunch yesterday made me realize.
Just because I don't go out often.
Doesn't mean I don't have a life.
I'd very much rather stay at home or do my own things.
Then stand around or walk around doing nothing.
Talking is nice I guess.
But I don't like it when you sit down and keep trying to squeeze out every little thing to talk about.
Don't get me wrong.
I appreciate the gesture and I think that talking is important.
But to me.
The more I talk.
The more I express myself under informal circumstances.
The more I reveal a little bit more about myself.
And that kills me.
To have everyone think that they can figure you out just by the things that you say.
To know that you can prevent that from happening by just not talking.
But you have to talk because it's only right.
Nah.
I don't like it that way.

So no.
I don't like going out a lot.
I don't mind going out sometimes.
I do prefer to do a lot of things by myself.
I'm used to having a lot of space to myself.
Personal space, if you may.
So any sudden attempt at reaching out to me and knowing more about me.
When all this while we don't even spill our hearts out to each other.
It puts me off.
And I don't like it.
I can try to change.
I don't have to, mind you.
I can try.
But even change takes time.
And change isn't necessarily always good.
So.
Don't expect a lot from me.
Call me weird.
Or not normal.
But I really don't care.
I large portion of my life has been spent worrying and bothered by what others think of me.
How much I'm different and weird.
And wrong.
I really don't want to have to go through the rest of my life.
Having to force myself to conform.
It's okay to be different.
It's not always good to be different.
But you don't have to conform.
I don't have to restrict myself to what everyone thinks is right.
If you think there's something wrong with me for being me.
Then clearly there's something tragically wrong with you.

Don't go around asking me why I'm so gay.
Or so much like a girl
"Amirul, why are you so gay?"
How the fuck do you expect me to answer that?
It's like asking someone.
Why are you so stupid?
So ugly?
So annoying?
How does one fucking answer such a stupid question?
If you want to say something to the person just say it.
But if you know that you're going to hurt the person.
Then think about what you're going to say.
But really.
Don't let stupidity or a lack of social consideration get the better of you and ask such a stupid question.

At the end of the day.
I guess what I'm trying to say is.
I'm tired of having to correct myself all of the time,
To check if I'm walking correctly.
If I'm postured the right way.
Just because a circle can't fit into a square doesn't mean there aren't any other shapes.
Just because I have a penis and two fucking balls doesn't mean I need to be muscular.
It doesn't mean I have to play sports.
Doesn't mean I have to fucking love soccer.
It doesn't mean I have to be a jerk.
But it also doesn't mean that just because I'm effeminate, that it makes me a woman.
The world doesn't have to work under such narrow constraints.
No one should be subjected to convention simply because others are so fucking judgmental.
That's just selfish.

I know that sounds ironic.
But it is.

2:48 PM

29 September 2011

Some random thoughts that I deem note-worthy:

I can't believe I'd ever say this.
But I really love Mathematical Induction.
Like.
I really do.
A genuine feeling of affection for Mathematics.
Who knew?
But I still hate Mathematics in general.
I hate it, I do.
You really shouldn't doubt me, you shouldn't.

I love the smell of the spices that my mother used to cook Kari Ikan Masin.
Salty Fish Curry?
"Salty Fish" Curry rather than Fish "Curry that is Salty".
I think there's a name for that sort of fish.
But no.
I don't like most fish.
More importantly.
I love the collective smell of the spices she used.
I don't know how to describe it.
But I know that it's not too overwhelming.
Just whelming enough.

Someone needs to do something about the cicak that seems to be residing in our kitchen.
It's an impediment to my reaching an ideal level of comfort at night whenever I step into the kitchen.
Not only do I have to worry about ghosts and insects.
Yes, I am silly and pussy that way.
But now I have to worry about tiny pale-green creatures jumping out of the trash bag everytime I want to dispose of something.
The worry is too much for me to go through every night.
Do you know that I nudge-kick the trash bag before I come close to it?
I look crazy.
And I feel crazy for doing that.
So please.
SOMEONE.
DO SOMETHING ABOUT THE CICAK.

Has anyone ever acknowledged how flawlessly flawless Gwen Stefani looks?
She is beautiful.
Like.
Furreal, for real.

 I am totally digging music from the British right now.
I have Florence + The Machine on heavy rotation and about to have Mumford and Sons and Adele on repeat as well.
So much raw emotion.
So much soul.
Bloody.
Hell.

That's all folks.
Thanks for listening to my 1.30am-super-extended-digressive-pre-Mathematics-promo-paper-I-should-be-asleep-but-for-some-reason-aren't-that's-very-stubborn-of-me ramblings.

And I see you everywhere.
In Joey.
In L(og) S(te).
I'm not calling you a ghost.
Just stop haunting me.

Actually.
Check it.
I want to be haunted.
As long as you're doing the haunting.
I'm perfectly fine with that.

Has anyone ever heard of the 15 (or is it 16?) Missing Bitches list?
Fucking funny.

1:36 AM

27 September 2011

Today my nose bled.
For some reason, it's always the right nostril, never the left.
And I have a headache now.
It feels really warm and humid right now.

But you know what.
I think that you're the reason for my nose bleed.
Because I managed to catch glimpses of your face for the duration of 1.5 hours.
Not going home early was a good idea.
Not only because I got to spend time with my classmates and laugh more than I have in the past weeks.
But also.
And most importantly.
Because I got to see you.

You know.
I know you see me.
But I'm not sure if you're looking right through me or really at me.
If there really is something between us.
Can you say something?
Be the first to approach?
Act on it?
Because I'm too shy to do so.
Too much of a coward to open myself up.
To take the risk of possibly being humiliated.
Too timid for my own good.

But yes.
I insist that you were the cause of my nose bleed.
But who cares.
It was worth every moment of seeing your face.

8:46 PM

23 September 2011

You know what?

No.
I don't want to fail.
And this time, I'm going to make sure I won't.
So no.
I'm not going to fail.
I will pass.
And even if it's not a good pass.
It's okay.
Because I want to pass.
And I will pass.

No more I'm-going-to-fail-because-I-have-little-time-to-study crap.
Suck it up.
You will pass, Amirul.

 You will.

10:06 PM

20 September 2011

This is my 200th post.
This is a big deal.
Who knew I'd keep this blog up for as long as I have?
To actually commit to something.
To myself, really.
Hahaha.
No matter.
I intended to write a long-ass post about the symbolic nature of this post yadayadayada.
But I think that the number "200" speaks for itself.
I don't have to go into detail about the significance of this blog.
Because it's all here.
It goes without saying.
But I will point out one thing:
That I've changed.
Not in most of the ways I had hoped for.
But I've changed.
I'm still cynical.
I don't think I'm necessarily less cynical.
But what I am now is also hopeful.
I've chosen to believe.
To take a peek into the little crack in the wall.
And there will be days where I revert back to my state of depression and self-pity.
Of psychological self-torment.
But I think I'll be okay.
I think I will be.
Because I'm starting to learn that hope is a nice little thing.

So yes.
200 posts.
And several more to come.
Thanks for sticking through with me all this while.

---

This was written during ELL lecture:

On page 2:

Today, I am very irritated.

• Why do you make me feel uncomfortable and angry and make things awkward when I'm nothing but nice to you? / When I've not done anything to offend you?
• I think I will fail. / I am unprepared. / There's a lot to study. / I don't have time. / I want to go home.
• Stop complaining to me. / I don't care. / I have my own problems. / I don't care. / Shut up.
• Stop making little remarks to me. / I'm too tired to bother trying to understand you. / No, I don't want to laugh. / Don't look to me and expect a response./ I don't agree with you.
• Stop looking at me. / Stop trying to figure me out. / I can see you looking at me. / You can't figure me out.

On page 4:

But today, I am relieved.

• I'm finally not hung up on you and what you will never be.

 ---

 It's raining.
When I do, it pours.

10:54 PM

17 September 2011

Let's talk about suicide.

I take suicide really seriously.
At least that's what I tell myself.
I hate it when someone belittles the issue of suicide.
(And mind you, I'm not including suicide by those who are really mentally-challenged.)
I hate it when someones says things.
Like.
Those who commit suicide don't think.
That they're dumb.
Stupid.
For me, it's never that easy.
It never is.
You can say that those who commit suicide only desire an easy way out.
Because they're too lazy to try.
Too weak to pull through.
But do you know how much effort it actually takes to get to thinking about suicide?
That there's so much that goes on in their minds that brought them to the idea of suicide.
Worries. Suffering. Pain. Hurt. Loneliness. Standstill. Confusion. Loss. Frustration.
Any amount of all those things and more.
No one JUST commits suicide.
Reasons vary but they are no less insignificant.
For every reason someone takes his own life, there is need  to pause.
To understand and appreciate why someone jumped off a building, slit his throat or stood in front of a car.
No one should ever die in vain.
And even if you don't agree with one's reasons for committing suicide.
The least that every one of us has to do.
Should do.
Is learn and comprehend.
Because more people are bound to commit suicide.
And you never know.
You could be the person to prevent that from happening to someone else.
Or even.
To yourself.

I don't think I'll ever commit suicide.
Mostly because I don't know what's going to happen the moment I hit the ground, the moment the metal touches my throat.
I could still be alive.
I could be suffering.
In pain.
Paralyzed.
Scarred for life.
Or I could die and not know what happen.
I know religion has dictated the outcome of suicide.
The outcome of death.
But really.
Who knows what will happen when you take your own life?
When you die?
Truly?

So remember.
Don't ever talk about suicide like it's some water-cooler conversation.
Don't tell me to jump out the window and treat it like a joke.
Because I've contemplated a lot of things before, that being one of them.
Because it's real.
Because it's more than that.
Because no one should ever die in vain.
No one should die in vain.
No one.

It's sad that many do.

---

And a note to you.
You said that I'm annoying today.
Do you know what I was itching to reply to that?
That you're fucking irritating almost every week.
That I feel demoralized everytime I'm around you.
When the least that I ask of you is to just teach me.
Simple.
But you treat me like I'm a piece of shit.
There's a reason why I get you to teach me.
You know everything.
You're smart.
I'm stupid.
I get it.
Don't keep pointing that out to me and think that it'll make me any less stupid.
If anything, it makes me feel even more stupid.
Sometimes I don't understand why you waste your time by asking me a question I clearly not know the answer to and for some reason keep expecting that I have all of the answers at the back of my hand.
Even after I pause and stare for what feels like an eternity.
I DON'T FUCKING KNOW THE ANSWER.
I need you to teach me so that I'll know.
I don't mean to be rude.
But really, you're so fucking unreasonable.
And it's tiring.
So fucking tiring.
To have to sit through two hours every week and be tormented by your belittlement.
NO, I DON'T REMEMBER.
My memory fails me.
I'm not a calculator.
Help me remember.
Help me.
Help me and stop doing the contrary.
I need your knowledge but I don't need the snide that comes with.
It's depressing.
That's what it is.

So.
Fucking.
Depressing.

12:42 PM

16 September 2011

I got a new phone.
Which costs approximately 400 bucks.
Guess how much of that I had to pay?
3/4 of it!
I know that I'd sound like a spoilt brat if I were to complain.
So.
Yeah.
$300.
Poof.
But I like my new cell phone.
Actually.
I love it.
I really do.
It's most probably the most satisfying and worthwhile phone I have ever purchased.
So I guess you can say that it's $300 well-spent.
Samsung SII Galaxy.
It's uh-mazing.
Apparently it's better than iPhone 4 and could even rival the upcoming iPhone 5.
Like I said.
Uh-mazing.
However.
I resent that the internet browser can't access the posts on this blog properly.
Something to do with the template or some shiz like that.
Everything else is perfect.
Oh.
It's touchscreen.
I was initially apprehensive of getting a touchscreen smartphone.
But after much deliberation, I figured that I'm bound to get a touchscreen phone sometime in the future anyway.
Might as well get one now.
And it's Samsung!
Who knew I'd ever buy a Samsung phone?
I think my first phone was a Samsung.
A really sucky one.
I've always thought that Nokia was the best.
Thank god for research skills and online reviewers.

Yeah.
I've been busy playing with my new gadget.
When I should really be studying.
STUDY.
Be like everyone else and #gohardlikeamofo

Okay, I'll go take a shower after this and then I'll study.

But before I go.

Here are some quotable quotes from the mighty Zhuo Rong:

"It's painful to laugh." (The juxtaposition brought me to tears.)

The next two quotes are courtesy of Russell's apparent lack of common sense:

Russell: How do you stop your legs from shaking? [Looks to his legs (which were shaking for no reason.)]
Zhuo Rong: Don't you have brains to control your legs? [Emphasis on "brains" and, in true Zhuo Rong fashion, followed by her trademark eye-roll.]

Russell: What would you do if I became the president?
Amirul: At the first rumour that I hear of such a possibility, I'd change my citizenship. (I thought this was good but wait till you hear Zhuo Rong's masterful craftsmanship.)

Wait for it.

Wait.

Wait.

Zhuo Rong: I would assassinate you.

And the crowd (me and Dyon and even Russell) goes wild.
If it was a Mortal Kombat match, it would've been a triple fatality or something to that degree.
Thank you, Zhuo Rong, for making my days, no matter how dull, more meaningful.

8:42 PM

13 September 2011

You know.
One of these days.
When I do get somebody to love.
I will love him so hard.
That breaking up with me would be the most painful thing he'd ever think of doing.
That's how deeply I will love.
That's how devoted I'd be.

1:47 AM

11 September 2011

A few things from today:

Nenek Su insisted that I look like Taufik Batisah.
Or as my sister puts it, Tau-"fake" Batisah.
I take the former as a compliment.
It started my day off really well.
And thankfully so.
Because it was a tiring day.
But fun nonetheless.
I went visiting with my cousins again.
The more the merrier.

You know how you send out mass messages?
And you know how fucking frustrating it is when the recipients don't reply?
It's FUCKING IRRITATING.
And it's not just once.
I know I have a bad habit of not replying or replying also.
But really though, it's not acceptable when you don't reply a lot of times.
It's just fucking rude.
#ruuude
The written report is due on Friday and I'm constantly shitting in my pants because of this.
The least you could do is not make me more worried by not replying to my SMSes.
Urgh.

Also, I think that "My All" is a good song to have playing in the background when having sex.
Darkness with spots of orange hues, candles slowly burning, warm but cool enough.
Perfect.
One day.

School starts tomorrow.
Yay!
Fuck it.

9:59 PM

10 September 2011

The words "I will love you till the end of time" never fail to make me feel all funny inside.
The promise of eternal love.
It doesn't matter that those words, at the moment of their revelation, can't truly and ultimately promise the immortal sustainability of love.
But it's strong enough in that instance.
In that slight second where forever is forever.
And that's all that matters.
Beyonce's sang those words. Lana Del Rey too.
And I always find myself anxiously waiting for the parts where those words appear.
Hoping that one day I don't have to rely on songs to hear them.
That I would have a lover who would utter those very words to me.
Warm breath on my neck.
Chills down my spine.
Darkness.
And that those words, coated in the voice of my lover, would linger forever and ever in my mind.

I will love you till the end of time...

12:23 AM

07 September 2011

"Are you afraid of death?"

I'm more afraid of loneliness."

"Do you pray?"

Yes, for I believe in love.

"What advice would you give a woman?"

Love.

"To a young girl?"

Love.

"To a child?"

Love.

6:01 PM

Please excuse my excessive, self-indulgent indiscretions about XFC.
I swear, just in the past hour, I've repeated the scenes where Michael Fassbender speaks French and German more times than I would like to admit.
DID I MENTION THAT HE SPEAKS FREAKING FRENCH IN THE FILM?
FRENCH.
SEXY FUCKING FRENCH.
I can't help it.
I really can't.
He's too insatiable.
If it's one reason you should watch XFC, it's for the mere fact that Michael Fassbender is in it.
And that he speaks French and German.
Please go watch it.
PLEASE.
I'm supposed to free up my storage space.
And to do that I need to delete the film.
But I'm not willing to let it go.
Because I want to listen to his impeccable multilingual speech skills over and over and over again.
I just can't get enough.

Say it Mimi!
"So, so, ooh... OBSESSED."

12:23 AM

06 September 2011

"I want you by my side."
Best.
Line.
From.
X-Men First Class.
By.
A.
Longshot. (See what I just did there?)
Can you guess who said it and to whom?

So.
Movies I've watched lately:
Scream 4.
Thor. (Best line: "Do not mistake my appetite for apathy!")
Big Fish.
X-Men First Class.
Movies to watch:
La Vie en Rose.
The King's Speech.
And some French film that ZR vaguely recommended.
I really should get studying.
I'd say revise but, really, it's more studying than revising.
If you get my drift.

2 noteworthy things of the day:
It's widely accepted that French is a sexy language.
Even the most raggedy-ass of raggedy-asses would come off sexy when speaking French.
So can you imagine how out of this world it would be like to have a sexy person speak some sexy French?
It would be some high level kind of shitasscrazy.
I think Portuguese or Spanish is a sexy language too.
Very sultry.
It's easy to make something erotic with French, Portuguese or French sexy.
But if you have someone like Michael Fassbender (or F. Assbender), even German sounds sexy.
Have you watched X-Men First Class?
Mr. Fassbender speaking his native tongue is like a choir of guttural angels from beer heaven.
Michael Fassbander.
It's hard to fanfic a relationship between him and James McAvoy while watching XFC.
The only thing on the minds of all non-straight viewers (and presumably some straight ones) would be for them to get it on already.
Down and dirty in some raunchy mutant romp.
It would be cuh-ruh-zeh.
Heck.
Watch some of the interviews they've had during the XFC promotion rounds.
I swear their biggest, darkest secret is that they've done the nasty together before.
With a friendship like that, (agruably) compatible looks and talents, it's hard to convince me otherwise.
Or maybe it's just me who would like to endorse such a possibility.
My dirty mind and I.

Tomorrow I'll get to see you.
For 5 whole hours.
That is, if you sit in front rather than at the back.
Please sit in front.
Or better yet, in the same row.
Or best.
Next to me.
Never gonna happen.
But who's to say?

9:42 PM

I was about to start this post by saying that Buddy Holly was very good-looking.
(Technically I am starting by saying that anyway.)
But then I realized that that would make me as superficial as Lockwood.
So.
Hash all of that.
And take this as the start:
I love and respect Buddy Holly.
Buddy Holly was a genius who made amazing music.
And I say this only after having listened to three of his songs.
I know enough to know that he's that good.
AND.
As I (didn't) already mentioned.
He was good-looking.
That is an understatement, really.
Dude looked fine as fuck.
And he'd shit on a lot of the performers out there right now.
Talent-wise and in the looks department as well.
A major heartthrob if I ever saw one.
I have "Everyday" on repeat right now.
I am grateful to the film "Big Fish" for introducing me to Buddy Holly.
The classic and legend that is Buddy Holly.
And.
Those eyeglasses are to die for.
And that voice.
THE VOICE.
It just melts my heart.
#icant
May Buddy and the and the other casualties rest in peace.



Currently listening to: Beyonce, Buddy Holly, Chris Brown, Gotye & Kimbra
At this moment listening to: American Pie by Don McLean

12:29 AM

05 September 2011

The past 3 days have been raya overload.
I am tired.
And I need to catch a break before letting school shit set in.

Today I realized that I enjoy spending time with my cousins.
Especially when we'd be crazy in the un-contrived kind of way.
Maybe it's that I rarely have a lot of fun so even the slightest bit of fun is fun.
But I had fun.
Fun singing raya songs, being goofy on video, eating together, mengumpat-ing and just spending raya as it should be.
Uninhibited, informal.
So that's all that matters.

I also realized that I hate awkward social circumstances involving extended family.
I know it's the self-conscious freak in me.
But I don't like the feeling of being judged when I'm in my own house.
And I hate feeling like I could never add up to the Malay conventional expectations.
And I hate how I forget that I don't have to feel like I need to amount to all of that.
That I decide for myself who I want to be.

Because at the end of the day, I don't have to care what you think.

2:44 AM

04 September 2011

Family

I found out two nights ago that this blog has been viewed by people other than myself.
Like.
People from Malaysia.
Germany.
The Philippines.
America.
Like.
What the fuck?
Who knew?
That's a bit scary.
But who cares.
I'm quite certain none of these people know me anyway.

Anyway.

I wanted to say this yesterday.
But I was too tired by the time I got home.
What I wanted to say was.
That I'm unhappy with the way that she treats me sometimes.
The things that she says.
Like a remark on what I'm wearing or how I look.
Not the in-your-face kind of remark.
But the effect is the same as a slap in the face.
And I hate it.
I hate it.
Do you know that even when you look your worse I'd be honest but nice about it?
That when what you wear looks just a little iffy, I don't say anything because I know that it'd make you feel self-conscious and uncomfortable?
Because I know how it feels when something imperfect about me is pointed out.
And it's worse for me when it comes from you because it feels like you're ridiculing me.
I mean, fucking sue me for trying to decide for myself what I want to wear.
Even if it's not something you'd recommend.
Even if it's a bit unconventional.
Just don't fucking make me feel bad.
Because I'm nice enough to not tell you that in that instance you look ugly.
I feel sometimes that I'm much nicer than you are because I don't try to bring you down.
I mean, seriously.
How many times have I been the one to shower you with praises and positive remarks about the way you look?
Does that even mean anything?
I don't need you to fucking tell me that I look good or anything.
Because maybe I don't.
But just don't point something ugly out and make me feel bad and doubtful about it.
Make me feel little.
Because I've been nice to you and all that I expect is for you to not be bad to me.
It just pisses me off the way you go about judging me sometimes.
Do you know how insecure I feel about myself?
And to have you magnify them, it just kills me sometimes.
It really does.
You know, after a while.
This all just reminds me that I'm old enough already to not have to hold on to your finger and be like a fucking servant to your own vanity.
That I actually don't need to validate you.
That, really.
I don't need your validation.
I don't need it.
I really don't.
That just like how it doesn't matter what other people think, it really doesn't matter what your 2 fucking cents' worth is.
But you know.
That's just stupid.
Of course it matters.
Even if a little bit.
It all matters.
So that's why I'll still tell you that you look nice.
That you look good.
That you look okay when you need me to say it.
Because I know, just like me, you need me to say it.
But please.
Don't be a bitch to me when I'm nice to you.
Don't be a bitch.

In other significant developments.
I went jalan raya with my relatives today.
It was okay, and it was fun.
And today, I verbally acknowledged my appreciation for my father.
It went along the lines of, "At times like these, I'm thankful that I have my father because my father would never do this, he's way better than that."
Cues opening theme of "My Dad Is Better Than Your Dad."
I know that my parents have always taught me better and that comforts me.
That makes me grateful for having them.

1:51 AM

01 September 2011

I have a friend.
Who I'm relatively close to.
What does relatively mean, anyway?
Anyway.
A friend.
He's straight, that much I know.
And no, I'm not interested in him.
That's just wrong.
But anyway.
He has this tumblr.
The photo blog kind.
And some of his posts are a bit homoerotic.
And I'm not happy with that.
I'm not sure what his problem is.
If it's to show that he's accepting of gays.
Or if he's trying to get attention by showing that he's accepting of gays.
Or if he's just plain stupid.
I don't know.
As in, post anything you want, I suppose.
But to me.
It's really off-putting and unnerving when you know shit about it.
To seem like you know how to empathize with gays.
Maybe you've been bullied and bullies have called you gay before.
I guess that I'd accept.
But I don't know.
I don't know why you do it.
I'm coming off as unreasonable.
As narrow-minded.
And selfish even.
But I just don't get what your intention is.
What the fuck do you know about same-sex feelings?
What the fuck?
What the fuck do I about that either, really?

All I know is.
I don't appreciate what he posts sometimes.
Because I really don't understand it.

In other news.
My CT said that I look different.
That I'm always evolving.
It's the hair, I tell you.
India.Arie says it best, "I am not my hair..."
Or maybe GaGa is right, "I am my hair."
To be or not to be?

6:56 PM

30 August 2011

I've had this on my mind for the last couple of days.
It's cheesy.
But its makes perfect sense:

I'm done trying to be somebody.
Heck, I'm always going to try and be somebody.
To figure myself out, to be comfortable with myself, to be myself.
But right now.
All I want is to be somebody's.

In other (partially) related news.
BEYONCE IS PREGNANT.
And here are some very relevant quotable quotes:
"Beyonce is pregnant. But it's not Jay-Z's. It's Destiny's Child."
"'Beyonce is pregnant' is probably gonna trend for the next nine months."

And to all them haters who, by now, would be at the left, at the left:

"LOL @ the Britney tribute turning into a Beyonce intro. #icant"

12:53 AM

21 August 2011

The Office just made me cry.

All the other shows can go fuck themselves.

The Office made me cry.

Michael Scott is no more.

And The Office made me cry.

You know, when a comedy like The Office makes you cry.
After 7 seasons of not taking itself too seriously (in a good way.)
7 seasons of laughter and cringes.
Who would've known that it could make me cry like a baby?
And it wasn't even the season finale, let alone the series finale.
I guess sticking with a show as long as 7 seasons, you feel a great sense of attachment.
To its story, to its characters, to its world.
And it becomes hard to let go.
Hard to accept change.
But you know.
Changes happen and we have to accept them.
So I guess all that's left to do is continue on into the next chapter of The Office.
I applaud the cast and crew for making it one of the most touching episodes ever.
It was so simple yet very effective.
And it made me cry.
That's all that matters.
So yes, goodbye Steve Carell.
You've been an integral part of the show.
Without whom, it'd never be the same.
But I'll still watch it.
Because even if it may not be the same.
Everything else about the show.
Is still damn awesome.

7:37 PM

16 August 2011

Okay.

So.

My mum just said.

That she's noticed.

That I've got a little bigger.

Like.

Fatter.

Like.

Not fat fat.

But.

Bigger.

And that my ass makes it most obvious.

So.

You know what.

I have to.

Like.

Run.

Like.

Everyday.

Yeah.

When bootylicious isn't so bootylicious anymore.

8:04 PM

12 August 2011

I don't think Bert & Ernie should get married.
But this is nonetheless true:

"As my kids say (ages 8, 5 & 3) Sometimes boys marry boys and girls marry girls. Just like Mommy married Daddy. It doesn’t matter as long as you have your best friend by your side. I think this is a message all children can benefit from. Celebrate differences early and then you don’t have the hate that is coming forth on this page."

Now.
If only I had a best enough friend by my side.
Best enough for me to be myself.
To be all of myself.

8:25 PM

11 August 2011

Hmm.
It's becoming increasingly difficult to tell if someone is not straight.
Because sometimes even the most ostensible of straight ones can end up being gay.
Take Neil Patrick Harris for instance.
I like to tell myself that there's always a small possibility that someone is gay.
Actually, I also like to tell myself that some people just are not gay. At all.
My gaydar screws up everytime I see someone I'm interested in.
I can't tell if the person is or isn't straight.
Because I'm hoping that he's not.
Which usually leads me into long periods of delusion.
With you, I can never really tell, but the possibility that you are gay almost always equal to the possibility that you're not.
Even though you've admitted that you're not.
But I don't believe you.
I really don't.
I think you lied.
And I think you're still lying.
But with this one.
This new person that I'm interested in.
It's so much harder to tell.
On the surface, you seem straight through and through.
But there are certain subtle and minor instances that could show otherwise.
You're the one whom I hope is the Neil Patrick Harris kind.
Because I think you're really attractive.
And I don't know you at all, but from the little that I think I know, I think that you're a fun and interesting person to be around.
And you look like the kind who'd have a lot to provide in a relationship.
Because I think you're the kind who's never been in a relationship too.
I really, really want you to not be straight.
Urgh.
I want to have a chance too, damn it.
I realize that lately I've been discussing more openly about my apparently dead love life.
I think it's because I really want to be in a relationship.
Not just a friendship, but a relationship.
Maybe a friendship would be okay, because there's always the possibility of homoerotic tendencies.
Hahaha.
But yes.
I'm desperate.
I truly am.
I am myself alone.
And I want someone.
It's really sad that I find my whole day to be ruined if I don't get to see even a glimpse of your face.
That I look forward to coming to school on Mondays, Wednesdays, Thursdays and Fridays just because you're there.
That I get excited for school because I get to see you at least a small portion of 300 minutes a week.
That I'm motivated to trudge to school every morning to see your boyish smile even if it's for a second.
Yes, I'm professing my interest in you on my blog.
And I know that I sound like a stalker.
But believe me, if you are not straight and if you're willing to have me, you'll come to know that I'm a really nice person.
I'm not saying that I love you.
Because I really have no idea who you are.
Facebook and formspring and my own observations can tell me certain things about you, but ultimately, I know nuts about the kind of person you are.
And I want to know.
And I want you to know me.
And I want the next smile I see from you to be a smile that's directed to me.
To give me the slightest hope that there's a chance.
Because I'm in a period where I feel like a lovefool.
And I'm okay with that, because I want to take a break from feeling hopeless.
Because I want to give this chance and I want to give it my all.
And I hope that it somehow gets reciprocated.
That god, no matter much He is against this, hears my pleas and give me a chance at love.
Or to feel, at the very least, affection from someone other than my family members.
The lovey-dovey kind, but not the saccharine kind.
I'm happy with a normal relationship.
I'm happy to have the basics.
Because basically, I just want to love and be loved.
I've said it before and I just said it again.
So yes, I may not be the best person at expressing my inhibitions, but I hope that you see enough of my stolen glances, my deliberate, minor actions to get your attention.
My interest in you.
Because fantasies can only last me so long.
They're amazing company.
But it gets tiring to have to come up with a fantasy every night just to ensure that I can sleep soundly.
Call me deluded.
But I will keep hoping.
And maybe.
Just maybe.
If I can find it in myself to strike a conversation with you one of these days.
I just might.

I just might.

8:58 PM

09 August 2011

I hate national day parades.
They always remind me of a time when I was younger.
And that I'm no longer that innocent, unassuming little boy.
Urgh.

8:18 PM

These past few days, since the end of Dramafest.
I've been feeling like I'm constantly at the verge of tears.
Like my lungs are soaked in tears.
And like it's about to burst at every second.
And it's not because of Dramafest.
Not at all.
I think it's more of the conversation I had with her at 1am, as she drove me home.
The things said.
The realities put forward.
It was all so sad.
Just downright painful.
But you know.
My conversations with her are the closest I have to the conversations I have with myself.
And they're the most cathartic.
But they always leave me heavy.
We don't tell each other every detail.
Just enough.
Enough because the rest is understood.
The loneliness is beyond implied.
It is fact.
It is there.
And it's still there.
I look up to her as the one person who's actually likeable.
As a person.
As a human.
As someone who acknowledges her imperfections and knows that the world is full of shit.
And that life isn't as easy and normal as people make it out to be.
That bullshit really is bullshit.
And nothing less.
So I feel comfortable telling her things I'd never tell anyone else.
Because I know she has no reason to tell anyone else.
We don't speak or meet often.
But when there's opportunity for us to.
I'm always looking forward to it.
You know, how people have other people to turn to to tell how their day went?
Yeah.
She's like the person I turn to ever so occasionally, to tell how my life has been.
Because I keep everything to myself everyday.
There's no one to talk to.
So I keep them to myself.
These thoughts that roll off my fingers instead of my tongue.
I let some of them go when I'm with her.
But she's sad too.
We're sad people.
Sad and tired.
It gets tiring.
She agrees.
That sometimes you just want someone special to be there at the end of the day.
To just be there.
Because keeping everything to yourself gets tiring.
Really, really tiring.
A lot of people have no clue how it feels like.
Yeah, maybe it feels like the heaviness that I've been feeling lately.
But it's scary though.
Because, to me, she's the best there is.
But she's sad too.
And lonely.
And I truly believe she will find the right person for herself.
But the way it seems, she doesn't seem to believe so for herself.
And that makes me scared.
I know she said that I'm still young and that I still have a lot going on for me.
But what about her?
She's the one role model I truly look up to.
And if she doesn't believe, how can I?
But I will.
Because I must.
Because I want her to be happy.
And I want to at least know that there's a chance.
Even if it's in the slightest.
A chance that I could be happy to.
Maybe not now.
But sooner.
Or later.
I hope it's sooner though.
Because I want to love.
And I want to be loved.
I really do.
I want someone for myself.
I want to be someone's.
I don't want fantasies anymore.
Even if they're the next best thing.
It's pathetic.
To keep fantasizing.
I want something real.
I want to feel.
I want to touch and really feel the love.
I have my eyes on someone right now.
And I really wish that something can happen.
That we're on the same field.
That I don't have to go through the next 1.5 years pining and hoping for something to happen.
Much like how I've spent the past 4.5 years.
I think I have something for the straight ones.
The ones that I can never get.
But honestly though.
I don't even know who's not straight around me.
I'm a sucker for the straight ones.
I'm stupid and foolish and stubborn that way.
But what can I do?
I'll just keep hoping.
You never know.
Maybe if I crush on someone enough it could actually come true.
And I'm hoping this one comes true.
Because I really need to move on with my life.
I need to move on from you.
I need to let go of you.
No, I've never had you.
Except for in my head.
You bastard.
That's the kind of doucheness that messes with people.
It messed with me.
It robbed me of years.
And it's still robbing me of my time.
Though to a smaller extent.
But whatever.
You're not worth my time.
I'm trying to move on to the next one.
On to the next one.
I'll end off with saying this.

Thank you, Ms. Sara, for showing me that there is hope among the billions of us. That humanity is full of shit but there's someone like you and that there may be more out there. And that sadness and loneliness exists. And that no matter how down either of us are, we have each other to remind us that we're not really that alone.
Just lonely.
You're the best. And quite frankly, I think you may have saved my life.
So.
Thank you.

1:23 AM

What do you want to know about me?

Amirul.

July 2005
August 2005
October 2005
November 2005
March 2006
April 2006
May 2006
June 2006
July 2006
October 2006
November 2006
December 2006
January 2007
March 2007
April 2007
May 2007
June 2007
July 2007
August 2007
September 2007
October 2007
November 2007
December 2007
January 2008
February 2008
March 2008
April 2008
May 2008
June 2008
September 2008
October 2008
January 2009
February 2009
June 2009
November 2009
May 2010
October 2010
November 2010
December 2010
March 2011
April 2011
May 2011
June 2011
August 2011
September 2011
October 2011
November 2011
December 2011
January 2012
February 2012
March 2012
April 2012
August 2012
January 2014

Who?

Caris.
Amanda.
Badi.
Chrystal.
LCH.
Huirou.
Vicky.
Syahirah.
Nia.
Levina.

Huh.

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