Are You All Gone?

Am I still being monitered?


Can I come back now?


Then again, fuck cares because the people who used to moniter my blog and run crying to their support group when they get shot at are no longer here, are they?

Yes. This is who I've become.

Deal with it.

That's It.


... We broke up.

Millions of thoughts running through my head.






Did I do the right thing?

Little Girl In The Mirror


Little girl, oh my little girl.

By now you should've learned to be wise.

Never let your walls come down completely.

Never believe in just words.

Believe in a kind heart.

Be brave, little girl.

I'm rooting for you.

Thinking About It


I have been thinking about my life and my relationship with Lazy.

I realized that throughout all those cumulative years, I've somehow molded myself into half of a person and forgotten how to be myself.

Was talking to my sister the other day, and we came to the realization that in order for me to be truly happy, I need to find myself. I need to be comfortable doing things that I want to do alone.

I can not keep waiting for him to do things with me, because then it'll never get done. I also can't mope around the house waiting for him for hours on end when he attends stuff that he can't bring me.

In that sense, I also can not only wait for him to go do stuff without me before I can do my own stuff. Because by then, I'll be at a loss when he goes and end up moping around the house for hours on end again.

I also need to learn to ignore his 'not-happy' look. Because everytime I want to go do my own things, he gives that look and I'll feel so guilty that in the end, I won't go. I resent that.

So, for a start, I guess I'm just going to have to talk to him about giving me the time to find out who I am and what I really want to do. Even if its just small stuff like playing basketball or meeting friends.

*cringes*

Lapdancing/Striptease Classes





Freaking painful!


I have bruises and aches in places I didn't even knew existed.


On the up side, because it was an all-ladies' studio, we were free to walk around in sports bras and hot short shorts.

First lesson alone was torturous. I don't know why I signed up for 7 more classes, but I did.


We did sexy walking, touching, basic movements, and floorwork. Oh god the floorwork. Technically the sexiest part of all, but also can easily turn gross with wrong expressions and movements.


The floorwork was also the killer for me, and probably the entire room full of girls. You can hear groans and muffled yelps, and the occasional thump of a girl whose arms gave out and who fell the the floor in a painful heap.


I'm still very much sore today, but it comes with an odd sense of accomplishment.


Onwards we GOOOOOOO!!!!!

New Friends

Random Squawk: I notice that my recent posts all seem a little "me" centric lately. Please bear with this while I fine tune them out.


I like meeting new people and interacting with them on a personal level.

You know, when you meet new people in a group, you never seem to be able to get to know the real them until eons later (if you're still in contact) or never, whichever comes later.

I like to be able to converse with people on an intellectual level (which rules out stupid people) and get to know the real them. What they like, what they don't like.

You can actually tell a lot about a person by first interaction alone with them, even more so while playing games of any kind. But since a lot of first meetings don't come with a pack or cards or board games, that's ruled out.

I find that the happiest people are those who are contented with what they have, but also with a drive to excel and succeed with what they're doing. Those are the kind of people who are the most pleasant to be around.

There are those laden with problems too. The trick is to see past that and look at how they deal with those problems.

Of course, I don't scrutinise everyone I come into contact with, and I don't judge them, so you can relax. I simply let the feelings come as and when they do.

I do, however, scrutinise how I come across to people. I keep a chokehold on myself, my actions and my words, so as not to present the worst side of me. (Blogging is different, I'm probably never going to meet you anyway, so I can show you that as much as I want. So there. )

After all, isn't this what everyone secretly does on some level?


To my new friends who are probably never going to read this (because I took out the link from my Facebook page) - I do hope you guys stay around.


Friendship bears no grudges. Friendship goes through thick and thin. And the ones who leave, probably aren't worth being friends with anyway.


I'm morbid as hell, and my dirty jokes and puns are non-stop. If you're uncomfortable with that, leave now.


For the rest of you...


I'd like to be your friend :)

Feel


Feel what you're feeling now.

Embrace it.

Now tell me. What is it exactly you are feeling? What is it called? Where does it come from? How did it get wedged so deep in there that you had to pull it out of you to examine it?

I ask myself these questions every day.

Right now, I'm feeling..... nothing.

I can't cross-examine myself because I don't have anything to cross-examine in the first place.

Am I turning into a monster?

I need to get back in touch with my inner-self.

你听到了吗







......................... 心碎的声音

Emptiness


There will always be an emptiness inside of you. Inside of all of us.

This blog is a very good example. For the years upon years that I've blogged, and the miniscule amounts that have affected you, my dear reader, it ultimately boils down to this - nothing.

When you read back at past achievements, past failures, past ups and past downs, you see only stories. So do I. I don't feel what I felt when I wrote those words so many years ago. I, like you my dear reader, have grown up and out of what I thought was an empty shell. We've all grown up together, pulled through joys and sorrows.

I thought that if I fulfilled my dreams, I will no longer be empty. I thought that if I took what I felt was the correct path to happiness, I will no longer be empty. I thought that simply by trying to live the perfect life, I will no longer be empty. I was wrong.

I got what I always wanted - a man who loves and values me more than his own life. A dream bike - the Suzuki GSXR 750. A dream house near to my mother's. Two perfect dogs. A whole bunch of friends that I have a love-hate relationship with.

And yet...

I still feel the emptiness inside.

I am sometimes envious of the young girl inside of me, who used to laugh and brood over the smallest of matters. The young girl who would be affected emotionally over almost every single thing that happens to her. I can no longer feel joy. I can no longer feel sorrow. I can no longer be bothered with anger. It just feels like there's a black hole inside of me, swallowing up every emotion before I have a chance to process or feel it.

I give myself every opportunity to relive what it feels like to have feelings again, but it all comes around to bite me in the ass. If I have the free rein to explore those feelings, maybe I wouldn't be so empty inside.

I recently met an old, old friend. You know, sometimes when you meet old friends whom you've not met for awhile, your actions and mentality will go back to that age at which you hung out with that friend? Well I met this friend when I was in primary school, and then again at age 18 for awhile.

He arouse a mirage of feelings inside of me, most of which are directed at my own self. Because of his appearance, I started questioning my own self worth. I started questioning who I've become. I've started questioning the choices I've made. And I realised that.... I'm miserable.

I don't have people I can rely on to talk about my feelings, other than my boyfriend, who is usually the catalyst of my moods so I can't really tell him everything. I have 2 people I can talk to, but not rely on, and it's not their fault because they have their own lives too. I have a whole bunch of friends in my clique (well actually there are 6 of us), none of which I can pour my heart out to.

And I can only stare helplessly, as I watch my life spiral deeper and deeper down this vortex, probably never to return.

Help me.

A Snippet




"Do you know where the idea of a labyrinth first came from?"

I Shake my head.

"It was the ancient Mesopotamians. They pulled out animal intestines - sometimes human intestines, I expect - and used the shapes to predict the future. They admired the complex shapes of intestines. So the prototype for intestines in, in a word, guts. Which means that the principle for the labyrinth is inside you. And that correlates to the labyrinth outside."

"Another metaphor," I say.

"That's right. A reciprocal metaphor. Things outside you are projections of what's inside you, and what's inside you is a projection of what's outside. So when you step into a labyrinth outside you, at the same time you're stepping into the labyrinth inside. Most definitely a risky business."

"Like Hansel and Gretel."

"Right, just like them. The forest has set a trap, and no matter what you do, no matter how careful you are, some sharp-eyed birds are going to eat up all your breadcrumbs."

24









.............. I'm here.


Where are you?


..... Where are you?

A Snippet





"... Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender the kind...
I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned."

- Edna St. Vincent Millary

I Almost Cried When I Read This





When Anna Kozlov caught sight of the elderly man clambering out of a car in her home village of Borovlyanka in Siberia, she stopped dead in her tracks, convinced her eyes were playing tricks.

There, in front of her, was Boris, the man she had fallen in love with and married 60 years earlier. The last time she had seen him was three days after their wedding, when she kissed him goodbye and sent him off to rejoin his Red Army unit.


By the time he returned, Anna was gone, consigned by Stalin’s purges to internal exile in Siberia with the rest of her family as an enemy of the people. They left no forwarding address.

Frantic, Boris tried everything he could to find his young bride, but it was no good. She was gone.

Now, more than half a century later, they were reunited, an extraordinary coincidence leading them both to return to their home village on the very same day.

“I thought my eyes were playing games with me,” Anna said. “I saw this familiar looking man approaching me, his eyes gazing at me. My heart jumped. I knew it was him. I was crying with joy.”

Now 80 years old, Boris had returned to visit his parents’ grave. As he stepped out of the car, he looked up to see Anna standing by her old house, where they had lived for the few days after the wedding.

“I ran up to her and said: 'My darling, I’ve been waiting for you for so long. My wife, my life...’”

Where'd You Go?


I miss you so.









.....me.

I Is Emo


I is have been emo for some time now. At least, that's what appears to me when I read back on my recent (what recent?) posts.

But no, I've been having the typical ups and downs, elations and desperations. I've been having fun, taking lots of pictures. I just don't have the time to post anymore. I don't have time to edit pictures, host and post and add a storyline to them.

Plus there are restrictions here.

In An Unprecedented Move...


Blog Mistress retracts her previous post. If all goes well, I may never have to repost my previous post.

Why do things always have to come to a full circle only after I've cut the last strings holding us together?

I thought I'd lost what once was a close friend, and for once, I felt relieved.

Why'd he have to come back now?

Imagine


Imagine an artist. Let's say Van Gogh and his (unappreciated during his lifetime) post-impressionist paintings. Let's say that during his time, somebody rich recognizes his genius and commissions him to paint a ginormous portrait of said rich person's mansion.

So Van Gogh sits down at his easel and one of his old canvases, and wondered if he should do it with pen and ink under-drawing or with just diluted oils. He finally decides on one, and sets the stage for something spectacular.

He brushes, he strokes. He paints over the half-finished smiling face of the foreign lady, Lady Gioconda or something. She looks oddly familiar. Hmmm. He had found the old canvas lying in some dusty old shed during one of his travels.

He hides a signature at the corner of the easel. He puts his style into his painting. He used all the tricks of the trade, and some more of his own. As with all artists, he is unable to produce a painting that is not perfect. He pours so much of his own soul into the painting that in a sense, this painting becomes him.

Hours pass by and his base is done. Then the background. Then the mansion.

Day turns to night and it is time to go home. As he lives a few miles away and travels by foot, he cannot carry the oil painting with him. No matter, I'll come back and fill in the features of the house tomorrow, he thinks as he gingerly puts the half finished painting in a spare room of the mansion.

***************************************************************

Dawn breaks and he happily skips (yes, skips) to finish his work on the painting. When he reaches the mansion, the door was open. I'll just pop in and get my easel, he thinks.

A gasp of horror reaches his remaining ear. He realizes that it's his own. He stares, horrified at his painting. Somebody had... had... changed the painting! Instead of his turquoise sky in the background, somebody had painted an ugly mucus-green over it! Instead of the original 3 storey mansion, somebody had added another wobbly looking floor in a distinctively amateurish style that was absolutely unlike any of Van Gogh's!

"I added in something of my own. It'd be much more impressive if the building looked foreboding, don't you think?"

The owner of the mansion proudly appeared in the corridor, as if proud of his accomplishments in ruining the painting.

Impressive? The roof looks like it's caving in! The sky literally looks like shit! The entire painting is ruined! All his hard work, all his heart and soul that went into the painting, ruined! His style was disrespected. His dignity was disrespected. His painting was disrespected. He was disrespected.

He stands there for a moment, opening and closing his mouth repeatedly, not knowing what to say or do. Then he starts seeing red. It was as if the world was suddenly covered in red. Boiling blood pounds in his temples.

With superhuman strength, Vincent Van Gogh lifts the ginormous canvas painting off the easel in rage, tears the entire thing apart, and throws the shreds at the man who disrespected him.

Then he stomps out of the building, never to be seen at the mansion again.

***************************************************************

I wish I could tear down the paintings too.

How would you feel if someone disrespects your work?

Hey Big Brother


Happy Birthday.

We love you.

Ouch


It seems harder for me to rebound emotionally now.

He said something unintentionally last night over dinner, and it actually hurt quite badly. He caught his mistake, and he tried to make up for it, but the damage was already done.

How can it hurt this much? How could it have stung so badly that I can still feel the ringing in my ears now, as if he's just slapped me across the face?

I could just pretend to have forgotten about it after awhile and latch right back on to his arm, and I did. Clinging on to his arm while we walked around, I found that I couldn't smile at him. Not that night.

Other painful stuff are starting to resurface now. I think I need to go get my life back.

......


I'm so scared.

I don't want to live my life through and then wonder how I got there.

I want to remember.....