Keep It Safe

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Your brain is a fortress, heavily guarded at all times by malicious crocodiles or buried landmines or powerful spells (take your pick) and these guards are up all the time during the day, when you’re out doing routine tasks and/or interacting with other people, both to prevent threat from harming your castle and hidden secrets in your secured vault from being exposed to the public.

And then as you go to sleep, so do your guards; your crocodiles doze off from a full day’s work, your landmines are deactivated and unmonitored, your spell caster/warlock/wizard heads to the local pub for some drink with their fellow spell caster/warlock/wizard friends, leaving your precious castle vulnerable and prone to immediate sieges by the ominous shadows that lurk in the woods. Your fortress is a weakling exposed to mortal perils throughout the night up until the moment you wake up, and truly that moment is the moment you are most vulnerable, because as soon as you wake up and your consciousness takes over, your treasured vault does the same, heavy metal doors swinging wide open, welcoming the night’s enemies for a full-throttle invasion with open arms. And that’s when you stare at your bedroom walls with crusty, half-awake half-asleep eyes, realising it’s too early in the morning for visible light to even fill the dark and dusty corners of your room, feeling the cool air-conditioned air against your bare legs because you managed to kick half your blanket (and your pillows, goodness) to the floor, wondering where the hell did this sudden heavy weight of sadness pressing against your chest come from and what did it want and why did you dream the same themed dreams with the same people again and again and what’s the point of life anyway when this kind of sadness exists within you

It’s so baffling, because with time, a new routine is formed once again at home, albeit one that doesn’t involve classes and homework and meeting friends, but a routine all the same. And yet, the new stimuli of each brand new day are not enough to satiate what your heart truly desires (oh lord, the corniness of this sentence), so when your castle is left unguarded at ungodly hours of the night/morning, your old fears resurface, reminding you of greater (/greatest) times you’ve had which you are melancholy about because 1) you might never experience the same greatness again and 2) quite frankly, you’re not sure whether you want to move on or not.* You’re exactly like the emo trash main character in Spike Jonze’s/Sofia Coppola’s movies (see: Lost in Translation [2003], Her [2013]). If your life were a dramatic movie, it’d show excessively long panning scenes of you lying in your bed (it must be a white bed with white sheets) with dimmed lighting and an awfully depressing background music score, which proceeds to zoom into your goddamn woeful face, your eyes trained on the ceiling the entire time as if the instructions to getting your old life back are written on it and you’re desperately trying to commit them to memory before they fade off as they first hint of dawn light shines through your window. To put it shortly: you’re quite a bit pathetic.

I guess that’s where I am, and where I’ve been: this grey area of not wanting to remain stagnant yet not really wanting to move on. The former because, well, nothing good ever comes out of being stuck in the past and the latter because I’d bought into the myth (or is it really just a myth) that moving on is equivalent to forgetting and I don’t want to ever forget. Overall, all this makes me is a miserable, irritable and unproductive human being whose only goals each day involve building new houses on The Sims, increasing my ‘read’ count on Goodreads, watching horror gameplays on Youtube and reading at least three articles on Rookie per day in the hopes of gaining creative inspirations (“Did it work?” you ask. Well, I’m here, aren’t I?).

The absence of real aims reminds me all too painfully of post-SPM days, when I’d go into an abrupt existential crisis in the middle of breakfast or in the shower or any other activity that allows me to drift through my own thoughts without distraction. What was I doing with these torturously long nine months? The next upcoming goal to look forward to was going to university (provided I even get in) in September and that’s too far away for me to do anything much about it (except wait for emails) (haha) (waiting is the exclusive complementary to the saying “an idle mind is the devil’s workshop). I’d told myself I’d get creative during the nine months, to create stuff I like for the world to see. But to be honest? I’m terrified. I’m terrified I’d do a terrible job of it and tarnish the truth with biases and prejudices of my own perspectives and end up hurting and offending people in the process. An article on Rookie articulates this fear of mine all too well.

I don’t know. I’m not entirely sure where I am currently in my life. Two years ago when everything was a huge mess of anxiety for me, I told myself that in a year or two’s time, I’d figure everything out. I’d be a mature and independent woman who can think for herself and others and life will be great, like they’d promised in books and movies. Two years later, there has been some progress, but I have yet to solve the elusive mysteries of the world. It’s all too easy to convince yourself that things will work out in the future but immensely difficult to put the proverbial pen to paper or to pull the proverbial sword out of its sheath (THIS IS NOT AN INNUENDO). But I guess everything we do, everything we fight and strive for, we do it as an extra step towards what we believe in. And currently, I believe in immortalizing the memories I’ve had had with my friends just a little longer, memories which are secured in a prized vault in my mind palace where I am keeping them safe forever.

*3) you’re afraid of losing your friends to distance and time and brand new memories (both yours and theirs), and while you feel it’s not entirely too abnormal to feel that way, you (or I, whatever really, both pronouns indicate the same person throughout this long ass post) read another article on Rookie that says “It presumes that relationships exist in stasis, like you established a fixed level of closeness one day and now the rest of your interactions must be a carefully guarded dance designed to maintain your agreed level of closeness” and that’s not true at all, is it? Friendships that are mutually important and valuable to both parties are not friendships that are fragile enough to be disrupted by elements so petty such as distance or the passing of time. Friendships like these are meant to last till the end of time.

 

Keep It Safe

Ipoh Again

But this time, with different company.

Early in the morning of 27th November, which was a Thursday, Bellyn, Zitian and I took a taxi to KL Sentral, where we met up with Taliza, Karu and Harris before we took the 9AM ETS train to Ipoh.

As usual, what I did throughout the 2.5-hour train ride rotated between 1) sleeping 2) stoning 3) scrolling through Twitter pathetically (because there was very limited data coverage) and 4) working up the courage to play Five Nights at Freddy’s on Karu’s phone.

IMG_2476 IMG_2477 IMG_2478 IMG_2480We reached Ipoh finally at around noon, and Zitian’s mum fetched us to Shamrock Guest Hotel where we (excluding Zitian) would be staying for the night.

Contrary to my younger self, I hated hotels, mostly because the ones I’ve stayed at were uncomfortable, cramped, and the sheets smelled really funny. But this one. This is one hotel room none of us really wanted to leave at all. We had two king-sized (or it could actually be queen-sized but anyway they were double beds) beds and a relatively alright-sized bathroom and ceiling-to-floor windows and a flatscreen TV (which we could connect my harddisk to so we quite literally had an endless playlist of music, movies and TV shows hallelujah), a small fridge, cabinet and countertop with kettle, free WiFi (of course) and even with all this we still had a pretty large floor space and (I might be wrong, but it certainly seemed that way) we had the whole hotel to ourselves. Honestly if there was somewhere I had to be stuck in, it would be right here with the exact same company. But more on that later.

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Our room was called Dublin so nice
Our room was called Dublin so nice

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They really play up the whole Irish image well
They really play up the whole Irish image well
yeehaw
yeehaw

And then it was lunch time when Zitian’s mum came to take us to Oldtown Ipoh. After lunch, we explored a colonial building with murals of white people on it and we made it our own rave club instead.

We went exploring around town after that.

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Revisiting Sekeping Kong Heng
Revisiting Sekeping Kong Heng

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What a historically significant building

A video posted by Bellyn Ooi (@bcllyn) on

(If there is one video you ever watch on this blog of mine let this be it)

We walked back to the hotel where we lazed around and showered and waited for my parents to reach Ipoh (they were on their way to KL for my mum’s Cosway meeting) before heading out for dinner – Vietnamese food at a restaurant just a minute’s walk away (but because it was raining, all five of us squeezed into the backseat of my parents’ Toyota Wish. It was pretty funny).

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My parents had to leave immediately after that because they didn’t want to reach KL too late so we walked to Ipoh Parade, huddled together like penguins whenever we have to pass through dark suspicious alleys. It was also drizzling.

At Ipoh Parade, we got ourselves facial masks (impulsive purchases), presents for Zitian and her parents and came up with the idea to lie to the masses that we had actually and legitimately gone to Ireland for a vacation.

these teenagers ah
these teenagers ah
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From left: Karu, Harris, Taliza, Bellyn (although after that she switched to Royal Jelly), me (and then we also got another Royal Jelly for Zitian) (I can’t believe I still remember this) (actually is that really surprising)

And then we went back to the hotel after visiting a nearby 24-hour store where we stocked up on supper and cave supplies.

The next few hours into the night were spent watching The Frog Princess on TV, playing Five Nights at Freddy’s 2 on Karu’s phone and just chilling. It was so nice. At that moment I’d tweeted that I never wanted that moment to end, knowing that I’d look back at that tweet and feel intensely. But it was true, and it still is true, and it’s kinda like in the first Hunger Games the day before Peeta and Katniss were going to go into the arena and they were at the rooftop of the Tribute Center and Peeta (or Katniss I don’t quite remember either one of them) said that if possible, he wanted to stay in that moment forever and when I read that I couldn’t relate to it at all because all along I’ve always just wanted to be somewhere else other than where I was at that time but that night, I truly dreaded that night ending.

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Taliza and Karu had drawing lessons
Taliza and Karu had drawing lessons
Taliza the FNaF 2 champion
Taliza the FNaF 2 champion

But it did end, and I woke up really early the next morning after I received an email from UCAS. Then I changed into cave gear and became designated DJ while everyone prepared for the caves.

We took the second least challenging tour at Gua Tempurung: Top of the World. I say second least challenging, but I still burst into tears when my fear of heights got the better of me and I had to pretend really hard that I wasn’t exactly trapped in an enclosed area the entire time. Still, it wasn’t totally terrible. Harris and Bellyn reenacted scenes from Lord of the Rings (including shouting “YOU SHALL NOT PASS!” resulting in echoes bouncing off the cave walls) and pretended flat stalactite surfaces were battlefields full of fallen men. That was pretty fun to watch.

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After caves we had really good dim sum lunch at a shop opposite Foh San (which, according to Zitian, is far more superior than Foh San) and at Foh San. Then it was back to the hotel because we, I mean, I was a sweaty mess and couldn’t wait to wash my hair and, well, everything else.

We sort of understood, then, that that was our last moment together in Ipoh because our next stop was KL Sentral (our train was scheduled to leave at 4PM). And then out of nowhere jumping while laughing hysterically on the bed led to a pillow fight which led to multiple pillow ambushes while Call It What You Want by Foster the People (informally dubbed our “yolo song”) played in the background. No one cared much about anything else. We were having fun and we were doing so in the presence of favourite company. Nothing else could be better than that. The feeling from last night returned with full intensity. Which was why when it was time to leave, there was a tinge of reluctance in the air as we gathered our bags and tossed one last melancholic glance in the direction of the incredibly nice hotel room we were leaving behind, where we’d manufactured memories and marked our presence in the form of bad karaoke, damp towels and rib-aching laughter.

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This looked a lot worse during and after the pillow fights

We said goodbye to Zitian at KL Sentral and then during the last 15 minutes on the train sentimentalities started washing in and we finally addressed The End, capital T and capital E.

I still miss this so much. I still miss everyone so much.

Ipoh Again

Quit Skype

Seenly Photo HMQltzuC
this photo was taken right before a sneeze, bless

Never have I ever hit the “Quit Skype” button so fast. Not even after I quitted two roleplaying sites and went offline before I was tempted to continue discussing subplots with my RP friends on Skype.

I had an interview with a panel of Magdalen College law tutors from Oxford University through Skype this evening, and after the thing, after a whole week of not feeling at ease after coming home from Sunway and progressively sweatier palms and vivid nightmares and recurring nausea, I signed out of Skype and paced around all corners of the house emitting different pitches of screams and groans, some of them muffled with my head buried in my pillows and some of them the only appropriate response I could give my mum when she asked me how the thing went. I felt secondhand embarrassment for my firsthand embarrassment. The blank pieces of paper I used as a mousepad during the thing were filled with scribbles of “OH GOD” in capital letters with many exclamation marks ensuing, its frequency proportionate to the depth of my interviewer’s frown as the thing progressed. The “thing” was all I could say to refer to it during the days leading up to the thing, my making taboo of the word probably intensifying an unnecessary fear.

Well, either way, there’s not much I can do to alter anything now except hope for the best. My email inbox has returned to becoming a ticking timebomb, probably even more urgent now than before. (In retrospect: I was being super melodramatic and exaggerated, well, pretty much everything, but it’s an effective coping mechanism to keep my expectations low.)

During my first week back at home, besides being a trainwreck as described above, I also managed to unpack everything I brought back from Subang, rearranged stuff in my room to make it more den-like (to prepare myself for spending an unhealthy amount of time cooped up in it), took down all my posters and put up my Wall of Stuff (which is more superior than all of the posters in the world combined), timehopped back to 2013 as a feeble attempt of an antidote to cure my reverse homesickness, and watched Markiplier‘s entire Five Nights at Freddy’s 1 & 2 and Outlast gameplay compilation (which, ironically, was my go-to to calm down whenever I started feeling really anxious).

I still want to write an Ipoh post even though it’s long overdue by slightly more than a week (it already feels like I’ve been home for ages) and I kept telling myself “I’ll write it after the thing” so I guess that time has arrived. What I don’t openly admit to myself is that the reason why I probably procrastinated on writing that post for so long was the fear of reopening old wounds of nostalgia and missing my friends

Quit Skype

[dated 6th november 2014, 1:59am]

Every night at around midnight, I tell myself that I am tired. It’s time to go to bed now, Michelle. Try to be a healthy teenager for once and go to sleep at a godly hour and wake up before lunchtime. And every time I fail. It’s been three weeks now. The only anomalies during which I actually attempt to sleep before midnight and wake up at 7AM are days when I have to sit for papers.

Honestly, can you believe it? I’ve only had three papers? It feels like I’ve spent 500 years rotting in my room and some days it’s so hard to get out of bed. Some days more difficult than the others. And some days when you wake up feeling like you want to throw up and just the thought of doing laundry makes you cry and you’re stuck between not wanting to leave your room forever and not wanting to be in your room any longer. It’s fine though, nothing I can’t deal with. I’m really in no position to complain, because it’s a choice I made and I’m in the process of learning how to deal with the decisions I make even if it might turn out to be a wrong decision.

One evening, while crying into my phone to my mum and demanding her to “please make a decision for me” I thought: what constitutes a right or wrong decision? Between two decisions, can both of them be right decisions? Likewise, can they simultaneously be wrong decisions too? It felt like being caught in a crossfire; maybe the only right decision is for me to hide under my bed and never come out for meals or toilet breaks long enough so people will believe I’m not actually there anymore.

[dated 6th november 2014, 1:59am]

Joyride (Subtitled: Gratitude, Part II)

On the second day after I’ve reached Alor Setar, I’ve been desperately trying to search and compile evidence of my time in Sunway, and of my friends. It’s almost so easy to believe that none of the things we did for the past 1.5 years was real, that none of my friends are real. The metaphor we used was that of waking up from a really long and nice dream, and after waking up, you’re back at square one. Dream’s over. Everything’s back to how it was. Continue with the life you’ve always known prior to the dream.

I’m desperately clinging onto memories of my friends. I’m so scared. Absence leads to apathy and I’m scared.

It’s crazy to think how this is all a product of chance. If I’d chosen to go to Taylor’s instead of Sunway (which I was very, very close to doing). If Bellyn had chosen to do IB instead of A Levels. If Taliza had decided to join a different A Levels intake. If we hadn’t met Zitian and Qiujing on the first day of SMR orientation. If Harris had chosen a different college that was nearer to his house. In a parallel universe, one in which we had chosen our alternatives, all of this wouldn’t have happened. And I like to think this version, this current IRL version, is the best version there is.

I’ve been digging up old Whatsapp conversations, tweets, blogposts, Facebook photos, Instagram posts, letters, cards, polaroid pictures, receipts, name cards; anything at all to remind and prove the existence of these memories and my friends. That they’re not just part of the most wonderful and longest dream I had. That they’re real. Even though I can’t see them and talk to them and go to classes with them and go on spontaneous road trips with them anymore. Because 1.5 years is long enough that you can fit in so many things that happened rather compactly, but short enough that it’s not unbelievable to think that it hadn’t actually happened. When you think about it, 1.5 years is nothing much to take out of the equation of our lives, unlike primary school or high school, which was approximately five years each, and spread over a wider span of physical and mental growth. I need constant reassurance that they’re still there, they’re still real; I can’t bear the thought of permanent severance from them. They’ve been my home for the past 18 months, there is nowhere else in the world (except perhaps my own home with my parents and even that feels really foreign right now even after 36 hours) I feel safer and more comfortable than with them. There were countless times when I managed to overcome my anxiety merely in their presence; it made me feel like I could do anything, that I was strong and brave enough to be a better version of myself.

The digging process made me realise how different of a person I was in sem 1 compared to sem 2 and 3, and while sem 1 was the idealistic version of myself that I wish to be now, it wasn’t me (I realise that now), and I managed to feel comfortable enough during the consecutive semesters to reveal bits and parts of who I was of which I was previously ashamed of to these people I consider my close friends. I never would’ve been able to learn to accept my own failures and flaws if it weren’t for my friends who were willing to accept me for who I was, flaws and all, even before I could even do it to myself.

Farewells at Sunway before going home whenever there was a break got progressively more difficult as time passed. Even at home, a lot of the things I did was accompanied with the thought of “If only [friends] were here doing [the things] with me; [friend] would be [doing thing] and [friend] would be [doing thing]”. I didn’t really understand it at first. It was reverse homesickness. I was always sick for something that I didn’t have, until I have it and then I take it for granted.

I found myself getting more and more comfortable with where I was as sem 3 progressed. I hadn’t gone home for two months (even though I was supposed to twice and twice I chickened out and still I felt quite okay with it) but it didn’t feel strange or uncomfortable, as I previously would’ve felt in sem 1 or 2. In fact, I felt like I was starting to get a stronger foothold of myself and this place. I was easing myself into this environment that sometimes still felt rather foreign. And then A2 happened and there was little room for, I don’t know, appreciation and sentimentality but as soon as A2 ended, everything was just snatched away abruptly. But I’d just started getting used to this life and actually liking it!, I whined. I whined and moaned and moped because that’s what I do best when things don’t go my way but I had to face and accept the rude awakening of A Levels ending and leaving this place.

I cried all the way back from Sunway to Alor Setar in the car yesterday, which, is it really surprising at all? It’s true, I’d probably cooked Broccoli with all my tears because there was absolutely nothing else I could do in the car except cry and sleep. There was hardly even space for moving my limbs. Sleep didn’t come easily either because I’d be five minutes into dozing off when a memory of the life I’ve left behind would pop up and I’d be jolted awake with the sudden pang in my heart. I wish I could say I was being hyperbolic. It was not fun at all. And when I finally gave in and resorted to listening to music, the first song that came on shuffle was Rawnald Gregory Erickson the Second by STRFKR. Like. Thanks a lot, universe. I’d never felt so violated in such a cramped space in a moving vehicle before.

The next consecutive hours spent at home were not unlike the Pavilion trip I had on Saturday. I felt like a detached, mindless human being taking up space, not willing to do anything else other than sleep or look at old photos/conversations or cry in the middle of meals. I am aware of how pointless and self-inflicting all of this is, but I feel like if I don’t mourn this breakup properly, I will not get the chance to do so in the future when everything and everyone feels…further away, and I wouldn’t have been able to give it the justified attention it deserves. Don’t worry, mum and dad, after the time allocation for this mourning period is up, I’ll return to normal again, whatever “normal” means anymore. I will be okay, but for now let me use up my not-okay quota until it runs out and feels right again.

I kept on saying “it feels weird” back in Sunway when my term was almost up. It feels weird, because things are changing and change is always weird, like an itch on your back that you can’t scratch and never seems to go away. Even the unpleasant memories become nostalgic, purely because you know you won’t ever experience them again. The pain and sadness felt during the past year were definitely gruelling, but they were familiar and recognisable, and mostly they were comfortable. I didn’t know that then, because I was too caught up in my emotions to realise it, but now that I’m miles away from them, it feels like my ability to feel shit about something that was important to me has also been taken away from me too. How can I feel shit about something if it’s no longer there anymore? And this makes me dangerously wonder if I’d rather go through the shitty feelings over and over again if it meant staying in one place in Sunway. It doesn’t seem logical or even safe, but the absence of familiarity feels like I’m losing my balance and at this point I’m desperately struggling to grasp onto anything at all to prevent myself from falling, even if it’s having to grasp onto a thick branch filled with thorns.

I know exactly what I’m doing – I’m making myself stay stuck in the past and feeling sad over it, and it’s not a wise thing to do because there’s nothing I can do about it. There is no solution to this melancholy that I’m coercing myself into feeling. I’m doing it for the pure masochism, and the inane belief that it is what is required of me. Along with this comes the fear of forgetting. Right now, everything seems intense. Right now, it’s all we can think of, and all our sentiments echo the same way. But the worst thing is the inevitability of forgetting. We will gradually become occupied with different matters, as we take on different commitments in our respectively separate lives. Previously, we were brought together in a classroom setting; seeing each other and hanging out with each other was almost an obligation and we were more than happy to comply.

That’s why attending classes in college never truly seemed like a chore. I still remember during sem 1 when I would dread the weekends because it would mean that I didn’t get to see my friends and there was nothing to do at all. I looked forward to weekdays more than anything else. Classes started to get progressively stressful as sem 2 and 3 rolled around, but even then, I’d never really felt the same kind of stress and dread I used to have everyday when attending high school classes. A Levels was tougher than SPM, definitely, but it still wasn’t as stressful as SPM period. It also didn’t help that the friends I’ve made in Sunway were the first group of people that I could truly connect with, people that I trusted more than myself. Essentially, all this added up to a really great life in Sunway. I say this almost like as if there weren’t moments when I felt like escaping from Sunway in its entirety, but right now, with the knowledge that the end is permanent, it’s difficult to see the shortcomings of it. Much like when I came home for short breaks knowing how brief a time I have to spend at home that I don’t dwell much on the downsides of it.

I’m afraid of the person I will become. I’m afraid of becoming apathetic. But at the same time, there is nothing I can do, except immerse myself completely in the torrential downpour of emotions that I’m smothering myself with. Which is why I spent a good half a day free writing everything that I could possibly interpret from my emotions. All into this giant masterpost of post-leaving thoughts and feelings.

I miss my friends and I miss my routines. And while staying in a bubble forever would have been ideal, it would not have been possible. Moving on is necessary, and I know this. This transition process I’m facing is difficult but I’ll get through it. We all will. And while I love to dramatically throw around the phrase “the end”, I also know that’s not true. It may be the end of our little 18-month bubble of hedonism, but much brighter things await each of us individually outside the bubble. It’s just the beginning of life as we know it, and the pricking of the bubble does not equate to the severing of ties that we’ve formed between ourselves. More adventures lie ahead for all of us, collectively or not. At this point, this is my logic!self writing this to reassure my gut!self that everything is not as bad as it seems. Just because it’s the truth doesn’t mean it’s easy to believe in it. But I’m getting there.

The movie is ending, and as Bellyn would like it, the violins in Bittersweet Symphony by The Verve are echoing in the background as the screen fades to black before the credits start rolling. I had the best time of my measly 19 years of life for the past 18 months, and I can never thank everyone enough for giving me that. I don’t know what I’ve ever done to deserve this, but I’m so glad I did. Thank you for being great characters in my story; I’ll write us the best story anyone could imagine.

(a new chapter)

Joyride (Subtitled: Gratitude, Part II)

never goes out

i started crying on the train back from ipoh yesterday, and couldn’t control the tears all throughout dinner (which probably messed up dinner in itself, sorry about that) and i went to bed with a queasy stomach and numb palms and woke up the next morning way before my alarm rang. i cried even more after saying goodbye to bellyn and then returned to my room and continued crying curled up in foetal position, and then rumin invited me to go to kl for lunch and i saw it as an opportunity to avoid a guaranteed breakdown within the confines of my smr room so i agreed. even then, the first half of the trip i was either crying or sleeping and i felt so detached from the world because i was just swimming (read: drowning) in my own sad thoughts and i couldn’t shake off the wet soggy clothes weighing me down. it kept me down for a good long period of time until i figured i’d exhausted my emotional capacity which led to my current state of feeling nothing at all. i think i still feel sad, but also not really? i don’t think i’m feeling anything. the only slight emotion i’m feeling is perhaps suspicion and wariness that i’m feeling this way, or rather, not feeling any way at all. pinpointing skills had expired for the day. i guess that’s what crying for 12 hours can do to you. it feels terrible not to feel anything but it also feels terrible to feel sad. there really is no way around this.

i’m sitting alone in my almost bare smr room, looking at the half-packed stuff on the floor and the table, the little blu-tack spots dotting the white walls that i’d probably get fined for, and thinking how it’s just rumin and i in the entire unit. and tonight is the last night i’ll be spending in smr, in sunway, in the state of selangor away from home, and how i will never return to this place again. i felt so much pain when all i saw were ghosts of ourselves walking on the streets next to pavilion to head to tous les jours that night after jogoya, or the canopy walk from college to pyramid, or on the lrt clinging onto the poles playing the balance game. we were everywhere. there was no escaping it. we have literally left trails of ourselves all over pj and kl yet now we are nowhere to be found. it left a horribly sour feeling in my stomach, like it was trying to fold itself in with the help of acid secretion juices.

everyone who knows me wel knows how incredibly bad i am at farewells. and this is one farewell all the farewells i’ve ever previously had had never prepared me for.

never goes out