06.JUL.04

...

Nostalgia is the art of discarding – how well can you discard memories when nostalgia comes knocking on your door? I think I’m quite skilled at disposing, rejecting and abandoning. This could state several things; I am definitely not a mother figure, I will not survive in a third world country or I am elite in handling with devious Nostalgia. Perhaps the latter is more applicable in everyday life for now…I may be highly apt in removing creeping reminiscences but I am completely inept in obstructing them altogether. Complete annihilation of Nostalgia is futile – this I have learnt and so I stopped trying and learnt discarding. And yet ironically, sometimes I feel that I thrive on this longing for the past as I still possess childlike qualities – conniving one minute, innocent the next. Charming, manipulative, endearing and dangerous.


01.JUL.04

...

Who am I? Tap tap tap – I don’t know.


27.JUN.04

...

It happened yesterday. It’s not an event that I would like to dote upon or even think about. Perhaps what took place was all too conventional and talked or heard about all too many times. It’s hard to hear myself reiterate the whole event without thinking it sounding cliché. It’s almost tragic falling into a state of mind like that when it was me who was in the situation…imagine what the person listening is thinking. There was a point when I even considered whether if my close friends will even believe me because it all sounded too….well out of a magazine. I don’t want to dramatize it because I’m not trying to sell this, nor do I want to be too stolid because I am anything but. It just happened and I wasn’t given a choice. Come to think of it, I wasn’t given my right, my self-respect or my worth. He stripped me of it. I refuse to shed any tear for his vile behaviour, his base nature or for his licentious actions. I refuse to let what he did to me, destroy me or disintegrate my life. And I refuse to accept any justification or excuse because there is none. Nevertheless, I am on the verge of weeping because I feel violated, deceived and exploited…but most loathed of all…he made me feel inept and defenseless. I was asked if I was physically hurt by a friend. I wasn’t physically injured but if only I had been, then perhaps the bodily hurt would divert all the pain from the internal. Right now, I am ambivalent with colliding emotions and thoughts. It disgusts me to confess this, but I hate myself. I hate myself for letting this happen, for being so useless and for letting it affect me in such an inconceivable way that I would hate myself thus.


13.JUN.04

...

It is human necessity to search for ‘truth’, for ‘meaning’, for ‘love’. As far as I can see, my search is over for the latter…or perhaps for all three. For how can you find meaning or truth if love fails to exist? Everyone survives in their own little bubble and occasionally we accidentally bump into another. Upon which, the stratosphere of our bubble will touch and converge, eventually merging into one complete little world. But, it doesn’t always succeed, there’s trial and error, separation and rejection. Some bubbles will never come in contact, some will touch and bounce off each other whilst others will touch but never coexist with another. There will always be chance, and there will always be fate. I have chance but no fate. So for now, my search has ceased…and I will stay in my little effervesce; world of happy disposition, of nonchalance, of isolation. No meaning…and no truth.


11.JUN.04

...

Why rush? Why are you rushing? What exactly is the rush? When you participate in your annual athletics’ cross country or the 800m run around the oval, do you charge with your head down ahead for the first 100m regardless of any consideration for the next 700? Do you feel the adrenaline of being first and the exhilaration knowing that you took the first step forward after the gun? Do you feel the steady breathing of the opponents behind your back…? It doesn’t matter does it? You’re first. And they’re behind you. Upon reaching the 200m mark, you feel a rubbery spring in your legs, a creeping loss of sensation; of weakness, a gradual burn in your chest….so you open your mouth sucking in air, sweat, pain – anything. At the 300, your eyes become hazy with a mist of perspiration as the first taste of blood crawl up the back of your throat, your lungs are collapsing, your heart has dilated to the size of a football and they’re next to you…the steady breathing at your shoulders. 350, blood shot eyes, arid mouth, metallic taste, piercing pain, gasps…as you watch the backs of steady breathers pass you. Their steady in, out, in, out breathing…on and on. 400, half way mark…you’re last on a one way track. Don’t you wish you didn’t dash forward? Don’t you wish you had paced yourself? Don’t you just wish…? So why are you rushing? I know. It’s lust.


30.MAY.04

...

I am destructive and I don’t mean that in a self-inflicted physical way, that is, I don’t have sudden impulses to go around smashing windows or slashing wrists. When I say I’m destructive, I am referring to my inability to maintain a long term relationship with someone. A visage of a crazed hermit with wild teased hair might emerge in your mind, but believe me, I am nothing like that – unless we are talking about my sleeping habits. Nevertheless, I am an extrovert; one who enjoys social companies and activities that involve contact with other human beings –or so they appear to be. I am one of those social butterflies that will flutter to their deaths or until their wings drop off from excessive use. And yet, ironically, there are less than a handful of people I have maintained a platonic relationship with, whom of which are mainly of my sex. I meet people – males in general – and the starting point is great, but then isn’t everything initially perfect? Gradually, as the relationship grows and escalates to a certain stage – usually of familarisation and intimacy- I feel the urge to run away. In this case, since I am physically unable to lift my legs off the ground and bolt leaving a cloud of smoke like how I want to, I resort to a subconscious destruction process. This process begins with me picking on touchy subjects the other person might not want to confront as of yet, followed by incohesive bickering – ones which I instigate – and then ultimately, concluding the relationship on an awkward closure where both parties feel the need to cease communicating altogether. It seems inevitable for the aforementioned deterioration to occur as I have done it more than once. It also seems that there are no prevention or cure for my regression in keeping healthy relationships with others. This disorder – if I can call it that – propels me into relentless waves of guilt, lament and frustration.