Wednesday, November 04, 2015

Caffeine withdrawal

The flights are booked. I am really excited to be on the road again. For a pedestrian, I have traveled far.  A privilege and blessing indeed. I don't know any more than bliss will be contained in a cup of freshly brewed coffee where the skies are blue. Here's hoping.

The universe sent me a message yesterday. I came in the form of a forwarded message containing a youtube link which under normal circumstances, I would  ignore. It was like God telling me to be my authentic self. And today, I tried to be. It is liberating if not somewhat foreign. I feel like I have a decision and commitment to make.

Oh authentic self. I guess I am going to get my hair coloured red again. And get that tat I have been thinking about.  Somehow or a rather, through the randomness that accompanies idle chatter with Sharon, we begun talking about soul mates.

Once upon a time, I used to believe in soul mates. These days I would put my money on finding a unicorn instead.  Advice that was given is to go slow and try finding mates first. Meeting people is hard. especially people I don't want to stab. At this rate being a crazy cat lady is starting to make a lot of sense.

Sometimes it still hurts. For Will to say that tis better to have love and lost, the bard knows nothing of rejection - when the knife enters, piercing flesh and marking bone, and the final twist of the blade which maims the heart, not to kill but cripple it forever.  I would have preferred to not have loved at all. 

Sunday, October 25, 2015

Checking in

Its been a month since Janda Baik where the training wheels got taken off. The cult sessions, as the family calls it, are over.  I am glad to get my Mondays back but its so easy to fall into despair again when nobody is chastising me to woman up. Because it's so EASY.

Curling up into a foetal position and telling the world to fuck off is so beautiful. And it is ironic that it's not passion that gets me up in the morning but fear at being yelled at at the office. This love hate relationship with my career is getting stale. A peer who has just turned GM in another company is telling me that the world is huge. Him and just about every person I have spoken to.  Leaving the country now for blue skies literally is somehow not terribly appealing because truth be told, I have not severed the chains to my universe of fears that I have so carefully curated.

Anyway the cigarettes have stopped too because honestly, inhaling smoke, in the haze, then looking for a facemask and ingesting bird's nest for "strong lungs"... is the epitome of stupidity.  

Despite the occasional loneliness, I am relishing being in my own space. All 800 sq ft of me. From the walnut table to my Megat Sri Rama, to my Egyptian cotton sheets to the dead plants that were supposedly representative of my relationship with myself. Digressing a little from describing my interior design prowess, I have so far managed to kill every plant I have. Let's hope the moss in my terrarium survives my touch of death. I mean, its moss. If I do manage to kill that, then all hope is lost. 

Anyway, within this space is my queendom (a reference appropriated from a TED talk and not in reference to anything LGBT, I promise). Within this microcosm, is the most honest life I have lived.  This craving to be accepted has forced me in many ways and for so many times to compromise the essense of my true self. Like its always offered up for negotiations. Being just myself, just myself, never seems good enough. And right at the cusp of feeling sorry for myself, the devil's advocate ponders out loud,  whether is the learned friend wallowing in entitlement? 

It is seriously screwed up to want to give up, yet intellectually cognizant to realise that it's foolish, articulate enough to spew vitriol, too chicken shit to do anything and yet too much of a masochist to stop cutting myself up.  

Sunday, September 27, 2015

Count Cigarette Sticks

The best nicknames are the ones that appear from nowhere.

And seriously nobody counts ciggy sticks unless they are quitting. Or have quit and trying to just justify the occasional fall from grace.

They say that stopping cigarettes makes you fat.  That's for sure.  The stress cooking has started. Spent the whole day smoking up the kitchen. Just like in university when I used to cook up a dinner party right before exams.  Some kids smoke up, I go all Masterchef.
Ugh. (To be fair, my iced lemon poppy seed cupcakes are mind-blowing).

Its been 3 months since the move. I have been busy potting around, keeping dark thoughts at bay.  

Thursday, September 03, 2015

Why, hello!

I am shocked.
Its September and I have written nothing for 2015. Has the wordsmith been replaced by the analyst? But surely even the analyst would have something dry to say.
Woe indeed.

I had toyed with the idea of starting a new blog - the phoenix birthed from the ashes so to speak. But that is a cop out. There is no sweeping anything under the carpet. The scorched marks are on the damned carpet.
Trying to hide (from) the past - that is no phoenix. That's a fucking ostrich.

So yeah.

I am back. 

Monday, December 08, 2014


8 December - Doha. 

I dont think I have ever felt so tired. The flight was long and uneventful. 
I am halfway through my 8 hour layover and I am trying not to sleep so that I can exhaust myself for the coming 14 hours flight out. 

I saw a guy in a tartan kilt at transfers. pretty random. 

it is certainly no wonder at all why some refuse to do these intercontinental flights. Next time I would do a layover of a day in London en route to the US. Not that it would cut short the time but that I could have an actual bed for the night. and tea with scones and clotted cream.  

after a horrible start to the journey, I am still not feeling it.  I think its the exhaustion so far. 
waiting for the euphoria to kick in.

Monday, October 06, 2014

Lessons of the Day

I don't know why I have not got myself to a psychiatrist for medication. Its a misguided attempt at maintaining my autonomy (says the dustspeck to the universe). I have hardly gotten over my depression, panic attacks and anxiety attacks. And I cry my eyes out as often as it rains, with equal severity. Is there any surprise that I am treated like a doormat when even I myself don't see the value in paying for my own healing.

Again and again, people disappoint me. This however is my fault because I have chosen to be vulnerable and depend on the wrong people. YES, some are heartless. YES, some are ungrateful. YES, some are assholes. Even absolute strangers.

So I put whats left of the broken pieces of my soul into a cast iron box and toss it into the abyss. Maybe this is how the Miss Havishams of the world are made. When bitterness, cobwebs and the cold fill the space of a long dead heart.


Wednesday, October 01, 2014

The ledge

I hear my own heartbeat. Its beats on. Loyal and true. Until it too will one day tire and rest.

The silence is thick and nights like this i think about the futility of existence.

I crave touch. Of warmth and familiarity. And it's now the very thing denied to me.

How meaningless is the dreary cycle.

When Robin Williams left us, my first thought was - oh how brave. Then came envy.

Unless you have been clinically depressed, you will never understand how gargantuan a feat it is to be happy. And like an erotic thought, the seductive allures of suicide flits in and around the concious and unconscious mind. Its tendrils lovingly caress and wipe away tears. Easy way out? Not by a longshot. It takes a lot of courage to take the cowardly way out.

Williams didnt want for anything but escape. As a lesser person, I have much to want but within the abyss of our souls, we seek the same death of personal demons, even if it means We lose ourselves in the process.

"Dude, get help". Said one person. I feel less confident.

In memory

I miss love letters, written in moon light. I miss sunflowers beaming in make shift vases. I miss sighs of reverie, warm hands, shared tea cups. I miss feeling anything but grey. I miss having conviction. I miss my rose tinted glasses.

The stranger in the mirror moves her lips as I do. Touches her face as I do. But her wispy hair and empty eyes are devoid of charm and if I don't know any better her soul is dead to the world. What a shame.

Monday, June 30, 2014

Will someone try to fix me? Anyone?

A candle in the dark. The screen dims. Melancholy playing softly. It's 1997 all over again. It has come full circle. Alone and alone again.

I still can't tell which is harder. Starting over. Or letting go.

The change is overwhelming. The best analogy i have is being at the base of the mountain, looking to the sky. Feeling defeated even before I begin.

Acceptance is humbling. When I am on my knees crying and nobody's there to comes save me. So there's nothing left to be done but stare at the stars as they travel further away.

My aspirations have always been modest. Still, a pebble has no business longing for love and belonging when they remain inconsequential, standing for nothing, offering nothing. It is devastating being replaced and ignored.

Hard lesson against trying to look for validation in other people. As I have been advised, I WILL be disappointed.

Only I am afraid of being my own hero. Heros dont usually run on empty.

Sunday, April 27, 2014

Everything is Moving

Nothing is absolute. Everything changes, everything moves, everything revolves, everything flies and goes away.
- Frieda Kahlo

Spent the last hour removing pathetic soppy pins from my Pinterest account. I have come some distance from the days when I would just lie in bed in tears, going through every dog photo, gif and video I could find just to have enough motivation to get up and maybe eat or on good days, do laundry.

Looking back I can't help but find overwhelming compassion for the old me. Not self pity. But a sadness tinged with sympathy. How a human being can be so broken with not a single scratch on her skin. When self harm was only thwarted by cowardice.

It's a place I never want to be ever again.

The point when the chest hurts from too much crying and the heart sinks from the weight of living, alone, in the dark, abandoned. But you know, despite what well meaning people say, that my family is with me, my friends, even the end it's a lonely battle, with myself, in my head.

When a once uttered derision echoes again and again, bouncing of the walls, to bend me down lower and lower until I believe that I am nothing more than dirt. Then I become my own persecutor. I don't only agree with detractors, I join in and strangle my own self worth with my bare hands. Left to rot, the mind ceases to see logic.

Although still far from freedom, my latest meltdown was less than a week ago, when I look back at my blog posts and pin from where I am now, how utterly miserable must I have been to relate to such sadness.

But the battle continues on. Hopefully there will come a time when even this post will feel unseemly.