People mean too little to me and I bore of them easily.
The effect of meaning too little myself for too long.
But how do you tell someone you've grown tired of them because they just aren't interesting?
That's rude.
Sunday, May 31, 2015
Friday, May 29, 2015
Thursday, May 28, 2015
Today I bought a perfume because of the way it made me feel.
Perfumes have always been, to me, liquid moods you can envelope yourself in. I am a very, very olfactory person and I attach memories to scents and I remember people by the way their skin smells
Checking out Valentina Pink was a strange experience.
I sprayed it on and took a whiff - instantly I was transported back in time, but to a memory I cannot remember.
My chest immediately constricted and my heart began beating wildly, wanting to escape my chest from the sheer emotion I was suddenly induced to recall - but with no particular memory attached.
It has been an hour since and try as I might I believe the memory was too long ago and too deeply buried but I did know with clarity that Valentina Pink reminded me of something. Something so, so long ago I don't remember anymore. An impression. A mood. An emotion.
Suddenly I have forgotten the present me - suddenly I have lost count of my years and experience and I am right there, somewhere in my childhood, feeling that pure, innocent emotion i once felt. That emotion made my heart palpitate wildly for some reason.
Whatever memory it was, I was excited and happy in it. Then again back in those days as a child I was always excited and happy. It was nice to be brought back in time and forget who I have become for a while.
It has been an hour since, though. I wish my heart would stop trying to jump out of my chest.
--
Update: I have figured out what the memory is.
I was seven. I was at Sanrio Puroland in Japan with my parents and aunt and late granny.
I was happy.
I think the scent wasn't replicated anywhere in my memory but the way it set into my skin and began to dance was characteristic of how i constructed my memory of Tokyo as a seven year old: foreign, delicate, exciting, pink.
Being honest requires courage.
Nowadays people say a few swear words, behave rudely and call themselves 'real'.
It is much easier to tell lies, both to other people and to yourself.
Telling yourself the truth about your own flaws and mistakes is the hardest.
Today someone called me a spoiled brat, right after I said that I hated spoilt brats.
That may classify as the most offensive thing to say to me ever.
Besides bugging me a little bit, I wasn't as hurt as I thought I would be, even if it came from someone close.
I'm still trying to place this strange un-offended melancholy I am feeling in the place of anger or hurt.
Maybe it is still a kind of hurt. But it's a new kind of hurt and it is kind of fascinating.
Tuesday, May 26, 2015
Monday, May 25, 2015
Loving requires courage
to be loved, the same.
We fight to hold on
and fight to let go.
Hanging, unable to escape
the trap of others and
the trap of our hearts;
an ugly, twisted love
without courage becomes
greed and consumption
ravelling around your neck
comfortably; trapped
you break free but
(snap) too late -
you can't fix it so
you carry on dying.
to be loved, the same.
We fight to hold on
and fight to let go.
Hanging, unable to escape
the trap of others and
the trap of our hearts;
an ugly, twisted love
without courage becomes
greed and consumption
ravelling around your neck
comfortably; trapped
you break free but
(snap) too late -
you can't fix it so
you carry on dying.
Dude: how are you doing? Still modeling?
Me: When I met you I had already quit for a long time. I don't know why you would be asking that.
It's so easy to categorise me by how I look and that really bothers me.
Reminds me of the guy who called me a "CBD girl", defining me by location and gender, literally.
I think I find it offensive because I categorize people like this:
A) Kind
B) Unkind
But maybe that does not make me any less judgemental than they.
We all sin in different ways.
PS: how and why is it so difficult to just say, "you're gorgeous as usual"?
It carries the same meaning, but feels more honest and sincere. But instead, we hide behind veiled questions and excuses and pervert the sentiment.
But the question I really want to know is: why am I so offended???
This is pissing me off!!
The sound of
hollow words resonating
in my head filling it
with echoes
Just like how you
used to fill
my body with
your presence
They say empty vessels
make the most noise
perhaps that's why
I complain and
you lie.
To be able to love
so much is
to be able to hurt
so much and
After all, Poetry
is an echo
asking a shadow
to dance.
hollow words resonating
in my head filling it
with echoes
Just like how you
used to fill
my body with
your presence
They say empty vessels
make the most noise
perhaps that's why
I complain and
you lie.
To be able to love
so much is
to be able to hurt
so much and
After all, Poetry
is an echo
asking a shadow
to dance.
Saturday, May 23, 2015
If one day life told you that you were worth only half of what you thought you were, which would you blame: your circumstance, or your ego?
Would you then become half the person you once were?
***
***
If life took away your dreams and told you you weren't worthy of them, would you become incapable of having those dreams again?
What would you do if life told you all these and you had no way to disagree?
Would you try and run away? Distract yourself? Destroy yourself? Change yourself?
Tuesday, May 19, 2015
Hilarious nerd depression
So I was damn depressed and unable to function except cry in bed.
Him: Don't be sad. Think about all the books you've yet to read.
Me: Holy shit yeah that's my life purpose nothing else is as important to me I am not depressed anymore.
Legit happened.
Such are my priorities.
Him: Don't be sad. Think about all the books you've yet to read.
Me: Holy shit yeah that's my life purpose nothing else is as important to me I am not depressed anymore.
Legit happened.
Such are my priorities.
Sunday, May 17, 2015
Friday, May 15, 2015
Of mice, men and book thieves.
I remember I stole Of Mice And Men.
I was in JC at the time, and the wonderful book was left so neglected, rotting, collecting dust in a tiny classroom library in the high school section classroom.
It was a beautiful, big school and sometimes being late for class was only because the damn classroom was half a kilo away, or you got lost, even a year in. Or maybe that's just me because I am not very good at integrating into this whole world in general.
So the book, being part of some small private classroom library was unmarked and I highly doubted it had ever been seriously read (the spine was intact, and this is not a thin book). I don't steal stuff generally, but I have a special spot of moral ambiguity reserved for books and only books, especially when they're old and neglected.
I don't think anyone would miss a book they neglected, even if it got stolen.
And anyway these boys were reading Depression Economics by Paul freaking Krugman everywhere I went so I doubt they would appreciate a book about the aftermath of the Great Depression (I find this highly ironic, btw), only because that depression was obscenely outdated by 2010. And also, Of Mice And Men wasn't about whatever Paul Krugman was peddling.
It didn't even take effort. I took the book, put it in my bag and left after we were all done with the classroom like it was the most natural thing in the world. To me indeed it was - giving well written books the respect they deserve.
When you steal a book, do you only steal an object? It felt like I stole an idea, emotions and beauty - something everyone should be able to enjoy. I remember I got $140 a month as allowance a month in those days, and once I got it I would go blow like $50 on new books at Kino every month.
Don't tell my mom.
I wrote this entry to talk about how I felt reading the first twenty pages of Steinbeck's book. (As usual I got horribly sidetracked, I apologise) I never had time to finish the whole book, and I am making a note now to remember to do so.
A lot of books are written and published daily now. It has become a business of selling the best stories and most fashionable ideas. I admit myself that I have always wanted to write a novel or something but I lack the skill and commitment; but mostly because I never feel ready to use my pen in such a public way. Writing is my most valued skill and I would find it shameful if someone said something like this, "The story is ok, but the writing is mediocre."
I think that is a problem with most of the novels written today. They are written to tell a story - they are effectively, storybooks. I don't have anything against them, but thinking back to me experience of Twenty Pages of Steinbeck, (or any Dickens experience) I can't help but feel that the mindset of authors today and of the past are very different.
I was completely exhausted and overwhelmed after reading barely the intro to Of Mice and Men. The vivid, deep description of every single thing in the scene gripped my and refused to let go - that metaphorical dull, dusty hot breeze blew from the pages into my face and I swear I could feel the aftermath of the Depression - that drawl, uncertain, boring atmosphere.
It was like even that dusty sky and dry, red earth had emotion and that emotion infected me deeply. I had felt so much despair and suffocation from those pages I had to stop reading.
Actually I haven't finished and I don't know what the book is really about lol. Also, I am recounting from memory what I read close to five years ago, kindly excuse any inaccuracies as right now I don't have the book with me personally.
I think writing itself is an experience and should be disciplined and enjoyed in equal parts. Modern books sell stories and ideas but not -writing- because nobody is interested to read about lengthy descriptions of things anymore. Generally quiet, patient beauty doesn't hold charm like instantaneous gratification in this generation of instant gratification and smartphones.
I would like to learn to write with skill and discipline instead of only writing a story and selling ideas. But as a result I only end up writing weird scenes with no backstory or reason. I only describe the place, the emotion and I lose interest.
Here's a typical sampler (written when I was 16, please have mercy) : https://www.fictionpress.com/s/2569550/1/Rail
I think it goes without saying that I love The Book Thief by Markus Zuzak very much. I was on a school trip in the UK that year (2007?) and I bought it for 8 pounds before it came out in Singapore!
At the time the rate for Pounds Sterling was really high, haha.
I was in JC at the time, and the wonderful book was left so neglected, rotting, collecting dust in a tiny classroom library in the high school section classroom.
It was a beautiful, big school and sometimes being late for class was only because the damn classroom was half a kilo away, or you got lost, even a year in. Or maybe that's just me because I am not very good at integrating into this whole world in general.
So the book, being part of some small private classroom library was unmarked and I highly doubted it had ever been seriously read (the spine was intact, and this is not a thin book). I don't steal stuff generally, but I have a special spot of moral ambiguity reserved for books and only books, especially when they're old and neglected.
I don't think anyone would miss a book they neglected, even if it got stolen.
And anyway these boys were reading Depression Economics by Paul freaking Krugman everywhere I went so I doubt they would appreciate a book about the aftermath of the Great Depression (I find this highly ironic, btw), only because that depression was obscenely outdated by 2010. And also, Of Mice And Men wasn't about whatever Paul Krugman was peddling.
It didn't even take effort. I took the book, put it in my bag and left after we were all done with the classroom like it was the most natural thing in the world. To me indeed it was - giving well written books the respect they deserve.
When you steal a book, do you only steal an object? It felt like I stole an idea, emotions and beauty - something everyone should be able to enjoy. I remember I got $140 a month as allowance a month in those days, and once I got it I would go blow like $50 on new books at Kino every month.
Don't tell my mom.
I wrote this entry to talk about how I felt reading the first twenty pages of Steinbeck's book. (As usual I got horribly sidetracked, I apologise) I never had time to finish the whole book, and I am making a note now to remember to do so.
A lot of books are written and published daily now. It has become a business of selling the best stories and most fashionable ideas. I admit myself that I have always wanted to write a novel or something but I lack the skill and commitment; but mostly because I never feel ready to use my pen in such a public way. Writing is my most valued skill and I would find it shameful if someone said something like this, "The story is ok, but the writing is mediocre."
I think that is a problem with most of the novels written today. They are written to tell a story - they are effectively, storybooks. I don't have anything against them, but thinking back to me experience of Twenty Pages of Steinbeck, (or any Dickens experience) I can't help but feel that the mindset of authors today and of the past are very different.
I was completely exhausted and overwhelmed after reading barely the intro to Of Mice and Men. The vivid, deep description of every single thing in the scene gripped my and refused to let go - that metaphorical dull, dusty hot breeze blew from the pages into my face and I swear I could feel the aftermath of the Depression - that drawl, uncertain, boring atmosphere.
It was like even that dusty sky and dry, red earth had emotion and that emotion infected me deeply. I had felt so much despair and suffocation from those pages I had to stop reading.
Actually I haven't finished and I don't know what the book is really about lol. Also, I am recounting from memory what I read close to five years ago, kindly excuse any inaccuracies as right now I don't have the book with me personally.
I think writing itself is an experience and should be disciplined and enjoyed in equal parts. Modern books sell stories and ideas but not -writing- because nobody is interested to read about lengthy descriptions of things anymore. Generally quiet, patient beauty doesn't hold charm like instantaneous gratification in this generation of instant gratification and smartphones.
I would like to learn to write with skill and discipline instead of only writing a story and selling ideas. But as a result I only end up writing weird scenes with no backstory or reason. I only describe the place, the emotion and I lose interest.
Here's a typical sampler (written when I was 16, please have mercy) : https://www.fictionpress.com/s/2569550/1/Rail
I think it goes without saying that I love The Book Thief by Markus Zuzak very much. I was on a school trip in the UK that year (2007?) and I bought it for 8 pounds before it came out in Singapore!
At the time the rate for Pounds Sterling was really high, haha.
Sunday, May 10, 2015
Friday, May 8, 2015
Tuesday, May 5, 2015
Every time I deal with people something is sure to blow up.
After all this I can say with confidence that the problem is me. Maybe I hold people to standards which are too high. Maybe I am rude and have a short temper.
I am really working hard on those two points. But even if I succeed, I don't think I could ever get used to people.
I ate some ramen today and the guy gave me a free plate of gyoza and asked me to come again.
I was so embarrassed and so shy! And he kept coming (like 3 times) to my table and talking to me while I was stuffing my face w ramen and I had to cover my mouth for the entire time I was thanking him.
I had no makeup on and I was only in slippers! I couldn't figure out if he talked to me because he thought I was cute or because he really wanted customers?
Without makeup, I have no confidence in interacting the opposite sex at all. Usually I am 100X more shy too, because I don't have my 'bargaining chips' on hand. I hardly talk or crack jokes or interact with anyone; I just want to be invisible.
It's not exactly a self-image issue because I don't feel bad about the way I look... I am just not used to talking to people without my full playing deck. I am quite sure without makeup I look like any normal human. Not that I'm self conscious, but I don't really expect to be given free gyoza or chatted up with my nerd glasses on and my pimples unconcealed. My hair was still wet rom the shower, too...
I think it has to do with my job as a hostess when I was younger? It was my first job and I was pretty good at it. Unfortunately it formed the foundation of how I viewed the world, how I viewed adults and how I viewed people.
I think I could write a pretty interesting blog about my experiences as a part time model/hostess if I could stop myself from navel-gazing or complaining for ten minutes. Haha!
But according to these girls who bullied me in school, I can't claim to be a model because of a myriad of unflattering reasons and condescending laughter. I just want to clear the air : I worked a model not because I wanted to 'one-up' their queen bee (who was also a model and apparently 1000X bigger than I will ever be), or to claim that I am hot.
I think I already established above that I really look like a plain, normal person without my face paint and I am really fine with that. But of course these girls want to make me sound as desperate and ugly as possible so nothing I say will stand. I can give you a list of people who will not hesitate at all to tell the world I am hideously ugly... and it is a long list.
Anyway, I 'claim to be a model' because I worked as one... and I worked as one because the pay was good and I needed to pay rent and feed myself. It wasn't a thing I did to make my ego feel good or prove to the world I got lucky in the genetic lottery. I had bills and I needed to eat. And trust me, nothing is glamorous when you're clamouring to pay rent every month.
Enough of talking about bullies.. I get really sidetracked because they really hurt me. (I still hear the echoes of the things they said about me and my mind conjures up what I would imagine them to say. It's pathetic, but I don't know how to stop it.)
Working as a hostess... I said I'd talk about it right? (A/N: writing too colloquially again... I must stop soon) Pretty much when you're working in nightlife, the one who looks the best is queen. And the one who can spend the most is king. This is a basic principle of the world when the sun goes down.
I remember I would spend up to 3 hours prepping myself before I went to work! Makeup, hair, nails and the full set. I was actually pretty popular (?) at one point and people said I was very pretty. I can't remember how much eyeliner I went through but uh, panda is an appropriate comparison.
I found a very old picture of my makeup then! (I don't really think it looks good now...)
But under the strobe lights, overdone makeup means your features are visible; it's like stage makeup of sorts?
Even now, when I don't wear makeup, I feel like I am "off duty" and I don't feel obligated to be anyone's eye candy. If I wanted attention I know how to get it, and when I dress down it means I don't want any.
Anyways, the kind of attention you get just because you pushed up your boobs and put on makeup is really boring. Usually these people can't even hold a decent conversation. In no way do I find it flattering. (I would probably cream my panties if anyone played the Capitals game with me or quoted any literary work.)
Maybe that is why I am bad at dealing with people? I started interacting in the world at the last place I should have started and I cannot deny it has made me intensely cynical (and somewhat manipulative). I can't and don't know how to keep friends or relationships because I see people as just others who want something from me.
I don't think I am wrong about that.
***
As a ending note... I know that models and hostesses party very hard and sleep with a lot of people. In my defence, when I was in the industry, I didn't have such relations with anyone other than the boy/girlfriend I had at the time. The reason was because I was too afraid of the people I met in nightlife.
I'd like to say I had moral reasons etc. but really, I was just too scared and obsessed about paying rent to bother about these things.
Well, actually if you wanted an even more convincing reason, one of the managers in the bars forced himself on me sexually and after that I went lesbian for a while and could only sleep with my girlfriend. I was terrified of and hated men. (I am pretty damn sure I still do, lol)
I don't know, if there are still people who want to call me a slut (I am sure there is still a long list) go ahead, but I would suggest for them to find something else to occupy their time with. Saying bad things about people speaks more of you than of the person you try to smear.
I like talking about sex and making jokes about it, but I'm too shy to go screw random people lol.
About clubbing... I think we all know I don't like clubbing? It's not something I am proud of because it's not like I think clubbing is a vice or a sin.. It's just that a disturbing amount of people think I do and I have no idea why.
I leave my house like.. twice a week. Once to get groceries, once to visit my parents.
And no, groceries isn't some euphemism for cock.
Lol.
After all this I can say with confidence that the problem is me. Maybe I hold people to standards which are too high. Maybe I am rude and have a short temper.
I am really working hard on those two points. But even if I succeed, I don't think I could ever get used to people.
I ate some ramen today and the guy gave me a free plate of gyoza and asked me to come again.
I was so embarrassed and so shy! And he kept coming (like 3 times) to my table and talking to me while I was stuffing my face w ramen and I had to cover my mouth for the entire time I was thanking him.
I had no makeup on and I was only in slippers! I couldn't figure out if he talked to me because he thought I was cute or because he really wanted customers?
Without makeup, I have no confidence in interacting the opposite sex at all. Usually I am 100X more shy too, because I don't have my 'bargaining chips' on hand. I hardly talk or crack jokes or interact with anyone; I just want to be invisible.
It's not exactly a self-image issue because I don't feel bad about the way I look... I am just not used to talking to people without my full playing deck. I am quite sure without makeup I look like any normal human. Not that I'm self conscious, but I don't really expect to be given free gyoza or chatted up with my nerd glasses on and my pimples unconcealed. My hair was still wet rom the shower, too...
I think it has to do with my job as a hostess when I was younger? It was my first job and I was pretty good at it. Unfortunately it formed the foundation of how I viewed the world, how I viewed adults and how I viewed people.
I think I could write a pretty interesting blog about my experiences as a part time model/hostess if I could stop myself from navel-gazing or complaining for ten minutes. Haha!
But according to these girls who bullied me in school, I can't claim to be a model because of a myriad of unflattering reasons and condescending laughter. I just want to clear the air : I worked a model not because I wanted to 'one-up' their queen bee (who was also a model and apparently 1000X bigger than I will ever be), or to claim that I am hot.
I think I already established above that I really look like a plain, normal person without my face paint and I am really fine with that. But of course these girls want to make me sound as desperate and ugly as possible so nothing I say will stand. I can give you a list of people who will not hesitate at all to tell the world I am hideously ugly... and it is a long list.
Anyway, I 'claim to be a model' because I worked as one... and I worked as one because the pay was good and I needed to pay rent and feed myself. It wasn't a thing I did to make my ego feel good or prove to the world I got lucky in the genetic lottery. I had bills and I needed to eat. And trust me, nothing is glamorous when you're clamouring to pay rent every month.
Enough of talking about bullies.. I get really sidetracked because they really hurt me. (I still hear the echoes of the things they said about me and my mind conjures up what I would imagine them to say. It's pathetic, but I don't know how to stop it.)
Working as a hostess... I said I'd talk about it right? (A/N: writing too colloquially again... I must stop soon) Pretty much when you're working in nightlife, the one who looks the best is queen. And the one who can spend the most is king. This is a basic principle of the world when the sun goes down.
I remember I would spend up to 3 hours prepping myself before I went to work! Makeup, hair, nails and the full set. I was actually pretty popular (?) at one point and people said I was very pretty. I can't remember how much eyeliner I went through but uh, panda is an appropriate comparison.
I found a very old picture of my makeup then! (I don't really think it looks good now...)
But under the strobe lights, overdone makeup means your features are visible; it's like stage makeup of sorts?
Even now, when I don't wear makeup, I feel like I am "off duty" and I don't feel obligated to be anyone's eye candy. If I wanted attention I know how to get it, and when I dress down it means I don't want any.
Anyways, the kind of attention you get just because you pushed up your boobs and put on makeup is really boring. Usually these people can't even hold a decent conversation. In no way do I find it flattering. (I would probably cream my panties if anyone played the Capitals game with me or quoted any literary work.)
Maybe that is why I am bad at dealing with people? I started interacting in the world at the last place I should have started and I cannot deny it has made me intensely cynical (and somewhat manipulative). I can't and don't know how to keep friends or relationships because I see people as just others who want something from me.
I don't think I am wrong about that.
***
As a ending note... I know that models and hostesses party very hard and sleep with a lot of people. In my defence, when I was in the industry, I didn't have such relations with anyone other than the boy/girlfriend I had at the time. The reason was because I was too afraid of the people I met in nightlife.
I'd like to say I had moral reasons etc. but really, I was just too scared and obsessed about paying rent to bother about these things.
Well, actually if you wanted an even more convincing reason, one of the managers in the bars forced himself on me sexually and after that I went lesbian for a while and could only sleep with my girlfriend. I was terrified of and hated men. (I am pretty damn sure I still do, lol)
I don't know, if there are still people who want to call me a slut (I am sure there is still a long list) go ahead, but I would suggest for them to find something else to occupy their time with. Saying bad things about people speaks more of you than of the person you try to smear.
I like talking about sex and making jokes about it, but I'm too shy to go screw random people lol.
About clubbing... I think we all know I don't like clubbing? It's not something I am proud of because it's not like I think clubbing is a vice or a sin.. It's just that a disturbing amount of people think I do and I have no idea why.
I leave my house like.. twice a week. Once to get groceries, once to visit my parents.
And no, groceries isn't some euphemism for cock.
Lol.
Monday, May 4, 2015
Sunday, May 3, 2015
Once upon a time I met a man who was very nice to me.
I fell for him and opened myself up and allowed myself to become dependent on him.
Very soon, he showed me why that was a bad idea.
It's not surprising because I've come to expect that from humans.
But because I loved him so much, a part of my heart died along with my belief in love.
He taught me that even if you love each other things can and will fuck up.
Nobody will love you more than they love themselves.
Do I want attention? Not particularly.
I just really enjoy my boobs.
I just really enjoy my boobs.
If you were to ask me why I enjoy posting offensive content, I probably couldn't give you a straight answer.
Is it because I am rebellious? Perhaps it has become a habit stemming from my teens. But it's not like I have a problem with authority at this age....
I'm just... Very good at doing what I'm told not to do.
That's not very good is it? I do try to be a proper adult (sometimes).
But you know what I think?
I think many of these 'proper' people out there do terrible things in the dark and their proper facades are to cover that. They behave so immaculate but their hearts are trash.
Maybe in a small way I don't put up a proper face because I want to tell people that I have nothing to hide or play pretend about.
This is my shadow face.
Well actually, these are my boobs.
So, I've decided to quit Facebook.
It was interesting, but dealing with people just isn't for me.
I'll keep the profile active in case I want to contact anyone, seeing as I don't have ways to contact many people I am acquainted with.
I think it's healthier for me to just be alone with my thoughts, so I've decided to use this blog for my expressive needs.
I'll be blogging on mobile too so expect short posts and pictures.
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