It's been a while...

I know, I hardly have (m)any excuses as to why I haven't been updating my journal. The past month or so has been an emotional moment for me, a rollercoaster of emotions, and there were times when I chose to numb myself so I just will not feel.

Ten went great; it was a great experience and I look forward to more performances coming this August. I simply cannot explain how much I love what I am doing at the moment. The only moments that bring me down are the moments when I am made to explain to my loved ones and my friends about why I can no longer spend as much time with them as I used to, or want to. I promise, however, with the end of August I will possibly have more time in hand and I would love to see each and every one of you who see the melodramatic side of me, even off-stage.

Tonight I am unable to sleep yet again. Insomnia hit me, while I am stressing out over an exam tomorrow, and while I am thinking hard about the decision(s) I may have to make, that may end up hurting myself or the others around me. Sometimes, pain is inevitable. Whatever decision one makes will cause hurt for one person or another.

It's hard to explain, really. I wanted time off because I wanted to be alone, because I wanted to experience many other things in life that I simply stopped enjoying because I was too busy focusing my attention on something or someone else. Love was not part of the question, or bargain, in this case.

I am brought back to the day of the T4YP ensemble audition in April/May this year. I chose this monologue because I could identify myself so well with it.

~~~~~~
Downtown New York, the 1980s. Cynthia contemplates her future, just after catching her ex-boyfriend and her best friend, making out in her kitchen.

CYNTHIA:

The realization hits me heavily, like a .44 Magnum smashing into my skull. My heart starts beating with a quick dread and my blood freezes in my veins. My stomach does backflips. The ordeal I am about to face is one of the most chilling, grisly, and macabre experiences known to woman.

Dating. I will have to start dating again.

Please, God, no, don't make me do it! I'll be good from now on, I promise! I'll stop feeding the dog hashish! I'll be kind, thoughtful, sober, industrious, anything. But please, God, not the ultimate torture of dating.

That's why I stayed with him for so long, probably. I couldn't stand going through it all again. Sure, he might be a trifle wild and intractable, I kept telling myself, but at least I know I'll get laid tonight, and tomorrow night. At least someone will go to the movies with me and not try to hold my hand.

Hand-holding. The WORST thing about dating. It's the most nerve-wrecking experience! Once I start holding hands, I'm afraid to stop. If I pull my hand away, will he think I'm being cold, or moody? Should I squeeze his hand and kind of wiggle my fingers around suggestively? Or is that too forward? What if my hand is clammy? A clammy hand is more offensive than bad breath or right-wing politics! A clammy hand means you're a lousy lay! Everybody knows that!

And what, dear spiteful God, will I wear?
~~~~~~

The point of all these rambling is that I chose to be alone so I could meet other people. I wanted to know if there really was someone out there who thinks like me, sees the world the way I do, or snacks on the things that I do, or loves food as much as I do. Random, true, but I am no hopeless romantic. I am just someone looking for the impossible, and making things happen one step at a time.

I will not lie (not at 3.40AM without sleep). I miss the good old times and I miss him. It may be difficult for many to believe, but he was one of the greatest things to have ever happened to me. Always reliable, calm, composed, loveable... most importantly, the one element that I had always admired in him was his ability to look at things rationally. True, it drove me crazy at times when I wished he could show more emotion or be more communicative, but it was his rationality that made him appear matured for his age. And maturity was what I needed, especially when I've grown beyond my own, and I needed someone who was stronger than I was, more reasonable than I was, more steadfast, and my pillar of strength.

But I'm sure he's destined for greater things in life, and having me around will probably not be the healthiest thing ever for him. I, meanwhile, will stick my head out a little bit longer. I will keep an open mind and a closed heart, because keeping it guarded right now is the best option. My greatest fear the day I said goodbye was this: will there be anyone else who will care for me the way he did, who would drive me to the doctor's at 4 in the morning like he did, who would buy me dinner simply because he felt like it, who would surprise me with randomly practical gifts like he did, who would be patient with me like he was, who would be constantly available for me at (almost) any time of the day like he was...

I wish things are not as complicated as they are now. I crave for simple platonic friendships and bondings. Why does every single male-female relationship in my life (in which case would mean me) have to be complicated? Why do they always end up falling for me when I am a nutcase, damn it... far too gone to be saved or comprehended. I shouldn't be worth anyone's time. Sometimes I realise I deliberately hurt the ones that I care for, in order to keep them away from me. I am afraid that once the feelings get beyond simple "care-for-a-friend", that's when they stop caring for real.

Every one says they'll do their best, when all I want is simply someone who will stick by me, be my best friend, hold my hand when I'm afraid, allow me to cry on his shoulder, be available for me, and someone who looks at things rationally while allowing emotions to speak on his behalf at times. I want someone who is matured, because immaturity is a big turn-off. I want someone who sees the world through my glasses, and someone who will challenge me to be a better person than I am now.

As much as excitement thrills me, I realise that at the end of the day, I am still a neurotic person who needs to be balanced out by someone who is not self-pitying or angsty.

It is true, indeed. It is about who you are when you are with the person that truly defines the relationship.

Now if only I could get a certain person out of my mind at this hour of night, that will be truly appreciated.

I want to hold your hand

My thoughts keep going back to you, that night so many nights ago when you had your arms outstretched towards me and enveloping me with those strong arms one minute later. I was standing at the pool, not in but right at the edge, and you looked at me with that look and smiled. And it stuck. What did? I don't know for sure. The memory, the smile, that look, the love.

From then on it's been a buzz of clear melodrama. One moment of static and the next, a jolt of sound on the radio as I tune in to your heartbeat.

I want this moment to pass without due respect to time. Driving back yesterday in the slight drizzle after the rain and after that last kiss that seemed to linger on for hours leaving me dizzy with the after effects, I thought of how beautiful we could have been, and were. You kissed me in the car for the first time, remember? It was night in a dark alley, and so much more could have happened, but it was just an innocent kiss. I had gummy bears right before, and you asked me why I was shy. But I was. You had that effect on me.

I've told myself a billion times to be strong. Rational. Less emotional. Less sensitive. I wonder if I could be strong without you, really. Remember what you said? You said I coloured your world, and you, to me, helped me separate the mess of coloured threads that made my life and gave meaning to it all. But I know, it's the right thing, isn't it? But why does right have to hurt?

I could give plenty of reasons to erase many memories in time, but with you, I'd rather keep them. I'll keep you tucked underneath my blanket at night, and to have you keep me warm. Not you, physically, but the memories.

We are all masters of our own fates, but we will never really know what will happen. All I ask from you is that you would think of me fondly once in a while and promise me you'll try. If our hearts shall beat together again, will you allow them to? No inhibitions, just love. Pure. Just. And beautiful.

One day you will look at me with that look again. Scratch my back for me again. And make those funny noises you do in the car. Or clap out of tune to the music that is playing on the radio. You'd do all that and more.

I wanted to say so much yesterday but all I could do was cry. I wanted to say "thank you". I wanted to say "I love you". But they got stuck somewhere. And it's funny, really. And I will never want to forget.

This Is When My Youth Ends

It's quiet at night here, where I am sitting facing my laptop screen, with only the sound of distant crickets and the soft blowing of the fan. It's pretty sudden, the missing, the aching, the pining of times past, of lost memories and childhood and those phone conversations we had in the past. I suddenly remember those moments so many years ago when I was seventeen, hiding in the dark downstairs with the cordless phone in the house, dodging my parents and their squealing and complaints of the exorbitant amount the phone bills always came up to.

Funny. Back then it felt like a task, like mission impossible playing in my life.

But I miss those moments most. I mourn the loss of my youth with the realisation that my childhood friends are getting hitched. I had a very good friend back in Form 6, when I was eighteen. I struggled all through Form 6, because of the many issues I had and stumbling in between the psychiatrist's office and home, I found my way into his car in the late evenings, spending hours upon hours with plain conversations. The attraction was there, I suspected, but it remained a platonic friendship, and one I certainly miss. Where are those days now? Why must every single male-female friendship these days seem more complicated than they ever were?

I recall those days with a smile. I'd mention his name, this friend of mine who always had a joke on his lips every single day, entertaining everyone including himself. His best skills were playing the guitar, running and football. Remember the song "Pupus"? Until today it's stuck in my head because of you. And I recall those days when we were close, when he and I were friends, when he cheered me up simply when I was down. I always thought those days would never end. But they did. They ended when I left town, and I never really came back. Sure, I did, every once in a while, but I never saw him. It's funny. I don't even remember how he looks like now. The only remains of his memory is this medal he dedicated to me, hanging from the mirror in my room at home. How I miss his smile, his laughter, his warmth. And this aching is multiplied now that I met someone who reminds me of him.

There were also those days, remember? Of spending them with her in the public library after school every single day. We'd study and laugh, and spent our evenings sitting outside the library making silly antics that others would hopefully find bizzarre. There was also "tok kura-kura", remember? This old man with his bicycle whom we thought resembled "tok kura-kura" from Dragonball so much. I miss him. I miss seeing him with his steady old bicycle, riding past every day. Remember when it rained, back then? We'd fold our pants up and play in the rain. If it became flooded, even the better. We'd skip in the knee-high water, and splashed our worries away. I remember how you felt when you suffered loss. We spoke about your mother a lot, remember? I wanted so badly to wipe your ache away, but all I could do was to sit beside you while you cried. We became best friends that way, you and I. How I miss those days. And how I miss you.

What changed, I wonder? I look back on all these years and I can't seem to point to a day when everything started morphing into the complexity of what it is today. I miss you. Please come back. Come home to me. But you can't. The days are gone, and this is how I will be spending the rest of the days. This is when my youth ends: with friends building families, lost childhood memories, and old flames settling down for good. For good, of course.

But if he ever did, I don't know how I will ever take it.

Being Alive and Happy

We got our scripts last night for our first Theatre for Young People (T4YP) performance, entitled "Ten", which will be showing in KLPac next month. I don't know about the rest the cast, but I know one thing's for sure: I am excited! It took me some time - a little longer than expected, perhaps - but realisation dawned when I finally got home after watching Ironman today, and I thought to myself, with tune and all, "what a wonderful world".

For the first time in a very long time last night, I hesitated for a long moment before deciding the answer to this question, "Are you depressed at the moment?" I would usually know the answer right away, that I was obviously deeply depressed by the state of my mind, state of my being, and just by being here on earth.

But yesterday, I hesitated. I questioned whether I was depressed. And although I stood at the "yes" zone, deep inside I realised that I wasn't DEPRESSED. I was far from it.

I looked through the archive of my old blog, and read some of my past entries, trying to recall what it felt like to be depressed, and if I bore any resemblance right now to how I felt back then. Here are some excerpts:

Sunday, March 02, 2008

Every day I walk the earth, I feel a greater sense of remorse and grief. I am eating yet another person's bowl of rice, denying another child that right to food. This child could be the person to create the cure for cancer. This child could be the person to create an atmosphere of warmth and love for thousands of other people out there. But who am I? Who am I to be taking away this child's right? I am, obviously, not creating nor am I close to creating the cure to cancer. I am obviously not bringing joy to anyone else's life right now, much less to the lives of a thousand people out there.

Monday, January 21, 2008

"You are a 40-year-old trapped in a 15-year-old's body"

An old person in a young body, a sad person with a bubbly personality... Why do so many extreme opposites exist in my life?

I'm sinking deeper and deeper into depression; I'm afraid I'll never recover this time. I gather all my strength and courage, and realise that there is nothing that makes or breaks a person more than the feeling of being crushed.

What was it I said last week? Oh yeah. That. "Nothing makes you stronger than being pushed to breaking point, when everything feels so wrong and you could never be sadder than that."

Of course. Nothing. But this.

Sunday, January 06, 2008

So there I was, sitting in Murni, after a heated discussion and a waiter who came up to me and commented that I was pretty; adding up to the oddness of a night that was yesterday, and all of a sudden I just curled. Literally. I wanted to go home. My shawl wrapped tightly around me, I had wanted to hurl it away, take my clothes off, and run home.

It wasn't anger. It wasn't outrage. I hardly had any energy to care if my food was coming, even after waiting for half an hour. I could hardly muster up enough strength to raise my hand to enquire. Because at that very moment, all I wanted to do was to go home. I wanted the pain to go away. I just wanted it to disappear, along with my physical self, from this earth that we call home. Because I felt as if I had no home - no place to belong - and I felt small, and all alone.

We left. He bought some food for me, although I barely had any appetite to eat, and I was sure that my stomach was unable to digest any bits and pieces of food. But he bought it anyway. We went home. I ate. He watched. And then I sat and poured my heart out. I could think of a billion reasons for a heartache... breakups, divorce, broken friendships, losing your favourite book, ruining your favourite outfit, being homeless, or even having your partner cheating on you. But how do you comprehend something when your heartache is there merely because of your existence? How could simply being on earth, cause you so much pain?

There are nights when I come home, kick my shoes off, lie in bed, and I wonder, I wonder, if I will ever find a purpose to being. A purpose to this life.

Of course, it is much easier to blame it all on the weather. Rainy days make you sick. But I thank God for blessing me with someone who, despite it all, sees through me and holds my hand and tells me "it's not your fault". I remember asking, "But is it really?" But I don't want to know the answer. Never.

~~~

I only went as far back as the beginning of 2008 because this was "me" merely a few months back. This was "me" before I decided that I had to do the things I love doing in my life in order for me to love life. This was "me" before I fell in love with LIFE all over again.

This was "me" then. I was unhappy.

I used to think that I would only be happy if I made others happy. I used to think that I had to make a difference in other people's lives to be happy. I would feel extremely selfish if I ever had the slightest glimmer of wanting to be happy for myself; I would often feel like it was selfish mistake. But now I see it differently, and if anything, more clearly. If all of us were put here on earth for a reason, and if all of us are essentially looking for happiness, by pleasing ourselves and making ourselves happy, we may essentially be making everyone else happy as well. To each our own. Our own lives. Our own faith. Our own happiness.

What a difference a small time can make. I used to work on too many operatives like "tomorrow" or "yesterday", dwelling on my past and hoping too much for my future. But now, there is only one operative word that comes to mind - TODAY. And today, I am smiling. Today, I am happy.

Today, I am IN LOVE with LIFE.



Today, I am ALIVE.

The Choices We Make In Life

He was aged. He wasn't ripe with backache, knee and joint pains but you know he was aged because he had a few grey streaks of hair colouring his crowning glory. It certainly had a certain gleam of glory; it was shining in the sun.

Ah, yes. The morning sun. Ten years ago, at 9.45AM the sun would have been safe for skin consumption - teachers recommended standing under the sun until 10AM for our daily dose of Vitamin D. Our Physical Education lessons would usually end at 10AM, and it was safe to proceed even until 11AM.

But today, it was barely 9.45AM and the sun had started scorching the skin.

His skin was reddish - I assumed it was due to prolonged exposure under the sun. His back was turned towards me; I couldn't get a glimpse of his facial features. Race, you ask? He may have been Malay, judging by his skin colour. But these days anyone could look Malay. And honestly, who cares, and why should we?

What mattered to me most was that cat he was holding in his arms, held above his own eye level, held above his crowning glory, the mat of greyish black hair that was gleaming in the sun. A fat cat. He moved the cat slowly, and just like a father would do to his son, he gently placed the cat next to his face and whispered into its ears. Amidst the morning traffic and shouts of passerbys I couldn't make out what he was saying. But even from his back, you could see that look of love. There was a certain sense of tenderness in the way he held the cat that could have easily been mistaken for love.

Oh, and the cat! What pride it held within itself to be held by its owner that way. It looked up to the morning sun, and for one moment the scenario reminded of me ancient Egypt, when Pharaohs would mourn for the loss of their cats by shaving their eyebrows and many other extreme measures. What power these feline creatures had.

I walked past a woman selling currypuffs and many other assorted local delicacies and kueh. I recognised a few, and tried recalling their names.

I smiled. It was a morning under blistering hot sun, but it was certainly a sunny day. I could feel my heart smiling from beneath my breasts, beating against my ribcage gently.

In our daily lives, we make too many excuses to justify ourselves, to justify our decisions and the things we do. I came to a realisation that it was just that - we've gotten so used to making justifications that we have become experts at conjuring new excuses. I have no time, I'm too tired, I can't, I can't, I can't. I just can't.

But if a grandmother can pick up dancing at the age of 70, what excuse do you have?

If a mother of five with a full time job can find time to cook lunch and dinner everyday, why can't you?

If a husband with a busy schedule can find time to make love (and I mean, make love) to his wife every night, what is your excuse?

If there are people who love and enjoy their jobs, why aren't you? Simply perhaps you're not doing what you love to do.

If others can find time to read, why can't you?

If people can be happy, why aren't you?

It all boils down to a matter of CHOICE. Even making excuses and justifications become tiring after a while. It's all a matter of CHOICE. We have that CHOICE to start doing something we love, even if we think it's too late, or to just forget about it and live our lives with regret. We have that CHOICE to appreciate those around us, or to ignore them and to live our lives with regret. We have a CHOICE to manage our time well, or to continue giving excuses about not having enough time. We have that CHOICE to be happy in the simple things in life, or to find fault in all that we do.

I made my choice today. What is YOURS?

Not Just Another Mother's Day Entry

There is so much to say to my mum, really. First of all, I must say how awfully dreadful I feel to not be home on Mother's Day this year. I constantly make an effort to be home on Mother's Day, even if it's just for the weekend. But this year, being involved with even more commitments, I can't make the trip home this weekend, although I will try to make it home later this month. It's tough, really. I have to pick days that do not clash with theatre rehearsals or my regular law classes.

This Mother's Day, I sent mum a card. I recall how I used to make her cards for Mother's Day and her birthday every year, and how she's put them in this drawer. I made her a "trophy" once; she still has it in her room.

An Ode to Mummy

Dear Mummy,

I tried to put down into words how I felt for you, but I honestly can't. This is because words truly can't describe what you've done for me in my life, but because words are all I have, I shall try.

This Mother's Day, I want to say THANK YOU, mum for all these and more:

For bringing me into this world and not regretting the decision,

For loving me unconditionally despite my weaknesses,

For rushing me to the hospital at age 5 because I climbed the shelf and fell and had to get stitches on my eyebrow, and then crying because you felt the pain for me while I was bearing through it all with a fake grin,

For threatening to leave me at cemetaries whenever I misbehaved and added up to my amusing childhood memories,

For laughing at me for falling into the bush the first time I tried to ride the bike, and then nursing my wounds,

For patiently understanding why I preferred climbing trees and skipping around and playing with sand than playing with dolls,

For sending me to school every morning from Standard 1 to Form 6, and for losing your patience every time I woke up late,

For teaching me discipline as a child; by caning me when I was being disrespectful, and hugging me right after,

For accepting my long letters to you after every argument we had,

For respecting my decision to focus on the many things I did back in school instead of forcing me to merely study,

For being my walking dictionary when I was a child, and now turning to me for literary "advice",

For instilling my love towards the arts,

For playing the organ with me when I was a child, and for singing together,

For teaching me how to sing "Unchained Melody" at age 7,

For stopping my attempt on ending my life at age 19 and teaching me the value of appreciating life again,

For understanding that I was really depressed, and not self-pitying myself when I was 19, and for sending me to the psychiatrist and for telling me that there is no shame in it,

For checking my arms for scars in fear that I was harming myself again,

For forgiving me for troubling you at age 18 when I wanted to switch schools for Form 6 and then deciding not to,

For always encouraging me to go for my dreams even when they seem so far away,

For sending me to organ classes since I was 6,

For bringing me along to your rhythmic gymnastics trainings and allowing me to skip along,

For paying for my ballet fees which came up to an exorbitant amount,

For forgiving me when I decided to quit learning the organ and ballet and for warning me that I may regret someday,

For telling me inspirational stories about others to inspire me to go for my dreams, such as the "60-year-old lawyer" or the "singing lawyer",

For not once blaming me when I made horrible mistakes like trusting people too easily and as a result losing the car,

For giving me permission to do anything and everything I loved as long as I "didn't get into trouble with the ISA",

For always telling me that you want nothing more than to see me happy,

For encouraging me to study law as a second degree even though many parents would have thought that one degree would have been sufficient,

For buying me unconventional gifts parents would normally not give their children, like the Flip Flap I have in my room,

For honing my English skills, without you I wouldn't be able to speak a word of English because no one else spoke the language with me,

For instilling my love in reading,

For comforting me with kind words whenever I called and was feeling down,

For begging me not to cry when I tell you of all my regrets and how I should have listened to you,

For constantly reminding me that I am still young and it's never too late to reach for my dreams even though you have every right of saying "I told you so",

For never once doubting my capabilities,

For always believing in me,

For teaching me the value of being a WOMAN,

For being my mother, my teacher, my role model, and my best friend.

For you, eternally my Mummy, I love you.

No one could ever ask for a better mother.



P/s: I know you may never get to read this ever (because you are rarely online and you never read blogs!), but I wish you knew how much I truly care for you, and I wish every day of your life will be filled with sunshine, and I hope to fill your days with pride someday. I hope to make you proud.

Voiceless and Rocked Up

I have a sore throat. No, scratch that. I HAVE A FREAKING PAINFUL SORE THROAT THAT HAS LASTED FOR THREE MONTHS. No kidding.

It started rather innocently, of course. Just a little itch in the throat. So what did I do? I went to get myself a bottle of "Ubat Batuk Cap Ibu Dan Anak" also known as the "Nin Jiom Pei Pa Koa" (I had to refer to the bottle to confirm the name), thinking that it would provide adequate relief to my situation. Well, no. The pain lasted, and got worse.

Within a few weeks, the little itch - that little innocent itch - had turned into a rascal of an itch. I couldn't sleep at night, had running nose, a bad case of sinus, and cough cough cough.

It's not that I do not want to be cured, really. I've been to more than five doctors in three clinics and more than five or six times in this three months. AND YET EVERYTIME I WAS HOPEFUL, I GOT MYSELF DISAPPOINTED.

Well into my fourth month now, and still no sign of improvement. The bad news is this: it has just gotten worse. I can't sleep at night because of my throat itch, and I've started wheezing (again!) every night and morning. I hate using the inhaler every single day. I hate being dependent on medication. I hate. this. stupid. sore throat.

What I need is an instant cure, instant relief from every pain I'm suffering from right now. I hate being sick.

~~~~~~~~~~

I finally visited JP's new place. Quite a nice cosy place she has there. Some pictures:

JP and her kitchen

The living room

Her room! She finally got her own room and space :p

Her housemate and her got these mirror pieces from IKEA and stuck them on the wall. Pretty neat. I'd wanted to do that in my room more than a year ago but was afraid of leaving marks on the wall.

Earlier, we were also at the Rock Up concert in The Curve. Rock Up is a concert aimed at raising funds for the Agathians Shelter, which is one of the orphanages we partnered with/did projects with under AIESEC.

Sadly, though, we arrived as the event was coming to an end.



I did very little (but I hoped I contributed) by buying a T-shirt. Managed to see some of the kids, but I certainly miss those days of playing "John mechanic" with them. Or watching them breakdance. Or having them "teach" us how to breakdance. Haha!

I'm retiring to bed soon. In need of some sleep. Finally went for a trial dance class yesterday, and still contemplating whether to join the class due to a language barrier. Dreading the Legal Skills class tomorrow morning, but definitely looking forward to T4YP rehearsals in the afternoon!

Fact or fiction?

It's rather interesting, really. I've successfully converted myself into becoming the person I said I wanted to be in the Acting For Beginners class awhile ago.

"Unlike many of you trying to step out of your comfort zone, I'm trying to find ways to step back inside; to not reveal much about myself and to open up even less to others," I'd said. Some of them asked me why, whether I had gotten myself hurt one too many times, or if I thought opening up meant subjecting myself to the torture of caring too much and subsequently getting hurt, and it was actually a yes to both questions. I used to be an open book - what you see is what you get - a crazy, self-assured woman who loved freely, cared freely, spoke freely. And that, in turn, was transformed into vulnerability when taken for granted.

In some ways, it was also because I felt like I barely knew the real me anymore. I've laughed so much, cried even more, and at the end I still stare at the mirror each day and wonder to myself which facade I had to put on, which role I had to play on which day.

Today, in our very first rehearsal for the Theatre for Young People ensemble, we had an activity in which we had to mention three interesting "facts" about ourselves and one of them had to be a lie. I, instead, went all the way and lied about all three.

"Fact" number one was that I was a born-again Christian, and that I had discovered God in my period of darkness and sadness. The truth is that I've been through many periods of darkness and depression, and at the end of the day I still can't see where God is. I'm agnostic; I believe in the existence of a Higher Being but not in religion.

"Fact" number two was that I'm a dancer, that I did gymnastics, ballet and now I dance contemporary and jazz. Technically I wasn't lying entirely, but the truth is I do not dance anymore and haven't been doing it for years.

"Fact" number three was that I was a lesbian -_-. Anyone who falls for this is. just. so. cool. Honestly, I WISH I'm really a lesbian. Chances are it's easier to meet a WOMAN who shares more similarities with me than a MAN. But unfortunately I'm not. Straight as a flag pole, although I am very pro-homosexuality, believing that even gay people deserve equal rights and the right to love and be loved.

So, bringing this back to the beginning. I think the reason why I withhold information about myself is because I'm afraid people will think they know me without actually knowing me. I'd rather people know the wrong facts about me and have that perception rather than knowing me for who I am, and still get facts about me messed up. I'm just afraid of opening up nowadays, that's true. I'm just groping around in the darkness searching for my comfort zone, craving to climb back in there where it's secure and safe and warm and to be alone.

But, certain moments, I want to be around people; to share light moments, laughter and to "be myself".

We'll see how the next rehearsal goes.

Why... did I let it go?

I wonder if I could dance like this again or ever. Beautifully danced; the chemistry between the two dancers made this dance breathtaking, really.


Allison and Ivan from So You Think You Can Dance
dancing to "Why" by Annie Lennox

My one greatest regret in life is stopping formal dance training when I was much younger. I've stopped dancing for almost ten long years, while others my age were training hard to be stronger, more flexible, graceful, with better agility and strength, and not to mention, better adaptability to dance with a partner, something(s) I haven't been doing for the past ten years.

Silly, isn't it? My mother was the wisest woman on earth when she sent her children for proper training in music, and ballet for me, but we took that opportunity for granted. I would do anything to take back the years, but I know there's nothing I could do now, that's for sure. She saw the importance in formal music education, but unfortunately I didn't. Nowadays I have trouble reading notes even though I played the organ for about 8 years. And I missed out so much on dance. All I can do is to replace all those years of "emptiness" with extra hard work and extreme determination.

It's ironic, really. I literally begged my mother to send me for ballet classes. I wrote numerous letters reasoning why I should dance ballet, and I even pulled cheeky stunts by leaving newspaper cuttings, comic books, and pictures relating to ballet on her table. Sure, I stopped for various reasons - I have knee problems and a constant backache, but that wasn't enough justification to stop dancing when you realise how big a part of your life it truly is.

For years, I had this great big void in my heart, and I couldn't really be happy even when I tried to be. I smiled a lot, laughed even more, but there was always an emptiness deep inside. Whenever I watched dance performances or clips or movies, I cringe because I realised that this could be me. But it wasn't. It took me such a long time to come to the realisation that the missing link was returning my body to its true purpose and calling - dancing.

I know that people say when you started dancing at a young age your body never really loses it; that it's always within you and I won't deny that fact. I've had people approach me, asking me if I was a dancer (even today) whenever they see me around (even when I'm not dancing). But skipping years of training means losing out on lots of experiences, and the opportunities to build up on my strength (especially my hands). Even trained dancers, whenever they stop dancing for a month or two, would experience body aches whenever they pick up dancing again. Imagine that experience when you've stopped dancing formally for almost ten years.

Which is why we always say "mother knows best". She truly does. I should have listened. I just hope it's not too late now.

Edit: I decided to share these two videos that I find pretty impressive as well.


Beautiful choreography. Seriously.


I personally feel that this lacked chemistry, but the dancers were wonderful, it made this piece stunning. The chemistry may not have been there, but it did make me want to cry. They weren't dancing it for each other, but you can feel them feeling the music for themselves.
And oh, I think Blake McGrath makes dancing seem easy. Both him and Melody, in fact, have bodies made for lyrical dance. Oh, the softness!
At 00:53, Melody made a noticeable mistake. But she covered it up nicely :).

My Favourite Things

What does a woman do when she's feeling down and depressed? I learn from the best, and who better to learn from than Maria from The Sound of Music.

I decided to make a collection of the things that make me happy, my so-called favourite things. Bear with the change of lyrics, but sing along if you please:

~~~~~
Sunny days without the sunburning hot sun

Orange juice, KFC and porridge with chicken
Good hair days, healthy days, and days of carefree

these are a few of my favourite things.
~~~~~~
Cute little T-shirts and beautiful dresses

A swim in the pool or dancing with masses

Sitting alone and writing a poem
these are a few of my favourite things.

~~~~~~

Watching a play and performing is better

Singing aloud and sharing what matters

Cooking and colourful things that are rare

these are a few of my favourite things.

~~~~~~
When I feel down, when I'm depressed,
when I'm feeling sad
I simply remember my favourite things,
and then I don't feel so bad.

~~~~~~

Warm hugs from those who love me and ditto
A warm mug of ginger tea or milk or Milo
Lazy days lying in bed without worry

these are a few of my favourite things.
~~~~~~

Old memories, laughing till sun hits my pillow

Ice cream, cheesecakes, raspberries and jell-O
Playing with kittens and making kids smile

these are a few of my favourite things.
~~~~~~
Old movies, sappy songs, moments alone
Acting silly, taking pictures of things known


Cuddling up, warm showers in the morning

these are a few of my favourite things.
~~~~~~
When I feel down, when I'm depressed,
when I'm feeling sad

I simply remember my favourite things,
and then I don't feel so bad.


So now I don't feel so bad!

Oh, and JP's officially moved out of Tiara.

Will miss such a dear friend. Promise me we'll still hang out sometime, and act silly as we often do!

The Woes of the Graduates

It's the time of the year again. No, not the season of flu (although that too, holds enough bearings) but the out-of-school season.

I've been browsing through Facebook status of friends and I noticed that most of them had something in common - the usage of the word "future". For those graduating this year from college/university, what happens next is starting to feel more like a puzzle than ever. Life, however, is expected to be more of a puzzle as we go along. But in your 20's, the quarter-life crisis strikes and you're left wondering about your next step in life.

The problem is just that. Whatever you do from this moment on will directly or indirectly determine the direction of your future. It sounds scary, true, but it could be close to reality. There are people who change fields at age 40, true, but how many of these people are there?

Let's face reality. Most people are creatures of comfort, who subscribe to a life of normalcy, whatever this could indicate. Most people choose to live the common life of studying, graduating from college/university, working, working, working, buying a house, a car, settling down and having kids, and growing old. The idea of success usually revolves around how large your bank account is, and the range of your property. We want a safe life, which is the reason why most people work so hard in life - to obtain a comfortable, secure life, and to then provide the same comforts for their offspring and the generation thereafter.

But there are also some of us who crave for a life less ordinary - one that is filled with as much shit as everyone else's but also filled with another component some of us call "life". I have been putting much thought to what the purpose of our lives are. It's sad that most people subject themselves to working hard without thinking of the implication it brings to the people around them. Whatever happened to the other values that we own aside from diligence, such as family values, friendship, love, or simple enjoyment? How many of us actually stop to smell the roses anymore?

I suppose the point is that most of us worry, right before the point of our graduation, because we want to do what's right. We want to take the correct first step in order to ensure that everything else is in place for the next steps in life that we are about to take. But we have to also be prepared for the loopholes, the potholes, the blind spots that we fail to see sometimes. These loopholes may not necessarily be bad things after all. After all, most people stumble upon what they love to do after giving many things a try. But that's the importance of trying. When we try to be safe, we'll never truly discover our true passion(s), our true loves, and our true enjoyments. We'll never really realise our true capabilities and abilities, and it is just as easy to ignore our true talents and skills.

So, take a step back, sit back and relax. Sometimes, worrying too much will only bring us nowhere. As human beings, we need to bump our heads into a few walls before realising that we need to change the direction and speed at which we're moving. Fret not if you don't know what you want to do; not everyone does at a young age.

I suppose it's important for us to remember that life is not a destination, but a journey and experience. Drink every drop of it, and savour every moment.

Some pictures from the week that was before, and happy moments they were:

Graduates of Acting For Beginners with Joe Hasham

Friends who made their way to KLPac to see me make a fool of myself

I had fun working as Front of House staff for RACE

Life goes on. It's important for us to face each day with a smile. Today might just be the last day on earth for some. I'm unsure if what I'm doing right now (doing a second degree in law, etc) is the right thing to do, but there's only one way to find out - to actually do it. I'm thankful for the support I have from my family and friends. I'm thankful for my inner strength, too, because everytime I feel like I'm about to crumble and fall, I search for that strength within, and I move on every single time.

Moments like these, even I can't deny the existence of God.

Horse and carriage, love and marriage?

Yet another friend of mine is subjecting himself to the age-old tradition of marriage. I may appear indifferent to this, but this was the same friend who used to call me every single day in Form 5, and chatted till the wee hours of morning. This was the same friend who used to express his admiration towards me, and we spent hours upon hours debating over many problems and issues. We used to see eye-to-eye on so many things, but as the years passed by, we seemed to drift further and further away. And today this is the same man who is soon to subject himself to a life of commitment and responsibilities.

Don't get me wrong. I have nothing against marriage, really. The only problem that exists within my horizon is the fact that whenever someone mentioned the word "marriage" or "wedding", I try sometimes to close my eyes and imagine how the day would look like, and would always come up empty. I often hear girls commenting about how they want their wedding day to be like, how their dresses should look, how they want to do their hair, even the song(s) they want to be playing on their wedding day, or the colour scheme of their wedding. It's funny, really. I knew since young that I always wanted to be a mother, but my inclination towards becoming a wife is so much less, if it ever existed at all.

Again, don't get me wrong. I have nothing against ending up with one person for the rest of my life. In fact, if anything, I'd be happy to be able to commit to one person for the rest of my life. But the deal is whether there will be such a person who would want to accept me for everything I am - warts and all. Men have always liked me for these reasons - independent, confident, crazy, weird, smart, articulate, but these are often the reasons that turn them away later on in the relationship. Independence + confidence + craziness + weirdness + intelligence in a woman who talks a lot spells disaster for most men. Let's face the fact: men find it difficult to handle women like these, not to mention most men are INTIMIDATED by women like these. And those who do often start it off by taking it as a challenge that they often fail at, but men and their ego's... they just shrug it off by saying, "Well, I've tried, but...".

I realise it may be commitment that I'm afraid of, and not marriage. But I am in a relationship that is coming to its third year, so logically speaking, I shouldn't be afraid of commitment. Perhaps it's the idea of permanence that scares me, which is the same reason why I hesitate getting a tattoo. Having something stuck to you for life can be pretty terrifying. Imagine having a wedding and inviting the entire world to celebrate the day with you, and then 10 years later the marriage ends with a divorce and the same people who congratulated you before are now feeling sorry for you.

I do think marriage could be a very beautiful thing. I love weddings, I honestly do! I love hearing stories of marriage proposals, and how the guy/girl cried their heart out. But I also know this will not happen to me. A practical girl like me will probably attract only practical men who will not resort to any special gestures to even ask for my hand in marriage. I can imagine the guy going, "Eh let's get married", and I'd probably go, "Oh, okay" (if I was serious about it), and we'd get the deed done in less than an hour. Very much like Britney Spears, minus the alcohol (and hopefully the divorce).

It's not that I do not want to get married. I think it would be absolutely wonderful to be able to be with someone you love for the rest of your life. But I just do not want to plan my life around it. If it happens, great. But if it doesn't, then I suppose I would just find other things to do in my life. I'd love to be a mother, and since I'm unsure about having children of my own anyway, I'd probably adopt.

It's interesting how the people your age that you knew since young were so different 5 years ago, and now. Yesterday, a childhood friend called me and upon finding out from me that most of our friends are married, she commented, "That's what life is about isn't it? You finish studying, you find someone and get married." Instantly, I said, "What bullshit." It's never supposed to be this way. Marriage is good and all, but there is certainly more to life than just meeting someone and marrying that person. I think I shocked her a bit; coming from a small town she would've probably expected me to be more like them and her, but I suppose something went "wrong" somewhere.

Why do we easily subject ourselves to an institution that has only a 50% chance of success? My point is perhaps that since youngsters mature much later these days, perhaps we should wait out longer before settling down. I have met young men who flirt with me (and mind you, I'm not talking about harmless flirting), and later on I would find out that they were married. I wonder how their wives would've felt about that. Immaturity is perhaps one of the causes of the failure of marriages, because they shouldn't have gotten married in the first place. And besides, the real issue behind marriage should not just be about starting a family and reproducing. The real deal behind marriage should always be commitment, and commitment can easily be given without the promise of a ring and a simple signature on a piece of paper.

Money's Only Shiny In A Rich Man's World

It is unfortunate, really. I'm fast running out of $ and I won't be able to fund myself very soon. With rent increasing and the prices of everything being hiked up by the day, how do I survive? No, I mean, really.

The numbers in my bank account are steadily but surely decreasing by the day. I have to take into account the cash I spend on food (at least RM10 to RM20 per day), petrol (at least RM160 to RM200 per month), parking in college (RM2 per entry/day), rent + bills (about RM350 per month), and medical fees, since I'm always sick. Realistically speaking, I need a rough estimation of at least RM1,200 to survive, and this is just to survive. There will no room for excess luxuries, like watching movies or catching a play, or shopping or good food. Or that dance class I'd really like to enrol for. But I'm willing to live with that for another 4 years or so of my life. The major problem right now is in finding a simple job that pays, and even less so in finding a job that pays well.

I've tried almost everything I can think of, really. With a degree in Media Studies, one would assume that I'd be able to do freelance writing. But NO. I've e-mailed plenty of editors out there. Some have replied, some did not. Those who replied would like me to work on article ideas and proposals, etc. And let's not even talk about payment. The truth is, freelance writing can earn you enough to survive IF and only IF you are somebody in the publishing world, i.e. you have been around long enough, or you know somebody in this industry, to propel you to a certain status. It's quite similar to photography, really. There are too many writers and photographers to go around.

So I thought I could do some teaching. But NO. No vacancy around town, and even if there are any, they are further away from where I live, so if I were to throw in the transportation costs, it would mean earning so much less. Most part time jobs pay you a maximum wage of RM500 per month. I'd be damned.

Events, you say? Yes, you could earn up to RM120 per day, I know. But you'd be required to clock in every day to earn enough to survive. If I were to work only on weekends, the calculations would still be inadequate: RM120 x 4 = RM480. How do I work every day when I have classes on?

I've asked around, asking if anyone needs someone to work part-time in their office. Of course, I'd like to be able to utilise my degree, or to watch it go to waste, but at this rate, I would even make coffee for you every day if you'd pay me enough to survive in a month. But who the heck would pay you at least RM1200 just to make coffee? In terms of human resource, it would be even more resourceful (and money-saving, so to speak) if they hired a full-time staff.

I'm so depressed I'd rather die right now. What's the point of going after your dreams when you're left with nothing to even survive?

The missing :)

Yesterday, while waiting for time to pass and the rain to subside, I was sitting inside my car in the KLPac carpark area. With the sound of the gentle drops of the rain providing a certain melody to my aching ears, I silently looked out for that whisper. Sometimes, when it rains, the winds will blow a sharp breeze - a high-pitched sound generated by nature and difficult to be emulated by any other - that will sound like a whisper when you truly listened to it enough.

But the whisper never materialised.

I took my notebook out, sang some songs to entertain myself (I hate the rain), and started writing.

Dead, I was
It was all but one
My life died before my eyes
Grasping the threads of reality
As you walked away from my sight

Blinded, I was
Too much to see in too little time
Although it felt absolute was necessary
Giving you my life felt ordinary

With an odd mix of sorrow and joy
I allowed you to walk past me
Slithered beneath my feet, and
creating larger footsteps than before

You were but a reality
All but one
And I died, I cried,
I was blinded with joy and sorrow
A cannonball of emotions
for me to swallow

Though this seemed less poetic than any other pieces I've written before, I know one thing's for sure - those words reflect how I felt exactly.

It's funny, and I realise it myself. The "me" I supposedly show the world is not the person I really am, deep inside. I'm not the happy, crazy person everyone thinks I am. I wonder how everyone will think of me once they know the truth, and how they will handle this betrayal. Unfortunately, that's not for me to say. I know that even he can't handle my sorrow any further. But I wish they would understand that I wish not to be sorrowful as I am. I want to be happy too.

And I think I deserve just as much as everyone else to be happy. Sadly, it feels easier to depict sorrow in my appearances. Any other emotions/appearances always seemed easier than to depict joy. What is joy to me, truly?

I'm often reminded of what a friend said the first time he met me, after reading my blog for a few years. "You're very different from the way you portray yourself in your blog," he'd said. I asked, "How different?" And he said, "You're so spunky, in real life. But your blog is always so sad." Another friend commented on how I would have deceived people into thinking I'm an emo freak who doesn't laugh or smile with all my sad entries.

But maybe THIS is what I really am. Maybe when my face is putting on the greatest smile, maybe my heart just isn't. There's a missing smiley sign there, and I don't quite know how to put it back.

Only Hope?

There's a line from the song "Only Hope" by Mandy Moore from the movie "A Walk to Remember" that goes, "When it feels like my dreams are so far, sing to me of the plans that you have for me over again."

I'm sure there are many reasons people may feel compelled to believe in God, or to have faith in a Higher Being. Faith is a magical thing, truly, because without it, most of us turn into bitter, stoic human beings with no sense of duty towards self and even less duty towards others. Losing faith is an even more dangerous thing; we turn into cynical human beings with no real purpose except to torture others with our dry sense of humour at the expense of everyone else.

I, too, want to believe in God. Many times when I feel extreme hurt and bitter disappointment, I find myself staring into the empty skies at night, and wondering who, if anyone, was watching over us. My sense of hopelessness often reflects the feelings of emptiness as I whisper silent words of hope, and to receive nothing from the other end. Some people call this praying, and yet, even prayer itself manifests itself in many forms. But whether we do it kneeled beside our beds, or on carpets, or with our heads bowed down, aren't we all praying to one same being, this being we call God, to whom we entrust our lives to, hoping for salvation?

If there was one word I could use to describe what I truly wish for, and what I would often pray for, in my very own way, the word would be "happiness". I've been asked many times: "What do you want in life?" "What are you aiming for?" "What do you strive for?" "What are you looking for?"

Simple. The answer is simply "happiness". That was, of course, the easy part. The difficult part is in answering the how's.

In my final year in university studying my first Bachelor degree, I came to the realisation that it was difficult to ignore your true calling, and that your dreams will always find a way to haunt you even when you least expect them to. In my effort to comprehend, and to digest my understanding of my dreams in a better manner, I decided to write them all down. Writing. Dancing. Singing. Performing. Acting. Making people laugh. Making people happy. Helping people. Becoming a lawyer. Speaking in public. Becoming a counselor.

What appeared to be a long list was turned into a simple masterpiece. There were three major dreams in my life, each with a special significance or meaning, and each with equal importance. I couldn't possibly choose one over the other. And although they were personal to me before, nowadays I eagerly share these dreams with others, perhaps hoping that it would serve as a reminder to myself that I am not letting them go just yet, and that there is still hope. And hope, the "maybe one day" hope, is what keeps me going on each day.

My first dream was something I realised to be my calling since birth. Often a misunderstood child, I was fond of being friends with those who appeared to be outcasts, or those who struggled with many issues in life. Somehow, I loved to listen. I somehow understood them; their pain, sorrow, underachievements, sadness, disappointment. So I decided I wanted to help others, and I wanted to make others happy, to right their wrongs. I was 11 when I decided I wanted to be a counselor. As I grew older and made it into the debating team (by chance), I realised I had a knack for public speaking and acquired some oratory skills, and as a result, at the age of 16 with the advice of my debate coach, I decided that I wanted to be a lawyer, to fight for the rights and justice of others. In this dream lies many other "satelite dreams", like one of wanting to serve organisations such as Amnesty International.

But of course, to reach this dream seemed a billion years away. I obtained a CGPA of 3.83 out of 4 in STPM but was refused entry to the UM law school. Instead, 4 years after STPM and 1 year after graduating from UM, I enrolled myself in a private college to read law and am currently in my 1st year. A painful journey, but nonetheless interesting.

My second dream involves writing. I remember how much I enjoyed writing since young, and the silly foolish stories I used to write about. I often contributed to the school magazine, and enjoyed "karangan" or essay-writing immensely. About 7 months ago, I was thrown with a predicament of writing for a publication that did not reflect my personal goals. With the advice of many who said, "You have to start somewhere", I decided to take the job, and ended up being bitter about my writing skills when told by my boss that I couldn't write. I was dejected, and even worse, I died. A part of me died that day, and it took me a lot to reconnect with that part again; for it to be resurrected. I almost heard the signal going *beep* for the longest time before I heard a slight static of myself going back to life again. But I continued writing on my blog (the old blog then) and received many comments and SMSes from many others who said that I should continue writing, that they enjoyed what I wrote.

I have yet to give up, and I believe I will not. I love writing, and I hope to be able to contribute to various publications, and to one day publish a book.

My third dream, alas, is even further away from me than I expected it to be. This was the dream I was basically "born" with, because from the very beginning, even as a timid child, when I was put on stage, I changed. I shone. There is great appeal in being a performer because I want so much to invoke emotions in others. Even being a clown or a stand-up comedian would be wonderful, because if I could make people laugh and forget their sorrows, I could forget my own. Deep, deep beneath this calm exterior of mine, lies a broken soul that will never be healed. I add up the days of sorrow in my life and turn them into entertainment for others. I love making people laugh, because I find redemption for my own sorrow in return.

I remember reading a comic book series when I was much younger called "Topeng Kaca" (Glass Mask). This series was a product of a Japanese artist and translated into the Indonesian language, and my cousin and I eagerly devoured them day after day as a source of entertainment. One of the reasons why I loved this comic book so much was because it told the story of a teenaged girl, Maya, an ordinary looking girl with no special characters or features. An orphan, she has no proper education nor a home. But her one and only talent - acting - brought her to places she never knew existed. And when she was on stage, she could, and had to, ignore her own pains and to truly be the character she is playing. I wanted so badly to be like Maya. But in the real world, I also realised that someone like Maya may never make it. A cruel world this is, and I realised that I did not possess the looks, body, or height or the many other features that many girls do. And to make it worse, I have no real talent. Nothing. Zilch.

I, too, wanted to dance. Enrolled myself in a ballet class at 11, I stopped at 14 when my knees started hurting. Until today, my greatest regret: stopping dancing and giving up on my dream too early in life. I thought of such things too; that I was too short, too stubby, too fat, too ugly to be a ballerina. I thought I had no talent, even when I passed my exams with High Distinction. Nothing was ever good enough for me.

Last week's audition has just proven me right. When I realised I made too many mistakes, I gave up. When I noticed we were all singing the wrong keys, I became frustrated and stopped singing altogether. When I noticed I couldn't stop turning to the left when everyone else was turning to the right, I became frustrated and stopped dancing altogether. In my mind I could only think of one thing, "What the fuck is wrong with you?" I was, in fact, holding back frustrated tears throughout the entire thing.

Right after it ended, I walked away. I could hear some of them shouting, "Sharon, where are you going?" but I continued walking down the stairs. I cried. I knew I wasn't going to get through but that wasn't the point. The point was that I made a great mistake - a blunder - and I couldn't face it myself. I couldn't face myself. I knew that even if I had gotten through, I will still continue blaming myself, and right now that I didn't get through, I still do.

It hurts to wake up every morning, and in the moments of rubbing my feet and my bruised knees against the comforter in the cool morning air and staring at the ceiling, to constantly ask myself, "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Perhaps I have come to the saddest realisation that I will never be happy. I've struggled to find reasons for happiness, but every time I did, I was crushed. I had my share this time around; it lasted a week. ONE WEEK. And then to have my hopes and dreams crushed all over again, that was it for me.

What crushed me this time is actually the matter of time that I am fighting so much against. Not only am I 24 (and a loser with no achievements for that matter), I am pursuing a 2nd degree that will take me another 4 years, and by the time I graduate I will be 28 and only starting out when everyone else has perhaps established a place for themselves in society. And in all honesty, what crushed me about the auditions is that I know I could do so much better, but I didn't. I used to be very good in hearing (I did so well in organ exams), but what happened? I couldn't even judge the notes anymore. I realise that the more I wanted something, the more I would fuck up, and the more it will get away from me. Law of attraction, someone said? What rubbish!

September next year I'll be off to the UK. I have slightly more than a year to do something about my dream of performing. If nothing happens till then, I'm afraid I will have to give up, and see a part of me die. Whether I will survive this death, I'm unsure. Because to have different parts of you die more than once is essentially suicide.

Maybe not physically. But definitely emotionally.

Earring Stand To The Rescue

It was about time I got my earrings organised. So I decided to get an earring stand, similar to the ones they use in stores selling earrings and accessories.

Behold, my collection of earrings!


I tried organising them according to colour but failed due to the differences in length for most.


There are still some empty spots so this means I could still get myself more earrings ;).

I believe the total pairs of earrings I own come up to 50 or more as the stand is supposedly able to hold up to 96 pairs of earrings and they filled up more than half of the stand.

Unfortunately, there were also two pairs which had missing sides :(.

To Begin At The Beginning...

Dear reader(s),

If you somehow found your way here, I believe you must have been well-informed of the moving of my blog to this current URL. To those of you not in the know, I've decided to move my random rants to this blog from now on. I've decided to make a new home for my journal to secure my thoughts with greater peace of mind.

As some of you may have known, for very personal reasons, I am unable to continue usage of my old blog, but if you'd like to have a peep at it, just let me know who you are and I'll send you an invite, provided it's safe, of course.

P/s: To you, if you happen to find your way here and are reading this, I hope you understand that I am not trying to run away from you. But we both know very well that it's for the best; that we do not keep in contact with one another. I hope you will respect my privacy and accept that I deserve the right to move on from a dark spot of my life, and I deserve every right to obtain happiness as well. In my search for that happiness, I think having you around will not do any of us any good.