In Which We Look Back At 2016

2016 is shit. Shit covered in shit with shit filling.

Let's take a look back:

1. January - I open the  new year by getting drunk and duped by some stupid young boy. Then continue the month being a jobless little shit still longing for a dude in Belgium.

2. February - I bang a really pretty and accomplished dude this month. Cool. But then got obsessed and lost my head. Not Cool.

3. March - I met a really nice sweet guy, but he's only here for a week. Then went out of my way to meet a guy who turned out to be a really really bad decision.

4. April - I started to feel depressed. Then I went and met the March guy again. I don't know why.

5. May - I got...weird. Maybe it was due to my birthday was looming over me. But I don't remember much from May.

6. June - I turned 31. And did something stupid (as always) and was still obsessed with February guy.

7. July - Yup, went all kind of crazies. I did seriously stupid things this month. July was fucked up.

8. August - Not much happened in August, other than some guy suddenly cut contact with me for no reason. But hey, shit happens. I was stressing out for being a jobless hobo.

9. September - I actually like September. I got a job, I met two guys, one I really really liked (like? I don't know).

10. October - October was hell. I hate October. I found out something bad about myself, I hated my job, my friend died, and everything was fucked.

11. November - I got a new job here, so that's a bit fun. But I was still dealing with my friend's death and everything, and got "rejected" by that guy I really liked (like?).

12. December - That guy I really liked (like?) cut all communication with me. and it's still the 6th of Dec, so yeah, we'll see what's the rest of the month will bring.


2016 was shit. Shit shit shit.


Shit's Cray

It's... restless-ness. You don't feel at ease. You feel like there's something missing, always something missing.

So you fill it with something. Food, bags, clothes, alcohol, sex, men's adoration, or the thrill of a chase. You need to fill it with something.

This nagging feeling, these noises, this hunger for things you don't understand.
So you try to muffled the voices. With white noises, music, the sound of your voice, conversations.

You try to lure your brain into feeling complete by reading things, all the time. Or writing, a journal, a blog, a piece of paper, the blank space in your mind, the hundreds and thousands of whatsapp texts.

You try to divert your attention to something else. Men, projects, house cleaning.

Maybe seriously take a break this time? From everything. Just stay at home, or wander around the city alone. Stop texting people. Find a new hobby.

Maybe seriously try this time.


It Aches

Hey there.

Remember early this year? When I said I'm gonna try to have a relationship this year? Remember when I said I want a boyfriend this year? Remember that? Yeah, it's not gonna happen. Not this year, or anytime soon. This is due to something I just found out about myself.

Also, I met a guy. I really like him. I am coming to a realisation that it's not gonna go anywhere tho. Partly because of that discovery about myself.

I don't know how much of this ache is him, and how much of it is just the realisation of how life is different now. How this is gonna be another reason for people to reject me. How long is the list these days? Too tall, too fat, too weird, too clingy, to distant, too easy, too educated, too progressive, too loud, too independent, too harsh. And now this.

I just can't believe how much it aches. How many deep breaths I've taken in the last 16 hours. How many times I've cried. How many times I've told myself "We're okay, we're gonna be okay."

It aches.
It aches.


Moral High Ground

"I feel like I've lost all my moral high grounds. All those shits I used to say to people when I feel like they were judging me for being such a colossal slut."

"Then go back to your high ground. We're all allowed one mistakes."

Or more. Right? We're allowed to make mistakes. We're allowed to be stupid once in a while, especially you and me.

I know I don't say this enough to you, but thank you. and I love you.

You go and be good.



You ask me over and over again "Explain it to me!"

and again and again all I can say is "Just sadness. I feel sad a lot."

"But what kind? and why? We all feel sad at times. I don't understand what you're complaining about."

"I'm not complaining, I'm telling you how I feel. You asked, remember?"

"I'm trying to understand here, trust me. But I can't work with just 'sad'. I need more."

"I can't explain it. Not to you, not to anyone. Frankly not even to myself. If you think you're having a hard time trying to understand what I'm feeling, imagine how I feel."

Imagine how often I ask myself "What is this? What am I feeling? Why am I crying?!"
Imagine how confuse I am every time I calm myself down by saying "We're alright, we're okay. We're gonna be alright." to my self, over and over again.

The thing is, I don't need you to understand. I just need to lie my head on your chest and have you stroke my back and tell me "It's gonna be okay." You can even call me babe if you want.

I just need a cuddle or two every now and then.


Dear Love

Dear Love,

So many things and nothing have happened in my life lately. I don’t know with whom I can share this with, but I know I need to share this before I go mental. So I thought, I could send this to you.

I know we haven’t seen each other in years. I know we ended things and you might not care at all about me now. But I also know, once you’re the only person in the world who gets me, and to be honest, I haven’t met anyone like you again. So here it goes, long stupid inane stories of what happened lately in my life.

You might not open this letter; you might just see my name on the envelope and chuck this shit out. You might open it, and read the first paragraph and say “Fuck it, I don’t need this shit.” But you might still be the nice, sweet man I once knew, and power through and read the whole thing.

Anyway, I just need to write this. Sorry for the inconvenience. 

Remember when I told you I sometimes get sad for no reason? Remember that? Yeah, I know you could see through that blatant lie. I know you know exactly why I get sad. I know you know exactly why at  times I spend the better part of the day crying like a moron. 

It's happening again. But relax, I haven't started drinking again, just the crying part. I feel like I need to start anew, clean slate and all. Maybe move to a new city? I don't know. 

Oh, do you still remember the first time we met? I don’t think I will ever forget it. I was running around with my giant backpack and knock you over with it. Me, an awkward, nerdy, bespectacled 18 year old girl, knocked over a tall, long-haired, tattooed-man who was just standing around talking on the phone.  

I was terrified, and you were pissed. At least you were until you see the look on my face, because just as you land your eyes on me, you started laughing like a mad man. Then you suddenly hugged me and said “It’s okay love, I’m alright. Go about your business now.” And of course, me, being a stupid little girl, fall in love with you right there and then.  Oh how I loved you. It was the kind of love you can only feel when you’re 18. It was intense, rapid, and encloses your world like a thick fog. 

Somehow our mutual love towards the same music, jokes, food, books, and movies bond us together. Somehow, in each other, we found the one who can sit, eagerly listening to our stories and say “I KNOW!!” at the end of it. Somehow, we fell in love with each other at the same time, and at the same way.  (How ironic is it that I’m currently listening to ‘Girls’ by 1975 while I’m writing this? Seriously, the lyrics go “But she can’t be what you need, if she’s 17. They’re just girls.”)
Fall in love with each other at the same time and in the same way. Isn’t that what we’re all really looking for? To find the right person, at the right time, in the right way. That’s just the best. Even now, at 30, I still find that to be the best. To find the right person, and to fall in love at the same time, in the same way, even if I still don't know what love actually is. 

I don't know if it's true or not, because to this day I'm still reluctant to go see a professional and get diagnosed, but I still think I'm a bit damaged. I think what ever happened in the past left a big dent in me. I walk around wondering if everyone is feeling the same way. Do they have bad days too? Do they have days when they can't leave the bed? Do they have moments when they're just walking around feeling okay and suddenly this rush of feeling come and blanketed them, and they can feel the tears coming? Do they have this primal need to simply be held? Do they do things just so someone would cuddle them and for an hour or two they don't feel so cripplingly lonely? Do they have meaningless sex with strangers just so they don't feel so detached from everything? Do they go after random people and get rejected over and over and over and still don't learn a lesson? Do they? 

Or are they all genuinely happy? Are they truly content, satisfied, and joyful? Do they only have good days? Do they only get attached to those who reciprocate the feelings? Do they go to work and feel accomplished? Do they look at their family and feel thankful and blessed by how much they are loved and love them back? Do they? Are those what happy people do? 

Do you remember the last time we met? I was about to move to a new city to study, and you were about to start your hundredth stint at rehab. I promised I will stay in contact, and you promised you will finally kicked your addiction. We hugged, we kissed, we had sex, even though we told everyone we broke up weeks before. I got so busy with school and part-time job, and new friends, new city, new men, new everything, and forgot to contact you as often. You got busy too, I guess. You got new friends, new projects, new girlfriend. We just organically grew apart. How strange. One time you were the single most important person in my life, and the next, you were just some guy I used to date. How strange. 

Wait, what was it that I need to write about? Oh, yeah, me and my miserable life (how is it miserable when I have everything I need to survive and thrive? I am such a spoiled little brat). I cry mostly in fetal position. Sometimes while saying to myself over and over again "I don't wanna do this anymore. I don't wanna feel this anymore, I don't want this anymore. No, Not anymore." This doesn't happen everyday, so, it's not so bad. But when it's bad, I just feel like I need to talk to someone, and that someone is usually you. But you're not here anymore. Hence the letter, I guess. 

Anyway, I'll get better, or maybe not, but I'll be okay either way. This is not new, and I've always managed to be okay at the end. I just need to vent for a bit. 

Oh, and I miss you :) haha. 

That's all. 

You be good, and may life also be good. 


Oh hey there

I don't vent on social media, and lately I feel awkward to share things with my friends, so this is my therapy. This blog, this is it.

Depression has been a theme in my life for a bit lately. But I actually am not sure if it is depression, or just me being super dramatic as always. The fact is, I feel sad a lot lately. Just this wave of feelings, rushing in and blanketed the whole shore that is my being.

And I feel weirded out by my so called sexuality. At the end of the day, I feel like that's all I can offer. That's all I have, and that's all I'm good for. Forget my wit, sense of humour, intelligence, warmth, and everything else. Forget my quirks, awkwardness, and my dazzling smile. At the end of the day, I'm a walking, talking vagina.

This feelings are strengthen by the number of men who contact me only and only when they're horny. Or the fact that so many men rejected my advances. It feels like some only see me as a sex object and run with it, the rest see me as a sex object and want nothing to do with it. For some I'm not good enough as a whole person, the rest want more than just what I can offer.

I know, I've been whining too much. I should go write in my diary and be content with what I have. I know.

I know, no one cares, and no one read this anyway. I know.

I know, this is not a good read, and it wasn't written properly. I know.

But unless you want me to have a full blown breakdown in the middle of a full mall, surrounded by kids, you need to let me finish this.

PS: one more try, and we're done ya hun. Start over, start clean. Remember this. You've promised.


Yeah, yeah

Do you know what's been the hardest in the past few weeks? That I can't share this with anyone. Not one. I usually feel better about shit once I talk it over with someone, just anyone. To unload a little, to just... you know, spill it out.

I can't tell how many time I've reach out for my phone and try to text the myriad of numbers there, just to realized "Yeah, no. Can't."

By the way, the reason why almost every post in here is whiny ones is because I don't feel like writing when I'm happy. So notice when there's gap between my posts, those are times when I'm happy. Or at least content.



I still can see you everywhere. On the corner of every street, at the end of every bridge. There are still songs and movies that remind me of you. I can still feel you everywhere.

I guess it's impossible to completely wipe out more than a decade of memories.

I was lying on my bed the other night, and smirked when I remember this one guy who spent one night there. I was walking along SCBD this one time, and smiled to myself when I remembered a late night walk I had with a dude. I saw some French movie, and felt this rush of warmth when I saw Seine river, because I remembered the time I made out with a guy there.

I have a lot of those kind of memories. The ones that make me smile and bring a jolt of joy. The ones that make me sigh and  close my eyes, but then smirk, because although I miss those moments, I'm thankful I have them.

Memories of you are not that kind. Memories of you make me close my eyes and think "at least it's passed. You survived." Memories of you bring a pang of guilt, shame, and bitterness.

Maybe I don't have daddy issues, maybe I have a you issues. Maybe I've been trying to bury any memory of you by creating new ones with more and more men.

Maybe I've been breaking my heart right, left,  and center just to prove you're not the only one who can get to me. You're not the only one capable to make me feel the kind of sadness that turns you catatonic. Maybe I've been trying to prove to myself that you mean nothing to me. Not now, not then.

I bet you're wondering why all of the sudden I feel like this. Me too. Somehow memories of you been creeping back the last few weeks, and they are shit.

Fuck you, dude. Fuck you and your super creepy ass behaviour. Fuckity fuck, fuck you.

No, I don't wish life to be good to you, and I don't wish you happiness. I wish you get to experience what it's like to be really sad. The kind of sadness that is crippling. I really hope you will.

Good night, and fuck you.


We Met At A Very Strange Time In My Life


That's usually your first message. Answered by "Hi" or "Hey too", at least when I'm in a good mood. More often than not, I say "what" and you say "don't be rude".

We usually text for an hour or two, talking about all sorts of nonsense, and of course, sex. I don't see you as a friend, and although it bothers me to say this, I also don't respect you. That is why I can be super rude and condescending to you at times. That is why I can have my crazy mood swings anytime I want when we communicate. I just don't care about you or your feelings.

At this point, I'm not even sure why we're still texting. What's the point?
Then it hit me. The point is, you make me feel pretty. You make me feel less depressed.

Remember that time I had a panic attack and you actually calmed me down? That was cool.

Remember the time I berated you, talked down to you, and straight up called you a hideous loser? You blocked me and stop texting with me. I just shrugged and moved on. And you came back about a couple of weeks later.

The reason I still keep responding to your texts is because I can play you like a fiddle. I can be as rude as I want, and you'd still be there, praising me.

I'm not usually like this. But even so, this has been going on for almost a year now.

I'm sorry for all those time I tried to deliberately hurt you just to see how far I can go.

I'm not usually like this.