Above the clouds

Just when I was about to find closure in the number of misfortunes that have taken place in the period of this year alone, fate made a U-turn and each and every one of my family members’ were in for a shock of their lives.

Yesterday on a Wednesday afternoon, under harsh sunlight, the life of my granduncle (my grandma’s elder brother; Uncle Artie) was robbed when just a little acceleration on the reverse gear lead to him being rammed by a trailer. He was in the driving seat, of course, with his wife by his side and his son and daughter-in-law at the backseat. The four of them set off to go to Putrajaya to settle some legal documents which would entitle them to benefits that were especially for his son and daughter-in-law, both of whom are hearing-impaired. The whole scenario of the four of them being in the same car together sounded a tad too fishy for me because first of all, they weren’t on good terms , Uncle Artie and his son and two, it has everything to do with Uncle Artie’s daughter-in-law. You see, the both of them despised each other and for what reason... only God knows. And besides, it all seems too much like the Bold and Beautiful soap drama that come to think of it, I’d rather not poke my nose in any further than it already is. However, if I may say so, despite the hatred and tension that was in the air when Uncle Artie and his daughter-in-law were under the same roof, Uncle Artie put it behind him and was able to be a father to his son when he needed help. Heck, the man should be given some credit for the good deed he did, even if that good deed was done a few hours before his life was taken away. To say the least, he left in peace. That much we are sure of.

Today, as I didn’t have anything on my agenda, I decided to tag along with Nanny, Grandaunt Dolly, Uncle Bush and Felix to the Putrajaya Hospital. I don’t know what my intensions were, tagging along, because instead of feeling the need to see if Aunt Esther, Jeffrey and his wife were okay, I was hesitant even about stepping foot into the ICU. I don’t like hospitals and neither have I given it much thought to disking them. It’s just that maybe it has been awhile since I ever step foot in one, the last time being about 4 years ago when my Grandpa was admitted in the General Hospital.

This time, I didn’t feel so overwhelmed with emotion nor was I anxious to see if everything was going to be just fine. I didn’t feel the same, although everything else was. There were people occupying every vacant seat in the waiting area, swarming like bees when someone got up for a minute to most probably take a leak; families waiting anxiously for more news about their loved ones; restless children whom were either running around or pulling at their parent’s shirts to attend to them. The sterilized odour every hospital had was the same and so was the disgustingly cold cafeteria food hospitals often had. The only thing that was different was the person lying down on the hospital bed with a tube in her nose and the relationship I had with her. She was Aunty Esther. She is not my grandmother nor is she apart of my intermediate family; she’s the second wife to my late Granduncle Artie – I secretly hope this justifies my undeveloped closeness toward her.

While everyone else rushed impatiently – rushed meaning, walked faster than the slow pace they’d usually walk at – I excused myself from the crowd of them and buried my face in a book at a dark corner of the waiting room. I didn’t want to go in; I wouldn’t know what to say anyway. So I hid away. Being elderly, they now have an additional tape-recorder characteristic that came along with their coming of age. They broke the record for the number of times they questioned each other about the whole incident, from ‘How did it all happen?’ to ‘What was the race of the driver who drove the trailer?’ It was endless I tell you. I was hoping that it would end by the time we got in the car to head back home but I should have known better.

Before we left to be on our way home, they insisted on making one last important stop – the mortuary. In an instant, I remembered the CSI crime lab where they had a scene in a mortuary but when I entered, it was not as gloomy, dim, or eerie as what we usually see on television. This morgue was brightly lit, however the only creepiness there was the absence of the staff. For a moment, we let our conscience be our guide as we followed the signage on the doors but as our conscience was slowly disappointing us, the staff appeared out of nowhere, helpfully acquiesced to our request to see the body of Granduncle Artie. Once again, like before, as they stood around the 4°C body, I stood away. Even as I stood away at an exceptional distance, I saw enough. There were blood stains blotching up the white cloth that wrapped him; his head was stitched up; and on the left side of his face, it looked like someone had punched him and all the blood vessels had exploded at the same time.

It was so awkward to see him in such a state – a bloody mess, defeated, still, cold, silent – simply because the last I remember seeing him was during a family gathering where he had barged him smiling like a man on a mission. And I hope to always remember him that way.

______________

9/12/11

I hopped into the Frontier when Dad came to pick me up after class and upon updating him about tomorrow’s itinerary – I told him I wasn’t attending the funeral – he’d told me that a few hours ago, in the morning, Granduncle Artie’s wife, Aunt Esther, too, had breathed her last breath.  So seeing as I would not be able to attend the funeral the following day, I decided to come along with them to the wake service.

To be placed side-by-side, Aunt Esther’s coffin arrived shortly later in the evening as the caretakers came, did the necessary, and left. While waiting in line to see the coffins, I was pretty calm and composed... until I set my eyes on the children whose parents were now in both of the coffins before me. Although, they can’t be called ‘children’ anymore – all three married with each a family of their own. But I guess it doesn’t really matter if they were or not, because at the end of the day, they’d have to deal with it... albeit at a snail’s pace.

We leafed through a variety of newspapers as well as scrolled through news’ online websites for articles about the incident and on the Ntv7 website, the headline was ‘Family of four cheats death’. They most probably jinxed it because they only cheated by about a few minutes. In the end, death won the battle and two lives were taken from us. To Nanny, this is all too tragic for her to comprehend and deal with but to Daddy, he saw it as a blessing in disguise. You see, everywhere that man went, she was always a few steps behind him, always never too far from his reach. Even if Aunt Esther had survived – her condition improved and she managed to escape from any post-accident trauma – she would not have been able to carry on surviving without Granduncle Artie.

They were the ultimate couple any marriage would opt for, even after eons of being married to each other. And if they can’t be with us physically, at least they’d still have the rest of their lives to be together up there above the clouds.

R.I.P Uncle Artie and Aunt Esther. The both of you would be missed dearly. Love.

For the article about the incident, click here:  Family of Four Cheats Death.

Long, lonely nights

These past couple of days, I would lay in bed at night and just stare blankly at the ceiling. Uncertain of whether to keep my fingers busy by tweeting or just lay there in the comfortable stillness. My cellphone would be beside me on the bedside table, useless, until the clock strikes midnight - that is when he usually calls. Otherwise, I would give into the unsettling thoughts in my mind which have been impatiently seeking my attention. Last night, that was exactly what I did.

I laid awake, prised my eyes open and instead of tossing and turning and trying to sleep, I allowed my mind to wander because it has been awhile since I have had some alone time with my conscience. I allowed myself to be drowned in my thoughts, lost in curiosity and bewilderrment. And when I did, it was a battle with my mind and heart as I was forced to deal with the harsh realization that I may not be the same person I used to be a few months back. Let alone, a few years ago.

Back in the days when I would dream out loud, I told myself that I would do this and that. I set personal goals for myself just so that I could prove to myself that I was an achiever. And then came the promises I made to make sure I followed through with every goal/resolution I told myself I would do. I told myself that I would only apply for a job when I absolutely had to; that if I ever did, nothing would change at home. I had made up my mind: I was going to college (not to mention how excited I was) and further my studies in Mass Communication, in the field of Journalism. At the same time, I wanted to have a career in singing. I planned to take part in singing competitions, sing at open-mic nights, sign a recording deal and win my ticket to stardom. I had dreams too big for this town, you see.

Now, as I look back to the little dreamer I was and see the life I had once painted for myself and compare it to the path of life I am now walking on, all I see is a coward. A coward because I allowed things to take a turn for the worse right before my eyes, while I stood back and watch. It is the truth, sadly. Everything I did not want to happen, happened.

I will be starting college soon and a whole new chapter of my life will begin, but I am not as excited anymore. No matter how made up I thought my mind was before, reality intervened and now instead of furthering my studies in Mass Communication, I would be doing my Foundations in Law first and then it would be my Diploma in Mass Communication but I am not sure if Journalism is for me anymore. I did not take part in singing competitions but instead am now starting to do covers. My relationship with my Grandma has been on rocks recently. I used to come home from school so happy that I would finally get to see her, spend time with her and tell her about my day but now...we're back to being complete strangers. And I miss her, more than she will ever know.

Sickeningly so, I feel like I have lost apart of myself, apart of the person I used to be. And not only is this truth hurting myself but also the people around me. Oh God, I wish there was some way I could turn back the hands of time. This thing I have been struggling with Change is unbearable, leaving me more often than not, with a heavy heart.

I guess all I can do now is hope - for the strength to carry on, to cope because even when the familiarity of everything around you changes, you may not be able to conform to it and sometimes all a person needs to do and can do is just...hope.

Beautiful people

I'm a big, big girl in a big, big world.

So I managed to survive a week of my first ever working experience - excluding my day off on Good Friday and weekends, that is - and if I were to describe it, I would say that it was not such a bad first-job experience. Before I left the office on Thursday, a few of my colleagues asked me how I found working for the first time and all they received in return were two words; It's alright. Every now and then, I get asked the same question. Those people would also received and it's alright. And maybe sometimes when I feel like it, I would add, it wasn't as bad as I'd thought it would be. But that would be the end of it.

For those whom I have held a good and solid conversation with might realize that I am not one for simple and curt answers but when it comes down to comprehending my feelings of being in a world - the working world - I have yet to adjust myself to, short and curt answers are all I find myself uttering. Perhaps it takes getting used to it first, so let's just leave it to time.

Allowing time to determine how well I adjust to my surroundings is one thing, just accepting the circumstances, being grateful and taking in all that is around me is another. Sometimes, I admit, that I am selfish. I am too damn ungrateful. And I sometimes have my head stuck in the clouds of pride and ego. I tend to complain a lot and even when I know I am far better off than most people, I sometimes am still not satisfied.

It took a train ride from home to work, with 8 stations in between for me to realize how good I have it. 

• I was handed a job in the palm of my hands just to kill time and keep myself occupied. 
• I get paid RM100 a day just by faxing invitations for upcoming events and calling up sectaries to confirm their bosses attendance at the event. 
• I am surrounded by colleagues who are fun, easy-going and so very comfortable to be around. 
• I have the best and most generous boss anyone could ask for. 
• Coffee breaks and reasonable deadlines.
• My own desk complete with a desktop and internet access. 

What more can I ask for? 

____________

I commute from home to work via public transport and it was in-between one of those train rides when I began to realize how long I have been behind closed doors, oblivious to what is on the other side.

Seated in the LRT, on my way back home that Wednesday evening, without my earphones plugged in my ears, I let my eyes and mind wander. I took in the busyness and craziness of my surroundings and managed to see and realize what I have not before.

For one thing, I realized people. Sure this may sound a bit too absurd because I have obviously noticed people during my many travels via any mode of transportation and anywhere I go but what I mean now is people - raw, original and flawed people.

As I comfortably sat on the train, watching and observing each and everyone within my radius - and range of sight, of course - I noticed as people await for their destination and move towards the doors to rush out and get replaced by a new swarm of people, sometimes familiar and sometimes just a complete stranger to me.

Stranger or not, something within me made me want to get to know them. Learn about their backgrounds, their past. I suddenly became so inquisitively curious, wanting answers to each and every question I mentally asked myself. But I wasn't shameless enough to succeed.

It then dawned on me that it did not matter if I got to know them through and through, it did not matter if I received answers to my questions. At the end of the day, I realized that they were significant to me because at one point, we crossed paths.

Be it the guy who sold me my latest pair of jeans. Or the madam who does not know how to respect the confined space that is the train by literally screaming into her phone. The little girl whose hand is wrapped around her mum's finger, wanting to wander off but in need of stability as well. The man whom is in his own little world, with earphones plugged in his ears. The guy who kicked his pen out of annoyance because it fell to the ground when he was trying to put it in his breast pocket. Foreigners with a whole lot of luggage, awaiting their destination.

People. Different, crazy, original and all that rhymes with it... but still so very beautiful.

And I think to myself, Why haven't I noticed all of this before? Not wasting time, the answer comes immediately; I was probably blinded and side-tracked by everything being so convenient in my life. So much till' my mind does not even wander off to foreign surroundings, or better yet, be thankful of the simple things.

When the electric doors open at my destination, I stand up and walk out with a smile across my face.


Before I sign off, enjoy.

I'm suffering from a withdrawal syndrome

Since I arrived home safely not too long ago, I should probably be sprawled on my bed, making up for the lost hours of sleep I could have enjoyed had I not traded them in to spend the entire bus ride home in his company - which, by the way, is not something I regret. But because my heart's heavy with emotions and knowing myself, I wouldn't be at ease until I have let it all out and only then, sleeping would be an option. So, I will proceed by stating that as hard as it was for me to say goodbye as tears welled up around my eyes each time I hugged someone, apart of me is glad to be back home. In any given situation, I realized that I'm always lead back to believe that time, no matter how we manage it, always runs out. But I still can't wrap my head around the fact that 71 days just passed me by in a blink of an eye. I plead guilty and admit But at first I counted down the days to when it would end; to when the countdown at the hall would reach 0 days but towards the end, I found myself wishing that the days multiplied.

Funny how one moment I was torn in knowing I had to leave home and everyone behind, crying hysterically while my eyes puffed up and my face a pale mask and the next... trying to fight back big, fat lumps of tears from streaming down my face because I had to leave the camp I've grown to accept as my second home. Pretty much everything about the reality I'm forced to go up against is hard to drink in- the circles of friendship that was built upon the solid grounds of teamwork and togetherness has to now survive the hurdle of distance, the mutual respect I gained from the trainers and the staff has to be placed in the hands of time, the picturesque scenery I was blessed to wake up to every morning has to be traded in for murky buildings and skyscrapers. While I chose to refer to my departure to National Service as a much needed retreat from the post-high school boredom that I know will await me, it also was a therapeutic getaway of self-discovery and to discover which path in life is just for me to lead. Or so I had hoped it would be.

But what happens to ring with more truth is that my time spent away at camp was, for the most part, a retreat that concealed and robbed me of my inner talents and abilities, caging not me but what I normally do on a daily basis. When the day came for the authorities to lay down the ground rules, we were told of what we could not do and the consequences that followed had they been broken, and singing in the shower was one of them. The singing session in the shower I would always look forward had to be, for the lack of a better word, supervised - I had to control the tone of my voice, keeping it at neutral. And the time I spent hidden underneath my blanket, with the torchlight on as I jot down the events of my day every night was suppose to imprint on me a flow of writing, but instead... I find myself scrambling for words that suit what I'm feeling and praying for my creative juices to flow through my fingertips. In other words, I came home feeling like a cave-woman; forgetting how it felt like to sing at the top of my lungs or pen down my thoughts the way I'd use to so effortlessly do. I still feel handicapped, in a way.

Apart from feeling handicapped, there's also the feeling that everything around me seems different. Let's begin with my parents, for instance. In almost every aspect - when it comes to my social life, especially - they have come around to be more lenient when compared to the way they were when I was in high-school. There's a new easiness in our conversations - no more neck-to-neck arguments about the downfall in my grades or the choking overprotectiveness when it comes to boys or even about my often tendency to be anywhere but at home. All I have to do now is just inform them of my plans, my transport and and the people whom I'll be out with and it's as simple as that. I don't have that hammering urgency in my mind to lie to them or to do something behind their backs - trust, is the word. I've lost their trust in me once before, and I'm in no condition to lose it again. Consider it a lesson learned. But I think the difference I see is due to the fact that everyone is having a lot on their plate to deal with. And to top the list is Kak Manisah's tragic recent discovery that she has stage 4 colon cancer.

Upon arriving home, I'm back to spending my weekdays at Nanny's house but instead of seeing the bubbly and hardworking maid I've known my whole life as I walk through the front door, I now see a weaker and shrunken version of her. You'd think I'd know what to do when it comes to situations like these - since I've had to attend weeks of character building classes while at NS - but the truth is, you can never be prepared for what's to come. It is hard for me to see her in such a pitiful state, but it's even harder to see her cry out of that stabbing pain in her gut and know that there's nothing I can do to ease her pain or soothe her plight. I'm helpless. I could probably compare this unfortunate circumstance to a game of domino; when one chip is slightly pushed down, the others will follow up in a linear sequence and one after another everything will be hit down. In this case, my parents and Grandma are the ones that get effected. So much until it's literally burning holes in their pockets as they take on the responsibility to pay for the sky-rocketing price of her upcoming surgery and treatment.

But now that I realized I've said too much, let's just leave the further insight for another post. Shall we? (Or just take it as it is)

____________

I apologize for digressing but this is what happens when you have too much swirling around in your mind and you can't possibly pick which matters most. But right here, right now, my mind is deterring me to a folder in my brain which holds memories of my experience at National Service (now we're back to the main point!). I really am suffering from PLKN Withdrawal Syndrome, aren't I? - Dad pointed it out to me, and he's right. I guess when you spend so much time doing something, you'll get used to it and it becomes a part of you in a certain way. And I might have said this before but that is exactly what being at PLKN has become; a part of me.

I may never get the opportunity to relive my PLKN experience, but the days, minutes and seconds spent there would always be etched in my memory. And hey, I'm also proud of myself for taking on the challenge of going up against what my friends and family members have warned me about - the unappetizing food, the grueling schedule, the heartless trainers etc etc. Instead of just nodding to whatever they tell me - about pros and cons of PLKN - I can now say that I've gone through it.

But truth be told, I couldn't have done it had I not been surrounded by amazing people who are of different races and beliefs and who come from different backgrounds. People whom I've grown so used to being around, almost like family. What I'm sure of is that we have all made friends that we'd keep for life. At least I know I have. So, from the bottom of my heart, I thank all of you - even to those whom I've never said a word to - for blessing me with fragments of precious mometns I'd keep for the rest of my life.

Hello, I miss you

I've never felt more independent than I do upon arriving back home from National Service. In all my history of being somewhere far and away from home, this is the most impressive feeling of independence I've ever felt. When I walked through the gate of my grandmother's house this afternoon, struggling to drag my heavy luggage (yes, luggage) up the pavement floor, I wasn't feeling the way I was supposed to feel - you know, the i-miss-home-and-it's-good-to-be-back feeling. That feeling didn't swallow me whole at all, actually. Instead, I felt like I didn't leave in the first place. Like I didn't leave home; like I didn't leave the people I love behind; like there was nothing to be left behind to begin with. Everyone has been expecting my arrival, the people whom I have been updating on my daily happenings, that is, and although I don't feel the way I'm supposed to feel, it is good to be back.

The two weeks that were spent at the Gopeng National Service have opened my eyes wider to the things I was so blinded to see before; unlocked the doors of my heart to the people I never thought I'd let in; and released my mind from views and perspectives of other people that I never took into account or respected before. Even though it has only been a mere two weeks, it's proven to say that I've learned a lot (and will be learning more when I return back to the camp).

It's a winding road all the way to the camp site, complimented with thick, lush green forests at every angle and an astounding view of picturesque mountains which birth the sunrise and welcome the sunset in such a beautiful manner. At night, the moon would light up the sky and the stars would give out a sparkly glimmer. And sometimes, after a downpour, a rainbow would appear across the sky. The scenery there is simply breathtaking (need I more proof?).

As for my dorm, let's just say it doesn't live up to fine Hotel standards - the tiled floor would be far from squeaky clean, our shoes wouldn't be arranged neatly in order with sand stuck to its soles and our lockers would be a terrifying mess once opened. But nonetheless, it is not as bad as I'd imagined it would be. And believe me when I say that my wild imagination lead me to believe that it was going to be far worst. But in truth, every utility there - although too low for my usual standards - is pretty much...bearable. Yes, that's the word - bearable. Bearable because, as hard as it is, I'm slowly getting used to being in discomfort. I mean, out of my usual comfort zone. 

What has gotten me through those lonely days and cold nights, I've come to realize, are the people who in the beginning were just casual acquaintances - who would just pass me by and politely smile at me; who would just glance at me from across the room/hall and then would forget the sight of me in a split second; and who would introduce themselves out of an act of force and then never bother to talk to me again - but now, over time, I've developed a real camaraderie with. I refer to them as a blessing, truly I do. Before I 'reported for duty', as usual, I assumed the worst. I never thought they'd be so nice, so friendly. I'd thought they'd treat me differently, due to my complicated background history and upbringing. I was even scared that I'd be picked on and there won't be anyone to save me from it. Maybe I'm being a little to mellow-dramatic but it's true.

As most of you already know, I'm a Chindian. A Chindian who doesn't speak neither of her mother tongues because I was never really forced to learn it - I was given the opportunity to learn it at a mature age. An age when there were other things that were more important to me than learning to speak Mandarin. I spoke English, day in and day out, through all the years of growing up. And that was that. Oh, and I was known as a Banana. You know, white on the inside and yellow on the outside. People didn't come up to me and question my inability to speak neither of my mother tongues and when they did, I would just take it in one ear and it would come out the other. After a few days in National Service, I met a few people who shared this particular issue. They, too, couldn't speak their mother tongues and when they shared their story with me, I realized that I didn't go through so much as even a fragment of what they have gone through. They were picked on, mocked at and became the object of irrational, childish teasing. Of course, I'd never know what it feels like to be in their shoes but I admire their strength. I admire the fact that despite being teased and mocked, they never let that put them down (you know who you are). And I'm glad to have them as companions at the camp. Knowing this, I have more to be thankful for.

For now, I guess that's all I've been struggling to get off my chest.

I never thought I’d reach a point of my life of enjoying the ride so much that I didn’t mind not knowing where it would lead.
I can’t help knowing that days like these are the ones I’m going to look back to and get a coy little smile about.
I’m happy right here; I’m happy right now.

(via write of passage)

  

P.S - Just in case you inquisitively wonder why I am able to have access to the Internet; uploading pictures and typing out journal entries, I have set aside a good explanation. Since it's Thaipusam and it's stated 'India' as my race, I had the advantage of applying for Thaipusam holidays - the Indians were all given 3 days off. Although I'm a Christian - and Christians weren't allowed to apply for Thaipusam holidays - I managed to talk my way through every question that arose from the trainers with little white lies ( I look like a "mix" but am an Indian). I'm not proud of it but I did what I had to do. Let's just hope I get to extend an additional three days for Chinese New Year. Keeping fingers crossed.

Between the dreaming and the coming true

I just recently finished reading The Death and Life of Charlie St. Cloud and while engulfing each word written on each page as I leafed from one page to another, I felt apart of the story - the kind of feeling I don't usually feel after soaking in a good book.

But what managed to capture me by the neck and held me down to the floor was the similarity I felt with the character, Charlie. The similarity brought me back to when I was dealing with the death of a loved one, the awkwardness of being in love and the choice of holding on and letting go; the same things Charlie was facing.

And I remember that I did not take being in that dilemma so well. I was between having emotional turmoils and plastering a smile on my face so that the outside world would see that I was holding up (even when that was a very poor act at pretending to be okay). I'd rather not dive into the details.

At the end of this book, Ben Sherwoord describes the phase of the in-between - between heaven and earth, but he refers to it as paradise or nirvana - and the life after Charlie had let go. That's when I found myself smiling; smiling because I knew what it felt like to walk in his shoes and smiling because I've moved past that phase.

The loved one I lost was my grandfather (whom was like a father to me), the awkwardness of being in love was shared with an old flame and the choice of holding on and letting go had to be done in both of the situations I just mentioned.

Along that path of uncertainty, I managed to make a choice and have been living with it. Simply because sometimes, when you close one door, another one opens up.And sometimes, letting go and moving on is good.

A few years have gone by but I'd like to keep this a constant, "I live in the space between reality and dreams; death and life; holding on and letting go; and the past and the present".

Letters I'll never send

I was reminded a few days ago by a close friend that if I have something to say and get off my chest, I should just come out and say it and not hesitate - despite whether feelings will get hurt or I may be the cause of buried issues being unraveled. But because I've never been the kind of person to just say it as it is, I'd usually just beat around the bush. Or bottle it all up inside to the extent when it feels like it's a ticking bomb just waiting to explode. That said, a series of emotions have been visiting me quite recently and it has stirred up feelings I don't usually encounter. Right now, my heart is heavy and I just got to let it all out.

Dear you - You are my other half, my best friend, my partner in crime, my bimbo buddy, my soul sister... you name it! And no man can make me feel the way you do - at least, not for the time being. But recently, something has changed with you. You used to be different. You never belonged to a clique and was fine on your own, with your handful of close friends. And I grew to love that girl. I loved her because she lived without trying to impress others, without putting other people's opinions before her's. But you're not her anymore. Maybe she is somewhere deep down within you, all you need to do is look for her.

"Some of the most wonderful people don't fit into boxes". 

Dear you - I got to know you not too long ago (through a friend) but have yet to meet you in person. I doubt it would be anytime soon because we're oceans apart. But although the distance between is mighty, it is not an issue as we have become so close. I'm still in bewilderment about how our friendship blossomed but I guess it was along the period of time spent being "body guards" of that someone's achy-breaky heart. I know it takes a lot of time to trust someone but somehow, I already trust you. I can now come to you with anything, and share things with you I'd normally only tell my best friend because I look to you as the big brother I never had.

Dear you - It's still so surreal how we've managed to remain as best friends - from my first year in high school till' this very day. When the people whom I thought were going to stick with me until forever walked out, you didn't. You stood by me, and always had my back. And for that, I'll be forever grateful to you. Of course, we don't get to spend as much time with each other as before but it's okay. All I'm saying is that I miss you, that is all.

Dear you - We have always been and will always be the best of friends, but recently,I've been feeling like the odd one out. Maybe it's because we aren't in the same stream or maybe it's just our friendship being on shaky grounds. It feels like I've been replaced, and the spot next to you that has always been reserved for me just got cancelled. But you see, it's not too late to pick up where we left off. For the years we've spent to get where we are today, I'm not willing to give our friendship up without a fight.

Dear you - The level of confidence you seem to portray in getting every single guy you chat up just comes off as plain desperate, if you ask me. It's a pathetic act to claim you have fallen in love with someone and seconds later, fall out of it. Especially when it comes to people you don't know or have never met before. Love doesn't come and go that easily, so think again. You have a pretty face, but just not the brains to go with it.

Dear you - I apologize if turning you down sent pulses of hatred towards me flowing in your bloodstream. I just wanted to refrain from being in a relationship that is based on pity. It's not supposed to be the foundation in any relationship, for that matter. You are sweet and all and too good of a friend for me to lose. Let's remain as just friends, what say you?

Dear you - As I make an attempt to sum up my feelings for you, I realize that there just isn't the perfect feeling to choose from - It's like a fusion of the rarest of feelings. Simply because you've been such a blessing, honestly. You never fail to make me smile and that phone call the other day made me wish I was with someone like you. My best friends have this gut feeling that we might end up together in the future but I'm not counting on it. I guess I'd rather it be a mystery than something impossible I'd anticipate and hope for. Let's just be there for each other, you and me, and if it's meant to be, it'll be written in the stars.

Dear you - I've buried everything that is of you in the deepest and darkest pit of my mind. Every memory, every smile, every ride around the neighbourhood; everything... I've become so used to your absence that redeeming my feelings towards you to say what I need is sounding imbecilic. So, I'm going to keep my opinions and thoughts about you a secret that is only shared between my mind and myself. But what I will do is embrace the absence of your pathetic ass!


Dear you - Truly grateful I am of the fact you are just another stray thought. I'm glad I don't have to plaster on a smile when we're in the same room together or act nice and put up with your crap anymore. I am so done. You reminded me of why I don't place my trust in people like you in the first place. So much for fighting to save our friendship. Now all you have is her, only because she doesn't have a choice. Even that will change, soon.

________________

Letting out all these bottle-up feelings sure is therapeutic. I feel very liberated right now.

P.S - This might just be the last entry until after my SPM trials are over. So, until then, Ta!