I'm not unhappy. At least, that's what I keep telling myself.
There's a difference between being unhappy and just, not happy. And now I'm just not happy. Although I'm leaning dangerously close to being unhappy.
I don't hate this, not at all. I like it, I like it very much- the learning especially. I love all the new things I'm learning, all these wonderful concepts and history that I wouldn't otherwise have known. And I'm putting it to immediate use too.
But somehow despite that, I'm not happy.
If I said this out loud, some people might tell me to "choose to be happy". I think you can choose, up to a certain point. I never chose to be happy about work, about waking up at six in the morning, about losing my voice every other week. I never chose that. And yet I was happy. I was completely and utterly happy- with my life, with my work with the way I was, with myself as a person.
I miss that you know. I miss just being happy.
Fuck, I'll live on next to nothing, on a pay cheque that either stays at the same low number or one that goes up and down (sometimes down to nothing on some months) if it just meant me being happy again.
My cat could die, and I would walk into the classroom the next day and escape, take myself out of it for a while. I could hold myself together.
The fuck is this? I'm falling apart as I do bloody TaiChi or movement! And not cos my cat died either. In fact my life on the outside is going perfectly. I'm just blanking out for about ten hours a day. It feels like ten hours a day where I cease to exist, as opposed to finding parts of me.
It's like I live for the moments before and after and surely, surely there is something wrong.
Isn't there?
I missed out on my goodnight phonecall this evening. She rang at half ten and I said I'd be with her real quick, and I thought I would except-
I was still rushing work. Homework, to be precise.
I'm not a baby about things like this, or not being on the phone, but I liked that she called just to check in. Mostly, I hate that I thought I'd be done in a tick and I wasn't.
And right now I am sad and upset and frustrated in a most peculiar, mixed up sort of way.
It's just about midnight now.
I'm in bed, and I should sleep. My bag's not packed, and I will tomorrow but. It was my birthday getaway bag this week, when we went off for a few days. Completely unpacking it to put in school things would mean stepping fully back into what makes up my current everyday.
And I am resentful.
I'm hanging on by a thread and asking myself why. Because I miss my life. I really, really do.
I miss stopping to talk to my family, having time for drinks with my friends and cooking with my girlfriend. I miss seeing the sunset. I miss waking up and liking it.
I really miss that.
Just. Y'know, waking up and being really excited about my life and all geared up to go. Ohmyword, I miss that so much.
Because waking up everyday and almost wishing you were dead, that sorta takes its toll on you y'know.
The way we could sit in the same room- whether at opposite ends or right beside each other and just be there. Not necessarily talking or even doing the same things but just be in the same space together , y'know? That's what I've missed.
So, some Tuesday, and what news it brought- Some of it comes with a breath of relief, some with immense, immense sadness. The sort of sadness that fills the base of your throat and chokes you up even though you're just listening.
More news that I need to get my head wrapped round though is 1) The performance week of Kuttiyatam has been brought forward. This means that it'll be right around the corner from, if not the same week as, Love Song- the musical I'm currently working on with Ethan. Oh wait, that's not all! The end of Traditional Theatre marks the week of Post Modular Lab which ends in a final performance and assessment upon which we will be graded. And right after that will be presentation week for all the other modules.
2) I have just found out that I will not have my Christmas holidays and that the third round of Traditional Theatre (Noh) will begin the day after Christmas!
I haven't done this in a while, Forgive me, Give me time to clear my mind
But don't close your eyes Don't give me the chance to run away I've got a habit of doing that sometimes Couldn't we just, hold on a little longer Don't close your eyes
It doesn't feel like too long ago, that I passed here with you- Past midnight, after a drink that went well with the live music and, not entirely sure how we were gonna do it but, walking in the general direction of home. We were marching about, looking stupid at, what, two in the morning? And laughing at ourselves; Me in my six inch heels, and you in your skate shoes- both those pairs of shoes which have since been laid to rest. My, has it really been that long because I-
Now I'm passing this place, on the bus back to you, where you're busy cooking dinner right about now. And I get to put down my things and ask how I can help. I get to bring back dessert to go with dinner and sit on the couch with you. I get to hear you rant about your day, and rant to you about mine.
And mostly, I get to tell you I love you just before I fall asleep.
This is what it feels like- Like I'm always rushing to do nothing. To find a five minute gap I can say I deserve.
I'm grateful for what I have on the outside, because it's a little bit of something I get to hold on to. And then, sometimes, I feel like stealing away to a dark corner for a couple of months.
Fear tastes like the iron in blood you're not drawing from yourself
"Oh yes, yes I know. And you know, you just gotta let go."
No, I want to say, no you don't know. I'm trying with all that I am and I'm not using this as any kind of excuse, but you don't know.
And to continually come at me, even after, with the full force that your ignorance is weighed with-
No, it's not your fault. You don't know, and that's okay. But it just got more difficult when you wanted to insist on your advice that clearly wasn't pushing me into a place I was comfortable in.
"Okay guys, no matter what, you have to go in now-"
"Okay, okay we're just-"
"No." She says, and her voice is quiet but so, so firm. "No, sometimes we just can't. We are not machines. And I have heard something that just, that just goes beyond all of any of this. So."
And in that instance, I am so grateful, so grateful for her.
"Hey, so how're you? Y'know with-"
"Yeh well, c'est la vie right?"
"It'll pass man, it'll pass."
Yeah, I think. What doesn't, after all? And that's what I did too-
I lay there, and just waited for it to pass.
Haven't been out like this in a long, long while- and to a large extent, I wish I'd used this time to claim my much needed sleep. But then again, there are hardly days like this, and I stayed for all the good songs, And one of my best friends won't be around for a while. Plus, I'm sober as a rock, smoke-free and my driver's going at 140 on the freeway.
This morning, as I do some mornings, I wake with a thought nestled somewhere in the blurry, sleepy haze in my head. Well to be honest, I wake up every single morning with that thought there, some mornings it is just more present than it is absent- but all the same it is there.
And this morning it is there again; like a curled up, dozy cat, watching me as I move about my room in a flurry, shoving non-fat yoghurt with flaxseeds and banana slices into my mouth, timing it so I can chew as I yank on my pants and dab concealer on my face. She is patient and knows full well that I am, at least somewhat, aware of her presence. Sometimes she yawns, widening her eyes and staring in my direction, head tilted, as I slow down for two extra seconds daring myself to catch a breath.
She is the thought that this is, maybe, wrong. It isn't self-doubt, it isn't thinking that I won't make it; because I know, to be completely honest, that even if it means grinding my teeth to nothing and bleeding myself dry, I will put myself through this if I really, really want to. She is an idea made up of the knowledge that my life is on suspension, that there is a world I am actively turning away from for this, that some mornings I wake and want to curl back up. And most times, I quieten her with the knowing that when this is done, I will be better for it. That everyday I learn things that I put to use and am, in fact, putting to use right now in rehearsals or auditions outside of my school life.
But some days, like today, I wake up tired. And I am tired of feeling the way I do- like it's not easier to pick myself up and scurry off to school, like maybe I'm just the sort who can't function within a structure like this. Like I have always, always chosen to be the person who picks what makes you happy. And even though I know I will be happy in the long run, after all this, after taking and soaking up and keeping, I can't look you in the eye right now and tell you that this makes me happy. Because believe it or not, actors are not liars.
---------------- I've made up my mind, don't need to think it over If I'm wrong I am right, don't need to look no further This ain't lust, I know this is love
But if I tell the world, I'll never say enough 'Cause it was not said to you And that's exactly what I need to do if I'd end up with you
Should I give up or should I just keep chasing pavements Even if it leads nowhere? Or would it be a waste even if I knew my place Should I leave it there? Should I give up or should I just keep chasing pavements Even if it leads nowhere?
I build myself up and fly around in circles Wait then as my heart drops and my back begins to tingle Finally could this be it?
Should I give up or should I just keep chasing pavements Even if it leads nowhere? Or would it be a waste even if I knew my place Should I leave it there? Should I give up or should I just keep chasing pavements Even if it leads nowhere?
Should I give up or should I just keep chasing pavements Even if it leads nowhere? Or would it be a waste even if I knew my place Should I leave it there? Should I give up or should I just keep on chasing pavements Should I just keep on chasing pavements?
Are all worn out, I'm tired of fighting a fight we didn't even mean to start. I say, it comes with. That you're not wrong, that It's no one's fault at all except maybe Mine
Why do people talk, if it just feels like they're talking at each other?
Sometimes it feels like we're still new-
Like I don't know where I stand, or what you think, or what you're thinking and if I'm thinking too much.
Sometimes it feels like we're still green-
Because there aren't feelings that have tired themselves out yet; the feeling of being disconnected, out of touch, out of sync. But of course, also the simpler feelings- like missing you, like comfort, like contentment.
The uncertainty, the wondering, the time spent wondering, that comes with being new, it isn't always a good thing though is it?
And
Why is it that sometimes things just absolutely need to have the chance to hurl themselves at you all at once?
Because this isn't supposed to be so painful.
Or this difficult. Or hurt like this.
And school was supposed to be more than enough reason to feel like I'm broken, like I'm breaking, like I'm alone while falling apart and falling apart while I'm alone.
And the dark little boxes I had for hiding, I gave them space for two, I did.
So this, this wasn't supposed to feel like this. It wasn't supposed to hurt this bad.
And tonight, oh tonight, I wasn't supposed to be such an absolute mess.
If you wanted to know- Half of today was lovely, and half of it was horrifying. Both halves overlap at some point, so there's an excess bit of today that was okay. Of course, all before half past six this evening. The horrifying bits were painful (in a I've-been-hit-in-the-face-with-realization- kinda way), were stretched, were absurd. The lovely only came with half of the horrifying bits.
One of the open boxes (funny how I've only just realized there was more than one) was anger. There's a difference between drama and drama in psychology though- Here, we're merely opening boxes to access those feelings. So.
But if you're asking me about today, I'd tell you it was okay. It was.
I'm looking forward to Hatha Yoga on Saturday. And if I can run today or tomorrow or Saturday or Sunday or all of the above or a combination of some days and not others, I will be very happy.
On a random note, even though for a split second I found myself missing living on my own for a bit and coming home after work, I am impossibly upset that mommy's going out of town. That's one too many thinks to cry about, need the universe to cut me some slack.
I broke today, in front of an audience. That wasn't really part of the plan and I guess I didn't have my Game-Face fitted on properly.
There isn't a psychology behind it, no analytical, calculated reason. "Listen to what your body wants to say today. Just, listen." And my body felt like being a ball, and curling up, and seeking comfort.
And maybe she'll love her in the morning, when the night's done its work and burnt stains off her skin. When her hair doesn't smell of tomorrow's sin. Maybe she'll love her in the morning, When the lipstick stain on the wineglass isn't so red, When her body isn't so sad.
How come even on the loveliest days, I still end up crying?
"I love you," "I don't know that." He'd said
-------------------
There are some words you shouldn't say, because emotions lie nestled inside another and feeling one thing always opens up to feeling another, to feeling another. There are some hurts you shouldn't speak of. Because it's easier to get the bottle of alcohol yourself, bite your arm and disinfect the wound than speak of it and only wish you hadn't.
And maybe there are some stories you weren't meant to tell, trials you weren't meant to speak of, cuts you're meant to pull your sleeves over. Because empathy is a lot easier to find than the person you're looking for.
The number you have dialed is not in use, please try again later.
Wrong.
This is wrong, it's all wrong.
We're not meant to be like this, standing on roadsides watching cars run past like they've got lives while you scuff your sneakers in the sand and try to tell yourself you're not crying.
Because I'm not supposed to be crying; Not for the time I don't have, and the conversations I can't hear and the red tints of dawn that I always miss because I'm still on the train for two and a half minutes too long.
I'm not supposed to feel so broken while doing something that has always held me together, I'm not supposed feel like I can't catch up with myself. Because how long is it going to be before I finally can, and when I do, I'd rather punch myself in the nose because I think I'd need a little bit of physical brokenness to understand the sharp edges of the pieces inside me.
If my life is only on suspension, why does it feel like I need to be expelled?
Why do my fingers know better how and what to say while my lips bite down on themselves lying, breaking, bleeding?
Sometimes I feel like I cannot do this.
I can't look at clocks and keep crying, can't look at people and keep counting, counting, counting-
The places they hold tension in as they speak, the times the corner of their left eye twitches when they're fibbing, how many hours I have left to be here with them, how many hours I have left to sleep, to wake, to sit through until I can go back to staring at a clock and will the hands to move slower, how many minutes faster I took for my run, how many minutes I have left to get to class, how many calories before I remember what a bad habit it is to count them.
To count at all.
And if math was never my best subject, I shouldn't be starting now.
If the number I've dialed isn't in use, I don't see why I should try again later. Because if it isn't anymore, then I don't think anyone's coming back to it.
And maybe I'm not coming back to me, maybe I won't, maybe I never will.
And I am afraid of that because I never understood the concept of denying yourself. Except it's all that's being asked of us now.
But to of course, embrace the fact that you can't learn to fly before you've got wings
so.
What am I supposed to do, really?
How long is this going to happen for,
because I'm not meant to be standing by roadsides watching cars run past like they've got lives while I scuff my sneakers in the sand and try to tell myself I'm not crying.
Tonight, my hair smells the way it did in Perth. And I'm wearing the jammies that I did over there.
My body soap reminds me of LA- even though the most recent times I've gone back, I haven't used body soap that smelt like this.
Sometimes, and a lot more recently to be honest, I figure I could do this. I could stay.
Because you love your work and I love your work and I love that you love your work. And because, to be honest, it'd be easy for me to work here. And I could. And I love my work, and I love working here.
But mostly because home is exactly where you are.
Then sometimes I find myself missing these places. These places I've felt so at home in, so comfortable in. Places where I've felt it okay to be me. Where I've walked streets and felt like there couldn't possibly be anything more at home, than feeling my footfalls against this concrete pavement. On nights like tonight, I watch the rising steam fall against the rest of the bathroom as I towel myself and find myself half expecting, half wishing, that it'll be too cold when I step out.
It would make sense here, it would. It would be easy, relatively easier in comparison.
But then, what about all those times I feel like staring out windows and missing all these places so much? Because aside from how the air seems to rest itself just nicely on my skin when I'm there, there's my family, and I miss them too.
And I know I don't have to decide just yet, but it's just been something on my mind.
On nights like tonight, I miss being home with you, that's for sure. But I also find myself missing feeling like I'm home.
It's conversations like last night's that I am immensely grateful for-
That I can have them at all, let alone with someone I am so close to.
That there are parallels that are drawn, and a different perspective to what may or may not work for me without putting me in a box. That I am given a take so full and rich but also coloured in and shaded with truth and often times, personal opinion. I think in general I am grateful for all round support from my family and such but last night in particular.
So, for last night, Thank you Erika-
For being an amazing support and my devil's advocate all at the same time. You're all the world to me(:
------------------
It's taken me three weeks to fully arrive, and four and a half to be more honest with myself about where I stand and what I might feel.
I think the truth of it will always scare me. Or the possibility of it being truth at least.
The notion that this frame, this setting, might not work for me.
That being said I don't want to just end up being a self-fulfilling prophecy.
Once one is decided- there's no changing it. So if, for instance, I say, "I can't do this, this isn't my thing." Then I won't be able to do this.
I will fully acknowledge the immense difficulties on various levels of course. And I will fight for time for myself, and fight wholeheartedly for the need to be and to not get lost or run away from myself.
But I'm not going to write myself off or throw in the towel.
I'm going to give this a shot, and more importantly, I'm going to give myself a shot. Even if it feels like I'm clawing at chalkboards.
I deserve to say, "At least I tried."
Not in an I-want-to-call-it-quits kind of way, but I guess, this week I was struck by how much closer it felt when you were further away. So, during one of my lunch breaks, I sat on stone steps, stared out into empty apartments and cried.
And we've talked, and been talking, and I like it and it's getting better. But I'd really like you to see that I don't want anything from you. I don't. You don't need to do anything for me, or try exceptionally hard, or try at all, really. Because I miss you in the way where you're just you- laid back and happy and sleepy at all the weirdest times of the day and having a full meal during tea.
Are breaking off, are breaking off. as one always tends to, I find myself reaching for things that remind me of who I am. That remind me I am still here. That I can still be.
For this, I am grateful that I am consumed mostly by school and the work. That the ache, the questions, the hollowness that breathes through my spine sometimes, only creeps up on me when I steal away to stare out at vast empty spaces that only make me miss you more than I ought to.
"Excuse me, but what you were doing just now, I found it intriguing. What, what was it you were doing?" ---------------------
We're all a collection of movements, of moments, of conversations, of snippets of conversations. Of things we have seen and the things that we see, of split second decisions, shocks of impulse to which we see through to the end of the line.
Go back to what you know. Carve out a routine, And hang on tight. ------------------- It's been three weeks since I've gone for yoga. By pure chance and great fortune, not only did I manage to get to yoga, but I got to Niru's Hatha. Niru being the instructor I'm most comfortable and familiar with.
And in that hour, I was awash with a sense of relief and fulfilment. For the first time since school started, a feeling of- Hey, I can do this. You know, like I'm actually doing something right
I suppose I've always been one with my head in the clouds. But it seems almost as possible as it is pretty, almost close enough to see. And I know I get carried off in thought, and think about next week while drowning in this one. But there are lovely things that come of dreaming sometimes.
And so I'm sitting here, on steps that lead to absolutely nowhere. Staring into the most beautiful apartments with spaces filled with family evenings and couches breathing with secrets and lives that are being lived. And I am sitting here, with the thought of you.
I swapped back to my old shampoo. That is, the same shampoo she uses.
This must be the worst time for my hair to smell like hers, honestly speaking.
Yes, I know I'm being a complete sap.
And then today in class, Robin breezes in and fills the room with Perth. And I'm just like, right, shit. Robin fills the room with a lot of other things of course- breath, calm and relaxation. I find I'm clinging on. But she brings a reminder of Perth. A very strong one at that. So her three hour class today was both lovely and difficult.
It's almost the end of the first week of school. The first two days saw us eating in each other's company- the first day altogether, with our alumni and teachers and the faculty. The second day, the local students went off on their own and us International Students (me being the semi-in between) went off to Peace Centre Foodcourt.
I don't have a problem with lunch company at all. But I guess, a lot of times, I crave my alone-time, even when I'm working a school with just one other person. So today, I brought my lunch, sat on a stone table under a palm tree with the sun hitting my shoulders and Grotowsky's Farewell Speech to his students in my lap. And I was impossibly happy.
----------------------- I was also very happy at lunch on the Monday that just passed. We had dimsum with Erika's friends, Sharon and Althea who are lovely company and an absolute riot to be with.
I just realized also that we don't have pictures with them so I guess, this will have to do:/
It's the change of my life as I've known it (read- grown used to). I know I sound deliriously dramatic here, but it just, it feels like a lot you know?
For a few years I've politely corrected people when they say, "So how's school?" Now I'm politely correcting people when they say, "So back to work tomorrow?"
I'll miss it- work that is. It's been so much a part of my life that I'm not ready to let go of it just yet. I think that's the most part of it. Not so much the insanity that this intensive next three years will bring, but more the knowledge that I might possibly just have to give up on work completely. When work has, for the best part of the last four years, been what has kept me rooted when all else felt like it was falling away.
In any case, I don't have to give up work completely as yet (depending on schedules and stuff), so we'll see how it all goes.
With everything else-
the hour-long lunch breaks and the people I'll meet, the things I absolutely cannot wait to study, the practices I cannot wait to learn and the plays I'll get to perform,
let's see where this all takes me, shall we?
And we're set to roll in eleven and a half hours kiddo.
I've always been sappy about New Year's- I believe how you spend that first bit of the new year is a peek into the rest of it.
So, just like I hoped, my New Year's was nice and quiet. But more than that, it was the loveliest, loveliest New Year I've had in quite a while. Not just a-year-type of a while but, honest to God, a while.
This was the last New Year, this was the year before (the frame of mind I was in and not so much what I was doing. at all.) and this was New Year's two years ago (leading into 2009).
If my New Year's Eve and New Year's Day is anything to go by, it's looking like a lovely 2012 coming up. We spent it watching half of The Runaways over pizza and where we didn't finish that movie, we watched the back half of Watchmen. Bits of it, for me. It was family- Mommy, Janice, Erika and Buttons. And I got to be comfy and snuggle up and we had Christmas pudding which mommy served the traditional way- by pouring brandy over and setting it alight. We didn't countdown ( I can't remember the last time I did that), it was more like, "One Minute Left!" And mommy had the glasses out and the bottle of champagne just waiting to be popped.
And then, just like the digits on clocks change every time you're not looking, it was 2012.
Janice saw me stealing a New Year's kiss-on-the-cheek and went, "Make out!" But we passed on that, and so no, I haven't actually gotten my first New Year's Kiss where the moment the clock hands meet, there's this crazy amazing kiss with poppers and streamers and fizz from champagne and balloons going up everywhere.
But I had fireworks going off in my head from that one-second kiss, and that was enough for me(:
So just like that, we were in the new year and the champagne was a bit too sharp for our liking and only just bearable. And I got to fall asleep in brand new satin-smooth cotton sheets, safe, deliriously happy and cuddled up. The year should go like that- just the right amount of junk, dessert and wine, family time and feeling like I wouldn't rather be anywhere else in the world if not with this person I'm (clearly) quite taken with.
2011 wasn't a major, major year for me, if you know what I mean. But it's certainly been eventful; having more than its fair share of ups and downs, relapses (of varied nature), rocky patches and late nights spent crying over things I couldn't even place.
Summing up my entire year in just five pictures, so I don't bore you half to death,
here-
Kuo Chuan Presbyterian Drama Club
Singapore Youth Festival 2011- Twisted
Perth with Erika, June 2011.
A much needed break from work, also marking the end of my full-time work with InwardBound. Also had me finding a new country and place to really like. Which resulted in awful post-holiday blues.
Bird flying home on a whim that (I believe) was what she really needed and, coincidentally having Dory pop home too.
Growing, talking with Mitchell (bottom right) and having conversations with Nora, my boss for the last four years now, that I file away for future reference.
Seeing my cousins this Christmas after more than a decade apart. We've grown a bit, I think. Just a bit.
Thanks here is due, to a whole lot of people. And because I don't very often, I'd like to here-
My family:
Mommy and The Little Creature, for being so immensely supportive about school. For being two of the very few, and from when I first brought it up, to tell me how much the former TTRP, now Intercultural Theatre Institute suited me infinitely better than La Salle. And even when I'd said yes to La Salle (and these days, Yes costs money), telling me that if ITI is what I want, then I should try for it- even if it doesn't promise me a place just yet.
You two were a major reason I chose to say no to La Salle and go with my gut. Even though my gut was actually a bit weak. The both of you have also been a source of encouragement in a lot of areas besides school, and I am grateful for you both very much.
Erika:
For being my pillar of strength, my healthy dose of reality and practicality, and just being an amazing support to me all the time. At the peak of SYF, you were the one telling me to slow down, to find time for me. You saw me through quite a few things- my relapse into bulimia being one of them. You were around for my shitty days as much as you were around for my happy days and most importantly, you were around for those moments before I even saw myself falling apart until I was sitting in your bed and talking and bawling and bawling and talking. Thank you, for giving me hugs whenever I've needed them, for finding time for yoghurt and playgrounds amidst your schedule. For always asking me what you can do to make things better, for holding my hand when I'm scared and for always wanting to be around for me. A lot of things are a whole lot more bearable, because of you. You're the world to me and I love you. Please know that.
My bestest friends in the world:
Vicky, Bird, Dory, Eme and Vic, for being my go-to-people. For making me laugh incessantly at stupid things, for the times that we get to spend just sitting around being absolute idiots and blowing bubbles until it's half two in the morning. Bird and Vv, for being close enough to call and cry and text, even though it's quite apparent that we've all got our own shit going on a lot of the time. Dory, for suddenly appearing back in Singapore when we least expect it (omg, you have no idea how happy it makes me- I pretend you've never left). Eme, for being considerate and constantly being the butt of our jokes. You truly are beautiful in your beastliness, please know that. Victor, for even now, being that one person I can call and say, "Are you home?" And meet up with you and not talk about what's bugging me. For being the one who knows exactly when to take the cigarettes away from me and when to let me ruin my good streak. For being around, and still (though it was just a once- off this year) showing me pretty places and having me remember that there's still very much that part of me that sits on balconies and smokes too much and pretends that I can make it go all go away by not talking about things.
Thank you, because I don't know where I'd be without the five of you.
Nora:
For being an amazing boss, an amazing friend and an amazing mentor. For telling me and making me believe just how much more I am capable of. For guiding me, for teaching me, for telling me my skirt is too short. You're an inspiration, and I hope you never forget that. I wouldn't have been ever been able to hold on, and push myself as far as I have, if not for you.
Ethan:
For being that person who I get to talk endlessly about theatre with. For taking my bitchy side as much as I take your asshole side. For not judging me for it. For bitching with me. For talking with me. For hours I can spend talking about things that are so, so impossibly close to both our hearts. For bringing me to the realization that it is Singapore Theatre that runs through my veins before any other theatre scene. For understanding a lot of my opinions and ideas, even if we hold different beliefs about certain things.
Justin:
For keeping me in mind when you go to new, lovely looking places. For showing me pictures, for giving me snippets of home that make me ache but make me smile at the same time. For time we've spent on skype or on the phone. For your amazing letters and gifts and being one of those people, too far away from me that I find I miss on a random day. For your insanely hilarious and entertaining tales about housemates and trips. For being that person who, despite going off to study accounts (as opposed to say, architecture), has gone on to find more things to be wowed by. For including me in little day-to-day things, like the cooking of your asian meals and the sniffing of your medicated oil.
My Kuo Chuan Babies:
For just being absolutely amazing teenagers. For that birthday surprise you gave me this year that absolutely made my day. For trying so, so, SO hard, during SYF. For always wanting to do more, to try harder, to be better, to be more. I love you guys for that. Yes, it didn't start out altogether easy and we took a while to get where we did. But you have to know, that I am so, so impossibly proud of all of you. That every time I speak of you, I still smile. That you have grown into such amazing people and I am glad that I got to take such an insanely amazing journey with you. Spending as much time as I did with you, allowed me to watch you guys change and become the people you are today. And damn, you ought to be as proud of yourselves as I am of you. Because that performance you gave, that day on SYF, that was amazing and I couldn't have ever, ever asked for more.
Please, promise me you'll keep growing, that you'll keep trying, that you won't ever stop being the amazing people you are.
For all the rest:
The people I've met, whether by chance, accident or in (your) drunken stupor- through parties, projects or in bar fights that I've never been in, for people I've been close to before but could only meet up with a couple of times this year-
Thank you for just being around. For talking when you have and giving my life just that bit more than work.
Last, but most definitely not least,
God:
Who has been with me through every step of the way. Who has moulded me, guided me and granted me peace whenever I'm shitting in my pants. Who has opened my heart and ears to Him, who has continued to help me grow, painful as it sometimes might be. For being with me as I auditioned, as I got my acceptance letter and as I got my scholarship award. This, all of this, none of it could have been without You.
It's going to be a very new, very different, very trying sort of year. There'll be so much adjusting, so much to get used to and so much more to be afraid of.
But, as with every year that comes, I'll just throw myself head in and see what comes of it.
Maybe it's much Too early in the game Aah, but I thought I'd ask you just the same
What are you doing New Year's New Year's eve?
Wonder whose arms Will hold you good and tight When it's exactly Twelve o'clock that night Welcoming in the New Year New Year's eve
Maybe I'm crazy to suppose I'd ever be the one you chose Out of a thousand invitations You received Aah, but in case I stand one little chance Here comes The jackpot question in advance
Jessica Savitch once said, "No matter how many goals you have achieved, you must set your sights on a higher one."
And to this, I say, No. No you don't.
I have spent too long finding that no matter how hard you push yourself, no matter how far you have come, there is still more that you can do. There is still that much better you can be. There is still so much that you haven't achieved yet. There is still so much space between you and being enough.
I'm sure she didn't mean to say don't acknowledge your achievements. In fact, I'm sure lots of people who live by this rule don't mean to say you haven't come a long way. But constantly reaching for higher goals is not going to make one happy, not when you spend so little time being glad at what you've done and what you've got.
There's a huge difference between being unmotivated and satisfied, a huge difference between being content and settling for less. At the end of the day, isn't it about what makes you happy?
If you're not happy where you are, whether in terms of career or social life or weight, then figure out why and then do something about it. But also, learn to stop for a minute and take it all in.
It's funny, what a fine balance it is.
I guess coming from where I do, it's just painful knowing how many there are out there who hinge their self worth on their success or lack thereof.
Yea, yeah, I get it. Keep your head up, your eyes on the goal, keep pushing for more. But some people get all the way there and find they want to backtrack. Or they get all the way there and find that there's no where else to go. And what happens then? Do you stop and feel sad and unmotivated?
Sure, I mean, there's always that bit more you could've done. Always. But if it's something one lives by, I just think you end up going through life not being quite satisfied with what you have. And that's almost as bad as not being satisfied and being highly unmotivated to do anything about it.
I'm tired, mostly. Of this constant feeling like, even if you set yourself realistic finishing lines, there's always one more coming up that you could reach.
I liken all of this to my running-
I don't have a specific stop point, whether in time or in distance. In fact, to be honest, because I hardly use a jogging track, I don't bloody know how far I've run. My only gauge is time.
Whenever I say, "This is a fifteen minute run," I find that I hang on to that, resenting my run and just looking forward to the end point. And I either collapse inches away from that end point or I am cruel and say, "A little bit more. Right up to that pillar, that tree, that fire hydrant."
But on days that I have time and just say, "I'm going for a run" with no beginning or end point, I run longer, farther, sometimes faster. And I am happy.
I think that counts for more- whether that run turns out fifteen minutes or fifty. Because I didn't build myself up to let myself down. I just did what I felt like.
If I could have one wish, if I could have some say
Because you find half of yourself that is carved by expectations, society's ideas of beauty and the world and their reasons. And then the other half of you is left floating. Floating in a way that almost makes you uncomfortable. Floating in a way that makes you scared of the way you fall against a girl's skin and realize that her breath gives you rest. Floating in a way that only roots you in the way it's unfamiliar- nice, but unfamiliar.
and nothing's helped, everything's just made me feel like crying. I didn't wake up too bad today you know. And I had dim sum with my family. And it was all really nice. And I ran errands. I got Christmas presents. I had dinner.
and I got to talk, a little bit. Got to, for the first time, say out loud what's been on my mind. At least the idea of it. And watch my breathe form like crystals above my bowl of ramen and dissolve and I keep talking keep talking keep talking
No, not about what I need to talk about but instead talk about what needs to be talked about and then I find I can't
wrong
why am I all wrong
and then I'm breaking but I don't break and I fix myself because I can
and I stand up and walk because I can and so we walk around picking up things that need to be picked up and I am normal and I don't understand that buzz of a feeling inside my chest and so I push it away
and we laugh about things there are to laugh at and go home
and I begin to tell you what I realize is that buzz that's grown into an incessant whirr in my chest in my ears and behind my eyes and I tell you I tell you
but we're worried about all the wrong things
and then I go outside to talk to my mother
wrong
wrong again
I'm all wrong why am I all wrong
and then I'm breaking but I don't break. I fix myself because I can
and I come back in
but I can't
and i'm breaking, breaking apart
I hate dial tones
there's so much wrong that I don't know what's wrong anymore
and I wish I wasn't so alone
I can't breathe
I can't
I'm breaking
fuckfuckfuckfuckFUCK
WON'T THIS JUST FUCKING STOP
I can't
I can't anymore
can't keep myself together
can't quell this ache that's branched out from a seed I didn't know was there
So I've been sad, the last couple of days. And occasionally annoyed, irritable, angry.
A lot of times though, I feel like I'm breaking.
And here's the thing-
Yes, I believe and Yes, I know my God will see me through a whole lot of things. But I'm getting tired of replies or suggestions or comments that make it sound like I don't know He's there for me or that I am saved or that anything.
This has nothing to do with God, and everything to do with the fact that I am sad as fuck and have found myself crying in bed before I fall asleep two nights in a row.
This has nothing to do with unbelief and everything to do with having a space that I cannot fill and an ache that I cannot soothe. And don't you dare tell me that God will fill this space either. God will do a lot of things for me and He has done a lot of things for me, but I'm bloody allowed to have things that I can be upset about.
Sometimes, some people feel sad and broken too okay?
Corinne Bailey Rae (and Corinne May too actually) reminds me Enqing. Reminds me of Christmases with short hair and scarves even though I was here, and strutting about town and taking turns to pout for his camera. Reminds me of being sixteen and free and happy and writing and a at the doorway to the world of possibilities.
And now that I'm writing about it- Corinne May reminds of being fifteen, meeting Enqing for the first time and being comfortable and sane and safe amongst people similar to me and getting lost in the rehearsals and the singing and the being.
This year, I discovered the joy of giving people shopping vouchers. Because it's safe and functional and really, really helpful! At the same time of course, upon further discussion with Bird, I realized that, even though one doesn't mean it to be, it miiiight come across insincere.
Oh Christmas.
I mean, I really love it. And I love buying presents for people, and picking it out and picking out the perfectest gift. But it almost feels like I've got a deadline! And then people ask, "Well what do you want for Christmas?" And there are things that I want but that are a)too pricey and I wouldn't (honest, swear to God) want someone to get it for me or b) it would be something that I'd like to pick up by myself/for myself. Because, I don't really need anything, y'know what I mean?
But anyway, to make lives easier!
If you'd much prefer to get me something that you know I'd want and would use, here's a list:
1)A quilt cover set-
I got my single-sized quilt from Ikea and haven't checked if Metro has any quilt-covers but I know Ikea has a couple that I like. I've got one set in shades of red and one in black and grey.
I like darker, deeper colours or just plain white with texture. I'm not a fan of flowers or lots of patterns (despite some being quite cute).
2)There's a new scent from Burberry that I've been eyeing called Burberry Body.
But this is one of those presents I'd very much rather people NOT buy for me. Honestly, please.
3) I really like notebooks with blank pages. I'm not kidding, I really do. You can keep them forever and draw and write and paste things and. I like notebooks with blank pages(:
4) Books!
You can never go wrong with good literature, right? I've actually got all the Jodi Picoult books I want, so it's probably not safe to get me any of hers.
But
-books on Theatre or acting- Meisner or Chekhov or Stanisvlasky's are all welcome. Plays that you've read that you think I might like. Plays by Samuel Beckett or Harold Pinter, because I haven't actually read through any of their stuff from end to end (except for Beckett's Play).
-poetry. Collections of poems, things that are a little bit off-beat. I saw a children's book the other day that I quite liked, with a collection of poems. I forgot the title though, so I'm not very helpful right now.
- I'm in love with the Guess How Much I Love You collection- but then, I've already gotten the book I like the most. Which is Guess How Much I Love You.
So.
5) If you wanted to be more practical you could get me film for my polaroid camera. I use the creditcard sized ones that are the most common(:
6) Failing all, you could always just get me vouchers. For like Ikea (since I've just moved into this new place) or bookshops or shoe shops or places with clothes you think I'd like. I think it's really practical and nice.
Or wine. You can't go wrong with that. I'm a fan of Moscatos and Late Harvests and Medium-bodied reds with a mix of sweet and fruity flavours(:
I hope this is enough. I can't think of any more.
I'd really like to know what my friends want for Christmas though. I will go troll the internet and hope they've mistakenly left bits of information about themselves lying about.
When we submit the things of God to the mind of man, unbelief and religion are the results. When we submit the mind of man to the things of God, we end up with faith and a renewed mind. The mind makes a wonderful servant, but a terrible master. -- Pastor Bill Johnson
Breathe. Someone, someone help me, help me to breathe. To stop this churning in my chest and this burning in my eyes. The sound of rushing waterfalls in my ears- it's too much, all of it, it's all too much now.
Maybe, maybe if you cut me open you could help stop my insides from thrashing about in fear, keep my skin from spasming as the world breathes and breathes and breathes onto me.
Go away. Won't all of it just go away? I don't need very much. Just a dark little corner and a box of matches. I could make wishes with each light. I could pretend I'm alright
I've always been a fan of little cozy corners, tucked away nooks, fencing and gates to keep me in and safe. When I have options, I pick corners. Actually, I either pick tiny, tiny corners or large open spaces. It's this bizarre clash in my personality- extrovert meets introvert. There isn't a happy middle, it's always a little bit of both.
And so, when moving things about in my room, I often wonder if my choice of furniture location makes me feel at all claustrophobic. It doesn't. I seem to find a tilt that I am comfortable with; Corners for me to hide in and feel safe, while creating an illusion of space so that it doesn't feel so cloistered.
It's important for me- finding just the right degree of whatever it is. And I don't suppose my spaces are often the ones that would be deemed as having good feng shui. But hey, the space is mine. And I am safe. And the cat's in the cradle
"If what you're doing is your passion, it should come like breathing. It's that natural."
-- Oprah Winfrey
This.
It comes like breathing. It runs through me, spilling itself when I first say hello. It makes up who I am, who I've been and who I will become.
This. It's me living.
At so many points in my life there have been things that shook me, things that left me feeling like I was falling indefinitely (which is, believe me, worse than hitting the ground). And at all these points there has been something that I can turn to and lose myself in. And as I've grown up I've returned to this. Taking things in and then, using myself; whether or not there was an audience.
This is everything that I know.
When I am here, in this place, I get to close my eyes and be more honest than I could ever be in real life. It's not about putting on someone else's skin, it's not about being a professional liar.
It's about, for once, just being completely and utterly honest.
With the people in the space, with the people watching, but mostly, with yourself.
Here, I can trust myself to be. I can trust myself to think. And I can trust the person beside me to be listening and to respond just as honestly.
I am aware of all the things I don't know, and all the things I want to know. And so, I keep at it. Clawing my way through boxes, through spaces that transcend time and all the things that we think we're sure of.
I spent the whole of last month fretting. Close to tears and on the brink of insanity. Hating myself for wanting something so much.
But I suppose it'll always be like this- I'll always want this so much more than I'd feel like I deserve. Always.
Today was a surprise and my, it was pleasant.
I'm happy, I'm excited, I'm deliriously settled and relieved and yet almost bouncing about. There's so much I want to do, so much that I simply cannot wait to take in.
I've been promised of the hell that I will go through and back, of an intensity that will break me, of worlds and worlds of things and cultures and techniques that I know absolutely nothing about but then will be soaked in for three months at a time.
I have been made guarantees that I will cry, I will wish it wasn't happening and I will doubt and question my strength and ability.
And from what I already know; I know that this will open boxes. That this requires stripping a person down to nothing and finding oneself at one's most naked and vulnerable.
But I trust where I'm going, I trust these people, and most of all, I trust this.
So here I am.
And I'm saying I want to sit here and soak it all in. Soak and absorb it and be fully, completely and utterly invested in this. Bring it. Bring it all.
Fill me, break me, piece me up and build me up again.
So when I find myself spilling, when I find this seeping from my pores as my breathing catches in the dimming of the light, seconds before the curtains fall, I will look out at an audience watching with glassy eyes and bated breath and know, and know, and know, just like I always have,
There's this sense of purpose I'm feeling start to slowly slip away from me. I'm not prompted to write very much. I just end up looking at pictures of beautiful people and going running and then coming back home, to end up eventually looking at more pictures and then going running again. Maybe the running gives me a sense of purpose and that's why I'm leaning on it so much.
I like making my days productive. And so far, they have been.
But I guess I miss feeling somewhat of use. Needed. And all that, you know? This whole working backwards is a whole lot harder than I thought.
At this time last year, I knew exactly where I was.
But mostly, I need help saving up for my next tattoo. Because it feels like it's going to cost a whoooole lot. Like losing the weight for it isn't hard enough work. Pah.
Everytime I get a new email on my blackberry. Oh my word. This is not in the least bit good for my soul! I'm so scared, and I don't think I'll make the cut.
But more than anything, I want that letter, rejection or otherwise, to come now so that I can pick myself up and think about what happens next.
Howie: ...and after that we'll come home (beat) Becca: and then what? (Beat.) Howie: I don't know. Something though. We'll figure it out. Becca: will we? Howie: I think so. I think we will. Lights fade.
"No." He's starting to get angry, his eyes are just a little bit red. And me, I find myself pleading. Pleading. Why does it always feel like I'm doing that?
"Yes. Yes." I'm insistent, I'm begging now, I know it. And I'm asking, posing all these non-verbal questions to myself, to him.
"NO!" He yells at me, his eyes angry, his brow furrowed. He shakes his head at me, lowers his voice. It is firm.
"No." Firm and demanding.
I watch him. And I want to ask why. My breath, it's catching, and I'm all choked up and I'm so close to tears. "Why?" I want to say, "Why not?" But I don't. I lose myself to the space between us, to the anger that I don't understand that's seeping from his pores, to the desperation I find etched in my voice.
"Yes," I say, "Yes." Hating, detesting that desperate, desperate need I find clawing at my insides, reaching out to him.
"No," He says, his voice a harsh whisper. Except, I'm hearing him say "Please" now.
"No." And he's breaking then, he's breaking in front of me. He's breaking and then he breaks.
"Yes" I say, pulling him to me, all but physically, "Yes." I can be insistent too. I can work this for me, I can.
"No," he says again. He's so worn out now, tears filling his eyes and running in streams.
"No." It's barely above a whisper. I want to back away, I want to let him be. I want to tell him that I can't make him, I can't.
Except a voice, inches from my ear tells me I can't do that. Tells me to do otherwise. So.
"Yes," I say, "Yes."
But he's so broken and still holding on, holding on to something I can't see, fighting for something I know nothing about.
"No." And I take it in. I need to after all, take it in. Because I can't make him, I can't.
Coming in late: Only girl in the world? Try the luckiest
This is the most bizarre thing- I wrote this in August. On the seventh of August actually, except for some reason, it stayed in my drafts and never got published.
I wonder if there'll come a time, when, through no fault of anyone's,
I grow used to you bringing in a cup of water before bed
and you start expecting me to pick up your toothpaste
and I figure you'll pick up the yoghurt when we're out
and you assume that I'd know better than to throw a dash of honey into something or other.
Honestly, I can't say for certain.
I can't say we won't tire of each other, that there won't be nights where I will curl up, just out of reach and that there won't be days that you don't feel like picking up my call.
But here's the funny thing, I want that with you. To hit speedbumps in the road with you; to get stuck in the middle of a highway that stretches on for ages, kick the tyre and go, "Couldn't this thing have given out AFTER we picked up the couple who was gonna be on this roadtrip with us?"
To crash into things, and throw hissy fits and make up or agree to disagree or text in the morning and say "I'm sorry".
'Cuz I can't make you love me If you don't. You can't make your heart feel Something it won't. Here in the dark In these final hours, I will lay down my heart And I'll feel the power; But you won't. No, you won't. 'Cuz I can't make you love me If you don't.
Morning will come, And I'll do what's right; Just give me till then To give up this fight.
Oh hey, remember that time when we sat in a quiet little room with carpeted floors and a cross with Jesus on the wall that faced empty pews and chairs that had held crying people together and you leaned against the back of the pew as you talked and I sat facing you, my back against the side and we knew we knew we knew there was no way that wood was going to give out beneath us and then you said that God must hate you because then you leaned forward and kissed me really quietly and my world spun and my breath caught and I thought you were magic as the heat hit my cheeks and I bit my lip while turning away.
That was a funny one, wasn't it?
And remember that time when you held me in a playground as my knees gave out while you made my skin tingle and my breath felt like it was singing and my fingers gripped old plastic and you pulled me tighter to you and remember, remember what you said?
"I've got you. Don't worry, I've got you." And your whispers felt like warm smoking promises curling themselves behind my ear and I, I loved you despite myself.
And you did have me that night, just like you've got me now and everyone knows this would be easier if you didn't but it's too late now isn't it? That's what we get for giving ourselves away and I can't say for sure that I'd have it any other way.
But remember, remember that time when-
Oh those promises, they were the funniest thing weren't they? How you've got me wrapped around your littlest finger, it's the funniest thing, isn't it?
I've never needed an audience to speak, never needed readers to write. I've done whichever I feel like, when I feel like it. Honestly, I don't see why one should bother speaking if no one's listening (that is of course, not to say that you shouldn't speak just because no one's listening.) I think of recent, I've just found myself more inclined to sit outside an office that's holding a debrief I should be involved in. Or excusing myself to cuddle up with Wallaby Joe. Or even just sitting quietly behind the rows and rows of stables where no one can find me.
I feel like sitting by myself for a bit.
My point? I've always felt most comfortable in empty dance studios, with the curtains drawn and empty theatres with the lights down. I've always written, where I couldn't speak, and written, so that I could. I was once told last year that it felt like I was exclusive- like I wrote so much that I didn't talk about these things that mattered. But let's face it, people have lives to live and other things to talk about. Things they'd like opinions on, or a listening ear for. Things that matter.
"Are you going to be okay?" You asked. Well I wasn't really not okay. But to honestly answer your question, yes. Yes I'll be okay, and I wanted to say that. Yes, I'll be okay, because when I'm not, I'll get over it or around it or sit in it until I am okay. Yes, I'll be okay, because I can still hold on to my writings, and me.
I don't need to talk out loud about mindless things like how my nightmare stayed inside my bones even after I woke up, rattling about inside me as I walked about from place to place. And how it hurt as it rattled about, come to think of it. How I was scared, and am still scared to fall asleep again and find myself back there. How I cried so much in that nightmare that I'm sure I woke up to find my eyes brimming, but that despite having been bawling, my pillow wasn't soaked yet. Or how I woke up dreaming I was falling into space and how I was sure it was a ride, but it wasn't, but maybe it was. And what I was most concerned about was if I'd left anything behind in the seats.
Or how today, something happened with one of the boys that stilled my insides and made me draw in a huge breath. That made me cry at dinner as I talked about it. That's left me thinking about it all day, making me more frustrated at the environment around it- because no one caught that or could hold onto that, in that moment. And I am wrapping myself around it, keeping it here and trying to hold on to it with the weight of me. How I thought it was one of the most beautiful moments I'd ever found myself in. And how it rang with such truth that it felt like silver falling to sand and still making a sound.
Because here I am, with my words. And all my sappy little feelings. And my soul, here. And it's okay that I am here, with my words. In this space and/or spaces of the like- physical and non-physical pages.
I used to be quite silly. I used to go on and on and on about the most weightless things that my significant others cared nought for. And then I stopped and wrote more. And then, there was you. And often times I am confused- because, to be quite frank, there's hardly time these days to talk about, well, all these little things that like to find themselves fluttering about in my head. There's a lot of other things that are going on. It's not that I wouldn't like to talk to you love, on the contrary, I'd very much love to, on days you felt like listening to my incessant ramblings. I love talking with you. I'd love to talk with you.
But those days that I get to, until they come back, yes ma chérie, yes I'll be okay. Because I've got pen and paper. And I've got these empty chairs.
You can't lie to a horse. In that same respect, a horse doesn't lie to you. Children don't lie either. They don't start off lying. Babies don't cry for the sake of crying, they cry because they need something. Somewhere along the way though, they do start. They find words that can or might mean other things, they pick up from whatever is around them, and they learn. They learn to lie. And they learn to lie, from adults.
That's why people like good theatre. Because it's easier to watch someone else be honest in a "controlled environment" than be honest yourself, back in the real world. And we all know good actors don't lie. They aren't lying, they're being. They're letting things affect them as it happens, moment to moment. Also, you can't lie to your audience. You don't have to be in the industry to be able to see whether or not the person on stage/on film is really doing or thinking something.
I'm annoyed today. I am annoyed and drained out and empty. That's what I am, empty. Or bordering on. Because I feel like I am suffocating, choking on everybody's empty words. Watching sticks being dangled in front of children like carrots. Except they're not. They're sticks. They are fucking sticks, okay?
And it feels like everywhere I turn, full grown adults are lying and blatantly teaching children to do the same. They're coaxing, baiting- instead of embedding seeds of thought, what they're doing is planting key words pulled straight from a textbook. Hoping, hoping, hoping, that these key words will come up, will resurface, will be used so that they can say, "Ah ha! Look at the work I've done." I wish these people would see, that there are so many who are ready to learn. Who are sitting there, open to you, trusting you to bring them to a different place. And no, it might not be all of them; it might be the bare minimum out of the group. But those who do, want to so badly. They want to so much that they look into themselves, and they're searching and they're trying to find their words when all you want to do is give them multiple choice and cloze passages.
I turn around, and the ones who are fronting are the adults. The ones who don't trust themselves are the adults. The ones who don't trust each other are the adults. And you, you are allowed to guide these children?! And I'm not even talking about any one person in particular here, I'm talking about an entire team. I'm talking about us. You, we, can keep lying, but the only one buying it is ourselves.
Christ, everywhere I fucking turn, it's wave after wave of half-lies, economical truths, empty promises, meaningless words. Shut up for two seconds. Just shut the fuck up, and stop saying things if you feel like you need to say something other than what you mean. I'm not saying I don't lie, deliberately or otherwise. I'm not saying I don't front sometimes. We all do because we're conditioned like that. And really, honestly, we're scared. So then, we find an environment where we can break ourselves open. And in this same space, because we can, we can bring people to that same sanctuary. So that for just a little while, there is escape from the masquerade of everyday life. So that for just a while, you can be honest and not be wrong. So that, for just a while, you are allowed to be no one else, other than yourself. Here's the catch- You can't bring someone somewhere you've never been. You can discover it together, but you can't lead and guide someone to truth that you have never known. In other words, you need to be honest with yourself and where you've been and therefore, where you can take people.
There's a difference between a carrot and a stick. And oh, believe me, I have been fifteen and had sticks dangled in front of me. And at fifteen I was fully capable of telling the difference between a carrot and a stick. But I'm not about to play fetch with you because honey, I am not your bitch.
Driving away from the wreck of the day And the light's always red in the rear-view Desperately close to a coffin of hope I'd cheat destiny just to be near you If this is giving up, then I'm giving up If this is giving up, then I'm giving up, giving up On love, On love
Driving away from the wreck of the day And I'm thinking 'bout calling on Jesus 'Cause love doesn't hurt so I know I'm not falling in love I'm just falling to pieces
And if this is giving up then I'm giving up If this is giving up then I'm giving up, giving up On love, On love
And maybe I'm not up for being a victim of love When all my resistance will never be distance enough
Driving away from the wreck of the day And it's finally quiet in my head Driving alone, finally on my way home to the comfort of my bed And if this is giving up, then I'm giving up If this is giving up, then I'm giving up, giving up On love, On love
Breakfast. That's how it started. You bought me a strawberry and cream tea because you thought Earl Grey would be too boring.
The Friday before I was due to head out of town, we were sprawled out on grass. You told me there was something about me. I spent the rest of that day by the river, sitting in the rain, with Rachel Yamagata on repeat, writing endlessly about you.
I love you.
And these days, and especially on nights like tonight, I wish desperately that I could be what you want and need. At every turn and corner. I think I used to be. I think you've told me before.
But needs and wants change all the time.
For someone who's hated fitting into moulds, I've found myself wishing for one, for you. It's painful as much as it is amusing, the thought.
There's so much to write. It's right here, right on the tip of my tongue, slipping out my fingers, but at the same time, there isn't much else I know how to say.
This is it, really. This is pretty much it, if you must know.
I just.
I don't know how, but I wish I were more what you wanted.
But I know, more than most, not to push things. To let things fall where they will.
It's half past twelve, and I've been ready for bed since quarter to ten.
I'm bordering on delirium, I want to know what to say.
I'm falling apart.
I'm falling apart.
I'm,
I'm falling apart.
oh, and who would've known, there'd still be bits of me left to break. oh, who would've known?
I had the loveliest dinner in a while. I love dinners like that, honest to God.
My body however, will be massively fucked up in the most amazing ways if I lived alone. Which is a bit of a peeve sometimes. I mean, we only get one life, there should be a snippet of time where we're allowed to fuck our bodies up. Of course I say this figuring that once that happens, I'll just go fix it/fix me. I'm pretty sure I'm the only one who functions like this.
If I lived alone- I'd probably end up working out a lot, sleeping, having lots of smoked salmon and pairing that with moscato or late harvests. But then, I might also still be stuck smoking, unless it affected my working out enough to piss me off. I wouldn't have a telly, because that'd be a waste of space. I'd have too many shoes and I'd have set times to do my laundry. I think I'd be a little bit crazy, because I'd allow myself to get there, and it'd take a lot more work than it has to be normal but it'd be a story for telling. My, if I lived alone.
I did yoga at home this evening, and went for a run that was longer than it's been in a while but not nearly long enough as I'd like.
I miss Muay Thai a lot. And I want to go get me a pink yoga mat. Or red, seeing as that's my favourite colour. It's just, pink things are rather cute aren't they? I'm going to sleep now, so that I can wake up and hang out with my favouritest pony in the wooooorld. Wallaby Joe makes my mornings worth waking up for!(:
And somewhere between standing in the rain, getting soaked to the skin and falling asleep in large empty fields after midday picnics, You had me. Even before I knew it.
And since we're on the note of sappiness and the like,
I read this on tumblr.
I've got my own things to say about it, but um, there are some people I know of who could do with this-
Long-Distance Relationships.
It’s all a test. When you’re apart, it will make you count down the days, look at your calendar, and pray that time goes by faster. When you’re together, it makes you wish time would stop, that not a second you spend with them goes to waste. It’s one of the most painful loves you can go endure. It’s one of the most rewarding loves you can achieve. It’s not for the weak of heart, but for the strong in faith. It will show how much you actually care for a person. And it will open your eyes to never take any and every moment you share with the one you love for granted. It will make you miss them every time they aren’t with you. And sometimes, the distance will break you. But, through everything, that person miles away gives you a goal. They are your reason. Because you know that no one will nearly make you as happy as they can. No matter how far they are, you know in your heart that if you love them, the waiting is worth it. It’s all a test. A test we can pass if we have patience, dedication, and most importantly, love.
I'd do it all again- Have you fall asleep cuddled up with me, or the other way round, on a rainy day. Do groceries, eat junk. Heat up soup, cook you noodles that taste like shit. Maybe not the latter, I'll have to fix my cooking. Give you back rubs, hold your hand.
I'd do it all again, even though I'd been wishing for you long before you'd even left.
Here's what I couldn't say- That in that moment, all I wanted to do, was get it right. Something. and I could get this right, I could. Find a sense of normal.
Except my only problem of course, is that it turns out to be wrong. I'm still grappling with that, to be honest.
We're in different boats in terms of handling what's happened. Anyone can see that.
And for once, I wish I wasn't alone in this.
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I've gotten it wrong, I've still gotten it wrong. And now I can't find my right, let alone left and I'm, I'm all wrong now. All wrong. And no, we're not okay. There is fear that fills the spaces between all the words we're not saying, the words we can't find, the words we won't try to. We're not okay. Not right now. Actually, we seem a long way off from it.
When everything about me was new. When I was interesting, fascinating? Yours for the unwrapping, yours to discover. When you wanted to hear what I wanted to say and what I thought. When you'd hit the space button in the middle of a movie, to say, "Talk to me" because you always read me like a children's book. When I was the person you felt like calling after running into an estranged cousin, in the middle of a rainy afternoon. When you wanted me.
A character told me yesterday that I intrigued him, that he wanted to talk to me more, and why don't I come sit down for a beer. He stuck a dirty orange-tipped cigarette between his lips, with no intention of lighting it and instead, fidgeted with his white lighter. I've heard that quite a few times before, that I'm "intriguing". Intriguing, interesting, they're all the same thing after a while. And honestly, the only thing they want to do is get into your knickers. I figured that was the objective he was playing, it had to be. He catches me by the waist when my back is to him, when I'm trying to walk away, and he asks why I don't want to fuck him. Because I mean, I suppose that's what most men want to do to things that intrigue them, right?
I wasn't lying when I said no.
What if I told you that I don't care very much for attention unless it's yours? That I don't need to be intriguing to anyone aside from you. That you've got enough of me to break now.
That sometimes, all I want to be is anything and everything you'd ever need or want. That it makes me afraid sometimes.
That I don't know how or when, but I stopped being interesting enough, and started doing everything wrong. Even if I was lashing out in response to things completely separate from what we are. That even then, I could get it wrong.
There'll be other things that you'll find new. And it'll excite you, as new things are bound to. They'll prove interesting and fascinating where I haven't been for a while, I'm sure. They'll be beautiful in all the ways I can only try to be. And maybe they'll get to be what you need, when you need it.
So then, if, and when it's convenient ma chéri, and you want me again, then you could, y'know, maybe, want me again. And I could, maybe, be what you want.
It's a 9minute shot. A 9minute long shot, forcing you to take it all in. Take it all in, and swallow it whole- every second, every breath, every moment that makes you cringe and anticipate where the camera will focus itself on next. Except it doesn't. And for 9minutes, that's all you're allowed to do- take it all in.
I couldn't find myself today. That was the problem.
Funnily enough, my day itself was good. I just couldn't find myself in it. And I suppose, for the most part, I was looking. For me that is.
So yes, tonight served as a trigger, but I'm aware that there's been something pushing at my insides with the weight of ignorance, willing my skin to break. The problem of course, is that I don't know where to start. I never know where to start. I start without knowing that I have and find myself somewhere in the middle, flailing about, waiting for the rest of me to catch up.
I wasn't crying, tonight, I wasn't desperate. I was just looking. And I knew exactly what I was looking for, I just needed to find it.
Where tonight left you, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I wish it didn't. There's a numbing ring of familiarity to your words now. I miss a step, and am grabbing blindly now for something I can hold on to. There isn't anything. But then, that's my fault and I'm fully aware I deserve it. You need to know though, that you can't be a wrong or right answer. You aren't, you never were. This doesn't change it. I wish you knew that. I wish you didn't leave thinking less of me. I wish I hadn't hurt you. I wish I could explain this better. I thought I had before. I thought we'd sat in parks talking about this before we had any idea that it might have the ability to hurt more than ourselves, of the two people sitting there in that pavilion that rainy afternoon.
I wasn't trying to hurt anyone tonight. I was just looking for something I couldn't find. Looking for something tangible, something I could hold on tight to. I was just trying to get something right, because it's been a while. I was just.
I couldn't find myself today. I suppose that was the problem
About Me: Driven completely by passion.
I tend to overwork myself sometimes but don't really notice because no one has time to worry. See my complete profile
Kuo Chuan Presbyterian Drama Club
