baby steps

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.

Happy 2012 all of you(:

Dear You,

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

What are you doing New Year's?
New Year's Eve?

Cause if you hadn't found me,

So long you've been running in circles
'Round what's at stake
But now the times come for your feet to stand still in one place

I would've found you

On inhale draw your hands upward,

On exhale lean your body to your right.
Drop your right arm.
Breathe breathe breathebreathebreathe.
Charis, please don't stop breathing

Rolling in three

Scene One take one. Speed, mark it-
I'm a bundle of nerves right now. It's like my heart's rattling about, bouncing of bones and just.

Scene One take two. Speed, mark it-
I'm a bundle of nerves.
Breathe.
But I'll pull through. Don't I always?

Game face
But I can do this, I can. I always have.

rocky roads

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.

And a lot of times, that's actually okay.

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.

Maybe, could you just, hold me.

I

am really sad tonight.

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

can't breathe

can't

I just can't

anymore

diamonds in a packet

face pieced together to hide

empty eyes, empty bones, empty soul

feet cold, wrists tired from holding up glass bowls

because it doesn't break, doesn't break when it's smoke

doesn't bruise when it gives you breath

tempts you with sanity instead

and oh, these beautiful promises

wrapping themselves around your fingers, uncurling themselves in your lungs and filling you

when there isn't anymore of you left to lose

too young to find something that hurt more than falling asleep on broken glass

euphoria shaped in a name that left too many scars

you could love her. Love her as her skin starts breaking

try to save her as the wind steals away fragments

as she crumbles, laughing

screaming as she races against the world, desperate to fly

face pieced together to hide

empty eyes, empty bones, empty soul

feet cold, wrists tired from holding up glass bowls

because it doesn't break, doesn't break, doesn't break-

when it's smoke

and she cannot break, cannot break, cannot break

when she already broke

Aren't I allowed to be sad?

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?

So just let me feel sad and broken up and shitty.

This is difficult since I've stopped drinking my calories but

I am uncharacteristically sad tonight.

Just like a star across my sky

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.

And you, you kept me safe, in a crazy world.

Christmas Wishlist 2011

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.

It's August.

But no, no it's not.
Because it's almost Christmas.
And some presents aren't ours to open

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

And watch them go up in smoke

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

Game

The blame game
Name names
It's the same, the same, all the same.

Too beautiful

That, that single moment when he hears his mother. Oh my word.

Actually,

I'm all teary eyed-
With just a little bit of being sad and a little bit of being scared

It's almost Christmas

And still,
I can't find you
----------------------

Don't, don't break.
Don't you dare

Cot

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

The Long Journey Home

"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,

that I've found my way back home.

At this time last year

I wasn't here.

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.

Flutterby, she butterflies

I don't know how else to say it,
but,
I'm still here.

Always been a sucker for little silver things

Like this-

http://www.etsy.com/listing/61813730/ukulele-ring-made-in-hawaii-by-cabin-no7

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.

Crutch

Want to go running.
Right now.

Gravity

But you touch me for a little while,
And all my fragile strength is gone.

Skip, skips a beat

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.

Hit the ground, hit the ground and run

So why don't we go,
Somewhere only we know?

Good Saturday starts

Bird just bbm-ed me and made my dayyyyyy(((:

This heart, it's spent its time missing

You hold my world,

in the palm of Your hand

And I am Yours, forever

I'll fly in a bit.

It's not that I need to be in a different country to be in touch with God. It's just that, it's always been refreshing. Endlessly so at that.

And for that, I am impossibly excited.

I can't wait.

just enough to keep me up another night

I miss you.

I really, really do. You have no idea.

__________________________

and,

I miss you.

__________________________

waiting for another day

Rabbit Hole

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.

-- David Lindsay-Abaire, Rabbit Hole. An excerpt

Dégueulasse

Be stronger

atelophobia

Socially constructed ideas of beauty

I'd say the same thing to everyone else, you know.

No, I don't.

I'm going to go run now.

I like running.

When Autumn leaves

Brown eyes, like his father's

And a laugh that the wind carries,

will carry, for miles and miles.

start to fall

Walking tightropes

"Yes." My eyes searching his, trying to read him.

"No."

"Yes"

"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.

I can want to, so very much.

But I can't make him want too.

Breathe.

Scene.

there aren't fairytales about fat princesses

run.

run, run, keep running.

until your chest burns and your feet are blistered and your nose is sore and your fingers are numb.

and then run some more.

run.

run and run and run and keep on running.

the ground,

it feels a lot more solid, a lot more heavenly, a lot more steady,

when the rest of the world is spinning.

Still a little bit of your taste, in my mouth

It's still a little hard to say,

what's going on.

So come on, courage

teach me to be shy

cos it's not hard to fall

when you float like a cannonball

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".

To miss.

I wish I knew this earlier

And the thing is,

it always was supposed to have been about the trying and less about the romanticism.

shift.

Brb

Needed to go cry.

Green Pens

So then, if you do, love me.

Can't make you love me

'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.

And I will give up this fight.

On your hook

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?

Sink with the tide, rescue me, if you like

Maybe I'm doing this, I'm hanging on,

just for the day you might look at me the way you used to.

Like, like you want to know more.

Like, you're not tired.

Like, I might just keep your attention.

Like you look at me and you see the trainwreck but it's okay.

Actually,

that you'll look at me at all.

Think how we tried,

it's okay to be lied to

as long as it's only by you

Am I not pretty enough?

Is my heart too broken?

Do I cry too much,

am I too outspoken?

Don't I make you laugh,

should I try it harder?

Why do you see, right through me?

Empty Chairs

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.

Carrots, sticks and the grey bits in between.

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.

Wreck of the Day

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

"It's happening again, isn't it?" "I'm afraid so love, I'm afraid so."

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?

My wonderfully unhealthy lifestyle

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!(:

Sharp in take of breath. Cold breath

Everything in small doses, as I've learnt.

I'm obsessive, a mess and honestly want to just sit somewhere and have the space and time to just, be.

I'll run tonight and tomorrow, tomorrow I've got yoga.

I was upset

But just for a little while,
And not at you.

It used to happen a lot see.

And I never did get any better with holding on to tears despite that. It's always been a source of immense frustration, believe me.

I am

Slipping.
And afraid

White or otherwise

Because when you ask questions,
you don't want to think that the answer might be a lie

All that Gatorade

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.

I suppose it all boils down to belief

Someone I know is getting married today.

This whole marriage thing y'know, it's funny.

But she's waited a while, and I hope she's happy.

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.

by whatswithderek

Be here

Blow on a fallen eyelash,
Jinx you owe me a kiss.
I'll sing you three lullabies,
If you promise me this.

Sweet dreams

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.

Tonight

It was.

I will go to bed now

Slip up

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.

--------------------

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.

Remember?

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.

Irreversible

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

She always had sought her solace in bottles, in knives, in things that promised-

I'm like that. And I'm sorry.

No, truly, I am sorry.

I know better than anyone how it feels like to be on the other side of the telephone.

I'm sorry that I'm like that.

That the baggage I come with has Insecurity lined in some of the pockets.

That I let it come through sometimes.

That, maybe I don't carry it forth, but everytime you ask me why, I can't say it. I don't know how to. But I can tell you that clips run themselves through my head. Moment, after moment, after moment. And I tell you the gist of it, but don't know how to explain how or why, or that some part of it stays with me. Has stayed with me, since pushing itself into my veins, and making it part of who I am.

Would you like to know how it feels like?

It's numbing. You get used to it. You anticipate it.

The holding you down. The I Love Yous that will feel like knives drawing vertical lines on the inside of your arm. The creak of the door. The sound of a belt buckle clinking.

You get used to it. You know exactly what sound, comes next, which way a body will move, and how excuses will come out- variations of the last one and the one before.

Sure, the roof of your mouth will still feel like sand, and the click of the door as it closes still breathes a laugh into you. But you get used to it. I got used to it.

Then you just wait. For it to happen. For people to feel like they need to give you reasons or excuses or justifications.

I'm not like this. Not always.

And maybe it's that time of the month (I was taught to start giving it more credit), but there are these bits of me. And they surface. I'd much rather they didn't.

I've spent a lifetime fitting into moulds, or at the very least, trying my darnest to.

I can do that. I'll do that for you, if you want me to.

There are some things that I don't know how to pick my way through, I just don't.

You don't have to do this for me; Stay around, y'know?

You don't.

Not when I'm like this; Used up and broken. You don't have to.

Ignorance, she said

If blogspot had a reblog function,
I wouldn't care that where we both stand might make it weird, and that we're not even talking about the same person,
But I'd reblog that girl's words.

Because it sure is the closest thing that makes sense to me right now

I'm guessing someone was listening when I prayed

You're exactly what I need, right when I need you.
And I love you so much for that.

The space

"What do you want from this person?"
"For it; this person or feeling or whatever it is, I want it to stay."

Everytime I'm in the space (the space which transcends time and space itself and everything else), all my issues come bubbling up.

Acting is hardly as much of a performance as it is, essentially, exploration of self.
And of course, the courage to do that. Which not all of us have.

All I need

Is to come home to you at the end of my day. That's all I need, really, to come home to you, cuddle up.
And not say anything

Woes of an Actor

Here's the thing about acting, it requires so much honesty, so much truth
So much, just so much of yourself

And here's another thing-
It's not about how good you are. Well obviously if you're shit and don't know it then we've got a problem. That aside,
It's not about how good you are, it's about whether or not you're what they want/what they're looking for.

Why do actors have such insecurity, people have asked.
Because we spend so much time trying to be what someone else needs us to be. Which is funny when the key thing about acting is being yourself.

The truth is simple- that's a compound lie.

Crippling

Here's the problem with wanting something, wanting something so impossibly much that you're sure it's a need, here's the problem-
When you don't get it, or you can't have it,
It's going to hurt.
And that's what I'm scared of right now.

People say they're "scared" about going for auditions all the time. They say they're scared but most times, their fear is of the performing. Of the presenting to an audience. Of giving a shitty performance.

I think what I'm most afraid of, is what happens if I don't make the cut

Conditional

Love, beauty and oh, all that jazz.

Driving away from the wreck of the day

Highlights

"Oh my God, you two are so cute. You two are the epitome of a cute lesbian couple."
This is what Ethan keeps me up at night, on skype, to tell me.

They'll always find the door in the morning

And my beauty, it's always been conditional.
Always been conditional.

I think I've gotten to a point where I'm not angry or offended, I've become a bit too tired for that.
The problem though, is that it isn't water off a duck's back. I don't have feathers, for one, and definitely not the waterproof sort either. So there are a lot of words that soak through my skin and find their way inside me.
And baby, I've got poison running through my veins.
Poison running through my veins. I have for quite a fair many years now.


And in the glow of orange lamps, or sunlight (or moonlight) that's slipped through curtains, in empty stairwells and quiet parks,
where hands reach in desperate need to lay claim, where every whisper is a promise to break, where teeth sink into flesh so they can call your pain theirs-
I have been called beautiful.
Beautiful, so, so beautiful, they've said.
Leaving fingerprints where you shouldn't and stains that I wanted to burn off my skin. Beautiful, they've said.
But oh, you don't need me to believe you, just like I didn't need you to lie.

My beauty, I've always known, is conditional. Circumstantial.




"He said I had an interesting face. Me and Marilyn Monroe, we have 'interesting' faces. He laid me then, and took some pictures. Then he laid me again. Know what my interesting face was Stephen? Boredom. I kept waiting for him to wake me up."
-- Janice; A Sea Of White Horses. A monologue excerpt.

Never was one for leaning

How is it, that spending time can, at some point, end up turning into a project in itself? One that is used in relation with words like, 'effective' or 'quality' or 'proper'.
It never used to be like that.

I hate where this might end up. I wish I'd never said anything, anything at all.
Because honestly, the more I think about it, (despite already having known this) I realize again, that falling asleep together is just as much spending time as sitting and doing nothing, as drinking coffee and people-watching.
When did we stop having time for all the little things?

I wish I'd never said anything.
Because there were more important things we'd just begun talking about. To which I want to say, "Your break is long overdue hon."

I wish I'd never said anything.
Because it just opened up a can of worms that didn't need opening tonight. Because it's storming outside, and it'd have been nice if you stayed.
Because I didn't mean to, but I ended up adding to the knots in your shoulders.
Because it's something that would've gone away in time.
Because I didn't want to cry tonight.

I think I was needlessly tripping off things that didn't warrant tripping off. And for that I feel like a first class idiot, and I am beyond annoyed and frustrated at myself. And honest to God, right about now has me missing cold metal against skin.

On a separate note-
It looks like a busier-than-usual week for me. And it will end off with something I've been both anticipating and dreading for weeks, months almost.
I haven't gotten to talk about it,
but frankly speaking, I'm scared.
I'm scared and unsure, and yet, I gave up something that came (more or less) with a guarantee to step in this direction.

And, just like it is a problem in most other areas of my life, and a growing one at that, I'm not always prepared to take for myself.


I'll work things out with me. I always do in the end, don't I?

December's invitation

And these Christmas lights,
Wrapped around a potted plant feeling sorry for itself,
Says it's only October

Through the good and the bad and the ugly-

You save me, everyday.

Shackled to shadows

Anyone who says they've recovered from bulimia, or any eating disorder for that matter, who say they're fully recovered, completely and utterly,
Is a liar.

Well. I'd say I've had smarter moments

I need a cigarette.
Need a cigarette.
Need a cigarette right now.
Need a cigarette.

No.
Okay.
Almost there.

This was not the arrival I needed. This was not the sort of thing I needed to come back to after being away.
This was not the sort of evening I would've asked for a picked. Never. Never, never, never.

I currently feel like absolute shit for a couple of reasons. I didn't need just one more thing to tip the balance. I didn't need this.
I want to curl into a ball.

I will never do this again. Never. She can ask, and I will never say no. I'd rather miss out on something that could've been good than risk saying yes to this.

The rest, I will find another time to fix. But goddamn, I will fix it.

It's sunset, on a Tuesday. We're nose to nose.

And you're holding me to you, as the sparkles that jump off the water's surface fades. As the trees listen to the secrets trapped in the breaths we don't breathe. As the street lamps glow and the wood beneath our feet sighs.
As the world falls, falls away.

I love you, I suddenly realize again.
I'm taking a bath, crying over the tail-end of Portia de Rossi's Unbearable Lightness which, before I started it, had me almost afraid to read it. And I was afraid for all the right reasons, but that's another story.

Little things, like catching a glimpse of a sign saying "Thai salad" or passing by caps or shades or getting peeks into snippets of people's lives that make them so happy-
I think about you.
And I realize, I love you and I'm terribly in love with you.
And,
I couldn't have ever dreamed up anyone half as amazing as the person you are.

Before Sunrise

Ephesians 4
v26 Be ye angry, and sin not: let not the sun go down upon your wrath

I wish we were okay.
Like, really, okay.
With no inkling of us being us being.
not

E,

Need you.
Because I want to cry. Because I'm really sad. Because tonight went all wrong, and you always tell me how stupid I am. All the time.

And I know it was my fault. And you'll tell me I was a daft prick too.
But.
I don't know.
You're always there when I'm sitting on my window ledge and crying

34 minutes into the weekend

My eyes are swollen.

I have swollen eyes.

Jesus, that's brilliant. Oh but you know what, I'll get to spend the next five days hiding them behind huge shades anyway. So I guess that's cool.

Well well well, I must say,

what a week this has been!

I found old writings, for one. And found myself, mentally, in not too good a place.

But hey, what the hell, I still ate, didn't (couldn't) run too much because running on Tuesday gave me really bad blisters, AND, like the world wasn't already being difficult, I cancelled Yoga on Wednesday.

Well, okay, I know I went and did that myself because there was something more important, but I looked forward to it for the last week.

I was also really happy about a lot of things this week.

There were a couple of things, and the start of the week that had me fretting a bit, but it turned out okay. Things turned out okay. And for the most part this week, I've been happy as a clam.

Then today.

It started off fine. I swapped tuition to earlier this week because it's the last night before a long weekend away and I'm sappy like that.

I really looked forward to it.

The audition, it was only alright. But I really looked forward to after. Then I think I went and ruined it.

Well, it wasn't altogether ruined, but then, it just sorta ended up getting worse because I don't give the best responses.

And here we are.

No, correction.

Here I am.

There are a couple of things I've realized about myself, having been in my fair share of relationships-

1) I never give the right responses. I'm either being too defensive, or not taking the other person into consideration, or not being right, or something.

2) I don't get over things quick enough. My timings, our timings, they never seem to match up.

Of course, it's an entirely different thing when I face the other, shaking, crumbling, breaking apart at the seams and on the verge of collapse, feeling like I was as good as dead moments ago and he has no idea what I'm talking about. But then, sometimes, people are just like that.

There are a few others.

But, I have to leave for the airport in a couple of hours. Like literally, a couple of hours, and I'm not packed yet.

First World Pains.

My eyes are puffy and I want to curl into a ball and keep crying. Also, I want to sleep.

Also, I must remember to pack my razors.

Well, I must remember a lot of things because I don't actually have anything in my weekend bag. Yet.

OH LOOK.

I just found that I've broken out into rash on my thigh. This is just fantastic. It's perfect.

Happy Friday y'all, hope it's as exciting for everyone else too!

I will spend the next five days in the sun. With Portia De Rossi's Unbearable Lightness. And a Pina Colada.

I tried. I called. I wanted to tell you that I love you. That I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Because I am and I'm not just saying it so we can sweep it under the carpet. I wanted to say goodnight. That I hope your weekend goes fantastic. That I love you. And I'm sorry about how tonight turned out and I'm sorry that I ruined it. I called. BecauseIwantedtotellyouIwantedtohearyourvoiceonthephoneandthatI'dthinkofyouandthatIloveyou.

But mostly, I wanted to tell you that I love you

In the way that we're constantly moving,

reminds me of home

I like this, this whole time on my hands thing.

It isn't half bad I think.

I'm listening to songs on repeat, hanging out with JessC (by that I mean trying out new songs on her),

writing.

Or maybe I'm reading and I think I'm writing when I'm actually not.

That's a thought. No, no, I do actually believe I've been writing.

Half awake this morning, I found myself reaching for her, and realized my bed didn't have anyone else in it besides myself.

):

I've had breakfast with Greys' Anatomy and finished off the cup of coffee I made. I might go get myself another cup, it's pretty damn good coffee, you must know.

Of course, this morning being the morning that it is, I'm working my coffee machine with my bed hair and smudged eyeliner while still in my oversized tee that's falling off my shoulders and I'm thinking,

"I want to make her coffee in the mornings."

I'll trade you kisses for the bits of yourself that you've left with me

Traces of you on my skin

The way you breathe my name
And let me melt into you

The animals were gone

Cos waking up without you is like drinking from an empty cup

Only sometimes,

I stop for a minute or so, and kind of wonder how important I am to you.

Secret-

I should've told you, when I could,

instead of biting my lip and burying my nose into your hair.

Because that's all I wanted to do-

Tell you over and over and over again.

Coming in one week late

SO

Guess who I got to dress up for a Masquerade Ball?

(:

They said Black-tie and yeah sure, skinny ties look cute and all but I sorta thought...

hmmm. Bow tie. And suspenders.

And a mask.

Well the mask would come later.

End product!

Why hello, cutie(:

Clearly I love playing dress up.

A day in the life of an actor

That's time I won't get back.
For some reason, this is affecting me a bit more than usual.
This sucks

shades.

They're arranged according to shades, going from light to dark and then fading into the next colour. Sharpened to a point, and all at the exact same length, the collection stretches from one end of the table to the other.

She's on the far side of the room, closest to the window, bending down so that she is eye-level with the colour pencils on the table's surface. The door opens and another steps in. She watches the girl for a while, as she darts from one spot to the next adjusting the colour pencils by infinitesimal degrees.

"What's wrong?"

The girl barely looks up from the dark shade of red she's got her index finger on.

"Nothing."

"Nothing or nothing you want to tell me?"

She stops. She pulls a colour pencil out of the entire spectrum of colours in front of her.

"I don't know, you know. It's like, it's supposed to be red, but it's not. It's more like a brown. And it's not maroon. It's not...I don't know. I've got all the shades of red here, and all the shades of brown and this is in between."

The other girl waits, her arms folded and her legs crossed at the ankles.

She stops staring at the colour pencil in her hand and looks up at the other.

"I don't know."

"You don't seem like you want me here very much so, I'm just going to go."

She looks down at the dark shade of red again. Or brown. She can't quite make up her mind.

"I'd actually like to stay but, y'know." The other says, shrugging, before backing out the room.

If you wanted to stay, do something, do anything, make something right, talk, figure something out, try, anything,

if you wanted to, you would.

You would, and you would've done it.

It's a palate of colours, bleeding into each other almost. There are spritzes and dashes, intensity that soars and dips.

There's also an empty space.

It used to be a dark shade of red. Or brown.

We couldn't make up our minds.

Sugar

The taste of you left on my lips

Smitten

(:

----

There was a conversation this afternoon that left me sort of a little bit sad. But I suppose there're just some things that will come by and I will not be able to do much else besides absolutely nothing.

I love you.
And a lot of times I wish that were the only thing that matters.

Mentor

"Hey Charis," she says as I'm climbing out the car right after hugging her, "you're very precious to me."
Her words catch me off guard, I'm smiling, but I feel like I'm about to cry too.
"Thank you. Am I really? How's that?" I reply, reaching for my bag in the back.
"I just, realize things sometimes. I want to watch you grow."

"I'm really lucky to have you," I say as I wave goodbye.

Some people have talked about an appeal to Emotion, an insincerity. How the proof is in the money they pay you, because it's the most tangible.
But it's not like that, not always. I understand fully, an appeal to emotion and some people being like that. I do know, but it doesn't always hold true.
Some people really are honest and good, some people really do just want the best for you.

The proof is in the pudding-
You'll see it in full clarity in the quality of production at these people's hands.
And if the proof is also in the money, then I have nothing to say because I've nothing to complain about.

Maybe you don't think so but everytime I think about it, I do think,
"Truly, I'm lucky to have her."

I just realized

what I like the most about you,

and why.

And why I'm in love with you

Somehow I know, I've been waiting my whole life to see

You standing there

You are the girl that's been running around in my-
Head, I finally found you
I've been dreaming about you
You are the girl that's been running around in my dreams

Way past 11:11 now

I wish you kissed me. Like you said you'd been wanting to all day. I think a little part of me held on to that. I wanted to kiss you too.

I wish tonight didn't go the way it did. I wish it hadn't ended up like that. I wish I hadn't had to tell you what happened.
That being said I've been told countless times that there are just some things we can keep to ourselves, there are things the other doesn't need to know. I know this. I've kept things from people before, consciously and subconsciously. I'm not sure if I wish I was less honest with you, but I do wish being honest didn't always make me feel like this at the end of it.

I wish I could promise you that something like this won't ever happen again. I wish I could promise you to be hyper aware of my behaviour/vibes/WHATEVER so that I know exactly what I am or am not doing. Then I can promise not to ever behave as such and will not ever find myself in a situation of any kind.

I wish your words didn't hurt me as much as they did.

I wish my cab had crashed.

I wish this was easier on you.

I wish I wasn't crying myself to sleep. Because it's been a while since I've done that and I've never actually been a huge fan of it.

I wish you kissed me.
Correction, I wish I didn't wish so much that you'd kissed me tonight.
I wouldn't have either.

Truth or dare?

To be completely honest-
I'd actually been looking forward to tonight- both dinner (which went brilliantly) and after.

I said in this case, you can't just blame one person.
Because to be fair, I might've done something to perpetuate it and not even known. Also because people can, have, and often will shove people off, regardless, and I don't know how to do it like that.

I know you weren't mad at me. But some of the things you said stung. Wow. Like, ouch.
I am aware, of course, of how much cleaner she was/is and how I come with my own station wagon of things to deal with. But, wow.
Then again, you're not the first today. Not that I'm giving out prizes.

The best thing that could've happened to me on my way home, would have been for my cab driver to swing round the corner so wildly that he was unable to avoid the oncoming car crashing into us.
But dammit, I'm out of wishes today.

It's back to work tomorrow.
For once, I'm not all hopped up.

This will be an interesting week-
It's barely started and I already feel empty.

The hangover

"You're worth so much more than that" is something that I can say, that I have, that I've told people.
Reverse the roles and I'd want to walk down this path where you find out why, put things to words and understand yourself. Or try to.

But then, I find myself in these situations and I'm just.
I don't know. I don't even know.

I just don't like how it makes me feel in the morning.
And my mirror doesn't know what to say to me.

Sunday, September 11th 2011
2pm

Enough

Okay you know what. This is motherfucking stupid. I'm not even at the fucking party yet. I fucking wanna go home. Now. What the fuck.

too tired for my own good

want you here to cuddle up with.

You.

Woke up this morning and thought, something's missing.

I've been up

Drawing. Looking. Searching.
I hope it makes sense in the morning.
And I hope it's enough

I think it's time to sleep now.

You're magic

How, how is it you know how to fix me before I've started falling apart?

All that's missing now

His name is Wallaby Joe.
I want you to meet him. You'd have liked him.
And he'd have loved you,
With your brown eyes and contagious laughter.

Wallaby Joe has moved homes. And the home he's in is nicer. He's happier where he is now, you can tell.
I want you to meet him.
But you're made up.
And you're not here.

Half three in the afternoon

Sometimes,
I wonder if we get sad because we're already sad but we've been blocking it out.
Or because there's some kind of trigger, something that slights you, so you hang on to a more plausible reason to be sad.
To something that can tell you why you're falling apart from the inside out.

A poem-
It starts off with a number. You begin writing about something, that shapes itself around something else. Your words do that because it knows you better than you, and you could've started writing about cat and dogs and squirrels and rabbits when actually all you wanted to talk about was that snail you passed on the pavement, on your way to the grocers', and how you didn't pick it up even though you always always pick up snails and put them back on the grass. And how, when you walked back the same way you'd found it was already dead. And how it made you stop and stare and not know what to do.
Then.
Then you're done with the poem and you look back and hardly know where it came from, even though, actually, honestly, some part of you does.
And you hate the honesty in it.
But you love the honesty in it.

Who do you like? >:]

This girl I hang out with a lot.

I can't promise I won't lie, but I'll give you a good something to read(:

In your opinion, what makes a girl 'hot'?

Personality. and brains.

I can't promise I won't lie, but I'll give you a good something to read(:

What are your pet peeves?

I can't think, off the top of my head but here's one- finding statements on Formspring that go "pass this on" or "ask your followers". Does that even look like a question?! Sorry I sound so angsty.

I can't promise I won't lie, but I'll give you a good something to read(:

Would you rather be a peanut or a walnut?

A peanut! Then I can hurl myself at people who're allergic to me. More people seem allergic to peanuts as opposed to walnuts.

I can't promise I won't lie, but I'll give you a good something to read(:

What's your favorite saying?

"They spoil every romance by trying to make it last forever."

I can't promise I won't lie, but I'll give you a good something to read(:

Feels like home

"I like mornings like this," you say as I shift myself closer.

And I've always been scared, but I want to promise you things.

So many things.

That I'll wake you up for work, and on time.

That I'll sort out the sheets in the morning, because I actually like doing it.

That I'll pick up the juice and yoghurt, when we're running low.

That you can come home to me.

Humph

Here's the problem with having the same shampoo as your girlfriend:
When you're in the shower, and shampooing, it kinda makes turns you into a shmuck.
And, you need to get over the fact that you will not have a kiss waiting for you when you hop outta the show.

This is retarded.
):

Here's a secret for tonight:

I still want you