I feel the sudden need to immerse myself in Christmas and all its good feels

And the stars-
they kissed you gently as you cast your eyes heavenwards
in hope of a bright future or a better tomorrow.
The moon smiled benignly and
nodded knowingly
as she kept all the secrets in the expanse of the universe to herself.

And your eyes-
they show me the stories
your mouth failed to speak into words.
No matter how much you try
you just can't seem to connect the complex
trains of thought to your voice.

And even though you're far away
and we're separated by the
never ending blue wrinkles of the ocean and
grass that's always greener on the other side and
every other thing in between-

I love you.
I still do.

 There are so many ways to die.

You could overdose on the things that give you temporary happiness.

You could get an adrenaline rush from the free spirited plunge
and feel the blow of the wind against your face,
heart rising to your brains,
before you hit the solid ground and
feel your blood slowly trickle out of you,
like a solid piece melting on the inside and spreading far and wide and covering everything in its path.

You could, also, cross to the other side
and ignore the loud beeps and horns,
but always, always, keep your eyes fixated on one point ahead of you.
And the most tragic and anticipating part is that you never know when,
something will just hit and crash into you
from either your left, or your right,
and you're just hurled straight off in the opposite direction of the force,
and you're flying, flying...
several seconds in the air-
before you drop and flip and tumble and crash,
and your beautiful eyes no long blinking but forever fixated beyond.

But the worse kind of death you could possibly subject yourself to
is one where you let others live your life for you.
You subject yourself to everything the materialistic world
asks of you; everything it tells you you need in order to succeed.
Oh! The wistful chase for paper and it's ill-gotten gains.
Day by day, you toil on and on
climbing rung by rung up the ladder
that seems to never reach the top.
Everything is mundane;
Everything is routine.
You're breathing but you're not living.

You allow yourself to be consumed by what is taught and expected of you.
You give up chasing your desire for experiences-
simply because they tell you paper is more important.

This is the worse, albeit physically not as painful, kind of death.
No sudden rush of blood to your head-
No hypnotic stare before anticipating the crash.
You just drag yourself slowly- day after day.
And then you die.

You have no idea how grateful I am to have pulled through 'till this day.
Officially five more days and then I'll be emancipated-
once again free to explore and journey and pursue all that fills
my old soul with glorious bliss and intensifies
the passion and excitement and interest in all things that makes my personality giddy with good vibes.

There's a particular day I look forward to
and if all goes as plans- oh, I just don't want to spoil it for myself.
But I'm confident I will be happy.

This will sound incredulously sanctimonious and condescending
but I will be honest and say-
I am glad I won't have to work with any of you for the time being
and I'm really, really positive I won't miss most of you.

Oh, the truth may hurt but the burden is lifted.
That is my honest sentiment to you.

Fare thee well.

You know what is good for me now?

Torn up uneven pieces of wholemeal bread
drenched in an ocean of milky oatmeal.

I've always been a true devout consumer of toasted bread and its crunchy goodness
but having my bread now soaking in oatmeal mix-
its soft texture absorbing all the grainy nutrients
and releasing a wave full of oh-so-tasty goodness upon palate contact-
ah, you should leave me and my food in privacy.



I'm still avidly devouring food porn- visually, of course.
Even though I'm on this new food journey,
the photos do evoke some good reminiscing of flavours and texture.

This is a non-fiction post yet again; the raconteur in me may be in slumber.

My dear reader, I must assure you, unlike the others below- this is not a story.

I deliberated on whether or not I should post this for you,
but considering the dramatic turn of events that have
surprisingly affected your palate in a rather,
should we say, strange and refreshing manner,
I thought it was necessary to highlight this momentous phase here.

Surprisingly enough, this craving was inception in you
due to a college assignment, of which
I shall refrain from reminding you of
due to the tormentous suffering it has inflicted on your artistic well being.

Vegetables (does this strike a chime now?) were constantly on your mind
presented in the most colourful, vibrant and wholesomely delicious manner-
and oh! You could almost feel the crunch of health as you savoured the dish
in your thoughts.

I must also add, that it was your time of the month,
the time where cravings for the sweet and occasionally out of the blue treats
would normally kick in.
Strangely enough, you craved vegetables only.
And no, I don't mean the slimy, graphic regurgitated kind you normally detest.

A certain Cinna friend also introduced a new form of workout to you
and her happy healthy eating ways soon brought you to see
healthy food in a whole new light.
Two trips to the organic land was all it took to make you a believer-
well, an almost convert, anyway.

Now, I don't know how you are living your life at the moment,
whether or not you may be some stringent
pesce/lacto-ovo/vegan/flexi-tarian,
but the old you from way back when
would have squirmed at the thought of
this veggie craving and instead
be fantasizing about
cheese as it is stretched lazily and long
'till t detaches itself from the pizza crust.

Again, I must remind you this whole phase
is very much foreign to your younger you,
but the strange thing is the plain fact
that all of this made you happy.

I have cogitated and analyzed this whole phase
and honestly speaking it may be
some sick twisted psychological game
you were playing with yourself
to get your endorphins and serotonin (le happy hormone)
up and running in the various streams of your body.

But, I must reiterate, you were happy-
or well at least not dismal and sad-
in this phase of your life.

So this concludes the small reminder and little update
of how the current you is doing at the moment.
You are at the conjecture of considering going flexi-
and this may be the crossroad of lifestyle change for you.

Take as many cares as you can;
I hope you live long enough to read this.

I would assume- after much cogitation and deliberation -that my tendency to shy away from the others around me would stem- conversely and ironically enough- from the sole fact that I am lonely.

Silly child, you may chide.
There are so many around you-
simply pick one and strike up a conversation!

However plain and straightforward the aforementioned suggestion may be,
a thought in me seems to express the fact
that I long for an individual of complementary frequencies-
both in thought and perhaps, if it's not too much to ask- interests.

Ah, now you see the dilemma.

A queer oddity who finds such small joy
in peculiar, unorthodox and occasionally morbid subjects
makes friends the same way the others would.
But most of the time the camaraderie
is only transient; surface.

Only after completing the series of
general social exchanges and trading basic personal information
does the oddity find, albeit once in awhile,
another strange soul with perks and quirks.

And everyone, even the others,
know the great, albeit small, surge of delight
when stumbling upon another whom,
amazingly enough,
was created strangely just as you.

Brisk scent of smoked salmon tinged with mint and lemon whiffs by and teases my nose as the quiet yet quaint little cottage shop buzzes with the whispers and tiny laughters of the pier folk.

I politely request for warm toasted crumpets and hot milk tea to warm the ten bendy frosty joints of my wrists.

I watch the ships sail by at a snail's pace and stretch out my index finger behind the stern, as if helping the ship to sail faster. The window quickly fogs up again and I wipe my sleeve across it in a circular motion- as though to make a window in a window.

I am alone and unknown in this little town but yet I've never felt lighter than I ever have. Strangers are kind and the food- oh the food!

This place is picturesque; quintessentially a piece extracted from my travels. My mind meanders to all the things I left behind; all those awful things I gladly do not miss.

Slowly, I allow myself to permeate through the four lined frame;

finally, I evanesce.

This is for Ocean, who is stuck sinking into this
depressingly painful lack of interest, nay, motivation
to continue living this daily cycle over and over and over again.

This is where I can actually see us being right now,
all murderously taxing responsibilities brushed off our tired shoulders
and just sitting by the bank talking about endless things
we've forgot to talk about;
snacking on delish crunchies and swearing to burn it off on the run later.

I am so done with college.
My soul is despairingly dead and
I feel all my artistic drive and passion for all things
beautiful and inspirational and just mind shockingly fantastic
slowly drain and seep out of my pores
and any other exit points that leads
the tiny parts of me out of my body.

I am a large fabric of delicate skin
slowly decaying on a frame of calcium.
I am allowing myself to be eaten
by the abstract monster of society-
the very thing I vehemently opposed to in the first place.
If this does not stop soon, I'll soon become one of them.
The collared, slave driven, sleep-deprived zombies.

I can't explain the way I feel right now;
well not at once, at first.
Even if you greet me the next day I don't think I could explain
how I feel on the inside.

I am dying.

I hereby declare that this is an official
plea to the Higher Power Above for strength and motivation
to allow me to pull through my final month
all in one level-headed piece.
I pray that the paranoia will disintegrate in the face of open mindedness;
I pray that I will have the patience and kindness to endure.

I told them of how scared I was, that,
in the silent moments where I am left alone in that room with my thoughts,
I would, essentially drive myself insane
with all the conflicting unexplainable emotions
and then end up doing something with sharp objects
that would seem logical and ameliorating at that time.
I love my mind but it does, in fact, hurt me sometimes.
To simply put it- I just need motivation
to continue pulling dragging myself through each day.

In the solitude of the room,
I found my mind voicing-
"Why bother to live since we're all gonna die, anyway?"
It surprised and scares me a bit that it had actually sank that deep into the matter.

Oh Homo Sapiens are indeed, a worrisome mess of a bunch.

And also, to the aforementioned H.P.A- please, please, leave my family alone.

O when the cruel, mocking sun sinks ever so peacefully
down beyond the everlasting line-
only then can the nightingale of the sky
appear-
no longer hidden behind the misty clouds
but bright and everlasting to cast down 
her nocturnal smile on us.
'till dawn breaks, that is.

I want to move you like the waves move the ocean
and no matter how much you push me away
I'll always come running back to you.




Your strangeness will always be so tempting;
so luscious, so divine, so addicting.
So much to the fact I know that you are bad for me-
that you, in your nature, will break me, crush me,
and the voice in my head warns me that you will destroy me.

But as usual, I choose to ignore it-
because you, my water, my stream, my river-
my ocean o so deep
with your secrets buried deep underneath-
that is where you hide your deepest fears-
that is where you hide all your haunting beauty and your mystery-
that is where I will choose to drown-
that is where I will choose to die-
engulfed and covered completely
in everything in its essence that is you, entirely;
until I forget all that I am.

Until I am no more.

//
on a side note, I want to imprint into my memory
the look and yearning that Levitt-Chu had on his face
when he made a song about fornication
sound like a graceful 18th century poem.

Please remember how that made you smile, albeit a bit.

Oh, in what direction do your thoughts travel?
Do they wander far and wide and
twist, turn and twirl in all the directions in between?
Do they wander, sometimes unrestrictedly
and often, without your conscious permission,
to the dark places hidden deep in the abyss of your mind?

Sometimes an innocent stroll back to nostalgia lane
reminiscing the good ol' days
could bring back a nasty experience
that may just jump out right at you
and you find yourself grimacing in pain.

And we do not often realize,
that the 'random' things people often quirk up,
may not be that often after all.
Sometimes the train of thought leads us chugging
from one station of emotion to the other-
depending on the particular subject that set the train off.

A delicious tempting whiff of a salivating scent,
or even the rough, crunchy sound of warm bread crust
could elicit different emotions all at once.
The memory of walking down the food market
and hearing the baker's cry could be a thought
that pops through your mind-
and then you remember you recognized that baker from somewhere-
Oh! He looks like friendly ol' Uncle Earl-
whose name also appears in the daily comic strip "Pickles"-
and "Mmmm..." pickles are juicy indeed...
and especially tasty when packed in a Subway sandwich-
sigh, and you remember biting into a humble BLT
and the ingredients start to topple and tumble into your mouth-
and you think of all the yummy treats you've tasted in life-
and your mind tricks you into thinking your hungry-
and your tummy starts to grumble in agreement-
and you pop into the nearby coffee shop-
completely unaware what got you here in the first place.

I will tell you why I love this lass
Oh why she's so different from the others.

She hid herself as much as she could
and only gave the best of herself for the screen.
She let you wonder and drew your conclusions
based on malice lies and slander from those who were mean.

She was tempted by an opportunity
and slipped weakly into temptation.
But who could blame her as she slipped and fell?
The spotlights tend to burn terribly bright, darling.

And so the sneers jeered and the fingers pointed
and the name calling started and the contracts retracted.

But she is lovely in her own special way;
a jigsaw complement to her sparkly darling.
She wears herself plain and honest
rarely caked up with powder and pencil markers.
I could imagine us sipping a warm beverage on wooden chairs
and talking about things far and wide
while nibbling on crusty, crumbly pastries.

So thank you for scanning by this post;
I reckon it's a manageable read.
So this concludes a summary of short sentences
on a person I'd like to meet.

//

On a side note, I think I'm ready to plunge into the Doctor Who fandom.
Oh, I think it's most definitely risking my emotions a fair bit
considering how they tend to be fluctuating now.
But I'm attracted to things with melancholic sentimental values, you see.
I doubt I'll be let down.

'till another day.

Darling,

I found so much solace in the keys.
I recall the days where I cried, where I felt oh so tired
and my eyes struggled to keep themselves open
as my tutor sat by me and pianoforte and instructed me.
Oh, the terrible yet educational days!

I suppose I must say I am very very grateful indeed
my fingers were nurtured and taught the rhythm and dance
of the black and white keys.
The light, delicate and graceful songs the pianoforte
sang to me as my fingers pranced and glided have always gave me a sense of serenity-
a lovely awakening method of emotional catharsis
other than my beloved media the pencil and the paper.

My soul feels so free, and somehow I can feel it dance gracefully
within me instead of always dwelling dully in the melancholy abyss of dark emotions.

I love and adore ever so much
this wonderful feeling inside of me.

Oh, the beauty of the hammer and the strings.

A soul alone is a remarkable thing;
its essence, its being, its beauty- all fused inside.
But sometimes a lone soul can be lonely,
sometimes the soul may seek the company of its kind.

A soul that yearns for another soul,
a soul that simply knows his body is only a mere capsule-
a physical, solid wall of cells to protect the fragile and oh! so delicate being inside.

A soul that yearns for another soul,
who understands her attraction for the bizarre
and lets her dwell in her melancholy ways.

When two souls find each other,
they delight in each other's company and the similarities of interests and dislikes.
They admire each other's capsules, but no, not with lust.
They trace each other along the outlines of the creases and nooks;
run ever so lightly down the spine on the back and twirl around
the soft curve of the hips.
Two souls that speak stories when their lips meet-
be it silent, a whimper, or a desperate cry-
a fusion of souls who speak much without words.

The souls love each other
and are happy because-
they found a personal version of another.

This scene depicted above scares me.
Oh, I can feel the irony seep through my veins as you compare
this brightly lit one to the soft melancholic images I use to accompany my other posts.

But the thing is,
a mixture of emotions were incited in me as soon as I laid eyes on this image.
It's almost to say, the emotions queued up in an orderly line before they occurred.
It was awe incited by the travel bug in me, the refreshing and calming feel the ocean colours gave my eyes, and then finally, a sense of abandonment, or loneliness.

It was like the person in the photo is trapped in this perfect utopia
of color and scenery and feel and textures of coarse sand and splashing water-
which she would never be able to share with anyone. Ever.

She will lie on the coarse surface
and feel the sand etch its stories onto her back
and close her eyes as she listens to the waves crash and roar stories brought from afar...
but she's always so solitary. Always so...
alone.

“And I’ll write you letters and smuggle them into your room in old film canisters, not knowing when you’ll find them. Some won’t be letters, they’ll be instructions telling you to; walk five steps, place your finger on your nose and smile. There’ll be film canisters filled with confetti that reads ‘Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me’. I’ll use silly codes to name you songs I think you’d like and you’ll find a tape under your pillow with me repeating ‘Goodnight, goodnight’ "

I like how I like their story and how it's so subtle and so expressive at the same time and all the dark and lovely elements and the ones you normally brush off as childish and pointless come together so complementary and you'll have to pay attention to notice all the small details and the secrets a man hid inside this story.

This isn't the first time I've expressed my veneration and absolute adoration for this movie but every time I chance upon a scene from the movie or even look at the photo of these two, ahhh, let's just say my spirits are lifted. This isn't a movie for the masses, and I would think not everyone would enjoy this movie, but I would say this is the movie I can call mine. That one movie where you, among your other peers, seem to love and enjoy and maybe even at some point- identify with the most.

This is the story of Oskar and how he met Eli.

// I foreshadow a writer's block looming ahead. If you do not hear from me soon, I'll be at the other end sharing my thoughts in another manner.

'Till then.

I don't know what to make of the world anymore.

The more I learn, the more I'm disgusted.
I was taught to observe human behaviour today,
to study their traits, their personality, their preference, their habits,
perhaps learn their interest and dislikes,
and then study, break it apart and
exploit it for my own use.
Manipulation, the Teacher tactfully called it.

I was, of course, uncertain how to feel at first.
So many emotions raced to take charge of my central thought and behaviour.
So many negative emotions.
Why, why, why?

I think humans are fascinating creatures-
each independently individuals yet collectively gathered as a whole.
But I for one, cannot fully analyze someone without feeling a sense of guilt.
Who am I, a mere mortal, to judge someone else?
Who am I to place a label on someone I merely know on a surface level?

And yet, now I'm taught to slowly learn how to dissect humans and use them for my own benefit.
As much as I realize how this would benefit me in the working place,
this is not how I would want to observe, and socialize with people.
I would not want to give someone a friendly wave and let them think I'm a nice person,
only to be deep down mentally jotting down their overall traits for my future use.

Your world- your world as how you've shown it to me- disgusts me.

"That is why they are all lost souls with wondering minds. That is why they stare far into space and all you see is the faded glint of hope in their eyes."

And so I told her that I was in love with tactile touch and she asked me to explain and so I did.



I recently discovered this about myself- I like the sense of touch.
The delicate, almost non-existent and small, light feeling
of skin against skin.
I like the idea and the slight sensation of
tracing lines, and mostly, perfect individual flaws-
scars, bumps, and marks that don't belong-
that gives you a sense of identity.

I like my the gentle tip of my index finger
tracing delicately, and ever so silently
down, and around which ever way the direction leads.
Also now you know why I like tattoos.
Not all at once, and although intimidating at first,
slowly tracing them somewhat put my mind in a state of peace.
There are oh-so-lovely to trace.
Just like cursive words on a book,
or those fancy monograms that are embossed on a card.

I've watched people trace things before,
and sometimes I wonder why they do it.
Does it give you that sense of calm despite the calamity of the noise in your head?

I like to think it does.

I was talking to Emmil whist this was written, and so if you are reading this- cool benas.

So two high points to note in my Nerd Galactica.
And yes, both had to do with my academic performance.

The first had occurred a week before;
it was a lovely light in my dull, somewhat still mood.
I was happy, I was.
But I didn't tell anyone. I didn't tell anyone until they asked.

Truth be told, when I thought about it,
I realized I didn't want to share this joy of mine,
I didn't want it to be out there in the open-
because I didn't want anyone (or anything) ruin it for me.
Most will offer felicitations- but there will be others
who might, and I use might (because I'd like to offer the benefit of the doubt),
say things which I might take to heart
and ruin this small Happy of mine.
And I'd like to keep this Happy. At least for awhile.

How often do I get to feel this way, I ask you?
Again, Austen had told me that happiness is by choice.
But this one was planted into me like a seed,
and I just wanted to dwell in that momentarily successfully achieved sense of elation
for as long as I could.
And it was good.
It was good and nice and made me think of all the nice things.
Yes, there are still some of us who take pride in our academic achievement.
And it was a very nice number to be proud of.

The second high point didn't bring much of an emotion-
I had envisioned myself crying, breaking down etc.
but a positive cry, of course.
But no, there was absolutely nothing.
I was devoid of emotion whatsoever, which was quite...
how should I put it- wasted-
on the occasion that could have resulted in another Happy.

I will just put it simply and say
that I am grateful to the Above,
and that everything is over.

I'm sorry if I've left you puzzled at this so called
'nightmare trip in life' subtly mentioned in my posts ever so often.
I don't see the point in telling it to the world
as it's a lot of work to do on my fingers
for such a small scale who would offer their ears.

I'll share the full story with you if you'd like-
but only if you'll listen.

Take care and I hope you find the weather well.

It's been about three weeks now, I think.
And I breathe movies.

Oh how can I possibly explain this phenomenon without sounding nonsensical?
I've been searching up movies almost the entire time I'm online
and IMDB is currently my best virtual friend.
The only frustrating thing is finding subtitles with perfect timing.



My dearest Eli,
I love you even though you are strange. You are plain but yet so hauntingly beautiful. Your allure captivates me and I love you although you feast on that of which is thicker than water. I love you for your strangeness. I love you for saving me. I love you although you are not a she.

"Not mermaids- nixies."
It's much more sinister, she said simply.

I like to wonder how much I've changed over the span of 2 1/4 years.
The fact that I've transitioned slowly over to a new genre, so to speak, is just completely unconceivable.
Well, perhaps it is conceivable now since it did happen.
But change is amazing to witness.
The entire process, the slow part by part where
a bud becomes a rose, a girl becomes a lady,
a person becomes someone.

I don't know how to describe myself to you, truly I don't.
I am not one who would satisfy by simply stating several adjectives to sum up
the entire complex component that makes me, me.

I remember when I used to be able to say talk like how everyone would
or should we say, socialize, in a very conventional manner
without getting the odd look here and there.
Now that I've become a different person with strange interests
I would say I have somewhat lost my sense of socializing,
or maybe I've simply picked up odd traits that do not mingle well with the generals.
Ah, well one cannot have one's cake and eat it too.

A virtual friend noted that I was 'like an enigma to a mystery'
and that is rather captivating, might I add.

Mysterious things always pull at our curiousity-
just enough to fascinate and delight us too.

And I, for one, will just be content with that.

  "People are rare creatures that I admire from afar. It’s like coaxing a wild animal to approach and take the food you’re offering, and at the last second you step on a twig and it makes a resounding “CRACK!” and they go scampering off."

I hope you don't mind me including this in here.
I found your thoughts and viewpoint of the human species
to be thoroughly...interesting.
My apologies on the lack of a better adjective.
But I think you'd be a delightful individual to have a conversation with soon.

Take care where ever you are.

I try to think of the good and the good things in life.
All the good things.
The good, nice, pleasant,
small, tiny, lonely, unseen and easily forgettable things.

You see, me and Life have been on conflicting terms lately.
She throws some obstacle at me,
I cry but will myself to stay strong.
So strong so the Capitol will have one extra pawn to deal with
and hopefully, one more obstacle they'll have to defeat.

So once an obstacle is overcome,
I learn to heal.
Day by day, I will myself to take it as a lesson
and try to have a more positive approach towards all things.

But it's difficult, I tell you.
I find it a challenge to not be pessimistic about things when
everything around me is no doubt deteriorating, destroying;
sinking into a deeper state of ugly obscenity.

Somewhere, there is hope.
It might be just a small spark-
But we'll pray and have hope.

I wish you all a pleasant evening.

I have a face!
A mental image, so near- so close,
I can almost reach out and touch-
my fingers run down the soft curve
smoothly down to the lips-
and when I open my eyes-
it's gone.

It's so strange as I never have a clearly defined face
like I do now.
And oh! It feels me with so much joy-
dare I say it- I think I feel just a bit happy.
And it's a nice kind of happy.
To know what this person looks like.

But I must know how my subconscious conjured up this mental image.
How? Where?
Have I met this person before?
Is this person someone I know?
The questions bug me endlessly.

What if I do meet this person in the future?
How will I respond then?
Will I even tell- oh no, I cannot.

I’m terrified of living a boring life that I’m not living at all. Somehow, down the line I stop taking chances and now I’m living a damn routine. I just want someone to save me…to show me a way out.

Thank you, thank you- thank you.
I've discovered what purpose the 'pink bow' book shall serve me.
I've got this little secret I'd love to share with you,
but please ask me about it or I shall forget.
Simply state 'Virtually Interesting People' and hopefully that will jolt my memory.

But thank you, again.
The gift was very much unexpected
but a letter says otherwise.

I look forward to our discussions again.
Life and all it holds- I await.

I don't know why it took me this long to plainly acknowledge this fact.

My life is simply constant. Or currently, at the moment, constant.
As in no change whatsoever, or nothing to update on.

Last time, I declared this to a dear friend,
Fate decided I was a whiny prick and gave me another exam to sit for (oh, the horror!).

Case in point, Austen and I were talking yesterday
and she told me she had not one, but several platonics.
And when she asked me the simple 'What's new with you' question,
I simply said 'Oh, nothing. You know me.'

Really. Really.
I am shaking my head at how disappointingly mundane I just made myself sound.
Maybe because I think a BIG thing that's worth sharing about has to be about
change in one's status, friends etc.
People tend to come up to me with new happenings in their life
and all I got is:
"Oh, what's new with me? Well, I updated my blog just yesterday."
I need to put more effort into answering this question.

Fate, if you are reading this,
please note I am not complaining about how dull my life is.
My life is not dull. Not at this point in time.
Most definitely not while I do not get to sleep in any longer.
So do not throw another obstacle in my way, please.
I am still recovering.

College assignments have left me lacking of creative writing juice.
Gah, even the sentence above lacks proper grammatical structure.
Oh I hope this is merely temporary.

I wanted to do a post on things I like;
things that please me aesthetically.
Oh, all the beautiful, the haunting, the admirable, the amazing,
the pleasing, the enchanting, queer things I like that make me me.
It would be such a pleasing post-
filled with descriptive phrases and complementing pictures.
Oh, if only.

The duplicated darlings were in the newspaper the other day!
Oh you have no idea how immensely but yet surprisingly cheerful I felt.
Simply to see a mere page dedicated to the dear redheads.
Why I find them attractive I cannot explain.
Strange how the human mind works, ain't it.

I'll see you soon- I promise not to abandon you.

 I am searching for a friend confi person who I can relate to me.

We can talk about how thankful we are that foreign movies provide us with the two hours of entertainment, and how the directors overseas can portray art and horror and beauty the way the Hollywood ones can't. We can laugh about how Lana's depressing and sultry vocals fills us with so much emotion. We can talk about life and all those thoughts that buzz in and out. We can mostly ponder about the dying state of humanity and how we don't want to live here anymore- but no, we don't consider suicide 'cause that's just not who we are. We can discuss the future and think of the bizarre names we'll give our pets. We can talk about all those crazy things we wanna do but end up not doing 'cause we just can't be bothered to get out of the house. We can talk about the lovely life story of the Spieling-Wendy couple and envy the fact they got to work at Disneyland together.

If interested, please enquire within.

I mean really, why go for preteen boy band members when I might-almost-just maybe
meet him some day?
I cannot articulate into words but I just really really like his expression in this photo very much.

Oh, and maybe someday I'll also meet a recluse/hermit/misanthrope and we'll bond over abodes of interests and joys. Despite the fact that it totally contradicts who we are.

Tell me, do I deserve to feel this way?
Especially since tomorrow's officially the 18th year of my existence on this earth.

I fooled myself into thinking catharsis would work on me.
Well why wouldn't it?
After all people did use it in the 18th century to cleanse themselves of their emotions.

Why can't I be happy?
Why why why?
Why must I plague myself with all these self-conscious thoughts and doubts
that'll just consume my happy feelings and good vibes?
Why must I pick out all the little things people say
for analyzation and examination as if my finals depended on it?

I don't recall it being like this when I was 15.
Of course being in constant thought has its ups and downs.
You worry about things you can't change.
You get anxious over other things and small matters
and even things that don't even relate to you.

Maybe there's this switch that I can flip and turn my brain off
and I'll just around wandering aimlessly but happy and carefree like them.

Austen, I wish you were here.

Once upon a time, the people of the world were so vain that all their prayers were only of personal gain and beauty restoration and that made the Father so disappointed that He released all the bad things into the world and left the world to rot in its selfish ambition.

Sink or swim; sink or swim.
Holding on to that thin thread of hope,
that thin thread of what strives us on.

If you choose to leave this broken world-
the shattered remains of what once was good,
I'll go with you, I promise you.
We'll leave without as much as a backwards glance,
because really, what is there left in this world to admire?

Come Wednesday, come Wednesday please.
Come the day where I will be free from algebraic expressions
and vectors and dy's and dx's.
Come Wednesday the 16th.

And then Tuesday the 29th will be eagerly anticipated, too.
The day where it will finally be over.
I hope.

Mock papers just decrease my confidence sometimes.
Lift my spirits, please.

Foreign movies with English subtitles, Two minute toasted carrot cake, Subway's Oatmeal Raisin cookies, suicidal goldfish, psychological math questions, Mr. Lefroy's smile, saying Jean-Pierre Jeunet, aforementioned JPJ's amused face on IMDB, pale faced beauty, the sound of breaking bread crust, people who speak English with a French accent, and a zombified Pride and Prejudice novel.

Five minutes till midnight, o how the time flies!

"It was beautiful as I fell in love with the music,
the way the left hand introduces the opening scene,
which makes way for the melody led by the right hand,
be it sad or happy.

And then the fingers trilled playfully along the keys
as the eyes scanned the dancing notes,
written in black bean sprouts which replaced words.

And so the story was told;
the song ended as soon as it began.
The listeners surreptitiously blotted their tears;
touched by wordless story could only appreciated
through the ears."

"That sly and seductive smile, sir, has won you the key to my chastity belt."

Take me away,

"Close your eyes."

Austen, I am sorry I forgot!
*extracted from Austen's.

What is dangerous?

I am perfectly fine in my own circumstances- that is, if I can survive, laugh and just be truly, truly satisfied with what I have- both inside and out.

I feel strange and so alone and I wish, I wish there was a way for me to express myself more articulately. To truly write about the little thoughts that go on in my mind to the small jolts and feelings that run through my veins. How can I honestly tell you how I feel, when I don't even know myself?

I am waiting for you to write me a story on the piano.

That was why I went for the programme.