You once asked, if I knew how much.
I believe you now.
You once asked, if I knew how much.
The reason why I don’t write as much poetry anymore is because I don’t get the same sort of catharsis I used to.
I no longer find peace in stringing together ridiculously long and frivolously fancy words together to make something sound nice.
Which is sad.
I used to glean unparalleled amounts of comfort from penning poems, baking and art.
I don’t anymore.
Writing a sonnet no longer makes me sigh with content.
Baking no longer makes me smile.
Drawing, sketching- they no longer make me feel better.
What comforts me?
I don’t know anymore.
Why be weak?
Why crumble and let yourself degenerate and wallow in large pits of misery?
let’s all fall into morose funks of melancholy.
Let’s all slit our wrists, do drugs, drink and smoke our problems away.
Not only are they wonderfully salubrious to our general welfare, they offer copious amounts of genuine palliation.
I’m sick and tired of lecturing people about being strong.
I’m not saying I’m infallible.
But I recognize there’s a fight worth winning and I keep fighting.
I try to ask myself, ” What do I want?”
And in actuality, I never know.
I know what I should want.
I don’t know what I want though.
Or perhaps, I don’t want to come to terms.
I know what’s good for me, I know how life SHOULD play out.
When I was younger, I used to think my life was all set.
Laid out for me, and it would play out nicely, a clockwork, mechanical sequential sort of progression that would be riddled with some ups and downs, but ultimately- it’ll turn out just the way I expected.
Thus far, my life has not turned out the way my 5 year old self expected it to.
I know what should be happening, I know what I should do-
What I could do.
Okay, ciao tumblr, you’re too happy for me, I’m running to Xanga to spill my soul instead.
I was going to start this, writing about the definition of normalcy.
What it was, mostly.
Because I can’t remember.
But now, I do.
I do remember.
I was going to say how life now, has regained a semblance of normalcy.
Or am I imposing it to gloss over all the discord???
I had a tiring evening.
I baked a whole load of stuff- rainbow/fudge cupcakes, a marbled peach yoghurt cheesecake and chocolate lava cake.
It was fun while it lasted, but regrettably, the joy and catharsis from baking has worn off somewhat.
In fact, I’m feeling a tad annoyed right now, due to a culmination of a variety of factors.
I have a Halloween party to attend tomorrow and I don’t have a costume.
I’m annoyed to the point I can’t even string together coherent sentences without sounding like a bitch from hell.
I shall stop typing now.
Really, Christina Aguilera?
‘Cos if my memory doesn’t fail me, you’re no stranger to yo yo dieting.
Case in point: looks.
I have image issues.
I think I’m too chunky for one.
And I’m working on that.
Well not now.
I’ve been stuffing my face with wonderful things recently so no, not now.
I’m not in the mood to diet/lose weight these days, so that’s fine.
When I wake up one day and I can’t even bear to look in the mirror, I’ll get started.
I can’t remember the last time I looked into the mirror and had no qualms about the way I look.
In that respect, I’m horrifically superficial.
I care too much about the way I look.
But that’s because I’m living in a world where looks DO matter.
And it does feel nice to look good.
Some people are completely nonchalant about their looks, claiming as long as they’re not hideously disfigured or aesthetically emetic- it’s fine.
For me, I just I look at some of my friends and what do I see-?
Big, doe eyes framed by lush, thick lashes, darker than ebony. Double lidded, smiling and twinkling like night sky novas.
A delicate nose with a narrow, defined bridge with such elegant stenosis, I could cry.
Long, willowy limbs that are taut, toned and smooth.
Creamy, porcelain skin untainted by blemishes.
Or rich caramel or chocolate skin as beautiful as alabaster.
Long, slim fingers and beautifully shaped nails.
And svelte silhouettes with the most gentle curves.
Beautiful megawatt smiles.
Oval faces caressed by the most subtle rosy blushes, dimpled.
Firm, angled jawlines-soft, yet defined.
I wonder why I can’t be content with the way I look- button nose, Asian eyes, chubby face, a crappy T-zone,a bit too curvy for my own good..etc.
That somehow doesn’t sit well with me.
That’s probably why I cry or tear or get all emotional whenever someone comes along and calls me pretty or beautiful because I find that hard to believe myself.
It just goes to show how disgustingly insecure I am at times.
Maybe it’s time to be less critical and try to be more accepting and less self deprecative.
Regrettably, there is a fine line between narcissism and self acceptance.
I guess I blur that line frequently, by being an overly narcissistic bitch sometimes to over compensate for the glaring dearth of esteem at times.
That’s a distinct possibility.
But I must say that I admire people who love themselves.
People who aren’t perfect, a tad too much curve, a little too generously proportioned,ho hum features- and yet they dress like they want and are happy about the way they look.
Right, I have issues.
I had an epiphany recently.
It is one that I have been waiting for quite a while to experience, and it has at long last come.
It is difficult to act upon it, given the fact it’s something that would against months of inculcated impulse.
It is however, necessary- for my own sake.
I’ve been saying for quite some time now, that I should be kinder to myself.
And I recognized that fact that one of the first few ways towards this self love, would perhaps be removing things from my life which hurt me.
I don’t usually do this, I dislike dedicating a slice of my time addressing someone directly but- if it is salubrious to my person as a whole- then why not?
I have endured months of mercurial volatility.
I never know why things were a certain way, I never quite understood why you behaved in a particular manner, never quite got your motivations for saying certain things.
I used to devote a good portion of my day pondering over these things- numerous permutations of the same, rudimentary thought.
Months of unhappy vacillation between a warm comfortable friendship, and a cold, distanced correlation and when extreme- something else altogether.
Recently, we’re back to that capricious relationship pattern and more importantly, I’m beginning to see what sort of person you really are.
Typically, I would rail on about how “I-don’t-know-you-anymore” or “why-are-you-doing-this-to-me” but I realized that this supposed victim-esque complex stems from these deluded musings about how one is truly in that position of vulnerability and not otherwise.
I highly doubt that you’re purposefully being a douchebag at times, but I blame this regrettably serendipitous discovery on the fact that perhaps I never really got to know you as a person in the first place.
Afterall, all we did enjoy was a friendship that was light, frothy and effervescent- but nothing really deep.
We enjoyed each other’s company, that was it.
A friend once asked, how could I possibly stand to look at you or not feel anything, given the load of things you’ve told me which I doubt you realize were even hurtful.
I suppose, the simple answer to that would be: of course it hurts.
Of course I felt twinges of severe upset and misery, but that’s only because I was losing what I thought was there.
There were questions, things that didn’t quite add up.
Ultimately though, I realized that some questions don’t need to be answered.
Or perhaps, one does not want to answer them, because sometimes the truth is too real for us to handle.
So I’ve stopped the pursuit of answers.
There is no reason to wonder why you blow hot and cold.
There is no need to really ponder over little intricacies.
And well, I’m not Rihanna- I don’t like the way it hurts, nor do I love the way you lie.
I instead choose to accept these truths, let the chips fall where they may and move on.
It would be utterly quixotic and foolish to dwell on such unhappy things.
This relationship with you, be it platonic or otherwise, was a deadweight in my life, a constant source of intense misery or joy.
That, should no longer be the case.
I think I deserve my life back, where I can happily go about my day to day business without feeling anxious, angsty or agitated.
I’m not saying we can’t be friends, nor that we shouldn’t be close-
but in all honesty-
that side of you I saw was something which really took me aback.
I don’t like what I saw.
Succinctly, it’s scary, because it made me realize I really don’t know you, and I don’t want to sink into this malebolge of self depracative misery and wonderment.
I don’t have any point to make, truth be told but I’m just expressing what months of ignorant masochism, entrapment in a vicious cycle of emotional turmoil and naturally, their severe ramifications- have taught me.
What’s interesting is that you’ll probably read this(in the event you do), probably shrug, raise an eyebrow and just go “Oh”.
I’m not expecting a reaction or anything of that sort.
It’s nothing personal-
I just got my life back and I’m happy.
I had a fun weekend, eventful, as usual.
I guess little pockets of sunshine like this really keep my life effervescent.
A quick rundown, in case you’re curious:
-Went to Nad’s art exhibition
-Had Macs with Glenn, Esther and her friend, Bianca
-Had dinner with Patricia & Shawn at some cute little Korean joint which was tucked into a quiet little corner of the CBD. They serve delectable Korean BBQ
-Watched You Again
-Finally tried the Chocolicious blend from BOOST
-Had a mini Glee marathon
-Visited Patricia at home and cuddled Cookie
-Had a sleepover
-Attended the Nike City Race, awesome stuff
-Took some incredible photographs
-Had Starbucks with Dom & Sak
-Had a Chocolate Cream Chip Frapp with Patricia
-Finally tried an Iced Chai Tea Latte-delish.
-Had dinner with Amanda & Sarah
-Had an ice cream/soft drink free flow buffet thing at Just Acia
Now that I type it out, I realize just why I’m so tired- my weekend was jam packed, gosh.
Here are little excerpts:
My beef bulgogi.
Patricia’s beef curry omurice
These 2 are adorable, seriously.
Isn’t my bestie the prettiest?
(and she doesn’t see it sometimes, God knows why)
At the race
Those who did come.
With my favourite Viet girlfriend! <3
With Cheryl, ossumpossum camwhore buddy :D
With Yahooey :3
The most decent picture I have of me, heh.
You want honesty?
I’ll give it to you.
I’ll be frank:
I have a trust issue.
(bold= things said. italics=my reply)
You are a wonderful person.
I see myself in you.
Check again, darling.
I care a great deal for you, Nicole, do you know how much you mean to me?
No, I don’t, thanks for the FYI though.
You are not fat. You’re a beautiful person.
You’re a fantastic writer.
Why yes, I do find it hard to believe that I am a
nice person and that you care for my welfare.
You’re so easily distracted, Nicole.
I’m 17, I came from a nunnery, I’m suddenly in a co-ed school, so sue me.
Well, yes I recognize I have ego issues.
I’m extremely competitive because I cannot abide mediocrity.
I cannot perpetually wallow in this mudhole of limbo.
I acknowledge some of my capabilities, and I appreciate it when they’re recognized but when you start weaving this rose tinted utopia out of these measly shreds of coruscation, I’m sorry to say that I find it extremely hard to trust or believe you.
Why should I?
I am a cynic.
It’s in my nature.
I wouldn’t go so far as to say that I’m a nihilist ( I don’t have the scars, as I was once told) but I certainly don’t have much faith in the world or the people living in it.
So I’m pushing it a little, I know there are a small handful of people who care a lot for my welfare and are willing to stick with me even when I become some horrific, vindictive bitch from hell.
There are others who shy away, estrange me or abandon me.
I don’t quite know what to expect, nor what I want.
I guess I relish the solidarity of being alone, but methinks that it is precisely during these moments of solitude that I need people to reach out.
I am saying all of this because today, while having dinner, it struck me that I was feeling the same way I do on my birthdays- alone.
People don’t know this, because I’ve never said it but birthdays, are the worst days for me.
Every single birthday, I’ll cry.
Because I feel the weight of all my mistakes.
It is that day where my guilt and self depracation reaches the apex of intensity.
On my birthday, I realize just how horrible a person I am.
Then why not change?
Yeah, why not ask for an eclipse right now?
Not everything changes overnight.
Things, like personalities, inklings, inclinations, desires, dreams, everything- these things take time.
On my birthdays, I always make an extra effort to look good just so I can stand to look at myself in the mirror.
“Do you like what you see? You’re the person you should be, because your reflection reflects, everything you do and everything you do, reflects on you. Dum, dum, dum, dum”
This was a little ditty my mother used to sing to me while brushing my hair as a child, and I would laugh and sing along.
Nowadays, it has become a ghostly echo that reverberates down through the years and haunts me whenever I look myself in the mirror.
And you know what?
I don’t like what I see.
Perhaps that is why I’m so vain and narcissistic at times, to make up for the fact that I don’t appreciate who I am as an individual.
But you’re so confident!
My blog title has a lot more meaning than you can fathom:
this visage, no mere veneer of vanity.
There’s more to me than my bimbotic tendencies and crazed obsessions with cosmetics. If you honestly believe that I’m brimming with confidence, or that I’m some pompous scumbag who thinks she’s absolutely gorgeous and wonderful-
I daresay, you are gravely mistaken.
I am not satisfied with the way I look.
Yes, looks do matter to me.
I’m a 17 year old female living in a world saturated with arbitrarily high standards of beauty.
Of course I feel the pressure to look good.
No one enjoys looking like an amorphous blob of lard.
That’s probably also why I’m single.
A combination of my (often) off putting personality and my weight often results in romantic estrangement.
But no, that’s the last thing I want to talk about.
I’ll be curt- my relationship issues did me in for my promotional examinations.
There, I said it.
I am phenomenally stupid, I recognize that.
I try to take it as a necessary cross to debunk my own personal beliefs about my threshhold for drama and bullshit
But, moving back:
I’ve lost 8kg this year.
Loving yourself comes from within, and I haven’t found that in me, yet.
There are days where I feel pretty and loved and happy.
There are days, where I wear drab colours and stalk off to be alone.
Perhaps, I overcomplicate my life.
No, I’m fairly certain I do.
I was told that I go through things that no 17 year old should be allowed to endure.
The amount of drama I’ve experienced this year is enough to have drama serial producers come knocking on my doorstep for the next few months.
It’s not healthy.
Who enjoys going through such tumultuous amounts of insanity?
Rest assured: I’m don’t
Which brings me back to my original point:
I’m not a masochist and I’ll prove it to you.
I find it hard to trust people.
This should come as no surprise to you.
People are selfish- they only care for their own welfare in the end.
Whatever lovely, saccharine and intricate tales they feed you to sway you into their murky realms of deception and deceit- well, they sound good, but probably are too good to be true.
I find it hard to believe that people do care for me in spite of my personality and looks.
I’m not a nice person.
I’m egotistical, narcissistic, outspoken, ebullient to the point of being emetic at times, obstinate, abrasive, harsh, sardonic, crude, bold-
how could anyone possibly abide being in my presence at times?
There are a few people ( I could list them by name, yes), who will stand by me and for some obscure reason, love me for who I am.
But apart from these golden few, I find it hard to trust you.
Fear of getting hurt aside, I don’t like having something taken away after it has been given to me.
Another issue of mine, I realize, is that I’m the exact opposite of what I detest.
I care too much.
I care too much about my looks.
I care too much about being the best.
I care too much about my weight.
I care too much about what sort of image I project.
I care too much about obscure little “what ifs”
I care too much for assholes who don’t deserve it.
I care, to the point I compromise myself.
That, my friends, is what did me in.
My mind, has temporarily stopped.
And gone blank.
My migraine has morphed into this invisible, vice like pressure about my head.
My head feels laden with wet cement- sluggish.
I feel like taking the day off tomorrow.
I wish I could just curl up in sleep for an entire day or something.
Regrettably, responsibility and obligation beckons.
Today has exhausted me so, I’ll probably turn in soon.
This post is long enough anyway.
There are certain aspects of my personality which were reawakened today.
I wouldn’t say they’re bad, but I wouldn’t say they are exactly welcome either.
But, given my intent, perhaps they are.
We’ll see how all of this plays out.
Perhaps I should stop blogging in such an enigmatic manner.
It’s a pity I can be so candid and honest.
I cannot stand mediocrity.
I simply cannot abide it.
This post was supposed to be a bitchy proliferation of words consisting of more than 3-4 syllables, burgeoning with expletives, angst, anguish and so on.
However, I have pushed past the point of explosive and loud anger.
I have settled for this silent, white fury that even the most expansive vocabulary can’t describe.
Why bother, really, when people are going to lambast you for being an arrogant ingrate?
The degree of upset right now is beyond me.
I don’t want to be alone in this, but people seem to be estranging me.
Irony seems to follow me like a faithful spaniel.
I was about to rail on about the abject misery I’m experiencing.
But ultimately, I see no point. Misery loves company, and everyone is sick of my ranting.
I’m sick of my ranting.
I guess I should grow up, clean up and move on.
Gawd this is a bad migraine.
A horrific word, where your fates- a thread.
But sometimes, even resolve offers no relief.
Some things are inevitable, we just have to wait for the coin to drop and let the chips fall where they may.
Some things were meant to be, and they give us this much needed sense of normalcy that grounds us.
Some things, have undeniable magnitude in our lives, and they, have this omnipresent gravity.
are best left unsaid.
Okay, schleepy, night.
I am frequently lambasted for being a masochist.
I don’t quite know why sometimes.
Or perhaps, I choose to equivocate and well, disregard things.
Presently, my fates are filipendulous and all I can do is wait and pray.
Amidst all of this chaos, is always a smidgen of routine and normalcy and it comforts me so.
On a personal note, I’m proud of myself for learning to do certain things.
I must stop sounding so enigmatic and get to the point.
Today, is not the day for this, however.
I have a terrible migraine right now.
I shall go nurse it under a cold shower head.
To say today was cataclysmic, would be a gross understatement.
My grades plunged to unfathomable depths of numerical destitution.
There was drama on more than one front to grapple with and I’ve learned things that I would ordinarily say-was mindblowing.
Regrettably(or not), mindblowing would also, be a gross understatement.
And yet, I emerge, more or less unscathed.
It helps to prepare yourself mentally for things-your mental welfare can go take a quick vacation so it doesn’t get hit too hard.
People applaud me for my supposed “optimism” towards my results and my other issues.
I assure you- it is not “optimism”.
I have merely come to terms with the reality of my situation.
Succinctly: there is no point crying over spilt milk.
Clean up, move on.
And I suppose, switch to a better milk brand.
Alternatively, hurling the carton at someone would be good too.
I digress (:
I’m not that upset anymore, oddly.
I must be accustomed to this sort of mental trauma.
This is the problem with me.
I cannot abide stalemates, where I just sit aside and wait for something to happen.
I just need to do something.
My thoughts are riddled with it.
I have not gone for a day, without thinking about it.
I need a break from this.