Disease

Feels like you made a mistake
You made somebody's heart break
But now I have to let you go
I have to let you go

You left a stain
On every one of my good days
But I'm stronger than you know
I have to let you go

No one's ever turned you over
No one's tried to ever let you down
Beautiful girl, bless your heart

I got a disease
Deep inside me
Makes me feel uneasy, baby
I can't live without you
Tell me
What am I supposed to do about it
Keep your distance from it
Don't pay no attention to me
I got a disease

Feels like you're making a mess
You're hell on wheels in a black dress
You drove me to the fire
And left me there to burn

Every little thing you do is tragic
All my life
Oh, was magic
Beautiful girl, I can't breathe

I think that I'm sick
But leave me be while my world is coming down on me
You taste like honey, honey
Tell me can I be your honey
Be, be strong
Keep telling myself that it won't take long 'til
I'm free of my disease

Yeah, well free of my disease
Free of my disease

The Sick House

How many pockets deflate to satisfy the number of digits etched on those pieces of paper the authorities dub bills? How many hearts break at the sight of relatives and other loved ones laying helpless and pale on the white sheets of hospital beds? How many tears are shed when the doctor comes in the room to announce the time of death of a patient?
I hate hospitals. Everytime I'm instructed to pay a visit to a sick person, I'm leadened with dread. So many people I hold close to my heart have been lost within the sterilized walls of a medical institution. In more ways than one do I hold grudge against the pastel-painted buildings that strive to make things better for everyone around. Patients to be cured, families to be made smiling and carefree again.
How is one expected to react upon seeing a person rendered incapable of tending to his own needs, relying instead on others who don't even give a damn wether the he lives to see another day or even make it through this one? Then there's the infamous hospital food. The stale aroma wafting through the endless monotony of corridors is enough for me to collapse in a fit of unbridled tears. It's no wonder that sometimes you see patients getting worse after spending a certain amount of time on a hospital-food diet. When my mother told me she knew someone who deliberately found excuses to admit herself into a govenment (yes, you read right: GOVERNMENT!!) hospital, my first reaction was, "Do mine ears deceiveth me?" Seriously. And my smart retort just died on my tongue.
My recollection of being personally admitted actually falls under the category labelled "Good Memories". Comfy bed, awesome TV channels.. Food rating would be a solid 6 out of 10. Yeah, I know what I said about the my mom's friend and my stillborn comeback. Well hold on just a minute there. It was a private hospital. Yes, the one that you have to pay through your nose for an overnight admission. Yep, that one precisely. Nuff said.
But anyway, enough about food. The sight I laid eyes upon in the Paedeatrics Ward this very afternoon would be one I'd like to forget in a hurry. Picture this: a child, merely 13 months and barely able to string two words together to form a sentence, lying down with both legs held upwards and tied to a metal contraption so that she wouldn't stress out her broken thigh bone. I ask you, abuse or neglect? Bear in mind that it takes a tremendous impact to result in a fracture of that bone. If I were the mother of that child, I'd make sure the babysitter never gets another paycheck as long as she's in the same zipcode as my daugther.

Swing, swing

I'm finally over you. Yeah, I know. I'm so freaking proud of myself. It took me a whole year but I finally pulled through. No more crying myself to sleep or suddenly being overwhelmed by an unwanted bout of depression. Freedom tastes good. I haven't felt like this in a long time and I miss it. A LOT.
New sights. New sounds. New faces. And old ones. New feelings. New misgivings. New-found completeness but not quite.Yet.
And then there's you. No, not you. You. Yeah, YOU.
You made me smile again. You play along with all my stupid jokes. You tell me things. You're mortal. Real. A breathing, flesh-bound living thing. And that's bloody awesome, I appreciate it.
Of all the things we talked about over these past few months, I forgot to tell you some things.

I like you.

I want to get to know you better. 

I want us to be more than friends.

But I'm scared. Freaking scared. No more silence. It'll kill me. A murder most brutal.
Make a move. Waiting is pure torture.

Young & Restless

Sleepy. But she told me that she hasn't heard from me in a while, so I dilligently complied to her request and went online. And now she's exercising. I'm alone. Again. I miss her too, actually. Anyway, it's a good thing that she got me out of bed. I've been feeling restless these past few days. Why? God knows. I myself am not sure.
Loads of stuff happened over the weekend. Not all good, I must say. Irritating, for the most part. Why don't they get it that I've not been put on this earth to please everybody? How come she gets to bitch all the time and get away with it? Whenever I say "No" I'm automatically the selfish-inconsiderate-heartless monster that only ever thinks about her self. Get a grip, people! This is supposed to be my freaking holiday, remember? Helllloo!!! Next week I'm already back in Nilai for another tenuous three months. These three weeks are supposed to be about what the hell I want to do, not what you people want me to do! For God's sake!
Then there's the worrying about all the inappropriate stuff at all the inappropriate times. Nothing's actually set in stone but I'm already fretting at all the possible possibilities. Just like me. Maybe worrying is one of my favourite past times. :)

Muddled Thoughts

So, here we are. Sooner than I thought. Much, much sooner. I'll just go with the flow, I guess. Stay open to all the options that's been conveniently laid out for me and not freak out or over-analyze things like I always do. Typical of me. :)
One step at a time would be the best policy to adopt at this time. I think. No, wait. I'm sure. Yes. After all, the best things come those who wait for it, no?
Or maybe I'm just making excuses and just too lazy to get my butt off my bed and put my plan into concrete action  that would probably yield results. I'm not even up for a movie, for god's sake. What the hell is wrong with me?
The night is still young and I'm already talking nonsense, my ideas spinning out of control.
Where's my beloved pillow?

Caution: Ranting

Is it possible, that for 24-hours, you don't make me scream at you? No, I guess not. First you have to wake me up with your usual morning lecture which I don't give a fuck about, then you go on and on about other seemly mindless things that, in no time, make me blood boil and incense me so much that I have to control myself from breaking something, anything, that's within reach; namely, your neck. 
Why do you do it? It's the same damn thing every freaking day! Do you actually take pleasure from seeing me erupt in uncontrollable rage? I keep telling you; if you don't provoke me, I will never retaliate. Is that so hard? Don't give me your lame excuses that I don't care to hear. A whole load of crap, that's what I personally think it is. If it was so last time, don't you want to do things differently now? Again, no.
Maybe it's in your nature to pick fights unneccessarily. Just because you feel sullen, no need to take it out on me. You know damn well I have a vicious temper. But then again, so do you. I can get angry, but I'll be alright in a moment. The trick is to not piss me off. Once you cross the line, I would go out of my way to make your life miserable. Don't act like I've never told you before. Again and again you promise not to repeat your feat; but again and again, you bloody do. What the hell is that about? Seriously.
Another thing I can't stand about you is the fact that you can go on for hours on end about the same stupid thing, until it loses its relevance and immaculately spin another story which sometimes isn't the slightest bit related to the thing we were fighting about. Impressive. Really. Then, you pretend to be hurt and go all silent on me. The Silent Treatment? Childish.
I don't like you acusing me of being selfish. I know I am, so don't bother wasting your breath. What good did family ever do to you, anyway?
I have big dreams, mostly preposterous than anything. Don't ridicule them. Just because none of yours came true, doesn't mean it will ring true for me too. Who knows not just one, maybe all of them might just come true.  Far-fetched, but still.. A girl can dream, no? You should also let me learn things on my own, not just depend on what you say.
So. Tomorrow. We'll try again. I'll be nice, but only if you are. Deal?

Dance, dance

Ahh... So, it's finally over. That whole episode of thinking of you. Or wallowing in the memory of you. Either one. Haha. Anyway. It comes once in a while, no matter how un-screwed up and happy I am at that particular moment. It just does. Unbidden. And then, unwilling to leave. Try as I might, the tears flow uninvited. In those few moments, or days, I should say, everything of my perfectly re-structured life is turned topsy-turvy again. I hate it when that happens. Truly. It just shows that I'm a weak little creature, not even able to control her own emotions, let alone her over-active imagination.
During those bleak days, I think about many things; mainly you. How we used to be, as unhappy as we were and as miserable as you made me. How I tried and tried, in vain, to make things right again. How getting a simple text from you, asking what I'm up to, could lend me a smile that would last the entire day and put my head in the clouds. How things fell apart; rudely, abruptly. How you moved on.

You moved on.

That is when the actual reality sinks in. Like a bucket of cold water being dumped over your head while you're sleeping, faraway dreaming. A good dream, to top it. But anyway, the truth hurts. It always has. I knew this would happen. It was inevitable. Everyone has needs, but only ever-so-few set out to fulfill it. But you did. And I have no right nor am I in any position to hold it against you.
It's not like you're the only thing I ever think about. At one point in my life, I was guilty of it. That is the truth. I thought of you as I woke up, as I was going about my daily business, as I was eating, bathing, shopping, reading, brushing my teeth, lacing my sneakers, as I was going to sleep. You were always in my dreams. Always.
 But now, you're just a distant memory. Vague. Just another item in my vast catalogue. All those feelings that were so raw and naked are just now fantasms that I sometimes think that I made up. Laughable now, a year ago I would have burnt myself at the stake for a blasphemy charge.
I don't love you anymore. Or at least I think I don't. But I do. I think. I don't know what I think anymore or what I should be thinking.
Whose keeping track, anyway?
If you ever stumbled across this, you'd probably be thinking of what a loser I am, to be still harping about you almost a year on. Well, I am. Didn't you always think of me in that light?
Right now, in this particular moment, it's starting again. My chest is tightening and I'm fighting back the non-existent tears that's welling up in my eyes. Pathetic, I know. But then again, I am. It will never change. Funny how she said that she looks up to me. I'm actually a role model to her. Can you imagine that? How can she idolize someone who is a total wreck? Maybe I'm just a damn good actress. I wouldn't know. Being poker-faced IS one of my best traits.
I was able to bury the memory of you deep beneath the multiple layers of my slowly-healing heart, sweep it under the consciousness of my mind and pushed it into the far reaches of my awareness, ignoring it. It lay dormant for these past few months, I was pretty sure I was over you. That I AM over you. But that phone call brutally thrust the ugly truth in my face : IT WAS A LIE.
The sound of your voice was like a hot knife through the flesh. I missed you so much. Acknowledging it is one thing, admitting it is another. I cried my eyes out as soon as I hung up.
Now, I'm at a divergence in a path. One says that I'm missing you; another mocking me, viciously whispering in my ears that I'm fine and perfectly in control. Decisions, decisions. I could choose one and tell everybody else a conveniently different story. 
If only they all knew how misery loved me.