I'm doing fine.

Not really. It’s a little more complicated. But you don't need to be sorry for that. Don't ask me question, continue your stuff, throw your paint on a canvas and call it "art".

Chocolates used to be my pain killer for everything, even when I was not in pain, it calmed me down. We go way back, like when I watched the part where Izzie Stevens had metastatic melanoma, or when Merlin couldn't tell Arthur how helpful he has been, and everytime Doctor Who regenerated. I always get too emotionally involved and chocolate always saved me, like a Brazilian hero, sort of.

But thing has changed, I don't buy chocolate anymore. The last time I was in pain, I pushed myself so hard and got a tattoo.
Now, I've made an appointment for a surgery in Pantai Hospital.
Something about the needle and blood, something about them.

Is it the amount of root canal treatments or extraction that I've done? Or is it the anesthetic effect of that magical needle that always ease my patients and makes me grow fonder of them?

Last week a medical doctor was teaching us how to withdraw blood from vein and he needed a volunteer, I jumped on the chair immediately. I watched closely, not willing to miss any second of it, it's the moment when the needle poked into my skin and then my muscle contracted a little, and finally the sight of my own blood, it was a pleasure. I smiled a little.

Don't worry I'm doing fine, because I offered my other arm when my friend wanted to practise.
(Let me guess, you're thinking I've gone cuckoo and probably in a few years I'll turn into a drug addict, aren't you?)

You know, you don't have to go anywhere you don't feel safe. It doesn't mean you're not a strong person, it doesn't say you're a coward. You are just a person, trying to feel safe.

No good at saying sorry

"You will get over this, you have a bigger heart than you ever give yourself credit for." I replied my bff's text, while still in the line waiting for my turn to order meal.

There are certain types of people in my class, one of them is the "very-(EWWWWWW)-nice person". Parents love them, because this type of people glue fake diamond to their words, everything about them is presentable. They are the main dish in reunion dinner, everybody gets a piece of them before they go home.
These people, their chief characteristic is..nice.

How boring is that.

I thought we outgrew that shit when high school ended. In college, the social hierarchy fades, the old definition of friendship no longer exists, you only become friends with people who are awesome. I don't call everyone in my class "friend", some people simply just stay "classmate" forever (pal,don't take it too personally).

We aren't the happy bubbly kind of person, my bff and I. We are mean, and we love surgery. We are the skinny plate of bloody red chilli on the dining table that only certain people (awesome people) in the restaurant would touch.

But then again, individuality is my thing, what do I know about the other side of the world.

We are not broken.

This morning I woke up to a sullen sky, looking at the clock with my eyes half opened, "I am early. The sky is going to pour anytime". I couldn't help thinking when was the last time I cried.

With my cold fingers I pulled the other curtain and over the foggy window, I can hardly make out the shape of anything. I assumed it is the early birds walking to their classes, they moved in a ball of blur.
As much as I love to sit on my bed and stalk all the people in my campus, this is only my second time doing so, I secretly counted. The first time I indulged myself in this creepy laziness was in a drizzling evening, I had a cup of hot milo in my hands, after I gave up on my sketch book and decided to watch strangers instead, the way they move their hands when they walk, the way they walk when it rains, the way it rains when I have nothing to rush.

Seeing a group of boys in white shirt and black tie reminded me of my first day in this university, April, 5 years ago. I had never seen so many Indians before,and I used to wear uniform everyday now I get to wear whatever I want? Everything was as unnatural as the sex sounds you make in bed.

You enter your twenties with all of these convictions that one day you're gonna achieve great things in your life but lose them all by the time you’re 23. It's not that you don't dream anymore, but question is do you have what it takes to dream? Can you afford the dreams-never-come-true? This is not necessarily a bad thing. Sometimes it feels good to surprise yourself. Sometimes it doesn't matter to feel all the hurt. I can take it.

I'm young enough to take it.

That magic is not here no more

We didn't learn enough about growing up in school, because all the adult just assumes that it's something that we have to kind of pick up along the way, just like how they did it in their time.

We are a bunch of science-man generation, isn't it only logical if we learn all the influential opposing factors as well? I think it's a terrible shame that we weren't taught about things like orgasm, letting go, or a broken heart.

I collect things, like shoes box, plastic spoon, toilet roll, sponge. Not that I am a recycle-environmental-friendly person, I just keep them in a container and hide it at the top drawer of my wardrobe and probably never going to see them again.
Why don't I throw them away?
I..I..don't know, really.

Probably it is because I was taught to never give up, but is never give up same as never let go?
Never give up gives you the ohmmm of perseverance and even if you fail, people will still give you credit; but not letting go will just makes you a stupid and obstinate person even cats will meaaw at you non stop.
But do they carry equal pounds of grandiose expectation or pathetic hope that we still have in us despite all the disapproval or ignorance that was bashed on us?

Like a loose underwear, when it doesn't hold your butt and make it ten times more perky, why am I still keeping it?

BECAUSE, that so called underwear knows what I have been through, I wore it while I made my first denture. It knows where is my comfortable margin on my butt cheek so I don't have to keep scratching my butt in the middle of the road. Yes it shows my original flat ass but I can live with that!
* And then I strike my victory walk.

I know, something keeps me holding on to nothing. I don’t want to be this person. No one does. No one wants to admit that they are unable to move past something which happened so long ago.

It’s not your fault. But I want to let go. I want to walk away.

Throw the empty words my way

A few weeks ago I secretly made a decision to not play mind game anymore, I promised myself that I will try to be as honest as the afternoon sex. I guess that's how I offended a few people in my class.

Or is it because we are so used to hiding ourselves behind the inter-groups bitching so when things are put out front we don't know how to react to the absence of back stabbing?

I chose the F word as my shield; some held on tight to their victim cards; some advocated world peace; some simply enjoy the little bit of drama. But we all walk carefully under the various shades of haze, everyone takes a step back unwillingly or not.

My ex roommate is the biggest fan of mind games. He played it and he won most of it. He told me his tricks but sometimes when I'm sitting on my bed feeling so lonely, wishing my inner words will somehow be found, all I have is three little notes playing in circle.
just freaking hold hands and kiss already I don't wanna play games no more

If I have to play with your brain to get what I want, where is this lie leading us to? You will never get the best of me, and this is not what I wish for.
We gravitate unwittingly to what works in the short term, in terms of what to do for work and what crowd to run with.

So go ahead and say the thing you want to say, what is there to lose?

I steer for stronger winds

Waking up early (I mean reeeaaaally early) especially when the sun wasn't even ready to sprinkle its golden spike and steal the mysterious lust of the moon from,well..I don't know where the sentence is going due to my chronic lack of rest, but my point is, if it's not exam day, then dragging your body out of the warm bed is completely poisonous.
It's destructive to your immune system, I think.

We had to meet up with Standard one kids at 8am, to educate them a little something about teeth.
Yes that's what we do, not only do we need knowledge to analyze the severity and progression of your carious teeth, flawless skill to correct whatever problem it is with your smile, it's mandatory that we need to be able to control challenging kids, not to mention a whole new level of pretentious high EQ because God forbid us, dental service providers to show any other emotions except happiness.

We have to exude the charm and integrity of a bubbly angel like we freaking won the title of Mr/Miss Universe and smile to a whole crowd of imaginary fans. We are the definition of "whole package".
Wait a minute, this entry is going into a wrong direction, it wasn't supposed to be whiny. Damn it where is my pretentious high EQ!

1,2,3.-smile-

I wore my pink shirt, to warm up my cold deadpan face and got my Burberry Brit on, because I left my charm in my unfinished dream, have to borrow some from external accessory.

In the school, I saw him, right at the back of the Standard one classroom, all by himself, completely separated from the rest of his classmates. I walked slowly towards him and sat next to him quietly, because this small boy was me many years ago, the socially awkward, out cast boy.
We didn't make any conversation, because back in the old days, I wouldn't exchange a word if some guy just randomly sat beside me and tried to be friendly.

I used to combine 3 chairs together when 2 of my classmates who sat beside me happened to go to the toilet at the same time, I dumped their bags on the floor and slept on my new "bed" in the middle of the lecture, and refused to return their chairs when they came back, "because I'm tired I need to sleep", this was my answer when the teacher interfered with my little crisis.

Sometimes I just picked up my bag and somehow escaped the security guards and walked back home during lunch time. Under the big red sun, my puffy cheek was so blushed but I still carefully folded my hanky behind my neck because I didn't want the sweats to stain the collar. It was a half an hour journey but I was fearless.

Over the years, I've changed, a little bit more sociable. But deep down I know the same old me is still alive somewhere, nobody can eradicate that awkward part completely.
I wonder, have I really changed? Or am I simply getting used to the pretending and finally join the game?

And that’s the problem: We get so caught up in the rules of the game and conforming to other people’s expectations of how we should behave.
We forget to let ourselves just be. We forget to kick back and enjoy the little things about growing that make it great.

Every now and then I cogitate about the way I turn out to be, probably a little too judgmental and cynical, but it's the fact that how I read the world in my own word makes me feel like a balloon that was cut free and floating, skimming against the ceiling of a closed-in room, I could only feel loneliness in an abstract and detached way.

YESSSSSS I managed to put the tiny him on my lap without him struggling off or roll on the floor, and taught him how to brush his teeth the correct way. Kid, you will turn out just fine, you will reach the destination just like the others, may be a different route, but you will surely be there.

When Samantha falls in love

Do you still remember when you were small, all you ever wanted is to grow up?

We thought that we'd grow up one day and be something. Just one thing. That you grew and grew and grew and then you got there, wherever that was, and you were all done. You lived for a long time but just like that. A dentist or a cab driver.

It was 3 am, I wondered what I can do after completing this 5 years of dentistry course. It wasn't easy sometimes I was so tired I could cry.
And then it was 5 am, when I couldn't sleep, is a career or a family all I will get after trying so damn hard to grow for so many years?

That is the pattern right? You graduate from college and work on your career and get married, you name your first born son and you start saving money for their education and wait for them to buy you a coffin made of white gold.
Do we really want these things? Or, are we just programmed?

How lack of surprises this growing up thing can offer.
I am not asking for firework shooting out of my ass everytime I achieve something, am I?

But I dream big, may be this is what you can afford when you're still a student; may be if I continue to grow, things will be completely different, like how Samantha Jones fell in love with her perfect Richard, with this song playing at the background.