I only had one post in April

Damn it. But there was so many things to talk about, like my circumcision, or my new bunny, or even my car accident.
Will I get into all those things that I just mentioned? May be, may be not.

In the beginning of my final year I made a decision to change things a little, not because I need material to talk about over reunion dinner with high school friends and steal all the attention to myself, I need to simply change a little.
A good change or a bad change? Honestly I don't think one can justify it.

We change, your breakfast or underwear or facebook profile picture, because we think the new one will suit us more, although it's bound to meet colourful comments from the audience.
Who says it has to be brighter? May be changing into a worse shape will help you tremendously in finding whatever you are looking for in many unexpected ways. Self-improvement is not the only bitch who wants to help alright.

Be arrogant, be an ass, go talk behind people back, bitch slap your bf's ex, it's acceptable.
Be caring, be a helpful person, offer your face when somebody needs to scratch something.

And when we're all done with that, find a stronger direction to morph into, the neutral zone. Because at some point we have to believe the beauty of our flaws, we will always be a partially-broken-not-quite-formed person. And there is nothing wrong with that.

Love is a scar.

Permanent.
Crippling.
ugly.

Almost like a truth that everyone likes to hear, or pretends they want to know, holding a part of it will calm down your ego, reassuring your exhausted soul that you're not left behind.
Now you have whatever everyone has in their fists, you ask yourself, are you happy now?

I always over fabricated my connection with everything, and that depresses me a hell lot more than eating my dinner alone or going to Tesco by myself or waking up at 5am.
Because those are choices, you expect it, or even enjoy it a little. It's the other people that I worry about, it's always the other people that make you question yourself over almost everything.

Oh you stupid boy. You thought you want the same as everyone else.
Think again.

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?