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It’s been a long time.

This blog is basically a bildungsroman. I created this blog in 2012, when I was 14. It was supposed to be a joke. I wrote almost daily, enjoyed the attention of my schoolmates who read my blog. I enjoyed the attention, and eventually I built up a small readership circle in my school. People knew I wrote, so I kept writing. Until I didn’t.

To be honest, I never expected this blog to last 14 years. I was 14 when I created this, I am now 28. This blog is half my lifetime now. Reading my old posts, I saw a fiery teenager who didn’t know how to censor herself, who spoke whatever she so pleased, who wanted to conquer the world. Beyond everything, she wanted to conquer herself.

14 years later, she has not conquered herself. 14 years later, the world has changed. She changed, with the world. She went to university, graduated with honours, signed on with the army, left the army, went to a private firm where she previously did an internship, left that private firm, and joined a statutory board. She recently hit her 3rd year mark at the stat board. Despite all the changes that have happened in these 14 years, she is still the same person. Still the same fears, still the same desires, still the same romantic. Still with the same intensity, but with less anger and emotional outbursts.

Some days, I feel like I have come a long way since 2012. Other days, I think I have barely moved at all. My routine has changed drastically since 14 years ago, but really, the same thoughts swirl around in this head that I am confined to live in. I’m absolutely sure that I have said this before, I keep telling myself over and over again, but I never learn. To love is to let go.

Why do people confuse love with control and possession? Love is never about ownership. To love is to understand that you are not at the centre of what they do, and to wholeheartedly accept that someone else’s happiness will not always come from you. To love someone is to set them free, over and over again, knowing that they will not always choose you.

Ah, here we go again. Romanticising pain, same old shit again. You never learn, do you? Go cry your heart out. Go tell people you are ok. Everything is fine! Smile. Careful what kind of image you put up at work, they may smile at you but deep down they will judge you. Don’t believe what everyone says. There are liars everywhere. You are also a liar. Liar. When will you stop lying to yourself? Never? Ok. I guessed so too.

I didn’t use AI to write this. I take pride in my impeccable grammar (behold, a grammar mistake somewhere!) and my strong personal voice. My teacher told me when I was 17 that I have a good personal voice, and I wore her compliment like a medal around my neck. Look at me! I am a writer! But I use AI to write so many other things now (cough, work emails). I can smell AI slop from a mile away. Ok, enough shitting on AI. Stop taking the moral high ground now.

There’s still a lot of pent up anger. Right? Right. Maybe I revived this blog from the dead just to tell everyone that I haven’t changed at all. See you again in another 14 years.

As usual, I have a problem with structuring my thoughts coherently. This is a poorly structured post.

I don’t have the habit of starring messages on WhatsApp, but every now and then when I come across a message particularly important or emotion-provoking I star the message, just to probably never revisit it again. The “Starred Messages” tab on my WhatsApp is as untouched as a philosophy student’s calculator — for pure decorative purposes and nothing more.

But every now and then, I revisit my starred messages just to see what was once upon a time important enough for me to have starred it for future reference. Most of them are outdated work-related messages, which would then be swiftly deleted, but every now and then I chance upon a nice message from someone whom I do not talk to very much anymore.

I came across your message the other day; I was having a particularly bad day, and you texted me just to tell me that you would be here for me whenever needed. It was surprisingly to hear that from you, an otherwise reserved and reticent person, positive words of affirmation. This message, had it come from anyone else, I’d probably not have starred it; but because it came from you it was a rare artefact that needed to be tucked away someplace safe.

Fast forward, I’m not sure if you would still mean this message today. We have faded to nothing more than acquaintances, albeit not on bad terms, but there is no longer a reason for us to keep in communication. It’s difficult to imagine that we were once close, that once upon a time for 2.5 months you played an integral role in my life.

People come and people go, that is old news. The older we grow, the more I have realised that most people come into our lives as mere transitory phases, just to stay momentarily to fulfil an objective purpose and then to fade away, oftentimes without a parting farewell. Very few are meant to stay; you, obviously, were not one of them.

But that’s okay. At the end of the day even if your physical presence is no longer a constant, I have a sincerely written WhatsApp starred message to remember you by.

And that’s enough for me.

What if I told all of you that for these 11 months that I’ve been here, I have been lying? A lie that started small, but circumstances made it necessary to repeat the lie further, to a wider audience. News got around, much to my reluctance, and eventually the lie has spread far enough such that it has now become the truth.

Repeat a lie enough, and it becomes the truth. Except it will never be the truth, and I don’t have the guts to admit that I have been lying. But I have too much at stake to lose now, and I can’t revert back to square one to retell the truth again. So I will have to live with this lie, a lie wherein my image and self-esteem rests upon, a lie fabricated in a moment of haste and lack of introspection. A careless lie that spread too far, and now impossible to retrieve.

Does it really matter? No, it doesn’t. It will affect no one, because it concerns no one but myself; it will implicate no one else. But the guilt eats away at me on days when the lie is repeated again by an unsuspecting interlocutor, when I hoped that it would fade away over time — but it doesn’t. I don’t even repeat this lie myself anymore, this lie has not come out of my mouth in a long time, but the lie lives on because other people regurgitate it as though it is the truth. Which, to be fair, it is the truth to them because how are they supposed to know otherwise? I have hid it too well.

I’m not being my authentic self, I’m not being truthful with people who otherwise deserve the truth. But I have come too far now to turn back, so I won’t. Maybe I’ll burn all evidence that matter just so I can perhaps convince myself that my lie will one day become the truth.

And carry this lie to my grave I will.

This raw, numb pain keeping me up all night again. This is not an unfamiliar feeling, but one that came back all too soon again. Tears that will not fall, but every inch of my heart is crying. Every part of me hurts, and this time it hurts just that bit more, because I am trying harder than ever to keep this in to myself — rather than inflicting it onto you.

Because I like you so much, okay? Because I saw all the warning signs but ignored all of them along the way. Because I just let myself fall, even though knowing I shouldn’t. Because I couldn’t have done any better than I already have. I couldn’t. I make up so many excuses in my mind to defend you, because I refuse to see you in a way that reflects negatively on you — because unlike what others tell me, I really don’t think this is your fault. But is it worth it, because why the hell is it hurting so much?

I am trying so hard not to let my hurt turn into anger. You have no idea how hard I am trying, but it is taking every single ounce of my mental strength to keep my sanity in place. My peace is severely compromised and I am trying so hard to salvage whatever that is left within me, to keep the peace between us. Because we don’t need to go down like this. Because I am better than this. Because I REFUSE to lose myself once again to my own demons.

I need to be kinder to myself. If I go down like this, I will burn up in flames and no one will save me. I am tired, I am hurt, I don’t really know what I am doing. But you will not be the reason that I lose myself (again).

I have always been told that communication is key, that we should always try and communicate clearly to get our feelings across; to not guess, implicate, or to infer. And largely, this is true. When I look back at my life, so many problems could have been avoided had I just bothered to clarify — such as an unnecessary heartache of 5 years.

But lately, I wonder if some things in life are instead meant to be buried. Buried swiftly, deeply, and never to be revisited again. Some things that are not meant to be understood, and causes more pain when understood, rather than to just let it slide. Some things like trying to understand what it is that I feel for you.

How am I supposed to even convey this to you? In the first place, I don’t even know how to explain this to myself. Everything just came so suddenly, out of nowhere, with no definite starting point; like little particles of confusion that just suddenly coalesced overnight into one whole block of disorientation. I can’t even process this in my brain without feeling like I’ve committed a massive sin, even though I know that I have done nothing wrong — objectively. How am I supposed to face you, if I cannot even face myself? How am I supposed to accept this and come to terms with the situation if my brain shuns even the slightest attempts of self-reconciliation? Also, what’s up with my perpetual tendencies to get myself into such uncomfortable situations?

But my emotions run stubbornly strong — as they always have — for you. But this time, I am determined to (at least try to) let my rationality win this battle. So I will cover, so I will bury, so I will hide. Somehow, through one way or another, I cannot let myself get tangled in yet another situation that I have created for myself out of nothingness, trapped in my own mind.

It’s been a long time now since we last spoke, I hope you are doing well and coping with the pandemic. I imagine that you are anticipating a new chapter of life, and whatever path you may choose I hope it is the best choice for you.

The hurt from losing you has subsided, from an excruciating, sleepless pain, to now just a very manageable nostalgic ache. Some days I even temporarily forget that you exist. But every now and then, a trigger brings you back into my mind and I realise that no matter how much we have drifted and no matter if we haven’t spoken for almost half a decade, I still have a tender soft spot for you. And it has always been you.

I’ve had a few fleeting moments with others, in fact even a committed relationship which has since ended, but through it all I have subconsciously always made room for you in my headspace. We’re disconnected on social media but every now and then I see you appear in someone else’s profile and my heart clenches ever so slightly, I look at the photo of you a little (or much) longer than I would look at most other photos.

I have come to realise that no matter what I do, there is no point to try and forget you. Because you mean too much to just be simply forgotten. And I can honestly say that deep down, I have never resented you for cutting off communication with me. Despite it all, I have an inexplicable fondness for you that still runs deep within my soul. Some days I ask God if I will ever have a chance to see or talk to you again, even if for the briefest of moments.

I don’t think it was my fault that you walked away from me, nor was it yours, per se. I think it just happened inevitably, unfortunately at a very bad timing in my life as far as I’m concerned.

I still do miss you, and deep down I still do feel something for you. But I shall neither pursue nor entertain the thought of reconnecting with you, unless it so happens that God shall bring us back together. But even if that is the case, I don’t think I will anticipate for that day. Rather, if it is to happen, then let it be one of the most pleasant of surprises that I may ever receive in this lifetime.

I hope you are well, and I pray that you are safe. I am sorry that tonight my nostalgia has come out to play. But if anything, time has told me that it was not just a fleeting moment of immaturity and recklessness. After all this time, without any communication, it has always still been you.

My knees have started to become a pretty reliable weather forecaster; they ache whenever it is going to rain. And it rains a lot these few days — and so I have had rather painful knees as of late. But they’re not excruciating, more like a dull, annoying ache. Not enough to divert my attention, but sufficient to make its presence felt.

Dull, annoying aches. There’s something about this particular kind of pain that haunts me. I have a number of dull and annoying heartaches; from remembering a painful past relationship to forgiving something I never received an apology for. I’d much rather forget them, and oftentimes I think I nearly do. But alas, something comes along and reminds me of the past, reopening that wound I so painstakingly fought to close — and though no longer excruciatingly painful, remains as a perpetual dull ache.

Dull aches like this don’t hurt me enough to ruin my day, but they do make me tender and vulnerable. They eat away at my appetite, and suddenly my favourite snack isn’t that appetising anymore. They make me question the “if only”s, as if those kind of questions aren’t the most useless and self-pitying questions to ask yourself.

But today is yet another of those days where the dull aches are back to haunt me. And today is worse than most, because I don’t want to speak about it to anyone. I don’t even think I fully comprehend myself. I have a feeling I’m just over-engaging in wishful thinking, but what the hell, let me dream for once without this heartache.

So I will pretend that I have no regrets. I will pretend there is no pain. I will pretend that I don’t want something I cannot have. Will pretend that, even for just a split second, things could have been another way.

Whatever it takes to soothe tonight’s dull ache.

I have been losing my appetite.

I cannot finish my food because they taste like nothing. Bland. Empty. Tasteless. I am eating for the sake of eating; there is no enjoyment in my meals. I dread breakfast because I have to wake up earlier to eat when I could be spending that extra bit of time sleeping. And then I have to do the dishes. And then I have to get to work.

I am feeling that subtle, melancholic emptiness. I am feeling that lack of purpose. I am feeling that dull pain in my heart, a dull pain that bothers me sufficiently enough to hurt me anyway. I am lost and in need of answers, but I don’t even know what are the questions that I have.

I just… want to feel secure? I want to have my emotions sorted out. What are all these emotions? I don’t even know how to describe some of them… but they weigh down on me all the same. Is it this whole work-from-home thing that is slowly eating at me? Going to “work” every day in my own room and finishing a 9-week internship completely at home, having physically met absolutely no one in my department? Next Friday, I am going to return my office equipment and head back to school… but yet I don’t even know what is the shortest route to get to office from my home? I don’t even know how tall my colleagues are? I don’t even know where they sit in the office? Heck, I am a big introvert but this complete lack of physical social interaction bothers me. In the future, it would be hella weird to tell someone that I did a 9-week office internship having never worked in the physical office. But this is life, throwing you a curveball out of nowhere and forcing you to scramble around for your own answers.

Or is it this guy who can never take a hint? How can someone be so blatantly ignorant? Must I really block you to hammer home my point? Can you not take an implication? Or is it her that is taking a toll on me? Why can’t I figure her out? I usually pride myself in being able to read people quite well — but why can’t I read her no matter how hard I try?

I worry that I am becoming a little fake because maybe I have been pretending to be happy and carefree and forcing out the whole “I don’t give a shit” attitude for too long. But I give a shit. And I am too scared to have people see that. I am too scared to have people see that I am vulnerable about things as trivial as… whatever the hell this is.

But I have faith that this will end. And I will be happy again so as to go on another huge blog hiatus, as I have done for most of 2020. I notice that this blog is mostly pessimistic, and not a great judge of who I actually am. But supposedly, people only come and read this if they are bored or curious enough because I don’t publicise this blog to anyone, even though I don’t bother keeping it a secret either. So I don’t actually care that much about how people may judge me based on this blog. I have kept this blog for too long to delete it now. I have 8 years of history and growth carefully documented in this blog that I bothered to pay a personal website domain for… this blog is here to stay, for good.

I just… I just want my appetite back.

This blog has seen better days. I created this in 2012 pledging that I will finally sustain a blog, after having previously created around 5 blogs that ultimately failed to last.

But this one has, because 8 years later, I am still writing in it. But the content is a lot different, and I’m not deleting my older posts because they are good for nostalgia. Even though I cringe a lot when I read my older posts. But it’s ok, we’ve all done cringeworthy things when we were younger. In fact, I may look back at this post in the future and cringe at this post. Aha.

8 years is enough to see a newborn turn into a Primary 2. Enough for a Secondary 1 to turn legal adult age. 8 years is a lot. But yet… it feels so little. What have I done these past 8 years?

I started this blog when I was Secondary 2, and soon I will complete my formal education and head into the workforce. Slowly accepting that my childhood has whizzed past, and never going to return. I am growing up, and it’s happening regardless if I’m comfortable with this fact that I’m no longer a kid. I still want to be a kid. But you don’t always get what you want.

I don’t really know what’s the purpose of this post, except maybe to bump this blog alive. If I’m paying $40 a year (is that how much I pay?) just to have my own blog domain, then I should at least write something to justify the costs.

Wow, I am tired. It’s tiring to shoulder responsibilities. It’s tiring to have to always be accountable. But that’s a new norm I have to adjust to. I am weary. But I will not give up.

Does this sound like a quarter life crisis? I wake up every other day in existential dread. What’s this? A weariness that sleep can’t cure?

Probably need to get more sleep, because my internship is wearing me out. This post made no sense. Sorry. Why are you reading this?