I'm just obsessed with one thing these days.

Thinking about the best, least messy way of doing myself in.

I know it sounds very morbid, and might probably scare you quite abit, but let me assure you there's nothing to be afraid of.

Why should you be afraid of something that will release me?


***


I hope that, one day when I'm gone, some kind soul will take this url and distribute it to all my friends and family, to all who know me and to all who want to find out why.

Because I want them to know that, it's not their fault. Or anyone's.

If ever for a moment, they think that it might have been something which they have done, or did not do, let me assure you that it's not the case.

You're dealing with someone who's sick in the head here.

And this sick person's just tired of all the pretence. It's taking too much a toll on her.

So, if you would be kind, she'll like to take a rest now, thank you very much.


***


Since it's been my practice for previous years, I don't see why I shouldn't keep up with the tradition now.

Here's a list of all that I've received for my birthday for Year 2006, courtesy of all who bother to care (or care to bother):

1. One bouquet of purple tulips, nicely wrapped and tied in ribbons
2. One bottle of Ralph Lauren's Romance
3. One Guess? wallet
4. One gigantic, white doggie soft toy
5. One box of Famous Amos cookies in a teddy-imprinted tin box, with 2 stems of hearts
6. One long clutch (in white)
7. One pink shrug from Mango
8. One $50 cash voucher from Guess?
9. Two birthday cards
10. One bodywash from BodyShop
11. One bodywash from (I'm not sure where or what)
12. One wooden lantern (from Vietnam)
13. One Lancome cosmetics set (contains mascara, green eyeshadow and wrinkle remover)
14. One The Corpse Bride set (contains mini figurines of Emily, Skeleton Girl & Boy, Scraps the dog, Black Widow the spider, Maggot the well maggot and Mr. Skeleton)


Guess which is my fave present of all the above?

And, because I've done this before, I'm gonna do it again.

Birthday greetings via sms from:

1. Kat
2. Ce Yu
3. Xinyu
4. JL
5. Shayne
6. Boon
7. Cheryl
8. Marie
9. Song
10. TC
11. Ding
12. YC
13. Diana Tay

Don't ask me what's the point of the above. Just.don't.ask.

It's madness the number of films that I'm looking forward to catching this month and the next.

Here they are (in some order of merit that only I know of):

1. Walk The Line - both Joaquin Phoenix and Reese Witherspoon, singing!
2. Brokeback Mountain - film about 2 cowboys who form a bond (Heath Ledger & Jake Gyllenhaal), directed by Golden Globe winner Ang Lee
3. Broken Flowers - stars Bill Murray (Lost in Translation, but I remember him better as the GhostBusters guy) and Julie Delpy (Before Sunset)
4. Proof - stars Gwyneth Paltrow in a film about geniuses who are somewhat sick in the head, and by the director of Shakespeare in Love
5. The Constant Gardener - by director of City of God
6. MatchPoint - Woody Allen film, stars Scarlett Johansson
7. Dreamer: Inspired by a true story - stars child talent Dakota Fanning (I am Sam & War of the Worlds)
8. V for Vendetta - Natalie Portman (shaved her head for the film!), Hugo Weaving (LOTR elf & The Matrix villian), and with the brains of the Wachowski brothers (The Matrix writers), what more can you ask for?


And.. I want to watch Sylvia.

It's only now that I know they made a film on her, after all.

It’s been almost a week since I last cried. It’s not supposed to be this long.

I’m supposed to be so overwhelmed with grief and all things negative that I’m supposed to be crying every chance I can get. But for the last few days, it’s not been the case. Until now.

I don’t know which is worse - wanting to cry and actually sobbing your heart out so bad until you’re weak from crying and nothing else; or wanting to cry but failing to do so, like someone’s surgically removed your tear ducts and you’re left with nothing but a dry, empty feeling; as if someone’s robbed you of something, something that binds you together and keeps you sane.

I feel nothing.


***

During our late-night supper, I told the girls that I cannot find it in me anymore to like anyone new all over again, even if I wanted to.

In other words, someone’s locked my heart and threw the key into the fire. It’s irrevocable. And the person who did it wasn’t me.

People always laugh inwardly when they hear this. To them, it’s nothing but an emotional statement; a thought conjured up when one’s still reeling from a bad breakup or an emotional trauma. You’ll get over this, you will, is what they always say. And you’ll like another guy all over again, perhaps even with the same intensity as before, yes you always do.

At times like this, I wish Elizabeth were here with me, only she would understand the truth of my words and what they mean.

Thing is, I’m really just a detached observer watching myself from a distance now, and making a factual observation (I know it’s very Prozac Nation). I’m just reporting it word for word. Like I’ve said, I don’t feel anything and I don’t think I ever will.

How I wish someone will take me seriously. For once.

Maybe in order for that to happen, I have to resort to measures that people do to get attention and the help that they need. I need to do something drastic. Like blow my head up in an oven a la Sylvia Plath. Or walk into a lake in the steps of Virginia Woods. Pop some pills or slit some wrists like thousands of desperate souls out there. We are constantly crying out for attention. But the ones that matter, those who can actually redeem us, they’re never here. They never listen.

My head is giving me such a bad time that all I want to do is just to scratch my brains out.

My left eye has been tearing practically the whole day. I keep rubbing at it but it just keeps going, as if it has a mind of its own. In case you're wondering, I'm not crying. Really. I'm not.


***

Every waking moment, all I want to do is either go to sleep or read Prozac Nation.

I think Elizabeth Wurtzel is onto something.

If ever for a moment, you thought you knew me, you were probably wrong.

You don't know me until you've read this book. It's really me she's writing in these pages.


***

I hate it when others, out of goodwill or sheer pomposity, raise their finger in the air and point to God for the answer to anything and everything.

I simply hate it when they constantly try to illuminate your vision by pointing to God's path, as if it explains everything - this misery that you're going through, the pain that you're feeling and have always felt, the absence of pain, the absence of feeling, everything.

The fact of the matter is, God doesn't explain anything.

To be more precise - the presence, or absence of God, doesn't explain ANYTHING.

It doesn't explain why people suffer heartbreaks, it doesn't explain why the people in Africa suffer extreme poverty, it doesn't explain war or disease, it doesn't explain why some are born healtiher, others richer, some more loved; it doesn't explain why some are just always that bit more fortunate than others. It doesn't explain all that I'm going through.

It doesn't explain this.

So stop belittling this episode that I'm having by constantly giving me reminders about God, like that explains everything. Like that makes everything disappear and drives all the dark clouds away. If I need a reminder of any kind, I can always go to church, thank you very much.

In case this doesn't get through to you, IT DOES NOT MAKE ME FEEL ANY BETTER WHEN YOU KEEP TELLING ME THAT GOD LOVES ME AND NO MATTER WHAT HAPPENS, HE WILL ALWAYS WATCH OVER ME.

Because you know what?

It's nothing but an empty promise to me. Yes, sirree.

Today wraps up a 3-day continuous birthday celebration for me.

It's been the same every year; without fail, my secondary school gal pals and my jc clan will take the effort to meet up during this period. It's good to know that some things never change.

The thing that struck me most about both gatherings is this: almost everyone's unhappy.

There's always something in your life that you're unhappy about - that job of yours that you're so stuck with but so loathe, that insectile boyfriend, that non-existent boyfriend, that insectile boss, your family, your life, God, yourself. If I had to count the number of unhappy events versus happy moments, the dark side that is us will win hands-down.

It seems like the older we get, the more things we're unhappy about.

I found out today that an old friend of ours is undergoing severe depression. She's seeking psychiatric help. She's possibly done the full Prozac Nation package - crying, slashing of wrists, banging of head against walls, throwing massive fits, having panic attacks, attacking her boyfriend, et al.

When I hear of this, I find myself pretty sane in retrospect.

At least I don't hurt others, all I do is attack myself.

Recently, I find myself turning into this split-personality creature; at night, I bawl my eyes out, I can't crawl out of bed, I can't eat or drink. Given the necessary tools, I could have hurt myself beyond repair.

On the other hand, I wake up when it's time and go to work. I behave as if nothing is the problem. I write concise emails, I deliver results. I talk to the big boss in what I deem as a confident demeanor. I do what it takes to prove that I'm capable and worthy of a promotion. And then when darkness falls, the whole cycle repeats itself. Again and again.

How many of us struggle through life in this way? Day after day after day?

The way I see it, life is meaningless. If only to make us stronger, bullshit. If only to bring us closer to God, triple quadruple religious bullshit. Where is the light at the end of the tunnel? Where is the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow? All a mirage to keep us fooled, to pull the wool over our eyes, to attempt to explain this unexplainable mess that is our existence. In the words of Lizzie, we are all preparing for death. This joy-ride that we're having right now, we can't wait for it to be over. It's simply a pain in the ass.

Happy Birthday to me, Happy Birthday to me, Happy Birthday to me-e, Happy Birthday to ME.


**

Although you think that your world is one huge, messed-up universe, the cosmos seem intent on showing you the exact opposite.

It seems like everyone around you has been tasked with the impossible mission this very day - that of making you one HAPPY girl.

In the words of someone, I'm so adored it's making everyone envious.

In the words of another, from the way things go, it looks as if I never ever had a birthday before.

The moment I sat down at my table after coming in late for work on 20th January 2006, I noticed a little box perched on the top of my CPU. It says Happy Birthday. First present of the day is from someone I didn't really expect. It's a bottle of Ralph Lauren's Romance. Perfect.

Few hours later, I received a huge bouquet of flowers, tulips to be exact, purple tulips, my favourite flowers, and they were delivered right to my work-desk. Courtesy of my colleagues. They wanted me to believe it was from some secret admirer, but I wasn't duped for a moment. Oh no. Only COT would have come up with something like that.

An hour later, after I'm back from a meeting with the big boss, I found a huge blue box on my desk. I thought someone had bought me a man and smuggled him in it.

Turns out it's a gigantic fluffy white dog soft toy, but he's my new-found boyfriend. Lonely nights, no more.

Less than an hour later, I catch someone trying to slip a present on my table without me knowing. I catch her red-handed. It's a box of Famous Amos cookies in a nice teddy-imprinted box. And 2 stalks of hearts, which I take to signify as hearts of love. They look pretty and I look like a fairy godmother waving her wand holding them.

More hours later, when the work-day has officially come to an end, I received another gift from the bunch of "secret admirers". It's a wallet from Guess?. Just what I need. And I'd thought the flowers were it.

Less than 15 minutes later, I received the last of my presents for the day. A box of cosmetics from Lancome. As you know, I'm such a lazy girl I hardly put on any make-up nowadays. Not even for a date. But I appreciate the efforts made to scour for a suitable present for me, it is, after all, really tough to buy something for Ms Chong the Bimbo. So, for their sake, I will attempt to put the cosmetics to good use. Oh yes.

Is it wrong then, if after all these, you're still not quite there in terms of being happy? If, at the back of your mind, you're still thinking about that someone, and what he (did not) do for you for your birthday? Doesn't he know that all you want is for him to personally say Happy Birthday to you, give you a hug (or even a handshake) and present you with a card that he wrote, or some such small gift? Even if it's another Thursday Next book, you wouldn't mind. In fact, you'll be jumping for joy if after all this huge mess that only you'd created, he'll still get you a birthday present of his own. Maybe another Nightmare Before Christmas figurine? Jack Skellington on a keychain? Anything. Really.

It's terrible when, on top of unhappiness, you have to deal with guilt for being unhappy.

I don't know what made me decide to revisit my old blog today, the first edition of this site which you are currently reading.

Imagine my surprise to find out that people still visit that site, because I found new comments under some posts and new entries in the guestbook. And my tracker shows how many people are currently online at that page at a single point in time. People still read the shite that I wrote years back, back at a time when I was insane enough to put to words the same crazy ass-shite that goes behind my mind on a religious basis. The last post that I had written on that page was sometime in August 2004.

And I found this.

Under one of the comments column, after an absolutely devastating post which I had written more than a year ago on August 15, 2004, someone anonymous wrote this:


Y'know who you should remember?

GOD.


I broke down and cried.

A friend asks: What do you want for your birthday?

Your answer: Him.


***


A Letter to Him:

Did you know I almost chop my hair off because of you? That's crazy, I know. So the furthest I did was to get my hair rebonded. That's Me, possibly the only young, trendy girl left in Singapore who has not had her hair rebonded at all since its craze started and darn proud of that. I gave up the title of not ever having rebonded my hair because of you. Now I have stick-straight hair just like every other girl walking down the street; an urban manifestation of cloned beauty. I don't know what you even think about that. Do you like my hair better now?

Did you know I got a manicure and pedicure because of you? That very night we were doomed for our talk, I skipped my meal and had my nails cut, buffed and painted during lunch hour. Not that you have not seen my naked nails up close and personal. I'm sure you have and know what they look like. But still, I wanted them to look their best for you. Not that you would have noticed that there's anything different about my nails whilst we were going through our chicken at dinner. Did you?

Do you know what I want for my birthday this year? Not any present in the world, not any branded good, or fancy jewellery, or even clothes, bags and shoes. All I want is your time. Just one day. Me and you. For dinner, you can take me to your favourite Italian restaurant that you so love. I haven't been there. After dinner, you will take a stroll down the beach with me and we will talk all night under the stars. You will tell me about your childhood, your favourite films; I will share with you my favourite books and we will discuss about Tim Burton and George Lucas all over again. As usual, you will send me home and take the elevator up to my floor with me; as usual, I will always refuse. And then, before you go, I will give you the biggest, tightest hug that I can muster before the elevator doors crash on either of us again. This time, I promise I will not stand there like a stone figure. And that will end our night very perfectly. The next day, we will both return to work and to our individual lives and we will behave as if nothing extraordinary has happened. Do you know what I want for my birthday this year?

Who do you talk to when emotions are choked in the core of your heart and your voice has decided to disown you? When thoughts fail to form and lay lifeless and weak from trying to take shape? Who do you turn to?

Not your best friend, nor your sibling, or parent. Not God.

You take to pen and paper.

Here, words have a life of its own. Without trying too hard, without being too explicit, they convey everything that you've tried to communicate to another living being. Tried countless times and yet have failed much more.

There's only one thing.

The reader's missing.

The longer this writer is still writing, the reader's nowhere to be found.

It's funny how life makes a mockery of you.

Really. It just tickles me.

On the one hand, you cry buckets for hours on end over ONE guy; you can't seem to climb out of bed on a fabulous Saturday afternoon even if it's to use the bathroom; you can hardly eat nor drink. You don't even think about how gross you look, with messed-up bedhair and grubby face and puffy eyes. On good days, all you do is listen to the songs that he gave you, stare at the picture that he shared with you, re-read and re-read the messages that he sent you, play images over and over again in your mind about the conversations both of you shared, that hug you'll never forget and especially that look on his face when he's troubled/worried about you. On bad days, all you think about in that peabrain of yours is how cruel God/fate/divinity/life has been, because THEY (with all of their mighty powers combined) have failed you and failed you terribly. On days like these, all you can think of is to hurt yourself so that you can mask that tight knot you're feeling somewhere in your chest. You're not sure why it hurts so. But the guy that you're absolutely crazy over is not going to go to any lengths to be with you for happily ever after. Why no. He has his perfect 10/10 girlfriend to die for first.

On the other hand, you have MEN dying to get to know you better. Well, almost. You go clubbing with a group of friends and at the dance floor, a guy shimmies up close to you, all the time trying to catch your eye and disarm you with what he hopes to be his most charming smile. No chance in hell. You stand at a crowded MRT station in the heart of town waiting for your friend and a stranger approaches you, swoops out his digital camera and tries to snap a picture of you, all the time complimenting on your looks and insisting that you should be his girlfriend. You think he's either a nutcase or someone with no sense of shame. You go to your neighbourhood grocery store in the middle of the night to pick up extra supplies and 2 teenage boys are caught dead in their tracks when one of them lays his eyes on you. Both linger outside the store until you come out, and whilst you are still busy browsing, one of them surprises you by saying to you in Mandarin, "My friend wants to get to know you". You feel like telling them that they both look underaged next to you, but thought better of it, and merely politely declined. One night, you go out for drinks with fellow colleagues after work and the next thing you know, someone's friend has gotten hold of your number and has been texting you every single day, with offers of supper, dinner, lunch, even offering to send you home after work - no questions asked. You wonder what you did right that night when you two first met. Maybe it was dark, that's why. You go online to check your mail much like what you do every other day, and before you know it, you're reading an email that a stranger has sent you and he's asking you for your msn, the place where you work, what you did over the past weekend, etc etc. He says he's read your blog. You wonder what a guy like him with a decent job and background is doing emailing a stranger. You have absolutely no idea.

You couldn't believe just how bloddy ironic life can be. Until this.

And yet, after all this while, the one you're still thinking of is him.

The world doesn't stop turning because of you.

However crestfallen you are, however down in the deepest, darkest pits of living hell you are in, it continues to turn on its axis; and everyday, the sun still rises in the east and shines, oblivious to you. Mocking you, perhaps.

Because why?

You are NOTHING.

You are not even comparable to the smallest, most minuscule insectile creature on earth, because nature takes care of even that.

You?

No one gives a dime about you. Certainly not Mother Nature, or the Force, or the One Above, or Fate, or Divinity, or the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost. Heck, not even astrology.

You think it cruel that everyday is a new day, that other people are walking down the streets humming to themselves, that others are tucked in by thoughts of their loves ones every night, that no one single life is disturbed by the turbulences and injustices of your one solitary pathetic excuse for an existence.

Now you know.

Wake up and smell the coffee.

It's been so cold these days that I almost feel like I'm back in Sapa, which isn't right.

It's been raining so much that I'm getting quite sick of seeing dark clouds, muddy puddles on the road and drizzles of rain. Go away. You're boring me.

Not that I'm complaining about how nice it is to cuddle up in bed though. It beats feeling all hot and bothered under the collar just before you tuck into bed, definitely.

I had promised not to write about him in this blog. I know I did. Somewhere in these words.

But the feeling of trepidation is taking over, as the hours tick past.

I'm scared. Literally.

Tomorrow's going to be the first in a long while where we're going to have a proper talk, just the 2 of us. I can't even recall when was the last.

Ok, if truth be told, the last was just on Monday, the eve of Hari Raya Haji, but I'm not going to count that in 'cos it hardly qualifies as a talk, given the length of time we had for each other.

I'm really quite scared.

I'm not at all sure what to say to him; I'm worried that I will turn dumbfounded, and clam up when it comes to baring my heart, as usual. I've never been good at communicating my feelings in the oral language.

I'm not surprised if he hardly understands what I've been going through.

All I know is, I'm going to remember that hug for a long long time.

I can't believe it actually happened. It's really too surreal.

I don't know whether to thank you or not, God.

I'm sorry if I've not blogged about my trip the entire time that I've been back.

I'm sorry that I've not been blogging about the preparations that I have to undergo for my sector's Dinner&Dance, and how I made two appearances on stage that night.

I'm sorry that I've not blogged about the actual D&D, which occurred on 30th Dec, and in someone's words, it is the night that I am the most beautiful out of all 356 days in year 2005 (not really a compliment, if you know what I mean).

December 2005 was just such a crazy crazy month, I doubt I'll forget it for years to come.

And oh, Happy New Year, my friends.

What are your new year resolutions?

I can't think of anything right now except that I resolve to sign up for hiphop classes in the new year, and also, that I resolve to be HAPPIER! No tears!

I will cease to be a crybaby in the new year. There can't be anything else that can happen to break me anymore (bad English, I know). After all, haven't I been through the worst already?

So yes, to a year of smiles, no tears! Cheers! =)