smallminded;

I have decided to write everything in one shot. Now, I know how hard it is to pacify babies. Imagine I had to juggle 2 at the same time? One word - GONER. I think I'm getting old. I keep getting the backaches and strains easily. I just can't get enough sleep. Unlike most others, I usually don't sleep later than 23 30. Normally, the bunking time will be 20 00. But.. Why? Why do I still feel so tired? Seriously, I think I'm dying. Oh well. Anyway, I just realised something. Many of the people around me are also depressed. Why is it so? Yet, it's just so common to have people breaking down now. I mean, it's sooner or later. Could it be the weather? Or the approaching terrifying exams? Or relationships? Or CCAs, like me? Or what? To me, I can't help by feeling weak. I think I need support. If not, I will break all of my remaining bones. I'm just so darn tired. Nowadays, I'm not writing as graceful as before. I used to think that I'm good. Now, I beg to differ. Indeed, there are really other much more rigid and successful writers. I'm just yet, one ordinary folk. "Aiya, never mind la. I'm used to it, le. It's ok." Oh well. No comments. Somehow, I feel like falling in love, all over again. But.. I just can't find back that feeling anymore. I feel numb. Ever since that incident, I think I have become more sensitive and paranoid. Maybe I have lost hope in myself. If only time could turn back.. However so, I'm not sad. I just missed that feeling. I long for those tender care and concerns. I know there's really nothing I can right now. I know that. I'm just trying to express my thoughts out. I think I'm a fool. All along, the olden days I had seem to be dreams. Till now, I have not woken up. I still think that there's no reality. I refused to go back to the present. I prefer to float in the midst of everything. I want to wander around first, alone. I really don't know what I want to do. I'm just a grumblymon. As lovely to my mui sama and flora lady. How I wish I can be together with the one I like. How I hope I can be classmates with my own friends. How I pang for that holiness over our generations. How I long for that speedy recovery of ah gong. How I imagine myself cutting people. How I laugh at my numerous attempted suicides incidents. How I jeer at the cruelty of others towards the weaker society secretly. How I hide my journals and reports of massive killings. How I think I can change everything. All these 18 years, have I been happy before? Have I had things others don't have? Since when did I start to disapprove myself? Why can't I just settle down for my own resolutions? Why am I so weak? Why do I always get abused by myself? Why do I assume people keep starting at me? Why did I allow inferiority complex to hit me down? Why can't I get up when I fall? Why can't I just be myself? Why do I like to complain this and that? Why do I like to inflict on all those bad habits? Why I keep breaking my promises? Why can't I be satisfied? Why must I always talk bad behind other people's backs? Why do I envy others for the things they have? Why do I ask so many questions? Honestly, I have too many untied knots deep inside. I have inexplainable answers. I hold onto too much pain. I can't breath and I'm dying. I have to save myself first. I believe I'm invincible, too. I need to go off now. I'm heading my way to heaven now. I'm creating a space borders for myself. I will need to be a better off human. I will need to. I just need to. I want my mama, papa, sheng and guo to rejoice over me, too. I want to hear claps of goods. I want the bad to lose. Yes they will win. The good will win the war. Forever and ever and ever and ever more. Call me a Fool for a Fool I am and a Fool I will always be In my adolescents I packed my possessions into a bagand set out on a journeyto discover the destiny awaiting me wide-eyed naive a foolish little girl brimming with hope starved for adventure often too busy daydreaming to watch my wandering step dare I lose my footing or find there is no ground to stand upon only space to fall It seems I have beaten you to the punch there is no ledge from which to push me for I long since stepped over its edge Now I plummet endlessly caught in this limbo of a free fall where I learn my lessons the hard way while doomed to repeat my mistakes You burned me but I leapt back into the fire She scarred me but I left my wounds exposed They suffocate me but I am holding my breath and praying that when I reach the bottom of this chasm I will land on both my feet and saunter away from this pilgrimage understanding better the World beyond a Fool’s fate. Life, she took a deep breath and held it Left me standing at the crossroads waiting for the exhale That gale of hers that is supposed to show me the wayShe is turning blue in the facewhile I pace myself into tiny circles of self-doubt It is hard to wait for your queue when you have memorized your lines I am tired of staring at the back of a curtain Act One, Scene One! It is a tragedy we all know by heart The Merry Fool - played best by yours truly is too distracted by daydreams of What Could Beto notice the cliff from which she is about to fall Sometimes, they call that innocence but I am too old for such optimism This is a low budget production There are no stuntmen, no safety nets to save me now Instead, I prowl the borders of a self-made ground zero until the curtain falls and the stage lights pale I am standing at the crossroads of yet another new beginning I am waiting for Life to exhale. Silence. I need silence. I have one of those minds that jump from thought to thought as easily as a bird flies from treetop to treetop. My mind is always looking for a distraction: something to do, something to think, something to write, something to shout. If my environment is full of stimuli than my brain will try to hog every sounds, smell, texture, taste, and sight at once making it impossible for me to focus on just one thing. As a result, I must isolate myself from any and all outside influence in order to write. I need to be alone with my mental outline so that I may form the ideas into sentences, verses, rhymes. Twenty feet of clear floor space. I pace. I pace when I am on the phone. I pace when I am cooking dinner. I pace when I am brushing my damn teeth. When I write and watch out. I will feverishly trek miles into the same twenty feet of carpeting in my living room as I ponder the next verse of a poem. I will walk until I am weary. Then I will sit back down at the computer, reread what I have written, and promptly begin to pace again despite the fact that my legs are sore and my feet are screaming for a rest. I don't know why I do this. Perhaps it's buried deep within my subconscious that exists the notion that if I move my physical being than my mental being will do the same. If I am exercising the body than the mind will follow and I will finally find the perfect metaphor to squeeze into verse three. FULL-STOP.