MONOSACCHARIDE: The simple sugar.

I got home a day earlier, and today I managed to meet up with 2 of the longest lasting, most treasured friends I have.

More importantly, I’ve also met up with the 2 aunts who brought me up till I was 7, one of whom lives in Japan now and I usually see only during Hari Raya.

I shall not continue this post because this whole leaving-everything-behind deal is starting to make me feel really sad.

The last thing I need is for you to impose on me your theories as to why I am shrewd and not conforming to what you feel is healthy. So fine, think what you may, that it was out of repulse of one side’s hurtful flaws and a couple of bad experiences that must have wounded me pretty deep, whatever, or that I watch too much TV, whatever, seriously man, whatever. Just keep it to yourself. Do not keep reminding me. Stop trying to figure me out. I haven’t done it myself so I don’t see why you should. If you really must, do not do it at my expense. I am happy where I am. I am happy ignorant and confused and stagnant. All I know is that I am here because I chose to be here. Not because I was trapped in a corner and suffocating and desperate to be saved like you think.

Maybe I am in denial. I don’t know. Maybe, who cares, I certainly do not. It does me good that I do not think about it and that I deny according to my fancy. I do not think about it because I do not want to have this figured out just as of yet, meaning I do not wish to listen to your overwhelming opinions as you attempt to explain my life and my choices. I am young, I am reckless, I am careless, and I love it like that because it is undeniably easier that way. I am very comfortable with not having to wage war with the demons in my head just as so I can once again own a sad piece of terrain on your land. I am very comfortable with letting myself fall onto whichever side of the fence. Do not make it seem like the grass patch on your field is greener in comparison because I highly doubt you’ve climbed this opaque wall to see that other patch of grass and walk on it and lay on it and smell the dew on it the next morning like I have.

You cannot see through walls like Superman, can you? And hearsay does not count either because it does not do anyone, or anything, justice.

You choose to love what I love too, can you not understand that I love them for the same reasons too? Is it the male ego that hinders your acceptance that a seemingly inferior class is preferred over yours when by right, society gives you and your kind the throne?

Do you know that this experience has taught me more about myself than a whole army of men ever could? Have you thought about the fact that maybe I am truly in love with this new world, and not because I was left with no choice of alternative routes to salvation? Don’t you think it is possible that I have fallen in love through the course of my journey and not because I made up my mind to do just that before I began?

It is possible, is it not?

All that I ask from you is that you give me the benefit of the doubt. I am not sure myself, I am anything but clear-headed. But having negative mentalities like yours and churning such pessimistic ideas will not help either. Let the answers come to me naturally, let me explore and learn, truth will surface in due time, and when that happens, we will discuss. I will talk.

For now let me be.

Don’t you realise that it is people like you who say the things you said the reason why I cannot be proud of this, and instead hide it like it was some kind of embarassing, sick flaw? So much for encouraging me to be open, really. You only make me feel faulty and inept.

“Oh fuck off Mark. It’s not my job to make you a better man and I don’t give a shit if I’ve made you a better man. It’s not a fucking woman’s job to be consumed and invaded and spat out so that some fucking man can evolve.”

-Jenny, The L Word Season 2 Episode 11.

I am incredibly misunderstood by many, I realise. Especially those I have only just met. What makes that ok for me is probably the fact that the ones who loved me then love me even more now, and would probably love me still years down the road.

To the select few who have offended me by falling out of love with me in the course of the friendship, I daresay you lose out. I am one to better myself and if you would have just stayed a little longer to see it through, you would have gained more than what you stood to lose.

I am back from the salon. I am tired from a hard day’s work and (a lack of) sleep that is seemingly impossible to catch up with. I have been reading Ash’s short stories and I realise I miss writing. I miss feeling. It is terrifying to let myself feel now. Everything’s been swept and tucked away into a bottle. I am waiting for the glass to explode onto the keyboard. My keyboard has three hundred and seventy alphabets and keys. I cannot imagine a man’s affection for a woman could ever compare with the connection that is made when a woman is affectionate for another. I am possibly homophobic when I look into the mirror. So much so that I have looked at myself lesser of late. But I am engulfed in your feminine prowess everytime I look back into your eyes.

I miss writing.

I will be your sunshine through the rain. In return, will you promise me solid ground?

We could be complimenting jigsaw pieces. Or our lives could.

I think this calls for a trip to the salon.

So tell me, what is the damn point of me going down this very unnecessarily terrifying new route, that might or might not be of worth to me in the long run, if my new encounters are simply manifestations of what I’ve stuck through before, minus a dick?

I came this far because I thought a change was in order. I took a huge step for myself in a very risky direction just as so I can put a definite stop to tiring old ways. But you, you might just be proof that the devil indeed comes in every shape, size, and apparently, gender too.

And me, I’m just living proof that no matter which angle you bend the damn arrow, players will still be just players, and girls who are attracted to players (and only players) will still be just that.

You may have just ruined my last remaining bit of faith in humankind. This is dreadful, I swear. Do you see the gravity of this?!

I can’t stop this thing short, that’ll be lame. But I won’t play either, cause then that’ll defeat the purpose of you in the first place. So this is what I am going to do. I am going to start being honest. So brutally honest. No more pretense, no more hiding. Everything’s going to come out, and then I’m going to demand for an answer, and if it’s a no, I am moving on. I may find you hot, true, but please remember, I still hold both cards in my hands. I can switch anytime I like and you’d be forgotten faster than you can say gay.

I have also adopted a no return policy of late, to ensure space for newer, fresher stock; and I dare say I have been keeping at that rather well.

And you… You better start thinking hard about what you really mean to say cause the next wish that you make? Well you might just get it, beautiful.

Sidenote, Zouk was terrific. So was Marco V. It’s now 7.41am. Goodnight world.

It does not make me any less of a person just because I am open about my affection and adoration of some people. Discussing my feelings keeps me reminded of my standards and my principles. A materialistic and highly practical person such as myself needs constant encouragement to appreciate people for more than just what I stand to benefit from them. Besides letting a beautiful person be aware of his beauty and making him feel good about himself (which I love doing), I am also setting an example for myself to follow.

There is also a stark difference between being desperate and nostalgic. Desperate is the fool who sleeps with the chick he meets around the next bend simply because he couldn’t get no other. Nostalgic is the romantic who loves the demons from his past because he acknowledges the fact that though in present he feels agonised, it is the same being that used to bring him bliss and happiness. Nostalgic is also the charming idealist who doesn’t rush the future and sweep old pains under the rug, but one who takes his time to cry, heal and calm himself before he bravely moves on to paint entirely new pictures for himself; With no pathetic intention whatsoever to achieve something similar to what he had before, a replica identical enough in nature to be made a replacement, simply because he was gracious enough to accept, forgive, but not forget.

In fact, I think the loser here is the one who boasts about loving his partner ‘to death’ to some, only to deny making that statement to ladies he intends to fuck and then going further to make claims that he has never liked/ stopped liking her for whatever reason; When in truth, he doesn’t even give a damn if he has her or not.

I have decided that I will revert to wearing my heart on my sleeve once more, and that I will pity the ones who choose to trade meaningless ego with their souls. Go on asshole, you can keep your bloody pride, and while I float around comfortably, safely, in the warm understanding and affection that my friends cacoon me in from being able to connect with my experiences as beings with real emotions, I hope you eat yourself to death in your lonely confusion and painful masquerades.

12 hours and 2724 words later, I am reborn.

Thank you to the friends who have stayed by my side. The ones who were never too busy for me despite holding down full-time jobs,
who never got bored of me despite my repetitive rambling,
who have never taken me lightly,
who slapped me silly when I needed to be slapped,
who said what had to be said even if they’re the toughest to put across,
who were brave and faithful enough to be the bearer of bad news,
who would never turn me down on any given day,
who could find a million other better things to do but instead chose to stick through.

You stayed by my side for no other reason except that you are my friends. True friends.

Limewire totally tricked me, so for today we’re back to season 2, episode 10.

Life’s not a scoreboard, whether you win, lose or draw, it still goes on. So go ahead, argue with the refs, change the rules, cheat a little, take a break, and tend to your wounds. But play. Play. Play hard, play fast. Play loose and free. Play as if there’s no tomorrow. It’s not whether you win or lose, it’s how you play the game.

When it’s ready, the world will slow down too.

“You’re a sweet kid, but you don’t know what it’s like to have something change you in your soul.” 

“I do, I wish I didn’t, but I do.”

“Don’t let it change you.”

On a little girl with self-inflicted severe internal damage due to a chromosomal disorder and an inability to feel pain,

“Everybody wants a life without pain, but look at this… She should be on post-its, to remind people that pain is there for a reason.”

Amazing songs are those that make absolutely no literal sense to you even if you listen to it a thousand times over. By the 1001th time, you would have butchered the lyrics so many more ways that you’d be confused as hell and you start to doubt even the spelling of 3-letter long words. 

And then one fine day, something happens and it’s either your roof or your floor. Your roof comes down on you, along with the rest of the sky, or your floor crumbles and you’re falling and falling and falling all the way down to nowhere exactly.

 Then a good friend plays that same insensible song from your Ipod and he blasts in on your car stereo while you’re driving. First you feel annoyed cause you already have to deal with your suffocatingly tight chest, now you have to deal with a crazy assed friend who yells meaningless lyrics at the top of his lungs too.

2 lines into the song and you catch his eye in the rear view mirror while you stop at the light, and you realise he has fire in his eyes. You realise he isn’t playing the song randomly. You have 1491 songs in your Ipod and this particular song was chosen for you.

 So you sing along anyway. 

2 verse and a chorus later you finally breathe again after almost 48 hours of oxygen deprivation.

An amazing song lets you cry and breathe at the same time, when you were so close to losing all hope of ever finding sanctuary.

An amazing song is one that you won’t ever understand until you experience that same level of despair, until you reach the same plane of emotional state as the one the song writer was on when he penned down the lyrics.

Do not bother googling for meaning of classics; Great writers will never tell you what their words are about. It’s not that they don’t want to explain to you their stories, they just can’t. If they could, if they were even slightly capable of being so direct about their feelings, they would have written cheap hip hop club hits instead. 

You know hip hop, they take everything as it is, at face value. When sex is just pumping and music’s just to set the beat for that pump. It makes everything ugly.

Oasis balances out the ugly.

That amazing song didn’t help me solve much, but it jumpstarted my road to recovery, when before, I didn’t think it was even possible.

“Players only love you when they’re playing.”

You wanna gamble, you gotta be prepared to lose. Cause even the luckiest don’t walk into the casino 30 times in 30 days with 30 straight wins.

“It was only a smile, nothing more. It didn’t make everything all right. It didn’t make anything all right. Only a smile. A tiny thing. A leaf in the woods, shaking in the wake of a startled bird’s flight.

But I’ll take it. With open arms. Because when spring comes, it melts the snow one flake at a time, and maybe I just witnessed the first flake melting,” adapted from The Kite Runner, by Khaled Hosseini.

It is with that same faith in spring, unparalled optimism for warmer days, and maybe, just maybe, some sort of desperation to salvage what little is left; That I hold through winter and not forsake the ice.