oats are 100% whole grain and a natural source of carbs and fiber. true story.

May 12, 2010

Last week I spent four days in the hospital. I was not eating properly and I kept puking until I got dehydrated to the point where my legs simply collapsed while I was in the shower. Somehow I managed to crawl my way out of the bathroom to get dressed, grab some money and my car keys, and drive myself to the hospital. I imagine that was what Peachy Carnehan must have felt like when he journeyed back to Lahore. Alone, weak, and going insane. At that moment I started to feel like I couldn’t take what life had been throwing at me all these years. I genuinely wanted to give up on everything. And I couldn’t understand why it hurt when there was absolutely nothing there. Pain isn’t palpable. It isn’t something you can grasp and simply throw away to end your misery. It’s not something you can yell at for it to go away. And this fucker was different. I couldn’t “comfort” it with food like some girls tend to do when they’re sad. I couldn’t drown it with alcohol, couldn’t soothe it with shopping, couldn’t erase it with drugs, couldn’t forget it with sex. Everytime I read a book there’d be some word or statement in it that only served to remind me of what I was trying to supress. I didn’t want to cry, and I only ever do when I’m angry or extremely happy, and I never could when I was sad. But when I drove myself to the hospital, willing my legs to function and my whole being to calm down, I cried.

But I was wrong. I had picked myself up and decided that I needed medical attention. I didn’t want to give up after all. If I really did, I would have stayed inside the bathroom, cold, nauseated, and alone in their huge house while my family went on their jolly little way sightseeing in East Asia. Having fun. Being rich. Being obliviously happy without me.

On the fourth day, the day I got out of the hospital, they called me from the airport to pick them up. I was at home watching TV for once. And so naturally, my parents didn’t think anything had happened to me. They didn’t have to know. I didn’t ask about them, they didn’t ask about me. We’re a hassle-free bunch.

I still had a lot of questions though. Like why I hadn’t been included in the trip, why I had to do all those chores while they gave the maids two weeks off, why they don’t ever really talk to me, why it has been years since they held me close. But maybe that’s just asking too much.

I was at the balcony, scratching at my left hand where the IV had been inserted when my mum entered my room. Your room doesn’t smell of cigarattes, how odd, she said.

I wasn’t home for four days, I wanted to tell her. But I didn’t.

She left a bunch of shopping bags on my bed and left the room. I wanted to say thank you, but I couldn’t. She was gone.

I stared at my new shoes, my new bags, my new watch, my new dresses. They were all nice.

I guess, I thought, this is enough.

 

——————————————

[ day 1: ” favourite song (at the moment) ” Unison - Bjork ]

interbellum.

May 11, 2010

A criminal and an opportunist are leading in the race to Malacanang.

How thick can people get?

Estrada has a criminal record and I truly believe he is stupid. He cannot answer sensible questions asked by college students without making a fool of himself. Have people forgotten the fact that they had him overthrown from his corrupt presidency in the last decade?

Aquino, however, has no record at all. People need to be able to tell the difference between a clean record and a BLANK RECORD. Zero laws passed as Senator. His list of achievements? His famous family.

I have nothing good to say about them. And either of these two could be the President of the Philippines in a few hours.

Maybe moving to New Zealand is a good idea after all.

 

you can have my heart or we can share it like the last slice.

April 27, 2010

Earcandy: Higher than the Stars | The Pains of Being Pure at He–
Real candy: Meiji Coffeebeat. It’s scarily addictive.

Sorry I haven’t been replying to e-mails, humans. I just want to be alone with lifeless objects right now. This little poop of a story is written in such a way to bore you. Natsuki is trying to convince you she’s nothing but.

—
Characters are owned by Sunrise.
—
 

    art.

The bare and white walls plainly stated the message as soon as she entered the place.

The tap wasn’t even dripping. No comforting echoes of domestic life.

The place looked larger. There were discoloured patches on the polished wooden floor. It was like a map for all the furniture that once stood. This is where the side bureau was. The couch was over there. The only two dining chairs we ever used were opposite each other right here.

She refused to blink them away. Hardening her arm muscles for self-control, she strode to the apartment’s last breath. The book case was almost bare. It had been filled with college texts and classic literature once.

Only one book was left. Fear of Flying. It was untouched, still in shrink wrap, suffocating. It was in English. No wonder it was abandonded.

Books in English were hard to come by in this country. It was most likely a a gift from the US for Shi–

She tore through the bedroom. Not even the door creaked. The fluffed pillows and the smell of fresh sheets were beckoning her tired body. Boy, was she tired all of a sudden.

Her head hit the pillow and she closed her eyes. Tiny rivers cut across her temples.

When she opened her eyes, a blurry figure emerged from the door.

“Natsuki-san,” an empathetic male voice spoke.

She was caught red handed. She could stain the white wall with her handprint as if it was an Indian pony–she was the enemy and she had been knocked down by the hollow apartment.

That’s what she was. A bunch of empty rooms. Home is where the he–

She told herself that she was bored. And she told Reito that too when he found her. Just bored is all. There’s nothing else for me to do, so? He mutely nodded and informed her that he had to lock the place up.

She left and took the book with her.

She was bored but she never accepted invitations from her friends. But she did go out a lot, by herself. Looking bored. Tokyo gets dull you know? She thought with an actual huff. For me, at least, she added almost graciously. This city had life and knew how to live it.

She rode her bike to the shopping district. Her face was hot inside her helmet. She wished she had a backpack. Her back felt bare without a passenger.

She stopped at a parking lot. She strapped the helmet on the bike this time instead of carrying it along. It had been in her precaution to bring it with her sometimes when she was with her companion. It was a potential weapon if anybody dared to mess with her. No stranger usually did. But her friends, however, were another story.

As she strolled to her destination immersed in arbitrary thought, the loud botiques, the infotainment, and the traffic tried their best to be heard–to sell, to inform, to step on it, grandma! Get your European trash outta my Evo’s way!

But she couldn’t just very well smash their heads with a helmet, she shrugged as the thought occured. Maybe just metaphorically, she thought absently.

Maybe.

Only her friends received a phone call. Since when were they so close, huh? She inwardly snarled.

Little black clouds were hovering above her head as she continued to walk.

A certain digital poster finally caught her eye. It wasn’t huge. It was right next to the sidewalk. Shibaraku, a Kabuki play taking place in Kyoto. Come to Kyoto if you want to be swept back in time, to step back into the beautiful past…

Why not? she thought absently. The past was great.

She recognised an obscure film noir and bought a ticket.

The film was compelling. It was set in the streets. It was life in the drug-abused veins of Beijing. She liked it.

The small theatre would occasionally be bathed by darkness as the film rolled on. The giant screen reflected across green irises like the movie was playing on micro TV. Her eyes swept over the seats in front of her. The couple on the fifth row were kissing.

Maybe they got bored too, she vigorously agreed with the thought. Just like me. Me, I’m bored. I got nobody here.

Her lips twitched but she didn’t notice.

Her reality was much more obscure and opaque by now. Subtlety was in her blood–she was Japanese. And right now even she couldn’t get the context of her own thoughts. She hadn’t realised that a mental cataract was forming.

That, and the mounting glaciers around her he–

 

——

That’s the end, dammit.

Dear all the Johns/Janes out there,

April 25, 2010

 Let me tell you some thing about Alice: she’s a demanding person.

Never step on her shoes. Never touch her hair (except in bed). Don’t force her to eat meat (though seafood is fine). Treat her to froyo if she needs cheering up. Kiss her when you see her (it cools her down after a heated argument with her folks). If you’re borrowing one of her books, wash your hands before you read it. Give her vanilla milkshake if she’s not on a diet. Tell her she’s getting fat when she asks even though she’s rail thin. Buy her chili sauce if she’s craving for it. Leave her alone if she feels like writing. Don’t ask her out if your curfew’s too early for her liking. Serve her coffee when she’s doing (your) homework. Don’t try to control her. Never distract her when she’s reading. Give her a break if she needs space. Don’t repeat what you say, it annoys her. Talk to her when she’s drunk dialling you. Pick her up when she wants you to pick her up. Give her everything she wants and try your best to get it when she wants it. It may sound a lot but believe me when I say that it’s all worth it. She might seem demanding but believe me, fulfilling her whims is the least you can do for her. She’ll take you to places you’ll never forget. She’ll teach you lessons you’ve always been afraid to learn. She’ll take you by surprise one day and give you that thing you’ve always wished for. She’ll embarrass herself just to please you. Most of all, without ever looking back, she will break the rules. Just for you.
And she’ll do your homework (just kidding! a pair of shoes should cover a month’s worth, haha). Treat her like a princess. She’ll treat you like shit. But she will take care of your heart like a mother cares for her child.

Don’t hurt her, please. And don’t let her do any more homework. I’ve let her suffer enough.

- Maxine, the Super Ex Girlfriend

I’ve never cried so hard in my life. I’ve just had one of those moments when you cry and laugh at the same time. It’s killing me, but it feels great. Just when you think you’ve fucked up every relationship you’ve had, one of them calls you up from thousands of miles away to tell you that you didn’t.

And am I really that demanding? And cold-hearted? Haha..

Closure. Finally.

Fuck, this is too much. My tears need to STOP, goddamnit.

exit here.

April 7, 2010

Earcandy: Idioteque | Radiohead
Mood: high on extraterrestrial cannabis

No one knows, when he places a marijuana cigarette to his lips, whether he will become a joyous reveller in a musical heaven, a mad insensate, a calm philosopher, or a murderer…”

                                        - Harry J. Anslinger

How do you escape?
Is it your banana soy? (grins), your electro-psychedelic X? your impromptu sexual tryst? your violence in painting?
Anything will fucking do. I just hope to god you’re not listening to Fireflies by Owl City. What are you, 12? Read the content warning and get out of here.

 

I’m teetering precariously on murderer.