exotic creature

THIS, they whisper, is Exhibit A:

  1. my eyes are glossy from staring at the 50k word document on my laptop, my homework shoved aside but not forgotten. how could i ever forget what killed me? everything that kills me makes me wish i was dead.
  2. a tear slips out of my eyes as i cook my own dinner. there aren’t any onions on the chop board, just my determination. the microwave timer has never turned slower.
  3. i am breathing so fucking hard even as my mum is screaming for me to wash the dishes and my hand is a fucking aspen leaf as it trembles but why can’t i die?
  4. i sleep till twelve on saturdays. i reply 7am messages on whatsapp with a sflr. then i fall back to bed, my eyes shut. the ceiling is still as plain as it was when i was eleven.
  5. i don’t fuck with racism or ableism the way my classmates do. the teachers smile at them more anyway.
  6. maybe we should wait till we graduate. so we can focus on our studies. your message flashes through my mind and laughter is bitter on my tongue when i realize that you’re better off without me. sometimes i wish i could hold your hand, but i remember you have your eyes on a girl who isn’t me. am i selfish for wanting you to myself even when we agreed to see how it worked out?
  7. i was never worth it.
  8. every romantic encounter was always met with silence. it still kills me to think that i longed for a break up over whatsapp. maybe this is what commitment issues look like.
  9. i open the fridge every day when i come back home, even if i know mum hasn’t done the grocery shopping.
  10. i haven’t felt happy in two and a half years.

Protected: sunday’s tastebud thriller

This content is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:

and the sea will swallow you whole

my heart is as heavy as my schoolbag and the guilt from yet-to-be-forged test papers. these days slipping into my depression is as easy as sleeping into my problems. look on the bright side they say, so i do. my australian friend sleeps six hours on a regular basis but here in singapore i sleep four hours. (three in the morning and one in lectures because my eyes are weighed down by the weariness bore from days of juggling a test every other day. my stomach churns like the sea deranged, slosh slosh slosh and i have to press my lips together lest oceans pour out of my eyes and rivers up my parched throat.) dreaming is a foreign concept but when i do i see quiet, hear the way the sky is blue and the grass, green, and i can feel the sweetness in the air and taste the joy in my heart.

when i come to, my pillow is damp.

i plunge headfirst into schoolwork.

Protected: THREE DAYS TO CURE MY PERENNIAL DEPRESSION

This content is password protected. To view it please enter your password below: