on to my fifth heartbreaker

i had heartbreaker #4 and heartbreaker #5 hold my heart in their palms and leave it behind in their pockets to wash. but heartbreaker #4 is a story for another day.

heartbreaker #5 texts me when he is down or when he is in need of support and i know that he does this but i am so weak when he croons my name on the keyboard, saccharine sweet like how i like my romance. he simpers, he begs, he sends me smiley faces and he punctuates his texts with casual concern and titillating trills about his day like he knows. with friendship lingering on the tip of my tongue, i give him my hand, my heart and my bank account.

heartbreaker #5 is surrounded by his multitude of friends, each congratulating him and thumping him on the back, raucous yells of i’m so proud of you! and i suddenly feel inferior in my dumpy school skirt when i look at his gang, all slicked back hair and shapely almond eyes. my market florist flowers, arranged by the kind old auntie who didn’t have the right bouquet wrapping stands limply beside the lush boxes of roses in colors of the sunset that make his dimpled grin even more ethereal.

heartbreaker #5 smiles at me when i stumble over my congratulations and fumble around awkwardly, going in for a half hug half handshake. he pulls back, snakes his arm around me and pulls me in for a hug. when it is over i realize i am shaking, but i will my voice to be even and ask for a picture, together. his teeth is on full display as his eyes crinkle sympathetically. he rejects me.

i say it’s okay and avoid the lingering glances of pity sent my way.

heartbreaker #5 makes me feel like a charity case, like every smile he bestows upon me is a donation of his rich charms for a girl too poor of them. he makes me feel used, like i am his twenty third choice pick that he only remembers as the girl he knows is willing to do anything for him because she thinks that they have friendship between them. it feels stupid to say it now but i felt happy and safe in his arms, his hands holding me close against his chest with my cheek pressed against his neck. for a moment i we were one, but he drew back and the illusion was gone. i still feel the ghost of his breath tickling my face.

heartbreaker #5 texts me when i reached home twenty five minutes before midnight, my chest eerily heavy but also so empty.  he calls me by name and i remember how my name slips off his tongue, easy the way i am to him. this goodnight text comes after i tried not to burst into tears on the streets and i want to tell him that i didn’t enjoy myself, but i didn’t have the heart to.

 

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love doesn’t make you blind: desperation does 

i don’t want you to love me: i want you to want to love me

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paradigm shifts

hj* and i were boo boo the fools but taking the long route meant trekking through these hipster places-and appreciating what singapore has to offer at 4pm: authentic local coziness punctuated with the tang of local dialects and coffeeshop talk in the air. pair new with old for juxtaposition, but in that moment, all i could think of was a union of modernism and tradition like and yin and yang, two entities so different but also so natural on each other’s skins. The sun fires the air around me and i can feel the telltale moisture of sweat running down my back but i have never felt more at home than right now, middle aged uncles and aunties with their teh-os and gao sui dais dotted around instagram worthy murals, carefree and alive.

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* name censored

anyway, this was on a trek at one north (timbre+) and pictures will be up on my writing instagram, which i have finally linked to after 681982 years of procrastination(!!!)

i think i am depressed, i whisper, as if speaking louder will make it come t r u e. i don’t want to be depressed, not when it means that i have the urge to cry over everything or if it means that i worry a hole in my lip even when i am too apathetic to do anything on most days.

they say that depression is a war. if the soviet union could make a comeback against the winning blitzkrieg tactics of germany, who is to say that my soul will never be free of depression? winning the war is of no use. some 70 years ago, my people were free from the shackles of colonialism. today i am still haunted by colonialism, and i watch the way colonialism still bounds this great continent to the rock bottom and it hurts to see my people struggle. we need no chains to make slaves of people.

victory is only ever sweet once. the bitter aftertaste never really leaves.

have you really won?

 

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.

newton’s first law

newton’s first law states that an object will remain at rest or in uniform motion in a straight line unless acted upon by an external force. it may be seen as a statement about inertia, that objects will remain in their state of motion unless a force acts to change the motion.

maybe this was what newton meant:

  1. depression keeps me gutted and motionless. some days i wait for mother to rip the covers off my body but it never happens, because i am a Big Girl who has to wake up on her own. instead i lay still and stop breathing. maybe if i pretend i’m dead long enough i might not have to face the world: too big too loud too much.                   it never works.
  2.  somehow my fingers stay stuck on the twitter tab, no matter if four tests six deadlines seven thousand fucking expectations  are looming over my head. nineteen doggos in and my will to die has not decreased.
  3. swallowing becomes so fucking hard when my skirt becomes tighter every day.
  4. no one understands when i say i am too depressed to eat/sleep/do my homework/continue to be a slave to the government. the glances sent my way are pitying and suddenly death seems to be a viable option.
  5. why does everyone make depression the subject of their mental health awareness project when they don’t give a fuck? i am not your token character to fill up a diversity quota. fuck off.
  6. how much force is is required to overcome the inertia of this body?
  7. i don’t know. i dropped physics.

winter wonderland

the ghost of your lips against mine is foreign as it is familiar, not unlike the feeling of whispered forevers slipping out of your mouth when you think your hoodie is muffling your words. take me back to when you’d pull my sweater tighter round me and send me off with promises of /see you later/s, let me relive when you’d flop down beside me to scrub the dishes because no one else would, (the look in your eyes told me that it wasn’t the truth) so we’d wash away in comfortable silence, elbows bumping. i am a girl of the tropics, fiery skin freezing up over under 5°C air and howling winds, but you always thawed it when you shuffled closer beside me, body heat seeping into mine till my insides were warm and fuzzy.
i loved you. i fell in love with you. i love you. i fell out of love with you.