I carry it in my heart

Today as I walked home for good, from Shu's place since Zoe came back, I teared up as I passed the Barclay's bike stand right outside the lobby. I longed to see the abnormally large, looming and comforting figure waiting there patiently for me. The body language, changing upon sight of me. Arms wide outspread. The utter look of amazement, delight and love as I walked closer into view. The person who is now forever lost, living only in the confines of my memory. My love, that still reaches its curling tendrils out only to grasp nothingness.

I once heard a friend say that the length of weeks taken to get over a love is proportional to the number of months one was with the person. I will give myself 5 and a half weeks more to mourn and to forgive myself.

Going Gentle into that Good Night

I have just come back from the bathroom, where I spent 5 minutes heaving up nothing but water and phlegm. All I can say is, thank goodness it was not food or stomach acid. I have spent the entirety of today lying half prone on the couch in Shu Wen's place, reading Jonathan Coe's The Terrible Privacy of Maxwell Sim. I spent last night at her place, and will probably be hiding out here for the next few days. Though a far cry from the comforts of home, it is a pretty damn good substitute as I still hide in my own head, although there are 3 other people in the same room as me.

My thoughts feel discordant today, a combination of many ongoing and half completed ruminations on various subjects. I thought of Shu's father and his new(er) life with his second wife, prompted by seeing his photo in her room, and the scrawlings of her young step-sister in her room. I thought about Christoph (of course) after seeing Joel and Hui Min together. I thought about having hours and hours ahead, and no concrete structure. I thought about these really nice t-shirts I want to get from Oasis. I thought about my parents, I thought about life. I thought about the state of my health (I have asthma today, and a nasty jetlag induced headache). I thought about tomorrow, when A New Chapter Begins and A Door Closes. I thought, and thought, and stayed within my head.

I stay within myself too often for my own good. My thoughts too varied, fleeting and yet oppressive in their tone. So much for anti-depressants slowing down one's mind.

Freedom

One of the supposed perks of moving away from home and staying by yourself (figuratively, flatmates never quite equate to family) is that you are given the freedom to do whatever the hell you want, whenever the hell you want. To me however as I've learned from being away from home this few years, it also means the freedom to fall deeper into whatever psychological abyss one had carved out. It means the freedom to fuck up your life, and the freedom to stay in bed all day and be depressed, because there is no one there to come and ease you out and back into the land of the living.

I am deathly afraid of the freedom that has been accorded to me, especially now upon returning to London (at least the weather is cheery today).

Last night I fell into a deep distress when I woke up (jetlag and stomach problems) and could not get back to sleep. After a call from my mother, and a skype call with my father after, I managed to fall back to sleep and woke up at about 9am today. Truly there is nothing that can beat the love and comfort of one's parents.

For all of you out there, no matter what deity you believe in, please pray for me. I have never fallen into such a deep well before, and need all the strength and love I can muster to pull myself out.

Back to Reality

Tomorrow in the early afternoon, 12:45pm to be precise, my flight leaves back for London. It is something I am really not looking forward to, but not really something I can help either.

Hugging my brother and trying to tell him that I'm going back tomorrow wasn't easy either.

Despite my misgivings, London is pulling me back into its gritty, tough-love arms again.

Like a North Wind Whistling Down a Sky

Although arguably pseudo-scientific, this quiz result seems rather apt for now.

I just transferred a bunch of my Dad's songs onto my computer, good old stuff I grew up with when I was a child. I need neutral, unangsty and especially unlovey songs now.

Cold, dry, oatmeal

Last night I met up with some old classmates from .9. When the night was over, I took a cab ride back with Chun Wui. The cab driver was initially chatty, talking about a transvestite prostitute who always trawled the same junction (between Raffles Hotel, Raffles City Shopping Centre, Chijmes and the new Carlton hotel) to good nasi lemak in Changi Village and Boon Lay. When the conversation with the cab driver finally died down, Chun Wui and I started to talk about people we knew in general, and how from the past 2 years since school ended they had changed.

It got me thinking in a way (of course it did, for people are innately egoistic and navel gazing) of myself, especially in the state I now find myself in. Chun Wui commented that I, compared to others, did not seem to have changed very much. I agreed, but at the same time replied that psychologically, I have undergone so much more changes that even I can't quite conceive the extent of it myself. I have changed, in ways that I couldn't help.

I know for a fact that I have become more scared, more fearful of life and everything it entails. I have become less receptive to change, even though I know now with even more certainty that nothing in life is certain. I panic more. I withdraw inwards into myself more often. I have learnt how to hide it in plain sight, which is perhaps not a very good thing. I have become more pessimistic about myself. I question more. I fear being alone more. I fear myself more. I know for certain however, that the only thing holding me back is myself. If I can transcend that, I can do anything. That thought terrifies me with it's potential and abilities, and at the same time makes me more anxious because I really only have myself to blame for wasted dreams.

Life is a journey, not a sprint, and this is something I need to repeatedly remind myself of.

I am a drum

I feel as in my insides have been hollowed out: flesh, blood and tissue gingerly scooped out with a metal spoon, leaving the insides smooth as a water battered pebble. In lieu of solid matter my insides are filled with emptiness and air, somehow yet still dense enough to prop up bones, skeletal structure and skin. I feel that if I tap my fingers lightly against my chest, a deep resonant sound will emanate. I am empty.