There's nothing interesting about me, except the fact that I really should stop switching blogs.

Another pretentious way of saying "Bitch, please."

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I was once an eloquent bloke; words, like dabs of thick, gooey paint squeezed across a grubby palette; life, through my squinted eyes, seeded my mind. The strokes rhymed, the colors proved to be an impeccable match - I was inspired by an end that was faultless as it was complete.

My life began to keep its record through my chosen form of expression - words. Every minute alone was an opportunity for my mind to run through the scripts that constructed my life, examining every loophole and abolishing every doubt with a truth - a truth so comforting that settles within my knowing. Below the sift would sit a moment of clarity, one where the lies are weeded and the truth inevitably hurts.

It was my steroid, a pump of adrenaline into my fingers as the words crystallized on the tip and appeared before me, shepherded by a single flashing cursor. For quite some time, it was my sole resort to making sense of everything that was happening.

Life as I knew it came in 26 alphabets, punctuated by silent pauses of reverie.

And then I went ahead and fell in, and out of love. The one, single person - one who for the past 18 years of my life never knew or mattered in any way possible to me - stepped into my life and turned everything I knew into a mess worth mocking. My accustomed routine was rudely interrupted, disheveled and debacled; my usual haunts haunted me with a deprived longing - I was in every sense crippled.

But even with my life flipped like a failed sunny side up, crashed into a halt and left for passers-by to stare at, everything, somehow - in some weird, unexplainable way - made sense. The pain was inexorably clear, and I was severely aware to the truth that was as ugly as it was fruitless.

I knew, for once in my life, without the aids of words and punctuations, I knew. I knew so hard it hurt, and god... did it hurt bad.

But I'll let you in on a little secret. Maybe I'm built to hurt, maybe I'm not, but it was, without a doubt, the best feeling I've ever had in the entire of my 19 year-old life - to love, to know, and to hurt.
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A certain someone once asked me who I was, what kind of person I'm described to be, the facades and the man behind them. To be honest, I didn't know who to be; the man I want that certain someone to see me as, the man I portray myself to be, or the man as I know me to be.

I was stumped, between the truth and everything else beside it.

So a fake email, a couple of naive friends and a night later, here's a little something I put together. It's nothing extraordinary, but I'm nothing extraordinary either.


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Everything is starting to make sense.

The boxes unopened; equations derived from another, everything, and I mean everything, is starting to piece itself together. The jigsaw has puzzled an overdue mystery. The final pieces have found it's belonging, and the picture that stands before me, it scares me.

It fucking scares me. The potential to hurt speaks to me more than a thousand, a trillion words, ever could, and that, that will break me. I am certain it will.

And when that happens, where will you be?

Where will all of you be?
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I feel like I'm not allowed, or rather, in no position to feel any pain, or anything at all.

After all, the technicalities are laid out before the rest of the world, and the picture is contrasted in black and white. The encounter was one that was brief. Succinctly sweet, yet enough to throw me into a spiral of painful clarity. I'm yanked out of this saccharine blur by a figurative pair of ugly glasses, and now the scenery before me feels as foreign as it is clear.

How do I, or am I even supposed, to react to the new found truth?

I think I'm not cut out for casual dating.

Even the term itself irks me. There is nothing casual about me, or dating, put together. I don't know how to hold back, I don't know how much to put in. I follow what the heart entails, and my heart works in ways some might describe as 'aggressive'. While everyone else is dipping their feet into the water, I fall straight in; heart first and head last.

I'm not making sense now, so I'll just put this home bound train of thoughts on hold.

I pray you'll be happy, that someone typical enough who can fit those picturesque shoes, will come walking straight into your life one day. I hope that you'll finally be acquainted with love one day, and the tint your eyes view the world through will take new meaning like it is supposed to. You deserve to be nothing less than happy, and you deserve no one less than the one who can make you the happiest. You deserve to live and love, and know so surely that you have at the same time.

I wish you love, I wish you your end of the day.

Take care, you. (F)
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Sanity is a strange game to play.

We think we've got it within our tightly-shut grasps; stranger to stranger, a knowing smile acknowledges. Control is ours to declare and rainbows sanitize the storm's aftermath.

Guess what? Think again.

There's no sanity to what this world has offered upon our platter. Silence has become our preferred form of communication, screams are engulfed by our desire to not. Wars are waged across the borders that fence the land we call home, yet ruthlessly tapped on for selfish, mostly personal, gains. Love has given way to the idea of love, like poets to rappers. Ordinary human beings weave across extraordinary circumstances, yet mediocrity looms like a common plague.

We breathe the air, polluted by environmentalists who evangelize the extremity of a perfect world; we sing the songs for the rhythmic solutions they provide. Denial has become a prerequisite to prolong the smile that hangs across the faces of many, and facades are accessorized to prove a fashionably powered statement.

People live, people die. Yet our lives continue to need living, our dreams unpublished. Drafts are kept folded and stuffed into our pockets, unaware of the state it'd otherwise have materialized in. We try as much as we fail, we fail as much as our beliefs will allow.

Who prosecutes the right from the wrong? Who answers the questions that drives our curiosity insane? Who stands by us, shoulders ready and arms stretched out, waiting in utmost patience for the end of the day?

You, I hope.
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"I’m just going to keep my eyes closed, because this is like that moment in the morning when you first wake up and you’re still half asleep and everything seems… things are possible, dreams come true and for that one moment between waking and sleeping, anything can be real. And then you open your eyes and it suddenly hits you and you realize that… I’m just going to keep my eyes closed."

I sniffed and teared and bawled to the last half hour of Grey's. I guess I really am intense after all.
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Kitty: God, Sarah, you can't even say it. Just say it, I can say it. I scared away our birth mother, I lost us a baby. Why didn't you guys just ask me how I was feeling, instead of this convoluted plan to get my mind off things?

Sarah: Well, to be fair, Kitty, you didn't seem like you wanted to talk about it.

Kitty: Well no, of course I didn't. I still don't. It's painful, and all of you scheming to keep me occupied isn't going to change that. And just for the record, your plan didn't work. The whole time I was revising your stupid proposal, I was beating myself up about Trish. It doesn't matter how much I try to keep myself busy. It isn't going to stop me from going through what I'm going through. I screwed up, plain and simple. It's just something I'm going to have to deal with.


I love Brothers & Sisters, don't you?
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Dear friends,

If you ever did or are planning to leave a tag on butchface's blog (read post below), please don't. I really appreciate the love but the finger will end up being pointed at my direction and for fuck's sake, I've graduated from secondary school three years ago - I don't play with tagboards anymore. Let the ugly cunt say whatever he wants, he doesn't know me at all to judge me. In fact, he doesn't know shit. Leave him be, he doesn't deserve your time.

Hugs and kisses,
Daniel
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I'm scared shitless.

The past weekend saw me pretty drugged up, attempting to bask in the legions of gay boys and Mariah Carey, and then failing pretty miserably anyway. The meds are fucking me up in the worst possible way, one which starts with the letter Z.

The flashbacks are getting more surreal each time it happens, the lapses tightening it's shift. I don't know what this is supposed to mean, to be remembering all the little snippets of our relationship in such vivid details it might as well have been technicolored. The memories are more haunting than they are bittersweet, and I have no intention of taking a stroll down memory lane. In fact, it's more like a go-cart race with faulty brakes and a penchant for speed down memory lane.

I don't know how to make it stop, or go away for that matter. I want it to, so badly, and I don't know how. The helpless itch is killing me, and my subconscious seems to dives right back without even giving me time to catch my breath. I need help, but I don't know that either.

I thought being in love was all about never truly knowing, but since when did that become a prerequisite for a broken heart?
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When love falls apart, and your life unceremoniously follows suit, there's a mandatory three-step dance that follows. There's the self-loathing when you question your role in every wrong committed; the grieving, unfortunately obligatory for a love lost, and then comes the healing bit which according to every book ever written, "takes time".

What the books forgot to mention, are the moments. The moments when in a split second, occurred by the slightest scent or sight, throws you from utter oblivion to an insane spiral back to square one in volumes unfit for the human heart. The flashbacks are cruelty at best, and the words to define what I feel for you are lost on my fingertips.

You won the break-up, hardly fair nor square, but you won anyway. You won before I even had a fighting chance, scratch that, I wasn't even given one. You stole my perception of perfection, and destroyed, along with me, the best 8 months of my life. You crossed my heart with lies, leaving me speechless and wounded beyond repair.

And with all that, you still have the cheek to ask me what I really want from you.

You will never know as clearly as I did 10 months ago as I do now.
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I slept most of today away, dreaming that I was in a play that took place in Malacca. I was Boy #3 and I kept going back and forth Singapore and Malacca because I forgot to bring my toothbrush.

The meds are seriously fucking me up.
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Someone, I can't remember who, but someone proposed this cynic-driven adage to me during my past month of pathetic. I was hopeful and hopeless, both painfully coexisting at the same time. I believed in the good, yet none was within my grasp. Yes, the adage - "Fake it till you make it". I shrugged it off, my last standing pride of honesty to others, much less myself, fiercely standing in the way of such an abomination.

But in sight of recent events, I see the point now. I see the truth that lies in those five words, I see the 'it' in "fake" and "make", I see the glass half full, I see the burden of the truth, and more than ever, I see the "L", "I" and "E" in "LIFE".

You, you and you. You destroyed me, in ways I never thought someone who loved me as much as you did could. You, on the other hand, threw me into this constant state of self-awareness to compensate for your lack of a personality, slowly slicing the little confidence I have left away as if I was a helpless kebab spinning into an overdone roast. And you, you were my last straw and you bent me so out of shape for your own selfish desires, your own little games and gains.

Perhaps, this is change. This is the change I need, none of that celibacy and waiting I forked on my plate a month ago. My life is at stake here, and I'm done letting all three of yours matter more than mine ever did. If I have to go through the rest of my years plating my pan seared lies around you, over you and under you, so be it; if anyone is ever going to destroy me - it's going to be me.

You know who you are, but here's the head start none of you deserved anyway.
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Gray clouds of steam rolled out of the kettle, two teabags anal-retentively armed in the porcelain teacups. The table is set for greatness; pink, white and hints of turquoise transformed the otherwise ancient kitchen island into a Barbie-worthy afternoon.

"How many sugar cubes?" He asked, his hands dipped midway into the sugar pot.

The empty chair stared back blankly at the boy.
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8 anal amy

I am dealing. Extremely slowly and in my own terms, but I am dealing. I don't have a plan, neither do I have any progress to report, but here's the truth about me. I like the pain - I savour, I dip and I dabble. I'm the kid who stood under the rain so he could feel the raindrops prick his skin. I'm that kid, and he is dealing. It's not a joyride in the park, but if it has to be a one-man ride, then so be it because I am fucking dealing.

Stop rushing me to be okay, because I am clearly not.
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I hope you didn't think I had a choice.

I did what I knew best—which was to hurt you—for the very sake of ensuring the peace and order I once was well acquainted with until you carelessly walked into my life. Every word uttered stung me hard, but what do you know about pain besides its creation?

And butchface, you can stop reading now. There are no more lies to expose, no more secrets to share. Maybe there are, but you'll never live to know them now, won't you?
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I don't know how, I don't know when, but here's one thing I do know which responsibility lies solely on me - that you, in every aspect of an ex, a friend right down to your existence, will stay the fuck out of my life.

Maybe one day—a day I of right now cannot foresee at all—we can exist on amicable terms. Till that day dawns upon us, I cannot be in your life as much I wished you were in mine. I've closed one too many doors just to knock on yours, but the lock stubbornly remains still. My knuckles are sore, my patience left to despair. I cry for an answer, but you're not home.

I'm done. I hope you are too.
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I want you between me and the feeling I get when I miss you
But everything here is telling me I should be fine
So why is it so, above as below,
That I'm missing you every time

I got used to you whispering things to me into the evening
We followed the sun and its colours and left this world
It seems to me that I'm definitely
Hearing the best that I've heard

So throw me a rope to hold me in place
Show me a clock for counting my days down
Cause everything's easier when you're beside me
Come back and find me
Cause I feel alone

And whenever you go it's like holding my breath underwater
I have to admit that I kind of like it when I do
Oh but I've got to be unconditionally
Unafraid of my days without you

So throw me a rope to hold me in place
Show me a clock for counting my days down
Cause everything's easier when you're beside me
Come back and find me

Cause I feel alone.
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No more caring; no more loving; no more knowing, and in an unmarred decisiveness, leave.

My mind's more made up than my bed on Sunday mornings; my hunger for the possibilites have ceased it's wanting, along with what I thought was perpetual faith I placed in you and—on the occasional lonesome nights—us.

Because the Zaimie (that's right, don't exactly give a fuck about protecting your secret identity anymore) I knew stopped being him. In it's place, to my disgust, is a cheating son of a bitch who churns lies, one after another, like hand-made butter.

I don't doubt what you have with Quincy (so sue me) is love, one that I believe neither of you are willing to lose. But I, with every trickled tear as witness, have bore the full impact of your cheating ways and manipulative lies, and I know first-hand the self-loathing and endless questions your selfishness will never answer that comes with the realization of your fibbing ways.

Does it not haunt your sleep that your denial and refusal to right the wrongs and lies you have conceived for Quincy—because the truth always comes out eventually—will one day break the heart of the boy you claim to love and make him doubt every last belief you have instilled in him?

Trust me, I know so clearly the pain that comes with your errs, and it haunts me every night while you sleep like a fucking baby with no conscience to speak of.

Does a reason of "not wanting to lose him" justify your choice to not taint the relationship with your lies? Do you not believe that by lying in the first place, you have already set an expiry date for this relationship? Do you not see your own selfishness, do you not understand the impact of such a secret? One lie heeds another, and the cycle, at the end of the day, will hurt someone to such an unthinkable extent and guess what?

It's not going to be you.

So save your hypocrisy by justifying your choices with the love you have for him because that, is not love. That is another one of your self-serving excuses to benefit your own desires, and it sickens me to the very last bone.

You're afraid of loss, you're afraid of pain. Between them and you is a nauseating ability you have honed well over the months to do everything in your means and beyond the fringe of conscience to separate them apart.

But guess what, Zaimie?

You're not alone. I believe I am afraid of loss and pain as much as you, or Quincy, or anyone else who lives and breathes.

I'm your first victim, the very first lab rat to your warped perception of love. I have suffered, dealt and contained the hurt to the best of my abilities. Sad to say, 19 years of thinking I've stocked and sufficed in preparation for the injuries loving you has sustained has proven that I might as well be as clueless as when I first started out.

With all the love I can muster for you; with all my leftover sanity I beg of you, let me be your first and last victim. Don't let your folly go any further, don't let someone else go through the same agony you have put me through.

If you choose to follow through with your choice and leave Quincy be in a jar of 'ignorance is bliss', then I have nothing more to offer to you. The Zaimie I love and want to be there for will cease to exist from then on, and you and I will be mere strangers who have no wish to extend our relationship any further than that.




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I'm really a disgusting person, matched with disgusting habits.

But I think this disgusting void in my life right now pretty much takes the cake.
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At one end lies a past so vividly etched in my mind; a yearning so inappropriate; a perfection so brutally flawed. The other end—an opposite I wished was never an option—represents a future, one without you that I am afraid to envision, threatening every last string of sanity I am holding onto.

You've set the rules and the winner is clear, perhaps even before the game commenced.

There's one problem, among others, however.

I'm not very good with rules.
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As the days transcend by—each day seemingly less vexatious than the other, and at what I can only assume to be a glacial pace—I feel the numbness setting in as promised; my life finding less common grounds to pages ripped out of yet another chick novel.

All I need now is a really smart acronym for "My Dear Friend the Love of My Life Turned Lying Bastard Turned Cheating Scumbag" and I'm all set for recovery.
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..and your world trembles every waking moment; your tears duct never seem to run dry, you find your mind running after all the happy thoughts your heart can muster - but the chase appears to be in vain when the next tear trickle, after the other, and the other, and the other.

The irony is beyond me - the fact that the only time the excruciating pain stops being excruciating is when I see your smile spread across the same pair of beautiful lips I've missed kissing so badly; when I hear your laughter and I see a reason to hang on to the edge of a cliff you have pushed me towards.

The moment after finds me hanging on to a monotonous dial tone, the plug yanked and my heart stops being deeply sedated by your presence. The hurt rolls back - in chaotic waves of turbulence - and I find my heart greatly amplified, its veins pumping in erratic rhythms and the emotions crashing helter-skelter.

The loneliness creeps in - like a vicious agenda - and swallows me. My heart is ravaged and I feel so disgustingly alone, the understanding that, your heart has stopped beating for me and that mine can never tread the same treachery yours committed, slowly tearing me apart.

The pain is slowly shaving the bits of me that makes me away, and I'm encased behind a bulletproof window, witness be my only role. I scream for it to stop, my arms thrashing a fence that was made to hurt but never break. The figure brooding before my heart edges towards familiarity and like I always suspected...

...there you were.
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[14:40:35]
you; says:
kk. d i know how you feel, tho not entirely, but i know what its like to have your heart ripped out.

[14:41:05]
Tiu tiu piu piu. says:
what about having everything you believed in get snatched away from u by lies, and more lies..

[14:41:15]
Tiu tiu piu piu. says:
and wanting to sacrifice your own happiness for his despite everything..

[14:41:23]
Tiu tiu piu piu. says:
feeling so foolish..

[14:41:24]
Tiu tiu piu piu. says:
and stupid..

[14:41:43]
Tiu tiu piu piu. says:
and yet after everything you still love him so much

[14:41:50]
you; says:
i know d.

[14:41:54]
Tiu tiu piu piu. says:
and deep down u know u're never going to love anyone as much as u love him....

[14:42:03]
Tiu tiu piu piu. says:
its my first relationship, melissa.

[14:42:09]
Tiu tiu piu piu. says:
i know first times arent always perfect

[14:42:12]
Tiu tiu piu piu. says:
but i got cheated on

[14:42:14]
Tiu tiu piu piu. says:
lied to

[14:42:22]
Tiu tiu piu piu. says:
hurt so fucking.. bad.

[14:42:31]
Tiu tiu piu piu. says:
how do you believe in love from that?

[14:43:31]
Tiu tiu piu piu. says:
how do u recover from that?

[14:43:49]
Tiu tiu piu piu. says:
how do you make your heart stop hurting, your head stop swirling..

[14:43:57]
Tiu tiu piu piu. says:
because i don't know.

[14:44:14]
Tiu tiu piu piu. says:
if time heals everything, why do I feel worse every single day.
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It just occurred to me that I'm so afraid - or rather, don't know how - to love or trust anyone anymore.

You were the first guy I ever loved, and I truly believed the last too. What you did to me... I already have problems trying to forgive, much less forget.

Oh god.
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I know a lot of my friends have been trying to be there for me in their own ways – be it old or new – I really appreciate the love I was given with when I needed it most. I’ve been reduced to a hopeless wreck overnight and I just allowed the hurt to grow into amounts I cannot handle. I’ve been crying everywhere and on an intentional hunger strike just to distract myself from the pain. Love – be it gained or lost – is never a rollercoaster ride. I guess this episode was the part where I fell off the rollercoaster and into incoming traffic.

Truth to be told, I’ve never been hurt this badly. I suppose this is love, having the ability to bring you to heights you’ve never thought you’d reach, yet at the same time being able to throw you down so far down, ‘rock bottom’ keeps redefining itself.

I know the tears are going to find their way down my cheeks every now and then, and it’s always going to sting. I know if I couldn’t love another person as much as I loved Zaimie, I wouldn’t delve into anything. I’m staying true to love, unlike a certain ex boyfriend (haha.)

Either way, I’d love to thank all of you who’ve been there personally but I couldn’t go through explaining the whole thing so, here’s my little thank you + explanation. From the bottom of my heart – and I’ve come to realize how deep it can get – I thank you.

[12:18:15]
Tiu tiu piu piu. says:
i dont know... i guess

[12:18:30]
Tiu tiu piu piu. says:
i'm coming to terms with the fact that yes im very sad and angry and i do love him

[12:18:30]
Tiu tiu piu piu. says:
but

[12:18:35]
Tiu tiu piu piu. says:
im just really sore

[12:18:40]
Tiu tiu piu piu. says:
that he moved on before we even ended

[12:18:44]
Tiu tiu piu piu. says:
so quickly

[12:18:50]
Tiu tiu piu piu. says:
and im still here.

[12:19:08]
Tiu tiu piu piu. says:
he closed the chapter in my life before i even got a chance to finish reading it

[12:19:15]
Tiu tiu piu piu. says:
and i keep trying to wonder what the ending cold be

[12:19:18]
Tiu tiu piu piu. says:
*could

[12:19:29]
Tiu tiu piu piu. says:
but now i know that its time to just move on to the next chapter

[12:19:35]
Tiu tiu piu piu. says:
maybe i can figure out the ending from there

[12:19:51]
Tiu tiu piu piu. says:
maybe the plot just.. changes direction..

[12:19:54]
Tiu tiu piu piu. says:
whatever it is..

[12:20:15]
Tiu tiu piu piu. says:
im his friend... to snap him out of what he's doing to himself, lying and lying to everyone..

[12:20:27]
Tiu tiu piu piu. says:
because i owe it to him.. because our relationship turned him into this guy.

[12:20:46]
Tiu tiu piu piu. says:
and i feel like i owe it to him to remind him who i fell in love with.. the zaimie who never cheats or lie..

[12:21:02]
Tiu tiu piu piu. says:
i genuinely want the best for him now.. to cherish whatever he has with the guy now.

[12:21:12]
Tiu tiu piu piu. says:
i'm ready to move on, (INSERT YOUR NAME HERE)! thank you for being there for me
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Your car was running out of petrol, but you still drove down to meet me anyway. You were broke; unable to pay for one of those fancy dinners you thought made me happy. We bought crackers and iced tea, and so randomly picked this spot. You parked your car, we kissed, we got out and we sat there. We talked - about everything and anything we could think of, and there they were, the smiles that were so genuine plastered across our face. We kissed some more and fooled around a little under the dim street lights. You sent me home and went off on your own way.

Months later, we were in the middle of an argument and I referred to that night as one of the worst dates ever. Cheap, pointless and boring. Out of spite, I destroyed one of the many efforts you put into making me happy with the best of your abilities. It made you so wary of our future dates, as if my words scarred your ego bad. Perhaps it did.

But one thing I never dared to mention, was that it was one of the best dates I ever had. Yes, it was cheap, pointless and boring. But it was with you, and we made each other so happy with crackers, iced tea and a void deck. Perhaps I was afraid to admit that such a simple date could bring me so much happiness, I was afraid by the immensity of the control you had over my emotions.

I wished I could turn back time, I really do. I wished I could turn back time and tell you how much that night meant to me, along the many other nights we spent together. I wished I could turn back time and make you feel what you deserved to feel - loved.

But now, you're gone. And I'm still here.

I'm still here.
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I have nothing else to say, except I'd really want to die right now. I have even been reduced to this pathetic, suicidal state.

I really have nothing else to live for. Not even myself.
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This entry doesn't seem to make sense.


Change, what can I say?

There are the kinds that you don't have the say in - a death of a loved one, getting fired from your job, having the one person you thought would never stop loving you, stop loving you.

Then there are the kinds that you have a say in - it might as well be yours to make - from a new haircut to a decision that will haunt you for a very long time.

"Change; we don’t like it, we fear it, but we can't stop it from coming. We either adapt to change or we get left behind. And it hurts to grow, anybody who tells you it doesn’t is lying. But heres the truth: the more things change, the more they stay the same. And sometimes, oh, sometimes change is good. Oh, sometimes, change is ... everything."

Today, change is celibacy. A solemn vow to celibate as I wait, for you to come back to where you rightfully belong. Change is from being your lover, reduced to your friend. Change is appreciating the little things in life, seeing how happiness is as good as your tightest grasp on sand.

Tonight, change is making my life about loving you, by the sidelines. Change is about taking every ounce of my capabilities to make you happy. Change... change is about you.

I don't know when it will stop hurting. I don't think it will ever do.

But I love you, more than you will ever know although somehow, with a little hunch, I think you know the intensity of my love. And so I wait, for the one day you will find it in your heart to love me like you used to.. and until then I shall be your friend. A friend who loves you with every vessel in my heart.

I've been crying for the past few days, I haven't eaten since three days ago and I'm pretty much a wreck. But let this wreck be a wreck for now, let the wounds stay open. Let it not heal for now. Just savour.



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..why?
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I feel so alone.

Every time I whispered "I love you" into your ears, I always knew that it was one thing that'd never change, the one thing that not even time could erase.

But, what happens when you leave the equation to join someone else's?

It's not a gaping hole. I am left behind with so much capacity to love that it scares me, and I just become alone. So very... alone.
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I'm letting songs control my life way too much. But apparently, it's the only thing that can.
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“We all have the potential to fall in love a thousand times in our lifetime. It’s easy. The first girl I ever loved was someone I knew in sixth grade. Her name was Missy; we talked about horses. The last girl I love will be someone I haven’t even met yet, probably. They all count. But there are certain people you love who do something else; they define how you classify what love is supposed to feel like. These are the most important people in your life, and you’ll meet maybe four or five of these people over the span of 80 years. But there’s still one more tier to all this; there is always one person you love who becomes that definition. It usually happens retrospectively, but it happens eventually. This is the person who unknowingly sets the template for what you will always love about other people, even if some of these loveable qualities are self-destructive and unreasonable. The person who defines your understanding of love is not inherently different than anyone else, and they’re often just the person you happen to meet the first time you really, really, want to love someone. But that person still wins. They win, and you lose. Because for the rest of your life, they will control how you feel about everyone else.”

- Chuck Klosterman- Killing Yourself to Live

A friend of mine pasted this in our conversation on life today. We talked, we reminisced, we shared. It was good, and somewhat served as a deserving pinch on my arms.

There was this line that really put me into perspective: "They win, and you lose."

They, being "the person you happen to meet the first time you really, really, want to love someone" and you, being you. They win, and you lose. Does it mean that at the end of the day, after everything that I have fought and struggled for, ends with me on the losing end?

Nobody likes to lose, but I cannot help but believe that Chuck Klosterman has an idea.

I miss me, 7 months and 7 days back.
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Sometimes - more often than others - my life comes crashing down.

And I don't mean tripping across the branch down. I mean tripping across a branch and falling flat into a faulty bear trap that swings me into the air and snaps, throwing me off the cliff into the dancing waves along the vast ocean only to hear my bones crack against a pile of rocks.

Bottom line, life can really suck. Just when you think you'd be swallowed into the ocean blue, your bruises and cuts become open wounds and life's still not done with you. Just when you think you've served karma dues, karma comes around and bites you in the ass again.

And again, and again.

The funny thing is, I don't think I've ever given up. Like a rope, yanked taut and strung repeatedly - I've never really let go of that rope. Call it gut feeling, call it curiosity, heck, call it desperation - I don't care. Perhaps I've never given up fighting the other end of the rope. Perhaps whoever is holding on to the other end of the rope has never given up on me either. Perhaps someone, alike me in ways I'd never have imagined, is fighting just as hard to hold on to that rope, yearning for the day my end of the rope is his to love.

Perhaps.
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Have you ever sat outside your house for a good half hour, knees curled up at the same spot except this time alone, your eyes welled up to a monotonous dial tone?

I thought so too.
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How is it possible that one night could throw me into complete clarity of my situation, my options obvious; my choices singular.

Yet I wake up to this mess of a life; my sheets tussled and my heart in distress.
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Handbag House
A type of House music. Handbag house consists of the obligatory disco diva lyrics, simple four-on-the-floor TR-909 kick drums, hi-hats on the upbeats, Basic synth stabs in a minor key, and sometimes a snare on beats two and four. Videos often feature the singer in a leather costume dancing around while a sculpted bald black man gyrates his hips whilst also attempting to look threatening. Its name comes from the phenomenon of a group of women dancing around a pile of their handbags.

Source: Urban Dictionary
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...and now I wait.
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Tagging ugly photos of friends on Facebook is actually rather therapeutic.
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1 Missed Call from 81553842

Me: Sorry, did anyone call this number?
Muthu: Sori wong namber alreadiy
Muthu: Priyalath. U priyalath. Kamish now call u india.
Me: No
Muthu: No kamish call priyalath now india. Seriuse to now.
Me: Fuck off im not indian
Muthu: No india. thenk you sir.
Muthu: Serangon priyalath havd u no? serangon rod.
Me: Stop messaging me. Im not vasantham or sarayam or shiva. Go build a condominium or something.
Muthu: No no. priyalath i see no saravam. se priyalath sir?

Seriously, and they blame us for the racism. And oh, "Muthu" because he sounds like a Muthu.
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