If

In cartoons, there's that moment when the cartoon character realises he's two steps off the cliff.

In relationships, there's an exact moment when the breakdown begins.

And from that point on, it looms like a time bomb—

unsure when it'll combust

but certain in its aftermath. 

Some of these moments are so blatant you can't miss them. 

You see it coming, you know you'll be hurting. 

But then there are moments that at first seem "sudden" or "unexpected",

only to reveal themselves crystal clearly in retrospect. 

These are the ones that hurt the most,

not because of their magnitude,

but due to the sheer surprise of it all.

These are the ones you didn't mean to end. 

These are the ones you replay in your head as you lie on your bed at night,

the ones you watch over and over again,

seeing the hundreds of ways it could've played out,

if only you did that differently,

if only you phrased that better,

if only you

if only 

if
...

Truth Behind the Lie

It's been the longest while since I've been able to plaster on my face a smile that touches the very edges of my eyes. I had a first day of work describable only as drastically fantastic, and the best weekday ever post-work with my favourite darling sister. 

I guess when the closest relative you've had is the most unfathomable of lows, the slightest of buoyancy can feel like the utmost peak of all highs. 

It's almost like I'm actually happy. 

But a post-dinner walk at our local mall where Jerome and I spent shared so many dinners and coffees and conversations and feelings, backed by the most tragically appropriate of coincidental soundtracks blurred existence into clear illusion. 

My perfect delusion of "okay" shatters into countless, question-mark shaped shards of play-pretend. In its wake is but a stinging truthfulness.

And the truth...

The truth is that it hurts more than it doesn't. The truth is that every dazzling smile is but an semi-automatic call to arms, an increasingly firm grip on that reality falling away into an infinity of drops from the saltiest ocean, depths unknown but shaded with darkness as certain as the endless abyss standing below.

I'm sorry. I know it's all on me, and I know it in my feels. It's almost laughable, but...

You're a world away

Somewhere in the crowd

In a foreign place

Are you happy now? 

The Beginning of The End.

The long-drawn path to betterment has found a climax. So tantalising in the way it excited my every emotional nerve, it didn't disappoint.

You see, I've been seeing the therapist for close to a year now, once a week. And the final piece of the puzzle emerged with my cousin's wedding last December, where she revealed that it all started before I could even remember.

Then after, we spoke about the Rapes. To utmost unconscious reluctance, I suppose. But we spoke about them, nonetheless.

So in a way, if this path to recovery was structured like a narrative—then the climax has drawn its final conclusion, and what we have now is the beginning of the end.

What I have now is the beginning of the end.

Because there is no we as I near the finish of my story. No Jeromes, Jians or Jazzes to hold my hand as I cry. No Daryl to break brunch and drink wine with in celebration of triumph against adversity.

Because with every touch of my clumsy, stubby fingers, I destroy. I guess they had more foresight than I wanted to believe when they dubbed me the "Hands of Destruction" back in high school.

If a tree cries "Eureka!" in the woods and no one hears it, did it even cry?

As monumental as it is supposed to be, my cries go out across the endless void of nothingness. And even the loudest sound needs a wall to echo back from.

But there is nothingness. And there is nothing.

In the end, it's nothing more than just much ado about nothing.

Of Last Seens and Could-Have-Beens

I wish you'd stop chasing the dreams

of your profound, deep friends;

cause though they indulge in shallow

they're full where you end.

I wish you wouldn't push me away

and in moments of weakness, beg me to stay;

I wish I could be the strong I said I would

But when you lash out I don't feel the ground where I should.

I'm so tired of staring at you
staring at me
staring through last seens
and all-we-could've-beens.

I worry if I'm lying
even when I mean the truth;
cause you said you don't believe in my trying
in my trying to be good.

I hate that you hate me
that you love me
and me you, too.
I want you to be free
but please don't be,
I won't know what to do.

When you're told enough that
what rings in your head
is not the sound of truth,
should realness wash in
you'll feel the action:
tooth-on-tooth.

I'm sorry I cheated
I'm sorry it happened
I'm sorry you're snapping
& I'm sorry we're broken

Why Do These Sweet Strawberries Bring But Tears To My Eyes?

Of course I'm here because I'm sad.

It's been more than a year since we've parted ways. I always had an inkling that you've held that soft spot for me somewhere deep down in your closed-off heart, but today my hopes were rudely subverted into an illusion I can no longer bring myself to believe.

As I lay here on my bed, still half-inebriated from whatever I drank earlier in the night, I only wish the pain would subside as my tipsiness eventually would.

But as I get less drunk,  I get more intoxicated by the sadness of reality.

You wanted me when I was the mysterious cutie bathed in the club's fleeting spotlight. But the more you got to the core of who I was, the more you pulled away.

I lulled myself into the delusion that your issues kept us from being together.

But it's time I face the facts—I was never the one you wanted.

And when I say goodbye, I only wish it stings you half of how it stung me. More delusions I should do without.

Goodbye, Shen.

I was never the one you wanted.

I was never the one.

I was never.

Take Your Nothing Back

An ex gave me his military band name tag about five years back, similarly to how high school kids in the US gave their significant others letter jackets. It wasn't worth anything, but I loved it just the same— it was an acknowledgement that what we had was real.

They said many things. That it was apparent you didn't accept all of me. That you only wanted me physically. And that our relationship was not conditional of what was inside my head and heart... But this changed things, right? It meant that I could disregard what others said about our relationship.

Right?

I guess the saddest thing about the need to disregard what others are saying is that they're right.

And on some level I probably knew.

So maybe that's why I pretended I lost it when you wanted it back. Or maybe I'm just making shit up as I go along. But does it even matter anymore?

I'm ready to return it.

I'm not making it up as I go along.

It's just tiring. To feign hatred for someone I really don't hate. To hold onto something that was everything that was really just nothing.

Nothing.

You can take it all back.

Are You Looking At Me From Behind Your Opaque Glass?

Time has gone by.

I know that I am not the person I once was because of my lack of specificity. No longer do I keep the tiniest details on my retrospective speed dial, no longer am I able to put my finger on exact moments. Here I am, trying to recall the precise number of months since our ephemeral narrative came to a close. Here I am, not remembering.

There is a curious kind of heaviness on my chest. Am I mourning the passing of the person I was? Am I a different K, maybe a stronger one, who does not feel the need to cry at the thought of forgetting something so trivial? It is different from what I'm used to, and I don't know how to feel.  

We and two others sat on four sides of a square table. It was as merry as a weeknight could responsibly be, and I really appreciated that you took an Uber out to join us. To join me. Singleton in hand, you offered me a space cake. I declined. Sober K kind of hates Stoner K.

The drinking games came to a close. The girls started talking, SSS (bestie) was having a hard time with SS (her ex). With my phone dead and nothing to distract myself with, I became almost painfully aware of your existence. Next to me. Glancing. Twitching.

Only there it didn't hurt. It wasn't pain. It was a nothingness, threatening to expand into everything. It was like having anaesthesia imposed on my feelings by an already numb person.

We were no longer together, regardless of whatever feelings run beneath. But it was so reminiscent of how it felt to be with you that I shivered. Maybe it was because I've been feeling so full of wholesome love lately, but it spooked me, how empty your affection felt.

As opposed to my headfirst, deep-dive approach to love, most people would think that your slight-distancing mode of choice is more appropriate and culturally "cool".

That was my chilling realisation that fitting into your world meant accepting numbness and hollowness as the norm. It finally made sense, how you never tried but always effortlessly fit in with the cool kids. Because being cool meant feigning casual nonchalance (which is the opposite of me). Only you're not faking.

I've always thought that you had a wall up, but it just never seemed exactly right. Tonight it dawned on me that although there was a wall, it was not between us. It was between you and yourself.

So yes, what you said all those unspecified months ago was right.

I want more.

Sweat

Our meeting was a sweaty affair.

It was the sort of sweat that lingers like pheromones in the air, unperturbed by the AC's determined whirling. It was an indication of zeal so relentless, as if the only thing left in this world were the two bodies intertwined beneath. It was a declaration of pleasure, anguish and pain, as if all frustrations of the world could be mended with a firm grip, and released with a hard thrust.

It was an accidental masterpiece, a byproduct of rhythmic passion, a mid-tempo melody punctuated only by involuntary huff-puffs and almost-whiny sighs. It was the type of sweaty that breaks down walls and knocks over that box in your heart you labelled 'connection'.

It was the best kind of sweaty I've had in a while. And as soon as it began, it was over.

We were still sweaty, but the gentle warmth that signalled contentment turned into a calm of silence... the sort of silence that precedes awkward departures. Your eyes dimming, I watched as the fire slowly died. You followed with a goodbye that was harder than I anticipated.

I did not expect to feel this way. I did not expect to unlock the doors of intimacy. But the afterglow of sweat that trails in your wake have become a bitter reminder of that gateway slammed shut.

Our meeting was a sweaty affair, and I will remember to forget it.

I Don't Hate You

You are the trigger that reignites
an enmity of adoration and abhorrence
in the very fibres of my being.

I don't hate you, on the contrary;
it is easier to be angry
than to admit I am broken.

The state I am in is one of careless mend,
a whole made out of pieces,
a volatile kind of stable,
a looming sort of combustion
that threatens to explode at our every almost-touch.

I don't hate you, S.

The Hardest Part

I recently read an article which said that the hardest part of moving overseas was coming home. Reintegration to a society and life you've left behind. The life you vehemently tried to leave in your past so you could fit in to a new environment and do away with the homesickness... is now your present. You're back in semi-familiar grounds where nothing is the same: people have moved on, everything thinks differently, your family is finally used to the idea of you being away, etc.

It does suck.

But I guess I am whining from a position of privilege. So I shall stop.

Just bought myself a MBP. Man I hate paying for my own shit.

When does trying become trying too hard?

I’m stuck in a rut. I’m overthinking and just expecting the worse as usual. I confided in S and she agreed, I was overthinking and making it worse for myself. Things weren’t that bad. In the grand scheme of things, it’ll be one of those moments that we’ll be laughing at a couple of months from now. Everything’s fine.

I can’t help it. I don’t want to expect the worse but I am compelled to do so. I know I can’t change the end results even if I run through all possible scenarios in my head. I know running through them brings only harm and has no benefit. I know all this but I can’t seem to stop. It’s actually more of an effort to not think about it than run through the motions. I tell myself I want acceptance from within and that if it’s over it’s over but I can’t stop.

I start bracing myself for catastrophe and then telling myself to relax, you can’t prepare for every slightly-possible tragedy. But I can’t. I don’t want to tell myself ‘I told you so’ when it happens but that’s what I’m screaming at myself now. Internally I scream, that I never should’ve put myself in such a situation again, that I should’ve known better than to forget how much it could hurt, that this is a direct consequence of me breaking my own promise to myself to never let this happen again.

Then there’s the part of me who wants it to work. Who wants it to it’ll work out. Who allows me to believe that it just might work out. The part of me where a lone, smothered voice beckons me to remember all the positive words I’ve accumulated over the past few years, words that I’ve used to build this pedestal where even on my knees I’d be as tall as everyone else.

“If you never play the game because you’re afraid to lose then you will never in hell stand a chance of winning.”

And that’s where my contradictions begin.

 

Have you ever wondered what it'd feel like to not exist?

Anti-twink

Note: I stumbled across the term anti-twink from Hetero-Challenged's blogpost.

Anti-twinks thrive on being wanted and desired, yet they also seek a man too good for them and that often entails someone who does not show their desire or want them in return. Anti-twinks are the gay boys who never learned to love themselves and thus feel a compelling need to fit the most desired stereotyped portrayed by mainstream media. Of course they're anti-twink, they want to be the only twink in town. That way they can be the most desired. They act like bitches because that's the only way they can hide their submissive side while also showing their vulnerability (or, feminine side) in their forever quest for the almost-impossible-man (AIM).

A man who encompasses all attributes of the AIM is a rarity. As hard as the anti-twink works to be the ideal anti-twink, the impossible man has to naturally fit into his stereotype (as defined by the anti-twink) with as little effort as possible. They are negatively correlated and both approach an asymptote, always nearing but never touching zero. For this reason, the more of an anti-twink the twink is, the harder it is to find his almost-impossible-man.

Finally, there is the anti-twink at the the topmost of the anti-twink pyramid, attitudes and beliefs and behaviours fully attuned to being the utmost anti-twink he can be. The AIM becomes the impossible man, and is impossible not because he doesn't exist, but because the most desirable of his attributes - unattainableness - ceases to be the moment he is attainable. For these anti-twinks, they must first focus on getting over themselves, or face the possibility of being alone forever.

What a fucking loser. LOL

Blame

Blame is a dangerous thing. It can be a verb, a noun, and a drug. You can direct, shift, or even suppress it. It can be projected both inwards and out. Most of all, it'll always seems harmless enough until it summons a tragedy bigger than itself.

Blame can blind you with emotion. It can propel you with the force of an erupting volcano, or shatter you internally like two conflicting twisters. It can overwhelm you, get you to forget to breath and leave you gasping for air.

Blame can become a habit. You who is a master escape artist will one day run out of options and in a clutch, ride the train that is blame. In your pursuit of freedom you cling on to blame and suddenly you are one stop too late, one time too many, too far from home.

Perhaps one day you will let go of the blame. And like all addictions, the only constant you can expect with withdrawal is regret.

I'm sorry, T.

Alone Again

"A lot has happened.

Somehow I am all by my lonesome, again.

I could ponder on about the million and one things I could've possibly done differently, so you would've done differently, so we would've done differently. I could contemplate and rationalise the pain I felt or inflicted on you so many times over that I couldn't feel it anymore. I could agonise over the way we ended things, the last time I ever saw your face, or kissed your cheeks, or felt the warmth of your tongue swirling like crashing waves, leaving behind a ripple that resonates deep into the very numbness of my soul.

I could think about you positively. When one is self-destructive, to think of another positively is to think of the other as doing it for reasons besides spite. I heard the jarring clatter of your heart being wrenched open, and the frantic pitter-patter of you keeping it all together. I saw the reluctance and pain and sorrow and tragedy and misery and agony in that kiss I had no idea was our kiss goodbye. I know you wished me well.

I could think of you positively.

I could imagine you in my mind, in our room, slowly but surely prepping yourself for the monumental task to come. I saw you organise our things, our life, into boxes and up onto the few shelves you could still spare me in your heart. The others went out down the garbage chute as you forcefully embraced freedom from the chains that chain, the bonds that bond, and the ties that bind.

I have an addictive personality.

Dissociation is addictive. Loneliness is addictive. Pain is addictive. Melancholy is addictive.

But so is freedom.

And if there's anything I hope you'd know it would be this:

I wish you nothing but the best,"

he said as he clicked in confirmation.

.

Just

I stayed through his suicides, through wrestling off the balcony, through him swinging knives. He couldn’t handle me being away for…. Half a year.

Then I realised, he loved me because he needed me.

I just..

.. loved him.

Letting Go

I dreamt of you yesterday.

It was dark in our apartment. I was groggy and barely awake. I felt empty and alone. So I searched for you. Perhaps you fell asleep outside studying.

Then I found you and a sense of comfort washed over me. I walked closer and was ready to dive into your arms, this longing in my heart to hug you and lie on your solid chest and in your strong arms' embrace was so overpowering and then I stopped.

This isn't our apartment. You aren't mine anymore. I'm not your baby now. You got over me while I was away.

I was filled with dread and emptiness, and you were still sound asleep. Part of me wanted to just interact with you, hear your voice or touch you, even if you weren't real. But I couldn't. I ran back into our room. And realised that this wasn't our room. This isn't my bed. This aren't the pillows, the sheets, the blankets I left you. Where is Bommie, our penguin? Where is my fucking bolster? Who the fuck is this in the bed?????????

I woke up crying. But life goes on.

This is why I'm heading to Gold Coast before Melbourne. I'm finally better, but I can't. I can't go back to that city of dreams without any sense of familiarity. You've practically kicked me out of my apartment. You're bringing boys into the home I brought you into. And you've left me after forcing me to grow so attached to you.

I was never the sticky kind.

Why did you mould me into that just to break your promises and leave me overnight.

p/s: so yes, my last-new relationship of about one and a half years is over. come date me now. you better not be a bottom. lol

Dear Sis

Hello thereeeee it’s your brother. I don’t know if you know lah, but I’m the kind that always thinks a lot, like the too-much kind. I worry someday you’ll become like that, and I just want you to always be confident, to believe in yourself and the wonderful person you are and not think too much.

 On Mom, it was a really difficult issue growing up. You should know how turbulent our relationship was. Things are different now (in a very good way, yay), but there are some days when she is still unreasonable. For example, yesterday (Thursday 28 August). I don’t know if you realized but she told us to move the books into the karaoke room, and then she angry at us for putting so many books in it. LOL. If you did, kudos for not talking back because it was soo tempting to say it lah ahha. But anyway, when mum was still being unreasonable I told myself this: “they love us so much and the least we can do is take their shit.”

I always try to remind myself that mum (& dad) have given me so much (everything I have, in fact) and that I really owe everything to them. The least I can do is take her anger and spin it into a smile, to make them feel like all the hard work they put in is worth it, you know? Because they worked really hard and picked up all this stress (mum especially) and one of those reasons is because they want us to have the best. I mean, you don’t have to believe this but I’m just sharing my mind with you. Anyway, the trick is to turn mum’s anger into happiness.

You have to first start small. Mum is a very sceptical woman (she has placed her trust in the wrong baskets too many moments in life to be carefree, especially doing business and all) – you have to prove it to her. So the next time she wants something, don’t complain and just do it, like actually do it, because you want to make her happy. Even if she still pushes you, just do it. With a smile on your face. Tell yourself your mum is just stressed. Because it’s true, mum stresses out over the simplest things: she just tries to control everything. She needs control because she likes to plan (mum is the planning kind). When something is out of her control, she has to plan to fix it, and she stresses out. When mum stresses out, it often lashes out as anger because in business, anger always has to be hidden. Even if you fucking (excuse my language, babe sis) angry also you must swallow and just smile; that is business.

This is another secret that you should know, Sis: it begins with a thought. Even M jie jie thinks so. For example: first you think about it once a month, then once a fortnight, then once a week, then twice a week, then everyday. Then you do it when you think about it… and you might think: man this feels so fake why am I just doing it just because I want to pretend to be a better person than I really am, but no, just do it. Because first you do it once. Then you do it again. Then eventually you’ll do it without thinking. It becomes a habit. And then it becomes you.

So don’t think negative thoughts sis. You don’t want to drag yourself down. Use this secret in a positive way.

Anyway, there are a lot of things I would do in a heartbeat for you. But I am always hesitating because girl, I am not exactly the best influence. I don’t want to lead you astray. So I’ve been thinking about this a lot, helping you with the cheer issue. Am I really doing the right thing? I really wasn’t sure, but now I am.

This time is not important. It doesn’t count. And now that cheer is over you have plenty of time. Please study hard and make it. Prove that u can do it. I trust in you to try your best, okay?! I am not fixing the problem – I am merely helping you get another chance. Only you can fix it.

And yes, mum’s expectations are high. I don’t think you did so bad either. Not toooo bad. But don’t you want to have good grades too? I am always so proud of you. I believe you can be the girl who is good at both cheer and studies. Juggling two things is difficult but you can definitely do it if you try hard enough. And if you can’t it’s okay, I won’t let you fall ;] .

So anyway, writing this was a great relief for me. Actually giving it to you would be tough though. So if you are reading this now I hope you don’t think this is weird, and that you don’t think I’m fucking crayyyyy (don’t use that sorta language IRL though, thanks). Hahahaha!

Love you always baby sis! ALWAYS, I swear.

KKK

***

Edited with actual names removed, obviously haha. But yeah, how weird would it be to actual let her read this anyway? Lol!