#also trying to post to twt and it just decided to completely stop loading on my laptop so we will see how that goes

[asterparfait]

dahut with nadia vs scien,

[yamlog]

12 oct 2019 (i have decided that in my remaining time i might as well just be all Dear Diary-ish and the lack of date/time in the formatting is quite alsdkfj. anyway, so here goes:)

dear diary (?)

i calmly explained my thoughts and my decision to a friend who’s been through similar struggles and for the first time there was no pushback, no ‘why are you so stupid’ or ‘why are you so dramatic’ or ‘why can’t you see the bigger picture’ or ‘i’m going to call your housephone and speak to your parents’, all of which don’t really help. the only thing she tried to do was extend the deadline from the dec of my 28th birthday till my 29th birthday, which i acceded to. there was the ‘uhh but 2.5 years is really short arh it’ll go by like nothing’, but other than that remark there was no judgement and no protesting or disapproval. and it soothed me, i guess, to be heard and accepted and not told that i’m doing something wrong. and i felt less alone, and just a tiny bit more understood. 

i told her about the book i was reading, and the injustices of a school system that failed a child who sought help. i think it takes a certain bravery to seek help. i don’t have it in me. i want to do this on my own, not because i am brave but because i am afraid and tired. i’m tired of feeling anything at all, especially of having feelings for someone i really really really really wish i didn’t have feelings for anymore. i want to turn it off like a tap but i just can’t, and nothing i do or he does can change it. he could become a serial killer or a woman-hater and i would still find myself unable to stop loving him. i think there’s something lodged in my brain that makes me unable to reason and rationalise my way out of attachment and emotions. nothing. i. do. works. i am tired of feeling erased - like the story he removed from his highlight - and discarded. and i am tired of feeling like everything is out of my control. i don’t think talking about it to an adult (as if i weren’t one) is going to fix my feelings. i don’t want to take pills and rely on them. i don’t believe that i won’t be reliant on them long-term, no matter what MR says. i just don’t believe it. if a tree can’t bear fruit because something is wrong at the genetic level, no amount of high-grade fertiliser is going to make it. 

and since i set the deadline, things have started to sharpen into focus. i have a list of affairs to settle, and things i want to do/ get done before i expire. 

the first being, i want to use the camera more, the crazily expensive vintage camera MR saved up really long for to buy me, which he then put in a wooden box with a coating and locks that he installed himself. it was a testament to how crazy teenage love can be, and i have done similar things in my time. but this is the best instance of me being at the receiving end. i took out the camera today, dusted it off, and loaded in a fresh roll of ISO800 film. i took a few shots downstairs when i sent my friend off. it feels good to hear that crispy click. it’s reassurance that the photo will come out right, that the settings were correct, that i didn’t mess up. i’ll take more especially when i am overseas, visiting my cousin. because it might be the last time i see her, if i don’t get a chance to visit again by my 29th birthday. it’s going to be winter time, and i can already recall how painful my fingers felt as they’re out in the cold fumbling with the even colder metal gears and knobs. i have also decided that once i can, i will sit down in my room and post everything that i’ve taken so far. i want there to be a clear demarcation between then and now. the photos that i have taken in the past, when i was happy and content, they Cannot and Will Not be mixed with the ones i have started taking today. there must be a line between pre-decision and post-decision, pre-break and post-break. it feels wrong and messy and unacceptable otherwise. there must be a line. i’ll get to it.

aside from this, i haven’t decided what else to sort out. i thought that maybe i should write those stories ive been dreaming up, the wacky ones that take place in singapore. ghost stories too. but try as i might, i can’t figure out a resolution. i feel like i should have the whole storyline in my head before i even start writing, so i can work towards an end. but i’ve also read somewhere that sometimes it’s better to let the story write itself. just start writing it, and then go with the flow. my fear is that i won’t be able to reach an end, and i’ll just keep going and going and going as the story grows and expands beyond my control. i guess i really fear losing control now. it’s just too much risk that i’m no longer willing to take. i guess i’m damaged, irreversibly. 

i want to make small zines and give them to my friends. i made one during invigilation, as part of inktober for my drawing twt acc. it’s made of scrap materials and i manually snapped a rubberband in half so i could use it to bind the scrap paper i poked holes in with my only pen at the time. we can’t really bring stuff to invigilation so i had to make do with existing trash on the table. 

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hearing horror stories about teachers getting in trouble because of what they post on social media. ive been open about attending p*nkd*t and now i’m not sure if someone could dredge up a photo of me at the park from 4 years ago and use it to justify my unsuitability for the job. it really is a nightmare. and im not one to be paranoid, but i think i should be. 

long, long day tomorrow. my legs are battered and bruised all over and tomorrow it’s go time again. 

i tidied up some things i’ve collected in my bag - pieces of things from small gifts from friends that i had saved to stick into my journal. i arranged them on the page and stuck them down, it took about 3 minutes. as i worked, my friend said that she could never do that. do what? i asked. make things look nice so effortlessly, she said. she said she tried to bujo for six months but nothing she did turned out looking nice. it ties in with her drawing style. she said she wanted to participate in inktober, but she hates having to go over pencil with a pen, but at the same time she cannot bring herself to just draw with pen first. i’m not like that, i guess. i just draw with pen without hesitation, the same way i write or tape things down in my journal. it’s not bravery, it’s recklessness, i think. i recklessly commit all the time. i don’t think ‘what if i fuck up? what if i stick wrong and in the process of trying to remove it i end up tearing the paper?’ i don’t think, i just go. and if i make any mistakes i just work around it. draw over it, stick something over it, extend the line into a box or a part of a doodle. i’m meticulous when it  comes to some things, but completely not when it comes to creative expression. or with love either. i don’t backtrack, and i don’t think ‘what if i fuck up’ i just Go and give my 100% and love whatever’s there. i don’t think my approach is wrong. i think i need to look before i leap, but still leap. some things are fundamental to me.

my memory’s really bad today. my friend said it’s the shock and grief and crying, it affects your ability to retain information or remember things. even when im trying to remember what ia te for lunch just 10 hours ago, i have to struggle to remember. i ate downstairs. chicken rice, for the first time in ages. it was hard, taking that first bite, and i couldn’t finish half of my plate because i just felt so sick with grief my stomach protested when i tried to scrap up another spoon of rice. i made myself finish the soup. i think i’m still running a fever. it’s just the impact. i’ll be wobbly and insubstantial like a spirit for awhile. then i’ll come back, and solidify, i hope.