In light of self-sabotage

Full out bawling
A child again
Deep chested
Whiny
Mouth hanging
Drooling

Fear of abandonment
Of patterns revisited
Demon whispering I told you so
Logic screaming just be chill
Stop being crazy
Just trust his words
Why can’t you just
Trust

Trust
Broken before but not him
So why cling to the past
Why be a stereotype
Why let your crazy control you
Why believe you have a crazy side
Thus allowing it existence and power

Enough!
Silence!
Just.
Drop it.

Why can’t you just let yourself be happy.

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Helpless little girl

The old hauntings
Pop the drowsy pills
Chug a bottle

You know where the alcohol is
You know where the pills are
You even know how to hit yourself
Just
Right
On the metal tap
Like riding a bicycle

But the bottles are now Chinese cooking rice wine
The pills flushed after therapy
The pain inside my head and heart
Suffering and self-induced enough

The food isn’t worth the guzzle
Cause ants.

The anime helps
So do the fluffy stuffies
Maybe a milk bottle would be better
And softly petting your own head.

Doesn’t that sound nicer, little one?
Doesn’t it seem
Enough?

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Letting it slip

Your true insanity

Muffled, silenced screams,
A whimper the only indication
That you’re losing control
Unhinged
Unwinding
Unfurling

Hair scrunched and pulled tight
Pain to distract and peel away
At the expanding explosives
Within your
Itchy Twitchy Shaky
Tick Tock Rip
No, stop!

Screams, layered
Clawing, stiffening
Wailing
Demented
Moaning
Crumpled

Collapsing, deflated as she finally broke
Snapped
Split
Cracked
Extinguished
Exploded

Imploded, more like.

Careful, your crazy is showing.

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In which, I Potato.

There’s a phrase called Jiak Kan Tang, meaning to eat potatoes. It’s used in slight mockery of those who were born Asian but are more westernised in thought and behaviour. That is to say, preferring potatoes over rice.

Potato is also a great meme for the awkward girl, potating away in potatoland, awkwardly poting about while embodying both the essence and physicality of the potato.

I’m both.

I believe it is this Potato Identity that has often left me in a perpetual state of singledom. Not just single and ready to mingle. Or even just single and happy. I’m just, potato. Even when I’m in a relationship, I’m just preparing myself to be launched from a potato missile into singlehood.

Bitter and mouth-curling when raw with emotions, crumbly and mushy when heated. God I’m such a potato.

True, a potato can be delicious, but it’s tiring just being seen as delicious when embellished with someone else’s favourite garnish or sauce. Then again, I wouldn’t have me raw, or cooked and plain.

Even when I do meet people who seem to like the potato that is me, all I can think about is: Why? Too many YouTube good channels have taught me that potatoes in their natural state or least worked on are the worst state of potating. They may insist they like a nice, steaming, clean baked potato, but all I see is the crumbly, dry rubble of my innards. Or perhaps they exclaim that they admire the intensity of my raw emotions, yet all I hear is that they enjoy the vulnerability, that they see me for the potential not yet achieved.

It’s easiest to say I do best when discarded, forgotten and left alone. You see buds sprouting in abandoned potatoes after all. Yet I can’t seem to realise that loving nurture, water and nutrients help me become a plant, not just the sprouting of some weak shoots that wilt in weeks.

As I long for the quiet, dark dirt to bury me in self-pity, self-hatred, and self-sabotage, I’m resigned to be dug up by sharp claws and snivelling snouts. When all you know are cuts and intrusive smothering, a gentle touch still feels like a shimmering bolt of lightning.

Oh my Potato self, oh Potato me. Won’t you allow him to hold and grow you into a green, leafy plant? Why do you revert to staying rooted in your ways?

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Obey

Trapped by piety,
every step cracking ice,
creaking wood boards,
snapping twigs,
rustling bedsheets.

Fear of/for approval
override
Love
Career
Country
Stability

Desperation
Victimisation
Villianisation
Demonisation
Distortion
Apprehension
Disconcerting

Ruptured.

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Adult awakening

Drunken awakening

Realisation of self, desperate attempts to revive

Resuscitate

Rescue and control.

 

Spiral and sink,

Fogged and shattered,

Exploding incontinuities

Repugnant existence

 

Advise

Counsel

Recognition, realisation, repetition,

Confession to the self of

The slow descend into

Drifting out of control.

 

Back to a routine

To denial of patterns and comfort

Desperately hiding away to avoid

Burning more bridges,

Hurting while hurting

Defences up while loved ones

Loved hard in the wrong way.

 

Is anything but my preferred way

The wrong way

Or am I asserting control

By pushing everyone away.

 

Self esteem plunging

Self love dissipating

Self hate emboldening

Worthlessness strengthening.

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Shifting plates

Swaying with the autumn wind,
Swept about with every gust
Never landing, never settling

So far from her branch
Broken off and now
Drifting along with the torrential tides high

Wave upon wave of uncertainty
Ripples of opinions
So far from the pebbly beach

Withdrawing after each crash
Each crush
Falling past the edge of cliffs

Down the rabbit hole
Through the clouds
Two feet always on shifting plates.

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Escapade 22/4

I dreamt of war.

There was panic in the air but still children milled about. A small Malaysian town, old-school with one story houses, sandy roads, motorcycles everywhere.

I didn’t realise that guns were coming into play, even after everyone started screaming and running. Crossing the street, palm stretched out to say thanks for giving way. To a guy with a rifle. He shoots towards me and then I begin to run, straight for the line of houses, seeking sanctuary.

Everyone who shoots aims not to kill but for close shaves, at least in my case.

A lady takes us little ones in, brings us to the backyard and has us hiding under a blanketed table. We’re found of course; a soldier comes in through the back car-gate, talks a little, rifle held at the ready. It seemed okay still.

A young man appears and I’m his daughter, the soldiers seem to want him alive and well. He says he would go with them provided his daughters were to stay safe. The smiling officer says, “of course.” My dad takes me and we get into the car. Almost immediately after we hear gun shots. The benefactress and the other little girl shot. His face is blank but his eyes reveal shock and disbelief, or was it regret at his naivety. The whole way there, I crouch in the narrow backseat behind the passenger seat, keeping myself out of range for any soldiers aiming at my head.

Outside, a mass of panic and destruction as soldiers yell, shoot and barge into houses, screams and cries are heard constantly before silence begins to take over. I don’t cry but the fear, oh the fear. I remember thinking it was like Cambodia.

We’re in a seating room and everyone there is getting a job assignment as a taxi driver. My dad, the actual taxi driver, doesn’t get one. The impulsive hotheaded child that I am, I take the application forms; nope, my dad’s name isn’t anywhere on these. Thankfully the woman in charge thinks I’m helping to distribute, and so I begin. One of the men there was from the start of the dream, fearlessly (or stupidly) challenging the soldiers. Even now he says he’s not afraid. What a fool. But he says to me, with a distant look, that this reminds him of Sweden. I mention that it reminds me of Cambodia. We stay quiet in solidarity.

I’m in the toilet, my father tells me not to come out no matter what. The same bedroom as my parents in real life, just slightly bigger. All of us staying in it. 7-8 or us. It gets very quiet outside the bathroom, and finally I come out and climb atop my father, he’s smiling. They trust him and allow him to live, for what reason I’m not sure. But I know everyone else is dead.

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Fate

Strange thing, fate.

To some, it might be landing that dream job through lending a kind hand to a stranger.
To others, finding a $100 bill on the floor right as they’ve used their last dollar on bills.

Often, it’s magical and like a fairytale. Unbelievable until it happens to you, then you feel the universe aligning just for you.

For me, fate came through for me through a series of events. A long series of friendships, romance, relationships, casual dates, explorations, and self-discovery. With that self-love and acceptance came courage, trust and a willingness to try.

Despite the occasional segue here and there such as hanging out with the wrong guy over 8 months, an uncertain job situation, and a gross undervaluing of the type of love and respect I deserve, the right guy and I are finally stepping in tandem.

I could probably attribute this confusing medley to my blatant disregard of my emotions. After counselling and some medication, it became a habit for me to take my emotions as a lie, to be an exploding whirlpool of obsession and self-sabotage. But when you are unable to bring yourself to end things with someone cause it’s too painful, and you find yourself bawling with pain as you hear him cry, when you would rather pick him than the one who’d been around for 8 months and instead start to work on how to end things with your past (although circumstances, or FATE, allowed for him to leave my present instead), it’s time to accept fate’s hand in your future happiness.

If you find a man who steps into your life and has been nothing but loving, caring, encouraging and excited to learn about, talk to and be with you from day 1, and even as you were almost breaking up, still wanted the best for you, you shouldn’t walk away out of unfounded fears.

But back to Fate.

The main thing is that if you have a blog that barely anyone knows of, and this guy you met on reddit through a Very specific sub-reddit group was actually a loyal reader since 2013, it’s time to stop worrying and fearing, and just accept that you deserve love and someone like him in your life.

You deserve to be with someone who loves you, who makes you happy, and know that you can keep being happy. There’s no need for self-sabotage. Just accept Fate’s hand in your life and go with it, enjoy it and be the best you can be with this man.

 

TLDR; met someone amazing, he turned out to be a reader of my blog since years ago, and I’m so happy I’m no longer with the wrong person, but am instead with someone who actively chose me and fell for me and my written word from years ago.

 

That’s just so beautiful, don’t you think?

Feeling so incredibly honoured to be blessed by Fate’s rare hand.

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In-between love and _____

Softly
En Pointe
Through eggshells,
Glass fragments
Shattered mirror shards.

Quietly pushing
Confrontation
Needle-point in cracks
Faint hairlines engorged

Crackles, thunderous
Silent treatments
Deafening distance
Tormenting anxiety

Haunted mansions in the air,
Pull and push in limbo,
They lived uncommunicative ever after.

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