bavani's psychosis

Secrets

2011-11-07T05:27:00.001+08:00

“Loneliness is the human condition. Cultivate it. The way it tunnels into you allows your soul room to grow. Never expect to outgrow loneliness. Never hope to find people who will understand you, someone to fill that space. An intelligent, sensitive person is the exception, the very great exception. If you expect to find people who will understand you, you will grow murderous with disappointment. The best you’ll ever do is to understand yourself, know what it is that you want, and not let the cattle stand in your way.”
— White Oleander, Janet Fitch

Keeping my secrets is exhausting. I sleep, only to dream. I wake up feeling the weight of the dreams and secrets holding me down, pulling me down, drowning me. Flailing desperately to rise to the surface of madness and inhale sanity is exhausting.

I want to tell everyone. I want to tell them what has happened and what's going on and what I'm afraid will happen.

But who could listen to all that and still look me in the eyes with kindness instead of incredulity, horror, disgust, apathy, derision or twisted excitement? Certainly not anyone I've tried to tell.

Everybody thinks I'm okay. Everybody thinks I'll be okay. I'm not so sure. I cling to normalcy with my fingernails. Holding on is difficult, but I'm sure that letting go will result in death, or worse.

Here's a secret you may have already surmised if you paid close attention to this blog. I fantasise about death. Not only apprehend and fear it, but fantasise about it. I prefer to fantasise about it because worse things appeal to me.

I will die alone, still keeping my terrible secrets. My body will be found days later when people finally realise I'm nowhere to be found. My cats will be adopted by strangers. Soon, I will be forgotten. It will be as if I never existed.

No one will know.

A Day In The Life Of Bavani

2011-11-05T02:53:00.002+08:00

It's been a very long time since I wrote one of these, but I feel the need to share the events of the hell of a day I've had. Here it is, in chronological order:

1. Woke up before the alarm rang, yet again. Tried and failed to go back to sleep, yet again. Heard my mother getting ready for work and lay silent in bed to avoid her, yet again.

But this time, my poor, hungry cat who was waiting for breakfast threw up acid. Guilt rushed forward to prevail over dread, and I got up to feed my cats.

2. What I was dreading happened. My mother knocked on my door. She only comes to me when she needs something.

It's not that I don't like to help my mother out. What I don't like is how she takes my help for granted and never helps me in return or even acknowledges anything I do for her. In order to avoid both the guilt of leaving my mother hanging and the hurt from being totally unappreciated, I agreed to everything she asked but did just what would benefit me and quickly left for school.

3. 9 am lecture. Even though only two classes attend this lecture, leaving more than half the seats in the lecture theatre free, a certain simpleton who made it hurtfully clear that she doesn't like me, without fail, comes in late and sits in the row just in front of me.

This gets on my damn nerves. I always go to class on time so that I can sit in my spot surrounded by empty seats. I sit in peace for the first half hour of the lecture. Then, in she comes, making the door creak, disturbing my peaceful solitude, making me want to give her The Death Stare, even though it irritates me to look at her.

Something else disturbed my peace this morning, though.

4. The "Monthly Visitor." The "Crimson Tide." The "Shark Week." Menstruation, okay! In the middle of a lecture. I didn't even have any supplies, or any coins for the vending machine. I didn't want to ask Idiotic Irritant or everyone else, whom I'd been avoiding, so I bought cookies to make change. Then, of course, I left them in the lecture theatre, uneaten. I hope whoever found them enjoyed eating them blatantly during class in full view of the lecturer, as I intended to.

5. I had a 5-hour-long break between classes, so I took the bus home to feed my cats, and myself. It was at this time that waves of fear and panic unusually strong for mid-day washed over me. Despite my combed and fluffed hair, artfully lined eyes, painted and polished nails, balmed lips, and cleverly matched dress and shoes, I'm sure my facial expression made me look crazy. I'm not as good at hiding my feelings as I like to think I am. But I tried my best, knowing that my cats would make me sane once I got home.

By the time I arrived, though, my inflamed, bleeding uterus was aching unbearably. I'd used up all of my medication, so I opened the kitchen drawer and took two pills, as the directions stated, from the first box I found, Panadol Extra. BIG MISTAKE.

What I had taken was in fact 1000 mg of paracetamol and 130 mg of caffeine. I had forgotten that I'm not a normal-sized adult, and overdosed myself.

Almost immediately, my body started to feel weak and tremble. My mind was extremely alert, but my body couldn't obey.

The pain, however, took an hour to fade.

You know how long the effects of the caffeine took to fade? Neither do I. I'm still wide awake!

6. Somehow, I managed to prepare lunch for my cats and myself, avoid my mother as she came home, get some work done and leave for school again. I couldn't sit by myself in a fully packed lecture theatre, and reluctantly got acquainted with the girl who sat next to me. I think I look more approachable when I'm both drowsy and trembly at the same time. Never again.

7. On the bus ride home, exhausted and trembling but unable to relax, I felt the waves returning. I knew it was time for emotional purging. I also noticed it was time to touch up my nail polish.

So guess what I did once I got home. No, I did not purge my emotions or touch up my nail polish. I misled you!

I lay in bed with my soft black kitten, trying to relax. And it worked!

No, it didn't. I outright lied this time.

8. Much later, I had purged my emotions, fixed my nails and read my book and was lying in bed in the dark, fully expecting to fall asleep. I have a new bed which is so comfortable that any insomnia foolish enough to challenge it suffers defeat.

However, the bed was no match for the caffeine stimulating my central nervous system. Not even melatonin, which knocks me out in half an hour, could stand up to it.

9. More than twelve hours after I took the pills, my lips are bruised from anxious chewing, my hands have stopped shaking, my emotions are balanced, the school week is over, my nails are almost perfect, and my cats are sleeping, but I'm wide awake.

Will I ever sleep again?

Apathy

2011-10-17T22:27:00.002+08:00

Hold me up into the light.

Fix the cracks and fix them right.

Keep the pieces in a drawer.

Keep them there for ever more.

May come in useful some day.

Recycle this shit in some way.

- Throw Me Away, Korn

Please do not be disturbed by the last entry. I'll tell you about it if you promise not to ask questions. Although this might disturb you more.

I was ill and under a lot of stress. I was losing sleep and losing weight and losing to those who kept attacking me even though they saw that I was losing, unsatisfied until I had totally broken down.

I mean totally. Literally shaking uncontrollably and sobbing hopelessly. It terrified me.

But it did nothing to them. Watching others suffer is nothing to them. It dismays me that there are such people in the world, and that I have to be their victim.

This must be why I feel so much the pain of others. Having endured so much apathy, I can never be apathetic towards anyone in any situation.

At the moment, this is rather crippling, as I lie awake at night suffering for others and let narcissists take advantage of my empathy and cause men to mistake compassion for romantic interest. But rest assured that I will eventually find a way to turn this peculiar proficiency in pain into part of my niche.

For now, though, there is a more urgent task to tackle. I lost 3 kilograms last week. I cannot stand the sight of my body. It is time to move on from the weight maintenance diet to a weight gain diet. High protein; high calories.

Time to eat.

Invisible Struggle

2011-10-15T01:32:00.003+08:00

Excruciating pain tearing my heart to shreds, blood pooling around my living, writhing body. Tears gush out of my eyes but are never seen by others. Blind, merciless claws digging into my flesh, ripping me apart piece by piece. My invisible struggle yields little respite.

Help is just out of reach.

Will I crawl out of the cage?

Or will I be dead tomorrow?

Expression

2011-10-11T13:03:00.005+08:00

I haven't written in 4 whole weeks. You might be wondering what's been going on.

I've been finding it really hard to express myself to people. Some of them are just unwilling to listen. Others would love to hear what I have to say, but I have nothing to say to them. And some things I have to say to some people are grossly inappropriate. Other things are just so emotionally charged that it's hard to say them without crying or doing something embarrassing like that.

It's so frustrating. I feel like I can't think or write about anything else until I let some of my feelings out, so here it goes.

1. You treat me like shit. I go out of my way to help you because I feel so sorry for you and I unwillingly care about you, but you just take advantage of my kindness. You're only nice to people who are mean to you, and that's fucked up. I will not be mean to you. Nor will I let you treat me like shit. You will get nothing from me any more. Soon, I will think about you as little as you think about me, no matter how much you suffer.

2. You're one of the best friends I've ever had, and one of the best people I've ever met. I love spending time with you, and I love you. I hope you feel the same way about me, no matter what you may discover about me. You mean a lot to me.

3. I find you extremely attractive.

That feels like enough. Come back next time to see if I have written something substantial.

Catch-22

2011-09-13T22:17:00.000+08:00

Sometimes my life gets so hard that I think I just can't go on. I know the hard parts are important and I need to manage them well so that when I look back at them in the future, I won't have regrets. But it's so hard. It gets so hard when I have so much to deal with and I'm all alone. It's so hard when people around me are in trouble too, but I can't help them because I can't even help myself.

It gets so hard that I think I can't go on. All I can do is lie in bed and sob. Painfully sob for the fact that it's so hard.

It's hard because I do it all alone. I can't ask for help. I try but I can't. Whenever I succeed, it hurts. It hurts to ask for help.

Others ask for help all the time. They ask for sympathy, they ask for companionship, they ask for money, they ask for favours. But I can't.

It's not just pride. It's guilt. I feel guilty for needing things. I can't ask for things because I feel guilty for needing them. As if sympathy, companionship, money and favours are too much to ask, even from my closest friends and family, and I should make do with what I have, even if I don't have anything. I even used to feel guilty for needing food.

Really fucked up, right? I am really fucked up and I can't fix myself, and I can't ask anyone to help fix me, and if anyone offers help of their own accord, I cannot accept it. Catch-22.

This is why I never tell anyone when anything is wrong. If my dear friends sense that something is wrong and ask me what it is, I bluntly deny it. I lie to my friends because I can't ask them not to help me, either. I'm really sorry.

And there are times when I've reached out, then felt really guilty and tried to take it back, and felt more guilty. There is a specific, recent instance on my mind that's killing me, but I can't admit to it in case the people involved try to make me feel better. So why even mention it, you ask? Because of the GUILT. I'm really sorry.

Don't worry about the food thing, though, because I got over that very quickly. I love my pathetic, diseased body and my lousy, difficult life and that outranks irrational, unhealthy guilt.

Epiphany

2011-09-10T17:17:00.005+08:00

You may have gathered from my previous entry that I've been watching a lot of movies lately. Let me be more specific. I've been watching a lot of movies about lonely people. Who live by themselves or with their pets or their parents. Who are socially awkward or just strange. Who are often played by Sandra Bullock or Katherine Heigl.

At the end of the movies, they have found a man who's seemingly perfect for them, gotten over the social awkwardness, made new true friends and live happily ever after with hope of a bright future.

This is not what I'm looking for. I'm looking for a movie in which the lonely, weird protagonist comes to terms with her oddness, smiles sarcastically at the world and says, "Fuck you," and lives happily ever after with her cats.

The closest a movie has come to meeting my expectations is All About Steve, in which (spoiler alert!) Sandra Bullock rejects the delicious Bradley Cooper, becomes famous for being a hero (by accident, out of idiocy) and goes home with the friends she made while stalking Bradley Cooper. Unsatisfying.

If anyone knows a movie that could be what I'm looking for, please let me know. Not that I need it any more.

I'd been lying around waiting for an epiphany to shove me out of stagnancy. You know what happens when you lie around waiting for an epiphany?

Nothing. No damn thing.

You need inspiration in order to have an epiphany. It was while I was filing my nails into ovals and painting them dark blue and hot pink alternately that I realised that a lot of my darkness has no cause. You see, other people haven't fucked me up in those ways. I've always been fucked up. I've always been weird. I've always been a freak.

But don't start feeling sad or sorry for me, because this is great. Now I know that the darkness is not a disease, but a gift.

I own it.

I control it.

And I'm going to fully use it to my advantage.

The rich, thick, delicious darkness, the pure, clear, blinding brightness, and all the shades in between are all mine.

All mine.

Filling

2011-09-09T09:31:00.002+08:00

It's no wonder that this blog is stagnant. My life is stagnant. I've done nothing all week. I've been literally lying in bed downloading and watching movies. I don't even get up to eat. I eat lying down. I haven't even brushed my teeth since I woke up this morning. I just fed my cats and started playing a movie.

I don't see any reason to do anything. It's holidays now. I could hang out with my friends, but the people I really want to be with are so busy. Internships, school, jobs and such.

And I could get a job, because I really need money, but my mother gives me money for doing nothing. And if I get a job, she won't give me the money for nothing. I might end up with less money.

Money has seemed really important to me the past few months. I need it for so many things, and I have so little of it. I've been trying to save, but I have failed. It's just not possible. I'm not frugal.

The only things that get me out of bed and make me feel anything are my cats. Yes, plural. If you're not my Facebook friend, you wouldn't know that I've adopted a kitten. A little monster kitten, to be specific. Cera. She's perfect for my older cat, Jay. They're perfect together. Like yin and yang, they're complementary opposites. I can't believe I found her so quickly. I found out about her the day I decided to get another cat. She supposedly has some neurological damage that affects her motor functions, but she's been getting better and better. The more she plays with Jay, the less awkward she is. Her head has almost stopped wobbling completely. You wouldn't believe me if I told you there was anything wrong with her. She's perfect.

I was terrified at first that I had made the wrong decision. I was afraid I'd ruin the lives of both my cats. I was afraid I'd love Cera more than Jay and start ignoring him. I was preparing to let Cera go and pick up the pieces of my shattered, battered heart.

I should have known that all those things are impossible. I think I did, but fear isn't always rational. Sometimes it's silly, caused by bitches who are always being negative and telling you that you can't do things you know you can and that you're not what you know you are. And sometimes it's really hard to ignore these bitches because they're always in your face talking but not listening. Bitches.

I can't believe I let her get me down. I can't believe she tried. I can't believe she succeeded. I've been thinking that I shouldn't wear my emotions on my face so frankly. Bitches take advantage of it. Bitches.

Anyway, like I was saying, my cats are perfect for each other. Jay is really gentle with Cera. I'd never seen him gentle before. He has never been gentle with me. It's a revelation. Cera is not gentle, though, even when Jay tries to be affectionate. She bites him like he bites me. Ha. But he never bites her back, even if it hurts. He just scolds her and walks away. He's so sweet and fraternal.

I try to fill the big, gaping, empty hole in my life with things that I buy, but nothing is as filling as my cats.

Ten Things That Make Bavani Happy

2011-08-14T10:15:00.002+08:00

Remember what I said last time about not being happy for a long time? It was bullshit. I like to think that because I'm a pessimistic, possibly bipolar misanthropist.

I'm happy every day. I just like to dismiss those feelings because they're useless. I can't use them for anything. If I was always happy, I would get nothing done. Unhappiness is what motivates me to progress. If I'm happy, why would I want to do anything that might change it?

I am happy though. Although there are stretches following horrible events when I feel nothing but numbness and pain, I am usually content, and I also experience periods of mad happiness that last for minutes or days. Crazy euphoria that I can only express by ceasing to frown and consuming large amounts of sugar. I intend to write this post during these periods over several days. Let's see how long it takes.

And I think I should share things that make me happy on this blog, too. Sharing is caring, remember? Many of my friends are unhappy. And I think that although I'm totally fine with my negativity, it gets them down sometimes. I should share some positivity once in a while.

Some of these things don't give me deep joy, but they make me happy nonetheless. They shouldn't be disregarded. And these things aren't arranged in any kind of order, although this first item does give me the most happiness.

1. Cats. My cat, other people's cats, homeless cats, stray cats, big cats, domestic cats, baby cats, elderly cats, hairy cats, hairless cats, you name them, I love them. Maybe it's the big, round, baby eyes and whiny, childlike voices that biologically tug at my heartstrings. Maybe it's the soft fur and the little noses and the arrogant tilt of their proud little chins. Maybe it's everything. No matter what mood I'm in, cats instantly fill me with bliss. Just looking at them smooths all the jagged edges of my soul. Holding one in my arms can only be expressed as zen. Total peace within.

Especially if it's my cat. No one else has ever given me such happiness. People hear his story and tell me how lucky he is to have been found by me. But I think I'm the lucky one. My life would be so empty without him. My home would be so empty without him. My bank account would be fuller, but I wouldn't enjoy it.

And he's just like me. I raised him, after all. He has all my bad habits and idiosyncrasies, and I hate that I taught him all that. It makes me not want to have any children, ever. Or raise any more kittens. Give me adults who got fucked up by other people.

But it's not just my cat that's like me. I identify profoundly with cats. I feel like I belong with them. Like them, I'm independent, individualistic, proud, lazy, and sometimes simply unfriendly. I form deep bonds with a selected few individuals, lash out at them from time to time and always go back as if nothing happened.

So, naturally, cats are the animals towards which I express most physical affection. So much that I don't know how to touch people any more. I find myself wanting to rub faces with my friends in greeting and stroke the backs of their necks to show affection. Which brings us to the next item:

2. Friends. I sometimes understate how much friends mean to me. On purpose, because I fear that they don't feel the same way about me. But the friends I still have haven't let me down. They're always there for me. No matter how much I get hurt, how many times I fail, how many fights I get into, or how many times I break down and retreat, they'll be there when I come back, with sympathetic ears and kind words and sometimes, sarcastic comments that are just as loving.

Of course, they really get on my nerves sometimes. But I love them for that, too. There's no one else I'd rather be pissed off at.

Needless to say, the word "friend" means a lot to me. I use it to describe very few people. The rest are just "my classmates," or "my friend's friends," or "this person I know from this place." When I call you a friend, it's tantamount to declaring my love for you.

And sometimes, casual acquaintances behave like friends. Just the other day, a girl I've spent time with on less than ten occasions came to my defence. When people do things like that, it warms my heart and makes me uncomfortable at the same time. Maybe it makes me uncomfortable because it warms my heart.

3. Books. Specifically, books with stories in them. I love stories about people whose lives seem somehow parallel to mine. It's nice to know there are people like me, who go through the same things as me, even if they're only fictional. Fiction is only based on reality, after all.

I think I also look to books for answers. To big questions. What is life? What is death? Why do people suck? Are there anybody who doesn't? Is it possible to be whole after being broken? Is it possible to live alone for ever? The answers are not in books, but books help me come to my own conclusions.

But let's not get into that. Moving on!

4. Music. I listen to music for the same reason I read books. Yes, Maslow was right. Even the most narcissistic misanthropists need to feel like they belong.

It's amusing that like me, Beethoven seems really bipolar and Jonathan Davis of Korn finds comfort in gloom and Beyoncé feels helpless sometimes and incredibly powerful at others. And they can express emotion with music, rather than explanations. It's so easy to recognise emotions as sounds.

5. Shoes. I'm not kidding, shoes make me ridiculously happy. I consider my feet a very important part of my body. They're very sensitive. Therefore, I take care to dress them well. I love shoes that make my feet look good. I don't even own a pair of slippers. Never.

I think shoes are what bring an outfit together. You can wear the nicest clothes but ugly shoes will void them instantly. I wear jeans and t-shirts with nice heels, and people ask me why I'm always so dressed up. If I wore them with slippers, I would look commonplace. And I am hardly commonplace.

I crave new shoes all the time, and more so when I feel bad. I can never resist going into shoe shops, unless they're full of ugly shoes. D & C, for example. Ugh. Charles & Keith, however, is heaven. Beautiful, expensive feet heaven.

I never buy shoes on impulse, though. What's worse than having no new shoes is having new shoes that I don't really want. When I look at shoes in shops, I hold them in my hands and look at them from all angles. I imagine my feet in them and think of how they'll make my outfits better. Then I put them back on the racks and go home. I go to sleep and if I want them in the morning, I buy them. I'm instantly filled with joy. Shallow but intense joy that fades, then intensifies every time I wear them. Ohhh, I love shoes.

And that's it. It's been weeks, and this is all the happiness I can manage to write about. So I'll just call this Part One, and come up with five more items whenever I feel like it.

OHKAY?

Ten Things That Annoy The Kindness Out Of Bavani In School

2011-07-22T22:44:00.002+08:00

I was working on a list of things that make me happy a few weeks ago, but I stopped being happy very quickly. That list is stagnant now. I never expected to come up with ten items, anyway.

What I feel on a daily basis is annoyance. Every day, in school, I am annoyed. So, I thought, why not share the feeling? Sharing is caring, right? Right.

1. Public transport. The problem with public transport is the public. People are just so selfish. I know we're all familiar with inconsiderate commuters. My top nuisances include people who lean on poles, those who refuse to move to the back of the bus, and people who sit too close to me. Don't touch me, stranger.

2. That rule about latecoming. If you go to Temasek Polytechnic, you know the one I'm talking about. I get marked absent if I'm late by 15 minutes or more. And for Communication Skills, it's 5 minutes. What bullshit. I can't control some factors that make me 5 bloody minutes late. Such as traffic, weather and the sheer numerosity of students packed like sardines in the buses that pass by without even stopping at the bus stop from 8:30 am to 9:05 am.

3. Students who act like children. Young adults, 17 years old or older, roughhousing and mucking about in class and around campus. Dissolving into fits of giggles at every mention of anything sexual. Groaning about homework. Screaming and screeching and acting cute. Leaving behind empty food containers at computer labs and dirty plates and cutlery at foodcourts, expecting others to clean up after them. Released from the strict, structured schedule of secondary school, given freedom, instead of acting like adults, they act like 10-year-olds. I don't understand.

4. Smokers. I hate smelling cigarette breath from the smokers in any of my classes. Sometimes I avoid those who I know like to burn tar sticks and breathe poison. And the people who smoke at the bus stop outside school make me so angry. Smoke diffuses everywhere, and it smells disgusting, burns my lungs and gives me headaches. I get so pissed off that I sometimes want to rip out the smokers' lungs and throw them onto the road, speeding up their inevitable rotting deaths. I hate cigarette smoke.

5. Alpha females who are cold to me because they feel threatened. I'm really tired of this. I don't want to be the alpha of your group. Although I'm more than capable of being an alpha, I'm perfectly fine being a beta or omega. It may be my fault that they don't know this, though, because I act like a stuck-up smart-ass. I should tone it down a lilttle...

6. Sloppy dressing. I am frankly disgusted by those who wear shorts and slippers to school. It's just lazy. And what happened to the self-respect? Why would you step outside your house looking like you just woke up? And go to an educational institution looking like you're going to check your letter box? At least put on a pair of sandals, for fuck's sake. Which brings me to the next item on this list:

7. Flapping flip-flops. Slippers slapping against feet with every step. On the concourse, in the corridors, in the foodcourts, in classrooms, even in the library. It grinds on my nerves. It's such an irritating sound! Slap, slap, slap, slap, slap, slap. I don't know how people can stand to hear that sound all day when they wear slippers. I'd go crazy. Or barefoot.

8. Girls who dress like prostitutes. There are girls who dress well out of self-respect, and girls who choose their clothes motivated by the desire to attract guys. It's easy to tell the difference. Girls who dress for themselves wear nice clothes, and girls who dress for guys wear little clothes. Frankly, I'm sick of seeing butt cheeks hanging out of mini-shorts and bras peeking through see-through tops and breasts threatening to spill out of tight tank tops and brightly coloured underpants shouting "HI!" from beneath thin, clingy, translucent bottoms. It's unsightly and atrociously inappropriate for school.

9. Teachers who don't like to teach. They conduct lectures indifferently, go through tutorials mechanically and answer questions reluctantly. Students fall asleep during their classes and they don't care. When I ask them questions, they tell me to find answers on my own. I can't help but antagonise such teachers. I have as little respect for them as they have interest in teaching their subjects.

10. Going home. When the sun begins to set, birds gather in flocks to fly back to their nests. Similarly, humans gather in buses and trains to go home. Home, where they feel that they belong. Where everything is familiar. Where there are people who care about them. Where they feel safe and comfortable. I know I sound like a National Day Parade song, but you know what I'm getting at, right?

I don't have all that. All I return to is a cat. A beautiful, incredible cat whom I'm immensely glad to call my own. But there's got to be more to home, right? I don't care about anything else there. I could go anywhere with my cat and call it "home."

I didn't miss my mother's house at all when I stayed at Nisa's house. I had my cat. And I had a friend. I could have stayed there for ever without wanting to return to my room with all the clutter and emptiness. None of it matters.

What does matter?

Stranger

2011-07-16T00:36:00.000+08:00

Ever felt so alone, so empty, so utterly desolate that you think it wouldn't make a difference if you never existed? I haven't felt that way in a long, long time. I have friends. Good friends who have been there for me even when I was irritable and anti-social and overwhelmed by my issues.

But you made me feel like that again.

"A friend in need is a friend indeed," they say. You weren't my friend when I came to you to share my joy. Why did I think you would be there when I was in trouble? Why did I think that you would do to me what I did for you? Why did I let you take so much from me without giving anything back?

All I needed was a single word in my defence. You couldn't even manage that. After all the times I stood up for you, tried to protect you, tried to prevent you from making mistakes, and comforted you after you got hurt, you couldn't confront the person who deliberately hurt me. All you thought to do was go on about your own problems.

Total strangers had more sympathy for me than you did. People whom I'd just met could look me in the eyes and feel my pain while you only looked away and started to unload your problems on me yet again. Our relationship was all about you.

Now it's about neither of us. I hate to think of you bottling up all your problems, without a convenient receptacle to dump your problems onto, but I can't stand being your receptacle any more. I can't do that to myself any more.

I don't like to be alone, and when I'm with you, I am alone.

Wake Up

2011-07-13T17:15:00.000+08:00

You know all those stories about people who succeed against all odds? What are the odds of that? How many people in horrible, hopeless situations actually pull through and succeed?

Movies and television and rap songs and pop novels tell stories about people with no family, no money, no place to live and no support, who use sheer determination and hard work to get ahead in life. They somehow miraculously climb out of their rotting pools of stagnancy and rise. They gain friends and family, develop confidence and strength, become independent, annihilate all their problems and become healthy along the way. Then they live stable, fulfilled lives, happily ever after.

Human stupidity and desperation has fooled many people into thinking that this can happen. It has given lots of people in shitty situations false hope that things will get better. They won't.

Because real life is not like that. In real life, the problems never stop trying to bring you down. In real life, you can never get out of the rotting pools because it's quicksand. In real life, there won't be a happy ending because there is no ending. Real life goes on and on and so does the suffering. Real life won't stop making you suffer.

Real life will keep spreading shit all over your house. It will keep pulling your hair out and pounding its fists in your face.

Does your life suck? Do you wish it could be better?

Stop it. This is what life is like, and it will never change. Things will not be better when you wake up in the morning.

Naked

2011-06-19T17:38:00.001+08:00

Lately, I've had a strange desire to be naked. And by that, I don't mean I want to run through the streets nude. I haven't gone crazy. (Yet.)

I just want to be free of all the things that I use to make myself look good. I don't want polish on my nails or makeup on my face or clothes that display my body nicely or shoes that make my legs look long. I don't want to trim my eyebrows and shave my legs and rub lotion on my dry skin. I don't even want my hair to be dyed blue any more.

I want people to see how ugly I am. I want them to see my hairy legs and flaky skin and stained nails and chaotic eyebrows and tiny eyelashes. I want them to look at my naturally black hair faded to an ugly greyish brown by the sun and my short legs with their thick, flabby thighs and short, lumpy calves. I want them to see my wrinkly old hands and sunken eyes and patchy skin.

I want them to see all this, and still admire me. I want them to want me; I want them to accept me, even when I'm nakedly ugly. Blatantly imperfect. Honestly flawed.

I want to be naked, and I want you to like it.

Weight

2011-05-20T19:36:00.002+08:00

I can't tell you how often I feel desperately frustrated. How many times I want to kick and scream violently and throw things and bawl like a child. But that's an awful waste of emotion. Instead, I retain all that, process it and let it out carefully as words and colours on my eyelids and dreams and quiet tears in the middle of the night.

It is so easy to deal with my mental weakness when I feel physically strong. When my body is energised and capable, it's not hard to prevent irrational fear and leftover pain from getting in my way. But it is difficult to be mentally strong when I'm not physically strong. I raised my voice in anger thrice today. I don't know how much longer I can last before I start to kick and scream violently.

I keep losing weight. My poor, swollen large intestine fails to absorb nutrients. It barely absorbs water. I hardly have the energy to get up in the morning, much less retain muscle mass. At such a time, it's almost impossible to be emotionally strong. I wake up exhausted, sit through classes indifferently and fall asleep with tired tears on my face. Thinking straight is fatiguing. I'll surely collapse after I'm done writing.

And you know what really gets on my nerves? People who vomit so that they won't gain weight. I spend hundreds of dollars on drugs so that nutrients that are meant to go in my body won't go straight into a toilet bowl, while those people stick fingers in their throats and willingly flush the nutrients down. What a waste. At least anorexics are considerate; they only waste their own body's tissues.

I'm not condoning anorexia, though. I feel very sorry for girls who have psychological issues with their bodies and become disgustingly thin. I don't fully understand them, but it makes me sad. Is their self-esteem inversely proportionate to their weight? Are they so insecure that they need to achieve extreme minuteness in order to feel good about themselves? Do they enjoy the sympathy and attention? Do they think they look like models instead of clothes hangers? Do they hope for men to feel protective towards them, seeing how small and weak they are? Does other insecure girls' jealousy of their boniness give them satisfaction? Do they believe that they don't deserve to be healthy? Do they feel small inside and want their appearance to match?

That is a lot of speculation. If anybody knows the answers, please let me know.

One reason for weight issues I haven't considered is pressure from society. Come on. It's true that society is full of flaws but you can't blame it for everything. You are part of society, anyway. You can change its unrealistic standards. Succumbing to them is your choice. Not society's.

A Death for a Death

2011-04-26T21:52:00.001+08:00

Last night, I dreamt that I was going to prison for killing someone. I was sentenced to death. I was going to be murdered.

It felt so real. It's one of the most terrifying, disturbing dreams I've ever had. I usually dream of others dying. My own death has never scared me because it seems so far away, decades in the future. No matter what kind of disaster my subconscious comes up with, I always get out alive, to grieve other people's deaths for decades.

In this dream, though, I was going to be killed. I've never understood the death penalty. How does killing someone who has killed someone show that killing is wrong? It's not justice. It's not balanced. It's murder in the name of law.

They say it's "a life for a life," but it's not life that I brought about. It's death. It's a death for a death. That does not balance the scales of justice. It weighs down the side of death, while life's side becomes lighter and lighter.

And even if we assume that "a life for a life" is fair, what will we do about the executioner, then? He has killed, too. And the judge who ordered him to kill? What shall we do about that? A life for a life, again and again, until all of us are dead.

What do we do with murderers, if we don't use the quick-fix solution that doesn't balance the scales? I would suggest psychotherapy, but there are very few people who have the ability to heal injured human minds, and billions of injured human minds. We're all sick in the head, and no one can cure us. Maybe we should all be killed.

People make mistakes. I did, in my dream. I didn't mistakenly kill someone, that was intentional. But deciding to kill was a mistake. It wasn't cold-blooded murder, though. It was furious, vengeful, righteous, hot-blooded murder. And I knew it was wrong. I just had no other way.

And I was sick in the head, and no one could cure me. No one even tried. I was going to be killed.

Love and Affection

2011-04-24T20:20:00.004+08:00

I'm really good at making people feel bad. I know exactly what to say to make someone feel like shit. I can use a single word to make someone feel stupid, ugly, guilty, worthless, or just deeply hurt. I can twist words to make anything an insult. Most of the time, I do it jokingly, but when I get angry, I do it maliciously. It's a million times worse.

And sometimes, I don't even need words. With just a look, I can make someone feel the things I can make them feel with my words. I can make someone fear me by simply narrowing my eyes ever so slightly. I can slide my eyes across someone as if they're not really there. I can smile patronisingly while displaying blatant derision in my eyes.

I've done all these things deliberately so many times. I'm really good at making people feel bad.

Want to know what I'm totally lousy at? Love and affection. I'm good at feeling those things, but I just can't express them. It's too hard.

I don't like to say "I love you." The "L word" is so over-used. People say they love all kinds of things. "I love Johnny Depp." "I love chicken wings." "I love Spongebob Squarepants." And then, "I love you." So you feel the same way towards me as you feel towards some American actor you've never met, dead animal body parts fried in oil and a cartoon about a stupid square sea sponge? Why, thank you!

I'm not good at physical displays of affection, either. Because I don't like touching. No hugs. People do that too much, too. Insincerely. Yuck. I never touch people without meaning it, whether it's an affectionate gesture like a hug, or another affectionate gesture like a punch. A gentle punch, that is. I never touch people with violence. I rarely touch people with affection, either. So if you're touched by me, you know you mean a lot to me. Okay, I'm using the word "touch" too much, and it's creeping me out.

It would be easier to show love if I was a cat. I love rubbing faces with cats, they're so soft and furry and sometimes they smell fishy, but I would love that too, if I was a cat. And imagine how good a giant human hand stroking gently down your neck would feel. Purrrrrrrrrrrrr.

So how do I show affection? Haphazardly. I do strange things, like insulting my friends or punching and poking them, baking lots of cookies for everyone and giving them a special packet of cookies, or making them vulgar and insulting but very personal cards. When I see their pets, I tell them that I love them, instead of telling their owners. I fervently defend my friends against people who can potentially hurt them but haven't even done anything yet. And when they don't listen and come back to me crying, I try very hard to comfort them without saying "I told you so, dumbass."

These actions don't get the message through, though. Obviously. "Like your face" does not translate to "I love you" to most people.

I'm learning, though. I'm trying to learn how to make people feel good. Maybe one day, I'll be good at that.

Hatred and Sympathy

2011-04-05T09:51:00.001+08:00

I have always wondered why I never open up to my closest friends, but pour out my heart on this blog. I've always had the answer at the back of my mind, but I haven't been able to express it explicitly until now.

I need to tell the truth. We all do. We all need to tell the truth and be relieved. And be accepted.

That's why I write here and pretend like almost no one reads it, although I know exactly how many people read this blog every day. And sometimes I regret writing some things. Occasionally, I delete posts. I also lie about some posts when asked. "No, that wasn't about me, it was just an observation." "No, I wasn't writing about you, it was someone else." "No, it's not what you think, it's something else." I am such a coward.

I've hurt people with what I write in anger. I try not to write when I'm angry, but I'm afraid I'll do something worse if I don't. And I regret it. I'm sorry that I caused pain.

That doesn't apply to The Dumpers, though. Let me be clear, in case one of them reads this and takes that as an apology. I do not apologise to them. While I resent that I'm the one who caused them pain, I'm glad they feel it.

Hahaha, what a lie. I am not a sadist. I have empathy. I feel their pain just as much as anyone else's. I took the pain they gave me and slammed it right back into them, but that didn't make my pain hurt any lesser. When I imagine them crying because of me, just like I cried because of them, I don't feel glad. I feel pain. Mine and theirs.

I have realised that just like I hurt them because of my pain, they hurt Nisa and Maryann and me because of their pain. Even though we would never harm them, somehow it hurt them to be with us. They just wanted that to go away. I feel so deeply sorry for them.

I knew of their pain a long time before they took it out on me. Even before I knew about their "private" blogs or how they sobbed, hugging their dogs, I could see it. They probably didn't know I knew because I never brought it up. I'm not very vocal about such things. But I listen more than I speak, and I learn so much about people from watching them. I was closer to them than they thought.

I didn't just feel sorry for them then. I felt actual sadness and concern, and wanted to help them. I could have helped them. I would have gladly lightened their pain. I guess that's why it hurt so much when they pushed me away. I only wanted to be their friend and they rejected me.

Poor, pitiful souls. I've always felt sorry for people who have hurt me. But I tried to deny it because I thought that I must not have sympathy for them. I thought I must hate them.

But I don't. I don't need to hate them. I don't need to hurt them.

Sickness

2011-04-04T21:20:00.000+08:00

The dreams are back. I couldn't stand being awake so I took melatonin to fall asleep and that's what I get for it. Fucking nightmares.

And jaw pain. I can't chew. It hurts to brush my teeth.

I have a friend who goes to clubs at night because she can't sleep. Maybe I should do that. I would, if I liked clubs. But I can't stand to be around people. Especially drunk people and dancing people. I would be so annoyed. But is that worse than staying at home with myself?

I've written about all kinds of fear recently, but I haven't told you what I'm most afraid of. I'm afraid of my self. I'm afraid of what I might do, and why I might do those things. I'm afraid of my own sickness. And yes, I'm afraid of crossing the line.

I'm afraid to face my psychoses. While I don't mind feeling pain, I am afraid of it. I'm afraid that it will hurt too much, that I wouldn't be able to take it. I'm afraid I'll drown.

I've been reading Keith Ablow's novels again, and that guy is a shrewd bastard. His stories force me to analyse my psychoses. I often lose my breath like I do when I swim in the deep part of a swimming pool and I have to pause and stare at my cat for a while.

He's like a sedative. Just staring at his little paw sticking out of my cupboard or his tail swishing absent-mindedly or his chin with its round black patch calms me.

But then I have to go back to Ablow. I think what he's saying in his books is that I shouldn't indulge my self-destructive impulses. Or that I should. Fuck, I really have no idea. What the fuck am I supposed to do?

Yes, you know I'm angry when the expletive comes out. Ablow adds to the anger because the violence in his writing matches the violence in me. And he explains the violence. He knows where it comes from. He knows. And he forces me to know. Insightful jerk.

If only I could tell you. I would laugh and you would scream. And then you'd go to sleep and get nightmares. Wouldn't that be nice? Let someone else have nightmares for me. If only that could work, I would selfishly give my pain away when it gets too scary. I know a lot of people love pain. Sometimes I do. I don't seek it out anymore, though. I don't need new pain to replace old pain any more. I just rip open old wounds that haven't even turned into scars yet. Rrrrrrrrrrrrrip! Feels good.

I think I'd rather have nightmares than think about all this shit. A pill it is, then. Good fucking night. :D

Yin and Yang

2011-04-02T01:24:00.004+08:00

"Not knowing how to think, I scream aloud, begin to sink.
My legs and arms have broken down, with envy for the solid ground."
- Into The Ocean, Blue October

I love to swim although I'm terrified of drowning. I keep trying to overcome the fear, without much success. I swim along the side of the pool, reassured that the edge is there for me to grab and the lifeguard is nearby to save me if I start to drown. I get extremely tired if I swim across the middle of the pool as fear fills my lungs and pushes air out. I can barely swim 2 laps at a go.

But I keep trying. I try in vain to swim across the middle of the pool without getting petrified. I feel that if only I could overcome this single fear, I will be able to defeat all the rest of them.

And if I could swim through the deep part of the pool, I will be able to go through the deep parts of life without drowning.

I realise that those who read this blog but don't know me might think that I'm a tragically sad person. It seems that lately, all I've written about is pain and fear. And I always write about such unpleasant things. Injustice and ignorance are what I wrote about before the recent preoccupation with pain and fear, and before that, it was betrayal and prejudice. It would seem to strangers that I am deeply disturbed and depressed.

It's true. I am disturbed and depressed. But I'm also content. I am happy and optimistic and sometimes excited. I don't write about that here, though, because I don't need to. I express it in other ways. I laugh and smile and joke and I act cool and show enthusiasm.

How can I express pain and fear, though? By weeping and whimpering and screaming and shaking? I would be put in a hospital if I did that. So I've found a more acceptable way to express my "dark side."

Everyone has one. I've listened to enough people to know that. Everyone has a dark side and a bright side. Everyone has a yin and a yang.

People try to deny it. They try to suppress and extinguish their dark sides. But the dark sides won't go away. They'll lie dormant until they find a way to come out. They don disguises or dig secret tunnels or sometimes they just burst out. They always come out.

All you can do is try to control how your dark side comes out. Let it out willingly so that it won't escape of its own accord and run wild. Don't let it escape by tricking you, hurting you and others.

I never deny my dark side, nor do I deny my bright side. I don't try to be always happy, nor do I always live in sadness. I accept both my yin and yang. I suffer intensely and I delight deeply. I can't choose what I feel, after all. I can only choose what I do with the feelings. And I choose to feel them.

Soul Mates

2011-03-29T21:23:00.000+08:00

"I can tell you confidently that it's not going to be okay." - Michael Scott, The Office

I am worn out, so tonight's logorrhea will take place earlier than usual.

My colitis is acting up, so I've only had 2 proper meals in 3 days. I really cannot express how much I love this disease. I can't even begin to tell you. But that's not all I'm delighting in at the moment. Not only do I have the pleasure of experiencing literally gut-wrenching diarrhea, I am also enjoying a nice, swollen, bloody throat infection. Two reasons why I can't eat. I've been living on sugary drinks and abdominal fat for days. Try not to be jealous of all the fun I'm having.

But hold on! There's more! Menstruation! I'm normally slightly anaemic, and bleeding from the uterus, throat AND colon, PLUS starvation has been great for my blood circulation. I've been feeling pleasantly faint, depressed and weak.

I think maybe I expect too little from the world. I've been trying so hard to lower my expectations in order to avoid disappointment that I get shocked whenever I get more than I expect. Totally shaken. It throws me off balance. Maybe I should have some faith in people.

It's difficult, though. I've trained myself to protect my feelings from people. They've let me down so many times. I have sort of a shield preventing people from touching me. Armadillo scales, if you will.

Yes, I am talking about armadillo scales again. Any backstabbing Pokemon/short-legged, large, thick-skinned, mud-dwelling mammal who reads this may feel free to ridicule me on its "secret" blog.

I curl up when I meet people like armadillos do when they think they're in danger. I only let them see my shiny, strong side. Most of the time, people never see my soft, vulnerable belly. Until they read this blog, that is.

And why wouldn't I shield myself? Look what happened with The Dumpers. Look what happened with Danny. Look what happened so many times before all of them. Every time I open up, people just tear out my guts. It's a good thing I have an unlimited supply of guts.

I wonder if I'll ever find a "soul mate." I'm not talking about a guy. I can never be soul mates with a man. I don't understand those people, I don't like those people, and I can never trust those people. I can never be like them, and they can never be like me.

I'm talking about a female soul mate. Soul mates don't have to be romantically involved. Just similar in soul. Like when Michael Scott from The Office US met David Brent from The Office UK, and David said, "That's what she said." You should have seen Michael's face. He was so moved. It was hilarious and touching at the same time.

I know those of you who don't watch The Office, but should, won't get this reference. "That's what she said" is a running joke that Michael has been telling since the beginning of the series. He thinks it's one of the funniest things ever, even though everyone else thinks it's tasteless and inappropriate. Seven years into the series, he meets a stranger with exactly the same sense of humour as him. Exactly the same.

I wonder if I'll have a moment like that. Without the hilariousness, of course. I've come close several times with different people. But they didn't last. Maybe because of my armadillo scales. Or maybe because they weren't my soul mates after all.

Who is it, then? I'll know when I have a "That's what she said" moment.

The Line

2011-03-29T00:00:00.000+08:00

"I feel the reason as it's leaving me; no, not again."

- Make Me Bad, KoRn

I'm so scared that I'll cross the line. The line between sanity and madness. The line between self-preservation and self-destruction. The line between psychological pain and physical pain. The line between control and addiction. The line between normalcy and sickness. The line between life and death.

I've come so close to the line so many times. I wonder exactly how much pain it will take until I'm on the other side. I wonder how much I can take.

I hate night time. I just can't stand it. It scares me. Somehow, the appearance of the sun is reassuring and without it, I feel weak. I'm afraid of the dark, but I'm also afraid to switch on the light. I lie in the dark and wait for consciousness to leave but it doesn't. Only fear comes. And memories.

And it blurs the line. I need to see the line so that I can stay on the safe side. When the line is unclear, I find myself thinking thoughts from the other side. They're terrifying.

It's so lonely. I'm alone with all my pain, my fears and my memories. I wish I could tell someone, but I can't infect them with all that. I can't make them feel what I feel.

I envy others. They can have meaningful relationships, and make friends with strangers, and watch movies with violence, and consume alcohol, and let people touch them, and go to the doctor, without getting panicked. But I can't because I have a damn line.

I wonder if it really is better on this side.

Pain

2011-03-27T22:36:00.002+08:00

It is so difficult to come to terms with some things. It's painful just to know that they exist. So I've been filling my thoughts with kittens, dogs, bunnies, nail polish, food, television, tedious work and physical exertion. But being in denial won't make those issues go away. DUH, Bavani. Make more obvious statements.

I've been trying to be peaceful for the past few weeks. I've been trying not to pick fights or engage in fights that people pick with me. It gets easier with practice, like most things. And it has made me realise things about myself.

I realise that I used to pick fights with people I care about when they unwittingly hurt me. It's the only way I know to show them. I used to get defensive and accusative. But since I stopped fighting, the hurt has been accumulating. I don't know what to do with it. Now, at night, not only do I have to deal with others' pain, I have to deal with my own.

I'm very good at recognising pain. I see it on people's faces. So many people are in pain all the time. All kinds of people. Even babies. Most people hear babies crying and don't think much about it. But if you look at the baby's face, you can tell whether it just wants a diaper change or whether it is really upset. You may think that babies don't really become unhappy, but babies have feelings too.

It's heartbreaking to see children in pain. The other day, while sitting at a bus stop, I saw a little girl in a bus quietly wiping away a tear and trying to put on a brave face. At an MRT station, I watched another child bawling and begging her mother to keep her. Outside a supermarket, I saw a boy trying really hard to keep from crying as his mother left him with his father and went inside.

These incidents haunt me because I always imagine the worst. I cannot say to myself, "It'll be alright," and go to sleep. I know the horrible things that can be done to children.

I wonder how many people notice it when I'm in pain. A lot of times when I'm out alone, I don't bother to hide it. When I was in a train going back home after registering for bone marrow donation, I looked up to blink tears away and noticed a girl staring at me. Is it inappropriate to cry in trains? I know from reading Stomp that it is inappropriate to do many, many things in trains.

I'm exhausted already.

bavani is not any better

2011-03-17T21:01:00.002+08:00

Isn't it sad that something dramatic has to happen before people try to help? Before the tsunami in Japan, no one cared about homeless people. There are so many of them right here. I know one personally. There must be countless others like him. No one pays them any attention. But add an earthquake and a giant wave to the situation and suddenly it's all over the news that there are homeless people! And everyone's so worried about them.

Just to be clear, I'm not saying I'm any better. That was just an observation. People are attacking each other all over Facebook, calling each other hypocrites and heartless bitches. They don't seem to realise that it doesn't matter whether others think they're really helping. If they know that they're making a difference, they wouldn't bother to argue.

I signed up to be a bone marrow donor today. Hospitals are fearsome places that smell terrifyingly like alcohol and drugs and death, but I went to one today to register. Why did I do it? Why now?

I found out this week that a girl I worked with one or two times at SPCA has died of a blood disease because she didn't have a matching bone marrow donor. I can't even write about it without crying. So I guess I'll stop.

War

2011-03-13T14:46:00.003+08:00

Roald Dahl wrote the most amazing stories about war. Many people know that he wrote fantastic children's books with strangely dark humour - children being killed in chocolate factories, a telekinetic little girl trying to intimidate her bullying headmistress, and a fox whose tail had been blown off throwing a party for rabbits and moles... It's weird how I didn't find these things disturbing when I was a child.

Anyway, what most people don't know is that Roald Dahl was a pilot in the British Royal Air Force in World War II, and after that he wrote brilliant short stories for adults. The themes of his stories range from war to vegetarianism, deception, animals, women, greed, and of course, death. It's incredible. He wrote about everything.

What I love about his war stories is that he never glorifies war. He never makes it seem like soldiers are heroes who fearlessly fight for their countries and save lots of innocent people. He portrays soldiers as ordinary people, who are afraid to die, who are afraid that their friends will die, who see innocent civilians being killed in the war and want to quit, but can't. He depicts war as a pointless, hopeless, reckless, brutal manifestation of violence disguised as patriotism. At least, that's what I took away from his stories. Probably because that's what I thought in the first place.

You see, everyone thinks they're the hero in war. Each party involved in war thinks they're doing the right thing. Fighting only reinforces that idea. No conflict is settled by violence. In fact, violence only leads to more violence. More death, more destruction. You can't change people's minds by attacking them. It only strengthens the conviction that the enemies are wrong and you need to fight them. Vicious circle of violence.

I think in most wars, people don't even try to change minds. They just want to use violence to intimidate. Which is the most futile way to achieve anything. Look at the Tamil Tigers. All they've done is tarnish the image of all Tamils.

Buddha said, "All wrong-doing arises because of mind. If mind is transformed, can wrong-doing remain?" Of course, as always, he's right.

And oh, I almost forgot to mention my other blogs. I should have written about them when I first started them, but I never got around to doing it. Yes, I am a lazy ass.

1000 Animals is a blog that Ann, Rev and I started together. We're all volunteers at SPCA and a lot of the time, we post entries defending SPCA as many people love to blame it for everything. We try not to lose our tempers, but that's practically impossible. People are morons.
We also discuss anything animal-related, like vegetarianism and pet care.

Bavani's colours is a blog that I started very recently to talk about colours and what they mean to me. What they represent and what they make me think of. It only has a few posts so far, but there will be much more. I'm always colouring myself.
Earlier, I wrote about a camouflage manicure that I did, which is sort of related to this post.

I have so much to write. Maybe I'll be like Roald Dahl one day. I really cannot express how much I love his writing. I sometimes gasp or laugh out loud when I read his stories in public transport, and it makes me seem like a crazy woman. But I don't notice because I am so oblivious to everything but my big, fat, red, 900-page book of his stories. :D

Good Night

2011-03-03T01:19:00.000+08:00

Wow, it's been weeks since I've written. I've been busy with insomnia, exams and plain old laziness. I'm sorry I made you wait so long to hear from me. I know that a lot of you who care about me won't know how I am if you didn't read this blog. I'm starting a new blog, though, and I will write about it here later.

I still can't sleep. Taking melatonin tablets helps on a nightly basis, but I'm afraid that continuing to take them will make me dependent on them. I need to find another way to sleep.

One way to do it is writing about why I can't. I usually find solutions when I write about problems. But the reason for my insomnia is so irrational and embarrassing that I can't tell anyone. I hate admitting it even to myself. Maybe I'll write in a book, like a real diary. And then throw the pages in a recycling bin. Mash up my problems and treat them with chemicals. Hey, that sounds like what I've already been doing, hahahahahaha.

I laugh a lot. It fools people into thinking that I'm cheerful. The thought of myself being cheerful makes me want to laugh. Cheer. I can't remember ever laughing due to cheer. Ironic, isn't it? I laugh ironically most of the time. I laugh when I'm in situations that aren't funny, because of the irony. People think I'm cheerful, or easy to entertain, or maybe even disrespectful or rude. But I'm just ironic. I'm an ironic, laughable failure.

Okay, I took some melatonin when I started writing and I'm falling asleep now. It makes me feel like I'm literally falling. Falling like Alice into bottomless deep sleep. I'm weightless, falling slowly like a feather. No, not a feather. Maybe a tiny cat fur. Fur from my cat's face. Those are tiny. When the sun begins to set and the rays of light shine through my window, and my cat sits on a high place and rubs his face against something, I can see the tiny furs floating up and down.

I'll tell you. I'll tell you why I can't sleep. I've never been afraid of embarrassment when writing about my psychoses here. Why start now?

I'm afraid to sleep. I'm scared of being unconscious. I wrote vaguely about it a few posts ago, but there's so much more to it. I've been awake enough nights to find out exactly what scares me about sleeping. I won't tell you that, though, not because it's embarrassing, but because it's too revealing. The fear starts whenever I think of sleeping. When I realise that it will be night time soon and I'll have to go to sleep.

Now I really have to go to sleep because of the pill. If you have any courage to spare, please send it to me telepathically. Good night.

Hope

2011-02-12T01:27:00.000+08:00

I can't stay asleep. I fall asleep several times every night. I wake up more tired every time.

I am so tired. I'm tired of struggling with myself every day. I'm tired of trying to be better. I'm tired of being disappointed. I'm tired of struggling to do everyday things that everyone else can do without any effort at all. I'm tired of feeling everyone else's pain along with my own. I'm tired of trying to keep the past from affecting my future. I'm tired of trying to keep fear from stopping me from doing things. I'm tired of hiding my fear, my pain and my tiredness.

It's so easy to talk to strangers about things that have happened to me and what they did to me. But then they stop being strangers. They start caring about me and I start caring about them and that's too much for me to handle. I can't have a proper relationship with anyone because I'm all fucked up. I need to be distant from people because I'm afraid of not being close to them. I know it doesn't make much sense, but I'm fucked up and it makes sense to me.

Hope is what keeps us alive. We don't want to die because we think of what we hope might happen in the future. We live with failure because we hope that we'll succeed. We live with pain because we hope that we'll be relieved. We live with disappointment because we hope that we'll be fulfilled.

I remember when I used to have hope. It seems so long ago. I was young, and had just survived the worst years of my life. I looked forward to the future because I hoped that things would change for the better. I was ready to face the world with the lessons I had just learned. Nothing could have stopped me.

Now, I feel so old. I feel really, really old. I know that nothing will change. I'll always be a psycho, a freak on a leash. I'll never find someone with whom I can stay after everything has been divulged. I'll never get away from here. I'll never be free from my fears. I'll never be happy and I'll never sleep enough. I'll always be sick, tired, angry and unhappy.

What happened to my hope?

Balance

2011-02-06T23:00:00.001+08:00

When I'm able to sleep, it seems like insomnia is a myth. It doesn't seem real. It seems so implausible that I'll be unable to sleep and that I'll wake up several times when I finally do, and be more tired in the morning. It seems like I will never have trouble sleeping again.

But that lasts for about 3 days, at most. Then things will start creeping into my mind. And I'll be strangely glad that those things are back to haunt me. Because when I can sleep again, it will feel so much better. After weeks of struggling to fall asleep, tearing my room apart looking for the pills that will make me sleepy, and sitting in bed waiting to see if I'll be able to fall asleep before I need to take them, it will be bliss to simply lie down and go to sleep.

Everything is balance. Balance is everything. Yin and yang. Without sleep, insomnia wouldn't seem so bad. Without insomnia, sleep wouldn't seem so good.

Same goes for suffering and happiness, I guess. The more you suffer, the better happiness feels. I suppose that's why wealthy people with apparently no problems and plenty of money to buy all the pharmaceuticals they want need anti-depressants. I've always found it strange that people take pills to be happy. Now I realise it's difficult to be happy when you haven't been sad.

Likewise, it's difficult to be sad when you haven't been happy. There are people who have so little that they cannot refuse help. They can't say no. I say no all the time because of pride, but they can't afford to. Yet they smile and laugh, and they sleep at night. They don't need pharmaceuticals.

I've used some pharmaceuticals, though. Damn fucking pills. I hate pills. Good night. :)

Outpour

2011-01-11T23:24:00.000+08:00

"Something takes a part of me.

Something lost and never seen.

Every time I start to believe,

Something's raped and taken from me."

- Freak on a Leash, Korn

The insomnia is back. I need to sleep. I can't sleep. I can't think of anything but sleep. I'm afraid to sleep.

I'm afraid of my dreams. I'm afraid of all the things that could happen while I'm sleeping. I'm afraid of waking up alone. I'm afraid of not waking up at all.

So let's not talk about that.

I wonder if people really become so happy that they cry. I've seen it in movies and TV shows, but never in real life. Even in "reality" TV shows, I've never seen it happen.

Happiness seems like such a shallow emotion. I've cried because of so many other emotions, but never happiness.

I've cried with simple sadness, of course.

Desperation.

Frustration.

Sheer rage.

Bitter disappointment.

Loneliness.

And yes, fear.

Wistfulness.

Helplessness.

Physical pain.

Heartache.

Grief.

Relief.

Relief is the closest emotion to happiness that has made me cry, I think. Perhaps I'm just not a very happy person. I've never felt deeply happy. The other emotions I feel, on the other hand, are very deep.

Or perhaps people just categorise other feelings under "happiness." I don't know what those feelings might be, though.

I don't even know for sure how happiness feels. Is it like contentment? Is it like confidence? Is it like love? Is it like a sense of fulfillment? Is it like security? Is it like comfort? I've felt all this, but I don't think they make me happy. They seem so shallow. They go away after a while.

Sadness, anger, disappointment, fear and grief don't go away.

They make me cry.

News

2011-01-09T18:37:00.005+08:00

I hate Singaporean news media. The Straits Times sucks. Most of the time it only reports rubbish, and the rest of the time it distorts actual news. I read something today that made me angry again. And then I yelled at the newspaper and flung it at my dog's urine.

The article was about American passport application forms. They have a new policy whereby they put "Parent" instead of "Mother" and "Father." It's meant to be gender-neutral, for children with homosexual parents. What did the journalist have to say about that? "Say goodbye to 'Mum' and 'Dad,' and say hello to 'Parent One' and 'Parent Two.' "

What rubbish. As if homosexual parents aren't called "Mum" and "Dad." As if homosexual parents are awful, dispassionate parents. As if a family unit with homosexual parents is cold and unloving. This is what they want us to know.

This is the kind of "news" that is printed here. This is why I hate reading newspapers. The "news" here is so warped. I don't mind that a lot of the time, the news is dismal and sad. I don't need to avoid that like some people do. What I hate is all this not-so-subtle prejudice that seeps into the reports.

And most people don't even see it. How can they be so imperceptive?

Maybe it's just more apparent to me because I'm very sensitive to prejudice. I'm female. I'm a racial minority. I'm vegetarian. I'm atheist. And I have so many unusual principles and beliefs. It would be great if I was gay, too, (for more than one reason) but I'm not. Anyway, I look out for the tiniest hint of prejudice in everything.

With The Straits Times, I don't even need to try. It's FULL of prejudice.

bavani Is Still An Atheist, Thank God.

2011-01-03T00:22:00.011+08:00

"No, I don't think that atheists should be considered as citizens, nor should they be considered as patriots. This is one nation under god."

- George W. Bush

Religious people are such assholes. Yes, I have said it. I'm sorry if it offended you, but theists continuously offend or hurt me in one way or another. I bash religion and theists all the time, but it's only because they hurt me first. They hate everyone outside their own religion, whether it's people of other religions or people of no religion at all.

Religions are all the same loads of bullshit, yet they fight with one another. Everyone who doesn't belong to their religion is condemned.

Religions all think they're the only ones who are right, and everyone else in the world are believing in the wrong things.

Well, so do atheists. We just believe in exactly one god less than theists.

It doesn't mean we don't believe in anything. It doesn't mean we have no spirituality. It doesn't mean we have no morals.

I have more beliefs, spirituality and morals than most theists. And they all come from me, not from a book some big-headed men wrote a couple of thousand years ago to scare and control people. I believe in vegetarianism, gender equality, non-violence, animal rights, and so many other things that I speak for on my own accord. I do good things because I want to, not because I want to go to "heaven" after I die. I try not to do bad things because I don't want to hurt people, not because I'm afraid some "god" will send me to "hell."

I don't believe in afterlife. According to most religions, only humans have afterlife. Because according to them, humans are above all other living things. We were created specially by "god" to fucking rule the world, apparently. What rubbish. Human lives are no more than other animal lives, or plant lives or bacterial lives, for that matter. We all live for one reason: because we can. Not because "god" made us.

Want proof? I've got proof. Parasites of dogs. Disgusting, eight-legged arthropods that burrow into hair follicles. Long, round, snake-like worms that live in and suck on intestines. Microscopic, invisible bacteria that can infect the brain and kill the dogs. All these creatures exist. They exist for no purpose other than to infect dogs in order to live. Did "god" create them to torture dogs? Is "god" a dog-hating asshole?

Or are these organisms, and the countless others that live only to infect and injure or kill, just good at surviving? They live because they can.

While many other completely harmless animals have been annihilated by "god's" favourite creatures, humans.

And I'm so sick of people asking me, "Why do you talk about religion? You're an atheist, you shouldn't have anything to do with religion." Wrong. I am an atheist. That means I care about people no matter what their religion. And religion is something harmful that was created by men to control others. I speak against it because I want the damage to stop.

I want people to stop killing one another because they believe in different "gods". I want men to stop thinking that women are lesser than them. I want people to take responsible action instead of lazily leaving things up to "god." I want people to recognise how beautiful nature itself is instead of repeating what their parents, their parents' parents, and all the religious leaders preach: "Look how great "god" is, he can create such nice things." I want people to give credit where credit is due, instead of giving it to some imaginary "god."

So many people who are infertile undergo fertility treatments developed and carried out by doctors, or adopt babies made by other people, and say "God gave us these children." So many people are rescued from certain death by emergency workers who risk their lives, but they say "God saved me." Forests are thoughtlessly destroyed to build houses, and innumerable innocent animals are brutally murdered to eat, and people say, "God gave me this home to live in and this food to eat."

You know the story in which a man is drowning, and several boats pass by him and he says, "No, I don't need you to save me, god will save me." And he dies and goes to "heaven" and asks his "god" why he didn't save him, and "god" says, "I sent you those boats to save you!"

Many people think that the moral of this story is that "god" has many ways of helping people. But no, the real moral is that religious people are too narrow-minded to even help themselves.

Thank God there are atheists.

bavani is Sick of People

2010-12-28T16:54:00.001+08:00

"There can be no deep disappointment where there is not deep love."

- Martin Luther King Junior

I've always said that I always say what's on my mind, but I don't always. Sometimes I keep things to myself. Because sometimes the things on my mind are really hurtful to those whom I care about. Sometimes I really want to hurt them. Sometimes I do.

And yes, I realise that that makes me a bitch. But I'm not a cold, heartless bitch who hurts people for no reason. I don't say unkind things completely out of the blue. I do it because people hurt my feelings. I'm not saying that's a valid excuse for hurting people, I'm a vegetarian. Like Gandhi. I'm just saying that's it's a reaction.

I guess because I'm so rough and aggressive, people forget that I have feelings too. They do and say completely insensitive things. It's so bad that some days I feel like my friends are all trying to offend me. And when I get upset, I don't pout or sulk or start crying. Neither do I pretend that everything's alright. I make it clear that I'm offended, and scold. That's just how I am. That's how I've learned to be.

It doesn't mean that my feelings don't get hurt. It doesn't mean that I'm unassailable. It doesn't mean that you can say or do anything to me because I'm tough enough to overtly object. I'm your friend. TRY TO CARE ABOUT ME. Try to care about my feelings.

Sometimes it also seems like people only hang out with me because they want things from me. Whether it's material things like cookies or cosmetics, or intangible things like advice or assurance. It's not that I don't want to give things to people, I just want something in return. So much is expected from me, and I can't say no, because I care. I don't want to disappoint those I care about. But they disappoint me every day. Constantly. Relentlessly. Unrepentantly. That's what I get in return. Not a single thought about me crosses their minds. All they care about is themselves.

I unfalteringly help you with everything, every day, but you always forget me. You never hesitate when asking for help, but when I'm the one asking for help, it's such a big bother. There's a million reasons why I should do it on my own, and a million reasons why you can't help. And if you do help me once, reluctantly, I owe you for ever. The things I've done for you, on the other hand, are nothing. What have I done? Given you advice and support and forgiveness? When? You don't remember. Who am I again? You'll get back to me when you're done making those who take advantage of you happy. When you want something from me again. That's when you come to me first. At any other time, I'm the last.

I stand up for you when you're too scared, scared that people who don't even care about you and won't do shit for you, will stop liking you, but you ditch me when I need help, to be with them. You're so needy, you openly ask for companionship, moral support and guidance, and when you've got it and you're happy, you're gone. You only come to me when you're unhappy. Your happiness is reserved for everyone else, never to be shared with me. And you lie to me. I know you lie to me because you are completely transparent. You have no depth. You think you can hide your lies just because you poorly hide your feelings out of cowardice, but I know. Liar, I know.

I've always been an excellent friend to you, always. Since the very beginning, I've been a good friend, maybe the best friend you'll ever have, but you make me feel inadequate just because I'm not your ideal type of friend. I'm not sentimental. I'm not lovey-dovey. I hate being touched physically. Does that make me a bad friend? Are you so shallow that those are the qualities that are important to you? If they are what's important, then you can leave me the fuck alone. If you're not going to appreciate everything I do for you and count yourself fucking lucky that I take care of you, then just go away. Look for your cheesy movie friendship elsewhere. I'm a real person, I wasn't written by some idiot who wanted to make easy money selling unrealistic crap to morons.

And then there's you, whom I criticize every day. I speak harshly sometimes, because I care about you. I don't want you to keep doing shit to yourself. But it's incredibly frustrating to care about someone who doesn't care about herself. You don't want to listen to me because I point out things that are wrong. You want to listen to people who don't care about you and tell you how everything's awesome and make you temporarily happy. But I don't want you to be temporarily happy. I want you to be temporarily unhappy so that you'll be permanently happy. But you ignore that. You stop listening when I try to help you. You just don't care about yourself, and you don't care that I care about you.

It seems cowardly to write all this here instead of saying it directly to people, but I'm not afraid of confrontation. I'm afraid of hurting them. I know that they'll read this and feel hurt anyway. But that's only because of guilt. If they have nothing to feel guilty about, they won't be upset. Or maybe they'll be confused, because like I've said, they're insensitive. Plus, I didn't name names. And I won't. They can figure out themselves if they're whom I'm talking about.

I like to tell people that I don't let anyone take advantage of me, that I don't let anyone get away with anything. How I wish that was true. I care too much about people to stop them from making excessive use of my kindness. I am so disappointed in myself to realise that I let people use me, but what can I do? I can't stop caring.

bavani's Take on Marriage

2010-12-19T10:21:00.005+08:00

My cousin got married last week. Legally, that is. I went to her Solemnisation ceremony. It was in a Hindu temple. I whined a lot about putting on a sari, but I actually like saris. They come in so many colours. It's so fun to match eyeshadows with them. And they make me look longer. The one I wore that day is deep pink and forest green with silver sequins and beads. It is so pretty. I wished someone else was wearing it so I could have kept looking at it. It's one of the things about which to think makes me automatically happy.

My cousin and her husband were looked so elated while saying their vows, it was so cute. They almost burst out laughing at several moments. I was very happy for them, but I couldn't help thinking, For how long?

I'm about to speak against what most people consider the basic unit on which families are built, and maybe offend a lot of people for whom a major life goal is to achieve it.

I do not believe in marriage. I do not believe that humans were meant to be monogamous for life. Because if we were, then we would be. Like penguins. But no, humans have several mates throughout their lives. If they don't, then they want to. That is why it is necessary to make it illegal for them to do so. Penguins don't need laws, they naturally stay with their mates forever. It's just not natural for humans though. It's forced.

According to my observations, married people are rarely happy together for very long. That is why divorce rates keep rising. As society becomes more liberal, more people find the guts to do what they want and have numerous partners.

The fact that divorce exists is irrefutable proof that marriage doesn't work. When people get married, they say they'll stay with a person forever and even sign legal contracts. But they can just as easily sign other legal documents to break that bond. What a lie marriage is.

Facebook has made it possible to make it an even bigger joke. Little girls and boys can pretend to be married with their little boyfriends and girlfriends there. And sometimes they really are joking. As if marriage isn't ridiculous enough.

Most people claim that it's possible to find someone with whom they'll be happy for the rest of their lives, but that's rubbish made out to be true by modern society. It started very long ago, when women were considered property and marriage was invented to control them. Then, they said that it was so that men can "take care" of women. Women were forced to stay with a man for life and depend on him for everything. Now, after the liberation of women and everything, they've been manipulated so that they want to stay with a man for life. Sickening.

Another bullshit defense for marriage is that it is necessary for having a family and raising children. I can tell you from personal experience that this is false. I have one mother and one father who are still married, but my family is broken and my childhood was unsafe, to say the least. On the other hand, people with only one parent each or even no parents at all, have nurturing, enjoyable childhoods and balanced, healthy psyches. You don't need marriage to have a family. You need support, stability, willing helpfulness, and of course, love. And these things don't need to be, and cannot be, divided between one mother and one father. They can come from anyone, even someone you're not related to. Marriage is redundant.

That's why the HDB policy we have is so inappropriate. Marriage in order to buy flats. It was developed when they wanted people to get married and make lots of babies. But we all know that you don't need to be married to make babies. And now you have all been enlightened with the fact that you don't need it to have a family, either. So why do you need it to buy a flat? This outdated, irrelevant policy needs to be abolished.

And yes, another part of marriage that's totally bullshit is the fact that it can only be done with one man and one woman. What about all the homosexuals? If heterosexuals are able to legally trap one another in monogamy, then gays should be, too. I know some places in the world have legalised gay marriage, but to my knowledge, no religious or cultural marriage customs embrace homosexuals. If I fell in love with a woman, how would I marry her? If I wanted to buy a flat with her, where the hell would I go? If I wanted to raise children with her, what would I do without a place to live?

Of course, I don't ever want to get married and raise children, and I'm not gay. People don't believe me when I tell them that first part. They seem to be under the impression that everyone yearns for a "soul mate" and has parental instincts or something. I've got news for you - it's not instinctive. You learn that everyone finds someone to marry and have babies with. Your parents, peers, movies, books and society as a whole teach you that. I have learned that that's not for me. I don't like people, and I certainly don't want to be stuck with a guy for my whole life.

It may seem unbelievable, but I have never really had romantic feelings for a guy. That's probably because of my various problems relating to male human beings. I've wanted many things from guys, but never a romantic relationship. Maybe my problems will be resolved in the future, and maybe then I'll want something like that. I don't know what I'll do in the future. I'm only nineteen. I have about eighty more years or so to live. I might do anything. Sometimes I forget that I'm young because I've always felt much older than people my age. I wonder how I'll feel about marriage when I actually am older.

Full Circle

2010-12-10T20:58:00.002+08:00

"I think that we're all mentally ill. Those of us outside the asylums only hide it a little better - and maybe not all that much better after all."

- Stephen King

Sometimes I find it very hard to manage my neuroses. I have so many thoughts in my head that I know are wrong. It is excruciatingly frustrating. They're frightening thoughts that always come at the most mundane moments, crippling my mind for an instant. Like when I'm sitting in a bus on the way to school, making me freeze and stare blankly out of the window and maybe tear, or when I'm pouring molten agar into a plate to culture bacteria, making my hands tremble and blocking all information about bacterial culture from my brain. For a while I'm totally incapacitated. And then I try to push the thoughts away and move on, although that never works.

Sometimes, I wonder how people would react if they knew what kind of thoughts I have. In my imagination, their expressions are completely blank out of shock, or their faces are scrunched up with disgust. Many, many times, their eyes bulge out of their sockets in horror. Maybe that's how the sane part of me reacts to those truly shocking, disgusting, horrifying thoughts.

They don't just come and go. They come to stay. They roll around in my head making all kinds of noise, demanding that I surrender to them. For days or maybe weeks, months, or years, they stay and try to take over me. It is so tiring to have to fight them for so long.

And the harder I try to banish them from my mind, the harder they seem to stick to the inside of my skull. They get stronger the more I try to ignore them. They're relentless. The only way to expel them is to face them head on. Let them run a full circle through my mind and then disappear. This, however, takes time and a lot of strength, and I rarely have the hours, energy or solitude to indulge the thoughts.

I guess this is what I do then. Write rather abstract posts about nothing in particular and everything in general. Do you even know what I'm writing about? Do you understand what I feel? I don't even know. I'm just really tired and I don't know how to help myself. I don't even know how to ask for help because I don't know what's wrong with me.

Sometimes I wish I was like everyone else because they seem to have it so easy. Then I hear things like "Being different makes you stronger," and I think, What bullshit. I'm not strong because I'm different. I'm different because I'm strong.

Everyone in the world is different, most people just try to be like others to achieve a sense of belonging. I don't feel the need to do that. I'm feel like I belong on my own, so I don't need to be the same. I can be different. That doesn't make me stronger. It just makes me more interesting. And yes, rather arrogant. But I know you love it, so to hell with all that rubbish.

bavani's True Friends

2010-12-03T10:39:00.001+08:00

Is it too much to ask polytechnic students to behave like adults? A major reason why I sometimes dread going to class is the way some of my classmates behave. It's as if they never left primary school. It disgusts me, but I have to watch it because I'm stuck in the same classroom, lecture theatre, or laboratory with them. At times like these, I want to say Fuck my life, but then I realise I shouldn't let them affect me because they're nothing. After I graduate, I won't even remember their names anymore. I'll see their profiles on Facebook and wonder, Who are these people? Do I even really know them, or did I just accept their friend requests out of pity?

Speaking of Facebook, a lot of my former classmates wished me a happy birthday there recently. It reminded me that there are more good friends in the world than I always think there are. Being a misanthropist, I always assume that people are assholes until they prove not to be. And these people have. They were good friends to me. They shared their lives with me even though I gave them so little of myself. I'm glad I had them even for a brief time.

I would have been a better friend to them if I could, but at that time I really couldn't. I appreciated their friendship, though, and I hope they know that.

I'll be honest, I don't consider most of my "friends", true friends. They're people I'll see on Facebook in the future and wonder if I know them. They get almost none of my time, energy or patience. I don't bother, because I don't see any benefit in having friends that don't mean much to me. I don't bother spending time making small talk with them just to be polite. I'd rather be anti-social and true to myself than be polite and waste my time.

Those I consider true friends, on the other hand, get everything. When we spend time together, they see my real, unaltered character and when they ask for my take on things, they get my pure, undiluted opinions. I'm not the kind of person who lies to her friends because she's afraid to hurt their feelings. I don't lie because I don't need to; I don't intend to hurt my friends. I tell the truth because I know that discovering a lie hurts infinitely more. I wish many of my former friends had known that. Morons.

I also know that always speaking my mind is intimidating to a lot of people. But I refuse to modify my opinions just so that people won't feel uncomfortable. People who don't have the intellect, interest or strength of character to withstand my opinons don't deserve such consideration.

My friends may not be the smartest people in the world, but they're smart enough to try to correct me if they think I'm wrong. They may not be the strongest people in the world, but they're strong enough to listen to me without getting scared and leaving. They deserve my honesty and that's what they'll get.

News

2010-11-28T11:11:00.003+08:00

I've always thought newspaper reading is a good habit, but I never do it. It's not because I'm lazy or stupid, though. It's because news makes me angry. At least the news we get here. I always end up shouting, either at people around me or at the newspaper itself.

Today's newspaper had a headline along the lines of "Elbowed Obama Wipes Bloody Nose." I thought someone had attacked him. But it turned out that he got injured playing basketball. How is that news??? Yes, he is an important person, the president of the Unites States of America and all, but accidentally getting his face elbowed while playing basketball is hardly newsworthy. It isn't even gossip-worthy. It's nothing. And yet it has been reported in The Sunday Times. In the main section.

There was also a special report about anorexic little girls. 8 year olds who refuse to eat and do sit ups to lose weight. It is so upsetting just to think about that. Why are girls so young so insecure about weight? When I was eight, I was totally unaware of my body. I ate whatever I wanted and never even looked at myself in a mirror.

It's so disturbing that some little girls want so badly to be skinny. What the hell for? Who's going to look at their bodies? Eeerrurgh. It makes me shudder just thinking about skinny little girls.

You know what really annoys me? Girls who have secret desires to be skinny. They want to look like girls in magazines, all angular bones and straight lines. But they don't want to admit that their ideal bodies are unrealistic, unnatural and unhealthy. They want to seem like they're completely confident and secure with their bodies, while secretly trying to become bony.

It's bad enough when girls openly try to lose weight to become skinny, but at least they have the integrity to be straightforward about it. Making up health problems or claiming to have unnaturally small appetites or high metabolic rates are just horribly pathetic things to do.

I've been skinny. It was horrible. I kept eating and eating but I kept losing weight and I was so confused. It was horrible. And I looked like shit.

Now I've gained almost 10 kilograms and I'm so glad every time I weigh myself. I've gained so much weight that I've been called fat. Not outright to my face, of course, no one is masochistic or stupid enough to do that. People think that it would be insulting to me, but it is so reassuring. It means I'm healthy.

Skinny girls aren't healthy, though. I've seen them in little tank tops and short denim shorts, thinking they look so sexy. In truth, though, they look like clothes hangers. Only people with low standards, no class or twisted fetishes find that sexy.

I could never wear tank tops and short shorts to school, because I would look obscene, like a prostitute. Because I have curves. Not that I would want to. School is not a casual gathering, it's an educational institute. Wearing shorts to school is just lazy and sloppy. I'll never look like that. Yes, I do have more class.

Shit Is Everywhere

2010-11-25T10:59:00.006+08:00

I don't understand why people are so disgusted by shit. Everyone shits. Every animal in the world shits. The world is literally full of shit. So why do people squirm and giggle and act like feces is taboo?

I had a fecal analysis and urinalysis practical yesterday, and people were acting so childishly. Waving dog shit around and throwing tubes of human urine at each other. That is what's truly disgusting. Grown ass vet students acting like 2 year olds, so amused by playing with feces and urine.

And then there were those disgusted by their own dogs' feces. I don't get it. Don't they see it every day? Don't they pick it up when they walk their dogs? Haven't they learned about shit since they were 15, like I have? It was not even human feces; it was dog shit. There's nothing at all disgusting about dog shit, let alone your own dog's shit. How will they become "future vets" if they can't handle their own dogs' shit? Vets have to do much more unpleasant things than look at shit smears under a microscope.

Maybe I just have a higher tolerance for feces because of my colitis. I've had to take note of my bowel movements every day to keep an eye on my condition. And sometimes they're not pretty. I've seen liquid, undigested food, even fresh blood. I hate my intestine, it's such a sulky bitch.

My stomach is really strong, though. Shit does not revolt me. I guess it's also because I volunteer at SPCA. I've had to clean up poop worth 50 dogs and cats in a day. It's all good. I don't even lose my appetite in the presence of shit. I guess it's a bit unsanitary to eat with crap around, but like I said, shit is everywhere. E. coli is everywhere. You can't escape it.

Always wash your hands before eating, though. Hands are more disgusting than shit. I hate when people touch me with their hands. Yuck. At least I know where poop has been, but I never know where people's hands have been. Just thinking about people's hands grosses me out. Shit is nothing compared to hands.

bavani's ship would leave the country, but she'd rather swim ashore.

2010-11-12T00:22:00.004+08:00

Damn, I miss being on the computer late at night. I haven't had many sleepless nights in a long time. I go to sleep early because my kitten wakes me up early in the morning. And even if I can't fall asleep, I have pharmaceuticals to help me with that.

There's so much to write at night, though. I remember why I used to do it so often. Things that seem too personal to share in the day seem too overwhelming to keep to myself at night.

I don't understand people who like to drink and party. Why would they want to be in that kind of situation? In crowded places full of strangers, judgement hampered by alcohol, disoriented by darkness and deafening music. I don't understand why they actually want that.

I really don't understand why people who have nice, stable lives would want that. People who don't wake up every morning feeling more tired than they were the previous night. People who don't spend their days worrying about the futures of themselves as well as everyone they care about. People who don't dread going home, wondering what fresh hell awaits there. People who don't go to bed wondering whether things will be the same tomorrow or if they will change, not even knowing which is better. People who don't even have to take care of themselves, let alone anyone else, because they have others looking after them.

What I wouldn't give to have that kind of life. I try to hold on to every little bit of stability I can manage, while those who have all the stability try to live more precariously. It makes me very bitter to see nice homes, caring families and good friends wasted on people who don't want them. They want things that are painfully obviously bad for them, because they think they're "cool," or whatever. They think that having those things will make them cool, but in whose eyes? Not mine, if you care to know.

It completely breaks my heart when they take the good things in their lives for granted. I'm not exaggerating; sometimes I come very close to tears. I tread for my life every day, while they purposely rock their boats. They are completely willing to throw valuable things overboard just so they can have a bit of fun. I wish I could take those things for myself but they'll never be mine. Never.

Perhaps they think their lives would be boring without the rocking. My response to that is Grow the fuck up. They're my age or even older, but they still want to party, they still want the bad boys, they still want their parents' attention.

They don't want to learn and grow and amount to something more in their own eyes. They don't want to change the world or even make a tiny difference. They don't want to depend only on themselves and know they don't need anyone else. They could do all that so much more easily than me, but they just don't want to. It breaks my heart.

Speaking of my heart breaking, I miss so many people that I know I'll never see or speak to again. And this is why I started taking pharmaceuticals when I can't sleep. I remember them so well at night. During the day, when I'm surrounded by people, I look forward to being alone, but when I'm alone at night, I want to be with certain people. And I never will, so I have to deal with that on top of everything else.

I'm feeling so sorry for myself, and I've learned that that's okay. I've learned that it's better than not feeling anything for myself.

The Glass

2010-11-07T15:25:00.004+08:00

Is the glass half full or half empty? It's not a subjective question. If the glass is only half full, then it must also be half empty. To say that the glass either half full or half empty does not make sense. Unless the glass is completely full or empty, when both halves are either full or empty.

I'm writing about this because I've been asked this question so many times in my life by people trying to "get to know me," and I've become sick of it. I am a real, round person with many perspectives and many issues, and simply asking me an either-or question will not tell you whether I'm an optimist or a pessimist. It will only give you a flat, linear impression of me. And I hate that.

I am neither an optimist or a pessimist. I'm a realist inclined towards cynicism. The glass cannot be either full or empty for me. It is both full and empty. It is half full of water and half full of air. Half empty of water and half empty of air. Probably because some lazy asshole didn't bother filling it up with water completely. Idiot.

People don't seem happy with this answer. They want me to be a typical pessimist or optimist, so that they can tidily file me away in the appropriate folder. But I refuse to go in, because I am not a piece of paper that you can label and punch holes in and file.

I refuse to conform to stereotypes. On the other hand, I will not do the opposite of what people expect of me just so that I don't fit the stereotypes. That's just another way of conforming.

For example, I will not stop baking just because girls are supposed to be good at cooking and baking and such domestic things. Baking makes me happy. I like cookies, cakes and chocolate. I have a sweet tooth. I bake because I love sweet things. If people want to believe that I like to bake because "girls like to bake," then they can go fuck themselves. I will not stop baking and start learning about car models or something, just to disprove a damn stereotype.

Speaking of stereotypes, I can't stand people who do whatever's expected of them just so people will like them. Is being liked by other people more important than being true to yourself? You hang out at the places "cool" people go to, you do your hair like the girls in magazines do, wear the clothes that you think make you look sexy and sophisticated, take up destructive, disgusting habits that some cultures find cool and glamourous, but are you happy? Are you doing what makes you happy? No, you're doing what others want, hoping that they will make you happy.

I've got news for you. Other people will never make you happy. It's up to you to make yourself happy. Like some motivational speaker once said to me, "Stop looking for the right person. Be the right person, and the right person will come along." Only you can be the perfect person for yourself, and if you're trying to be what others want, you will never get what you want. Stop trying to be what others want, because you're the only person you need to make happy.

Stop being a piece of paper and be real.

Gaining Momentum

2010-11-02T09:32:00.005+08:00

I seem to have lost my writing momentum, I rarely write anymore. That can be reversed, though, I just have to start writing. And I have.

School has started again, and I have been reminded of why I hated it so much. It is FULL of idiots. I will not name names or cite examples, though. They may be stupid but they don't deserve to be made fun of on the internet.

The Dumpers do, though, but lately I seem to be less angry with them. They don't seem like assholes who infuriate me anymore, they're just idiots who annoy me. So congratulations, Dumpers, you've finally been promoted from the Asshole category to the Idiot category. It's a big step up for you.

When I think of all the idiots I'm faced with every day, I'm so grateful for my friends. They keep me sane. If I didn't have them, I'm sure I would completely melt down and end up yelling at people during classes. I've done it before, and it scares me too.

I'm grateful for Toastmasters too. They're exactly my kind of people. Well, almost. I can relate to them. They are intellectual and insightful and not afraid to speak to anyone.

And I'm glad I have a lingual release at the end of every week. I'm glad I'm in the ex-co, too. I'm not doing it for the CCA points, I cannot be bothered less about that. I'm doing it because I like Toastmasters. The speeches, the people, the whole organisation. It's good. I'm sure that even after I graduate from Temasek Polytechnic, I will find another Toastmasters club to join. I can't get enough.

Halloween has just passed. I'm so sick of it. It's a western tradition, and people here who never heard of it until they started watching television begin putting on costumes once they start dressing themselves. That would be alright if they knew what Halloween is actually about. But they blindly follow western (mostly American) culture without even learning about it. It's basically a convenient excuse of an occasion for girls to dress like sluts while pretending to wear "costumes" and boys to ogle them shamelessly.

I'm not saying I know more about Halloween than them. But I'm not a hypocrite. All I did on the 31st of October are eat, read and take a nap.

Abrupt ending: Have to go to school, (YAY!) bye.

About Everything.

2010-10-25T11:42:00.001+08:00

"Sometimes everything is just the worst."

- Liz Lemon, 30 Rock.

World Animal Day

2010-10-11T10:06:00.003+08:00

World Animal Day was the best. East Coast Park felt like home yesterday; it was crawling with dogs, cats, rabbits and animal lovers. They all seemed like family. I felt so close to strangers, because I knew they were the same as me. We're all animal lovers, and that means much more than DNA.

I feel kind of homesick now that it's over. I can't wait for next year.

I was involved in the cookies and drinks stall. I baked cookies for SPCA. It was much more satisfying than baking for myself. I put more love in the cookies than the recipes called for.

Dogs who were adopted from SPCA came to World Animal Day. It was pure happiness seeing dogs who used to be angsty and skinny, now happy and healthy, and dogs who were chubby and itchy, now fit and soft-skinned. They're given more time and attention now. They have families now, and homes. Nothing can make me happier than that.

My Handsome was there :DDD although he's not mine anymore. He has his own human now, who can rub his belly and sleep with him all the time. I'm so happy for Handsome, and so jealous of his human.

I met a girl who brought her kitten. She found the kitten under a block, just like I found mine, and took her home. I love people who do that. Buying animals from pet shops is a totally lazy, selfish thing to do, it only takes money. Adopting an animal, on the other hand, whether it's from a shelter, or especially the streets, requires a big heart. You adopt animals because you want your home to be theirs; because you care.

People who aren't really animal lovers came too. Some of them donated money, and some of them donated just good will. They're both just as valuable.

But of course, we can't just talk about the good times. There were bad times, too, involving ignorant, lazy pet owners. I can't stand idiots who put booties on their dogs' paws, especially on a hot day at the beach. Dogs aren't meant to wear shoes; they lose heat through their paws. Putting shoes on them is like blocking every pore on your skin so that you can't sweat.

And I can't stand lazy idiots who don't leash their dogs properly. It's not so that they can control their dogs, it's so that they can make sure their dogs are safe. Small dogs, especially. They could get run over by bicycles at the park, or lost, or kidnapped, or attacked. It's important to keep them leashed.

I witnessed dogs snapping at each other so many times yesterday. The dogs should have been separated before they could do that, but no. Without leashes, it takes longer to pull dogs away than the split second it takes for them to snap.

I can't stand retractable leashes, either. They're practically useless. Keeping dogs safe is more than making sure they're connected to you by a string. You can't grab the retractable leash when it's pulled out because it's a thin rope, and it will burn you. What if your dog is far away and someone attacks it? How will you pull it away?

I can't stand people who speak without sensitivity. This isn't related to animals, but I read Rev's blog this morning. She wrote about someone who asked her if she "is over" her mother's death.

Do people never think before they open their mouths? They can't put themselves in others' shoes and think about how they'll feel when they hear it? They're so lazy that they use generalised terms like "get over it" without thinking about what they really mean. They may not mean to hurt others, but when they don't try not to hurt others, it's basically the same thing. Hurting people out of negligence is not better than hurting people on purpose.

Lastly, I can't stand laziness. Particularly, I can't stand lazy volunteers who act incompetent so that they won't have to do work. They don't even have the guts to come out and say that they don't want to do it. It's volunteer work, hello! You're not being forced to do anything. You don't have to do it if you don't want to. Just say so. Acting incompetent is not a way to get out of doing anything. It's just plain stupid and annoying.

I've got a few pictures of World Animal Day on Facebook. I'll add more pictures soon, but enjoy these for now.

Thank You

2010-09-25T18:54:00.005+08:00

It's been months since I've been dumped by The Dumpers, and I still haven't "gotten over it." They may tell each other, and all their little friends, that I'm being an oversensitive bitch, that I should "just get over it" and "move on". But the truth is that I loved them and they fucking broke my heart. I will be furious with them for as long as I wish, and I hope the bad karma kills them painfully.

It burns me that they acted like such victims. And everyone thought I was a bad person for confronting them. As if I was supposed to let them stab my heart from the back and "still be friends." Do I have "SUCKER" written on my forehead?

It infuriates me that now they're trying to act like we're okay again. We will never be okay. One of Them sat next to one of Us in a bus and tried to make small talk. Does my friend have "SUCKER" written on her forehead, either? Suddenly, you're all nice to her, as if you're a friend? As if you never said things about her to me and our other classmates. As if you didn't say shit to her about another one of Us. Did you think we'd forget all that, and be nice to you? You're really stupid.

It annoys me that they go out in their own clique and call it a "class outing." A few people from the same class going out together isn't a class outing. A whole class going out together is a class outing. And unless you count compulsory school field trips, I don't think that's ever going to happen in our class again.

They can comfort themselves, in their own little world, telling each other that everything's okay, that they're good friends, that they're perfect just the way they are, that they're all people worth caring about. Hell, I used to do that for them, because I thought they were genuinely good people. But in fact, they're just pathetic, insecure, empty souls feeding off each other. They will never get a nice hot meal off me again.

I picked a huge fight with one of The Dumpers for writing about me on her blog, which ultimately ended with The Confrontation (yes, there was only ONE). She can pick one right back at me, but I will stand by everything I've written here. I've never written anything about their lives or actions that didn't affect me, just because they hurt my friends and me.

They had the heart to alienate people who were their sincere friends, people who truly cared about them. What makes them think they're safe in their friendship? What if the silent one grows her own mind? What if the rotund one develops a personality? What if the slow one... Well. Never mind. What if any of them grows a spine? They'll be cast off too, because their clique only accepts their own kind. Cowards and losers.

It's a compliment to have been dumped by them, actually. So thank you.

I'm Like, Fuck You.

2010-09-21T11:33:00.001+08:00

WOW I haven't written in a really long time. I've been working. I had a job as a surveyor, counting people outside a mall. Ten hours a day. The renumeration is good, but it's such a waste of my time. I feel cheap. I haven't gained anything other than money(which I haven't even received yet) from that job. I've gained no new skills, met no interesting people, and learned NOTHING.

Well, not absolutely nothing. I've learned that I still like listening to the radio when I'm super bored. I used to do that in secondary school during my free periods. The Muttons are still funny. I've sat outside the mall by myself giggling at their jokes. A cleaner auntie came to ask me why I'm laughing to myself.

I've also learned that radio music SUCKS. Are people really so easy to please now? Song writers are becoming so lazy, most lyrics don't make sense. Lyrics of Disney songs, especially. 987 fm kept playing a song by Demi Lovato which is pure crap. It doesn't mean anything. In the chorus, she has so little to say that she actually goes "Lalalala lalalala," and "Crazy crazy crazy crazy." People listen to that?

And lyrics that do make some sense are clichéd and full of shit. Eminem's Love The Way You Lie, for example. What rubbish. It's just playing on men's violent desires and women's masochistic tendencies. That is so not right. It's not right for men to hit women and then try to justify it by claiming that they love those women. It's not right for women to take abuse from men and learn to love it because they love those men. It makes me so angry, I want to hit Eminem in the face repeatedly and ask him whether he likes the way it hurts.

Whoa, where did that violence come from? From the song. Yes.

Also, there was another song which was talking about a "player" who wanted to settle down with a woman because she wanted to go with him to a strip club. Apparently, that made her "The One." So, according to that song, wanting to objectify other women and treat them as sex receptacles makes a woman ideal. FUCK THAT. Why don't you go fuck yourself, then, asshole, you're perfect for yourself.

Grrrrr.

There are a few precious good songs on the radio, though. Such as Cee Lo Green's Fuck You. On the radio, it's called Forget You, but it's still good. It has lyrics that actually mean something worthwhile. And they're refreshingly straightforward. They don't try to say something but mean something else. They don't play along with pop culture; they don't talk about sex or partying. That's real music. Eminem can go fuck himself.

Anyway, I'm off to have lunch with my Ice Cream Man now, and later I'm going to bake. Cookies. Delicious chocolate cookies. Ohhh they make me so satisfied.

Not All Men Are Assholes

2010-09-05T08:02:00.003+08:00

"The measure of a man is not how many studs you've got on your leather jacket or how many women you've been bad to. The measure of a man is how much love and comfort you've given. If caring for the one you love, if caring for your children, if paying attention to your career and home - if these things be dull, then may I be the dullest man who ever lived."

- Frasier Crane, from Cheers.

Fictional men have brains.

Invincible

2010-08-31T17:38:00.004+08:00

A long time ago, I was in a very horrible period in my life. I had nothing, and no one. I was completely miserable, and contemplating suicide. I needed an outlet, so I spoke out to a guy whom I didn't even consider my friend. I told him most of the things that were wrong. He, in turn, told me that when I got out of all that, I would be invincible.

That had never occurred to me before. Everything about my life made me miserable, but I hadn't realised that it was making me stronger too. The fact that it did made it much easier to live. Knowing that I will be invincible one day made it easier to move along, albeit stumblingly and haphazardly.

I want others to know it too. So many girls I know are miserable, and I can't accept the fact that I cannot change their situations. Girls whose fathers have abandoned them. Girls whose fathers or brothers abuse them. Girls whose mothers have left them without support or protection, either by death or abandonment. Girls who feel worthless because of other people's words or actions. Girls whose families treat them like strangers. Girls who think they can't go on living.

Know that every blow you take from your life may hurt you, but it doesn't break you. It makes you stronger and stronger until you're unbeatable. When you overcome your problems, when you defeat those who harm you, you'll be untouchable. No one will be able to hurt you.

When you get out of all this, you'll be invincible.

bavani is a Shopaholic

2010-08-18T15:17:00.000+08:00

I've just read Sophie Kinsella's Confessions of a Shopaholic. She is a woman after my own heart. I love it.

I don't usually read chick lit, but I borrowed it from the library because I thought I needed a break from the disturbing psychological thrillers and strange deep obscure stories I usually read. I was ultimately wrong about that, but I enjoyed Confessions of a Shopaholic.

I love to shop, you see. I have kind of a problem, just like the character in the book does. Every month, I manage to spend all my allowance on things that I don't need, and get broke. I just love buying things! I always have.

There's a sense of anticipation when I enter a mall or a good shop. All the possibilities. All the things that could belong to me; all the things I could do with things that I buy. Then the joy when I decide to make a purchase, taking it to the cashier, handing it over together with money, getting it back in a bag, and walking away with it belonging to me, anticipating what I'd do with it... Oh, I love that feeling.

I used to buy a lot of hair products. Expensive, nice-smelling shampoos, not brands you find in supermarkets, but the kinds sold in specialist beauty shops. Flowery-smelling hair oils. Delicious-smelling hair lotions. I loved to have nice-smelling hair then. I loved putting things in my hair, knowing that they will make my hair shiny and fragrant. Now, I cannot be bothered with my hair anymore. I wonder why that is... Probably because I've moved on to other things, which I will discuss shortly.

I used to buy a lot of skincare products as well. Lotions, scrubs, body and facial washes, moisturisers, hair removing creams... Oh, I love them. I rarely used them, though. I had neither the time or inclination to take so much trouble with my skin. So why did I buy so many skincare products, you ask? Because it was possible that I would use them. Now, I have realised that that's not a good enough reason to spend money. I need to be certain that I'll use what I buy.

I'm not really into buying clothes. I do buy them, but because of necessity, not because I enjoy buying clothes. It just doesn't do it for me. I don't really make "fashion statements" with my clothes. It doesn't interest me.

Shoes interest me. I love shoes. Oh, I love shoes a lot. I don't buy a lot of them, though, because shoes are expensive. Good shoes, that is. Beautiful shoes. I keep them in the boxes when I don't wear them, to protect them. That's how much I love shoes.

What I really looooove to buy is makeup. I love going into makeup shops, where they have testers. I love picking up an eyeliner pencil and drawing a creamy black, blue, green, purple, gold, or silver line on the back of my hand. I love twisting open a tube of mascara to see a fat, bristly brush covered in thick fibrous goo. I love opening the cover of a jar of bright, vibrant eyeshadow, gently rubbing my finger in it and smearing thickly it on the back of my palm. I love opening a tube of lip gloss to see shiny clear liquid coating the applicator.

Oh, I love makeup. Not just the putting on of makeup. The makeup itself is so pretty. The colours, the packaging, the sparklyness(yes, I know I sound like a little kid) is all so pretty. I would buy a huge, gigantic load of good, expensive makeup if I had the money. I would like to think that if I had a lot of money, I would give it to charity or something, but I don't think I would. I would spend it on a lot of makeup while I contemplate which charity I should help. I am so fickle.

You know what? Writing about shopping actually satisfies the urge to shop. I wanted to buy things when I started writing this post, but now I don't at all. Perhaps that's why Sophie Kinsella wrote Confessions of a Shopaholic. It's good. I should do it more often, so that I don't get broke. It's a horrible situation. A horrible habit. I'm going to kick it. Eventually.

bavani rants about hair

2010-08-16T20:52:00.000+08:00

This is a rant. Usually, I try to make it seem as if I'm addressing an issue when I write about something that makes me angry, but tonight, I won't. I'll let it become more personal. This is a rant, brought on by anger and hurt that I couldn't express elsewhere.

I have really short hair, have had for years. While I have enjoyed many compliments about it, I have also had brainless people who look through their stereotypes at me tell me that I look like a boy, or a lesbian.

And I've noticed a pattern. Females say I look like a boy, and males tell me I look like a lesbian. Which is rubbish. It's what they see through the stereotypical bullshit covering their eyes and closing their minds.

I do not look like a boy. I look like a girl with short hair. I'm sorry, girls, that your old-fashioned, closed-minded parents have brought you up to think that "girls = people who have long hair" and "boys = people who have short hair." Contrary to this bullshit belief, girls do have short hair. I am living proof. Having short hair does not make me a boy; nor does it make me look like a boy. It makes me look like nothing but a girl who has short hair.

Deal with it, and shut the fuck up, okay. I will not let my hair grow to accommodate your domestic little sexist stereotype.

Now, I can't deny that I look like a lesbian. I'm sure a lot of lesbians resemble me. Individuals of the same gender of the same species, heck, even individuals belonging to the same kingdom, tend to look alike.

But not all lesbians have short hair, morons. I don't really know the statistics, but I don't think even half the lesbians have short hair.

So why do guys come to the conclusion that girls with short hair look like lesbians? Most men find girls with long hair attractive. When they see that we have short hair, they think we must not want to attract men. Thus, we must want to attract women.

Well, boys, I do not. I do not have the desire or need to attract anybody. I do not need to appeal to the general male population's idea of what's attractive in a girl. I do not give even a fraction of a microgram of shit whether you find me attractive. In fact, you should count yourselves lucky if I even bother to lay my eyes on such a disgusting specimen of lecherous hedonism as a male human.

I wish I had a vlog, because all this would have sounded so much more emotional out loud. Alternatively, I wish I had someone to talk to, but certain friends of mine don't seem to want to listen to me, or talk to me.

Anyway, I want to put an end to this "issue" right now, so, to those who disagree with me, my final words are Fuck you.

We Aren't Idiots.

2010-08-15T16:57:00.003+08:00

There has been much expression of disappointment in the blogosphere about the Youth Olympic Games. Some people think we're "buying medals" by letting foreigners represent our country. Others feel that the whole event is a great inconvenience for the locals.

And then there are those who are unhappy with Singaporeans' lack of enthusiasm for the YOG.

Well, whose fault is that? Let's see what has been advertised about the YOG. Lyo, the lion mascot, Merly, the merlion mascot, and... Nothing else. Nothing at all about sports or sportsmanship. Nothing at all about what the Olympics are all about.

Now, I don't claim to know anything about what the Olympics are about. Don't you think I should, though? The Youth Olympic Games are being held in my country, but I still have no idea. I know about the mascots, the funky purple and orange theme colours, and that people get fined an outrageous amount of money if they don't give way to YOG buses. And I know of that awful "Oh, yeah, oh, yeah," song.

I've also seen posters that encourage Singaporeans to "Champion a Smile," or something like that. And I've seen t-shirts being sold at Hang Ten which say "Welcome to Singapore." I've recently found out that school students have been forced to watch and cheer as the torch goes by.

Why are Singaporeans being treated like idiots? We're being talked down to, as if we can't understand the actual spirit of the Olympics, so all we need to know is that we should smile and be nice to foreigners. It's disgraceful and insulting.

When I found out a few years ago that Singapore will be hosting the YOG, I admit I was a little proud. But now, I am embarrassed. We're missing the whole point of the Olympics. It seems like it's all about looking like perfect, super-friendly citizens to the rest of the world, and making tons of money from Lyo and Merly merchandise. I don't intend to sound unpatriotic. I impartially feel that Russia might have done a better job of hosting the YOG.

I'm sorry to say that I resent that Singapore was chosen to host the YOG. I resent that Singaporeans are being treated like puppets, expected to just do what we're told without needing to understand the Olympic spirit. I resent that the answer to our unwillingness to accommodate YOG buses on the roads is fines, not explanation and persuasion. I resent that school children are being taught that enthusiasm is achieved by involuntary participation, not education and goodwill.

I resent that we're being treated like idiots. We're not idiots.

Rape VICTIM

2010-08-14T20:33:00.004+08:00

I saw something horrible written in The New Paper today. The news is usually crap, but there was something exceptionally objectionable in today's New Paper.

The headline read "They're Lucky I Am Lenient." It was the story of the court case of 5 men aged from 18 to 21, who all raped a teenage girl. The story is repugnant enough, but read what the reporter thought about it:

"She did not ask to be attacked, but the victim in a gang rape case here wasn't completely blameless for what happened."

Tell me how a girl can be blamed for being raped. How is it even marginally her fault that five men held her down and forced their body parts into hers?

The reporter wrote that she willingly went to one of the rapists' homes, drank alcohol, and had consensual sex with one of them. That, according to the reporter, is reason to be raped.

Is that what men in our society think? If a girl goes to your home, drinks, and has sex with one of your friends, you can rape her? Are the men in our society such cruel, disrespectful monsters?

Does this mean that girls who go to their male friends' homes are expected to be raped? Are girls who drink socially with men intended to be raped by them? Are girls who have sex with one guy entitled to be raped by his friends?

If so, what kind of world do we live in, where women can't go to their friends' homes, drink alcohol, or have consensual sex, without being raped?

I am appalled by the gall of the reporter to say that it was the girl's fault. I can't imagine what kind of horrid person could think that. It's nasty.

Imagine you're a girl, and you go to your male friend's flat, because you trust this friend. You play some drinking games with him and his friends, because you trust these people. You have sex with a guy that you like, because you trust this guy. But while you lie down to rest, they inflict horrible pain and humiliation upon you. They violate your body, together with your self-respect and dignity.

And then, some asshole reporter says it's your fault. How would you feel?

bavani Speaks

2010-08-12T09:35:00.001+08:00

Fuck being busy. I like having things to do, but not so many that I have too little time to write. I have things to tell people, and this is a very efficient way to accomplish that. I've got a little time now, so I'll write.

Lately, I've been thinking about how I am, and why I am how I am. I will not disclose the "why" part, because that's not important. What's important is why I should be how I am.

I am assertive, firm, sometimes harsh, and very persistent when it comes to what I feel is right or wrong. I never keep quiet when I think something is wrong, and I always defend what I think is right.

My friends sometimes say that I am too assertive, and it gets to me. I never thought of being assertive as being a bad thing, because all around me are people letting others walk all over them. Letting others make decisions for them, dictate what they do, and even form opinions for them. I will never be like that. I know what I want, I know what I'll do, and I know what I think. Only I can change that.

I think what my friends meant is that I'm so assertive that I'm stubborn. But is that necessarily a bad thing? Standing firm with my beliefs and actions?

It could be, actually, if I'm with people who are not assertive at all. I would call them spineless if I was still angry with them. People have dumped me because I wanted to eat at one food court and they wanted to eat at another, and they were too weak to even try to change my mind. About eating at food courts. Yes. The only way they could think of to eat where they wanted was to dump me. That's the kind of "friends" they are.

But that's their problem, not mine. I'm still a bit bitter about the way they treated me, but I'm over them. I would never want to be their friend again, now that I see what they really are. It disgusts me now to even think of hanging out with such boneless chickens, too weak and scared to even try to get what they want.

Back to the topic in hand. Mouthing off my strong opinions often lands me in heated arguments. I don't like arguing with people, but I don't mind it. It needs to be done. Others don't seem to agree, though. They seem to think that arguments always lead to problems, not understanding that the order is reversed - problems lead to arguments. They seem to think that arguments are "unnecessary," but without confrontation, the problems will only worsen.

Imagine if Martin Luther King Junior, Nelson Mandela, Susan B. Anthony, Mahathma Ghandi or Buddha had kept quiet, afraid to offend people. What would America be like now? Africa? India? The whole world? Women would still belong to men. Black people would still belong to white people. India would still belong to Britain. And the world would be bleakly deficient of Buddha's spiritual (not religious, but that's a topic for another day) principles of tolerance, peace, self-sufficiency, kindness, vegetarianism, and such important things.

It is because they all spoke that our world is less crooked. They did not listen to those who advised them that arguments are not necessary, that it was none of their business to go against the authorities and majorities. They spoke to make the world less unfair.

But the world is still crooked. There is still horrible unfairness in the world, against women, men, racial groups, homosexuals, children, animals, and even plants, and I will not shut up about it. I will speak up against it in my assertive, firm, harsh, persistent way until something changes.

Like Buddha said, "You must leave righteous ways behind, not to speak of unrighteous ways." It is wrong not to speak against wrong things.

Prejudice is Everywhere.

2010-08-01T09:29:00.005+08:00

Imagine you're in the executive committee of a club that belongs to a big international organisation. You go to a Division event. Awards are being presented, and a special award is being announced for a particular club. This club had only 8 members at the beginning of the previous term, and ended up with just six at the end. Nevertheless, they managed to earn four out of ten Distinguished Club points.

Would you applaud as the award is being presented to the club's president? Of course you would.

And then you see that the president of the club is disabled. The whole club is a group of disabled people. Would you clap harder then? Would you stand up and clap?

Why? Because it's a greater achievement when it's done by a disabled person? Because it's more difficult for the disabled to achieve things than non-disabled people? Just because they speak slowly and walk with crutches, they're less capable, and so they deserve more credit? Is that not offensive and demeaning?

I would bet money that if the club wasn't a group of disabled people, no one would have stood up to clap. Why should they be treated differently from everyone else? Isn't it the commonly accepted ideal that they should be treated equally? Those people stood up because they were especially impressed, because they thought that disabled people were less capable.

Let's talk about special treatment. Of course, disabled people are treated a little differently from others because they have special needs. They need more space, maybe, so you make way for them. They speak a little unusually, so you lean in and pay a little closer attention to what they're saying. But do you shrink against the wall when they pass by, then sigh with relief when they're gone? Do you smile with surprised patronisation when they make an intelligent comment?

The difference is that the latter is laced with prejudice and preconceived impressions of "the disabled." Without even bothering to get to know these people, you presume that they're unusual, slow and fragile.

Well, I found out that they're not. There's absolutely nothing different about them than the physical difficulties they were born with and have to live with. Their bodies may be fragile, but their spirits are definitely stronger than most people's.

It's a common practice for people to shake hands and introduce themselves to one another at such events, and that's what we were doing when we split up into focus groups. When a disabled girl came, though, people stared at her, but didn't say hi. I was fortunate to be sitting next to her, so I said hi and shook her hand. She responded slowly, but other than that, there was absolutely nothing different about her. Nothing at all. Her replies were completely normal. I don't know what kind of disability she has, but it doesn't mean she's incompetent. Yet, people were surprised when she got the answers to a quiz right, and when she asked questions about the quiz. It was repulsive.

Maybe you're making excuses for those who stood up to clap, saying that they only did it because it was a very special award. Well, imagine something else that's a bit tougher.

Imagine you're getting an award in front of a room full of strangers. People start clapping as your name is announced. As you walk up to the front of the room, however, they notice that you're on crutches. When they realise that you're disabled, they stand up. How would you feel, knowing that they're judging you based on your disability? Would you feel honoured and respected, or offended and belittled?

I'm proud to say that I did not stand up. People tried to influence me to get up, but I had my butt sat down firmly on the chair. People tried to make me feel like a bad person for not being a judgemental, high and mighty jerk, but I stood firm.

I am not one to be intimidated by imperious rebukes. I am not one to just follow what others do without thinking about what it means. I am certainly not one to judge people by their disabilities.

Neither should you.

The Rukku

2010-07-29T10:53:00.004+08:00

I've just read my cousin's blog, her "new" one, for the first time. It is good. She writes about things that matter to her; what she thinks, instead of what she has done.

I was moved when I read her first entry, because it's about me. It's moving to know that she thinks about me and reads my blog. It's good to know that I've helped her and influenced her. She's like a little sister to me, albeit a sister that I rarely see. When I see her, though, it's like nothing has changed since the last time. It's totally easy to be with her.

She's one of the very few people in my life that are actually smart. (Refer to previous post.) She sees things that others don't. She understands things that most others find difficult to comprehend. Most importantly, she understands her own feelings, and expresses them effectively. She knows herself. That's why she's going to make something of herself. I don't think she knows it, but she's going to be Somebody.

I know she's insecure about her body, it seems like she always has, but she shouldn't be. It seems that a lot of her friends comment on her body, because that's what they see. I guess they don't know her very well, because it's so insignificant. There are so many other things about her that eclipse her appearance, even though her looks are really attractive. I know so many ugly people who act like they look like princesses, and I don't understand why she's so insecure.

She's getting stronger, though, I can see it. Soon, she will realise that those who don't want to be her friends because of how she looks aren't even worth thinking about. She won't care if people think she's not slim and pretty. She will demand respect and courtesy, not by asking, but through her attitude. No one will be able to make her feel like she's not enough.

And meanwhile, if anyone dares to hurt her, and I find out about it, I will find them and make their life hell.

Her blog title is "Masquerade; paper faces on parade. Hide your face so the world will never find you." That bothers me, because the world needs her. My world, at least. I will go crazy(er) if there are less people like her. My life is filled with too many idiots.

The world would definitely be a crappier place without her.

About bavani's Peers

2010-07-28T17:58:00.002+08:00

"The people in his life were so ridiculous that Billy sometimes thought, yes, he could kill them. Or he might as well kill them."

- David Ebershoff, in The Charm Bracelet

Fucking spot-on, David Ebershoff, you insightful, sick, brilliant homo.

bavani's Blood Is Safe.

2010-07-25T10:05:00.009+08:00

I hate Twilight. It is a huge waste of money, time, and paper. There are a lot of people who fight against global warming, oil spills, poverty, and such things, but no one protests against Twilight. I think people should. Think of how many orphans could have been fed with all the money that that idiot author got from writing pure rubbish. Think of all the real, good books filled with real, useful substance that people could have read with the time they wasted reading and watching Twilight. Think of all the poor monkeys and birds whose homes were destroyed to make paper to print shit on. Twilight is ruining our world, and it seems I'm the only one who sees it.

It's even affecting my life, as whenever people see the word "vampire" they think "Oh, a Twilight fan." I am NOT a Twilight fan. On the contrary, as I've mentioned earlier, I'm a Twilight hater.

Yes, my blog address is vampires-will-never-hurt-me.blogspot.com. But the reason vampires will never hurt me is not because they're creepy sparkly teen-loving pedophilic stalkers. Vampires are evil, deadly, cultic, living dead. And they will never hurt me because I will never let them. (Plus, they probably don't actually exist.)

I named my blog address after a song, actually. Vampires Will Never Hurt You by My Chemical Romance. The song is about vampires who are corpses, whose skin will be torn off if they're exposed to sunlight. And if the vampires infect the band, the members will kill each other with spikes.

But since I started this blog, I've realised that the song is about more than vampires. It's about mindless teenage culture, too. How teenagers unthinkingly follow trends and fads, just so that they'll be considered "cool" by their equally sheep-like peers. That's their infection.

"And you must keep your soul like a secret in your throat."

The infected teenagers keep their true feelings to themselves, their true personalities buried under their "super-cool" facades, afraid to go against the status quo. Afraid that they'll be cast out of the cults that are their cliques.

"We're hanging out with corpses, and driving in this hearse."

They're like corpses, dead in their minds. I've seen it with my own eyes. Teenagers who have no personalities, no opinions, no thoughts, no feelings, of their own. Everything they have in their tiny little minds come from those around them, their peers, western media, whoever comes up with "pop culture." They suck it up like blood. It is sickening.

Their lives are spent going to their graves. They do nothing that makes a difference, "hanging out with corpses", and when they die, they will be (even more) completely insignificant. Their lives are just a drive in a hearse.

These vampire-sheep will never hurt me either, even though they're definitely real. I'll never let them infect me with their mindlessness. My mind is impregnable to their "jet black" emptiness.

Speaking of never being hurt, I've recently found out that my haters read my blog. It is greatly flattering. I've never had haters before. I've had enemies, rivals, and of course, simple irritants, but never haters - near strangers who want to hurt me for no apparent reason. I didn't know it would be so good for my already rather inflated ego. It's pleasing that people who barely know me spend so much time on me.

And it's super amusing, it makes me want to laugh every time I think of it! These people sincerely want me to believe that I'm small and insignificant. Haha! They don't even know the first thing about me, which I've already mentioned: my mind is impervious to influence. And yet they try to hurt me. They spend their time writing comments on my blog, on Facebook, and even dedicate their statuses to me. How flattering. :D

They will not succeed, though. They can try and try, but they will fail to offend me. Christina Aguilera's lyrics come to mind: "You're just a little boy, all you do is annoy. You must talk so big to make up for smaller things."

One Word

2010-07-24T17:25:00.001+08:00

Family.

bavani's Music

2010-07-15T09:29:00.003+08:00

I'm sick today; it feels like a virus has invaded my throat and built a huge city in it. Ouch. So while I'm staying home from school, I thought I'd write about some of the music that I listen to.

I don't really care about the musicians that make the music. I don't care about their lives, their activities, or their beliefs. The only thing I care about is that their music does for me. Yes, I am that self-serving. The music is what they're supposed to be selling, anyway. All the media drama that some musicians use to get people interested annoys me. I don't pay attention to it, and it doesn't affect what I think about their music. I just listen to the songs that I can relate to.

Korn makes the songs that I can relate to the most. It's as if Jonathan Davis got his lyrics right out of my head. He sings about anger, frustration with the world, loneliness, desperation, betrayal, abandonment, and other things of that nature. He sings about being different and damaged. He sings about the sick things that go on in his head, like rape and suicide. I know it sounds awful, but that's what's in my head, too. And it's not just in the lyrics. Their guitars alone speak about misery. And when Davis plays his dumbass bagpipes, it makes me want to cry.

Davis once said, "When I listen to music, I don't want to hear about flowers. I like death and destruction." It's not that he (and I) are happy when death and destruction happen. But death and destruction are what's real. Do I feel happy when I listen to him singing about sick things? No. I suffer. I listen to Korn because I suffer. I don't want to hear about flowers when I suffer. I want to hear about suffering. That's what Korn gives me. Korn suffers with me.

I love the line "Something takes a part of me." It summarises everything they sing about in every song. Nothing else needs to be said.

Linkin Park is full of suffering too. Their songs are like emotions that have been kept inside for so long that they burst out screaming. They talk about some of the same emotions as Korn, but the emotions haven't been twisted in their heads. They're just pure angst. I have to say my favourite song by them is Somewhere I Belong, in which they say, "I wanna let go of the pain I've felt so long."

Blue October is incredibly emotional. I've seen the members of the band, in a music video. They look like commercialised emo-idiots, with eyeliner and everything. I would never expect people who look like that to make such good music. All their songs that I've heard sound completely different, but just as heavy with pure emotion. And the emotions don't struggle to be expressed, they just flow out easily. The singer seems to sing exactly what he feels, how he feels. His emotions sound so easy and natural when he sings them. "Let the rain of how I feel right now come down," he sang in Into The Ocean. That's exactly what their songs are, steady, heavy downpours of emotion. Not whirlpools like Korn, volcanoes like Linkin Park or thunderstorms like System of A Down. They're hot, heavy rains of drenching emotion.

System Of A Down is full of anger. It doesn't help at all to listen to SOAD when I'm angry; on the contrary, it makes me even angrier. Serj Tankian and Daron Malakian (I can't believe I remember their names) have such angry voices. Even John's drumming is angry. They're not angry for no reason, though. They sing about actual issues, like drugs, terrorism and our dysfunctional society. They're politically incorrect but morally sound.

I love how SOAD use words. Their lyrics are outstanding. They have so much meaning, and so many messages. On the surface, they might seem like nonsense. It might even require some research to make sense of them. "The kombucha mushroom people, sitting around all day," for example. But once you understand what they're saying, it will blow your mind. Or maybe just enlighten you. Either way, they're awesome. If you manage to decode their lyrics, your life will be better.

Another musician with good lyrics is Eminem. I used to think he was bullshit. I had only heard his "funny" Slim Shady songs, all the lame crap. I didn't even know he rapped about serious things. Then one day I came across Mockingbird. And the rest is history.

I love how he says it precisely as it is. He's like the opposite of SOAD; while they use metaphors and hints to excellently suggest their messages, he just puts it right out there. I love it because I do it too. I like being straightforward; people never seem to expect it. I cannot be bothered with false niceties, and neither can Eminem. I like that.

And I love how he swears. I think I might have learned how to swear effectively by listening to his songs. It's a skill. A lot of people do it wrongly, (Maryann: Fuck balls!) and it loses power. Eminem is an excellent swearer, and I have to say I admire him for it.

Lily Allen is Eminem's sarcastic, British counterpart. Her songs are crude and insulting, but she sings them in such a pleasant tone. I love how she sings "Fuck you very very much," so sweetly. And how she sings "When I see you cry, yeah, it makes me smile," then goes "Lalalala." It's brilliant, and hilarious. It lifts my spirits when I hear her sarcasm.

These are only a few of the musicians I like, but they're the ones I like the most. I like others too, such as 50 Cent, Snoop Dogg, and yes, Beyonce, but I don't relate with their songs as deeply. How do you relate with "I'll take you to the Candy Shop," anyway? It just sounds good. And I like candy. :D

Fear

2010-07-11T16:53:00.003+08:00

I like to tell people that I'm afraid of nothing. Wouldn't that be nice? It's a blatant lie, though. I read a book about a woman who was so afraid of everything that she didn't do anything. And then she got in an accident and started getting flashbacks to the incidents at the root of her fears. I wish I could know the sources of my fears, because many of them seem completely irrational.

I'm afraid of a lot of things. Most of the fears have to do with death. And very often, they come in my dreams.

Last night I dreamt that my cousin went missing. Completely vanished, and her friends claimed to know nothing about it, even though they did. I woke up in the middle of the night and couldn't go back to sleep. I was so scared that she would really disappear, and that people would witness bad things being done to her and then lie about it. And I was scared that if I hadn't woken up, I would have dreamt that she died horrifyingly.

So yes, one of my fears is that people I care about will die. I've had so many similar dreams of people dying. My mother, brother, friends, animals. They all die in my dreams.

I've also dreamt of gigantic waves. I'm always at the beach with my friends or family, presumably having fun, then comes a monstrous wave out of nowhere, drowning us all. Sometimes I try to escape, climbing up onto higher places, but in the end the wave always swallows me.

I'm afraid to go to the beach. When I do, I look at the waves very carefully to make sure they don't grow into monsters. As if I could escape if I knew it before they did. I never touch the sea.

I'm scared of drowning, too, of course. It's a horrible way to die. I refuse to swim to the deep end of my school's swimming pool. It's 4 metres deep. Almost 3 times my height. It would be so easy to drown there. No one would even see me if I drowned, until my dead body rises to the surface, pale, gray and wrinkly. Even though I can easily swim several laps without losing my breath, I never swim across the middle of the pool. I always swim at the side, so that I can grab the edge and get out of the water if I have to.

I'm afraid of heights. Every time I look down from a building, even from the second floor, I imagine myself falling. And I imagine the sound I would make when I hit the ground. I guess this arises from thoughts of suicide.

And that brings us to my fear of suicide. When I hear stories of suicide, it makes me panic. Because I could be that person who killed himself or herself. I could be dead now, and that scares me. I'm scared that when I'm faced with suicide, I might want to die again. I read that psychiatrists have a high suicide rate, and I'm glad that I chose to be a vet, although I'm interested in psychology.

I'm also glad that I'm strong. A lot of people who have as much pain as me turn to self-mutilation, alcohol, drugs, sex and abusive relationships. I'm glad I'm not like them, and have the strength and courage to look after myself, and deal with my pain in a non-destructive way. I don't let anyone hurt me anymore, not even myself.

I really don't want to die, at all. I go to a lot of trouble to make sure that I don't. I almost never jaywalk; I don't eat meat (although health is only a minor reason for my vegetarianism); I wash my hands many times every day in fear of germs; I desperately avoid cigarette smoke; and I don't go to the 4-metre-deep end of the pool. No, I'm not going to die for a very long time. Get used to it.

I'm afraid of terrorism. There was a time when I was in Secondary 4, I was certain that we were going to get bombed. Don't ask why, because I have no fucking idea. I looked up emergency supplies on the internet, and was frantically looking for things to gather in my house. I couldn't sleep, I was scared that it would happen while I slept.

I remember a dream in which terrorists were killing people using poisonous gases. I was hiding in my sister's room with her, and a sweet old cat that used to live under my block was there. I was trying to keep the cat safe, too. She was eating. The terrorists rolled balls of poison (what?) under the door and we all died. She died first, though, in the middle of her meal. I woke up before I saw her die, but I know she died first.

Oh! I remember what brought this dream on, now. We had a practice in school on how to deal with environmental terrorism. We sealed up all the doors and windows in our classrooms. It sucked. I kept imagining how terrifying would be if it really was happening, if air was deadly to inhale. If I was stuck in a classroom while people I care about could be dead.

I'm afraid of failure. It's one of my few fears that are not connected to death. I find myself thinking, "What if I can't do it?" all the time. I hate failing, it makes me feel incompetent. Useless. Stupid, worthless. I never do anything if I think I might fail. So it stops me from doing a lot of things. And if I do fail at anything, I keep at it until I succeed. I cannot have failure.

I'm afraid of being alone. It's ironic, because I need a lot of time alone. I can't be with people all the time; it tires me. When I have to spend a long period of time with people, all I want is to go home and lock myself in my room. Or rather, lock everyone else out of my room. But sometimes at night, when I'm about to go to sleep, I wonder if I will always be alone. I wonder if people will still want to be with me when I wake up. I wonder if I will ever be able to let anyone in, and if anyone would want to come then.

Jay seems to know when I feel this way, and makes his presence known. He bites my legs, makes noise with his toys, and falls asleep against my legs. He's so sweet, I could eat him.

Anyway, I've had enough fear for today, haven't you? I hope I haven't made you scared, too.

bavani Disagrees

2010-07-10T10:36:00.002+08:00

"Hate the smoke, not the smoker" - A group on Facebook.

Why? Because it is the smoke that causes all kinds of disgusting diseases, not the person that smokes the cigarettes?

But cigarettes don't smoke themselves, do they? They don't light themselves on fire and burn. They don't spontaneously release smelly smoke. They don't exhale secondhand smoke that is more harmful than what is inhaled from them, causing cancer in innocent passers-by.

No, it is you, selfish smoker who doesn't want to be hated. Not only do you not give a shit about yourself, you don't care whether others die because of your disgusting habit. Not only do you coat your lungs in tar, you fill others' lungs with shit. You are a murderer.

You are what kills people. You are what causes countless diseases. You are what destroys the environment.

Hate the smoker.

Men Can't Have Children

2010-07-06T06:57:00.006+08:00

I woke up about an hour ago with angry opinions already in my head waiting to come out. I have no idea what led to it, maybe I had a dream or something, but I was furious with men when I woke up.

Actually, something did happen, but that was a whole day ago. On Sunday, Rev and I were talking about how so many guys want children while a lot of girls don't. And we concluded that it's because guys don't have to do shit. And that's what I was so angry about.

Men have no idea how uncomfortable it is to be pregnant, or how painful it is to give birth. Most of them aren't even interested to know. Wanting to impregnate a woman and make her go through all that is so insolent. The only part they play in child bearing is the impregnation, and that's almost effortless. They cannot do anything else, and then say that they want to have children. As if they could.

Not only are men almost useless at child bearing, they're useless at child rearing too. Mothers are the ones that do anything significant. Okay, most of the significant things most of the time. They're the ones that feed the babies and rock them to sleep when they cry. They're the ones that teach their children morals and values and culture. They're the ones who rush their children to hospitals when they have the slightest fever. They're the ones who are always looking after their children, every minute of every day.

What do the fathers do? They change a diaper about three times in total in their babies' life, hug their children whenever they feel like it, which is not often, have "meaningful" conversations with them about things that don't really matter, like football, with their sons, and.... I don't even know what with their daughters. And then they go, "WHOA! Look at me! I have children! I'm a parent! I rock!"

Uh, no. They don't rock, they're presumptuous, conceited slobs.

Bottom line, what I'm saying is that guys shouldn't want to have children. It shouldn't be their choice. They're not the ones doing all the work. They just want to have the fun of playing with their children and the satisfaction of having passed on their DNA. And that is a big huge pile of pure bullshit masquerading as reasons for wanting children.

I know not all men think this way, of course there are exceptions. But they are few.

Unless men are prepared to do what women do, they shouldn't even think about having children. Unless they actually do as much as mothers do, they shouldn't have the nerve to say that they have children, while it's their female counterparts who are actually raising the children.

bavani's Music

2010-07-04T11:02:00.002+08:00

Music is very private to me. I don't listen to songs that my friends think I should listen to, or songs that I can dance to. I listen to songs that arouse emotions. I don't share songs with people, or talk about music. Just like I don't talk about my deeper emotions, because the music I listen to holds emotional meanings.

One thing I've learned from secondary school Literature class, though, where the dumb little kids who were my classmates insisted that their interpretation of a poem was the right interpretation, is that the same song can mean different things to different people. It depends on the context of their psyche. Another reason why I don't share my music. I don't really want to know that people think the song that makes me feel secure is lame, or that the song that reflects my anger is boring. I don't want to know what others feel when they hear my song, because that's irrelevant to me. Music, and the emotions that come with it, are private.

I used to have so much fun analysing song lyrics when I was in secondary school. One of the first assignments we had in Literature class was to interpret song lyrics. Some of my classmates chose to do songs by Pussycat Dolls, Yellowcard, and that guy who sang "You're Beautiful." How unimaginative. I did System Of A Down. Each of their songs has multiple intended meanings, and infinite unintended ones. It was oh so gratifying.

I didn't hand in that assignment, because I could not be bothered to write it out, but I didn't stop analysing lyrics. I still do, and it excites me every time I find new meanings in songs I'd been listening to for years. I change every day, so it's natural that new meanings arise all the time.

This is just one of the things I gained from Literature lessons. My teachers told me then that Literature will benefit me in the future, but I didn't believe them. I was wrong, because now I can detect deep meanings in everything I read, hear or watch. Countless times, I've found hidden, often unintended messages in movies, and disillusioned Danny with them. I think it must sometimes be hard to listen to me, because ALL I have are opinions.

Other things Literature has made easier to understand are ambiguous study notes. Language skills, yeah. They're important even if you're a Maths lecturer.

And books. I love books. I love the fact that I can understand every book I read. I especially love Stephen King's metaphors. They're awesome. He can make a single word mean a million things, and it makes complete sense. A lot of people don't understand his writing, and I pity them, because it is BRILLIANT.

His horror is the best kind of horror. He doesn't think up new monsters for his readers to be scared of. He writes about things that we already fear. He brings out the fears that are hiding inside everyone. It's completely effective (except on those who don't understand his writing.) I don't know if he even knows that's what he's doing. In my secondary school Literature class, we worked on a book by Ray Bradbury. In one of his interviews that I read while I was half-heartedly researching him, he said that he had no idea what his book meant when he wrote it. It's incredible.

I was going to write about some of the musicians that I like, but I seem to have digressed a lot. (I hate it when people don't know the word digress, and use divert instead. It is so wrong, and it gets on my nerves. Argh.)

I'll write more about music another time. Tune in later for more bavani's Music.

To Rev

2010-07-02T17:39:00.006+08:00

It sucks to have to live with people who don't understand the first thing about you. It sucks to have the people you have known for your whole life think that what you're passionate about is nothing and that you're crazy for doing it.

But that's their loss. Your life is not about how much money you'll make, how big your house will be, how many As you get in school, how many boyfriends you've had, how handsome your husband will be, how many friends you go out with every day, how much fun you have at the club, how many pretty clothes you have to show off to people, or how nice you look with your hair done and your makeup on. You commit a large portion of your life to helping others. You spend a lot of your time helping homeless animals find new beginnings. You do anything you can to help those who cannot speak for themselves. Your life isn't centred on just you and what you want for yourself. What you do makes a difference in the world. If some people cannot understand and appreciate that, it's to their disadvantage.

And you will get your own place one day, and have your own family, but you don't have to wait that long. You have more than one family. Don't forget the family you have at SPCA. We all know fully, with our hearts and souls, why animals are better than humans. Animal eyes say infinitely more than human mouths ever could. And they see more, too. Dogs, cats, rabbits, and chinchillas look at you wearing your oldest, most tattered clothes with your face wet with tears, eyes red and puffy, and snot running down from your nose, and think you're the most beautiful person ever. Because they see what's inside you, not what you look like. Yes, they might bite you and scratch you as much as they might lick you and cuddle with you, but whatever they do, they're completely sincere. They don't adhere to dumb social rules and manners. If they don't like you, they hiss or growl. They don't smile the disgusting fake smiles of humans.

Yes, to those who are soulless enough to roll their eyes: Fuck you.

Your family at SPCA was delighted when you adopted Wonder, and shares your sadness at having to lose her. I don't have to ask the others to know that they feel the same way. We are sad now, but we will be thrilled again when you get your own place and fill it with animals. Maybe some of us will even move in with you, into a caravan together with forty-seven dogs and countless cats, plus rabbits, chinchillas, and any other animals we manage to convince to stay with us. Because we love you, Rev, almost as much as we love animals. :)

And we love what you do.

One Year Anniversary

2010-06-27T17:15:00.002+08:00

A year ago, I was on my way to watch Transformers 2 with Danny at Cineleisure. That's when I found Jay. I found him in a box with a t-shirt in it. He was filthy, feverish, skinny and shivering. The right side of his neck had an abscess the size of his head. That's how he looked when I first saw him.

Now, he's even more beautiful. He has soft, shiny fur. His black fur is pure black, and his white fur is pure white. He has shiny, bright yellow eyes. His body is sleek and muscular, small but heavy. The scar on the right side of his neck is not visible under his fur, but it can be felt if you finger it carefully.

His voice is loud and whiny. Unbelievably cute. He speaks to me. Cats rarely meow at other cats; they do it just for humans. Jay does it just for me.

He wakes me up at 6 in the morning every day. I've been waking up at 6 am for a year. He whines loudly right in my face, climbs all over me, nudges my face with his, pulls my hair, and eventually starts biting me until I get up and feed him.

Every night when I go to bed, he sits on my chest and rubs faces with me. He nuzzles my face and purrs in my ear. He sleeps with his face squashed against mine for a few minutes every night.

He plays in the middle of the night. I often hear rattles, rustles, or bouncing balls as I fall asleep. Sometimes he pushes my things down from high places. On purpose, for amusement. He has broken so many things.

He loves to stretch out in the middle of my bed, on his back with all his legs splayed out. He looks completely comfortable and relaxed like that. Completely. I cannot move him when he sleeps like that, even thought I have to bend my body around him and sleep at the edge of the bed.

All these things have made every one of my days for a year. And they will, for years and years to come. He makes my life more complete. Yes, that is possible. There's always room for more in my life, and he gives me more and more and more.

I'm so lucky to have been walking by that block at that time. If I hadn't, I would never have gotten a Cookies and Cream Cat to make me happy every day. I'm so lucky.

Happy anniversary to Jay and me.

Thank You, Jolyn

2010-06-23T09:23:00.004+08:00

I read Jolyn's blog yesterday just before I left for school. I started crying once I saw that she had written something for me. I cried more as I read more. Not in the way I cried when They hurt me, though. In a good way, because I was so touched, relieved and filled with love.

I'd been so full of pain, anger, self-doubt, and desperation for weeks, and she replaced all of that. She smoothed away all those ragged edges, and made me okay.

It doesn't matter that They don't care that they hurt me. It doesn't matter that some of my classmates are afraid of me now because they think I'm the bad guy. It doesn't matter that a pitiful fool is trying to stare me down. (Ha! What a joke.) She showed me that all that is insignificant. She made me become the brush-my-shoulders-off, smile-when-I'm-angry girl whom nobody can hurt again. I don't want to get back at Them anymore. I don't care, because they're insignificant.

I was smiling in school yesterday. It had been ages since I genuinely smiled in school because I felt good. Ages since I didn't feel like weights were attached to my feet once I stepped into the campus. I was finally free, and I'm immensely grateful to her for that. I cannot begin to express how grateful I am.

"So just let it be. Because when you stop thinking about the mess, it falls away. Like an itch, if you stop thinking about it, it goes away."

I needed help letting it fall away, and she lightened the load so that I didn't even feel it. Letting it go was literally effortless.

"And you think you manage to appear like you're so tough and that you can handle everything.
Well, because I'm your friend, I know all that's only a shield."

I love that. It is sometimes embarrassing when others know that I'm not invincible, but I love that my friends know. Because if they know that I'm not invincible, I don't have to be. I don't have to be strong all by myself, because they will be strong for me. Jolyn, Rev, Danny, Maryann, and Nisa have all been strong for me when I felt weak. I love that. I love that they're my friends, and I love them.

"And you will believe me when I say that when I watch a movie with you, we watch it together."

I love watching movies with Jolyn. And Rev, of course, and I don't even have to mention Danny. Every time I think of Paul Blart Mall Cop, or Up, or G.I. Joe, or Dostana, with John Abraham half-naked during half the movie, I think of Jolyn and Rev. I remember the very first movie I watched with them. I don't remember the name of the movie, but I remember sitting in the Eng Wah cinema in Toa Payoh watching it with them. It was a lousy horror film about dead male twins who come back to kill their living female twins. I remember Jolyn saying that the girl looked like a Husky when her eyes started turning blue.

"We are people who ask you how's your health doing. We are people who make an effort to pay attention to every word you say and keep in mind that you don't drink beverages with caffeine because they make you grind your teeth at night and that's bad for you. We are people who know you well enough to know you never throw your drink cans away and we remind you to and when you still don't, we throw them away for you. We are people who force you to watch horror movies because we want to spend quality time with you and we promise you we will be there. We are people who hold your hand when you cross the road because we know you're afraid. We are people who support you even when you lie that you're strong."

I read this part over and over again, and it keeps bringing tears to my eyes. I am so lucky to have the friends that I have. I don't know how to show how much I love them, but they should know. I hope they know, and I hope they never forget it.

Thanks, Jo, for being so sweet and strong. Thanks for being beautiful. Thanks for being you. Thanks for all the time you spent with me and all the experiences we shared. Thanks for making my belly hurt because I laughed so much at all the insane things you do. Thanks for being there for me when I needed a friend. Thanks for always wanting to know what's wrong, even if I didn't want to tell you. Thank you so much for being who you are, because I love it.

I love you too, Jolyn.

2010-06-22T12:03:00.003+08:00

You're one of the most special friends I've ever had. I'm so glad I joined SPCA and met you, because I would be a different person if I hadn't. You make me better, you always have. Since the first time I met you, you've made me feel that it's okay to be me, simply by being you. You never pretend to be anything you're not.

You aren't "nice" because you don't have to be nice in that way. You don't have to say nice things all the time because you sincerely do so many things that make you a nice person. You may not realise that, but everyone else does. Any of your friends would say the same.

Sometimes, you just come stand next to me and put your arm around my shoulders. I've resisted that a lot of times, but you continue to do it. I don't know how, but you seem to know that it helps. You don't even have to say anything, because I know that you know. I know you're there for me.

I'll always be there for you too. I'm not very good at showing friends that I love them, but I really love you. Don't forget that, even if I don't show it.

bavani believes in Freudian Slips

2010-06-19T18:00:00.005+08:00

A Freudian Slip is an occurrence whereby you subconsciously say what you really think instead of what you want people to hear, like a slip of the tongue. It's named after Sigmund Freud, so I suppose that he came up with it.

They're not always very obvious. In fact, there are loads of tiny slips in every conversation that no one picks up. And I believe that those small slips tell more than the obvious ones. That's why I always pay close attention to every word that people say to me, instead of just what they say as a whole. Because if I analyse what they say minutely, I find more meaning.

It's the small words that give away the most. They're really underrated, because very few people realise how much they actually signify. The words "I," and "we," for example. If you go to a movie with a friend and he or she says to the ticket cashier, "Can I have two tickets," instead of "Can we have two tickets," it means something. It's not that your friend wants two tickets for herself. It means that she doesn't think of the both of you as a unit. It means that you're not buying tickets together, she's buying her ticket, and ordering yours for you. It means that you're going to watch a movie, and she's going to watch a movie, but you're not going to watch it together. It means she doesn't care about sharing the experience with you. She just wants to watch the movie, and you're just an accessory.

You might say that I'm reading too much into simple statements, that I'm thinking too much. But those who accuse others of thinking too much are thinking too little.

Even those who don't think enough would agree that "I don't want anyone else," is different from "I don't need anyone else."

I heard "I don't want anyone else."

"Girls Are Weak" Is A LIE.

2010-06-17T10:37:00.004+08:00

I hate gender stereotypes more than any other kind of stereotype. It's complete bullshit, which a lot of people, both male and female, sincerely believe to be true. I don't know why they can't see that it's not true that girls are physically weaker than guys, girls are more emotional than guys, girls need to be treated more gently than guys, girls are always late, girls like to cook more than guys do, girls are better with children than guys are, girls should never make the first move, ARGH. It's not true.

I watched The Karate Kid the other day. In the first scene of (child) violence, the girl was held back effortlessly by two of the boys, whimpering, crying and struggling helplessly, while the "bad Chinese kid" beat up the "good American kid." SICKENING. D I S G U S T I N G. I could not stand watching that. Of course the girl had no physical strength, she's just a girl. Of course she could be easily overpowered by boys, she's just a girl. FUCK THAT.

After a Toastmasters event one day, there was a lot of things to carry back to the Student Activity Room. So I picked up a bag. A girl came up to me and said, "No, don't carry that, it's heavy. Take a lighter bag and let the guys carry the heavy ones." I almost got vulgar. That is extremely offensive to me. As if I'm weaker than a guy. As if I'm not as capable as a big, strong guy. As if I have to be a little woman and carry the light things so that I won't get hurt, and let the big, strong, mighty, muscular men do all the heavy lifting. FUCK THAT. I'll carry whatever I want, regardless of the presence of guys.

Another thing that irritates me is the issue of crying. When a man cries, everyone goes, "Aww, poor thing, he's crying." When a woman cries, they think, "That's so typical of women, so weak and always crying." What the fuck? Men are (falsely) considered the "tougher," "less emotional" gender, but when they cry, they get more sympathy. Women are supposedly the "softer," "more emotional" gender, but are looked down upon when they cry, simply because they're expected to be weaker. When women cry, it's a confirmation of their weakness, but when men cry, it's a show of emotional courage, just because men are not supposed to cry. They're not supposed to show their sadness, but when they do, they get all the sympathy and praise in the world. It's bullshit, and I'll say it again: FUCK THAT.

I'm not saying men aren't entitled to sympathy, though. It's just that a lot of men take advantage of this double standard and get away with a lot of things by crying. I've seen it with my own eyes. It's pathetic, and disgusting. And a lot of girls don't get any sympathy or support when they cry, because when girls cry, it's normal. People think it's okay for girls to cry, so they don't have to help them. But when did being sad become okay? When did being so miserable that you're brought to tears become okay? Why is it okay for girls to feel that way, but not men? Yes. FUCK THAT.

There are many other issues that I would like to talk about, but I don't want to get so specific. I'd just be repeating myself after I talk about a few. You already know what I'm trying to say, right?Plus, I want to stop saying "FUCK THAT." I'll save the rest of my steam for the next time I witness bullshit gender stereotypes.

bavani won't stop

2010-06-15T06:57:00.004+08:00

I woke up at 5 am this morning, thanks to my Cookies and Cream Cat. I woke up with a sore throat, a sore neck and a sore nose, thanks to some asshole virus that thinks it can live in me. It's going to get a nice surprise when my immune system DESTROYS it. Hahahahahahahaha.

Anyways, I found myself thinking about why I write my most private, dark, embarrassing thoughts here. I could just as easily write them in a diary, or a private blog. I soon realised that it's because I want people to read about them. (Duh. Elaboration's coming.)

Many people read my blog, but very few of them actually talk to me about it. It's probably because they know me well enough (or have read enough about me) to know that I won't talk about it. I'm very emotional when I write here, but in person, I'm all controlled and cool. I would change the subject very quickly if my emotions came up in conversation.

Every one of those who do talk about it tells me that what I write is very relatable. They say, "That's exactly what I feel!" And that's what I want. I want them to see that I feel what they feel. And I want to know that they feel what I feel. It's good to know that you're not alone.

However, I have some readers who don't read because they want to relate. They read because they hold grudges against me, and need ammo. They want to say that what I feel is wrong, just because they resent me. They read what I put out here, refuse to identify with it, and twist it in their minds, until it becomes as ugly as what was already in their minds.

All I have to say to them is, Look in a damn mirror, bitch. Realise what you are before you let words fly about things you know nothing about.

I will not be ashamed of my emotions because some witless loser decided to try to distort them to make me seem stupid. I will not stop writing about things that matter to me because that pudding head wants to make me look like a bad person. I will not keep my opinions and emotions to myself, because even though there are fugly irritating hippopotamuses that want to hurt me, there are hundreds of nice, good people who want me to be okay.

I'll tell everyone what I think. I might not share all my emotions with everyone, but they'll definitely know my opinions.

There's one person who'll know what I feel, though. My Ice Cream Man can have all my emotions. I'll cry on him, laugh with him, hide behind his gigantic hands when I'm scared, be angry with him, and surprised by him. He can have everything.

Poignancy and Anger

2010-06-13T13:08:00.005+08:00

At SPCA yesterday, a couple came in to adopt a hamster. While they were handling the hamster, they noticed that one of its hind legs was a bit limp. They told the staff, who said that the hamster had to be brought to the clinic, so they should choose another hamster. They asked whether the hamster would be put to sleep if they didn't adopt it, and the staff said yes. Then they said that they'll adopt it.

I felt like crying. I hear so many stories of abuse and irresponsible, negligent pet owners. I'd become generally distrustful and intolerant of people who come to the SPCA to look at animals. Those people who adopted the hamster reminded me why I joined SPCA. Not to stop people from adopting animals in case they were bad owners, but to help the animals find homes. It's incredibly moving to know that there are people who would take in a hamster with a deformed leg and take care of it, even while there are many who refuse to even look at a homeless cat just because it isn't a purebred.

They're exactly the same, actually. Pedigree dogs and mutts, purebred Persians and local mangy strays, pure white albino rabbits and gray mixed breed bunnies. They're exactly the same, except for how they look. Would you choose your friends based purely on their race and their appearance? Would you insist that your friends have to be pure Indians, Chinese, Malays, or Caucasians? Would you bullheadedly only be friends with people who have long shiny Persian hair, big floppy Spaniel ears, or blue Husky eyes? Because that's what pets are. Not only are they friends, they're friends for life. And if you pick your friends based on their appearance and breed, what kind of horrible shallow racist bastard are you?

Damn, the anger again. My Ice Cream Man found out for me yesterday that my teeth-grinding can be caused by suppressed anger. I'm so angry with so many people, and so many things. I need to learn anger management.

I went to dinner with Rev and Jo yesterday. I told them that They decided to dump me because I was "never there." Rev then pointed out that she and Jolyn see me about twice a month, and are still my friends. They still want to go out with me, and hang out with me. They're really good friends. (Yes, I'm getting emotional.)

It soothes my anger with Them a little bit, knowing that there are indeed good friends. Not that I thought all my friends are assholes. I was just so full of anger that I forgot I had good friends. That is not something to be forgotten. I should forget about Them instead. They don't deserve to be remembered. I'll only think of my real friends from now on. Assholes will be invisible to me.

Until I get angry again. Then, I'll want to make them suffer. Very very badly. Yes, you should be scared.

Freak On A Leash

2010-06-07T10:33:00.004+08:00

Last year was possibly the best year of my life. I started volunteering at SPCA, met Danny, started doing a course that I love, met people who I thought were sincere, and found Jay. I also started taking better care of myself, after finding out that I had colitis. I tried not to hurt myself, and stopped doing self-destructive things for a while. I began using colours to express feelings that I cannot express verbally. I admitted to myself that I love certain people.

That was a good year. This year, however, has been nightmarish. I've been cast aside by people I considered "real friends." I've broken up with Danny. I refuse to trust anyone anymore, and look at everyone I meet with suspicious eyes. I forget to take my medications sometimes, and often eat only one meal a day, aware of the intestinal unhappiness that will bring. My emotions are so intensely tangled that I cannot pick colours to match them. I have had so little time to go to SPCA that I feel like a stranger there sometimes, where I used to feel like I belonged. I hate going to school; every day, I have to see the faces of "friends" who discarded me like I was worth nothing.

And everyone around me seems to have their lives all figured out at this time. They know what they're doing, what they're going to do, what they have and what they still need. They have friends and family that they can rely on. They have goals, plans, and motivation. I seem to have none of those things. I'm so jealous of them, because my life is still a huge, stinking, self-pitying mess.

I hate myself for feeling sorry for myself. There are so many people that have it so much worse than me. I read or hear about them every day. I cry for them sometimes, but sooner or later, I'm back to crying for myself.

KoRn helps when I feel that way. Jonathan Davis feels what I feel. It helps to know that I'm not the only one who feels twisted and rotten inside, that I'm not crazy. That I'm allowed to be sad and angry, and that I don't have to take abuse. That it's okay to be a bit damaged and different.

It's okay to be a Freak On A Leash.

bavani is a bitch.

2010-06-02T16:36:00.003+08:00

I think you better quit

Lettin' shit slip,

Or you'll be leavin' with a fat lip.

- Break Stuff, Limp Bizkit

Oh, I love that song. It describes my anger perfectly. My temper is so volatile, the most casual comment could make me take my Wolverine blades out. Needless to say, if you do or say something seriously offensive, I could explode and send red hot razor sharp shrapnel flying into your face at the speed of sound. (Hey, a pun!)

I try to control my temper, but it's so difficult. My anger wants to come out so badly. Sometimes I get so angry that I shake. My body actually trembles with anger. I have to stay away from everyone until it subsides, or I'll do something bad.

I did something bad today. I did something very bitchy. I'll tell you what it was, but before that I have to tell you what led to it. I heard a story while I was eating with my friends this afternoon. For the purpose of anonymity, I will change names.

One day, my friend was having lunch in the foodcourt when two of our classmates, Karen and Katherine, happened to walk in. They spotted my friend, and Katherine wanted to go over and say hi. However, Karen, one of The Dumpers, pulled her away and prevented her from approaching my friend.

WHAT. THE. FUCK. Is it not enough that they don't want to be with us? Do they want our whole class to dump us? How dare she prevent OUR classmate from saying hi to us?

I was infuriated when I heard it, and I still am. Among all the traitorous things they have done to us, this has to be the worst. At least, the worst that I know of. I didn't want to make everything they did to us public by writing about it on my blog, but I will not stand this. I will not let them turn our classmates away from us.

While I was still puffing steam from my ears, I happened to notice that The Dumpers were having lunch with a few of our classmates. Against the advice of my friend, the one that Karen stopped Katherine from saying hello to, I went over to their table. And I said hi to every one of them, addressing them by their names. Every one of them except for The Dumpers. I think I even said, "Hello, my friends," before I said hi to them individually. Just to rub it in.

It was a passive aggressive slap in the face. It was totally bitchy, and beneath me. But I was too angry to think about that. I just went over there and did it.

I know that what Karen did does not justify what I did. And, yes, I regret doing it now. It makes me seem as petty and immature as them. Plus it did not resolve anything. It only served to insult them a little, and soothe my anger temporarily.

But I am glad that they have tasted their own medicine. Well, not exactly their own medicine. My adaptation of their medicine, which is more bitter, but much less vile and poisonous.

If I were to give them their own medicine, I would act like I'm their real friend, while not really liking them due to the flimsiest issues; laugh and have fun with them and then talk shit about them behind their backs; not even tell them about the issues I have with them and suddenly ignore them completely for no apparent reason; then say that I'll still be their friend without really meaning it; continue pretending that I'm their real friend until they find out that I'm not; then avoid any eye contact with them; refuse to even hold a piece of paper for them, and pull our mutual friends away from them.

It's too bad I'm only a hot-tempered bitch, not a two-faced, cowardly, weak, judgemental, narrow-minded, immature, small-minded, slimy, selfish, shallow, backstabbing, dumb, ugly, pathetic, little loser.

bavani hates herself.

2010-05-28T17:27:00.004+08:00

I hate waking up in the morning. It hurts just to be awake. I've been trying to distract myself with television, Youtube, books and movies until I go to sleep. Recently I've started taking naps, so that I don't have to be conscious. That's all I want to do now, actually, even though I've already slept for about 2 hours this afternoon. I don't want to write about what's happening, I just want to be unconscious, unaware, not hurting.

It's not completely effective though; I get dreams. As usual. Fuck.

I'm afraid to ask for help, because I'm afraid I won't get it. I'm afraid to even let people know that anything's wrong, lest they just brush it off. Which they probably will, because I always act like I'm so tough. Like I can do anything, handle anything, get through anything, all by myself. I laugh at everything like it doesn't matter. I laugh harder and smile brighter when it hurts. Sometimes I manage to convince even myself that I'm okay.

I broke up with Danny. I'm so sorry I did that to him. He's the nicest guy ever, and I wish I was okay enough to be his girlfriend. But I'm just not. I'm too screwed up. I keep making him sad. I'm bad for him. Fuck, I'm even bad for myself.

I've done so much shit to myself. As if the shit that others have done to me is not enough. I try to stop, but it seems that I can't. I have term tests next week and I'm going to fail every one of them, because I can't get over myself and study. Just thinking about reading my notes makes me want to cry. For several years now, my worst fear has been that I'll drop out of school, get employed at MacDonalds, get pregnant, and marry an abusive guy. I'm terrified of failing at school, because it's like the first step leading to this horrible future. I'm convinced that if I fail, I cannot stop myself from doing all those other things. No matter how much I try to change my own mind, I cannot believe otherwise. And I have no hope that I will pass my term tests.

I've lost weight from sleeping too much and eating too little. I vowed that I wouldn't lose weight again, after I found out that I have colitis. I gained almost ten kilograms in less than a year. I hate being small, and I vowed that I would make sure I'm never small again. Now I've forgotten and I've been eating just one meal a day. It's becoming so difficult to eat. I seem to be always full of sadness, even though my stomach is empty. Now I'm losing weight and I hate it.

I hate myself.

bavani hopes this gives you hell.

2010-05-22T10:22:00.004+08:00

I realised yesterday that there's no use feeling bad about those who did me wrong. Because yesterday, I found out that there are more people who care about me than those who don't. It surprised me. People who I meet barely once or twice a month really care about me while some people I used to spend most of every day with don't give a shit. While it made me cry when I found out that they don't care, it brought tears to my eyes when I discovered that others really do. So, to those who care about me, Thank you very much, and to those who don't, Fuck you very much. Haha, that reminds me of Lady Sovereign lyrics. "If you love me, then, thank you; if you hate me, then, fuck you."

It makes me so angry to think of what they did. I can't even stand to be in the same room with them anymore; I find myself glaring at them and I burst out in the middle of classes with phrases like, "Fucked up!" I'm glad it doesn't make me sad anymore, though. I'm done being sad over them. Now my sadness had turned into anger, and my wrathful anger is turning into disgusted, irritated anger, and soon it will just be pure disgust and irritation, finally turning into indifference. I know the pattern, I've been through this shit before. I can't wait for indifference. I can't wait until I care as much about them as they care about me.

I feel sorry for them, though. I pity anyone who suffers my wrath. I'm excellent at hurting people. Words are my weapons, and I use them well. I've been very careful not to hurt them, though, because that would make me a bad person. And I refuse to be the bad person, because they're the assholes who dumped me. And in such a cowardly way. Yuck. In hindsight, I'm glad they dumped me; it sickens me to think that I used to associate with such judgmental, juvenile, spineless, and simply stupid people. I don't want anything to do with them anymore.

Oh, and by the way, if any of them read this, I hope it gives them hell. :)

Confessions of a Sexist Atheist Vegetarian

2010-05-16T12:53:00.009+08:00

I've become one of those vegetarians that think they're better than meat eaters. I actually look down on people who eat meat. I know that's a bad attitude to have, but I just cannot help it. I'm a self-righteous, proud, omniscient, high and mighty vegetarian, who will live longer and healthier than lowly, immoral, inferior meat-eating mortals.

While I think I'm superior to them, I get ruffled when meat eaters claim that their diet is healthier. I know so many facts to prove that it is in fact not. Just ask me why eating meat makes you die faster. I'll tell you about the diseases it leads to, how it affects your digestive system, your immune system, your bones, your skin, even your breath.

But wait. I don't only look down on meat eaters. I look down on some vegetarians too. Being a proud atheist, I look down on those who don't eat meat because their religion tells them not to. Because their mothers told them not to. They don't understand the moral, medical, or environmental issues of eating meat, even though they are against it. They do it simply because they were told to. While I appreciate them not supporting the murder industry, their vegetarianism doesn't really have a cause. That is, none that really matter outside their religions. To put it straightforwardly, I think my vegetarianism is more important than theirs.

Speaking of people I look down upon, I have to mention males. I am a deplorable sexist bitch. I sometimes truly believe that men are inferior to women. I know it's not true, generalisations never are, but sometimes my prejudice convinces me that it's factual. I try and try and try to erase the prejudice from my mind, but it's so deep-seated. And every little mistake that I witness guys make, just add to it. It's so frustrating.

I need help.

Letting Go

2010-05-02T23:10:00.005+08:00

Feeling like a freak on a leash,

Feeling like I have no release.

- Korn, Freak On A Leash

I need to let go. So much shit keeps coming back to haunt me. I'm so anxious all the time, I'm in physical pain. My stomach hurts from the adrenaline and my head aches because I keep grinding my teeth. Plus, I'm so full of emotional pain, sometimes I'm afraid that people can feel it radiate out of me. I keep tearing in public transport. It's embarrassing. I've tried pushing everything to the back of my head, but that obviously doesn't help at all. I need to take it out of my head and put it somewhere else. And this is the only place I have. So here it goes.

I've been treated very badly by people who I thought were my friends. I never did anything to warrant that kind of treatment. I truly never did to them things I usually do to people; I never tried to distance myself from them or tried to make them insignificant in my life. I thought I was wrong to do those things to people, but I was right. I was a real friend to them and they threw me away. I'm not angry with them anymore, though. I just bitterly resent the fact that I had to learn that lesson this way. I regret letting them in. And I have so little pride and dignity that I wish they would take me back. I wish they were really my friends again. I would give so much for them to care about me again.

I keep having horribly disturbing dreams. I've been having them for years, but they're coming more frequently lately. And they're so difficult to forget. Sometimes they stay forgotten until the middle of the afternoon, ruining the rest of the day. It's not what happens during the dreams that get me down, though. It's knowing how disturbed I am. My dreams are like a mirror to my psyche, telling me exactly how twisted and damaged and ugly I am on the inside. That's what I cannot stand.

I keep recalling a dream that I had about a month ago. In the dream, I had something I've desperately wanted my whole life. For about thirty seconds, and then it left. Others who also lost it went looking for it, but I did not. I gave up, and stayed behind, all alone.

I hate that dream. I think about it almost every night, before I fall asleep. That leads to extreme difficulty in actually falling asleep, and even more fucking fucked-up dreams. I'm sick of dreaming, but I really have no idea how to stop. I feel powerless and impaired. I hate what's inside me, and I don't know what to do about it. I'm so sick of being myself.

I'm supposedly part of a team. At first I thought it would be good for me. I thought it would feel good, like it usually does when I'm a part of something. But now I don't even feel like I'm one of the parts. I'm always out of the loop. Perhaps that's my fault, I haven't really analysed it enough. But it's another type of rejection, and it hurts. I'm starting to dislike the whole team, due to bitterness, and that's baaaaad.

I can't keep up with school work. Everyone else is doing their tutorials and e-learning and revision, but I have NO CLUE. I don't know what to do or how to do it. I read all my notes but I understand very little. I feel so stupid. I can't even learn; I can't do my only job. Learning is all I have to do with my life now, and I can't do it.

I try to tell myself that I'm capable, that I can do it, like I've done it before, but I don't believe it. I wish that someone else would tell me, because I need to believe it. I can't fail. I can't be a failure.

So there it is. It's out.

bavani's Acid

2010-04-28T17:14:00.003+08:00

Sometimes I cannot take this place,
Sometimes it's my life I can't taste,
Sometimes I cannot feel my face,
You'll never see me fall from grace.

Something takes a part of me.
- KoRn, Freak On A Leash

Sometimes I feel really good. I don't feel angry or frustrated or afraid. I feel content, strong, creative, and something resembling happy. And I feel okay. I act so okay that I convince myself that I am indeed okay. And I put on such a good show, I make even myself believe that nothing could make me feel bad. I'm such a fool.

Then something totally good and harmless happens, and it's like a small, sharp blow to my shiny glass coating. Because what's inside me isn't good and harmless. It's disgusting acidic stuff. Cracks form in the glass and soon enough, the acid leaks out until I'm covered with it. It corrodes my contentment and my strength. All I'm left with is panic and desperate dredging.

I can't function like that. I used to be able to live with the acid burning me from inside, but now it's so difficult. It's not impossible, but I can't seem to find the strength to get up. And I need to get up, now. I need to fix the cracks and get the acid back into the glass.

bavani's Choices

2010-04-22T21:49:00.003+08:00

I attended the first Introduction to Psychology lecture today. The lecturer, like my tutor, openly encouraged students to drop the module. It got on my nerves. They're supposed to teach, not encourage students not to learn. Ugh.

Moreover, every time I tell people that I'm taking Psychology as a Cross Disciplinary Subject, they say, "That's a difficult module." "So difficult," they say. "It's difficult, you know." The first two or three times it happened, it slid past me, but it has started getting under my skin.

Don't they understand that difficulty is not an issue? It is a non-issue. I choose my CDSs because I want to learn, not so that I can score easy grades and CU points. I would get no satisfaction from that.

I've been interested in psychology since I came across it for the first time. I wanted to study it for a while. But then I realised that I only wanted to study it so that I can sort out the mess in my own head. Not to help others sort out their messes. So I chose to be a vet instead. I want to help animals more than I help humans.

I bet I'll be good at the module, though. I've been sorting my mess without any lectures or textbooks for years.

bavani's Emotions

2010-04-20T16:16:00.003+08:00

I wanna shut the door
And open up my mind

- Runaway, Linkin Park

I've gone back to my school routine like that. *Snaps fingers* Eating a waffle and french fries for lunch; taking my time getting ready for school and arriving late for the first lecture of the day; freezing in class and baking outside class; doodling in my notebook instead of paying full attention to the lecturer. I've slipped back into the routine so easily it's like I never left.

I remember around this time last year, I was so excited. I had a new school and new friends. I was going to study to be a vet. And I was starting to become friends with Danny. I didn't intend to keep him. It wasn't because I didn't like him, the way he looked or the way he behaved. It was simply because he was male. And I didn't have male friends. I remember making up reasons why I didn't like him. The only one I remember now is that I thought he didn't have nice hands. Hahahaha I was so wrong. :D

I've been thinking of the size and weight of my emotions lately. Some of them are so big they burst out of me, but are so light that they last for just a few seconds. Others are really small but so dense and heavy that they weigh me down.

Anger is the biggest of my emotions. Like a big hot air balloon, it expands and rises. But so quickly that I cannot control it. Then it bursts and burns everyone around me with all the heat. Seconds later, it lies deflated and empty on the ground. And I'm underneath it, feeling guilty and ashamed.

Fear is very very tiny, but heavy as lead. Sometimes I cannot see it, but it is always there, in a corner of my mind. I can feel the constant weight of it, but I've gotten used to it. When I turn around and catch a glimpse of it, it's difficult to turn around. It tries to expand so that I will always see it, but I don't let it. I trim it back and return it to its corner.

Sadness and loneliness are both big and heavy, although not as big as anger or as heavy as fear. They are big, big bodies of water in which I sometimes choose to sink in. Other times, they come in gigantic, powerful waves and drown me. I used to float in order to live, but now I've learned to swim. Swim out of them.

Contentment is a thin cotton blanket. It feels nice and warm under it when the weather is good, but it offers no protection against anger, fear, sadness or loneliness.

Love is big and heavy too, but not like water. It is a rich, fat, moist chocolate cake, just out of the oven. It's much warmer than contentment. Anger, fear, sadness and loneliness just bounce off it. Nothing can harm it, except myself. I could fuck the ingredients up so that it tastes like crap, or set the oven temperature too high so it's burnt black, or drop it so that it's broken to pieces. I can't fix it after that. I have to make a whole new chocolate cake.

Yummy.

bavani Rambles

2010-03-20T19:54:00.003+08:00

I've realised that I become emotional more easily when I'm alone. When I'm with people, I act all cool and cheerful. I laugh a lot. I laugh about everything. That part is not fake; I do have a broad sense of humour; I find a lot of things funny.

But when I find something sad, or touching, I still laugh. I laugh to hide what I actually feel.

It's much easier to show these feelings when I'm alone. When I watch a documentary about a disabled child in a third world country alone, I let my eyes water and my throat swell. I let myself feel helpless and sorrowful. But if I watch it with others, I put on a brave face and pretend as if it does not affect me. I pretend as if I don't feel almost physical pain, knowing that there is a child a million miles away who is suffering, and there is no way I can make him happy.

I save the feelings for later, when I'm alone. Usually I'll be able to keep them inside until just before I go to sleep. I realise it's not very healthy to do so; because it makes falling asleep quite difficult. And I get dreams.

But I don't know what else to do. I don't really know why, yet, but I can't seem to be expressive with people. I have to act cool. I have to act like nothing bothers me. I've been doing it for so long, it's second nature to me.

I know people admire me for it. They say to me all the time, "You're so calm," "You're always so relaxed," "You don't seem nervous at all!" They just don't know about all the disorder underneath the calmness.

It's not easy to be calm, though. I'm an emotional person, I feel a lot. I feel everything. It takes a lot of energy to barely control the chaos under the surface. But I manage. I'm a cool cucumber cookie.

Except when I'm angry. I hate being angry, because that's the emotion that most often wriggles up to the surface. I'm a very mean person when I'm angry. I say horrible things to people who don't deserve them. I hate myself when I'm angry, but I can't stop.

Anyway, I guess one of the reasons I started writing in this blog is to let some of those feelings out. I guess at one point, they got too intense and had to be expressed. I come here when I can't hold it in anymore. Like when I gave my kitten away. And when I had so many disturbing dreams that I didn't want to sleep. And long long ago, when a 13-year-old boy from my secondary school committed suicide, and I was afraid.

All this came along when I read Jolyn's blog. I like the way she writes. She rambles on about all the things she thinks of. And I find myself imitating that. It's so relaxing to just write down what I'm thinking. It reminds me of a time very very long ago, when I used to keep a diary.

She wrote about how different people see the different sides of her. And about how she loves being by herself at home. And that got me thinking.

I don't really know how people see me. I know I act differently with different groups of people, but I don't really know how different.

I know I'm drastically different with people that I know well, my friends, compared to people I'm not close with. I act much cooler with people I'm not close with. People who have spent enough time with me get to see me be childish, giggly, vulgar, funny, and jokingly, ironically conceited.

Wow, that's a lot. I'm so good at writing. :)

bavani's Blog

2010-03-19T10:42:00.003+08:00

It seems like every time I come here to write nowadays, it's to whine about things that happened in my life. It's not completely true, but it seems that way. I used to write about my opinions, when I first started this blog. I used to write full entries about things that I felt I had to tell people about. I remember writing about religion, obesity in America, Death, the death penalty, and noses. Yes, noses.

I had such a fetish for noses back then. I still do, but not as much anymore. I remember the guy with the huge beaky nose in my secondary school. I couldn't stand him; he was a jerk. But I liked his nose very much. The rest of him was nauseatingly ugly, but his nose was super sexy. Big and wide and curved and slightly pointy at the end. I remember thinking how nice it would be if noses were detachable. And I still do. XD I'm so weird, it even amuses me sometimes.

Anyway, back to the topic. I used to write to make people think. I wanted people to read my words and think. I still do, but I seem to lack the inspiration and motivation to come through.

There seems to be too much going on in my life now. Back when I was in secondary school, all I had was school, and my blog. Now I have millions of other things that distract me from thinking of things that make people think.

Plus I think I've become a bit self-centred. I signed in to write about my blog, but now I'm writing about my life, which is apparently too full.

I still have plenty of potential sources for inspiration, though. And I still have millions of opinions. There are very few people who are as opinionated as me. But I think, now, I express my opinions more verbally. Back then I loved keeping my opinions to myself, because I felt more powerful, knowing that I had a lot to say. Now, I suppose I've realised that there's no point in having things to say unless I say them. And it feels even more empowering.

I've been meaning to write about abortion, since a Communication Skills lesson I had ages ago, when my tutor played us a video of a 12-year-old girl making a pro-life speech. It was pretty disturbing. And so wrong. Banning abortion is not the answer. So I've been wanting to write a pro-choice essay since then. And I will, as soon as I find more time.

Now, I have to eat, take about fifty thousand pills, and get ready to go meet my Ice Cream Man. His nose is pretty, too, by the way. He keeps poking me in the eye with it.

Get That Dirt Off Your Shoulder

2010-03-14T09:30:00.003+08:00

Yesterday was our Toastmasters Area S4 contest. It was fun, but in the end I was so tired my short little calves were burning and I almost forgot to take my contact lenses out before I fell asleep.

Anyway, there was a guest speaker who taught people how to make their points using stories. He told a story about two shoe salesmen who were sent to identical African villages. One of the salesmen sent a message back to Headquarters that said, "STOP SHIPMENT. NO ONE WEARS SHOES HERE." The other salesmen sent a message that said "TRIPLE SHIPMENT. NO ONE HERE WEARS SHOES YET." The moral of the story is about having positive attitudes.

When I heard this story, I realised that I already knew what it told me. I adjust my attitude constantly. Whenever I'm unhappy with a situation, I adjust my attitude so that I'm at least apathetic, if not content. It's a purely selfish act. I just don't like being unhappy.

Sometimes attitude alterations don't work, though. Sometimes situations are so deeply fucked up that attitude doesn't matter at all. You just suffer.

And sometimes you need to be unhappy in some situations. Being anything else would be inappropriate. In these cases, I don't adjust with the intent to be happy, but to endure unhappiness. It really helps.

Now I'm going to tell a story. (Even though I never tell them well.) A big bunch of students from my class, including me, submitted our names to a certain teacher to volunteer for the Youth Olympic Games. We were going to help with the horses. My name was on the initial list which was given to the class representatives. Then, mysteriously, it was gone from the list of people who were chosen for training, which was posted on the Blackboard. The announcement said that the names on the list were chosen by the YOG organisers. What bull feces. We were clearly told that the choosing would be done during the training, where they would assess commitment, responsibility, punctuality, and such crap.

I later found out that Certain Teacher was the one who removed my name. You see, Certain Teacher has a grudge against me. I'm straightforward and outspoken, and I dared to be rude to him. I dared to tell him that what he was doing was wrong. So he decided to deny me the opportunity to train with horses. Such a nurturing motherfucking teacher.

I've been really furious with him, especially when I read my classmates' posts on Facebook about the training. But I don't like being angry either. I do horrible things when I'm angry.

So I've decided not to be. I've decided to be glad. It would have been nice if I could train with horses, but I would have had very little free time. I have a million commitments, responsiblities, hobbies and interests. I barely have time for them all. I don't really need another commitment.

I'm going to write a few speeches for Toastmasters, take more shifts at SPCA, spend more time with Jay and Dicky and my Ice Cream Man, bake more cookies for people who care about me, use my nail and eyeshadow colours to express myself, read more books that make me think, swim like a dolphin, watch television shows that improve my knowledge and maybe, if there's time, learn to drive.

And, like Jay-Z told me, I'll brush my shoulders off.

Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who's the most murderous motherfucker of all?

2010-03-11T11:17:00.004+08:00

"What Darwin was too polite to say, my friends, is that we came to rule the earth not because we were the smartest, or even the meanest, but because we have always been the craziest, most murderous motherfuckers in the jungle."

- From Cell, by Stephen King.

At first, this seems like a brilliant insight. Humans are pretty murderous. Many of them are homicidal psychos. But are they really psychotic, or are they just more influenced by human instinct?

I believe everyone has murderous instincts. It can be seen when some people get violent when they're angry. They don't think straight, and thus, it can only be inferred that they're acting on instinct. And I also believe that people who don't get violent when they get angry just suppress that instinct. Mind over matter? Intelligence over instinct. Human instinct tells them to attack while human intelligence tells them not to; there's a better way to resolve things. They simply choose intelligence over instinct.

What Stephen King has done, with Cell, is scare people by showing them that all humans are capable of murder, if they choose instinct over intelligence. You may think that your friend, sister, mother, father, grandmother, pastor, teacher, or child, would never hurt you. But Stephen King scares you by showing you that they could. They could rip out your throat, tear your limbs apart, bite your legs off, smash your skull. He's such a fucking genius.

But let's get back to the quote. Like I said, at first it seems like brilliant new insight. But then I think more about it, and it's not really. It's still just plain old human narcissism. Who are we to claim that we're the "craziest, most murderous motherfuckers?" It's not much better than claiming we're the smartest, or kindest, is it? It's just as narcissistic.

There are indeed many murderous creatures in our Kingdom. Male lions kill the cubs of other lions when they take over a pride. Baby sharks eat their own siblings even before they're born. Who's to say we are the most murderous?

I'm not saying we're total angels, though. We do murder. Not just our own species, but almost every other species in the world. Perhaps we are indeed the most murderous motherfuckers. It's not for us to decide, though.

It's so depressing to know about all this killing. Not only do humans, whom we've already established are motherfuckers, kill, so do other animals. Killing isn't only human instinct. It's animal instinct. We animals, every single species of us, kill. Some of us just choose to follow intelligence over instinct, while others prefer to follow instinct.

What if your pet dog chooses instinct? What if he chooses to listen to his instinct when you're hitting him with a newspaper for peeing in the house, defends himself, and attacks? Oh, that is so possible. It has in reality, happened countless times. Dogs have attacked their humans innumerable times, many times killing them.

Makes you feel vulnerable, doesn't it? Stephen King is such a fucking genius.

bavani is split into two

2010-03-07T09:56:00.006+08:00

I realise this sounds completely self-centred, but I can't believe they're doing this to me. When I became friends with the six of them, I thought my life couldn't be better. I thought that whatever happened elsewhere, when I went to school, they'll be there. And we'd always have good times. I never thought they would split. It feels like I'm being cut in half.

For years and years I'd been drifting between cliques, so that I wouldn't have to give my all to a single group. It's what I had intened to do, again. I was so glad that I failed. I never thought I'd regret it. It wouldn't hurt so much now if I'd succeeded.

I removed my damn armadillo scales with them. I was always aware that it made me vulnerable, but it also let me be a real friend to them. It let me love them.

I love all of them like I've never loved any other friend before. I know I don't express it well. I make fun of them, laugh at them, call them names and sometimes (maybe more frequently than sometimes) even hit them. But I do love every one of them.

Now I have to either choose between the four or the two, or drift in between again.

And I can't fucking choose. Yesterday I talked so much shit about how I can't be friends with four of them anymore, and we'll just be like strangers again. It's complete bullshit. I always act like I'm tougher than I am. I guess it's the result of living with armadillo scales.

I'm extremely sorry I said that. I know it hurt them. I hope they don't hate me now. I wouldn't hold it against them if they do.

I just can't not be their friend anymore. We've shared so much. They mean so much to me. Denise is the friendliest person I know, and would never turn down a request for help. Maryann is so openhearted and loving. Charmaine is adorable, easygoing and generous. Rachel is mysteriously cool on the outisde and cute, funny and helpful inside. Zhi Yu, even though I never call her by her real name, seems so comically funny but she's incredibly sweet. Nisa is rude and rough but she would be the first one to defend you if someone else was trying to attack you. Being with people like that naturally makes you better.

But I can't be with all of them anymore. Again, I can't believe they're doing this to me. I certainly cannot choose between them. So I have to be a drifter again. I know what that's like, I've done it for years. I've never minded before, though. The four of them will be together all the time, and the two of them. And I'll be with them only half the time. They'll be so close with one another, and I'll be only half as close.

I feel so alone already. I've spent 3 nights sleeping restlessly. I've cried so much that I'm dehydrated. I had horrible dreams this morning that made me feel nauseous when I woke up.

I don't understand why it has to be this way. I wish I could go back to our first semester in poly and just stay there.

I wish school would never start.

One of bavani's Circles.

2010-02-14T18:57:00.003+08:00

It's Chinese New Year. People are celebrating. They're dressed up and visiting their parents, grandparents, uncles, aunts, siblings, cousins, and friends. They're eating, talking, laughing, having fun. Doubtlessly, in couple of hours, children will be in the carpark with sparklers. It all seems so festive. But as usual, I cannot enjoy it. I can't remember when it started, but every time there's a holiday, New Year, Christmas, Deepavali, Hari Raya, whenever people are all happy and celebrating, I think of those who don't get to celebrate.

Children with no homes. Elderly people who have no children. Elderly people whose children have abandoned them, and children whose parents have abandoned them. Whole families that live on the streets. Drug addicts, convicts. People with no family.

I think of them (more) every time there's a festivity. It makes me (more) sad. I realise that just thinking about it doesn't change anything, and then I feel helpless. Then I try not to think about them, and then feel guilty for being so selfish, knowing that very few people think about them during the festivities.

Argh. Running in circles.

bavani remembers

2010-01-30T18:44:00.002+08:00

I kept remembering the day I had to give my kitten away. It's one of the most difficult things I've had to do. And I did it alone.

I suppose that's what hurt the most. Being alone. I've written before that I identify with stray cats. The reason for this is that for most of my life, I've felt completely alone. So whenever I see a stray cat, all by herself, I feel like she knows how I feel. I feel like we're going through the same things.

Hence, I have such a soft spot for stray cats. When Danny and I found the kitten in a drain last Thursday, dirty and smelly and completely alone, my heart melted and poured into his sweet little paws. I was his. I couldn't leave him alone. I just didn't want him to be alone.

So I brought him home. I brought him to my home. My mother wanted me to take him back. Take him back to the streets. How could I do that? He was a baby. Plus, I loved him already, even though I wouldn't let myself realize it. I bathed him and fed him, and hoped that he would get along with either my cat, or my dog. But that was futile.

I had to bring him to a shelter for homeless animals. I didn't want him to be homeless; I wanted to find a home for him. No, what I really wanted was for him to be mine. No one else could take care of him like I could. But I couldn't, so I had to give him away. I had to bring him to SPCA in the cold rainy morning before going to school.

I took bus 8 from my school this Thursday to go to Toa Payoh. It reminded me of the journey from SPCA to school. The feeling that overwhelmed me almost made me cry in the bus. I was surprised because I thought I'd stopped hurting, but it came back hard and heavy. I'm usually pretty good at suppressing tears, but that was seriously difficult. I had to bite my tongue, and even then, it was almost impossible. No tears managed to escape my eyes, though.

Yesterday, at Toastmasters, I thought of what I did before I attended the previous Toastmasters meeting. (I cried in the toilet, thinking of my lonely kitten.) Then I thought of the journey from SPCA to TP again. And I thought of the journey from my home to SPCA, of the night I spent with the kitten sleeping on my pillow, of waking up and realising that I had to let him go that morning. I felt like crying again. The only thing that stopped me from doing so was listening to the other members speak from their own hearts. Plus, I knew that I couldn't just burst into tears all of a sudden in front of people I would have to see over and over again for a long time.

But I did feel all alone, sitting there among those people. People who possibly care about me were around me, but I felt alone because I couldn't let them see what I felt. I can't talk about any of this with people who care about me, because it hurts to even think about it.

It's times like this when I'm extremely glad that I have Danny. He makes everything easier, nicer, better. He makes me stronger, softer, better. I don't know what I'd do without him.

What bavani was thinking.

2010-01-22T22:50:00.003+08:00

What was I thinking, when I said that my cave was safe? It's not safe at all. Left alone, my mind goes to the darkest places. Places that are definitely not safe.

What was I thinking, when I thought that I could be without You? What stupidity made me think that I would be fine without you? Who else would pick me up when my legs can't stand? Who else would fill my cup up when it's getting empty? Who else would iron out all my wrinkles without burning me? Who else would accept my thorns and dead leaves as well as my flowers? I depend on you for things that I don't even know I depend on you for. There's no one else like you, and I'm a fucking retard for thinking that I could be by myself after I've been with you. I'll never think that again.

What was I thinking, when I said all those unkind things to Her? I suppose I wanted to hurt her back, because she hurt me. I can't hold it against her though. I want to hate her for it, but I can't. I want to blame her for everything, and force her to make amends. I have indeed done that. But it's not right. I expect way too much from her, it seems. She's human too. Naturally, she's prone to doing stupid things. Why can't I just accept that? Why does it seem that her mistakes are always gigantic?

I'm such an asshole. It doesn't matter if she's an asshole, if I'm an asshole too. I didn't mean to hurt anyone. I just get so emotional. It's difficult to control my harsh words when emotions fill me up. I'll keep trying harder.

What was I thinking, when I thought that it wouldn't be painful to let Him go? I thought I wouldn't get attached. But of course I did. He was mine. And I was his, since the first moment I saw him. I love him. I didn't want to admit it, but I love him.

It hurt to accept the fact that I couldn't keep him. It hurt a lot when my mother told me he had to be gone by today. But I ignored the pain. It hurt when I had to look for a box to put him in to take him to the SPCA. It hurt when I put him in the box to see if it was big enough. It hurt when I cut holes in the cover of the box. It hurt when I had to put him in the box and close it. But I ignored the pain.

It was raining when I left my home. It was dark, cloudy and gloomy. Cold. He was scared. I tried my best to soothe him, but he wouldn't stop crying. I knew I should have taken a taxi, but I wanted to delay, so I took a bus. With a crying kitten. Not a good idea. People stared, and not in a good way. They stared at me as if to say, "Are you crazy?" One woman even said, "Siao!" right in front of me. Ouch. I ignored that pain too. Because I was helping the poor baby, the only way I could.

I was cold and slightly wet by the time I reached the SPCA. I said, "I have a kitten," and opened the box. Uncle Mohan, a senior staff, said that the kitten would be put up for adoption because he looks so nice. I was super relieved. And then it happened so fast. The receptionist filled a form, I signed it, and Uncle Mohan carried my kitten away. And I had to go back out into the rain by myself. I had to go to school, after giving him away, knowing that I might never see him again.

I started feeling all the pain that I'd been ignoring. It came slowly, but steadily. I cried a little bit, silently and secretly in one of the toilets at school during a break between lessons. Writing this on my blog completely defeats the purpose of the secrecy, but I have to write it. It still hurts. By the end of the school day, it hurt so much that I sobbed a little in the toilet before I went to Toastmasters. I kept thinking of him. When I came home, I wept in bed, hugging Jay. He was a helpless stray kitten too.

I hope I've done the right thing. People called me kind when I told them what I did last night, and this morning. But I only feel like I've let him down. I didn't find a home for him. I left him at a shelter for homeless animals.

I had no choice. I'm sorry, kitty. I couldn't give you a home. The people at SPCA will find you a home. Maybe I might even see you again there. You'll be adopted very quickly though, you're so pretty and sweet. You'll have a home. People will take care of you, maybe spoil you like I spoil Jay. You'll be okay, kitty. You'll be happy.

bavani's cave

2010-01-18T07:27:00.004+08:00

I don't want to get out of bed. I don't want to lift my face off the pillow. I don't want to leave the safeness and protection of my blanket and Jay sleeping at the foot of my bed. The days of wishing it was night again are back, and I wish they would just fuck off forever.

They feel so familiar though. It's very pleasant, in a horrible way. Darkness feels so safe. It seems impenetrable, in the early hours of the morning. It's so quiet after midnight. When I'm under my blanket in my bed, with the door closed, it's like nothing can reach me. It's just me, my kitten, and my horrible messed up thoughts.

It shouldn't feel so safe. It's not safe at all. It's pretty nerve-wracking. My mind is a very fucked up place, I walk around in slow pathetic circles in it when I'm alone with it. There are so many horrendous things to be seen there.

I block them out of my conscious mind most of the time. I lock them up in a huge locker at the back of my mind. That's the stressful part, because they don't like staying in there, and I don't really like keeping them locked up. Once in a while, I open the door a tiny crack and let something out. But then my mind isn't a safe place anymore, so I have to drag the something back and throw it in the locker. And that will hurt because the things that come out of my locker all have long sharp nails and teeth that they use to resist.

But once that's done, it's safe to be alone. It's safe to lie in bed in the dark, awake with my face buried in the pillow and a soft, warm cat lying on my feet.

And when the sun comes out, intruding into my safe, dark cave, I always wish it wasn't morning yet. Because without darkness, my room isn't my cave anymore. It's just a room, with all my rubbish, a bed with four pillows and my sweet, sweet kitten. It's just a room, and it's definitely not safe. I can't stay, I have to put on my war paint and go.

2010-01-06T23:07:00.000+08:00

Oh, hey! It's 2010. I've been meaning to write an entry about 2009 for the whole of December, but I still haven't gotten around to it. It's a very complicated year to write about.

Instead of listing all the things that happened in 2009, I'm going to describe how I've changed. Because throughout the year, I'd found myself comparing my present self to my self a year ago. I've changed for the better, and I've changed for the worse.

I didn't think it was possible, but I've become even blunter than I was last year. I used to state just some of my opinions bluntly, but now, everything that is created in my brains flies out of my mouth. It is starting to get harmful. I try to control it, but I seem to be less able to do so when I get emotional. In some ways this is a good thing, because I have less bottled up in my already full head. I can't have too much in there.

I seem less able to control my anger, too. I lash out with my words when I get angry. It really hurts people sometimes. In the beginning of last year, I had a leash on my anger that I could pull when I was about to say something rash. I didn't say hurtful things as much as I do now. I feel like a bad person a lot of times nowadays, after I say unkind things in anger, to people who probably don't deserve them. My leash seems to have disappeared. I wonder where it went, and when I lost it.

I'm much softer than I used to be. I kept writing about my armadillo armour, and that seems to have melted. It became softer, but somehow stronger. Things that used to bang into my armour, now just bounce off. Boing.

I'm way too tired to be writing this now. I should have written it a long time ago. I'll continue writing about how I've changed later. When I've got time. I promise.

bavani is old.

2009-12-21T18:09:00.003+08:00

At about this time last year, I had just turned seventeen and started volunteering at SPCA. I was waiting for my O level results, and it seemed that the future had countless possibilities. There was so much I didn't know, and I was eager to learn everything I could. I woke up every day raring to do something. I started painted my nails the colours I was feeling. I started baking. I took care of the animals at SPCA whenever I could go there.

Now, I feel so old. I am eighteen years old, and I care much less than I did one year ago. I don't care about the little things anymore. Things like my nails matching my feelings, or saving certain messages so that I can read them again later. I suppose that's a good thing, in some degree. It's like freedom, in a way. But it makes me feel so old.

I have so much knowledge that I do not want. That's what makes me feel so old. I don't want to know that it's okay for my nails not to match my feelings. I don't want to know that I will be heard if I assert myself. I don't want to know how to shop for food, cook for myself, and do my own laundry. I don't want to know about animal cruelty, child abuse, genital mutation, global warming, or lonely elderly people.

I feel so old. For years and years I've been waiting to be an adult. Now I'm eighteen years old, and I suddenly don't want that anymore. I want a childhood.

Talking about Money

2009-12-16T18:24:00.003+08:00

I'm going to start this post with a sigh, because I've been sighing all day. Siiiighhhhhhh.

I realised how broke I was this morning. Pretty broke. Not totally broke yet, but getting there. And I wondered how I was going to make my money last for the rest of the month. I tried to think of ways to conserve my money so that I won't have to ask my mother for extra cash. It makes me feel irresponsible and guilty. Not because my mother will refuse to give me the money, she will. She won't even ask what I did with all my allowance. However, I know that there isn't an abundance of money in the world, and in my mother's bank account. I worry all the time that I'm wasting money; every time I buy something, I try to calculate if it's worth its price.

Thinking about all that got me thinking about wealthy kids. Children, especially single children, of wealthy parents, who have had a lot of things since they were young. I know a few people my age who used to be those children, and they don't really face financial predicaments like I do. They buy lots of expensive things that they don't really need, and when their allowances run out, they simply ask their parents for more, without the tug of guilt that I experience.

It makes me wonder if they have even a slight inkling of what poor people go through. I'm not poor, but sometimes, I see little old ladies buying groceries in supermarkets, and I wonder what they can't afford. I feel a pang in my heart.

Then I see these wealthy kids casually forking out big bucks for nonessential stuff, and I feel another pang. $20 for a handphone strap. $60 for a pedicure. $80 for a pair of shoes. $200 for a bag. $600 for a handphone that looks nicer than the fully functional one you already have. $2000 for a "professional" camera that you rarely use. When I hear of all these extravagant expenditures, I think of how many other things I could buy with them. How many cans of dog food, how many bags of cat litter, how many pairs of reasonably-priced shoes.

And I'll admit, not only do I feel that uncomfortable pang, I feel some envy as well. I appreciate nice things. I imagine how many nice things I could have if I had that money, and I feel jealous. I guess in some degree, it's because I don't have that much money, that I feel it's improper to spend like that. If I'd grown up with as much money and stuff that my wealthy-child friends had, I probably wouldn't.

Which makes it kind of difficult to go shopping with them. I can't afford to buy the things that they buy, and some of the things that I buy are considered "cheap." "Cheap," said in a disdainful tone of voice, not "cheap," in a delighted voice.

That's another thing about these kids, they turn their noses up at cheap things. They think that things are worth less because they cost less. This may be true a lot of times, but there are a lot of really nice things that cost very little. I know, because I buy a lot of things that cost very little. Well, comparatively speaking, anyway.

I wonder if these friends of mine are prepared to stand on their own feet. I wonder if they ever will stand on their own feet. One of these well-off kids told me that her parents deposit a large amount into a bank account every month, which she will gain access to when she starts working, so that she "wouldn't have to work so hard." The first words that popped into my mind when I heard that were "What the fuck?" If my mother did that, I would be insulted that she thought I couldn't work hard to earn enough money for myself. I would be very tempted to take the money, but I wouldn't, on principle.

I don't think my friend has that principle, though. I think she's used to doing less than her best, because her parents will make up for the rest. I'm not saying that my parents raised me perfect or anything; they barely raised me at all. But I feel sorry for her for not having the self-respect, or maybe ego, that I have. I don't like to let people do things that I can do for myself, because it doesn't show that I'm capable. I wonder if my friend feels that she's capable. Or even if she actually is capable.

Maybe I've sounded like sour grapes in some parts of this post, and I have admitted that I'm sometimes jealous. But sometimes these rich kids are so oblivious. They don't realise that they're spending excessively. (There's the sour grapes again.)

Anyway, I don't intend to diss rich people by writing this. (Although I might have indeed done so.) I just hope that some of those wealthy kids read this and become enlightened, and think of what they're doing with their money. It could be put to much better use.

bavani's Family

2009-12-13T19:15:00.002+08:00

I went to my cousin's wedding today. It made me think of how "family" and "friends" can be the same thing.

Because although I'm related genetically to my cousin and her family and have known them my whole life, they did not feel like family to me. I did not have a sense of closeness and belonging that I suspect you're supposed to feel when you're with family. I felt like an outsider, just another guest at their wedding. It was awkward.

However, I'm almost sure that if I went to a friend's wedding, I mean one of the very few people I consider my "real" friends, I would feel that my presence was significant. I wouldn't feel out of place, and bored. I wouldn't be waiting impatiently for the couple to finish get married so that I could go and eat. I would have that sense of acceptance and closeness. That's how family is supposed to make you feel, but it's my friends that give me that feeling. I feel like I belong with my friends, but I feel totally indifferent towards my relatives. I suppose that's a bit sad.

All the same, it occurred to me when I was thinking of all these things, that family is a feeling. It's a feeling of belonging, closeness and protection that some people inspire you to feel. And then you know that those people are your family.

People who don't affect those feelings, no matter if they're related to you genetically or legally, are not family. They're just people you're related to.

bavani is not a failure.

2009-12-09T21:03:00.004+08:00

I've felt like a failure many many times. Last night, for example, when I couldn't possibly finish studying Animal Anatomy and Physiology and know everything I need to know. I hate failing academically. I can't bear to be considered stupid. Because I know I'm not. And failing tests indicates that I'm stupid. It really really bothers me. I can't stand it, because I pity people who aren't intelligent, and I can't stand being pitied like that.

That's what motivated me to study, actually, when I was retained in Sec 3. I was totally frightened that my new classmates would think that I was stupid, so I stayed back in school in the afternoons to study. Just to show them, and anyone else who could be bothered, that I was smart.

And every time I failed a test(which wasn't very often), I used to call myself a "Double Failure." "Double" because I'd already failed it the previous year. I still call myself that, remembering all the times I've failed. I hate the feeling I get when I fail, it's like I'm worth nothing. I place so much significance on academic results, because I think that's how most people primarily measure intelligence. It really got me down when I failed.

I didn't let it keep me down, though. That's what I always fail to remember. (No pun intended.) Last night, when I felt like a failure again, I only remembered all the times I failed. I didn't remember how I tried repeatedly until I succeeded.

I didn't remember how I always pulled through when it mattered. How I slept during Biology lessons and got Cs for my school exams, but an A for my O level exam.

I didn't remember how I managed to not give a shit about what people thought of my retention and did my best. I only had my own standards to meet, and I had the self-discipline to meet them.

I didn't remember how I tried four times to get an A for my Tamil O level and succeeded the last time, even though I got B3 the first three times. I simply refused to accept failure.

And I won't accept it again. And I won't be afraid that people would think I'm stupid, because anyone who knows me would know that I'm not. And people who don't know me don't matter.

I know that I've failed the Animal Anatomy and Physiology test. It's rather depressing. But I won't stop studying, and I'll get an A for this module. I'm sure of it.

Undoubtedly I'll fail again. And again. But that does not make me a failure, because I won't stop there, and ultimately, I'll succeed.

One Word

2009-11-25T22:03:00.000+08:00

Mix.

bavani's blog

2009-11-23T21:40:00.002+08:00

I remember now why I started writing on this blog. One of the reasons, anyway.

I don't have close friends. I don't like it when friends get close. I don't like to let people know my deeper emotions, and I think that's necessary for friends to be close. I don't like it when people see me sad, or angry, or even really happy. I have friends who have known me for years but have never seen me be anything but composed and humorous and at most, annoyed.

The problem with having no close friends to share thoughts, fears and emotions with is that these things build up. They gather in the back of my mind like water molecules gather in the sky, and when they get too heavy, they flood my conscious. It's impossible to think productively while thinking of these things, so they need to be let out of my mind. And since my friends aretoo casual to reveal deep thoughts to, I chose to put the thoughts in a place where just anyone could read them. Rather paradoxical, isn't it?

bavani has scales.

2009-11-19T18:56:00.003+08:00

I don't know what to write on this blog anymore. I write so infrequently. I have so many feelings and opinions and thoughts but I'm unable to write them down. They seem very private. Too private. When I first started this blog, I wrote what I felt no matter how much it revealed about me. I was sometimes hurtfully honest. I don't know why, but I haven't flung the contents of my mind into the World Wide Web for everyone in the world to see, in a very long time.

I feel less and less close with all my friends every day. I feel like everyone else is stuck in a place which I have left. Or maybe I'm stuck in a place which they cannot enter. It's a horrible place. Even tiny little obstacles seem impossible to surmount while big things seem just out of reach. Very few bad things actually happen, but the vast possibilities of bad things that could happen cast a dark, disturbing shadow on everything.

I'm blocking people out of my life. I've been doing it for years and years, but there was this brief period of time when I let people in. I can't think of a single incident which might have caused me to revert, but now my armadillo scales are back. And they seem more impenetrable than before.

What's really horrible is that not only does no one get in, those who are already in are driven out. It's a painful process (for me) whereby I get increasingly indifferent and cold. I hate doing this, but it's impossible not to. It hurts to try.

Some Realisations.

2009-11-15T10:45:00.001+08:00

Ugh, it's been fucking long since I wrote. Too many things have happened that made me think, but I haven't had time to write.

What I've realised is that I am an asshole. I don't censor the things I say. I just say whatever I think. While this is mostly very useful, sometimes it offends people. I don't think I've offended anyone yet, but I feel that it might happen very soon if I don't watch what I say. I've got to reinforce the filter between my brain and my mouth.

Something else I've realised: Giving my cat away is no longer an option. I had a dream a few days ago, in which Jay jumped out of my window and fell seven floors down. When I ran down, he was unconscious but not bleeding. I picked him up to bring him to the vet, but I couldn't find the clinic. I was running around with Jay unconscious in my arms.

When I woke up, I imagined my life without Jay. It was unbearable. A few months ago, I braced myself to give him away to someone else if he and my dog didn't get along, but now, I can't do that. I am his human. And he is my cat.

A day in the life of a bavani

2009-10-28T06:55:00.002+08:00

I haven't done this in a while, but I felt like it all of a sudden. This is about yesterday, by the way. Today just started.

1. 5:20 a.m. Jay was hungry. I woke up to the sound of his whiny, demanding voice right in my face and his weight on my chest. He licked my face, and pulled my hair, trying to wake me up so that I can feed him. But I didn't give in to his demands. I stroked him to sleep and went back to sleep myself, with Jay on my pillow and his head on my face, purring in my ear. Of course, this only lasts for about ten minutes, at most. The whole process repeated itself until 6, when I woke up and fed him. For the past four months, that has been the very first thing I do when I wake up.

2. After getting ready for school, I came downstairs to find that there was nothing to eat. So I put my medicine in my chocolate-shaped pill box and carried it to school, where I ate a whole packet of Chipsmore cookies and took my pills with chocolate milk.

3. Microbiology lab. We took samples of our teeth plague and looked at the bacteria in it under the microscope. My specimen was "too thin", so I couldn't focus the image of my bacteria. Damn. I wanted to know what the microorganisms in my mouth looked like. Since I couldn't, I looked at ready-made samples of E. coli instead. They're boring. They are just tiny little pink rods.

4. I had Sociology tutorial after lunch. I didn't like my tutor at first, because of the way he smiles when he talks (yes, I know that's very shallow and judgemental,) but he's actually quite nice. We were to get into groups to discuss some questions, and I guess I looked a bit worried, because I didn't really have any friends in the class. He looked at my expression, and remembered my name, and said, "Bavani, don't worry, I'll find a group for you." Isn't that nice?

One of my group members picked the question "Why do only men do National Service?" Damn, I hate gender inequality. And I hate gender stereotypes. But I do love arguing, and that's what I did with one of my group members, who so proudly loved the sound of his own voice. I love arguing with pompous people, because it's more satisfying when I win. (I sound so cocky, ugh.)

I was quite offended when the group which chose the topic about homosexuals called them "simply abnormal." Ouch. I deeply feel for minority groups, being an Indian female in Singapore. It really bothers me when people apply their pre-conceived stereotypical ideas about Indians, females, and Indian females to me.

Although, I have taken advantage of female stereotypes before, to get out of trouble in Secondary School. I was just a girl, how bad could I be?? *Blinks innocently*

4. Public speaking tutorial. I really don't like my class. I feel very out of place. Grrr. I picked a pet eulogy for my Special Occasions Speech. I want to talk about Anil, a cat who died at SPCA. He died without even going home. I want him to be honoured, because he was a great cat.

5. I rushed to Toa Payoh after the tutorial to meet D. I was very bad company, because I was really tired. I almost fell asleep on him several times. But he's so sweet, he would have let me. When we were going home, he carried my bag for me until I got on the bus. Sweet Ice Cream Man.

6. I came home and collapsed on the sofa. Dicky loves it when people collapse on the sofa when they come home. It's easier for him to lie on top of them and lick their faces.

7. After I ate, I intended to do some homework and read for a while. However, when I got out my CSAS book, I put it back. I wasn't in the mood for work. So I read. Until I fell asleep. Which took about half a minute.

When I woke up this morning, I had seven messages and one missed call. Sorry guys. :)

One Word.

2009-10-20T10:05:00.003+08:00

Belong.

School sucks.

2009-10-11T18:59:00.002+08:00

School's starting. I'm not looking forward to it very much. I'm not looking forward to the routine of waking up to get dressed hurriedly, shoving notes and jackets into my bag, rushing out of the house and completing assignments in the bus. Falling asleep during lectures, goofing off during tutorials. Waiting impatiently for classes to end so that I can go meet Danny.

Damn, I'm really not looking forward to being unable to meet Danny as often as I can now. I'll miss him. Damn Ice Cream Man, he's too sweet.

I'm not looking forward to missing SPCA either. I won't be as close with the animals, seeing them only once a week. I'll miss my Handsome. And my Boy, my Ida, my Guinness, my Rita, my Ego, my Risa, my Roy, my Chase, and my Kitty.

What I'm looking forward to are the new modules I'm going to be taking. Animal Anatomy and Human Immunology. Sound fun, don't they? And I'm looking forward to lunches, lunch is always fun, full of laughs. Because I always eat with a bunch of crazy/weird/funny girls. I miss them too.

Bah.

bavani's honesty versus bavani's vulnerability

2009-09-30T12:47:00.004+08:00

Tressa, an old friend of mine, sent me a text message recently to tell me that she appreciates all the time we spent together and that she loves me as a friend. It moved me.

I feel the same way about so many people, but I do not have the courage to say it. I wish I could tell my friends how much they mean to me, but I have neither the words nor the braveness to express my feelings.

Perhaps that's why I've lost so many friends.

Anyway,

Today while taking a break after cleaning dogs' cages at SPCA, I was flipping through the volunteers' sign-in book when a new friend of mine pointed at her name and said, "Hey, that was my first time." It made me think of my own first time, way back in January.

I'd been looking forward to it for months. I felt so proud when I stuck the SPCA VOLUNTEER sticker on my chest. Subsequently, I got mauled by a few dogs. (GUINNESS!)

I flipped back to January, and saw so many familiar names. We had such good times. Without school or anything else to do, we spent a lot of time at SPCA together. Talking, playing, going for lunch.

Ah, what fun times.

About Love.

2009-09-21T10:22:00.003+08:00

"Makes no sense, when you think about it; makes perfectly good sense, if you don't."

- John Katzenbach, The Madman's Tale