My heart is bruised. It is swollen. If you take it carefully in your hands, you’d see it also has dents. As if it has taken many beatings and with each depressing force, some parts chose to return to surface, some just remained hollowed and defeated. Together with the bruises, swells, and depressions, my heart is a bumpy surface to thread on.
Ed Sheeran’s Photograph has lovely lyrics. There’s just this one line I don’t agree on: that when things get hard—”it’s the only thing that makes us feel alive”. Why should hard things be the only things that evoke feelings of feeling alive? I bet you if you take a roller coaster, all that exhilaration and stomach-dropping sensations when its just you, the sky, and the adrenaline in your beating heart—you’d feel very much alive. But obviously Ed and Johnny didn’t mean for the lyrics to mean that way. This song is about looking forward to a reunion, to a continuation of of what’s paused and shouldered by hope. But there’s no hope in my story, as much as I can identify with and like this song. There is a protest in me that fights with the bitter-sweetness I get from this song.
Some time two years back, my heart underwent a long trial of beatings. But even during then, I’d felt the joy of feeling pain as it made me feel alive. I’d thought that my heart needed to be tempered for a reason. Now, I’m done with that bullshit because I’m sick of it. Being pain is being in pain. There is no beauty. There is no upside to it and I won’t allow and can’t even feel the upside to it this time. I just want it to stop. Times I murmur a soft prayer, I ask for this ache to be taken away because I don’t want to be in it anymore. It’s ridiculous the number of times I’ve been subjected to heartbreaks.
I want this dull ache to be doused. I want my heart whole again. But each time I love, a piece is taken away from me and I am never quite whole. Do ENFJs feel the most happy in a healthy, loving relationship? I suppose, until the right one comes along this bruised heart will remain fragile and unhealed with all its blemishes—scars, scabs, dents and all.
I don’t even know why I’m writing this entry.
So I pulled out a packet of baby carrots from the fridge, and that’s when I felt:
The small sensation of depression against my purple Superdry jacket.
The light touch of cold objects against my thighs as they bounced or rolled.
The sound of small rod-like objects hitting the floor, falling in brief consecutive soft, solid thuds. Thud, thud, thud.
I looked at the pitiful fragmented orange mess on the floor and let out a cry of dismay. “Oh no.”
Cursing myself for being careless, and feeling sorry for the baby carrots on floor, I picked them off one by one off the black tiles. The metal sieve gave firm grunts of acknowledgement for each carrot I tossed in. I gave them carrots a shower under the tap, that cloud of dismay still above my head, separated half of them into an aluminium wrap for lunch, and the rest into a bowl for later.
Satisfied, I stepped out of the kitchen, my left index finger and thumb estimating the size of a baby carrot in the air.
“Oh.” I said to myself. One baby carrot had rolled itself into the living room. You poor thing. I picked it up, washed it, and slipped it into the bowl in the fridge where it joined the rest of saved orange.
This morning, at around 4.53am, I found out that an old friend has passed away. He had pneumonia, 4th stage lung cancer and 4th stage kidney cancer.
I cried and cried reading people’s messages on his facebook wall, grew sadder and cried more reading his story written by his friend; my ex had touched so many lives. In a foreign land, rain falling outside, with only the comfort of my blanket and bed I grieved for someone I had known to be humble, mild-tempered and sincere; loyal, positive and filial, gentle and polite. Someone who had a big heart and the kindest soul I’d ever known in my 27 years of life. I thought between sobs, could I ever be that kind?
As far as I know, he didn’t believe in God. But he was a good man.
It was you, at 20-year old then, who told me that the key to a lasting relationship was to grow together. I don’t know why I remembered that, but I do. Probably because that answer from you was unexpected to my 17-year old self who then probably believed love was all. This lesson from you, I learnt myself 4 years later and it is still something I firmly believe in.
You came to deliver your jacket to me when I told you the lab in school was cold. Even my classmates were surprised. I think some of them remember you that way too. It was just eight months, but you were the best boyfriend I’d ever had. Or at least, had the best qualities than any of my exes ever had.
I wish, I could attend your funeral to remember you along with the many others you have made an impression on.
Thank you, and rest in peace, K.
I haven’t been writing because I didn’t feel like I can write anything. But since a new exciting chapter is starting soon I thought I’d better start documenting it.
I’ve been accepted to the University of Portsmouth to do my MA in Translation Studies. The thought is still daunting and I will be lying if I say I have no doubts. Me? Majoring in my third language? I can’t even speak my mother tongue without throwing in English words! I have a lot of doubts in my capability!! I still can’t read many kanji! Am I overestimating myself? Living abroad has been a long ago dream I had, one that I gave up because my parents could not afford. It makes me feel proud of myself I’ve taken a bold, uncertain step onto an unfamiliar territory.
Owing to the spur of a very painful breakup last year, the emotional impact make me wonder deeply what I can do with my short life to make it fulfilling. My thoughts wondered to an under-developed, unexplored area I’ve always had interest it. And while now the throes of pain have subsided, I am very glad to know my interest preservered through and therefore, I know this is genuine. Even if I start off being a project coordinator, I’m sure my actual work experiences will come in handy and I will definitely be happier working in closer contact with languages.
The present and alarming concern right now is the unrelenting, stubborn rise in pounds against SGD and this will severely impact the balance of school fees and VISA fees I have to fork out. This means lesser leeway to living expenses and this is worrying indeed. Recently however, I’ve been indulging in buying items disguised as ‘needs for UK’ or ‘needs for school’. My very recent expenditure is on a pair of disstressed One Teaspoon Freebird Jeans. I REALLY want a Freebird styled jeans and that thought occupied my mind the whole day I was unproductive. After I completed my purchase however, I found myself feeling so guilty I’ve decided no more unnecessary purchases for me!
It is 9.25pm now and I am happy to be home. I will go read my Rogue (by Julie Kagawa) now over some chinese tea.
This morning I managed to get a seat on the train but it was a reserved seat for the needy. It always had not mattered to me that I sit there as I will gladly give it up when there’s someone who needs it. So I eagerly switched on my Kindle to continue Josie and Jake’s story because I was DYING to finish it to start Transcendence (love story of a Neanderthal and time-travelled modern woman – now tell me you’re not excited). When I looked up as the train stopped at a station, a caucasian lady waved her right arm to catch my attention. “Excuse me, can I seat?” she asked. I looked at her, noticing her slender build and short hair and also… bulging pregnant tummy. I was mortified. Promptly jumped off my seat. “I’m so sorry!” I apologised with a very sincere, sheepish face. Here’s what surprised me; very sincerely as well, and I’m sure, she beamed brightly at me replying, ”It’s okay!” As she settled down, I said again, ”So sorry ‘bout that.” “It’s okay!” she assured. I returned to my book thinking how genuine she looked, but soon noticed the lady had also whipped out her book. I smiled inwardly to myself. She is a reader! I thought. Could it be she saw how absorbed I was that she wasn’t angry I kinda usurped the seat rightfully reserved for people like her because she being one, understands a bookworm? I alighted the train thinking how this lady impacted my life. I have always strived to learn from the good of others and treat others with as much sincerity as I can muster. Thus, the next time I find myself heavily pregnant on the train, instead of glaring menacingly at the seat usurper, I shall open my mouth to ask for it and be kind and gracious if the person was unintentionally not seeing me.
Today was a bigger test. I felt my patience being tested. I felt jealousy and anger. There you were, talking to her like a lovestruck fool in front of me while I was queuing up for the beer you’d say you’d get. I felt each hurt acutely. Bought the beer but you were still at it. So I left with my open can in hand, presence unwanted and forgotten, carrying my aching heart. I took a taxi with a stranger who was heading the same direction. I asked him about his job, half-filtering what he said but trying to keep up an intelligent conversation.
I am even now, ‘Sin Lim’ on your phone.
It is 12.38am. Took you more than an hour to realise my disappearance.
Today is a test I’d gladly fail. Good night.