I fell in love with this song

I was reading Fight with Me by Kristen Proby over the weekend. The female lead in this song loves this song. So I looked it up on YouTube and I liked it at hearing the first sentence, the first tune. It tugged at my heartstrings so I booted up my laptop to record this down.

It is a beautiful song that breaks my heart. That broke my heart at first tune. And I am listening over to it, over and over again, despite memories it drags up. The lyrics remind me of you. It’s a song I think you’d like too.

How old is your soul?

The funniest thing is I had to give up.

We had to give up.

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Sometimes when you’re running to a safe harbour your thoughts get directed to the harbour that makes you feel safe but hurt you the most.  When that is the case, familiarity isn’t your answer.

In any case, since your absurd texts to me two weeks ago I’ve heard nothing. I regret not responding but you weren’t making any sense anyway.

I miss you, the one familiar but a stranger. Sharply, tonight, I miss you.

The Test of the Strength of My Heart

This chapter of my life is about self-discovery, finding out things I’ve never known about myself before, getting to know myself better. This chapter concerns the test of the strength of my heart.

I didn’t go in search of this – it just presented itself to me. Because I was the most suitable around to take on this role but was not the most suitable person for something else. Anyway, that ship has sailed and sunk so I am accepting it that way else I’ll go insane.

Yesterday, when I felt the magnitude of your infatuation with the girl it felt like I was a dartboard being rained on by darts in succession. Across this three weeks coming to one month, I was hurt again, I cried hopelessly at feeling worthless again, I experienced losing you again, but the most enriching of all was the transition to being just a friend to you. Lover, to Friend.

So today I saw you. It was trepidation; it was nervousness. It was looking at your face again at that bus stop and trying to play it cool when in fact, I was aware of my nervousness and heart beat. It was noticing immediately you have lost a lot of weight, your thinner-near-gaunt face was unfamiliar yet the facial hair attracting me in its usual scruffy sexiness. It was sitting in small awkward silences, attempting small talk while watching familiar bus numbers go by but not being able to exactly remembering where it stops when I used to. Even sitting next to you in close proximity on the bus seemed strange.

It was hearing your voice in person again, walking down a familiar route slightly behind you while you were on the phone, deliberately trailing that familiar but already faint perfume scent that’s mingled with a hint of tobacco. It was walking pass that bus stop where I last hugged you good-bye. It was sitting at the coffee shop we once agreed to sit at to relax, only we did so today finally as friends.  You left behind your phone again and once again I rolled my eyes in annoyed affection at your carelessness. (It’s a wonder you haven’t lost it yet I swear.) It was also a nostalgic visit to the hair dresser’s where curious people have asked us separately on separate occasions where we were. And then it was us again at McD’s where I watched you blabber nonsense but I knew you were overwhelmed inside. I saw that tooth peek out from your grin but it was not a sincere expression from the heart.

“Don’t worry for me, Eliza,” you later said at the traffic light. No, I can’t stop doing that just yet.

Arriving in front of your place, saying good-bye. Feeling your arm around my shoulders at your thanks, shoving a stopper to feeling teary at a lost familiarity, touching that hand on my shoulder to assure and comfort you it will be okay. Did you feel the wave of nostalgia like I did? “Walk me to the end,” I said on a slight desperate impulse, “there, before the traffic light,” I pointed. “It’s a long lonely road, you know it.”

I tried to make you brave in our last few minutes together. You attempted smiles and jokes. We parted. I was shaken.

On the bus ride home, I thought to myself on the bus, that no matter how flawed you are and the mistakes you’ve made, I still love you, blemishes and all. I feel strangely happy that I do (is because I can still show you so in my actions?) but I cannot and will not force you to a corner, nor can or will I abandon you – not when my heart can still take it. There is a time for everything, and our time is up. For now, I will have to be happy being your friend and experience familiarity in a different way, feelings in my heart. On the bus, I realised seeing you again makes me feel what I feel every day – that  I have missed you. But more than usual yesterday, I felt strongly that I’ve missed the very presence of your being.

Hence I conclude : My journey of self-discovery the later part of this year is to love someone from afar. It is to accept what has passed, and make the best of what remains. It is to watch someone I love ‘love’ another, enduring pricks of pain while plastering a smile on my face. My heart will be broken but tempered over hardship and love, stretched, moulded and re-sculpted till I know its limits and size.

Midnight Ramblings & The tension between my brows

Hi. It’s me tonight, coming here because I have no where else to go to. (Or whine. Or talk to.) To be honest, I hate it that I only have things to write about my crappy heart. I am far more capable than that but it seems to be the only thing that inspires me to write now. BAH.

Truthfully, I am feeling tension between my brows and at my temples tonight. Because I know you’re with her (I say I do but truly I don’t. Paranoia at work.). Her who came “all the way” here “only to fuck” your head up. Thinking about it makes my head hurt because I don’t want any girl near you to cause a distraction from being a better person and reach your potential. Thinking about what you could be doing with her now hurts. And I wrestle with my feelings of jealousy and more hurt. More hurt. Because I was passed over for her. When I was first.

So much for sending a long text to help you face and manage your conflicted emotions and head. No response for close to 11 hours. You’re with her. I’m sure. She’s gonna sway you. The only reason why you’re conflicted is because you still hope for something. For all my selfish reasons and for your sake, I darn hope she fails badly.

Yet when you’re in a mess or need advice, I give them. Because I’m too nice, in love with you but more than these, we have a friendship. And I don’t want you to be unhappy. I want to protect you. I feel the source of your unhappiness as if I’m a know-it-all who knows best. I’ve decided I do and she isn’t the answer. I wish you can find your way alone. And a part of me wants to remain a friend if only just to hear your voice once in awhile and to laugh like we used to. Each time we laugh on the phone, I feel happy that’s not gone from my life. I worry I will be greedy and want more when you have nothing to give. Even if we speak no more, contact no more, I only want you to succeed.

Each contact with you leaves me vulnerable after. I have lost count the number of times I want to go to my mother and ask for a hug. And tell her I need encouragement. But I know I cannot. She will ask and probe. I cannot let her see me weak and my heart broken. I guess I can’t bear to be berated over someone who is not worth my tears. I am so broken and yet I want to give you friendship because I know how lonely you are. It is not my responsibility but I can’t abandon you when you need help.

Karma, you said.  I wish you’d suffer it because only that’s when you’d learn like I did.

Being heartbroken is strangely humbling. It makes you small and weak and vulnerable. I am humbled. Ever since you contacted me and caused waves in my heart again, I have sunk to my knees a few times to pray for you and me. Asking for an answer to what has been tormenting me but being forcefully shoved away for my own mental state, asking to be released from pain, and ultimately, wishing that you’d be happy and good will happen to you.

How much more will I sacrifice myself to save you? How much more can I handle? How much more must my heart be tested and stretched? Why won’t you look at me again? Why did you abandon me? Why did you? How could you?

Please, come to me for advice to make the right decision, the one I think is right. And execute it. Because I (think I) know what’s best.

I love the tales you spun for me

I am reading a book called My Beautiful Enemy now. On the bus tonight, I read the part where the hero was entertaining the heroine with the story or Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves. The heroine loved it. She loved it that the man cared enough to spin his tale; she loved it that she could relate to the story because of the wit and cleverness of the slave, Morgiana.

I alighted from the bus, missing you and the nonsensical tales you spun for me. I remember the last was about magic and penguins, probably.  I quite think now those two components were put together at my request since they are what I love. You told me that story as we walked in the mall near your house. As I walked home, I relieved that memory and felt amazed again at the ease you can weave together a silly tale. I love your imagination and love it the tales you told were for me. I wondered in my footsteps home, when I’d ever meet someone who would tell me stories again, and grew scared because the only males who attract/interest me seem to originate from animes or the books – they are fictional.

Tonight after my bath, I sat on my bed to continue my read. It got too hot and stifling. Influenced by the dead character’s love for Darjeeling in the book, I felt warm and thirsty and propelled to get a cup of tea too. I made myself some green tea, and sat down on the wooden chair to write this. On the television was a news report about angry Hong Kong students. I stared at the umbrellas crashing together on television but in my head was your voice. You loved telling me ghost stories before we slept. I paid as much attention as I could initially, but after that I simply enjoyed the sound of your voice as I fell into sleep. My thoughts floated to another story you told me – but it was also one we created together.

I was a forest wood nymph and you were a giant who was threatening the existence of my forest. In order to save it, I had to consent to save you by giving you a rare remedy found in the unicorn which lives by the lake in the forest. I was reluctant to give you the cure as that implied I had to shed my unicorn’s blood. The story grew more ridiculous and I was clearly losing because you always had more imagination. We ended up in hearty guffaws in the mall. I was near tears. I remember being happy and carefree. It was a short respite from the weight we had in our hearts.

I’ll return to my book now and share the heartaches and joy of the heroes. If I can’t feel joy for myself, then let me feel joy in words and others who exist in another world.

It is definitely cooler in the living room. I will spend some time here tonight.

Date A Man Who Writes You Love Letters

This girl is like me. She has voiced my feelings! I am that girl.

Thought Catalog

“I don’t write often, so don’t judge too hard,” the text message read.

I opened up my email and there it was, waiting for me. My eyes could not read fast enough. They scanned and rescanned, checking to make sure not to miss a line.

Every word of his made my heart flutter. It was not that his writing was particularly good, but that I could hear his voice in my head speaking to me with each sentence. “I didn’t think I’d be falling in love with you.” Me neither, I thought. “Thank you for letting me break down your walls.” It was my pleasure.

“It’s beautiful,” I messaged back, not knowing what else to say. I meant it.

I had sent him my own word document a few days prior, at his request.

“You know,” he said, “you made me fall for you a lot harder than I meant…

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The Kind Of Girl You Should Date

Food For Thought for the Men out there.

Thought Catalog

Date a girl. Date a girl because she’s a girl and she’s beautiful that way. Not because she reads books or is illiterate. Not because she dresses up or doesn’t. 

Find a girl who challenges you. Don’t care about how many unread books she has in her bag. Don’t care about how much unused space she has in her closet. Care about how many unread looks she has on her face. Care about how many unused smiles she has on her lips.

When you buy a girl a cup of coffee, or buy her a bottle of vodka — if you do it just to get in her bed, she’ll know it before you do, whether she reads, or whether she doesn’t.

On anniversaries or birthdays, don’t gift your girl books — she can buy all she wants. Don’t buy her expensive dresses; she can buy all she wants and more…

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