:)

its s simple to make someone happy.
now return the favour by making someone else smile.



someone did it to me and now i'm doing it to someone else.
and it feels amazing, to know that you're making someone smile.

strangers closeby.

ike i've said before.
＊note to self: don't fall in love with people because they write pretty things.

she's probably the closest person i've seen to my wavelength and i suspect the intellectual part of me would get along well with her.
and it's sad since she's practically right next to me.

contrary to what everyone believes, i am somewhat intelligent.
my favourite channel after kbs world is Animal Planet. let's put it this way, I watch the history channel more than i watch mtv. i'm completely serious.

i don't find joy in shopping nor movies. i find sleeping and eating a waste of time. and i certainly do not want makeup or new shoes.
am i even a teenager?

someone told me i'm like an old soul trapped in a 16-year old's body.
maybe i am.

hehe.

there's a long moment of silence after onew speaks.

then wooyoung bursts into tears and runs out of the room.

junho lets out a sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose. doojoon rolls his eyes and sits back into his chair to watch the unfolding drama. seulong bursts into high pitch laughter, which is slightly unsettling; but this is seulong, so everyone ignores him. jonghyun snorts because onew fails at life in general, and things like this prove it.

nichkhun shoots daggers at onew with his eyes. or at least he attempts to, because angry is a very cute look on him. knowing that his glare has no effect on everyone (except to make them swoon), he adopts a wounded expression instead and proceeds to chase after wooyoung.

"what?" onew is still extremely confused. he rubs his left arm self consciously and scans the room with his eyes innocent and wide (as wide as they can go anyway).

"really now. you're a sunbae and all, but you should really think before you speak," junho says, trying hard to keep his tone neutral. he's a little grumpy because he shares a room with wooyoung and if wookhun get into a lovers squabble, all hell breaks loose and junho is on the receiving end of most of the wrath. he glares at onew, who looks more lost than ever. thanks a lot.

"this is not right," onew protests, arms flailing around a little. "i am the sunbae here. in order of who debuted first, i am seniority! you can't gang up on me." he crosses his arms and tries to look stern but the whole effect is somewhat spoiled by him almost tripping falling over backwards.

"nichkhun shi, that girl you were watching a movie with the other day was really pretty," jonghyun mimicks onew mockingly. he shakes his head at his leader and says in that disapproving tone people use for disbehaving five-year olds, "you should've known better."

"what." onew looks like he's about to cry.

seulong is almost hysterical at this point and falls off his chair.

doojoon vows to never touch the water in the dressing rooms of music bank because obviously, there's something in there that makes idols go crazy.

i want.

i wish i could dance under the moonlight.
it seems like such a simple wish but modern day horror stories of axe carryng murderers have cemented fear and paranoia deep into my mind.

i wish i could run barefoot in the rain.
but when it rains here it doesn't drizzle, it dumps entire oceans on you and spices things up with streaks of lightning. a romp in the rain might spell suicide.

sigh. what happened to the simple pleasures in life?

bubble.

i'm not a depressed girl who locks herself in her room and mopes about what ifs and have beens, despite what my posts in here suggest.

its just that i spend most of the day painting this happy mask on my face and at the end of the day it crumbles and i let all my emotions out so i can be happy again the next.

when i'm awake i have a knack of pushing all negative thoughts out of my head and floating around all day in this happy bubble. when the clock hits midnight and i'm lying in bed there's nothing to distract me and so i start thinking. the only way to stop thinking is to release it all out and that's what i do here sometimes.

because typing is like therapy to me. the soft clicking of the keys and the letters appearing ones by one on the screen soothes me. i like how raw it feels.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

Write, for example,’The night is shattered
and the blue stars shiver in the distance.’

The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

Through nights like this one I held her in my arms
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.

She loved me sometimes, and I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.

To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.

What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is shattered and she is not with me.

This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

My sight searches for her as though to go to her.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.

The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.

I no longer love her, that’s certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.

Another’s. She will be another’s. Like my kisses before.
Her voice. Her bright body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, that’s certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.

Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her.

by Pablo Neruda

2010 bby.

heres to a new year.


cheers :)

i'll try not to drift through days in a happy bubble like the previous years.

maybe i'll get butthurt along the way, and may be depressed, but at least i tried.

the quiet world.

In an effort to get people to look
into each other’s eyes more,
and also to appease the mutes,
the government has decided
to allot each person exactly one hundred
and sixty-seven words, per day.


When the phone rings, I put it to my ear
without saying hello. In the restaurant
I point at chicken noodle soup.
I am adjusting well to the new way.


Late at night, I call my long distance lover,
proudly say I only used fifty-nine today.
I saved the rest for you.


When she doesn’t respond,
I know she’s used up all her words,
so I slowly whisper I love you
thirty-two and a third times.
After that, we just sit on the line
and listen to each other breathe.

- The Quiet World, Jeffrey McDaniel

merry christmas.

its christmas. or it will be, in 20 minutes.

i don't get why i'm so worked up over a holiday that isn't even mine. it isn't even of my religion.


but i still love it somehow.


i'm loving it less in recent years though. maybe its because i'm older but the magic is gone.


i didn't even realise christmas was here until christmas eve.


i wish i didn't grow up so fast. it would be nice to still have that childish innocence.

dating.

people tell you all the time that you're beautiful that you're pretty that you're elegant.
do you have a boyfriend? they ask.
and when you reply in the negative they think you're kidding.


no, no kidding at all. look at this solemn face.


they pull back, blink, study you carefully, make sure that you're not joking, which you never are.
and then you know they're thinking it.
and most times they say it.
"you must have a horrible personality then."


yeah well. you can only shrug in reply because what else can you do?

sometimes i wonder whats wrong with me. because if what everyone is telling me is true, shouldn't i be beating boys off with a stick?
i don't get it.
i would love more than anything to lace my fingers with another, to walk down the streets with him beside me.
and i watch everyone around me pair up
damn it, if she can get one, why can't i?

its not that i need a guy to live.
i've been happy without him and i will be happy without him.
whoever he is.

its just that it would be nice.
it would be nice to have someone who you know will love you.

maybe i really do have a horrible personality.

perfect

♥

i have never agreed witha quote so fucking much.

everything is illuminated.

i want that damn book. i can't find it in any bookstore in malaysia.

damn.

jonathan safran foer. we are not meant to be :D

mute your mind.

if there was one thing you could do, you would mute your mind.

and there it goes again like a runaway train and you try to stop but it spins and spins and spins, filling your head with silly thoughts and worries, keeping you awake at night. you plea for it to stop but it doesn't work because even if its your mind and you just want to tell it to shut up, it still goes on thinking and thinking until you think your head is about to explode.

its tiring.

because as you think you get paranoid and you become afraid and suddenly there's this never ending list of things you haven't done and should do but you can't because its so fucking late and you need to sleep or you'll be a zombie the next day.

but of course when you wake up, you never do the things on the hastily compiled to-do list you made last night. and so the cycle repeats itself at night.

and people wonder why the dark circles under your eyes are permanant.

谢谢

i've been saying thankyou a lot lately.

thankyouthankyouthankyou.

tonight i shall fall asleep, clutching my dreams to my chest tightly in hopes that he will appear in them again.

and hopefully this time i can actually see his face.

so its kind of obvious that i'm becoming almost desperate. its just. lonely i guess. i blame all those love stories they're feeding us.

满天的云，阴阴凉凉的天气.

she tries to contain the skip in her step as she goes down the streets. it's not that she's particularly happy, it's just that it's automatic. but she tries to contain it all the same because people tend to stare at the girl who isn't quite a girl any longer skipping down the street.

she doesn't like to draw attention to herself.

she's (not skipping) down the street when he appears in front of her, like the magical prince charming mentioned in all the fairytales. except he isn't quite charming, not with his messy hair, unshaved face and ruffled clothes.

he looks wonderful to her all the same.

hello, she says, all prim and proper, the way her momma taught her, how are you today?

he blinks, startled that this girl in the pigtails, a complete stranger, is talking to him but he answers all the same, voice scratchy from not enough water and speech, i think i'm fine, thank you.

she falls in love immediately with his voice and his scruffy appearance and so she strikes up a conversation about the weather and dogs and the stock market. it takes a few misses before she hits gold and it turns out that he's interested in dance.

really? she giggles, her hand to her chest. so am i. (she's never danced in her life. he doesn't need to know that) and she fabricates an elaborate lie about how she hurt her ankle and can never dance again and oh, she has his sympathy and a name to go along with it.

between tsks, he tells her his name and she repeats it on her tongue, delighted at the sound. and she tells him that her name is like the stars because she was named after one, the 7th one in the sky on the day she was born.

(they meet again, this time without the facial hair and the pigtails and the eccentricities and he's not bad looking at all)

deceive.

sometimes i pull myself out of this ever happy bubble and laugh at myself for being so fake. who am i? what am i? am i being true to myself? but what exactly am i?

am i being fake when even my mind believes that this is me?

prose.

they write so beautifully that it makes me want to weep.

and i do want so awfully much to be able to spill pretty words like them but a part of me is almost afraid.

because how twisted must she be to be able to create such morbid situations?

can i really write without it affecting me? i know i am weak, that i am easily influenced by emotions. if i write about sad situations, i know my emotions are going to dip until they match the ones of the characters.

once i almost fell into depression. its odd how you know so clearly that it isn't right to feel so lost all the time but still you can't pull yourself out of it. its long over but i remain happy by living in a bubble, by locking all negative thoughts in a box and pushing it to the back of my head.

i don't want to go back to that scary place. ever.

taste.

name a memory evoked by one of the five senses (taste, touch, sight, hearing, smell)

taste.


my parents come home. mom sweeps me into a hug and kisses my hair. she smells different, all the scents from the airport and the airplanes and the travels seeping into her clothes. i struggle out of her grasp. dad rummages through the luggage and hands me the souvenirs from their trip. there's a variety of colourful trinkets but only one thing catches my eye- a bag filled with sweets of every flavour imaginable. i grab the first one i see and pop it into my mouth. the sweetness attacks my tongue and without warning, it turns bitter. hurrying to the kitchen, i spit the offending sweet out.


that was when i was seven. i still hate passionfruit.

quote.

When I was 5 years old, my mom always told me that happiness was the key to life. When I went to school, they asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. I wrote down “happy.” They told me I didn’t understand the assignment and I told them they didn’t understand life.

-l'Eco di Bru

what?

freewrite.

needed a place for me to write and not be judged.

this is for me to improve and experiment.

you may read, but no bashing please.