3hrs train ride alone

With bags sitting by my side, landscape ran past me through the window. The sky painted orange transitioned to a pastel purple, then sombre blue. For a moment, I was indulged — it would be good if I was escaping for real.

And I wondered what it would be like to always be alone.

The melancholy was perfect; enough to make me savour that thought.

It felt strange being self-aware; that I was sitting in the place where thousands of people once sat. Tiny marks and scars on the worn out seats made imaginations more organic, yet they could never tell us about any passenger’s life.

Including mine.

And then it struck me that we were never alone, but we have always been alone.

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Speers Point Park

Sun pierced through the sea
Monochrome — it was to her;
Grey clouds roamed her mind.


Rain as clear as glass
Melting down the facades fast —
She sees through them all.



I hate that they don’t rhyme. But haikus don’t have to rhyme.

Loss

Just when I almost forgot
that I once loved you,
a song played; almost indignantly —
dusting buried pages I’ve tried to hide;
sealing corners I’ve escaped to.

 

Some nights I get so careless,
I’ll accidentally recall
the stars in your eyes
and the way we basked in the moonlight
But I’ll never say I miss you,
for they’re all just your phantom’s lies.

Your haunting is a mere delusion —
yet I still hear you through the crowds
The street and the city lights
taunted me of the goodbye you never mentioned
I hate that my heart still aches
at the bare thought of our past
But I will pull through the nights
for the sky will cry for us.

Bad Day

“I sat on the bed and cried my heart out. Then I went to the gym, had dinner afterwards… then went home and puked my guts out.”


One of the tiring days. Mentally draining. Physically exhausting. Doesn’t feel like everything is wrong, but it doesn’t feel like things are right and I could do nothing about it. Sometimes things aren’t always fair, and it sucks so much to be self-aware and whatever. Sometimes it just feels like I’m fighting alone. It’s never cool to blame it all on everything else but yourself, which is why I hate how I always have a reason for everything that’s going wrong.

Because of all that stress and disappointment, something triggered the bulimia all over again. I remember how I finally stopped purging for a month because I caught something that felt so damn terrible (it was stomach ulcer or something). I told myself I’d never wanna feel that kind of pain again. But now I’m here again. Feeling all defeated and helpless. I guess old habits won’t change huh. A few years worth of habits. Sometimes when I feel like I’m actually getting better it turns out that it wasn’t really the case. I miss eating 700kcal per day. Now I’m just returning to the binge and purge again. I have nothing to say about this really.

I’m so exhausted. I know there are people out there who are struggling more than me and that makes me feel like I have no rights to whine about anything. But then again it’s driving me crazy. And people around me make me jumpy. It’s as if they are forever behind this facade they’re portraying. But yeah I guess I’m in no position to say that. I’d never know what they truly are thinking about. Sometimes I feel like I despise everyone and I just wanna be alone. I guess the one I despise the most is myself.

So many things that I am confused about. Yet I don’t know how to put it. I don’t even know how to talk to myself anymore. How can anyone possibly understand me if I don’t understand myself? So tired… So speechless…

Untitled

This post will be raw, without any sugarcoating or romanticizing. Because nothing is pretty, and it is tough. It is tough to sort out the cries inside of me, and it is tougher feeling vulnerable.


I’m sitting in a corner, in my hoodie and sweatpants, typing this. I absolutely cannot stand the hot weather, but I’m covered from head to toe today. My brother took a look at me before I left the house, “this sweatpants look a little big on you, makes you look… fat.” It’s okay because I’m used to hearing things like that. My mum would tell me my shorts don’t look good on me because people can see my fat thighs with stretch marks, cellulite, I don’t know. When I wear fitting clothes, my parents will take a look at me and say “fei it’s time to lose some weight”, “Don’t wear clothes like this, people can see your rolls” and then laugh it off. When I wear loose shirts, they’ll say that it “looks big on me and makes me look big.” I guess it’s just because I’m not skinny and pretty enough to pull anything off, that’s the real problem, isn’t it? I guess skinnier and prettier girls will be able to pull anything off no matter what they wear. Too bad I’m never one of them.

Today, I feel especially uneasy in my own skin. Today, I feel especially ugly. Today, I hate my reflection in the mirror as much as any other days. I feel fat, ugly, helpless. I’m tired of counting calories. I’m tired of sticking my fingers down my throat every time I finish binging. I’m tired of the bad taste in my mouth and the bloodshot eyes along with a runny nose after each episode. I hate the aching in my knuckles and the sound of running water splashing in the sink. It’s been 5 years and it has never stopped haunting me. I hate the fact that it’s been carved into me and how my reflection mocks me every time I look at it. I put on make-up to mask my vessels under my eyes, my fucking eyebags, but you tell me I look better without make-up. And then you criticize me before my make-up, what the fuck do you want? Maybe people feel that it’s harmless pointing out insecurities people have. I’m aware of my flaws and I hate them. I hate my rough, thinning hair that’s not smooth and feminine enough, and I hate that I can never be “skinny enough”. I remember when my ex told me to lose weight because I’m not skinny and pretty enough for him — how he bought me slimming pills and told me to weigh myself in front of him everytime he saw me. I remember how he showed me the girl’s body size chart and told me to become the one who he thought was “sexiest”.

I remember how he cheated on me with my best friend because I didn’t want to have sex with him. I remember how other guys try to do inappropriate things to me and then calling me a slut. I remember those who tried to get into my pants and those who spread rumours about me. I remember those who pretended to help but were actually just like the rest of them, and worse. I hate myself for letting them think that way, hate myself for not being able to stand my ground and say “fuck off”. I hate myself for caring about how they felt, hate myself for trying to be nice which in their eyes, was simply what a slut does. I hate myself that I let them see me as “easy”, hate myself because I care too much about their feelings when they’re irrelevant.  I hate myself for not being able to protect myself well enough, hate myself for learning to say “fuck off” too late.

Today is the day I avoid storefronts and reflections from buses. I’m not feeling sorry for myself nor am I calling for help. It’s just too frustrating to keep all these bottled inside of me, knowing that there is absolutely no one who will truly understand. I just hope that one day I’ll feel prettier and get away from my insecurities, but that day doesn’t feel that close to me right now.