Scatteredfafa

 Dear readers, They used to say "time flies" and I thought I understood what they meant, but really I didn't. And now I'm here, just realizing it has been 3 years since I've last written here, and I'm wondering how did that happen. How did I not write for 3 years but it felt like I just posted my first blog last week. It's the first day of 2026 and I'm in my late twenties now. I was tidying up my google drives and basically just getting ready for the year ahead when I suddenly remembered about this long forgotten blog. I'd like to tell myself that this year I would set a goal to write again, but years of breaking that promise to myself has taught me to distrust my own words.  But would it hurt to try again? To place my faith in myself. Perhaps one year I might actually honor the promise and came through.  I shall try. As usual, I have a few goals and plans for the new year. It might seem silly to try and "rebrand" myself every time the ne...

Came across a picture book with remarkable illustrations. I don't remember the name, just that it was about a tiger and its smile. I don't know what other people think when they flip through the pages of jungles and arrive on the last page showing the imaginative, unrealistic grin of a tiger, but here's what popped into my mind: I am going to learn how to draw. I highly suspect that the main reason why I have barely accomplished anything with my life has to do with the fact that I want to do too many things, be too many Mes, and of course another reason could quite easily be that I have a genetic disease of procrastinating. I want to learn so many things and sometimes I wish I could rewind time and redo life.  I think a lot of things, but mostly I dream. I dream about all the possibilities, all the versions of me. A cartoonist, a film director, a writer, a pilot, a chef, a tree... Yes, a tree, with barks and leaves. Then I overthink and ruffle myself up to a state of melanc...

I'm back. It's 2am. And I have things I want to say to everyone. I'd probably regret it, I mean regretting being vulnerable, not the things I am going to say. But who's going to read this anyways? My blog is like my diary, which I secretly hope someone would read but no one will.  I've missed writing. I didn't realise this until tonight. What have I been doing? So preoccupied to the point I've negected what sets my soul on fire. I'm disappointed in myself, but I've just learned a new word:  "Amor fati", it means love of one's fate, and I intend to practise this stoic way of life. It's Nietzche by the way. Is it fate that I didn't write? Is it fate that it just so happened that I had time to write but didn't feel inspired to? I don't know, it clearly stems directly from my choice to not write, but I'd like to blame it on fate.  I should probably write a little something each night. Maybe I should write stories.  Okay ...

My mind has been swarming with negative thoughts, and the familiar feeling of doom is back. My pores are clogged up with toxicity oozing out from inside me, and the air around me feels heavy, clinging on to my skin, anchoring me to the dark clouds that surround me, drowning myself in a torpedo that no one else can see. I feel very bad about myself. There's so much limiting beliefs that I cannot shake off. People say self-awareness is the first step towards healing, but I feel like I'm still stuck in square one. I'm confused and lost but most of all, I'm scared. I'm afraid of the future.  I'm stuck inside too long. I wonder whether the sun misses me, but then I doubt that, who am I anyways. There goes the problematic self-deprecating way of how I talk to myself these days. There's no need to contemplate on whether or not I think too much, I'm a known overthinker.  Delving in deeper, all I see are my flaws, and I don't know how to look somewhere else. ...

Everything is in pink. Love songs blare inside my brain as soon as I open my eyes in the morning. Sometimes I wonder whether my eyes turn into pulsating heart shaped balloons like in cartoons.  The cold and critical persona which I liked to wear is finally stripped and thrown away, revealing the true romantic and passionate person that I am. I am in love. And it's such a great feeling. I am in love with another human being. A human who glitches between being a boy and a man. When he is a boy,  I have the most adorable child with me and my heart would swell in promise to protect him from any evil and give him all the love I have. As a man, his eyes shine with kindness and his steps radiate courage, when our eyes lock, I swear my heart stops and whispers, 'He's superman'.  This is better than winning the lottery. Having met him and then being loved by him, it feels like I've won the whole world. 

I have arrived again at a crossroad. The arrow signs are crooked and unwieldy. My compass has gone haywire and I can feel the invisible tugs coming from every direction. A choice has to be made, but my heart is heavy and my legs refuse to take another step forward nor backward. It's a strange predicament to be in. Knowing the sky is the limit but yet struggling to fight off the feeling of being chained and restrained. I've been standing at the same intersection for some time, trying to calm the nerves that frizzled at every bird that flutters past and to hold on to hope that dwindles at every light that dims. Time flies, ignoring my silent hopeless pleas of stopping just for me, a wretchedly lost girl.  And so I come, to the comfort of words, to listen to my heart. I've come back to swim in the swirl of my thoughts. I shall now sit and listen at the crossroad. Soon, I'll see my path and walk it with faith. 

I've been incredibly busy and overwhelmed. With my sister's 21st birthday coming up, personal projects and school, I find myself locked and tied, yet again. Some heavy anchors and locks, some ribbons and heart strings. They said life would get easier, you'll have time to be who you are one day. I thought one day the sacrifices and regrets would make sense. But 5 years later, I only realised, life doesn't get easier, you only get stronger and most of the time, good things don't come twice. Sometimes the only thing you can do is move on from mistakes when you find yourself repeating them over and over again.  I don't really know where I'm going with this post. I'm just itching to write something, anything at all. It's no secret that I have a problem with commitment and hence all the short stories that I never finish because my mind is buzzing with too many ideas. I'd post the half-hearted writings, maybe finish them someday.  Dear readers, I need t...

Two best friends laid horizontally across the bed, with their legs up against the wall and their hair fanning around them. The occasional sound of lonely cars racing along the dark highway outside, reminding them time has not stopped during their pensiveness. The silence between them was understanding and comfortable, an invisible message hanging in the air: "I'm here for you".  Telulah turned her head to the left and looked at Fiona, who was so still as if she was holding her breath, afraid to disturb the peaceful night. She poked her friend's face, relieved that she was still alive.  "If I'm ever reborn, not that I would want to come to this goddamn world again, I want to be a dog", Telulah said with a deadpan expression, her voice croaking a little at the start. Her delicate eyelashes still wet and crumpled from the weight of her overflown tears. Fiona, continued staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars scattered on the ceiling, afraid to look at her fri...

22k cases. My mind can't wrap around the logic of how this is happening. I believe everyone is as fed up as I am. It's a frustration that's brimming and even the lid is flying off, the whole being about to explode. It's an invisible itch that appears to be crawling along every inch of the skin. The question that haunts me, driving me up the wall to yell at everyone: "how the fuck did we get to this point?"  I've been like a lunatic. Randomly saying how life is meaningless and making jokes about how stupid everyone is. Fake it till you make it they say. Waiting for someone to inject hope into the wound swollen with pus of despair. I have a great imagination, but it has failed me, because I cannot imagine what could make me happy today or even in the future.  I love being busy, I don't like my mind. Ever since the lockdown, it has just been a constant inner fight. I can never go to therapy because I'd feel bad for wasting the therapist's time and...

It was the peak of the Perseid meteor shower a few days ago. Growing up watching Disney, I've always wanted to see a shooting star. Even as a young adult, having spent my whole life learning about logic and reason, there's still this small light of hope inside that if I wish hard enough, a shooting star would hear me and make my wish come true. My wishes have grown bigger and bolder; from the desire of turning into a princess to being happy everyday. There's so much I want to wish for. I want to wish for everyone I love. I wish I could write them all down on a piece of paper and throw it up into the sky and a star would reach for it.  We all could use a wish, especially this year. And so on that day, I waited for the dark sky to rain stars. I waited since 8pm, craning my neck and straining my eyes, just staring at the black sky. But there wasn't even one star in sight, just the moon lonely hanging, surrounded by the polluted air. I wanted to be sad alone, to bathe in my...

I stared at my bookshelves. A haphazard collection of books from different genres. My eyes skimmed through the titles and I caught myself regretting buying some of them even when I know I shouldn't be. I plucked out a book wedged so deeply among others, one that I read when I was in primary school. My fingers left their mark on the dusty cover, I have no recollection of what the book was about, and after reading the description, I cannot remember why I found that book interesting enough to buy it. I hate my younger self for buying such an expensive book which I don't even want to read. I don't remember whether I used to love it. It's one of the signs that I've grown up. Another proof that people change.  With a heavy heart, I wipe off the sheen of dust on the books, flipping through the weathered pages, trying to remember at what age did I meet and hold them for the first time. Books are just objects but to put them away, they mean more than that, it's a reminde...

Olympic drama, politics, plague, people etc! So many things! So many problems! So many hate! So many evil! I'm moving to another planet, where love grows flowers and tears heal all wounds. I'm just tired, knowing very well that I have not done anything for the fight against evil and contributed nothing to the world but I still wish I can bring joy and hope amidst the chaos. I don't care about drama where it just involves pure hate, not scandals and conspiracy theories. Politics hurts my feelings, I can't believe how selfish politicians can sleep at night. If I think too much about the coronavirus, I don't think I can function. It seems like everyone is preoccupied with either one of those things right now, I wouldn't want to be a bother. And so I isolate myself and I write. I've been writing everyday, but I never finish any of them. Conversations with myself has increased tenfold and I have this nagging feeling to be a whole new person and start a new life. ...

Healing is a process. Self love, a relationship with yourself is like any other relationships, it's not perfect and sometimes a turbulence hits.  I've just realised that these few days, I have not been true to myself and it has caused me to relapse. I don't know where my mind went, I wasn't conscious. Doing things that I don't want to do and being a pathetic beta. Let's call her out shall we.  Few nights ago, a group of friends of mine wanted to have a call, I didn't really want to but I went anyways. I was quiet the whole time, I felt even lonelier than being alone. I've never known how to end or leave a call, and so I stayed on, and I hated myself for that so much. It's not their fault. I wanted to be part of their group. I messed up my own sleep schedule and neglected my own feelings, and ended up being really angry at myself. The old me wouldn't have done that, the old me cared about me. I need to believe that I'm good enough that people ...

Both my aunt and uncle were getting vaccinated yesterday and they asked me for a favour to babysit my cousins. I have to admit I was more thrilled than I allowed myself to show. I've always wanted the alone time to torture them. HAHAHA. I was there by 7.30am. My cousins were still sleeping and I had some quiet alone time to read. I was about to fall asleep again when I heard little twinkling sounds of my little cousin's ankle bracelet. Like a zombie, with her eyes half closed and hair tousled, she stumbled drunkenly to a corner and just squatted there. It was weird but she has always been weird and quiet, so I just went back reading and let her 'sober up'. But after a few minutes, I finally noticed something was wrong, she looked guilty and too silent. I walked towards her and asked her what was wrong (as if I expected an answer), that was when I saw the pool of water she was drenched in. In hindsight, I should have noticed something was wrong My reflex action was to ca...

I miss life before this nightmare. I've compromised the 'new normal' which requires face masks in public and wired my brain into not standing too close to people, but now we are thrown back into isolation, and it's driving me crazy.  I'm immensely grateful that I get to cower in a comfortable home and wait out the 'war'. But it's getting depressing and not doing anything to help the situation fills me up with guilt and I feel ashamed to even feel what I feel, let alone express it. I know I'm not alone in feeling this way. Some days I remember that life needs to go on and to focus on the things I can control and appreciate life, but some days I cannot find the will to get up from bed to face another day of bad news. It's a loop of dejected sighs seeing the rise in numbers and self pep talks to maintain the hope that things will get better. It's tiring to get up each day just to trip again and again, wondering when it will ever end. I cannot se...

I have not been writing much. I've been talking to myself more. Trying to understand what is this weight that makes my heart so heavy. I feel like an outsider, a third party watching life happen around me. It feels like I'm on a rickety bridge of uncertainty, afraid to risk that run to either side of the bridge. I just stare at the churning water below, wondering what I should do next, trying to convince myself if I can be brave enough to jump, I might find myself having wings.  I'm anchored, by what, I don't know. A mime trapped by her own box.  I think I need a push.

I had a video call with a close friend for more than 2 hours and then jumped from one chat box to the other. I was only talking to a few people on the same day, and now I'm ready to slam every door I can find and ask the whole world to shut up. Really dramatic. I don't know how people do this. I've seen my sisters' chat boxes and how she's always on the phone, the amount of notifications alone is enough to give me anxiety.  I love my family and friends, I really do, but catching up can be so tiring! Socialising for too long switches on my bitch mode (Okay, bitchier mode). In real life, I would just stare at everyone without saying anything, being passive aggresive, now I just ignore people. Do I feel bad for being like that? I do. But I can't help it. I get so angry I don't even want to look at the people I'm with. Sometimes I think I only enjoy reading text messages from people, anecdotes of what they've been up to, but I don't like replying. I...

As per the title, yes, in a span of one week, I've managed to sprain my wrist and my ankle. I wish I am joking.  It happened like every other unfortunate tragedies, sudden and unexpected, with a surpressed 'WHAT THE FUCK'. I was jogging since it's the only workout I can do while my wrist is healing, and my ankle decided to fall on a different angle. Luckily, I wasn't running too fast or daydreaming too far away, my intuition kicked in quickly to right the angle. After few moments of shocked disbelief, I stood by the roadside, tentatively testing my ankle and having ensured myself it wasn't too bad, I walked home. My mum was hysterical.  But still, despite the uncomfortable mild pain and the need to cancel many of my plans, I'm so grateful that I can still limp around and use my hands. Things could have been so much worse. Really grateful. Appreciate all the time you're not in pain. Go workout, jump around, don't just sit the whole day, use your limbs...

I sprained my right wrist.  I'm right-handed. Stupid.  It has been a few days since I woken up and found my right wrist too tender to be normal. It was similar to a baby's neck, needing support to prevent it from hanging backwards, snapping right off. Slight movement came with a pain I've gotten familiar with from multiple past injuries. I knew I was screwed.  Problem is, I don't remember what I have done to cause such an injury. Surely I would have noticed if my muscles and tendons, or whatever you call it, were strained beyond their capabilities; but no, the mystery of my injury is still unsolved, and my mum blames it on everything especially my laptop cause I've been typing so much.  I would not have told my family, but not being able to wash my plates or tie my hair sort of gave me away. I still can type with my wrist resting on the laptop through sheer stubborness, chat with friends, watch movies and read books, but I still couldn't do many things and it wa...