I’ll be jobless as of 5 pm next Sunday.

Dimanche.

- I handed in my 2 weeks notice yesterday, but my last shift is next Sunday.

- I clock in at 9:25 am and start setting up the tables and chairs outside. I’m actually inwardly quite proud that I can do this (though after I set up the table for 24, I almost feel like taking a picture with the lined up cutlery and champagne flutes, lol!). However, B is always the one who puts the brollies in their stands because they weigh a ton and once, I almost fell over trying to carry one. Ever since I switched to day shifts, B has taken over this responsibility. It’s nice to be a girl (who is lazy and doesn’t go to the gym)!

- We open at 10 but because I don’t like dirty tables and insist on wiping down every table. At 10:10 am, I am almost done setting the tables with cutlery when the first two customers are at the door. They want lattes and share a chocolate pudding. When I try to tempt them into having one each, they explain that they’ve just had breakfast. Talk about having a complete meal! B offers me a coffee which I accept immediately; he knows I love my skim lattes. Soon, almost everyone, including kitchen staff, is running on caffeine.

- When Ella arrived to start her shift, she was so enamoured with the sports car parked outside that she retrieves her phone from her bag to take a picture. For some reason, there were three outside the restaurant today. She took a photo of me and B as well. I need to remember to take photos with people before I leave. I begin thinking of places to apply besides that Australiasian fusion place in the city and I am suddenly gripped with slight panic that I won’t find a job, people won’t hire me or that I will simply not enjoy it. Sigh.

- There’s a new staff incentive to up-sell a certain Chardonnay and score a $50 shopping voucher. The description of the wine was taped to the door but to me, these wine companies speak a completely different language. We derived our own interpretation through having a mouthful each. Ella got so excited when a customer wanted to try the wine, until we explained that the incentive is for July.

- B asked me if I’ve had the wagyu meatballs for lunch and told me that they’re phantasmagorical. I order ed them too! Later, I discovered that wagyu meatballs. are. so awesome. Oh yum. Oh my. Hello cheese! Ahhhhhhh.. I couldn’t help but take a picture of it! It’s a shame Dimanche doesn’t have a reputation for serving great food besides sweets. I also thought about future staff meals and I’m willing to bet that I will probably never get such lovely food and get paid to eat them. Awww…

- One of the chefs asked me if I can carry three plates and I replied that I can, feeling slightly confused. She laughed and told me that Jay can’t, and goes hysterical everytime they insist he has to try. I carried three to the table which placed their order with me in Mandarin (whilst I replied in broken Mando) because they didn’t speak English well and… the baked cheesecake landed on the floor. I apologised to the customers and swept up the mess with Liv’s help. When I asked for a replacement, the chef apologised for jinxing it. :/

- Liv is studying English and she asked Lucas to describe a certain type of tea. When he replied ‘herbal’, she replied, “But I can’t say that!” He was surprised until she said, “I can’t tell them it tastes herr-e-bel.’ He bursts out laughing and clarifies that it’s herbal, not HORRIBLE. We all have a good laugh about it, though I did tell one of my friends later that one of the menu items is plain. Its saving grace is the accompaniment of the smallest spoonful of decadent chocolate mousse.

- I remember the crazy night shifts with queues that go on till forever and us finally sitting down outside an empty restaurant after our shifts, accompanied by wines, beers, cigarettes, whatever was our poison of choice. Last Sunday, B and I were stuck with a high tea for 24 with too many other tables to handle that we whined the whole time. There’s usually a steady pace of customers coming in and out, but then, today was so different as there was so many of us working and I had time to clean the shelves and polish little wine glasses that are rarely used and gathering dust. I’ve had a variety of days and nights at this place.

- I’m gonna miss it. The people, the food, the drinks, the laughter, the customers.

Where do I fit in?

As I waited in line for a cab, I looked around for something that would be interesting. Suddenly, a cyclist  sped past and I heard a weird sound. A lady stood there, stunned in her steps, looking in horror at the ground. There was a decapitated pigeon and a tiny pool of red, red blood. The cyclist came back, picked up the dead bird, and threw it into the nearest bin as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. I felt sick. As I related the story to DB, my stomach continued to hurt. He laughed and said I was innocent.

********************************************************

We came home a little late with some groceries. I immediately attended to urgent emails and told them to give me a few more minutes. When I came downstairs, he started yelling about how it was pointless for us to be home at a certain time when we stayed upstairs doing nothing. I replied that there were things we needed to do and he yelled, “Then GO!” I tried to hide my shock and picked up the carton of soy milk to put it into the fridge. I asked him why he was so angry, opened the fridge door, and he slammed it shut.

He almost slammed my fingers in.

I hope it makes him feel better after he yells at me. One of us might as well gain something from it. And next time, maybe he shouldn’t miss my fingers. Because then, he’d get that SOMETHING he does actually hurts. He never gets it. Or maybe he does, and that’s exactly why he does it.

I need to fix this. It might be okay most times, and even good on the occasion, but the bad ultimately stabs me, and I can’t stop the bleeding. I’m supposed to be filial, obedient, and grateful and I am but I’m never going to be the daughter he wants me to be. I cannot please everyone and live. It’s one or the other and it’s obvious what I choose. I want to feel like I can make choices on how I live my life and not worry about how he wants everything to be. Even if I am wrong, don’t people have the right to make their own mistakes?

I am so tired and my eyes hurt. I look like a mess. And I am not at my most reasonable right now, but why am I never one of those people who can just pack a bag, call a cab and go?

Peek-chas!

This is how you tell I didn’t pay attention in lectures like colours:

I call this the noodle handwriting. It really reminded me of Maggi:

And this is proof I incorporate what I learn into everyday life:

Random toilet graffiti that cracked me up because I thought ‘you wouldn’t do yourself…’

I’m not any closer to becoming vegetarian..

And I was productive today! I assembled my own shelf for my room! I actually like handiwork like this. Boyish, innit? Well, I never did like sewing in class and preferred woodwork. I hated electronics though; they never worked. Anyway! I am super proud of myself (I hope that connector was fitted right.. ). I’m hoping it doesn’t fall on me sometime. Hehe.

Yep, started filling it already!

A bit crowded, but most of the tiny stuff I have is in this cube.

Books waiting to be read! The other one not in this section is ‘He’s Just Not That Into You’, which DB said was good and proceeded to buy for me.

Hedwig + a sign that has changing statuses (Free, Party, Working, Sleeping) + birthday gift from last year.

Penguin in Paris! DB says there are no penguins in Paris, but I insist it’s special!

The books that were conveniently already in my room. I have two more boxes downstairs waiting.

On the left is a bear I’ve had for ages and probably named 5 billion times. It is now known as Mary-Anne. It looks like a Mary-Anne, right? And on the right is Noriko.

Voila, c’est tout!

Shame on you.

We went to visit our friend who has just started working at her aunt’s clothes store which is located very near to us. I turned to the rack closest to me on the left, and there were two ladies, one on each end. Naturally, I pick up a dress in the middle of the rack. The lady on my right reacts towards me like I just poured acid on her, and says scathingly, “Excuse me, can’t you see?”

At first, I think she’s got to be joking. But of course, she’s not. I’m definitely not the type who just backs down easily from arguments or accusations, especially ridiculous and unfounded ones, so I reply, “This is a rack and people are allowed to browse through them.” Which planet did she come from anyway? Was I browsing HER rack? She gives me the most vile look and throws the dress she is looking at on the floor, yells “Go back to your own country! What about personal space?!” and then elbows past me.

I’ve had a few racist remarks thrown at me before, but usually they’re just labels like ‘fucking Asian’, and I don’t really care because clearly, these people don’t have a brain to process more offensive insults. Yes, I’m Asian. Duh. Glad we clarified that you’re not all that blind, save for that stupid shirt you’re wearing. I’ve heard these words thrown at me through closing elevator doors (chicken, anyone?), outside clubs and pubs, and I try not to let it get to me cause I like to think that by doing so, I’m being the better person; I’m not sinking to their level.

But frankly, thinking back now, I wish I had slapped her across the face. I just need to keep repeating to myself that at least I’m not gonna wake up tomorrow like her, all bitter, sour and rotten. The other lady reassured me that I had done nothing wrong, and that she must be completely mental. Toto remarked that she must not have gotten laid in a long time. They both made me feel much better.

Holiday bites!

I feel like I can breathe, but it’s only for so long. Sigh. Dread.

I want to call work, but be childish and hang up if that one person picks up the phone. Only because I don’t want to talk to her and really, you shouldn’t be made to do something you don’t wanna do during the holidays! Yeah, I could say that about a lot of things…

Angry parents are not nice parents.

I haven’t seen her in years. What will it be like? I think I have to plan her itinerary. *stwess stwessss!*

Last night… I discovered coffee tequila. HELLO! Who would’ve thought…? NO MORE LIME+SALT OR ORANGE+CINNAMON SUGAR!

I am hungry. I should not be lying down in bed writing on my blog when I need to eat, get dressed and make my way to a meeting. Can I be lazy today? PLEASE?? Pretty please with two cherries on top?

Someone please hype me up about Kandy. I keep thinking, noooo I wanna sleep but I also want crabs for dinner. Mmmm…. crabsssss.ss.s.s..ss.s……. No drinking, no drinking. Ok, one drink. Or… never mind. Things never go the way I plan it when it comes to drinks, dammit.

I am jealous that the brother is home. I appreciate food more, dammit! Hehehe…

This is a rant that doesn’t make any sense.

What do people do when they’re supposed to leave someone alone? Do they sit on their fucking hands? Or do they go a bit crazy like me, typing up notes when nothing’s going into the brain, just to make sure they have something to do? Like makeshift enterfuckingtainment (I believe that is a very suspicious word..)? I don’t know why I’m reading all this stuff about equity theories. What the fuck does it have to do with the issue at hand? I just feel like I need to do something, occupy my hands. I had something like 3 coffees this morning. Oh look, how many times have I typed the word ‘hand’? THREE. Hands. FOUR. Okay, stop. I’m going a bit crazy just trying to stop myself from picking up the phone and dialling his number and demanding to know if he’s okay. I’m well aware I’ve typed ‘a bit crazy’ twice now. Is this neuroticism? No, wait, wrong word. Neuroticism is the enduring tendency to experience emotional states, says Wikipedia. Oh, that’s me. I’ve added a new word to the list of adjectives that describe me. Neurotic. Neufuckingrotic. I’m sorry. I’m in the mood to swear. You would be too.

Please tell me it’s okay. That everything’s okay. Where the fuck is a bloody tranquillizer when you need one? Someone shoot me with a tranquillizer gun. Not a real one. I still need to wake up and find out that he’s okay. It’s okay if I’m not. Really. Who is okay when they have three fricken exams? No, it’s not a lot. I just need to explain the context here that applies to me. But I’m not done. No, I’m not. I could go on forever. Is it a crime to be having an imaginary conversation with my blog? Isn’t that my right as the author? Do you notice that I called myself an author? It’s LOL-worthy. The juxtaposition of it. I want to be an author. What am I doing in university with a non-related degree? Actually, I still want to study psychology. I’m just worried that I’ll go a little bit insane, more insane than I already am. I think my patience is wearing thin. What’s wrong with me and boys? Why do I never get them? Why did I open my big mouth yesterday? Idiotic, idiotic. I need to keep typing.

I’m not tired of the ribbons. I want one kiss here on my neck, this specific spot. I think it’ll go away after I get that kiss. But it has to be from him. Nobody else. Where, where.. where is he? I want to go to him. I really do. But I can’t. Where’s this impulsivity coming from? Maybe you do have that tendency to make people feel unreasonable but can I be unreasonable now? I want to be unreasonable. I want to leave this all, imagine all the happily-ever-afters because I think I want a butterfly to appear at my window. Wow, that didn’t make any sense at all. I think my fingers just keep going, typing whatever appears in my head. I AM SO SO SORRY. Where does that fit in? Right here. Feel my heart. It’s telling the truth like the truth is all it can tell. To an extent, that is true. I never feel as though I can lie right. When they told him the pau was delicious, I snorted in laughter. Celery-filled pau. Omgod. How could I not have laughed? But it was the truth that it was quite bad, as paus come (and go). I miss corn custard paus. Aren’t they the most delicious thing ever? Can I have tang yuen in your place again, sitting in your lap at your balcony? Maybe this time, I won’t cry?

I am so sorry. I am so very sorry. I love you. I love you. I’m sorry. I love you. Oh what am I doing.. I think I quite hate being in love, it doesn’t make any sense to me. I’m so lost. When have I ever felt this way about a person? Oh right, never. So I can’t compare. But I love this boy and he’s all quiet and I can’t even call him or send another sms without wanting to hide in my closet after. Oh, the closet’s full. FUCK. Can I sit on my ledge again? What if I drop this laptop? But I want to sit there and type and not slouch in this painful chair? This chair sucks. I sound like a five year old who has just discovered WWE and this chair sucks. Oh wait, it was WWF when I was still watching it. Wasn’t it better then when it didn’t seem fake? WHY AM I TALKING ABOUT WRESTLING..

Peppermint tea. I am going downstairs to make myself a peppermint tea, and maybe I’ll keep typing till the caffeine runs out and I’m back to normal again. Haha, I said normal. Was I ever normal? I’m sorry, I love you. I love you and I’m sorry. I’M SO SORRY.

Lovefool.

(11 hours ago, I wrote and didn’t publish this)

I’m seeking words again to clarify that I can indeed think straight, once I put it all down in a somewhat physical manner, lay out the inner contents of my brain, my heart, and the random thoughts that hit me when I least expect it. Maybe they don’t make sense, but this is purely selfish.

I’m gonna say it and wish that I don’t sound like the most stupid person alive: I wished forever. Okay? That’s why I meant it when I said it to him. Maybe it’s because it is so far away that we feel reassured that even if we’re saying the wrong thing, we don’t really mean to, but I meant it. Down to the last day, minute, second…

I can’t stand knowing that I said something so hurtful, or that I’m stupid enough to let it slip past my lips without realising how painful it’d be for you to hear it. I’m so sorry. I’m so very sorry. I’m sorry that I even said anything to start with because if I had known that it would lead here… For all those times that I’ve been annoyed at people’s lack of tact, I feel like a hypocrite now. I’M SO SO SORRY..

I love you. And it’s scary, but I love you. And I don’t care how it scares me, I just love you. I love just you.

I hate that I don’t have it in me to carry through. I will fall if I take this giant leap. It’s not you, it’s me.

I entertain stupid romantic notions and I hate Disney. But I’m filled with this belief that it’s you. I want you to be the one. Fuck. I also sound like a Hallmark card. But I mean it.

I’m not okay knowing that it’s not okay with you. That’s what’s battling me inside. It’s this mad war within myself to stop you from sinking in further than you should, and being selfish. I want you – why should it be any other way? Cause when you love someone, you give them what they want, even if it means letting them go. I don’t want to listen to love because of love, I just want you to keep staying with me..

This will sound incredulous, but it’s not just hard for you. It’s difficult for me to know that I have to stop. Before I hurt you, and make myself sound like the village idiot who has the map but refuses to hand it over.

All those times when I said I don’t picture an end? Yeah. I still don’t want to.

I love you.

Oh God. I am such an idiot sometimes. What is wrong with me?

(Now)

I haven’t made any clarifications to the above because of course, I still feel like an idiot. Yes, I’m the poster girl for stupidity in love and relationships. I don’t know what else to say. I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know why, but I just know it’s not today. It can’t be today. Something foul always has to unfold itself before I’m due for another thing that wants to run away whatever spirit I have left. I’m sorry. Has that word gone stale on me? No, please don’t. I mean it, with all sincerity. I’M SORRY…

I hate putting dots on the ends of my sentences because it tends to drag on the emotion but I need those dots now, I love those dots now. I’m hoping they send across my message more. It seems like I keep adding it onto the sentences that make up my apology smses that have gone unreplied. And I don’t blame you. But I need you to know how fricking sorry I am. I feel so rotten right now. I wish I could close my eyes and wake up next to your bed, nestled between the massive pillows lying on the floor that I made you buy. Or in your closet. Whichever. Just so I could tell you how sorry I am.

I resisted calling you at 12 because of the space issue, I didn’t want to call you at 7:30 am because that’s just rude. And now is not even an okay hour with your body clock that’s out of sync with mine. But I’m growing more and more disjointed, knowing that there’s so many things that I can’t and don’t wanna be without. Like you.

Again… I’m such an idiot sometimes…

I’M SORRY…

Please let me take it all back..

‘There’s a package for you here.’

On Monday, study was actually in full force! I was all study mode with my abundance of lecture notes, tutorial workbook, chocolates (ummm..), and bottle of water that I kept topping up because yes, I’m gonna sound like your mother saying this but it’s important to stay hydrated, people! Especially when you’re down with a cold that’s been lingering for days and days. I decided to take a nap for a bit in the afternoon cause my eyes refused to stay open and my brain was obviously not having any more of omegas, unless it was referring to the watch and not effect sizes of statistics.

I woke up and had just turned on my study lamp when my dad started calling me from downstairs, saying that something had arrived. That’s become quite a usual occurrence for me, ever since I discovered the wonders of e-banking and started ordering things online, but instead of my usual envelope containing a trinket that had caught my eye, this greeted me:

I imagine a bazooka is the same size! Nope, I definitely did not order this but it had my name on it.

When I saw ‘roses only’ written on the box, I realised the box contained flowers (duh). Besides that, I’ve volunteered in charity events where their beautiful, bee-yoo-tee-foollllll products been included in their auctions. And I’ve always loved it when they announce the items under the hammer and the men buy them for their other halves. *sigh* Of course, they’re also willing to let the prices go higher than usual (sometimes aided by a couple of bottles of beer) with proceeds going to charity.

So yes, I opened it.

Oh. my gosh. So PRETTY!!!

I called DB, asked him what it was for, and he said they couldn’t deliver it over the weekend when I had been angry and sulking, and it was meant as an apology, even though I was already over it, and have been trying (and failing) to make him stop spending money on me…

But of course, I’m also a girl. Who loves flowers!

Haha, I think you can tell from the picture that it wasn’t roses. When mom asked me what type of flowers they were, I had no clue. My brain kinda went, er.. maybe they’re tulips?

Dumbo. =.=

Mom had to tell me they were lillies because I’m a noob when it comes to flowers. In my defence, mom is the one who is hyped about flower-arranging! I actually googled baby’s breath cause I keep reading about it in books, and the only other flowers I’m actually familiar with are roses and chrysanthemums. Reminds me of how we had to learn how to spell chrysanthemums in what I think was grade 5. I kept making noises as to how they sounded separately in order to memorise them…

Chocolates… Mmm, Lindt… And a scented rose candle! My sister came into my room and suddenly became 100X cuter, positively drooling ‘Lindorrrrrrrr’. I said, “No, they’re a present” and she asked, “Awww.. but are you gonna have them all by yourself? Not even one tiny piece? I like the silver one with white chocolate…’

… And of course, I gave in.

I bribed her with it, and she finished her dinner. She brought it to school, and loved it. I had one at 3 am today when I was cramming more stuff into my brains that have right now disappeared into nothing. It was so yummyyyyy! Really, how do people not love Lindt? C’est incroyable!

Anyway, I set about looking for a vase and Mom told me to use the one that she had just bought. The flowers came with care instructions and ‘nourritures pour les fleurs’ which translates to ‘food for the flowers’! Ahhh, so cute! I followed the directions and mixed it with warm water from my tiny measuring cup, and then… the vase turned out to be too big. Ish. So I took out the plastic roses in another vase from the living room, transferred them and ta-dah, they were perfect! Then I brought them up to my room and put it on my bedside table.

I didn’t really study after that. I get distracted by warm fuzzy feelings and pretty things! And of course, the lure of chocolates…

Have I told you lately that I love you?

Skipping to today, I came home after my exam dog-tired but gosh, my room smelled like a pretty garden! Made me feel less murky about my horrid exam today (I’d like to burn those papers). I wanted to take photos from where I was lying down but there was a reflection obstructing an otherwise pretty picture. I am unbelievably lazy and was quite unwilling to move. But I got inspired after changing the modes on the camera since there was a lack of sunshine today..

Not really the rule of thirds, but you know, the flowers are kind of in the centre… I still think my IT teacher would be proud of me!

Oh, the ribbon on the vase was from the box. Hey, one more lily bloomed today!

And.. umm.. yes, there’s sticky stuff on the stigma.

Note to self: need to stop writing about unnecessary observations.

Isn’t it funny how your perceptions of these two pictures change so quickly, even though they’re essentially of the same object? Just with focus and positioning, plus how my curtain suddenly comes into play, it’s like there’s a different mood that the picture emits. I am one of those people who immediately starts thinking of storylines when I see pictures like this. Maybe I’ll come up with one. Ah, cameras are so entertaining sometimes!

Yeah, after looking at this picture, I redeclare my undying love for classic black and white pictures.

Fish meets cheese. They say hello and play nice.

I just had a really gorgeous salad for lunch and right now, I’m regretting not catching a snapshot of it. Anyway, I did a bit of research and learned that Danish blue cheese is best in salads. I decided that I don’t quite like it on slices of baguette and would much rather have a whole wheel of double brie, so I decided to test that theory, despite craving pasta. Ok, I admit, I was just too lazy to make pasta.

The line-up of players:

Iceberg lettuce leaves (cut them lady-like or suitable for cow-grazing, whatever strikes your fancy)
Tomato (slice & remove seeds)
Can of tuna (olive oil/spring water)
Olive oil (unless your tuna was already drowning in it)
Canned vegetables that you fancy (corn, beetroot, etc – drained)
Mayonaise (any variant, but Japanese mayo is finger-licking good)
Any herbs lying about (basil, parsley, etc – I hate cilantro/coriander)
Sea salt (ok, any salt)
Pepper
Blue cheese, crumbled
Hard boiled egg, sliced
Green apple, cubed (stop peeling it; it’s fibre!)
Nuts (I didn’t think of it earlier but walnuts or almonds might would have been great)

Now. The difficult part. No, actually, I think it’s secretly quite fun and you can use your *shudder* hands if you wish. Grab a large bowl. And… TOSS!!

That is all.

Oh right, eat it. All of it. Not that you needed prompting!

Salads are so bloody easy to make that I think it’s instinctive! Of course, it helps if someone gives tiny nudges in the right direction, like ‘Danish blue = great in salads’. I didn’t state quantities because you really should decide how much you’d like to feed yourself with. Confession: I would like to indulge in chocolates a little later so I thought I should make up for it with salad… that had Japanese full-fat unbelievably delicious mayo… Actually, forget that. I might just start indulging now. Hey, studying makes people hungry!

À bientôt et bon appétit!

How To Deal?

‘Don’t forget — I’m also just a girl. Standing in front of a boy. Asking him to love her.’

Anna Scott, played by Julia Roberts from ‘Notting Hill’. View the full script here.

I was so angry that he didn’t get it. It’s not like me to actually speak of my emotions to the person that is causing it, and of course by this, I mean negative emotions. I wouldn’t so much hesitate if I would like to tell someone that their homemade chocolate cake with lovely, oozing ganache (sorry, been YouTube-ing Nigella) is fantastic. But that doesn’t mean I won’t yell at a stranger that is clearly treating me like rubbish or walking all over me; it’s just those nearest and dearest to me. I won’t tell them if I’m not happy with them. I clam up, and write it all down, before I open my mouth and scream for five minutes without noticing that I am. Which by the way, I don’t think would be a pretty sight. No, me screaming is not pretty at all, and I applaud those who manage that magnificent feat.

Apparently, by verbalising things = saying what we feel, we move brain activation from the amygdala to the ventrolateral prefrontal cortex. What does this neuropsychology mumbo-jumbo mean? It means you move it from the ‘feeling’ part of your brain to the ‘thinking’ part. And you feel it less. That’s why therapy works. That’s why people talk about things. The pressing feeling against your chest and the ache between your shoulder blades dissipates. Perhaps you no longer boil with anger (you might still seethe though), or the tears stop creeping down your cheeks without you noticing. Unwinding. I find it a good explanation for why people shouldn’t just stuff it all down their arteries and hope that they don’t burst. It’s an unspoken agreement between friends that they’re your sounding board and you’re theirs. So use them!

Okay, now it comes to me. Sometimes I talk about things, and they go away with a ‘good bloody riddance’ from me. Or maybe it’s too difficult because the very people I’d love to talk to about it are the same ones I should not open my mouth to when it comes to this particular topic. So I write them down. My thoughts. Long, steam-filled (not steamy)(okay, just not this time around) paragraphs that perhaps nobody really gets. Occasionally I twist things into fiction. Maybe I portray it symbolically. Or even attempt (horrendous) poetry. Everyone has their outlet. I don’t consider myself the yelling type. Neither am I the type to punch walls, throw things and hope they break into smithereens. I just… talk. Or write. Or both. Oh, I sulk too. I go into long hateful silences that might be even described as mournful.

But I’ll be slightly or heaps better after that, whether or not the problem is fixed. This is how I function. I love my blog cause it’s my method. Tried and tested. After I click ‘publish’, it’s like I send it away to some magical incinerator and it goes away, along with it some of the negative emotions that have been heavily weighing down on me. Nobody likes feeling broken, so they go about trying to fix things in their head. The gutsier of us will set about doing it. I’m vulnerable and proud of my own feelings; it’s not the best combination. But I have my pride too. I have my own feelings. If someone clearly states that they don’t want to see me ever again, then I won’t go beyond trying to change their mind once, rarely twice. I won’t grovel or beg, especially if I don’t find myself at fault. Why should I? I get hurt too, it’s not just them. Who isn’t human here?

It’s my fault though. I should have known better than to expect him to know me and my ways entirely, especially not when he hasn’t known me for long. All I wanted was an ‘it’s okay’, but when it went completely and utterly silent, I assumed the worst. I stormed off, because I’d rather not acknowledge the disbelief and hurt that wanted to draw itself across my face with a big bold black marker. I grew a shield a long time ago because I needed my heart to stay alive, and not break every single time I think I find love. It’s still there. Maybe he’s not any more pessimistic than I am. I’ve never particularly thought of myself as an optimist anyway; I believe that might just be a recent development. I still think he makes me want to believe in the best, because I’m all for the positives to light up the road for the both of us.

But this is how I deal. I sulk, I talk, I write, and depending on the situation, sometimes I’m filled with the deepest loathing. And attack chocolates. Make cookies. And sometimes I cry. I’m just a girl. Just another girl.