digress & obsess [v2]

My current predicament about relationships and men has got me digging deep into my history archives. 

It is an arduous task, both mentally and emotionally draining – since ive a penchant for skillfully sweeping things under the carpet. 

My sweeping expertise has caused me to commit the same mistakes over and over again, never learning,

hence why in my archives, history tends to repeat itself. 

My relationships with men have never went well in the past, and till today,

I wonder if it were merely just poor judgment on my part,

or just plain fucking bad karma. 

Few odd accounts stood out from my archives –

namely the huge blood-spattered fist fight I had with Mr. H outside zouk for the whole of KL to watch,

being dumped over a text message by Mr. A in Warwick,

and being left stranded in London when Mr. F didn’t have the balls to break up with me, and fled, leaving faz to pass on the memo.

I remember getting drunk with some girlfriends, the summer Mr. F went into hiding, and I remember bumping into a mutual friend of ours.  I remember saying some pretty nasty things about Mr. F to him and getting pretty upset. 

I remember his nonchalant reply to me telling me to “get over it” and explaining to me that “there’s no ‘good’ way to break up”,

which was like pouring a flaming Lamborghini down my drunk ears. 

_________________________________________________________________

I remember nearly wanting to smack the face off of that moron, because frankly, there is a proper way to break up with someone, there is – there are many, many GOOD ways that DOESN’T include the use of a middleman, a text message, or a fucking POST IT.

_________________________________________________________________

By far however, these accounts are nothing in comparison to the history ive had with Mr. David Hasan which somehow managed to span the course of five years and ate up another two to finally close the books. 

During that time, loneliness was in fact a withdrawal symptom, since both conditions are characterized by chronic deprivation of a resource to which I previously had unimpeded access to. 

My conclusion was therefore that I was addicted to a certain tall, dark and handsome man who was currently quite far away from me and was likely to remain so for a very long time.  Being the vindictive bitch that I was am, I hoped he would suffer in copious amounts too. 

________________________________________________________________

Well, he didn’t, and had quite the splendid audacity of getting engaged to some hick-ho in Canada, and sending me over a plane ticket to attend their reception.  THE BALLS.

________________________________________________________________

Four years after that awe inspiring incident, and after all those breaking-up and getting-back-together bullshit, we have finally secured a middle-ground of a cordial friendship,

nothing more, nothing less – no more hovering between a periphery of sex-capades and forced “I love yous”.

I never quite understood why it took me all those years to finally let go.  I still wonder, if it was the sex, the extravagant gifts, his plain good looks, or the fact that he was someone whose being I could never fully annex – that I was so determined in doing so, only to finally admit defeat. 

__________________________________________________________________

Well, I’m quite tired of sitting around, slapping myself, and pep-talking my self esteem into believing that I have a fighting chance competing with all those half naked hoochies that permanently secure themselves in his affinity. 

__________________________________________________________________

Recently, ive been faced with a similar predicament, thankfully, on a much smaller scale. 

Yet it scares me that I am adopting the same daft mindset, and making the same daft choices that I did before.

 

I’ve always admitted to having a weakness for good looking, tanned, buff men.  Ive always had a problem with saying good bye to those, despite all the detrimental side effects they bring — I have much proof from the past.

Whoever said that the best goodbyes are quick and painless, like ripping a plaster off a wound? First of all goodbyes are never painless.  But I think the best goodbyes are said with a smile.  Because they are not really goodbyes, but au revoirs.   

My feeble immune system has (yet again) succumbed to the flu, after a week of excessive sun bathing, sporadic swimming, and partying till the wee hours of the morning.

As a result, ive been left with no choice but to stay holed up at home, trading my usual alcoholic beverages for gallons of H20.

‘Tis sucks, seeing that my trip to pangkor is in three days; and ive been getting really desperate – yet, my overzealousness has proved to be more detrimental than successful. 

______________________________________________________________

Not only am I worried that I may not recover from the flu, but also the possibility of a hyponatremic death from the sheer amount of H20 I am chugging down.

______________________________________________________________

My attempt to quit the fags has caused me to become an even bigger domestic nuisance – complete with the mood swings, restlessness, listlessness, irritability, itchy itchy itchy….itchy..itchy….

Speaking of my new found depression; channel 11 on astro, or the discovery travel and living never fucking fails to depress me.

It depresses me that whole books and reality television shows can be written and aired on countries, cities, town and places that I will never be able to see.

If there were ever a singularly depressing past time, it would be to sit through yet another travel program about Milan, Greece, Portugal, Venice, Chile, Caribbean Islands etc., knowing with absolute certainty that I would probably die before seeing just about a fraction of the world. L 

Oh man, this ‘quit fags’ and water poisoning is really starting to fuck w my mind.

It’s been some time since I last updated;

and subsequent to reading my latest post, I vaguely remember how compelled I was by my perturbed, hedonistic drama queen alter ego to write that post.

Im better now. no, really. 

My betterment has been accredited to the conclusion of my horrid semester and its replacement;

the fucking awesome summer holidays.

Though, I have to admit, 1.5 months is peanuts as compared to the 3 months of vegetation I was previously bestowed with in the

UK

. Fuck that.

Ok, moving on.

As of late ive been in quite a jubilant mood – for numerous reasons:

– For one, the smelly recently got me a spanking new nokia 6300 to replace my piece of shit coloured junk that ive been calling a phone for awhile now.

– The idea of not having to drag my aching hung-over 70 year old body out of bed at six am, for the next 1.5 months, sounds pretty fucking splendid to me.

– I’ve been spending lots of time and lots of money shopping for new-fangled, skanky summer holiday outfits.

– The break is allowing me ample time to catch up and work on my pathetically lagging-behind art work

– Summer break means that my old loves are finally transporting themselves back from far away

UK

to KL to party with me and reignite old jokes, laughter, memories.

– (newly bald) Yawwy has been back for over a week now and spending time w him has been awesome. i cant wait for his hair to grow back the rest to come home.

– Speaking of which, summer holiday plans are just weeks away –

im looking forward to beach holiday ’07 in phuket (despite the participant ratio leaning towards a SAUSAGE FEST),

as well as sunbathing in the buff @ pankor laut resort w the smelly.

______________________________________________________________

Irony has overtaken me by a mile.  Since my holidays started I haven’t been out drinking or partying at the resident heritage row. 

Perhaps, partying excessively at the same venues have finally taken its toll on me – listening to the same recycled music, engaging in pretentious recycled conversations, and bouncing along w familiar recycled crowds.

I wonder if I am, in fact, ready to retire.

Then again, maybe not. 

Wot I am craving is a change of scenery.

i often ruminate on simultaneity: an inescapable theme, given the elevated perspective of an introspection-ist.

As I’ve else when written, my sense of perspective is totally ingrown;

the intellectual legacy of a childhood that fatefully involved a model globe, and therefore, an inculcated and wholly irredeemable sense of scale.

every now and then I am rather bowled over by the incredible density of lives on this planet:

how in any one day — say today, walking down heritage row, for instance — I trail the skein of my life behind me and snag hundreds of others;

I brush almost imperceptibly against a panoply of other lives;

I am a background figure in countless snap happy photograph attempts in which these fleeting, ephemeral moments of intersection are, ironically, frozen solid.

A few nights back, whilst scanning through some digital photographs, the same thing happened to me. 

And in a desperate attempt to secure my existence, I pompously commanded that the smelly painstakingly Photoshop background figures right out of the picture. 

Which he did, and even then, I felt small, (and not so pompous).

When I think of how very large-scale and real my own life and my problems seems to me; with every second played up close in interminable detail in front of my eyes,

My imagination collapses when I attempt to multiply this experience tenfold, let alone six-billion-fold.

______________________________________________________________

I realize that arithmetically aggregating my own reality will not give me the sum total of humanity’s experience.

______________________________________________________________

At any rate, that is why things like this blow my mind and I think I just lost about 30 interminable minutes of my own particular reality scrutinizing this unfathomable plenitude of other lives.

How particularly futile.

But anyway, I am entitled to this privilege, seeing forth that I am officially on holiday.

ive been acting all existentialist and fretful as of late, subsequent to recent unfortunate occurences, and even more unforgiving consequences.

my days have passed by these few weeks in a zealous haze.

– the stiffling weight of assignments have been nearly too much for me to bear;

– daddy has been back in town, causing me to re-examine once more, the chronically confusing family dynamic;

– clubs electric blue, strong alcohol, banging house music, and misintepreted affections wasnt enough to shield me from the inevitable; ‘kena kantoi’ that is;

– all these ultimatums that ive been presented with, along with choices that im forced to finally make are pushing me over the sanity cliff, into a deep whirlpool of confusion, guilt, regret, depression, and fanaticism.

** the human condition is such that when we have no choice, we are unhappy that we lack that priviledge, alas, when we are presented with choices, we are unwilling to choose.

anyway, moving on

– stress has overtaken me by a mile, and i am pathetically lagging behind. horrible self defeating thoughts swarm my already clogged mind, and ideas of reliving my bullimic hey-days have come back to haunt me.

should i, or should i not? – is the question im asking myself as of late.

– my relationship has been broken down to shards, that currently, my swollen hands are to afraid to pick up and glue back together.

– also, my perpetual confusion about my sexual orientation is driving both me, and him mad, mad.

– ive come to the realisation that i am one selfish, insecure, nervous wreck. needy for familiarity and comfort, yet unwilling to make sacrificial choices in order to secure that comfort.

_______________________________________________________________

i need to keep my balls (if i had any) from bouncing off the walls, when shit happens. and alot of shit has been happening.

– last tuesday, for instance - when the computer decided to eat up my PR paper. no, seriously. having put in hours of brain-power, sweat, headache, and cigarettes, to discover, all of it, ALL FUCKING GONE. FUCK THAT.  the smelly had to physically restrain me from breaking every fucking bone in my body, and from wrecking everything in fucking sight. 

** the worst thing was, crying, wailing didnt magically re-write the PR report as id hoped.  i still had to sit my sorry arse back on the chair, wipe off the snot, suck it up and come up with that shit all over again.

– friday was spent @ cynna as usual, drowned in the endless crowds of familiar, yet distant faces.  bouncing was kept to minimal, lest the boobs come falling out of my slutty white push up. o_O

– i was in a particularly crummy mood on saturday night, after for-going the invitation to go for a party @ frangipani (to see a smoking HOT hannah) and velvet, . so, instead, smelly decided to accompany me for a mindless walk around bangsar.  thankfully we bumped into the Corrine and spent the rest of the night talking abt bob marley, theology, club culture and shit, over a few rounds of alco. 

_______________________________________________________

’tis finally sunday, and im grateful to have survived another helter-skelter week.  perhaps next week shant be as bad.  i highly doubt it though, seeing forth that i have 3 major assignments and one final exam due in the span of 3 days.

oh man. im already contemplating my escape route, lest i fail my semester and academic career away.

maybe, just maybe, i shall start a blog in hopes of becoming an overnight one-hit- wonder just like these dormitory boys:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=etKvJOU6Ogs

______________________________________________________________

amidst my boredom and lack of updates,

ive come up with a (non-exhaustive) "cant wait" list:

- i cant wait for the last week of semester to end.

- i cant wait for nadidi, zaida, taib & warwick co. to come back to party the summer away.

- i cant wait for beach holiday 07′ in July.

- i cant wait for 10 kg to magically drop off my ghastly overweight frame.

– and i cant wait for my 21st birthday wish to come, come quick - so that i can wish away all the damage ive done this year.

sure, keep telling yourself that.