Dear Add Maths,

I don't know how to deal with you.

I thought we're on good terms now. I thought that after all the effort I've made, all the trouble I've gone to, you've forgiven me. I thought you finally loved me back.

What have I done that is so egregious, so intolerable, so unforgivable that you have to treat me like this? Yes, I know I've been a complete asshole last year. But haven't I been making the utmost effort lately? Haven't  I spend the most time with you this year?

Please, I can't take it if you hurt me again. My heart has suffered through countless lacerations that you have bestowed upon me. I will stay strong for you, but I don't know if I can survive any more of these torture. I don't know if I have the strength to continue. I will try my best to wait, patiently; to work my way up in hopes of gaining your affection.

So please, take pity on me. Please, deliver me.

Love, forever and always,
Sheryl.

Something To Laugh Off

Alright, I swear this is the two of my favourite scenes in all the movies that I've watched to date. Seriously, I swear. All. Oh right, the movie. It's Inglourious Basterds. (Don't worry, I didn't misspell.)

Col. Hans Landa: [giddy] Ooh! That's a bingo!

[Aldo and Utivich stare at him in confusion]

Col. Hans Landa: Is that the way you say it? "That's a bingo"?

Lt. Aldo Raine: You just say "bingo".

Col. Hans Landa: Bingo! How fun! 

Brad Pitt, which is the man in white tuxedo (in case you live under a stone), is an American spy. He disguises himself as an Italian, thinking that the Germans, which is the guy in uniform, would not understand Italian as he himself speaks horrible Italian. But it seems that the German speaks much, much better Italian than he does. In fact, the German speaks flawless Italian while Brad Pitt speaks with an obvious American accent. Absolutely egregious.Anyway, the German ends up teaching the supposed "Italians" Italian pronunciation.

In My Dark Sanctuary

If only I could drown my sorrows
In the silence of the night;
So immense, so
Illimitable, that it looms ahead -
Deafening.

These are secrets that unveil themselves
In the sanctuary of the dark.
Uncoiling, incessantly disgorging
Vitriol. But I am snug and warm enough
In my blanket of duplicity.

My ears are numb with hollows
Ringing deep from earth's sepulchers.
And I feel the rhythm in my bones, of
Napoleon's dead soldiers marching
Through the infecund land of wintry Russia.

But the dead are unaware of the cold -
They died from it.

Waiting

I feel like I'm waiting for something.

And I don't know what that is. 

The only reason I'm not losing myself to insanity is that I'm clinging on to this fragile thread of hope that there is something better on the other side. 

I don't know where the other side is. I don't know what I'm waiting for. And I don't know when that is. 

Life is funny this way: it sucker punches you in the stomach, leaving you rolling in pain on the floor until someone nice comes along and you think that life is beautiful. Then the person sucker punches you and you roll on the floor in agony and the whole thing repeats itself. 

I hate the way that nothing is ever certain in life. I hate that I can't see beyond the fog into the future. I'm used to being know-it-all and I can't stand not being able to know my own path. I don't like surprises. I hate the what-ifs in life. I hate the I-could'ves in life. I hate the why-didn't-Is in life. I hate the I-don't-know-and-never-would-until-it's-too-lates in life.

I hate being unable to hate life despite everything. And I hate not knowing what I'm waiting for or if it's even going to happen.

I'm tired of waiting. I'm tired of being tired. 

Fuyuko Matsui

Why do I resort to the dark and macabre when I'm sad?

By the way, this is a warning: please do not look ahead of this sentence if you can't stand anything morbid and gruesome. I think you should stop here, Em.

Details:

Don't you think the pictures bring a sense of peace and serenity? They're so surreal and beautiful.

The Toska

As keenly as I felt the toska

I know that you have gone. 

The world has upturned 

In the mingling of our arms

And you are long gone.

I wake to see the embroidered

Veil over my eyes. And feel -

Feel the placatory warmth of my own body.

My skin itches, swells in layers and I

Want to peel it all away.

I want to lie naked and skinless

Skinless and naked;

And weep and strike my fists upon my breasts:

In all the crudities of blood and flesh - 

For isn't that what our love was?

To Die or Not To Die

The dead loll in their behemothic sleep
Deep in the mouth of darkness
Pale limbs white against the marble stones
These bluish, bloated corpses

Lying, waiting -
For what?
For the angels of death who would
Wipe away the putrid fluid in their

Ascend to the Divine Garden?
Is death a concourse of mind - the
Darkest recess of consciousness
Or just a capacious stretch of endlessness?

 - I don't know;
I haven't died before.

The Fear

The fear is a caged beast, it hibernates at the best of times, warm and snug in its cozy den, buried deeply so that it is out of sight, and thus out of mind. At unfortunate times it wakes, ravenous and voracious, and its hunger seemed insatiable.

It opens its black mouth; putrid, malodorous. The fear swallows all. It swallows the fragile hope, who is desperately clinging for dear life to the edge of consciousness. It swallows warmth, laughter, glee and tramples over the rainbows, until they lie on the ground, barely alive, like butterflies with broken wings.

The world is dark again, for the beast has drowned the sun. The sun lies at the bottom of the ocean, grey and bloated, and the fish consume its flesh. At night, the beast drain the moon of her flux of silver and drink the elixir; emerging more pernicious and malevolent as ever. It is starving, and it cannot stop.

There are screams everywhere. The earth vibrates with the screaming. It subdues the fear for a while, but it immunes itself against it. It feeds on the screams, sucking and sucking the waves of voices until there is silence. I claw at my face like the man in Edvard Munch's Skrik, eyes wide as saucers, mouth a perfect 'O' and no sound issues forth. I am locked in time, screaming and scratching and forever silenced. 

The beast does not feel remorseful; it does not feel the rage as it tear apart the lakes, nor does it feel the euphoria that is often acquainted with insanity, at the carnage it has committed. It is what it is – a beast. And it feels nothing.

All I Can Think About Is

PROM.

P.S.I dread the post-prom days. Please don't let me sink back into depression.

The Art of Time Frittering

Here's a sum up of what I did during this holiday:

Monday - Piano at 8.30 in the morning. So yeah, I had to get up at 7 to practice. I hope I didn't piss off any neighbours who are still sound asleep. After piano, relief relief! Watched TV till the afternoon. Went to my aunt's house and borrowed 3 black dresses for prom. (Yes! I finally got my prom dress.) She insisted on taking her Coach clutch purse too. Oh well, she did insist. I was given 5 to choose from. One of which is her 7-year-old daughter's. Ouch. Next time I know what to do: "Oh darling Ci, I'll give you all my Mars Bars and will you please lend me your Coach bag for a week? Really? Oh thank you so much." Btw, she has got Prada Kids' boots to go with that purse.

Tuesday - Faked or rather, half faked being ill - well, I did have flu and cough - and escaped choir practice. Went to Queensbay at 2 p.m. (She forgot that I'm supposed to be sick) Daren't venture into Forever21 for fear of losing my usual discipline because of self-pity ( poor dear, coughing and sneezing away. I'll buy you a pair of vintage boots to make you feel better, huh?) and end up broke. Went to Borders and Popular instead. Too exhilarated at my triumph of finally finding Julie and Julia after numerous failures and bought it. Watched TV the whole night.

Wednesday - Went to choir in the morning. Opened and closed my mouth for four hours as I still can't sing yet. Cleaned Shuen's hamster cage with Khai. Disgusting but thoroughly satisfying work. Practiced piano. Watched TV. Attempted to study - mission impossible. Went for piano. Had dinner with my big family again - aunts, cousins, nieces and nephews. Drafted my Commonwealth essay. Exhausted.

Thursday - Choir in the morning. Finally, I managed to sing very very softly. Just in case someone leaned in, heard my voice and passed out. Watched TV the whole afternoon. Attempted to study and it was a battle at Waterloo where I'm Napolean - totally defeated. Attempted to read up on Roman history - distracted by How I Met Your Mother. Watched TV the whole night. Read Julie and Julia just before going to bed.

Friday - Had my first McDonald's breakfast. Drank 3 cups of black coffee - my days of drinking sissy coffee are over. Cleaned hamster cage again. Khai got bitten; it was hilarious. Vacuumed and mopped the house. Changed the bedspreads. Colour coordinated my wardrobe. Dug out my mess and rearranged everything. Catalogued my books with dates. Hmm... Maybe I had too much caffeine. Anyways, going to Add Math tuition later. Will probably watch a movie at night.