Unfortunately, I'm back in Malaysia

Home is neither here nor there but where the wi-fi automatically connects.

I miss the ones who I would drink tea with amidst the background of the setting sun, having lively discussions about Supernatural and Doctor Who.

I miss the ones who I would discuss controversial topics such Law and Politics with, our anger and ferociousness annoying and amusing others at the dinner table with us.

I miss the ones who I would drink with past twelve, and we would bar-hop and sing amidst the drunk in the street - smiling and laughing despite South's deathly chills.

I miss the ones who I would wave and say hello to.

I miss the one who once did a pinky promise with me in his sombre, professional voice. 

I miss the one who I held hands with to McDonalds at one in the morning. 

I miss the one who would barge into my room at eight in the morning, flicking my light switch on and running away quickly while I screamed obscenities. 

I miss the days where you and I did our duets on the grand piano, even though you were honestly the one who did most of the work. 

I miss the ones who we would talk about our guys of choice with.

I miss the ones who I would cheerily tease.

I miss the ones who studied with me in the ACR, where we traded dubious looks and mischievous glances. 

I miss the ones who acknowledged my presence, my capabilities, my existence. 

Even if I have failed to be the person I have hoped to be there - even if I have failed to prove myself as worthy - it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter and it never mattered. And I don't care what others say - if I were to be choked in a country as stifling as the one I was born in, you might as well take away my life. You might as well kill me. 

Three more months to endure. 

Ugh, I whine too much. 

Yes, yes, I do.

Here we go again.

What are you dreaming of?

In just two months, I have realized just how much more cynical I've become when it comes to world issues. Thank you Law, thank you Politics. You have made me become a pessimist, especially when world tensions are concerned. It's not my fault that I've started viewing things from a different perspective, it just happens. 

I dream of a far away place where we used to be.

The number of assignments I've been having...damn. In two weeks, I've had to write essays worth 4k words, and in the next two weeks there'd be more essays and legal opinions to do. While I love what I'm studying at the moment, the amount of research necessary for these essays are a real pain. Nevertheless, university life is still more enjoyable than high school life - and it always will be, no matter what happens. 

I dream of a far away place where we could go to.

The people here are nice - immensely so. The days are filled with dinners, tea in the kitchens, gym days, theme parties, tests, assignments, lectures, day outs, and all sorts of other student-related activity that one can think of. There are blossoming romances, love-hate relationships, and just the sort of thing you can expect to happen when you chuck students together in a hall. But I love it, I really do. 

If you do not come to me, I will go to you.

So much to do, so little time. Coffee tomorrow with the peeps, dinner with an old mate - church on Sundays, maybe? May God save me from my sins. Procrastinating on the work, going through a routine, picking out outfits...

Let us help each other out.

And it begins.

There have been so many changes in life. 

...

For those of you who aren't aware of it yet, I'm happily back at a place where I call home. 

Flying back to NZ was a tiring process. I had to transit at Singapore and Christchurch before taking another domestic flight to Dunedin with bags, cookies and everything in tow. Amused, I tried doing a calculation of how many hours of travel time I had clocked over the past few months. The answer was pretty startling, I'd say - there were definitely more than ten flights, and at least thirty hours of being on the road. Oh yes, Anne, you da traveler, so stick to dat and do what you like to do.
<br>

Now this keychain below gave me a problem -

 They basically thought I was communicating in a secret language to other terrorists - or that I myself was a wannabe terrorist - or...I don't know, really. The keychain shaped as a gun was inappropriate (?) - or maybe they thought the keychain had secret powers. At any rate, I ended up being stranded at a side for fifteen minutes while they scrutinized me warily, consulting their senior officers for all that was worth. 

Tired from waiting, I told the officer, "You know what? You guys can have it. It's from the dollar shop anyways." 

Startled, the officer gave me this strange, weird look. Apparently if I was so willing in giving up, then that would mean I was not a potential terrorist, right? After all, the ones who acted all defensive and shit were the suspects.

So in the end, I was allowed to keep my lovely keychain. 

Drinks all around!

ANYWAY.

Living in St Margaret's College is probably one of the best things that could happen to me, ever. As I'm sure I've mentioned before, I first visited it at the age of nine. Or ten, whatever - I don't remember. I was immediately captivated by those flowers, that traditional-looking structure - and of course, the wonderful lifestyle. I remember putting all these personal pleas in my application, and badabinggg, wish granted. 

People have been really friendly so far, even though the segregation between Asians and Europeans clearly still exists in a certain manner. That doesn't mean you can't get locals to be your friend, though, I've had a couple of mates pretty quickly and everything seems to be working fine. It's quite common for us to greet each other on the hallway or strike up a quick, casual conversation at the dining table. 

Which quickly led me to the fact that I was the friggin' minority in terms of coursework and shit. Everyone was a health science student, I was one of the few doing Law and Arts - majoring in English and minoring in Politics, no less. It was difficult to talk about course stuff with others since we were all involved in different things, but people were quite curious as to what my two degrees entailed. 

Looks like everyone can be pals after all. 

The Inter-College Sports Day was pretty fun, even though I did suffer a minor sunburn after that. I'll remember that tight jeans and bad UV rays are a bad combination next time.

 GO, SMC!

Then this was something interesting I found on a library book I borrowed:

 I totally laughed at "Oh Dear". Someone was obviously not a diehard fan of the USSR. Dude probably had a shitload of jokes for Commies and Albania...or whatever country he was referring to at "bugger", I have no idea. 

Then there was the all-amazing toga party, where everyone dressed up in a toga just like the Greek eras in their bedsheets. It was like, a Dunedin tradition. Freshies did that, and thousands of them gathered in the stadium.

 Then there were the catch-ups with old mates. 

This little girl clung onto me incredibly quickly. She just refused to let me go, so I was like, "Heck, I'll just carry you around then."

Another feature of St Margaret's is the formal dinners they have. I signed up for pre-dinner drinks seeing as no one on my floor was that keen on doing so, and ended up being nervous in a whole bunch of people dressed in suits and dresses.

 We also had the Amazing Race. I might have twisted/tore something in the process, seeing as how much I suffered in the days after that. All in all, though, it was great fun.

 There are a lot of serious issues that I have to write about, though. 

First off, the study issues.

Secondly...I still haven't really gotten over the death of a close friend that I have just discovered recently. No one really knows what's going on, and even I have tried my best not to think about it. But the thoughts still come dead at night, after several tiring hours of looking over books. 

I don't know how to deal with it, but somehow I will. 

Till then, it's time for a Law lecture.

Will the days last?

I want to go stargazing sometime in my life just to have the beauty of the universe swallow me whole.

It sure would be nice to explore the stars. I wouldn't mind soaring around the galaxy a little to see the brilliant star constellations and how vast everything is. It would take me eternity, but that probably wouldn't matter if I ever had a chance. I would probably laugh in that silence, revel in some old song playing in my head, and just look at everything in awe. 

Would everything be as poetic as I imagine it to be?

I dream about roaming the world more and more. I've finally arrived back to the place where I call home, but I know it would only be a matter of time before I crave for another exciting, fascinating experience.

Still, now that I look at it, why do I aspire to travel so much? It's not the cheapest hobby to have, not to mention that planning and actually undertaking the entire journey itself is tiring. The standard answer isn't that complicated - I could say the usual things like: "Oh, it's just nice to see new cultures. You meet new people and learn more history - how great can that be?"

Well, of course, there definitely is truth in that question. I love new places - Europe in particular. There's a deep attraction to that region, especially England - and I'm not entirely sure why. Next in line of countries to visit would be Austria, Hungary, Russia - and perhaps even the Nordic nations. Heck, I'm even thinking about a trip to Antarctica just because NZ is so near to it. Egypt, Israel...what about the coldest regions in Canada? It would be nice to visit these countries, definitely. 

But I guess the truest answer is this -

...That freedom always will be my call. 

 

...

And that the skies I shall explore when I exist no more.

...

University life is going to be busy, I can tell. After a long ten hour flight plus a couple of other transits, I finally landed at Dunedin. It took me a shitload of effort to get to my dorm on its own, seeing as there were no taxis available - all had been fully booked by returning students. I was tempted to scream bloody murder all around. Nevermind, I arrived safely without killing anyone.

Everyone at this prestigious dorm seems to be friendly, thank god. Today's welcoming speech had been quite clear and concise - St Margaret's was one of the best, and all of us were definitely going to be the best of the best. I hope to live up to that standard, really. Already there would be formal Sunday dinners where men dress up in ties and ladies get their dresses out. On the list would also be Academic Breakfasts where lecturers, VCs and students mingle. This Wednesday's community service is apparently compulsory - somehow I'm not complaining, which is rare - add to the fact that I haven't gotten my text books yet, nor do I have any idea where next week's lectures are going to be at.

My memory of this place is once again refreshed. Yep, awesome place. Well-kept grass lawns, flowers (holy shit they have sprinklers for this), carpeted floors, chandeliers from the ceiling in the dining room, fresh flowers around the hallway, using the proper cutlery while eating, long dining tables, saying grace, having a whole load of activities...

 

...

I'm not sure what made me want to stay at this residential college at the young age of nine. At nine, I may have been young and impressionable - but certainly not stupid. Yet at that age I had made up my mind that this was what I would work for. Nine years later, I achieved what I wanted. That's great, but what will I make out of this year? Will I use this chance appropriately, or would I sacrifice it? 

That, in all honesty, isn't even a valid question.

Oh, hello.

People, people on the streets - and you know nothing about them. You don't know what kind of lives they lead, what kinds of hardship they face. People are fascinating. I wish I knew them more.

It's three in the morning and I'm about to fall asleep and I'm watching a hundred ways to die on Skyrim while trying my best not to laugh. I nearly fell off my chair laughing at the part with the giant cabbages and marriage. Charming. Absolutely charming. I've watched it before last year, but couldn't resist watching it again. Skyrim humor is never lost on me.

Lunar New Year has begun. 

More posts to come soon.

Raindrops and flowers

The only thing that's constant is change. You get wrapped up in so many uncertainties - there's the urge to fling yourself out of the window, diving into the clouds and rainbows below - and yet you know, too, that you could land on something that may kill you. You fear the change since you're so unsure of the future, but at the same time you can't help but eagerly anticipate the things that are to come. It happens - your original goals sway a little, you lose sight of what's important for a second - you get confused on what's right and what's wrong. There are, however, no judgements from others - they can't pass any, not unless you tell them and allow them to judge you. 

It's all just a part of living - I say that to myself, mates, and others around me. They look up to me and listen - Anne, you are the voice of reason. You're so in control of your life that it hurts. There's nothing wrong about you, you're doing well in life - with a goal, a vision, a dream and everything you could possibly have. What more could you want? Are you possibly so fickle that you cannot even be satisfied with life's blessings? Why do you not appreciate the little things that happen everyday - why do you not love like you should, why do you not care? Anne, you are so fucking fickle. Get a grip! 

There are responsibilities, and Anne, you are responsible. You are responsible for every damn thing you do in life. People do not pity you for they know how headstrong you are in things, they know just how you are when you make decisions - rushed, irrational. There is not much to be pitied there - Anne, you are fickle. After wondering about this for so many years, you can reach your happy conclusion. You are as fickle as the many shallow-minded people out there and someday, the mighty you will fall. Perhaps it is best that you mentally prepare yourself for the day when your tiara goes out of place. You might've been a queen to them, but you're nothing without your pride. If it will be ripped to shreds, then that's how it is. There is nothing that can be done - nothing that can be salvaged. You took the gamble - now you fucking live with it. 

That is all - plain and simple. 

 

...

Thailand's coming up next week! The past few months have been hectic as hell. I envy those who have been lazing around, having nothing to do. For me, it's always going 'round here, there, everywhere...not that I mind, though. I'm the traveler - gotta love traveling, especially when it's paid for. Going to Singapore was great - more of a business trip, actually, but it was through that that I got to meet Kenji, an old mate of mine that I've known for quite some time. We had snacks, walked around Orchard Road, and just sat on a bench listening to cool tunes while we ranted to each other about our lives. I had expected it to be awkward, but it wasn't in the end. What would you know - we ended up bonding pretty quickly. It was nice to see him - got as many hugs as I could.

No positive responses from what I've applied to? Oh, well, at least I tried. I'll try and try and try until I die. Sure, it gets disheartening, but whatever. I'll do that shitty hairflip and just try again next time. 

I really should do a to-do list. Like, make an actual fucking budget, instead of some lame-o one that doesn't make sense. Must get parents to pay my fees soon. Must drive around more often. What else, what else...gotta send those new clothes for washing...gotta write more shit...update stories...keep applying for more of those writing jobs because that's probably the only thing I can do...pack for Thailand...hmm, I don't know. There sure are lots of things to do. Entertain boyfriend? I don't have the time. See, Anne, you're nuts.

How the hell can people be bored at home? It makes no fucking sense.

The future is now.

"It is my feeling that Time ripens all things; with Time all things are revealed;
Time is the father of truth."  
 

- Francois Rabelais

 There should always be a time for self-reflection - it helps complete the human in you, allowing you to sit back for a moment, taking in everything that has happened. It gives you a chance for improvements - and there is always room for improvements. 

Contrary to what others may think, I don't self-reflect often. Since I'm better in expressing myself through words, it's rare for anyone to see me utter something profound and intense in real life. In real life, I'm the girl who sits about with a book - the girl who gets a little moody, but is still a nice person nonetheless. I don't bother correcting anyone who thinks I'm kind and awfully friendly nowadays - they automatically know how to distance themselves whenever they sense  something's not right. Smart people, them.

 Nevertheless, I must admit that 2012 has been one of the best years for me - and there can only be one reason for that.

New Zealand.

As cheesy as this could possibly sound, I still remember the first few days of me in Dunedin. It had been hilarious, really - being lost in a little town, stuttering in front of the bus driver, wandering around like the helpless student I was. Then there were some differences in the lifestyle, and of course the weather wasn't particularly pleasant.

And yet I loved every single moment of it.

Okay, being lost in some fucking nowhere and chasing the bus down the hill weren't fun when it had happened - but they were still my experiences, and I wouldn't trade them for anything else in the world. After wanting to be in New Zealand all these years, I finally had my wish.

I had solemnly swore to myself that I would never abandon myself in a new land like this - that I would appreciate everything my parents had done to get me here, that I would try my best and adhere to my principles.

So I did.

There wasn't much to it, really. I was just so happy to be there. I loved all the subjects I did. I enjoyed the company of my classmates, as different as some of them were from me. I particularly appreciated the fact that no one scorned me or my dreams. They respected me for who I was. I reveled in the friendships I forged, took advantage of every opportunity I had. I wanted to work hard - I wanted to show the world what I could do - I wanted to show the people in Malaysia what I could bloody achieve.

Perhaps it was my own determination that pulled me through. I obtained scores that I never had in my entire life. It was surprising, but I was pleased. I convinced myself that no one could bring me down, that I was my very own master. I had enough time for everything. I never felt too pressured - well, at least, never pressured to the point where I couldn't handle it. It was there where I allowed some of my personality to shine through - the annoying girl who slept in class yet always reviewed the chapters in a day, the girl who swore like a motherfucker yet always started her assignments as soon as they were given out.

I enjoyed being a paradox.

I enjoyed being the irony of everything.

The world would continue to run its own course even if you died for it.

That was the main reason that convinced me to go on years ago. 

I never thought about death anymore - and nowadays, I try my best to talk anyone out of it. Sometimes I wondered - was I the girl who had sobbed too much until her heart could never truly be happy again, or was I the person who wanted to help others in order to atone for all the things I had done? I didn't have a reasoning, and up until now I still don't - but I knew that I couldn't back away any longer. I had to keep on moving forward, no matter the cost. Dreams, determination - they were all in my hands. What I did and what I achieved would all depend on me - myself - the very being within me.

There's been some decisions to make recently. Many would know that I've never had too good a relationship with my family - but it was just not too long ago that I realized once again how fragile things were. It didn't take too much for a cable to snap or a piece of glass to shatter. One had to be so very careful until it almost seemed ridiculous to do so. I had always been one to keep promises, and yet this time I found myself looking back at some I couldn't keep anymore.

When I was fourteen, all I wanted to do was to ruin myself. I wanted to jump into the dark abyss and lay in nothingness forever, seeing nothing but the stars.

But then as I grew, I realized that there were no fucking stars in there.

The darkness was very fucking real, and the darkness would never come close to being as beautiful as light. 

When I was sixteen, I made a promise to someone important.

Tomorrow, I will have to break it.

I knew what was at stake. I knew our relationship would definitely be put to the test. It was something dangerous, something that I would regret losing. I had always rooted for him, I had always supported his ideals - and yet at the time when he needed me most, I would have to abandon him. And it would be all because I wanted to save my own skin - all because I wanted to do what was right. It was simple - I refused to ruin myself for anyone's sake. 

It would also not hurt to add that there were many other parallel issues, and this was merely one of them.

 

"I'm a nice person. I don't like hurting others."

"Are you kidding me?" she asked incredulously. "After all the people you've hurt in the past?"

"...Are you saying I'm not nice?"

She sighed. "I'm just saying that sometimes hurting people is inevitable."

...

 Today was one of those days where I just wanted to throw my hands up and scream. Instead, I took a drive on my own - my dad had very nicely given me the keys, allowing me to have all the fun I wanted. And that was precisely what I did. I leaned back against the seat and drove comfortably along the highways, blasting music out of the speakers and humming tunelessly along. It had felt wonderful, and I found myself liking it more and more. It gave me the space I wanted - and it felt vastly different from being on the laptop, or writing stories in the comfort of a cafe. Driving allowed me to be out and about, enjoying the freedom and relaxing at the same time.

...Well, I had nearly crashed into godknowswhat, but that wasn't important. I have a P, bitches, I'm qualified!

...

Well.

Sometimes I liked being myself, and sometimes I hated it. That was 2012, and that would also be 2013. 

Perhaps that wasn't so bad. It only proved how human I was.  

 
"Don't wait for luck.
Dedicate yourself and you can find yourself."

- The Script, "Hall of Fame"

Bye!

OFF TO ITALY.

Will be back on...uh. Close to Christmas. 22nd of December, I think. Contact me then!

IT'S P, BITCHES.

I returned to Malaysia only for a few reasons, and one of them includes learning how to drive.

The experience sucked balls. Srsly. 

Anyway, it was just this Monday that I had my JPA test. I waited and waited, cursing smokers who puffed into my face. Time ticked by. I walked around, sighed at the sky, played Temple Run for the 5353233290th time, read Anne of Green Gables with a British accent in my head...

Yeah.

The QTI test went just as how I had planned it, so that was fine. 

The road test, however...

Again, waiting for my turn was another long process. I actually fell asleep while waiting. Yeah, on that stupid plastic chair. I've known all this while that I have a talent for sleeping in random places (lecture halls, bus stops, sleeping while standing - you name it, I've done it) - but this was seriously a new record. I had crammed Anne of Green Gables into my bag, tilted my head into a comfortable position, and slept in a strange place filled with strange people and strange, strange languages.

I did wake up after that of course - only to hear some boys behind talking about...me.

"Eh, memang tidur." 

"No, wait, she's waking up."

"Gooooood moooooorninggggg sleeping beauty..."

Those bloody wankers. How would they like it if someone slammed a heel into their balls, only to hear others gossip about it huh?

And then it was my turn for the road test.

My tester was a Malay lady. 

With sunglasses.

With a bitchy frown. 

The first thing that crossed my mind was, "I'm fucked." 

The first thing she bellowed to me was, "WHY'S YOUR EXAMINATION FORMS SO CRUMPLED?"

I wanted to say something like, "Well bitch, I don't see why the state of my examination forms should matter to you. JUST TAKE THIS SHIT AND WE CAN GET THE SHOW ON THE ROAD."

Instead, I humiliatingly swallowed my pride and said a small "sorry." I hated myself so much then. Srsly. 

I adjusted mirrors, the seat, checked whether those signal plus wiper thingies worked, pulled my seat belt on, released the handbrakes...and off I was, cruising to my doom.

I cursed, noting that the clutch and gears of this particular car were stiff and hard to be shifted. It was way harder to use that car compared to the normal practice cars I used, which...wasn't a good sign. Well, whatever. I had to deal with it. I signaled right and went slowly, knowing that there was a slope that led up to the main road. Cars were all waiting to turn out, so I got in line and crawled behind.

...

That was when the engine sputtered and died.

....

And that was when I knew I was truly fucked.

Strangely enough, I was as calm as some meditating tropical lagoon zen-man. The tester wasn't saying anything so I quietly turned the engine on, raced up the hill, and quickly turned out before I screwed up some more.

The rest of my driving was pretty much a wreck. I nearly got the gears mixed up, stopped ungracefully in front of traffic lights, and was generally on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

"Potong."

Cut? Oh. She wanted me to overtake the car in front. Pretty uncharacteristic for a test, but whatever. I heard her make a satisfied "hm", and was pleased with myself...

...until I saw the traffic lights up ahead turn yellow.

She urged me on impatiently. "GO, GO, GO!"

WHADDAFUCK.

I floored the accelerator like some madman.

AND THEN I PASSED THE JPA TEST.

Did I do the unmentionable? Yes, I did the unmentionable. Malaysians, I'm sure y'all know what I mean. I'm sorry for fueling the huge wrong that our country has, but I was under time constraints and had to get my P asap. As such, I needed an insurance policy. 

But whatever. I'm a P. 

Now I can happily head for a New Zealand driving license without taking too many driving lessons there. 

Mission: Learning how to drive

Passed

Everything's a cycle.

Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me.

...

...

One, two, three.

Here it goes again. Be very careful, Anne. Be very careful.

Skip and step

I've always prided myself as someone who knows what to go after in life. I'm unsteady, inexperienced, hasty and obnoxiously proud. But what's the point in chasing after a dream if you don't even take chances? What's the point if you sit there forever and let opportunities pass you by? Am I being twisted in wanting some form of recognition, no matter how small it may be? Would it be ridiculous if I said I craved it not for my own pride, but for my own future?

Facts are facts, details are details. The thing about dreams is that you have to go about them systematically - step-by-step - starting out slow and working to the top - not to mention that luck is needed at times to pull yourself up along the way. Another annoying fact would be that not all dreams stay the same forever. They morph around sometimes according to your wants and needs - to the point of you not recognizing what you originally wanted when you first started out. 

But that's alright - because really, there's no one else to blame in the end but yourself. 

I've known, all along, that it's impossible to please everyone in the world.  Half the time people are going to find you ridiculous, hopelessly naive, or, as my mum pleasantly put it, "unbecoming". I am unbecoming. I am unbecoming because I choose to do something instead of allowing fate to control my life. I am a hopeless glory-seeker because I'm keen in making a difference for myself, instead of waiting for chances to just drop from the sky. 

Anger is present. Anger is natural. But behind that lies a desperate yearning for the ones physically closest to you to believe in you so much that it hurts. You don't need their pride, you don't need their praises. All you want is for them to believe that you are working hard and that you can make them proud someday. You no longer throw irrational tantrums, you no longer cry in front of them. You are hardened, a warrior who is detached from needing their emotional support in order to go on. 

You, who have learned so much from the you in the past. 

You don't need to be perceived as their hero, since you'd be better off fighting for yourself. 

...

That's right. I'm unbecoming, and I'm proud of it. 

Crash and burn, baby.

This is how I feel while I go through my driving lessons.

I am so bad in it holy fucking carrots I don't even -

I want to learn how to drive using auto cars. NOT MANUAL CARS.

Not cars that sputter and die while I panic, flail and spazz in the middle of the road and the instructor screams like a lunatic next to me. Not cars that have heavy as fuck steering wheels that make me sweat and pant like a heavy gym workout just trying to turn that massive thing for four successive rounds. Not cars that need gear-shifting every single time I start moving after a traffic light. NOT CARS THAT ARE SO DAMN DIFFICULT TO HANDLE, FOR FUCK'S SAKE.

I am not good in this. I acknowledge the fact that I'll turn out to be an awful, awful driver. I'm not a hands-on person. I know how bad I am when it comes to practical shit. I know other people learn at a faster pace than I do. I'm slow, I'm not quick in responding - FINE, I KNOW THAT. Apparently playing GTA didn't help at all, but whatever. I'm still trying, alright? No need to yell at me. No wonder you told me some of your students cried. I wouldn't be surprised. And stop asking why I giggle in an uncontrollable manner while I'm  driving. I AM NOT GOOD IN THIS, OKAY? And that is how I cover my nervousness and inferiority. I LAUGH. I laugh like I've totally snapped. It's absolutely enlightening. You should try it.

Beware - major caps lock up ahead like some whiny bitch. 

"FEET ON THE CLUTCH." 

"STRAIGHTEN THE CAR. STRAIGHTEN IT!"

"WHY CAN'T YOU REMEMBER HOW TO PARK PROPERLY?"

"I am fucking trying, dumbass," is what I want to say. "OH GOD BOLLOCKS STOP TALKING ON THE FUCKING PHONE WHILE I'M AT THE RISK OF CRASHING INTO A CAR IN FRONT OF ME AND STOP GIVING ME WEIRD HAND MOTIONS I DO NOT FUCKING UNDERSTAND. I DO NOT COMPUTE. DO. NOT. COMPUTE." 

Yes, he seriously just expects me to understand what he's signalling with his hands while he blabs away on the phone with his friends. I understand speech, my dear, not gestures. If you make me panic, I will lose my cool, the car will die because it's a fucking manual car, and I will lose my cool even more. Not a good situation. 

...I'm really not good in this. This is pathetic. 

I don't even know how I managed to drive all the way from my house to the driving center's headquarters in Segambut, KL. I have no idea how I managed to get on the highway, cruising at a maximum of 60km/h, changing lanes without actually killing someone, dealing with the 4pm crowd we Malaysians are so familiar with, and even managing to execute some pretty decent gear-changing under such a shitload of pressure.

It must be a fucking miracle.

But then again, it was all by chance. Most of the time, I cursed, shifted to the wrong gears ("HOW CAN YOU GET TO GEAR FOUR FROM GEAR TWO? PAY ATTENTION!"), stopped when I shouldn't have had to, and had the engine sputter and die magnificently on me. 

I suck so badly that it makes me laugh.

In fact, I was so distracted that at the toll booth, I exclaimed a loud " 谢谢" to the Malay girl instead of "thank you" or "terima kasih."

What? Don't give me that fucking incredulous look. I was at China for a week, okay? I got China-fied. Just for a little while.

"NOT  谢谢!" The instructor roared, torn between sounding exasperated and amused at the same time. 

"Oh," I said, realizing my mistake. "Terima kasih!" 

My instructor couldn't stop laughing for two minutes after that.

...Fuck. 

How am I going to pass next month's driving test? I'm going to fail. Really badly. 

I don't even have the mood to blog about China anymore. 

  

My next class will be at 7am because the other times are full. GODDAMMIT AT 7AM I WILL REALLY KILL SOMEONE AT THAT TIMING BECAUSE I WILL BE DRIVING LIKE A DRUNK. 

I am certain of it. 

Wait for the news, my dears, wait for it.  

The puppeteer and the puppet

It is always better to be the puppeteer than the puppet, for the puppeteer controls the situations - dominating the actions of others, controlling their feelings, doing as they please. If you are the puppet, then you're at the puppeteer's  mercy. Whether your heart shatters or flutters in joy depends your puppeteer - you can only sit back and hope for the best. 

It's ironic for as much as we would all want to be puppeteers, we end up being the puppets instead. We're controlled by the many things in life that we struggle to control by ourselves . Technology, money, and our very own feelings are merely examples. We also try to control who we'd like to have closest to us and wrestle with our own actions just so we can control our future. We try to control the skies, we try to control others, we try to get the people around us to conform to our opinions without seeking to understand theirs. 

Is it a wonder why the modern soul feels so haunted? We lack the essential things we want in life - mainly love, success, and joy - yet we thrive on baseless relationships, harmful thoughts and narcissism in order to survive. We are controlled by our very own selves, and try as we might, there doesn't seem to be a way out. This is how the world works, and there's rarely any sympathy out there. You can't get much out of yourself, so you seek out others in order to complete you. You crave for something so much, yet toss it away so easily as soon as you obtain it. 

Well, fuck logic. It's just ridiculous. 

I must admit that I'm more a puppeteer than a puppet. I never really knew it back then, but I recognize it in myself right now. The domineering streak, the outspoken personality, the urge to smash people in their faces. Definitely a puppeteer. However, being a puppeteer doesn't mean much until you actually control something - and being able to control something doesn't necessarily mean it'll fulfill any of your twisted, warped desires for love and happiness. It could probably just mean the opposite. Well then, just how successful of a puppeteer have I been?

The answer is that I've succeeded without actually trying. And of course, I'm by no means contented with doing so. It's nothing to boast about. If anything, it's shameful - for I have tricked, betrayed and hurt them so much without actually realizing it until it's far too late. They get sucked into the trap and then they lack a way out. 

But I'm by no means that cruel. I've given them a way out. Heck, I've even done the signposting and have shoved them to it, but they refuse to get out of the shit they they got involved in in the first place. Stupid, stupid people. How can they not see that there will never be a happy ending if they continue being tangled up in my web of lies? I'm not one to be that upfront about it - in fact, I'm pretty subtle - but even they shouldn't be that ignorant. Do I have to smack the facts into their faces, I wonder? What would make them just come to an abrupt realization? Have I not tried hard enough to warn them away?

It seems that I'll have to forcibly cut the strings away someday, and it'll be done for their sake. I want them to realize on their own, to disentangle themselves from the strings and walk away into a better future - but unfortunately, they just refuse to do so. 

Puppets cannot stand on their own without their puppeteers, though, and this is another fact that troubles me greatly. Do I have to make sure that they get ensnared by other puppeteers who are kinder and more passionate than I am? 

What a disgrace. It seems that even by forcibly isolating myself from the crowd, things can still happen.

How cruel do I have to be for them to understand? 

I listen to their words, I see what they type, and it all burns me with guilt. I know that I have to cut them loose - in fact, I've already done so to a lot of them. And yet they just don't know how to avoid jumping into the flames even though it's blistering their fucking skin!

It has been far too long. Maybe I'll have stab their hearts once more just for them to come to yet another forceful realization. 

Puppeteers can manipulate and kill your spirit. Fucking remember that.

Maybe, just maybe.

Just keep running. Never look back.

...

I wouldn't call myself being a coward. Just someone who probably needs to take a little break - someone who needs to breathe - someone who needs to take a step back, look at all the beautiful things in life, and once again learn to appreciate life and all the simple happiness it brings.  

Take a look again.

What exactly is precious to you?

If it's something irreplaceable, never let it go - but if you can live without it, then you probably don't need it anyway.

Many things used to be a game to you, Anne. 

I would say that I have the capability to be twisted. It's just a part of me that exists. There is the potential, and I know it. Sometimes I think being a puppeteer would be fun - but sometimes I crave for nothing more but simplicity, where life lays before me in its barest, truest form. 

But what exactly is the truth? 

Well, don't I know it. The truth is that my words have hurt others, and my actions have scarred them deeply. I know this much. But I also know that despite the nastiness in me, many of these incidents were unplanned for - meaning that they were events that happened just because they did, not because I schemed them from the very beginning. Deep inside there is a part of me that wants to hurl every single glass ornament in the case at an endless darkness while screaming, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I never meant it to be this way! I'm sorry!"

And, more importantly...

"Forgive me. Please, for all that's worth, forgive me for the things I have done. For the things I have said. I cannot rewind time - I cannot erase the wounds I have inflicted on you - but please, forgive me."

But the years have passed, and truth be told, it has been such a long time ago. I have hurt many - far too many. Sometimes my mind goes a little hazy and I blink at the old memories that resurface. It feels funny when they do, something like watching a broken recorder, but I know that they were once significant. Far too significant.

Apparently people deal with stress and the conflict in their minds in different ways. A person I had hurt three years ago had forgotten what I had done to him - the only thing he remembered was that he was upset - or "really bummed", as he nicely put it. I was surprised, delighted, and disappointed at the same time. While it was a good thing that he didn't remember, it also meant that he had forgotten about the days I had spent with him too. I was having conflicting emotions, and that itself was strange. 

"I don't mean to dig up buried skeletons," he said. "But...could you tell me why?" 

I froze, and he pressed on.

"What exactly happened between us?" 

I remembered, of course. I remembered the things I did to people. However, even though I remembered - it didn't mean that I liked thinking about it. It was a particularly painful process telling him, and I kept my words as vague as possible. He could interpret them in any way he liked. 

In the end, I was still happier that he had forgotten.

I wonder whether there's a happy ending for everyone out there. Fairy tales seem to put it that way, and all of us try to be as generous to our friends as possible - because honestly, what else can you do to comfort someone you know when they're in pain? You're not in their shoes - and no matter how similar an experience you've had, it is their experience, and you both know it.

Sometimes things are just stupid, and everything turns out stupid. 

But it's not so bad. Sometimes isolating yourself is better. It feels good, even - despite having an infection that's screwing up my brains a little - that I'm doing this the proper way. Isolation. Isolationism. It's not that hard. It doesn't hurt. It feels calm. It feels...wonderful.

It's like you have the time in the world to do what you want, even if your parents bug you all the time to adopt a healthier lifestyle and to stop looking at the computer so much but oh hell, that would never change. It's like not being confined to an old online society of stereotypes, where you have to check up on others and fulfill some form of responsibility to them.

It just feels different.

And it gives you the space to interact with new people.

I particularly like interacting with those on fanfiction - especially if they're mostly from different countries. They see thinks differently, view the world in another manner. It's almost fascinating. You get to know them, and they get to know you. Friendship knows no boundaries - I think I learned that a long time ago. The whole long-distance thing will never be an issue. They're just so interesting. Sometimes I receive compliments that make me leap for joy, sometimes I receive negative criticism that makes me sink a little lower. You get to find out that not all Americans are obnoxious, not all Brits are stodgy, and that Canadians are interesting beings. You get to know how life works for them, and how it is like viewing things in their eyes.

Sometimes you end up talking to them so much, and you realize how thankful you are for technology.

Especially for Google Translate, even if it's an ass half of the time.

"I think," my Russian friend, a young friendly female - whose name I shall not mention - said, "You will be better off loving another."

Uh-huh.

"I want you to meet my friend. His name is x, he's nineteen, and he's a childhood friend of mine. He's nice and sweet. And he's cute. Don't be shy."

I don't care if fairy tales don't come true. Sometimes all you need is a fresh perspective in life. Perhaps that's where it comes in. The whole process repeats. Names. Age. New things to socialize about. Language barriers. Photographs. Laughter.

Perhaps that's what it's all about.

Remind myself not to hastily rub my eyes with dust-covered fingers in a dust-covered country, because I will get an eye infection and suffer horribly from it. I should walk around with an eyepatch or something.

On a scale from one to ten, I would officially rate this as homicidal-inducing.

For now.

I will take this time alone to do things that I've always wanted to do. I'll lock myself up in my room, write all the fanfiction that I haven't finished, progress on some shitty original fiction, draw the stuff I want to draw with my tablet, and blast some music while I'm all on it. 

Goodbye, goodbye.

Local time at Christchurch: 14:46pm

Local time at Singapore: 9:46am

Ground speed: 896km/h

Outside air temperature: -52 Celcius

Time to Singapore: 7:46

…

The plane’s just about flying above Newcastle, Australia as I sit here and type this. The scenery outside has changed a bit over the past few hours – from rolling green meadows and snow-capped mountains to rippling blue waves and dry, barren landscapes. This part of Australia looks dusty and remote. I much prefer New Zealand’s verdant plains.

The Book Thief by Markus Zusak is in my seat pocket – I’m up to page three hundred – and really, I should tell Eden on how much I’ve been enjoying it so far. For the past few hours I’ve sat quietly in my seat – reading – with a plastic cup of apple juice by my side. I haven’t even touched the flight entertainment system – which is pretty surprising. I normally latch onto flight entertainment systems like my life depends on it.

My black duffel coat is around me, while another grey jacket’s spread out nearby. It’s convenient, I must admit, to have unoccupied seats next to you. No awkward conversations, no confused hand gestures needed. It’s just me in this little row – me, this laptop screen, the music in my ears, and the tiny window with bits of frost plastered onto it. 

This is probably going to be the quietest flight I’ve ever had.

Just yesterday I had taken a bus up to Christchurch. It had almost taken six hours, and by the time I stumbled out, rain was lashing down in torrents – I could barely see anything else in front of me other than the road, some shops, and the earthquake-devastated ruins nearby. I didn’t particularly appreciate the way at how the storm continued on until the wee hours of the morning – where the howling wind and tapping tree branches interrupted my sleep, grating on my nerves.

Bloody hell. 

Even worst, I had successfully short-circuited the entire house that I had stayed for the night.

It was quite a feat, I assure you. I just hope my parents never hear about this. Basically, I was trying to blow my hair in the shower – the plug must’ve been wet, which I stupidly hadn’t noticed. Within two seconds of me flicking the hairdryer on, the entire house abruptly descended into darkness while I stupidly stood in the bathroom, thinking about just how much fucked up things were, and whythehelldothesethingshappentoyou Anne, ohgodwhy?

 

…

Well, that was last night. Right now I’m still on the plane, typing this out on MS Word just so that I can pass some time. Come to think of it, my iPod’s battery is declining at an alarming rate. Please, please – hold out until I reach Singapore. I don’t think I could survive listening to nothing but the aircraft’s roaring engines and wailing babies. 

Patience, my dear, I tell myself. Patience.

 

A fucking virtue it is, a fucking virtue it always will be. 

…

Reality hits me again – I’m returning to Malaysia. For the summer holidays, or so I heard.

The past few weeks have been quite a whirlpool of excitement. First off, I had been granted three awards for scoring the top marks in Geography, International Studies, and Computing for the first semester – then I was informed that my application to the prestigious St. Margaret’s College had been accepted – and finally, just yesterday, I received my final exam scores.

It was a 10.0 GPA. 

The smile stuck on my face throughout the entire day. Even though I remained quiet and composed like I usually was, my heart was happy and contented – two sorts of emotions which I rarely felt. 

“Your parents must be so thrilled.”

“Your parents would be so proud of you!”

“You don’t look that excited – why? Your parents must be overjoyed!”

Why, you ask? It’s quite simple, really.

I was brought up not to be arrogant of my achievements, no matter how brilliant they may seem to be. I was brought up to accept the fact that no matter how hard I try, there will always be others out there who are better than me. 

It’s not too far from the truth, really.

Others find it sad at how I view things. You undervalue yourself, they say. You don’t realize your potential. 

But I do.

There’s a difference between undermining myself and being modest – that’s what I want them to know. I do understand my potentials – which is why I’m taking the hard path from now onwards, instead of the easy way out. 

Doesn’t make sense, does it? Probably not. In other words, I’ll make it simple – I could’ve settled for some easier ways out, but I’m not doing that. A double degree, with a major and a minor to boot – you are fucking crazy, Anne, you are fucking crazy.

Well, yes, I’d drink to that.  

I understand the fact that I can do so much more – and with that, I will push myself to the limit.

Truth be told? This year hasn’t been that difficult. On the contrary, it has been quite relaxing. Of course, I won’t say that everything has gone by easily – in fact, it hasn’t – but it’s still a far cry more relaxing than what I used to have. 

My parents understand my potentials too, as weird as that would sound to me now. A few years ago I was the one who was always kicked in the dirt, yelled at for being useless and nothing compared to the others around me. I knew, even back then, that that was their way of showing their love – no matter how twisted and unloving it appeared to be. They wanted me to be the best – they wanted me to learn how to fight and struggle on my own. So fight and struggle I did, watching the days pass by in a mixture of tears and emotional pain. Back then, I never knew how much they looked up to me – hell, I thought I was the useless black sheep in the family, until the unexpected words tumbled out when I mentioned about Otago University’s Foundation in Arts program to them. 

“I’m just worried that it would be too easy for you.” 

Dad had appeared nonchalant in saying it – the two of us were eating at a hawker centre, and I had nearly choked on my mouthful of noodles. That was when I realized that my parents never undermined me – they just had the worst ways of showing their love. 

I began realizing more and more as the days went by. When I had scored 10As and cried myself to sleep, they assured me of how proud they were of my achievements. When I had scored a 9.9 GPA in the first term exams, I had brooded about it all day until they told me not to. I had silently vowed to get a 10.0 in the final year exams, which, well, I did. I realized that they were proud of the fact that I was a Grade Eight in both piano practical and theory, of the fact that I was a black-belter, of the fact that I could now bake an apple cake and make chocolate fondue (if I tried), of the fact that I could do basic sword-fighting, of the fact that I was a writer – of everything.

 

Gone were the days of where they tried to stomp the artistic side out of me. 

Gone were the days of where they continuously put me down with harsh words and unkind gestures. 

I had earned their respect in the field that I was involving myself in, and I was going to keep it no matter what. I had proven it to them by taking twelve subjects in SPM, scoring an A in English Literature (alright, that could have been better) and Mandarin – a subject which many had given up on. My determination was pretty fucking intense, and they knew it. 

But even so, I wasn’t that impressive of an individual either. I had a wide range of hobbies, I had a sharp mind – but that was around it. I didn’t have any impressive awards, I hadn’t won any international competitions. I was just an individual on the face of earth who had a lot of opinions but never cared to act on too much of them. 

Not impressive indeed.

But I had some worthwhile things about myself – that much I knew. For one, I was fucking ambitious. It got to the point where things seemed unrealistic – and ambition is a brilliant motivator. Someone should make an epic quote out of that – it’s only the truth. 

Strength. Courage. Maturity.

Kah Leong told me I should have a better quote than that, but I really can’t be bothered to make up anything fancy. Fanciness is me, but at the same time, I prefer things to be simplistic. 

You fucking paradox, Anne – but where’s the fun in life when things are determined in black and white? You determine your own shit. You determine what kind of life you want. Remember, obstacles are shit, but they’re shit you have to face. Sometimes you’ll misunderstand things. Sometimes you’ll be hated by people. Sometimes they’ll hate you so much that they wish you were dead – but that’s inevitable. You don’t live to fucking please – and as crude as that sounds, it’s the best motto you probably can have whenever something undesirable happens. 

While applying for the college I wanted to stay in next year, they had asked a whole bunch of weird questions. They were short questions that required a lot of in-depth thinking – standard questions like the whys and the whats and the hows. I had sat there pondering for many hours, wondering what would be enough to impress the college master up there. 

What would you want to see? I had asked myself silently. What would it be?

 

What would stand out more than others?

And then that was when it hit me – honesty.

 

Genuine honesty.

Ambition.

Determination.

Courage.

Strength.

Maturity.

…

So I went for it. 

…

Those who know me well enough will know that I’m not thrilled at the prospect of returning to Malaysia. In simple terms, I’ve had too many bad memories back there – especially back at the old house, which I dread. I dread returning to the same room where I spent sleepless night, crying for wishes that would never come true. I dread returning to the buried memories, where I had spent so much time dispensing my hate upon.

I refuse to even call it home anymore. I won’t call Malaysia home. No, I won’t.

Technically, the lazy voice drawls within me, New Zealand isn’t your home either. How can it be? You haven’t been living there your entire life. How many people do you know there? Where will you be? You love the unfamiliarity of Kiwi ways, the way at how you’re respected and accepted there for being who you are – but at the same time, someplace within you will always crave for some form of Malaysian normality. The food, yes? The way at how you can slurp your soup without caring who sees. The way at how you can skip and hop down the road without giving a fuck.

But, I argue back, people respect my opinions in New Zealand – which doesn’t always (scratch that – it rarely happens) happen in Malaysia. People see me for who I am. They admire my opinions, my ideas, the things I do. I can tell people I support gay rights without being afraid of what they think about me. I can tell them I love arts and writing without being looked down and sneered upon. I can sip English tea in the afternoon while typing out on a laptop in peace and quiet without being interrupted. I have my freedom of speech, my freedom of ways – things which are immensely important to me. Racism does exist here – but I would rather be ostracized here in New Zealand than in Malaysia. It’s one of the reasons why I refer myself as a ‘Malaysian Chinese’, and not just a ‘Malaysian’. It’s one of the reasons why I’m offended when people think I’m a ‘Malay’, and not a ‘Malaysian Chinese.’

It doesn’t matter much, does it? Home will be where I’m the happiest at.

If I’ll be hovering around some form of uncertainty for the years to come, then let it be. The ones who don’t understand certainly don’t have to try to – I never asked them to stumble around the fucked up areas of my mind, anyway. 

…

Local time at Christchurch: 16:11pm

Local time at Singapore: 11:11am

Ground speed: 850km/h

Outside air temperature: -50 Celcius

Time to Singapore: 5:42

…

Five (six?) more hours to get to Singapore.

Another flight to get back to Malaysia.

Tomorrow, a new routine begins.