Perfect

I’m expected to always be perfect.

From the very moment I was born, I wasn’t allowed to do anything else but study. I would get severely scolded for if I didn’t do the assessment books my father wanted me to do. For the longest time possible, I thought my sole purpose in life was to study and get good grades, hell, I started learning algebra at the age of 9. Then, I started being called the “goody 2 shoes” who had no childhood.

Yet, my parents blamed me for turning rebellious, for starting to smoke. Why didn’t they ask themselves that question? I wasn’t even allowed to play in a ball pit at the age of 8.

Up till today, I can’t cough at home without them blaming me for smoking too much. Hence, I can’t even bring myself to tell them that I’m sick, in fear that they would turn the situation around and blamed me instead.

I can’t tell them that I have a migraine in fear of them blaming me for sleeping late, or using my phone too often, but in fact, their only daughter is just too stressed out from school.

I’m trapped at home, I can’t do anything without being treated as if I’m a failure or a disappointment. Yet, when I go out, they say that the only thing I know how to do is smoke and hang out with wrong company and that I’m treating my house like a hotel. (ikr, what a typical Asian parent thing to say).

I’m expected to be their perfect little golden daughter, that any single little thing that I do wrong, they act like the world is ending. I always get scolded for not being at home often, but what for, if there’s so many things I’m disallowed to do at home.

I always get blamed. Whenever I try to tell them about whatever struggles I’m going through, they always blame me, they always say that I’m at fault, and that I’m just being petty, unreasonable, hateful. And after all this, they still have the audacity to say that I don’t ever tell them things. But what for, if this is the type of respond I’ll receive.

I have this indescribable fear of failure because I feel the need to be perfect. People say that I cry too often, or that I’m too sensitive, emotional, whatever. And yes, I agree, I AM. But I cry not because I want to, it’s because it my way of flushing away whatever negative emotion that I’m feeling. When I’m expected to be perfect, this meant that I couldn’t talk back to people when I felt sad or hurt or angry, I couldn’t defend myself, I had to smile and move on, I had to be happy because that’s what “perfect” looks like.

Yet when I try so hard to be perfect, no one is ever proud of me. I always try my best to help others, to make them happy. Because I simply want someone to be proud of me. I didn’t go into my desired field of study because of my parents, I try to get good grades because of my parents, I do every fucking thing with their best interest in mind. Yet, they would never be satisfied with anything that I do, and that makes me feel like I’m an even bigger failure and disappointment. So who the hell am I trying to be perfect for. Who the fuck am I even kidding, its myself.

My world, my bubble.

Have you ever felt like your world is crashing down?

Like there are so many things that’s going wrong yet you have no idea what exactly is wrong, and you’re crying and crying then suddenly, you’re void of all emotions.

You’re looking at your lighted cigarette in between your fingers, and you hear the all too familiar voices haunting you from inside your head.

Unconsciously, a bitter smile makes its way to your face because you know that these voices are stating nothing but facts.

You blow out a puff of smoke, just thinking about what a horrible person you are, and perhaps that you’re just simply useless is this cruel world.

You start thinking about all the 16 and 17 year olds, making millions in their successful career and you’re just there, in your lonely bubble, filling up the little oxygen you have left, with the smoke from your cigarette.

All you want to do is to find the will to live again, and how to just survive each passing day that’s going by, your small circle friends have always told you that you’re the sweetest and most down-to-earth, bubbliest person that they know of.

But one little mistake, then suddenly, you’re being called selfish, inconsiderate, rude, this, that and everything from nobody but the voices inside of your head. And suddenly you start blaming yourself for everything and anything and telling yourself no one truly cares about you. You start pushing everyone away because you could not bear for anyone to look through your façade or for anyone to even have the slightest opportunity to hurt you even more.

At this point of desperation and depression, you turn to the only hope you have left, your parents. Hoping to hear their words of encouragement and concern, you receive nothing like such and instead, they too tell you that you’re useless and a disappointment, and that you could never do anything right, you’re always at fault, you’re always the one to blame.

Then, the little small light of hope that you had left, goes out, you have finally lost faith in everything and everyone, you start questioning your existence all together. You try your hardest to find an answer, until your brain starts to hurt, your anxiety kicks in, you’ve reached your highest stage of depression, and you find yourself wallowing up in your small bubble, pulling out yet another stick of cigarette, crying again. Not because you want to, but because you can’t help it. 

And when you finally realise why is it that no matter how hard you try, you can’t find an answer as to why you’re still alive, its because you have already realised that your world has already crashed down a long time ago and all you’ve got left now is your lonely bubble, your pack of cigarettes, your anxiety, depression and the will to end everything.

I miss you... so god damn much.

i just... miss you. so god damn much.

it's not when you randomly pop into my mind or when i see your instagram posts. 

it's when i see couples holding hands, hugging, kissing, i then realised that. 

that could be us. 

when i can't get you out of my head and think about you 24/7.

i know that you still care, and i do too.

i know that you still havn't moved on, and same here.

and i'm sorry that i can't spare time to meet you, because life has been overwhelming unfair to me these few days. 

i can't bring myself to text you or meet you because your words would run through my mind, "is this even right?".

i would imagine you, seeing my name pop up on your screen and you ignoring it. or i would imagine you rolling your eyes at the sight of my name. 

i can't meet you because i want you to hold my hand, and guide me through crowded areas. i want you to hug me out of nowhere and whisper "i love you" to me. i want you to kiss me when we're going up escalators. i want you to kiss my forehead and say "text me when you're home" when you send me off. 

i could imagine myself feeling disappointed because i've raised my hopes too high. 

i don't want you to think that i don't make time for you or that i don't want to text you. 

i'm just an insecure, hopeless girl with too big of an imagination. 

I'm terrible, I'm sorry

what if i told you i was done. 

that i was done lying to you.

that i was done bottling up my true feelings.

that i was done with saying things i don't mean, and that i was done feeling the guilt that's eating me up which i was hiding from you.

on some days, i needed you for my own selfish reasons and on some days, i threw you aside because i didn't need you. 

yet you didn't care about the way i treated you but i knew how you feel. 

hurt, upset.

but you hid it, you didn't tell me, because you love me. 

you remind me of how much you love me, how much you don't wish i'd leave you, how much happiness i bring you, every single fucking day.

you feel insecure everyday, every night. 

and i'm expected to guarantee you that i'll stay by your side forever.

but i'm sorry i lied to you about that because truth to be told, i can't give you that kind of guarantee. 

i know how much you trust me and how much you believe in me. 

i'm sorry i don't deserve any of it. 

i'm sorry for everything.

i'm terrible.

My Hair Story

Back in 2015, I dyed half my hair pink. My hair literally looked like a pink broom. It was spoilt, damaged and extremely dry. This made me afraid to dye my hair again.
In November 2016, I wanted to attempt a more subtle and safe colour, I went for a copper-orangy colour.

This was only made possible by bleaching my hair thrice and dyeing it once. My hair turned out to still be surprisely healthy and soft.

However, it soon faded to blonde.

Finding it too boring, I decided to spice up the ends.

I dyed what my stylist called a "Harley Quinn" style, which was obtained by alternating layers of blue and pink dye.

This, however only lasted for a short while as the dyes weren't quite strong to begin with.

I then fell in love with the pink and missed having pink hair. So I just went straight for it, dyeing half of it pink again. Only this time, it was blonde and pink instead of black and pink.

After awhile, My roots started to grow out and the pink started to fade. All in all, it started to look weird so I went for the most daring I've ever done.

I chopped off the ends and dyed my entire head pink, which at first looked horrible, almost like a wig. But after a few washes and practices on styling it, I soon grew fond of it.

However, even though my hair was still in a pretty good condition despite all the damage, it was still dry and damaged. So, just when I thought I was finally accustomed to the bright pink, I had to go back to the salon for a toner treatment which would guarantee a colour change.

And it turned out to be the colour I didn't want most, purple. Even though the picture isn't clear enough. When seen in real life, there were still streaks of pink and additional grey and silver, which I turned out liking.

But... it soon faded back to the pink. Wait, it doesn't stop there. My roots grew out, my ends faded to a greyish-white colour, plus there were streaks of purple and silver. So, everything combined, looked straight out gross. I had to do something.

I went for an ash grey colour with pink ends.

Now, everything above was just adding colour and touching up. There were no need for extra bleaching to wash off the previous colour.  However, for this colour, I had to bleach it twice to add the new colour. But, my pink could not be bleached off even after the second time and my hair was far too damaged and weak for a third bleaching. So, given no choice, ash grey was just applied. Which resulted in a greyish-silvery colour with a purple undertone. And yes you guessed it, I'm in love.

Thus, when people asks me what colour this is, I have absolutely no idea what to say.

Why I like dyeing my hair so much is because I like seeing how the difference of hair colour manages to change a person's image and style. If anyone has doubts or procrastinations about dyeing your hair, my advice is go for it. You only live once, if not now, then when?

But please, do take good care of your hair. Because truth to be told, currently, my hair isn't capable of having any new colours for the next few months. oops

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Sometimes

Sometimes, I still think about you.
It's when I read depressing notes on the internet, I think of you.
It's when I walk home alone, I think of you.
And when I look out my window at 3am, I think of you.
Don't get me wrong, I don't miss you, I don't still love you.
But what can I do when you're my first real heartbreak.
It's the way your smile, your laugh, your actions that'll just out of the blue, resurface into my mind.
You said that you weren't capable of finding someone new to love again, you said you didn't want to. You still did.
You're a liar.
You said that you'll still love me after everything ends, you said that you'll still protect me.
You're a liar.
Now I spend nights looking at how in love you are with your new person, telling the world how shes's the one and how happy she makes you.
If only, I could go back in time, I would have stopped myself from saying, "Yes, I'll be your girlfriend."
When all my friends said, "Go for it, what could go wrong."
Fast forwarded a year, it's "I'm sorry" that they say now.
Is it weird that i remember more bad memories than the good?
I can still clearly remember all your toxic words.

However, there was still one sentence that never failed to calm me down, to make me smile. And how I wish I could hear you say it to me one last time, before everything went away.
"It's okay, you're okay, everything's going to be alright."

My 3am thoughts

It's often that we see the ones smiling the brightest who are the most depressed.

The ones who go around smiling, laughing and jumping around, like they're so carefree, they're also the ones sitting alone at 3am, smoking and crying.

We make it seem like our minds are filled with colours and rainbows, but in actual fact, its dull and grey, with depressing and suicidal thoughts.

"You're so fun, You have so much freedom, I wish I were you." Do you, really?

Everything you see, is exactly what I want to show.
Like an iceberg, or possibly the one that sank The Titanic. Harmless, small and vulnerable on the surface, but underneath? Its this massive block of ice that killed hundreds.

Or much like a storybook, the cover is whats made to show. But people won't know the context until they finish reading it.

They often say, don't judge a book by its cover, but what if I only want people to look at the cover.

"It's okay to be vulnerable, it's okay to cry." They say.
But what if I don't want to? Is that okay?

What if I only want to let my walls down infront of someone who has the courage to tell me that everything will be fine.

Everyone has their own story. And this is mine.

I need that someone to be strong enough to open my book, read till the very end and continue onto the next book in my series.

I want to find my scubadiver who will dive into the sea to look at my iceberg entirely before crashing into it.

But what if that person doesn't exist?
Or possibly, I have already lost him?