I hate myself.Â…

I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. 

 

 

There are so ma…

There are so many things I can’t look at, or even try to think about, or hear about. Without all my memories flooding back… I can barely function now as there are so many taboo subjects.

I can’t look at dogs, or animals. I can’t hear the word or even have anything to do with soccer, computers, iPhones, Ralph Lauren, cuff links, for gods’ sake I can’t even look at Garnier products. I can’t even go to Macquarie centre, Hornsby… I can’t eat japanese curry, I can’t eat gyoza, shanghai food, I can’t go to Chatswood Chase, I can’t go near an oval/park, I can’t bear it when i see the motion of someone shrugging, Subaru cars.
Everywhere I turn, everywhere i look, there are traces everywhere. I’m told I can’t be friends, till I move on. Only then, can we even ‘try’, which means that he doesn’t even want to know i’m still around.

As I am no longer of any worth, or any value to anybody.
I guess the only moving on means i have to leave this existence.

If you are my friends, let me go. Give me the courage to make my move to die, because i’m too chicken to even do it.

20th Century

I spent three nights from 10pm-1am, watching a trilogy on HK TV, called “20th Century Boys”. A supremely interesting trilogy done by the Japanese, with a cast of over 300 people.

I found it interesting how one man, besotted by the events of his youth, set motion to a chain of events  in order to make true a childhood story where his one and only friend wrote as a game. Through the course of over 45 years, this one man rises to become the Messiah to the world (through some parlour tricks), not through enlightenment, but through his weight of worthlessness and self-hatred.  The movie features a time travel simulator taking the protagonist back into the past, and reveals the Messiah in high school, asking himself as he stands over the edge of the school building roof, looking over the empty world, whether the world/humanity needs him or not. Ironically, the many years of bloodstained history later, from a desolate and lonely apartment, he stands over the world as the new Messiah and saw that there was nothing left for the  humanity he created.

This character is the embodiment of hopelessness, and shows how our despair can fuel one man into changing the world. His character reflects a deep dark part in all of us, a part of us where we often turn to  in order to question and reflect on our own self worth and what negative impact we could potentially have on others.  It’s a place where people warn you not to go, because of the negative impact it will have on you and on others. I perceive it as a comfortable trap, nestling you with addictive memories, allowing you to bathe in them and let them fill you with intentions that are  ” so innocently” dark and evil.
Ultimately, despite all warning from our friends, all of us end up going there when we feel most insecure. Like the womb, it deprives you of your senses and detaches you (metaphorically, but to a certain degree, also physically and mentally), nestles you in only what sustains you, and it allows you to reach into your core and pull out those threads of darkness and weave it to your needs. Once we are done, we step out from this dark place, but as a toll, we always leave some “innocent/pure” part of ourselves behind for our dark part to feed upon and transform into its own. Whether this is fundamentally a form of equilibrium which allows our mind to function “normally” is another philosophical and metaphorical monologue. But I find the reflection of our inner turmoils is what ultimately brings us to our order.

Ordo ab chao

That time

It’s just me, my respiratory infection, the cold, the foreign country, and my emo songs to keep me company this Christmas. My sister is sick, my mother is off gambling and my dad is by himself in Sydney.

 My one Christmas I felt the most love ever, was with him. It was the year where my entire family was also separated, but it was a simple loving Xmas where I believed that all wishes could be achieved. I understood what it was all about… that feeling is now gone. Taken away again. I’m left with nothing but feeble memories, words and strong emotions. 

I hope your Christmas is something a little better. 

time fortune

I now have all the time in the world to think… which is the one thing I should not be doing. 

Even as a personal pack mule and entertainment for my family in Hong Kong, I can’t help but think, reflect and think again, why people say I can’t change, why I can’t be someone who is loved. I keep wondering to myself, all the times where I lost my temper, why couldn’t I be better?

My mother is right, I have a personality that nobody will like. I always wished that she was wrong, but with what has happened, it is very very evident, that I am destined to be alone forever.
It is a life i have always known, and have always quietly feared even from a young age. The day that I saw that anime when I was 9, something inside me came to the realisation, that I would always be alone. As a child growing up, the world was my imagination, it was mine alone, and with that I was invincible. It didn’t matter if i was lonely, i couldn’t feel it for I had never known what it was like to share my world with someone else. 
I got my taste of sharing, and I don’t know whether it was a mistake or not. Because it has ultimately led to this blog. My world, my views based on what I had experienced, my persona built upon the world which I had lived in all this time, to have the pleasure of sharing it with someone else, it was what gave my hollow world a filling. Unfortunately, this same world of mine, is my own demise, it is a world that people are not able to accept, unable to share and help change. It is a world too small, yet too big at the same time, what is comforting in my world is equivalent to that of Escher’s “Convex and Concave” artwork. 

It is this day and age, that I won’t have that special someone, who will have the willpower to even bother to help me out of that world. 

people want a life they can’t have

Whenever i’m depressed, people often guilt trip me so that I am forced to pretend to feel “better”. It always goes along the lines of them telling me how lucky I am. When I was happier, yes, I felt like the luckiest pesron on the planet. It also made me feel lucky when he told me that he felt lucky and happy to be with me too. Now it makes me wonder, if all that was told to me about feeling happy with me was all  lie. Now that i am alone again, more damaged than how i started out as, I wonder if I am so “lucky” that people can’t bear to be with me.

Nobody likes a person who is lucky afterall… everybody likes a person with a sad story, so they can reach out to them, make them feel loved. For all those who live a life like mine, they don’t deserve the love. They don’t deserve to be with anybody, for people like me, we are so “lucky”, that people don’t want to be near us.

I am told so often, that I have lived a very lucky life. I was not born into starvation, into war, I have all my limbs intact, I have a “smart” mind, I have both parents, I had great education, I got myself a cushy job, many people would want to swap with lives with me in an instant. This same lucky life, is the type of life where I believe people grow to despise, it’s the type of life, where I should not be allowed to have what I love. Because if i had what i wanted, people would just tell me that i am ungrateful, that I should rot in hell because I do not know what suffering is.

People only love people who have had crappier lives, so that they can connect and reach out to them, make them feel loved. For those, with lives like mine, do not deserve the love from others, afterall, my life is just too lucky compared to some others. 

It makes me wonder, if I had a shittier life, would he have loved me more? 

If i were like so and so, had a family of brothers whom I had to support financially, otherwise suffer the wrath of my parents, live in a country by myself with little to no knowledge of the language, but at the same time, come out a survivor, be my own flipping hero to my own flipping life by being smart and getting a highly paid job that everybody knows of, and needs in their company.

If I were like so and so, who had a family who hated me, and I was smart enough to leave the family and make a life for myself, get a house by the age of 23, and have a great job which would easily support myself. Then would I get the love I wish I deserved?

The answer is no.

What also needs to be in the equation is a personality of an angel. To be the perfect being where I could not be annoying, even if i tried. That everything that came out of my mouth was sweet soothing music that would’ve made him feel like everything was okay again. To be like her, where I was not to be selfish, but to be completely selfless, and sacrifice my very being for the happiness of the others.

Being aware of my “lucky” life which people had drilled into me all my life, I have grown to despise myself, and all I have ever wanted, was to change myself so that I could be loved. I learned to love myself and at the same time I sacrificed what i could, stood there by his side when he was ill, injured. Gave up everything I had to show what I could do. But alas, the “lucky” life I live, the personality i have is still no match for her, because in the end, I am me. Someone who is not deserving of him. Because ironically, in the end, I was not independent enough like her, to know what it is like. And in the end, it was because SHE was not given the fair chance.

And so now, i’m back to square one, more damaged, uglier, older. Even less deserving of anything I want in life, no matter how hard i try, like how i did to try to make my life a little better all this time, i will never be allowed to have that love I had..

is life but a thread

Do we stay alive for the sake of being hopeful?

Or do we stay alive for the sake of what he said… “to leave a legacy”? Nevermind the details of what emotions you have for the offspring, if you are able to “leave” something of you behind, then shouldn’t you just leave an egg, or a donation of sperm at a bank? A part of your DNA… or like that of Dollhouse, your memories extracted? Afterall, are you nought but a bunch of memories?

In the city of mass consumerism, I was walking through the shopping mall on the top floor… and came to the side.. to the overhang. AFter staring out into the space, I wondered, how many of these Hong Kong people have consiered throwing themselves off this balcony… like how i want to right now? Most of them would probably tell me I’m stupid, there are hundreds of buildings that tower over this little shopping mall… plus, I’d probably survive that fall of a measly 6 storeys.

Maybe I should’ve been nasty and opened up that hatch to the plane door afterall…
Fortunately for my friends and family, I’m to much of a coward to take that step. Unfortunately for me, because of my cowardice, I have to live with it. 
In this day and age, people are forcefully thrust into the world of responsibility at a younger age. We have to constantly think about others before we think about ourselves, we’re constantly shown how much of a problem we are, how much money we cost to be kept clothed, fed, alive….and now, we’re also having to think about what happens if we decide to commit suicide, how much harm it will cause others for the one taboo act you do. The mess THEY have to clean up, the depression which you have now so selfishly spread to someone else because YOU can’t handle it.
They constantly tell you that being suicidal, depressed and feeling negative is not only bad for yourself, but it’s ultimately having a detrimental effect on others around you. *insert a flow of verbal diarrhea about understanding that it’s bad and how you need help*
 Ultimately, it’s all about giving you a fat guilt trip to avoid harming the people around you. Nevermind what you feel and think, just because you’re feeling depressed and suicidal, it’s “bad” for “everyone else”. they always tell you how lucky you are. How you have friends, you have family, you have a roof over your head. And with all this fluffy padding underneath you, your fall should be so cushiony, that you have no right to feel any pain at all.
The guilt trip for me is so bad, it makes me constantly wish, that if I had been born to a shittier life, would people stop giving me lip about how I should be feeling?

This is why I believe selfharm is considered the best form of release, that is, for as long as nobody finds out. It causes no suffering to anybody but to the person harming themselves. It’s a pretty exciting game, if nobody finds out, then it’s all okay. Once someone knows, it’s a shit sandwich all over, game over.

 The act of selfharm is a bunch of fleeting feelings, short lived, but sometimes it’s the only thing that a person can feel amidst the dark void they’re living in. The unnaturalness of it all is what makes it feel so good. 
When you eat food, and then quietly excuse yourself to the bathroom, lock the door, that dreadful feeling of looking over the toilet bowl, the feeling of your food coming up through your throat, its painful, sour feeling as your oesophagus reverses itself and empties out your stomach. The process is awful, you know it’s damaging, but the feeling afterward, when you’re all watery eyed and trying to wash out the taste in your mouth, the feeling afterward is this odd peace. The odd peace which is so close to happiness. The feeling is, however, fleeting. But isn’t that what all depressed people strive for? That fleeting feeling that can only be achieved when they’ve done it for themselves? The Indians do it as a form of a yoga ritual in the morning, a cleansing…. so it wasn’t just bulimics trying to get the perfect figure.
 You cut yourself, the pain gives you that moment of being alive, a reminder that you are human. The wound is a beautiful symbolic gesture, the bloom of blood welling up to the surface, like a mountain opening up its secrets of spring water. The raw pain is followed by the dull throb, your body reassuring you that that it will heal. Once again, that odd peace that lasts for a short time. That odd peace you’ve created for yourself. The Malaysians have scourging ceremonies  annually just to achieve that feeling.

Of course, as I said before, once people find out that your masochist tendencies are physically harming your body, it becomes a shit sandwich. Numerous lectures about how ungrateful you are, how everybody else would feel, and how irresponsible you are, it all begins again. But then again, there are number of different forms of selfharm which would achieve the same effect, many of them can be subtle, a lot of them are easily hidden. There are just a few rules to the game, depending on how you play it. If you’re playing the game to feel something from yourself, then rule number one, is to never let someone know that you’re doing it. If you’re playing the game to drag everyone into it, then the rule is to make sure, that you make yourself as much of a mess as possible. But be smart about it.

Don’t feel for me

Don’t feel sorry for me, feel sorry for the person who loves me. Feel sorry for the family who has to deal with me. Feel sorry for the people who has to interact with me. If you insist on feeling something for me, hate me. Hate me to your very bones, because, as some of my old acquaintances have said, I deserve only that.

Looking at photos of myself,  I look annoying now, there is absolutely nothing, no life, no shape. My smiles crooked, forced and horrifyingly fuggly. No amount of makeup, photoshop and careful posing will fix it. There is no beauty. My face looks so annoying  and unsightly that I can’t even bear to see my own face as a display pic on facebook anymore. No wonder there is no love felt for me anymore, just the mere imagination of my pathetic face will make anybody want to leave me and run away as far as possible. I can’t even stand the sight of my own face. The only time i Iook in the mirrow now, is to chastise that stupid unhappy asian face that stares back at me. How ugly she is, how stupid and how useless she is for not even being able to make a person happy. That face, that body that stares at me through the mirror is so useless, all it’s good at doing is taking up space and using up precious air. It would probably be more useful as a corpse, to feed the fish or make the flowers and grass grow.

 I’m rotting now, just as you wished. Surely you are happy now? With your new lady, new life.

I’m back on my own, older, none the wiser, even uglier than when i first started out. Surely that will make you happy now, you no longer have my ever annoying presence to fill your house. No longer have to ever hear my annoying voice and ‘abnormal’ thoughts. You now have your peace and quiet to find your one and true “perfect”, weaker, smarter, more independent female version of yourself. A version of someone where you will never feel “annoyed” at.  

 I keep on vainly taking photos of my own face, maybe i’m still hoping to see that someday there will be a shot that will capture something that resembles life and beauty in me? 
I was told to look inward, so now that I am on my own, I have all the time in the world to look at myself. And no matter how deep I look, I only see how ugly my personality is…the depth of ugliness that this body holds is amazing. It really does fool some people.
My recurring throughts, rather than waiting for 5-10 years for my face to get ugly, I sometimes feel I should just get it over and done with, disfigure it on the outside to suit my personality within. If that is so, then I’ll no longer have to try and be beautiful to fool people into liking me, because i know my face will no longer look nice, no matter how hard i try. Hey, that’s a one up from dying right? At least i live with it.

I’ve been told that your chances are “getting slim” now as you are getting older. Then I apologise, for wasting away all your precious chances.

 

Don’t feel sor…

Don’t feel sorry for me, feel sorry for the person who loves me. Feel sorry for the family who has to deal with me. Feel sorry for the people who have to interact with me.

Looking at photos of myself,  I look annoying now, there is absolutely nothing, no life, no shape. My smiles crooked, forced and horrifyingly fuggly. No amount of makeup, photoshop and careful posing will fix it. There is no beauty. My face looks so annoying  and unsightly that I can’t even bear to see my own face as a display pic on facebook anymore. No wonder there is no love felt for me anymore, just the mere imagination of my pathetic face will make anybody want to leave me and run away as far as possible. I can’t even stand the sight of my own face. The only time i Iook in the mirrow now, is to chastise that stupid unhappy asian face that stares back at me. How ugly she is, how stupid and how useless she is for not even being able to make a person happy. That face, that body that stares at me through the mirror is so useless, all it’s good at doing is taking up space and using up precious air. It would probably be more useful as a corpse, to feed the fish or make the flowers and grass grow.

 I’m rotting now, just as you wished. Surely you are happy now? With your new lady, new life.

I’m back on my own, older, none the wiser, even uglier than when i first started out. Surely that will make you happy now, you no longer have my ever annoying presence to fill your house. No longer have to ever hear my annoying voice and ‘abnormal’ thoughts. You now have your peace and quiet to find your one and true “perfect”, weaker, smarter, more independent female version of yourself. A version of someone where you will never feel “annoyed” at.  

 I keep on vainly taking photos of my own face, maybe i’m still hoping to see that someday there will be a shot that will capture something that resembles life and beauty in me? 
I was told to look inward, so now that I am on my own, I have all the time in the world to look at myself. And no matter how deep I look, I only see how ugly my personality is…the depth of ugliness that this body holds is amazing. It really does fool some people.
My recurring throughts, rather than waiting for 5-10 years for my face to get ugly, I sometimes feel I should just get it over and done with, disfigure it on the outside to suit my personality within. If that is so, then I’ll no longer have to try and be beautiful to fool people into liking me, because i know my face will no longer look nice, no matter how hard i try.

I’ve been told that your chances are “getting slim” now as you are getting older. Then I apologise, for wasting away all your precious chances.

 

My dreams of ne…

My dreams of neverending spring and summer hath been vanquished. All was my own undoing.

If love is truly blind, then so be it. Bliss of ignorance is what allows man to sleep at night, allows him to appreciate the size of their insignificance in this universe, only to know that they are at least a world to someone else.

Now, with the everstretching space, there is nothing but time and the realisation of their own insignificance.

Winter has come. How long will it be this time?