the tears don't lie.
written: 10:33 p.m. on Tuesday, Sept. 13, 2005

I feel terrible and I'm hurting and I wish I were dead.

I never knew a person's pure omission could hurt me so much; could affect me so much; and could make me cry. I'm flabbergasted and not comprehending and I wish I'd said more, that he'd said more, and simultaneously I wish I'd shoved him a note and walked off, hello and goodbye, so that he'd know why it hurts all the time, why I spend some nights crying myself to sleep, why his oblivion - gasp - actually affects me.

I wish I'd never met him I wish I'd never met him I wish I'd never met him. I gave away so much of myself that I don't recognise these words, the person that is writing these words, take me back a year and I'd laugh at the proposition that this would be happening to me. I was never supposed to be tainted, to let go until I'm hanging precariously on the edge of a cliff, this is not me but it is me for if it isn't me then who is this? Stop denying it, stop trying to make yourself feel better, just admit it: You're stupid end of story you're crying because you're not wanted.

God how fucking pathetic.

What hurts the most is that you didn't even want to try, that all you had to offer me is "I'm not ready". And you know what makes me want to fucking laugh? I don't even hold it against you, I understand where you're coming from, but it doesn't make this any better. It doesn't make me feel better. You can tell me more half-truths, "It's not you; it's me" but it's obvious anyway that it is me, that I'm not good enough to make you want to hang on. For if you wanted this bad enough you would've tried to find a way around your own issues; but you didn't. You took the easy way out and in the process callously ripped out the heart, and just when I finally accepted that the heart truly existed.

The first time round it was bad. I cried all the way from Tiong Bahru MRT Station to the Esplanade, didn't give a shit that people were staring because the pain of hurting the first boyfriend was unbearable, nevermind that I was the one who broke up with him. But then, I got over it eventually, a couple of weeks later and it was like nothing ever happened.

The second time round it healed even faster. I cried, of course; girls always cry because they're stupid and weak. I moped for a few days and proceeded to freeze my heart against him, for absolutely no rhyme and reason and it's been two years since and I still don't understand why I cut him off the way I did. But the crux of what I'm saying is, all it took was a few days for me to get over it. A few days, a couple of weeks, and then the hurt was gone.

But this time round I'm one of the guys I broke up with. And when you're in such a situation you'd like to think that the other person is hurting as much as you too, but you know deep inside that the other party doesn't care about it half as much as you do. He'd be okay in a few days while I'd be moping and wallowing and crying and feeling sorry for myself and wishing I were dead and bitter and angry and, just, simply, sad.

He said so himself, anyway. Not that I didn't already gather it for myself.

It's hurting so much that the world seems to have collapse along with civilisation and life as I know it and I'm the only person left, dazed and confused, numb and half-disbeliefing.

I just wanted to get out of there. When it was so clear that he wasn't going to convince me not to walk. If he'd given me one good reason I would've stuck around. I wasn't even hoping for grand gestures, just small ones to let me know that he thought of me, that I meant something to him.

And after that talk two weeks ago at Mel's condo I wasn't even expecting anymore. It would've been wholly unreasonable for me to place undue expectations on him; and yet, despite knowing his position and my own, I stupidly hoped anyway. A phone call, him asking if I wanted to meet, an SMS that didn't take five hours to respond to.

I can't believe this is happening to me. This was never supposed to happen to me. I went into it fearing that I'd hurt him and look where I eventually ended up.

I don't know whether to laugh or to cry.

He said, "We've been friends for so long."

I'm sorry, I never saw you as a friend, not after everything that happened. If we'd left it at where we were post-JJC relief teaching then yes, that would've made more sense; but after July 4 and War of the Worlds and Clarke Quay on Saturday and that 2-hour long confessional phone conversation and everything that came after how can you still say that we were "friends"?

Just tell me something: What is wrong with me? Am I not pretty enough, not smart enough, not sporty enough, not funny enough, too neurotic, too insecure, too needy?

I hate how my dad was right about him all along. I hate it when my parents get it right and I'm the fool thinking that I know what I'm doing and what I'm getting myself into.

Above all else, I hate how I still wish that he'd change his mind and tell me that he wants me.

**

My entries are going to get rather repetitive for the next few days, and coherence is likely to be completely non-existent.

In other news.

Mrs. Chua (Clarence's mom) told me that Jurong Junior made me this year's valedictorian.

Huh. Isn't that the funniest thing you've ever heard?

Unfortunately whatever joy I would've derived out of this under any other circumstances - and I would've derived plenty of joy out of it considering it was precisely what I wanted last year - is usurped by the hurt/pain that seems to consume me right now.

**

Thanks to Ruishan and Agatha for the MSN chats; they cheered me up. Even if it was only for a while, it was for a while and that's what matters.

Thanks, major thanks, to Mel for putting up with me despite having a Lit test tomorrow. If you do badly for it (I'm sure you'll do well) I'll give you a treat at any restaurant of your choice. And I'd do anything you ask of me. I love you.

**

You're there and I'm here and let's just leave it at that. I don't want to talk to you or to contact you because you're the first person to ever hurt me this way and so any reminders of you right now will do nothing but drive me closer and closer to the edge of my opened window.

Maybe you should be proud for being the first person (ever) to "break my heart". I don't know, if I were you I'd probably take some perverse pride in that.

I know you didn't understand why I said that walking away entails no contact for a few months until I think that I could maybe exchange a couple of SMSes with you again. So maybe after reading these badly-written entries (assuming you give enough of a shit to read them, which may be wishful thinking on my part) you'd finally begin to get it.

**

Right now all I want is a hot Asian foreigner who doesn't speak English and doesn't speak Chinese, I don't want to know anything about you, I don't want you to know anything about me. I just want you to like me.

before sunrise // before sunset

Previously:
- - Tuesday, Aug. 29, 2017
I'm moving. - Sunday, Jul. 11, 2010
In all honesty - Tuesday, Jul. 06, 2010
What I want for my birthday... - Sunday, Jul. 04, 2010
On Roger's behalf. - Friday, Jul. 02, 2010