how do you resolve an identity crisis?
written: 12:46 a.m. on Friday, Oct. 14, 2005

I don't know to say this. I'm thinking, Shit I'd have to skip LAWR lecture on the 24th of October. And also, Oh fucking hell I wish I hadn't sent that application.

I never mentioned this here but I applied to Cambridge English and at 11-something p.m. on Thursday, October 13, I checked my mail and received an email from them telling me my interview and written test dates.

And I'm freaking out because right now I just want to get far far far away from Law and I don't want to go for the interview and I don't want to take the test and I don't want any of it because I know I'll screw it up and I don't want to face up to that, I'd rather not know but hell I thought I'd rather know and SELF YOU ARE FUCKING STUPID, and oh my god they mentioned practical criticism and you know what I've completely forgotten how to read a Literature text and the fact that I can forget something like that shows even more that I am a fraud and nothing else, repeat like a mantra, oh my mantra from JC and secondary school!

I mentioned Musashi in my personal statement. Shit I have to go pick up that book and zip through it in like, less than two weeks?! Do you know how thick it is? It is as thick as my Longman dictionary! And I really don't know anything about Literature at all, I just pretend to know, I'm a Jack when it comes to Literature and hell definitely not a Master, and I'm like, I can't take the test, I can't speak proper English, I'm gonna go in there, Raffles Junior College, with people who're already bound for it because Cambridge is a part of their DNA and I'd be flustered and a blubbering fool and I'd be spewing white foam around the mouth and I'd drop dead even before I enter the test/interview room whatever oh my god you know what I just wanna die right now.

I want to go and I don't want to go, and Probability is against me, as is Natural Ability, everything that helps a person get into a fucking Ivy League college. Like hello. I am not Ivy League material, I've never been Ivy League material, I wasted my mom's money making that stupid application and now I sure as hell regret it.

I don't know anything. I'm bloody stupid. I'm insecure and untalented and unconfident (and that's not even a word) and I stutter and I have bad posture and I can't pronounce "wagon" and "salmon" and even as I say those two words in my head I'm saying them wrong and I'm superficial and shallow and I'm a bimbo I lack a brain I don't have a brain I rip off better writers because I can't write I don't even read Shakespeare let alone anything written before Shakespeare and I can keep on going about how I'm interested but the fact is that two pages of 14th century literature will probably put me to sleep and it may even be worse than reading Contract law cases can you believe it.

I'm going to stop rambling now.

**

I have all these emotional excess baggage and the only thing I want to do is to dump them all. Chuck everything into a Cold Storage plastic bag and flush it down the rubbish chute. I'm not interested in neurotic pseudo-emotions, petty bitchiness and a gross lack of magnanimity, or rather, a complete absence of it. I still feel hateful and slighted and Nostalgia for the days that are gone creeps like a perpetually lengthening shadow, the way one's shadow elongates as the sun sets.

I miss JC so much, everything about it, nothing about it, just the person I was, my obdurate belief in nothing but my own strength, that cocky confidence, how I didn't need people and merely wanted them. I'm deracinated and lost and drowning and I don't know what the problem is.

I'm so tired of trying to deal and trying to stay afloat. I'm going to Jurong Junior's drama fest even though I don't care much for school productions, because what I really wanted was an excuse to go back to that place, even if it's going to be a mere couple of hours.

I never thought it would happen to me, the way you never thought you'd cry so easily nowadays, the same way you'd never once conceive of the possibility that you'd be marching to the drum of Defeat, also the way in which you'd never have guessed that things would degenerate to the state that they're in right now. It's everything, and it's nothing, and it's so pretentious and insignificant and I know how everything is diminished and obliterated in the grander scheme of things but god why do you subscribe to such a defeatist and pessimistic notion? And I can even pinpoint the exact moment in which I ceased to be the person I was last year and became...this. A mere shadow of who I was and that's a major understatement. And it can only get worse, for when you realise that your seeming-convictions and rock-solid character traits were actually extremely malleable variables instead your whole fucking existence gets thrown into confusion, and you don't even know who you are anymore, and you see nothing but flaws and faults and you're convinced that that's what others see as well, and you're so tired of being alone, of dragging your emotional baggage all by yourself everywhere you go, your arms are tired and your feet are blistered but there's simply no one around to take the load off for you.

At times like these I wish that Back to the Future were real, or that Einstein had done more with his theory of relativity. I don't remember the last time I seriously believed that I may just sink into real Depression (and no, teenage angst aged 14 does not count).

And no, you don't fucking make a mess when you're in someone's house and just leave without cleaning up. Not only is that rude to the furthest extreme, it's insensitive, it's so typical, what the hell does it take for you to buy a fucking mop and clean up the mess you made on the goddamn carpet? It's not just the physical material possessions I'm bitching about; it's the principle of things, how you don't whirl into someone else's dwelling, make a complete and utter mess, and nonchalantly saunter out of the front fucking door as if nothing had happened. Fuck you for thinking you can get away with that, fuck me for letting you get away with that, and fuck me twice as hard for still giving a shit in the most remote sense. But hell my carpet has been irrevocably stained and it's all your fault for not buying thinner or whatever to remove the spilt nailpolish, one whole fucking bottle's worth, and from Red Earth for crying out loud. Do you know how much Red Earth nailpolish costs? More than you're willing to fork out, that's how much.

I need good books I need beautiful words I don't want to read fucking SLS and I don't fucking want to go to school. God I sound like an 8-year-old with an extremely dirty vocabulary.

I was right about every single damn thing.

Joy to 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