To anon: Thanks for that, but I don't think I deserve it. Curious: Are you a student at Warwick?
I spent the whole day watching The OC and I find myself feeling the dumbest I've felt in quite a while. The lack of intellectual stimulation - any intellectual stimulation - is driving me crazy. My own laziness is driving me crazy. I need to do something. Anything. Just to snap out of it. Ever since I came back from Taipei my life has been one long, continuous blank. Writing has also become something I tell myself to do, just to keep up with it. I never knew a habit could be such a struggle too.
In a few weeks' time I'm going to get really depressed again, the same way I always do when July 14 looms around the corner. Birthdays are unfailing reminders of all that you don't have, the things you want that you can't get, the people in your life who don't care enough to stick around just for that one measley day. I always thought I had nothing to count on, but I realise that there is one thing in the world that I can trust: People always leave. And the saddest thing? Sometimes they don't even know it.
Of course, I tell myself I don't care but if I didn't why am I even writing this?
Maybe I hate myself deep down inside and I'm too dumb to notice. I don't know. My birthday is possibly the worst day in an entire year and from the looks of it, this year is going to blow all the previous years out of the water in terms of utter suckiness. I can already feel the void sinking in. It's all a big joke. Nothing more.
Human relationships? Don't matter at all. Friends and boyfriends and suitors and guys and faceless classmates and random acquaintances and best friends, meaningless labels attached to people to con ourselves into believing they matter. But you lose contact or you break up or you reject a person or you don't care and the truth is out. Nothing matters, not ultimately. And another uneventful birthday during which your friends so deftly demonstrate how little they care always comes along nicely to serve as a timely reminder.
Oh fuck this stupid self-pity fest.
I'm back at wishing I could sleep through it and that it'd be over, just like that, when I wake up. I can't bear the 24 hour-long emotional numbness, the show I put on for the family to get them off my back. If only they knew how painful it is to wake up on July 14 and go through the same old shit again; it's enough to make a person suicidal.
But hey, it's okay. I don't like talking about my problems anyway.
It never fails to amaze me how my life turned out nothing like how I thought it would. I should be in New York right now, working on the writing, dating ten million guys, possibly even having sex; instead, I'm stuck in Singapore, struggling to finish law school with some sort of a semi-loud bang, dating absolutely no one, and remaining a virgin until what looks like the day that I die. The more birthdays I have, the more I'm reminded just how un-lived my so-called life has been.
God, what am I even doing. I'm still living at home. I don't go out at night. I haven't kissed anyone ever since I broke up with the first boyfriend. I haven't liked anyone ever since I stopped liking the last guy (or should I say, man) I liked back in Jurong. The last sort of date I went on was with a guy I met online and he turned out to be...not remotely my type. By all accounts, I totally do not have a life.
I'm supposed to be twenty and I'm still holding out for an emotionally-tumultous relationship where tragedy strikes and it's up to me to save him. I'm regressing, I'm stuck in teenagehood, I can't move forward. I don't want to move forward, to leave all this behind, not when I haven't properly enjoyed it, milked it for all its worth. The pain and torture and all that jazz.
More than ever I wish I could move to Taipei now. I've always needed a saviour; how ironic it is that we're four hours apart.