Christmas this year wasn’t spent on what would’ve become a tradition: walking down Orchard alone and sitting occasionally to write about things that made me nervous and things that could’ve been. Instead, it was spent at home watching videos with my brother and aunt and laughing temporary laughs. My Santa hat, stitched from 2 smaller ones in order to fit my huge head, is lying about abandoned.
My stars were lucky to grant me a near full month of offs and leaves to end my year wisely with. I spent most of them playing games and buying games and thinking that I’ve been wasting myself away with games.
I’d been yearning to tell others about what happened in Thailand and Batam (maybe the posts will be up some day), especially the darkest hours.
In Thailand, having my preconceived ideas of “sin” performed (nothing sexual, I assure you) right before my eyes by those I respected the most, and having my self-esteem crumble to dust from a few playful insults.
In Batam, the desperation to believe that the trip wasn’t as bad as I thought even though it drove me to silence and that one night when I sat, alone on a pier in God Knows Where, hoping that things would get better if I just sat it out… “Sinning”, as I would say.
I’ve become way too cynical about life once again, and it’s really not good for me. My secret Santa got me a sketchbook and pencils, whilst I got mine a cookbook, which only just perpetuates the fact. I’m like a shitty car driven by a shitty driver; either stalling or sputtering or stopping or fuming when I encounter anything at all (coupled with the fact that I’ve yet to take my BTT too)
The last three paragraphs may sound weird, because they’re for an old friend to read. And old friend, please ask me what’s going on, because I really want to tell you about it.
Regular readers, the Thailand post will probably come up once I stop staying up till 2 for no goddamn reason.
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