119: last re-sort

#‎TheDirtyThirty‬ ‪#‎Day5‬

i never got into the world of witchcraft and wizardry.

i always have been, however,
indescribably and irresistibly interested in adaptations
of low fantasy based on real-life situations, and
real live actors utilising ideas from fiction.

to be somewhat more specific,
i was amused to find
that i was red and gold the other year
then black and yellow the other day.

it's hard to take in
when and why and how
i changed
from preppy-and-proud teacher’s pet,
to last-choice cherub in gym class;
from king of the pridelands
to a downgraded bear.

but when i tried
to dig up dirt
on the band of badgers,
i unearthed nothing.

that’s when i realised

that being fair
is better than being right,

that being tiny
does not mean we are powerless,

that being unpopular
never did make us insignificant,

and,
perhaps most importantly,
that this may be a sign

that i spend way too much time
on these damn personality tests.

~ 2016-04-05 4.45pm

118: violetion

thick red streams gushing from the lifepump in my hand but you can't see it

via twitter

117: cur(se)few

TW

i wouldn't be stupid enough to be out past midnight by myself
-- why ask for trouble?
but when i have to,
every gaze from a passerby
every puff of smoke from somewhere close by
every catcall
every chuckle
every shadow
every footstep
every flickering light
every creaking sound
every freaking thing
is amplified like i'm walking through a dark, icy cave.

the temperature doesn't drop,
but i subconsciously wrap myself
with my arms and with my prayers
as i try to make sure i haven't lost my voice
-- in case i had to scream
and i glance down to see that no shoelace is untied
-- in case i had to run
and with a cellphone in one hand
and whatever i could get in the other,
i pick up pace at every corner
i lock the door as soon as i'm inside,
and with blood raging through my veins in anger
and my heart pounding so hard out of fear
it pains me to realise
why i don't go out past midnight,
and why
for those who don't have a choice but to endure this
every. single. damn. day,
they're told
that they're asking for it.

2017

---


i wouldn't be stupid enough to be out past midnight by myself
-- why ask for trouble?
but when i have to,
every gaze from a passerby
every puff of smoke from somewhere close by
every catcall
every chuckle
every shadow
every footstep
every flickering light
every creaking sound
every freaking thing
is amplified like i'm walking through a dark, icy cave.

the temperature doesn't drop,
but i subconsciously wrap myself
with my arms and with my prayers
as i try to make sure i haven't lost my voice
-- in case i had to scream
and i glance down to see no shoelace is untied
-- in case i had to run
and with a cellphone in one hand
and something lethal in the other,
i pick up pace at every corner
i lock the door as soon as i'm inside,
and with blood raging through my veins out of anger
and my heart pounding so hard out of fear
it pains me to realise
why i don't go out past midnight,
and why
for those who don't have a choice but to endure this
every. single. damn. day,
society tells them
that they're asking for it.

---

- Izzaty | #YesAllWomen | 29/5/2014 | 11.30am

116: (b)leaky heart

why, leaky bleak heart
overbrimmed with unspoken
words, do(es) i(t) matter?

💜💜💜115: uncyclereduceabuse

The thing about abusive relationships is this:
you don't always end up with scars.

At least, not ones where you are left
beatenupbloody
brokenboned
blackandblue.

He had a way with words.
He was pleasant,
thoughtful,
sweet.

He said I was special.

It started off so well --
calltxtwhatsappskype
timeschedulesdistance
marriagedreamshomes;

He said I was special.

But then special
turned salient.

The grim atmosphere.

The undercurrents.

The addictions.

The dark side.

His past.

The present.
Our future.

What used to make my heart skip a beat
Made me forget how to breathe;
What used to give me butterflies
Gave me sweaty palms and goosebumps.

"If I just did a better job at making him happy, he would be nice again"

The mission to please became an obsession.

And I turned into an addict in denial

just like him.

At one point, I jokeconsoleremind myself,

"Hey, it could be worse.
At least he doesn't hit you."

This made me sober.

I've heard the stories,
I've talked to the women,
I've seen the horrors.

I had to leave.
And I felt free.

I wish everyone else in the same situation has the chanceabilityprivillege
to do the same.

---




The thing about abusive relationships is this:
You don't always end up with scars.

Not beatenupbloody blackandblue brokenbones ones, at least.

For me, it was a classic case of, "I thought only other people go through this."
simply because
"I should have been smarter than to let it happen to myself'"

Now, I'm not sure if it's necessarily about smartness.

Maybe it's smartness intertwined with or messed up when emotions come into the equation. 

Because looking back, it wasn't really obvious when I started feeling trapped.

He had a way with words.
He was pleasant, thoughtful, sweet.

He let me know how much he needed me.

He said I was different.

I'm special.

I lapped it all up.

I guess in retrospect
I should've known better.

But it started off so well --
we did the whole calltxtwhatsappskype
went out some despite timeschedulesdistance
we even had talks of marriagedreamshomes;

Things were pretty good
at first.

It was not long
before other things crept in.

The slow, but sure, 180 turn.

The grim atmosphere.

The undercurrents.

The addictions.

The dark side.

Then, more things became salient.

His past.

The present.
Our future.

But i had to be kindacceptingunderstanding, i kept telling myself.
And so i kept readjusting my bearings to where he was. To what he was.

It took me a while to realise what this actually meant:

that I was adapting myself to him.

I can't be the way I am.

Because I'm not good enough.

But I still had to make him happy.
By hook or by crook, even if it meant I had to be someone else.

And so my feelings, thoughts, and actions started to be (sub)consciously dictated by
how he would feel ifs, 

what he would do ifs, 

what he would say ifs...

And the little things he did that used to give me butterflies started to give me goosebumps...
And the lively calls slowly became more and more one-sided...
And the jokes turned into accusations or insults.

But he wasn't always like this.
He wasn't.
Honest.

And this was the fuel that kept me going.

Because I'm different from all the other girls who left him, you see.

I'm special.

And there's always that voice at the back of my head:
"If I just did a better job at making him happy, he would be nice again"

The mission to please became an obsession.

I didn't realise that it was an impossible one.
And so I turned into an addict in denial

just like him.

It was only when I began to jokeconsoleremind myself,

"Hey, it could be worse.
At least he doesn't hit you."
... that I realised the gravity of this situation.

I've heard the stories,
I've talked to the women,
I've seen the horrors.

I had to leave.

It wasn't easy.

The lashback was painful
The pleas were guilttripping
The callsmessages had to be blocked
but I managed to escape what has been caging me.

And I felt free.

I wish everyone else in the same situation has the chanceabilityprivillege
to do the same.

114: word of the day

listen up, class!

the word of the day
is
disappointment.

but no,
this is not something i'll teach you --
though it is something you will eventually learn --
because, after all,
we are but hopes and dreams
manifested
in otherwise lifeless vessels with muscles and

yes,
this is something i'll teach you:
that wants lead to confusion
from unpredicted actions
and expectations leads to reactions
that may be sanctions
or a fraction of deflection
from tension

you get an A
in this class
if you get what i say

you get a huh
in your head
if you get what i mean

---

listen up, class!

the word of the day
is
disappointment.

but no,
this is not something for you to learn --
though it is something you will, eventually --
because, after all,
all we are are hopes and dreams
manifested
in otherwise lifeless bodies
with vessels and muscles and .

no,
this is something i have learnt:
that wants lead to confusion
and expectations leads to reactions
from unexpected actions
that may be sanctions
or a fraction
of tension

you get an A
in this class
if you get what i say

you get a huh
in your head
if you get what i mean

113: scald

of numbers one to ten:
of indifference and going crazy
of in denial and feeling guilty,

on the scale
of all the things through which i've been living to everything i'm capable of being,
of the truths i've been believing to what i'm trying to be achieving,

on the scale
of greatness and sanity
of good health and charity
of godliness and clarity,

i think i finally understand
where i stand.

because on the scale
of underwhelming limits and limiting overgeneralisation,
of forms zero to infinity,
of anorexic to obesity,
i worry
to a senseless degree
of what i am
on scalea

112: underpressure

 Pour Stir Taste Sprinkle Stir Taste Stop Press Breathe It'll get better Control Close
 Steam Spill Open Release Stop Stir Sprinkle Taste Pour Sprinkle Stir Close
 Brew Spill Open Spill Stop Taste Brew Boil Spill Breathe Close
 Brew Boil Spill Sigh Open Stir Close
 Open Spill Taste Close
 Open Taste Press
 Stop
 Stop
 Stop
 It doesn't
 Close

111: time seals all wounds

i cut myself again today
but,
y'know,
it wasn't on purpose.

yes, i suppose did cut myself again today and
no, i did not do it on purpose -- that's preposterous!

i think it must've been
the fumbling with
the sharp knife
 -- too big
my soapy hands
 -- too clumsy
the soft fruit
 -- too slippery
my scattered mind
 -- too absent.

i guess you could say it was just
"an accident waiting to happen"
as i've been informed time and time again;
almost inevitable
far from unpredictable
considering
my track record
of kissing away wounds from scars
or concealing scars from wounds
(it's always a bit of a
blur/stretch/wonder
which comes first)

but really, it's nothing to shout about.
because even though it stings
the bleeding will stop.

it'll heal.
it will.
i always does.
at least on the outside.

so,
y'know,
relax.