I cried over a cup.

Okay, so first things first, I have been neglecting this blog for too long. #Guilty as Charged . So I’ll just go through a few big events that happened recently, that lead to me crying about a cup. And yes it was a literal cup- no metaphor here.

First, my Dad got a heart attack. He was walking in the stadium when he collapsed on a little girl, who thankfully(but oh damn that poor girl, my Dad was 85kg) broke his fall. When it happened, I was watching “Ghost in the Shell” with Reuben, Jem and Jie Qian. Towards the end of the movie my Mum texted to ask me to go home to be with my siblings. I think I took things very calmly and waited for the movie to end. But I was a bit too quiet, I guess and Reuben asked if I was alright.

Looking back at it now, I must have shocked them because I was scarily calm when I said, “My Dad just got hospitalized.”

I think neither of them knew how to react, and Jie Qian didn’t hear what I said, so when I told him on the train back home, he insisted on cabbing over to Khoo Teck Puat with me.

Now I’m not saying what he did wasn’t nice or sweet, or his behaviour wasn’t that of a true friend’s. If anything, I have always been so grateful from the kind of quality friends I have that I have never felt unlucky for not having romance in my life. I’m just saying this isn’t about that. It’s about me crying over a cup and so if we are going to evaluate the reason why- then because friends and family were at the hospital, my one true chance to full out cry was on that cab and I couldn’t, because he was there. I told him straight too, that I wasn’t going to cry in front of my cellbros,  because “You guys don’t make me feel safe enough.” I mean let’s be honest here, if it were my JC classmates, even Bharath, I would probably have been bawling.

I walked in and my Mum was in tears. It didn’t shock me- My Mum cried when Schooling won his Olympic medal. But compared to the time my Dad had a stroke, she was a lot less steady. Strangely enough, I was a lot stronger than my Mum this time round. I barely cried the entire time, and I only teared a few times. I didn’t even cry in the shower back home. I did find though, that I didn’t want anyone but my Mum touching me and so I got quite fed up with paternal aunts clinging onto me and telling me what to say to my unconscious and possibly dying Dad. I literally wanted to swear and say, “The doctor just said my Dad is dying. Can you have some sense of propriety and let us be alone as a damn family?”

Family is family. You don’t have to like family- you just have to love them. Plus with finals in 20 days I was going to lose it, and I almost did when my uncle and Aunt started fighting outside the ICU, over whether or not they should go home. I do have the basic respect for them as elders and I love them. But in the category of respect to be earned they are honestly tied at 0 for me.

It was a strange feeling to be like “Okay, this is me being prepared for anything that comes my way.” As strangely heartless as it sounds, in the 3 days my Dad was unconscious, my thoughts wandered to the memory of my 1st Paternal Uncle’s funeral, and I wondered if I was going to have to go through that again. For about a couple of days I felt guilt, for not insisting on my Dad going to the hospital the day he fainted because when I measured his blood pressure that morning it was 149? For about 1 night I blamed myself. And then the next day I got my shit together and stopped wallowing in self pity. I texted my Professor for an extension on my American Literature essay, and my TA for my mini essay (Which I still have not submitted, screw my class participation points.) Because I knew the truth- I get my stubbornness from my Dad (Thank God😧, my temper from my Mum). He wouldn’t have gone even if I had insisted on the checkup. He would probably have gotten upset that I was nagging him. And besides, his next check up was due in 2 weeks. He definitely would not have bothered to get himself checked up.

It also dawned on me that I have tried my very best these 5 years to be the daughter he wanted. I’ve watered down my personality so much and grown so much more independent. I honestly have very little regrets when it comes to being my Dad’s daughter.  Not perfect of course, but I can say without shame that I would want a daughter like myself. I tried hard, and I’m not saying it was good enough for my term as his daughter to end there. But I couldn’t think of any huge event where I threw any tantrums or talked back without reason. I guess that’s why my Sister handled this so much worse than I did this time.

I slept over at the hospital that 1st night, and I went through the memories in my head. It shocked me how well- prepared I was since 5 years ago, when my Dad had a stroke, I was a complete wreck. I’d been volunteering in Johor and the 1st day I was there, my sister texted saying my Dad was sent to the hospital. And I cried everyday for the next 3 days. God I don’t even know if my first and only real crush was a crush because my liking for him only developed when he was supportive during the time my Dad was sick, recommending acupuncture treatment and everything. And the slight feelings faded away 2 weeks after. I think I just made a mental note never to settle for anyone less than him, but no I didn’t really like like him. Honestly, looking back on that I feel like such a loser. This time round I was completely independent, and when my Mum drove me home the 2nd night, I found her looking at photos of my Dad and stopped her from trying to drive back to the hospital after not sleeping for a full day. My dear Mum is an all rou1nd pragmatic optimist. So when the doctors said there was almost no hope left, she just broke down. I think her optimism put her crisis mode entirely off, the past 5 years, and she confessed to me that she regretted not overthinking the way I did.

It only occurred to me then that I was so pessimistic I’ve never really been able to feel like my Dad was back with us after his stroke. He had been on 5 pills daily ever since then so it was difficult to just ignore the fact that he was still ill. Someone first told me I repress feelings a lot when I was 16, because I was very careful not to upset my Dad. I haven’t thrown any tantrums or wanted anything since I was 15, because even without that I would get really bad scoldings by my Dad. After the stroke, he had issues with controlling his moods because of brain damage, and honestly, it was really stressful. It still is, and I kept a lot of problems to myself because voicing them out to him would raise his blood pressure. I just kept reminding myself that I was lucky to have him back. And it just became clearer to me how everyone is living on borrowed time. It felt like I just got an extension on my Dad’s life and I couldn’t make a single mistake or I would f*** up.

I think being in an arts class, or maybe just an SR01 class, really helped me a lot with finding a balance between voicing our own opinions and being a reasonably fillial daughter. 01 taught me to relax myself and let my emotions flow and fly wherever. (Which is why I am so upset about the merger but that’s not the point here, Xin Tong, don’t digress.)

It was like reading a book? And not being able to connect with the narrative. Like writing a story in 1st person narrative, but not being able to make sense of this character’s storyline. The next day, I told my Mum not to worry- because “I’ve thought through every single scenario, the worst case and beyond that, and none of them feel anyway connected to our future.” I’ve always been very good at predicting things that are going to happen. I’ve always had a sort of emotional pull to everything and everyone around me- I can’t quite explain it. There were no real physical signs- none. But I knew my Dad was going to make it. That same day, he woke up.

I know it sounds weird that I would have such faith, and no, as grateful as I am for them, it didn’t come from Jem’s church or my lovely Uni Girls who prayed for us, or the Aunt who turned vegetarian for my Dad. I just knew. And my Mum later told me not to take things for granted, because she thought it was very unusual for me, whose middle name is Panic, to be as calm as I was. I wondered if I did. And now I can tell you, I never did. I have been on edge since I was 15. I’m still on edge now.

Ok so the cup. The week my Dad was discharged from the hospital, we had visitors everyday- which I really didn’t want. Because it was finals week and my paternal family is difficult to please, loud and they expected me to be there for all their conversations. One day, the same aunt who fought with my uncle outside the ICU came to my house and started barking out orders about the way we handled things in our home. Her eyes zoomed in on my cup, which had a chip in the side, and she started nagging my Mum to throw it away.

Which my Mum did, because, she admitted, that my Aunt’s nagging was really very annoying.

I was upset when she first told me in front of all my relatives, but I kept it in damn well. In fact, I only realized I was crying when I started to get tears on my keyboard when typing out my essay. I’m generally a silent cryer. So nobody realized I cried for half an hour.

The thing is, it was never about the cup, though that triggered the tears. It didn’t even have any sentimental value to tell the truth. It was even free of charge, we got it from Aussino, a free Xmas cup from like 3 years ago. And I was just wretchedly stubborn about it.

So my Mum came out of the kitchen to my tears treated face looking at Carousell searching for that cup. and she realized at that point that there was something wrong. I teared up a little and I just flat out said, “How can she come to my house and make my mother throw away my cup?!”

My Mum accepted my implosion because she knew it wasn’t like me to act up. So she was very encouraging and just let me go with whatever I wanted to do. And that included locating the cup on Carousell and not even bothering to bargain for it for the first time in my life, paying $5 flat for the free cup and travelling to Raffles Place without questioning the wisdom of that choice.

I never liked gifts because I feel like if you didn’t earn it fair and square, somehow some argument exists that can take it away. I mean we all know it wasn’t about the cup. It was about me putting my foot down and wanting to claim back what’s mine and feeling a sense of permanence for once.

Words that make me Cry

There is this song, or rather a cover of this song called “The Freshman” by Josh Murley that I listen to a lot. If you know me, you’d know that a lot of my playlist is made up of covers from “The Voice” and Josh Murley was one of the contestants. It’s the perfect song to listen to when I’m on a long bus ride and it just puts my body at attention and everything else seems to quiet down as I listen to the way he enunciates each word. Maybe it’s especially so because I’m in my freshman year. My favourite part would be the chorus.

“For the life of me, I cannot remember, what made us think that we were wise, and we’d never compromise. For the life of me, I cannot believe we’d ever die for these sins, we were merely freshmen.”

I love this song so much. I think it’s one of the few songs that make me feel like physical tears mean nothing and it makes my heart feel SO heavy. Maybe I’m being sadistic, but I love feeling sad over this song. I think that honesty often carries a sliver of sadness. And this song just opens up completely about being

This song just resonates with me because I think of all the mistakes we’ve made already, barely 20 years into our lives. How stupid and unforgiveable some of them are. It takes courage to even look back on them. And I wonder who ever even qualifies for Heaven? There are so many times in life where no matter what decision we make, we lose. If we were to be judged on those mistakes too, we’re all guilty for crimes against humanity.

This makes the fact that there are probably 60 more years to go so frightening.

Today in class, Women’s Literature and the Contemporary specifically, my Professor mentioned a story of Gogol’s overcoat. Basically, this guy Gogol wrote a story about this rather uneducated clerk who gets paid very little for his work. He is so poor that he gets made fun of by his colleagues for his overcoat, tattered and torn beyond redemption.

When the teasing gets too much for him he decides to save up for a new coat. He spent a long time trying and when he finally spends most of his savings on an expensive new coat, his colleagues are surprised. He grows more popular and his officemates throw a party in celebration of a new start for him.

That same night, the man gets robbed and beaten up by ruffians who steal his new coat. Of course, he is devastated. The next day, when he reports this to his boss, asking for advice on the situation. The man’s boss gives him a complete scolding, for wasting his time over something so trivial. The overcoat is now trivial.

The scolding is so harsh that the man goes into shock. Then he falls ill and dies.

At the end of the story, everyone in the lecture theatre laughs. I didn’t though. I couldn’t. And I don’t understand why anybody did. Is the world (Or at least my lecture theatre) filled with hypocrites who can’t admit to themselves that they’ve been striving  for the approval of someone else for a huge portion of their lives? (Because for majority of us, that’sounds what got us here) Or is this world just too apathetic to see that’s exactly what the protagonist of the story tried to do?

Effort, no matter where it is directed towards, no matter intelligent and successful ones or retarded failures, is not laughable. We have all spent parts of our lives pursuing things we know are useless, things that have no meaning. No matter if we tell ourselves that it is going to lead to something meaningful or  useful. Most of the time we comfort ourselves with the theory of parallel worlds- that everything you do leads to this point. And we look back at a satisfactory point in our lives and we say “It’s all worth it.” Well, history  is dictated by the Victorious. Gogol’s story just acknowledges the fact that pursuit of things wI think values dictated and defined by other people is a life lost. And people, being the hypocrites they are, find you laughable for that.

Just a couple of weeks ago, I talked to Jem about feeling comfortable being myself. Or rather, uncomfortable.I always feel insufficient, not enough, like people are judging me. And I realized- not caring isn’t a personality trait. But a habit. My confidence comes from my stubbornness, and I am conscious about that. So I’m just going to get used to the idea that no one is looking at me. No one cares if my shorts are too short or my dress is too figure- hugging. And even if they notice, they shouldn’t.

I cry easily. When I’m tired, when I’m angry, when I’m sad. But crying isn’t a bad thing. More than feeling alone, I hate feeling vulnerable, I hate feeling like a burden. I don’t want to call anyone when I cry. Whatever negativity I have, I don’t like projecting  onto someone else. People just need to respect that.

I said Everything I needed to.

I told Jem everything. Everything from why I threw that sudden tantrum and why I stopped going to Church. That I haven’t been feeling comfortable with cell for a long time, that I couldn’t answer late night texts and calls from people who rely on me, and that I want to stop feeling guilty about prioritizing myself. That I want to choose to prioritize myself.

He was very very nice about it. And that only made me feel a little shame about how little faith I had in him. The last time we saw each other I knew he was upset with me. The last time we texted we argued. And what I texted him about, I told him with the idea of throwing the towel in, of giving him the choice to break the friendship if he got upset about what I said. I went into it thinking, “I might regret this in the future, but not now. I’m too tired of this to even care about feelings and emotions, and certainly not about ones aside from my own. I need to clear out all this negativity uploaded onto me, because I didn’t ask for it. I want to reply someone late and miss a call or two without worrying that he or she might break down or commit suicide. I want to enjoy myself and be myself on outings without worrying about offending someone. And if I have to tiptoe around my friends, then I’d rather not.”

I was fully prepared to cut them out of my life if it meant I could stop feeling responsible for anyone’s life aside from my own. Recently another friend of ours has been so worrying and it’s really just bad timing. I’ve had so many essays due, I just got a B- and our devised piece for drama is coming up and I really am the least experienced and the weak link at this point. Not to trivialize someone else’s problems, but I’ve really been suffering from the lack of sleep and I really could use the average 3-4 hours a week I spend on texting and calling up to check on people, studying. And working on my acting which I swear is just feeling worse and worse.

Jem’s reaction made me realize that there were so many things I could have just told him about. If there’s anything I know about myself, it’s that I don’t trust people easily. Or rather, I guess their reactions quite accurately most of the time, and most of the time, I don’t trust those reactions, so I avoid them. Whether it’s by saying the truth or bottling up secrets, my priority was rarely myself. I want it to be myself now, so I’m letting it all out. And just telling Jem alone felt good. His reaction was merely the cherry on top.

Then again, timing is everything. I don’t think he would have taken the things I mentioned so easily if it hadn’t been in retrospect. And when I said I wasn’t going back to cell for a long time, I think he took that as a few more months, or until I have time.

I actually added that in as an afterthought. “I’m not going back to cell. At least, not for a long time.”

Why Sky is Blueish?

Today I shall reveal why my Insta Name is SkyisBlueish:) There were actually many reasons why. One of them being that SkyisBlue was taken 😒

Another reason why is because the sky isn’t always blue, is it? We get pinks and oranges and purples in the evenings and navy, almost black at night. Once in a while the weather’s so cloudy that it looks like a blanket of white cottonballs.

Whenever I look up at the Sky, I feel so small. I’ve never had much confidence. My JC classmates would know, just how emotionally fragile I was. The truth is, I have issues with being vulnerable. I find it very difficult to forgive myself for weakness. But I was very obviously weak very much of the time in JC and they taught me to trust and lean back on people.

My JC friends know how grateful I am for them. They were there with me through every pessimistic thought. They also complained about my stubborness all the time, and wondered why I held on to it despite changing a few other bad habits. After all, it’s what fuels my pessimism.

But my stubborness is my only source of confidence. Yes, it’s made me miss out on things, but it got me to places too. Places where I created memories that pulled me through. Stubborness put me in SR. Stubborness put me in NTU. Stubborness gave me courage. It’s also my only line of defence. A very strong one, and I’m not about to let that go anytime soon.

Whenever I go back to SR now, I always make my friends lie down in the field with me to look up at the stars. Even though I know they are all man-made satellites. I think of all the days I stayed back till 9pm mugging in J1, all the meals I skipped, all the gastric pains and irregular periods and crying for days straight. Moments where the sky didn’t look blue. Didn’t feel blue.

I was so insistent- I thought I could see the clearest when I had my head in the clouds. But it all seems silly now. I literally had to let go of the balloons before they parted the clouds for me and showed me beyond. I don’t deal well with change, so SkyisBlueish is comforting to me. Everything else changes around you but some things never do. If we wait patiently, the sky will always be blue.

One of my juniors said today that his motto in life is to keep moving forward. That he is going to do just that regardless of what happens. I don’t know how he did yet, but I have faith in him, as I do in everyone that I care to ask after.

Dear Kiddoes, today is one day. Today is a day. There are gonna be so many more and I promise you that most of those days where you hold your head high up enough to see, the sky will always be blue.

Solution to Inner Drama? : Outer Drama

So the therapy I mentioned in the previous post (as obvious as this title is), is drama🎉. And let me just say that I never expected drama to be something I use to destress myself because it is such a tiring thing that requires so much discipline. But it seems that enveloping myself in drama really does help me channel that negativity into peace.

As I go back to help out for Lit trail and Lit Night rehearsals now, it feels calming to surround myself with the class, my girls, Antz, Rui and Jenny, even Daryl’s nonsense, in fact- calms me down. It helps me find myself again. I think Lit Night will always be a therapeutic process for us, no matter what stage in life we’re in. In Ming En’s words, “Too damn overly attached, but wouldn’t trade this for anything”. Kenji was right (Ew. That got stuck in my throat.)

Basically, Epiphany has the year ones perform a devised piece every year during Literature Fest. This means that we come up with everything from the choreography to the scripts, before acting it out.

I feel good about what we’ve done so far and how it comes from a genuine and raw place for all of us. It’s basically a collection of monologues and we can kind of see how it all melds together and interweaves for now. I frankly had no idea what I wanted to do until Megan suggested this exercise where we write for 3 minutes straight without stopping at all. That was really how I realized how upset I was about the little things that happened over the past year and how disillusioned I was with the people around me- by writing about it.

It’s all very ambiguous, but when I first read it out, it felt more liberating than I ever thought it would. Rachel (Who was Bin Hui’s JC classmate by the way, such a small world) mentioned how it sounded like spoken word poetry. I let myself be flattered for a moment- I didn’t think it would be as well received as it was, after the shitty writer’s block I went through recently. And then there was the oh shit moment when I realized I didn’t mean for it to be a poem and I can’t seem to write prose properly anymore. 😒 But Melissa said it was good so I’m relieved because this means I’m on the right track.

So here’s my monologue. I added the highlighted parts the 2nd time I went back to it. I originally wanted to audio it, but then I would read it like a poem, and I’m trying to break that. Plus, I was too lazy. Well, if anyone has any comments, let me know:)

Back straight, shoulders square, knees together, never to part, ankles locked, soften your gaze and smile- no teeth. Now, what did you want to tell me? Whatever you say next, I’ll try my best to understand. I promise I’ll understand.

Are you okay? Can you keep going? Do you need some water?

I understand.

Everyone is entitled to their own opinion. Everyone has their own perspective. Some stronger, some less complex. Some more than others. Some equal to others. I wonder if there’s a scale to measure reason, to measure the true winner of a debate so we can honestly move on to other things. I don’t think there is though, because there are two equal sides to every coin and then there’s us in the middle. Keeping the two sides from melding together, keeping them apart.

Heads, or tails, no one is to say. We certainly don’t have the say.

We are the thin line between peace and conflict. Because of us, our world can have neither.

I understand. I understand that there are two sides to every coin. I understand chances and I understand probability. I know what you want and I know what she wants and I know what he wants. I’m just not sure… what I want and whether or not I’m in a place to choose.

I understand that I am in the middle. Average looks, average grades, average choices made. There are poems written about the rich and the poor, records of the highs and the lows, stories of the good and the bad. How many pay attention to the middle? The people whose hearts are beating regularly, who are not dying patients or supermen and women? Those who are morally ambiguous and neither saints or sinners? Who don’t hate their jobs and don’t love them, and have everything and yet nothing to say? Those who have the greatest potential to surprise you, but rarely do?

(The Middle is where writers get blocked.) Being in the middle does not make you insightful, or ‘deep’. Being in the middle puts you at attention. Being stuck in this limbo makes you listen.

It’s like looking at a pretty painting and being the only one who notices all the flaws. The edge of that canvas is chipped. Insecurity. The subject of the painting isn’t smiling. Jealousy. The colours are too dark. Guilt.  The picture is too packed. Hubris. The hypocrisy. I know. I told you I would try my best to understand. And now I do.

Back straight, shoulders square, knees together, never to part, ankles locked, soften your gaze and smile-

NO TEETH!

I didn’t know how upset I was until I made mistakes. I couldn’t see how upset I was until I was sorry.

I wanted someone to tell me what was right, someone who could make sense of the situation. (Plato said we were all halves. All incomplete, insufficient, imperfect halves. I wonder if our halves would understand. I don’t think they would. That’s probably why we split in the first place. )

Sometimes when I’m alone, I close all the windows in the house, just so I can empty my mind and listen to the quiet. If only we all sound like that.

And sometimes I think to myself, “It’ll be okay.”

Change: Back to One

I haven’t posted any blogs for a while now. I had a lot I needed to sort out and to be frank, for quite a while now, I couldn’t seem to express myself in words. And I started doing what I did in my Primary school diaries- Avoiding things that were difficult for me to talk about. I didn’t think I would be doing that at 19. But denial is a disease for all ages I guess.

I’ve mentioned how difficult listening to everyone’s problems has been. And 2016 has given me a particularly huge influx. I’m glad that I’m easy to talk to, no matter if it’s about small problems like stress, or issues like relationships, break ups, family, jealousy, discomfort… but it doesn’t change the fact that it’s tiring. And as much as I care, to want to be there for everyone, that is precisely why I get very attached and affected by their problems. It’s like looking at a big picture and being the only one who sees all the flaws in its truth. I felt disillusioned. But part of that was my fault as well. I saw confused flaws and inconsistencies as hypocrisy, and I should have given these people more credit.

Still, I snapped. At my Cellgroup, for me seeing the problems they told me about, and for me overthinking. I was really rude and took it out on genuinely well-meaning people with good intentions. That was my mistake and I’ll have to work that out for myself. 

Just this holiday, I started acting very unlike myself. I was neat. Not exactly organized, but I organized whenever I could. Everything from my clothes to cutlery to my bags. And the insomnia I last had during A Levels came back. It’s true, I have bad sleeping habits, sleeping at awkward timings, but I always, always slept deeply.

All that aside, what really sent me into a mini panic was my hand trembling. That only ever happened during A Levels when I’d been clutching my fists too tightly in my sleep. My GPA was coming out around that period of time, so I thought perhaps it could be because of stress from academic issues. Maybe I just had jitters even though I kept telling myself I didn’t care. That day when Sze Liang noticed the trembling, it really put me on edge.

I have been told many times not to keep things inside. It’s strange, I always thought I was an open book. I always thought I voiced out my opinions enough. I always felt I was being lazy, not taking up as much as I should. But I remember every event or activity I’ve been part of organizing, people told me not to keep things inside. That was the feedback I received for 2014 Ying Xin TXY Orientation Camp, from Yun Fang and Feng Ling. “Don’t bear things on your own.” Hong Wei’s message was as such too, in his own way. On the 2nd day of Camp, when I was completely exhausted, I’d sat outside the auditorium, and completely stoned.When he had some spare time, Hong Wei came to sit beside me and we just got the silent rest I needed before getting back to work again.

 I just always thought those people thought too highly of me. I wasn’t some self-sacrificing nice girl. I’m still not. In actual fact, I thought my refusal to filter, my blunt straightforwardness was honesty. I was honest with what I said, not with the way I acted. Not with the way I felt. And I really didn’t know I was upset till it was too late, and I was sorry.

Other weird things I did: I couldn’t read, I couldn’t finish watching my Korean Dramas. Like sit down and read a book or watch an episode properly. I used to go through 3 or 4 books a day. I couldn’t write either. My poetry account is rotting. I got obsessed  with rubik’s cubes from watching this China Show, “The Brain”(最强大脑) and bought 3 off Carousell. I stopped smiling at Babies and kids and I just didn’t know what to do with them. And let’s be clear, it used to be like my life’s momentary mission to make crying babies on MRT trains laugh. Somewhere along the line I just sort of lost patience, I guess?

I just needed to chart my thoughts out somewhere. I’ve found a therapy that I think will help me move on from this mistake and release all the pent-up frustration and negativity I have inside. But that’s a whole new post in itself, which- I promise- I’ll find time to write.

Countdown

I’m actually not done with Xmas posts yet, but I’ll move on to countdown. 2016 was recognized to be a rather shitty year for everyone. From Christina Grimmie, to Prince, to David Bowie to TRUMP (Oh- my – goodness) . But it’s been a rather good year for me. I won’t go as far as to say that I like myself, but the me now? I can work with her.

Ok I really did all the shit I wanted to do today. I started out 2017 wilfully so I’ll be nice the whole year going forward. I went for KTV with the TXY LaoYings (Hong Wei, Jin Jie, Yan Xin, Miao Xin, Jia Ying, Yan Ting) and I really heck cared if I was off tune (I was. Every song.) And I really do know a lot more Chinese songs than I think I do.

Then I reached Jie Qian’s house at 11pm? And after countdown they all qanted to head straight home. But after travelling from Buona, I didn’t want to just head home so I stayed a bit longer than I should have (I’m still here.)

I should probably be more considerate about staying over wherever, and keeping people up. If any of you guys are reading this, I’m sorry for making you stay up with me and I promise I won’t do that again👌

But yay! I finally satisfied my Bridge craving.
2016 was a good year for friendship if not anything else. A lot of people come to chat and rant to me about their problems and worries and whatnot. But not many stay in contact after. I’m quite used to people hugging and crying to me and making me cry, before reverting to hi-bye friends right after. And to be frank, I’ve grown quite numb about that. So to have those people actively stay in contact and being willing to be there for me? It’s surprising. Its touching.

I’m a very lucky girl. 2016’s been a good year.

But the number 17😧 Fingers crossed ✌

And shit. I’m 20.