I know it’s been a while since i expressed my thoughts in words.

lately it’s been a lot of sucking up, gagging, and vomiting. and lip-biting sort of anxious roller coaster ride through the days.

i am exhausted.

the lack of self control and personal judgment.
jumping into endless, countless hours of work, day after day. falling sick, falling sicker. fatigue, a disease that spreads from mental to physical. i hate every waking moment, but i carry on with the feet-dragging, mindless, soul-sucking routine anyway.

returning home drop-dead drunk.
The difference between being sober and upset, and intoxicated and upset.
coming home half-dead, wanting to sleep on the road, and dropping dead. it’s not nice at all, losing consciousness. but that is one of the few ways to keep the mind safe from the invasive, infinite thoughts towards work and routine and the spiralling purposelessness. i was fortunate that my friend sent me home despite risking being reprimanded by muller. what started of as a not-so normal evening of drinking immediately after working overtime ended of with a prawn that wasn’t even high anymore. it was ugly, i was ugly. broke a glass, crashed in the washroom, locked myself in the cubicle and refused to come out despite the bar having to close – i never thought i would be trash. but i became the ultimate epitome of good-for-nothing that i would have disapprovingly tsk-tsked at, if younger me saw this version of self. then i wanted to sleep on the road, and my friend lifted the burdens of my dragging feet, feet that i couldn’t recognise, that i couldn’t carry the weight of anymore. so i let go, and float, as he made sure i arrived home safely.

the lack of control on sobriety is a polar opposite of prim, proper. it is:
the walls we build crashing down, the layers shedding itself to reveal the bare core, the heart that worked so hard to fix itself scattering into odd-shade shards. the release of distressed outcry, and uncontrollably bursting into tears.

“is it rape? is it rape?” mother’s furiously yelling rings as i lie on the floor near the doorstep, sobbing hopelessly. no, no, no. in a fit of fear and confusion, mother woke Bobo up in hopes that she could communicate with me. After lying unconscious in the toilet, Bobo came in to get me dressed, and asked me what happened. the crying doesn’t stop, and amidst all the drunken tears flooding, i looked at Bobo in the eyes with such clarity. She was truly worried and afraid, although her sleep had been disrupted and she herself had work in the morning.

and then the sobbing worsened.

the last time i threw myself into a living rut as such was back in 2016.

every woe against reality is no longer confined within the walls of the mind – these thoughts are verbalised, and these words i spit on with such disgust: i hate humans! i hate people! i hate! hate! dislike! more and more! never enough!
If the mind stayed impermeable a membrane, the thoughts it harbour will claw itself raw.

still, some things don’t ever seem to change: it begins a heart evening, and there is excessive drinking from pleasure to letting go, restraining drunkenness, and then losing consciousness in a cubicle, throwing up, wanting to sleep, a crying fit and recalling something traumatising, self-beating thoughts on jarring replay – translated into muffled sobs.

what a way to begin 2018, to see history repeating itself like a natural course.

i think of the best times in my life, looking back. doing so is like the post-nauseating bitterness of acid at the back of the mouth, yet a sweet craving for high spirits. But how do we move forward, if the future seems bleak?


not fleeting a thought

And here, we have arrived. Destination is bane and exhaustion, existential dread and the burial of any form of confidence. Loss of self-control, loss of self-love, loss of optimism, lost in life.

tomorrow is an off day, and today was supposed to be one. But this introduction of the dreadful quarterly report is foreboding of the restless week to come. I am tired.

this adult-ing thing is beyond draining. so is trying to source for faith, let alone recoup on energy to deal with all the pressures that’s weighing on. tired of resisting, nor willing to simply go with the flow, and disappointed of existing. lost, loss, lose. i can’t see the light in the tunnel, yet i see myself floating through the days – buying time is all, not sure if there is even purpose in it.

i can tell you why i very much dislike life now, and simply want to go into some isolation phase underneath a rock. because it sucks – how de-motivated i currently am, not being resilient enough. WEAK. being but a ball of negativity. i do not benefit those around, i drain their energies as i do to my own. i wonder why i still hold on. amidst all the chaos and mayhem, i retreat into my dreams and the European landscapes that form the scenery of life lived beautifully.

Take me back to the days i knew my confident self, and loved the hours as wholly as i loved my being, as i loved the nature and every minute of living.


i always thought i could do it, that i could conquer everything.

but i was wrong, and every time i put my heart and mind and soul through something as trying as this leaves me worried that the bomb within would go off, and that would be game over. the ticking is an anxiety pounding against the walls of the organs. it is not a melody, this is the siren song crying for help.

my opponent is myself. this self-beating is like nails clawing into the skin, and the mind scratching itself raw. i wonder how long more will it be before i can tell myself that i am driving in the right direction, that this turn isn’t towards insanity.


– Tired. Tired of individuals so full of themselves, you’d have thought they were a sponge so porous in absorbing all the ego.

– Is it because of how this country had raised us, to be complacent pricks who simply can’t be bothered by greater matters of the world?

– Drained, this ridiculous ping pong game we play each day as we ask each other what’s up for the day. For a conversation to go beyond that – is it so difficult? This small talk is absurd. Don’t you think that this routine is a chore – obliged to waste each other’s time.

– this floating around and through each day is stirring a bit of an existential dread, although i haven’t quite savoured my explorations

– and yet, it is often between 2 and 4 a.m. that i fall asleep – by everyone’s definition, that is early in to the wee hours of the morning, or from mom’s perspective, it is too

– Brazzaville. This playlist compiled for the songs heard throughout Europe -trust me, i am missing Europe in almost every waking moment. And so, adieu, goodnight


a new journey begins on Monday.

I am thrilled, i am excited, i am partially nervous and fearful.
This is it, i tell myself. Conditioning the mind to ready itself for reality – life in full sobriety, ridding the airy-fairy day-dream sort of ideals. Responsibilities, assuming the appropriate identity and character.

Can i do it?

I said I could.
I’d wanted it, if not, why would I have taken the chance to cast my profile in?
Life, that’s what it is. here comes the opportunity – taking the precautionary steps to bring myself one step closer to making all the things I’d want a reality. Resilience – i’ve always had it in me – so here’s the time to hone it before it goes rusty.

Yes, that is hustling. Hustle that i’m game for, challenge. In this one, i’m not quite sure what’s the expectation to set for myself: perhaps to be kinder to the self, to accept and learn and try at succeeding.

If failure is a by-product of the process, that is fine by me. But trying and to learn is the objective. You miss 100% of the chances that you don’t take, so this one’s to a shot at adult-ing.

fired up

I can tell you when it happened, when i’d began thinking that gray areas, like thin ice, were fine to thread on.

Consul-fucking-tative friendship, this is what you call it.
i wonder if you see how disgusting this is, the values or morals it was built on – non-existent.

I can tell you what it triggered: a rude awakening.

I am not the same since then. here i am, thinking: a person who met me in February wouldn’t quite recognise the present me.

Change when you sparked something within – no, not in a good way, because this is anger, this is dirt, this is ugly, this is unnecessary emotional baggage.

Then at the end of journeying through Europe, another transformation:
I learnt to appreciate my worth, my own company, respect my wants and un-wants.
I became a stronger person, immune to your words that reduce.

But i became daring as well, in exploring ideas of interaction with people. Their ways, more fluid. More liberal, less restraint. But this is not safe, playing with fire. You were like… sparklers. A taster. And this is an advancement, to be going so close to something untamed – with the very possibility it might get out of control. Perhaps as in another society or a community that was more open – or that my identity wasn’t glued to me from birth, I had the choice to do as it will, without limits.

Consultation over, you taught me what i had to learn, so,
thank you for your consul(fucking)tative transaction.

Rude awakening

It’s been awhile since i last logged an entry.

68 days went by in a whim, a little too fast for the awakening from a delightful dream. Being whisked away into a voyage around Europe has been – the best reality ever, if not the best dream i’d never want to wake up from.

All the people i met have been so kind and warm, generous, and inspiring, even.

But now – it feels like one life’s ended, the credits are all rolled out, and it is time to sober up. That means, to be serious in searching for work, to live up to life’s expectations, to learn how to nourish myself as a self-sustaining tree against runs of storms, and to be strong enough to keep myself grounded to reality in times of chaos and madness.

This is the period where one transits from waking up of a slumber into adapting quickly to be alert to one’s surroundings. I am fearful.

I know what i want – but before i sink in a slump of withdrawal, i must try to keep myself together.

Today marks the end of running away from one of the unnerving thoughts, you.
For a long time i have avoided this confrontation, but the limbo is no more, i don’t want to waltz so cluelessly in. if you do not reply, i cannot explain. but even if you do, it would be pointless for me to explain to you.

Only in their dreams can men be truly free. ‘Twas always thus, and always thus will be.
― Tom Schulman, Dead Poets Society
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