Crushed / discrepancy

i cannot stop comparing.
it is no longer only a form of measurement, a self-assessment, a judgement, because every minute my perception is being shaped: a better idea of self it hopes to achieve.

the conclusion is nowhere in sight, this mission seems futile, i am growing impatient by the days.

at 23 years old, i cannot visualise the me i will be in four years. the thinking is head splitting.

at 23 years old, what others have achieved – a dull reminder that reinforces my shortcomings, and it stings.

half the year had passed, people have moved on in their lives: a career progression, a new phase in life, and i cannot. cannot, accept this stagnation.

each day passed and each day of inertia dampens my confidence, my belief in self, but fuels the anger within. this frustration towards the self for not being capable – at times, a failing system with the energy but the limited tools and knowledge to keep up with productivity.

but i believe i have improved from the last: i am a dreamer. no longer of nostalgia and a clinger of the past, i dream of a better future – the one i want to live.

right now my motivation stems from the encouraging hands and spirits of an endearing friend, and i cannot be more thankful for the driven spirit and its infectious influence that it has on the self to actually want to/make an effort at self-improvement, self-development.

simultaneously, i feel so angry:
i have stopped investing in myself and believing in my dreams since i started working for someone else.

since when did we begin to forget our worth to build others’?

it angers me that this neglect and disregard has caused uncalled bitterness.

and the self that loved life and valued the individual: not a tinge of this i see in reflecting.

does the idealistic still exist?
it is time to wake up your idea.

regrets collect like old friends


One of us, on the run

it seems that your invasive presence has pried its way into my dreams. it was supposed to be a sanctuary, of innermost liberation. no walls, no filters, no you for me to cringe from. there is no running away from you – even ghosting doesn’t do.

i wake up feeling like the hours of sleep i had was halved, drained from the tension and the escaping.

-in the physical avoidance of you, i turned to face my friends at the table, hoping the side profile would go by unnoticed if you passed, sufficient for you not to recognise or notice my presence.

a tap on the shoulder and an anxious jolt: dread in the moment of reveal. i only hope that it was anyone else but you.

coming into the picture is a familiar character, a friend. despite the difference in name, the distinct face and personality were recognised instantly. His presence had always been an instant uplift, like a remedy to the burdened weight. all negativity is momentarily dissipated.

i no longer see you within my radius, and go back to being at ease. waking up, this dream seemed to be telling: it is clear, the incompatability, the escaping of a confrontation, the dread of seeing a person, and woes of social obligations. we’re off to doing away with the toxic, it’s time i bade farewell. parting ways, from now, we shall.


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.