I am a woman.

So?

This means I am a regular, two-faced bitch with confidence problems, bogged by insecurity in everything I do.

I am calm. I embody calmness. Everyday before the start of each paper, I eye my watch and time my breahing according to seconds that tick by. One, two, three, four five, inhale; one, two, three, four, five, exhale.

I just lost my head during Physics and A Math, as well as Chinese.

Muse whispered in my ear during English compo, but I didn't listen to her, stupidly deciding to do an argumentative.

Because sometimes what our heart tells you is better than your brain. Sometimes our minds are smarter than our logic in the sense that you can 'predict' stuff.

I'm tired. I am scared. I am alone.

But I am glad I feel this loneliness


Because it's the only way to reassure myself that I am sane, and I can still feel. I'm not numb


yet.

--

Went shopping today, bought a bangle. It is kinda too big to fit on my wrist though, hangs there like clothes from the starving.

I wanted to buy that lolita fashioned dress I saw, thinking it was $18. Today I went back to check. It was $118.

Fucking hell.

It looked much better with the '1' in front eliminated.

Speaking of which, I saw a lovely bracelet today. It was fake pearls and rather lolita style (ribbons and bows, very girlish but elegant).

Only $10. I regret not buying it. I fell in love with it and was reluctant to leave.

Wonder if I could go back for a refund on the dumb bangle which just lies suspended on my thin wrist. I look undernourished when I weasr it. Who cares whether it's 'in' or not.

Hmm. Perhaps tomorrow I shall do a manicure and buy that. Shall also go to orchard to ask for a refund, even if the bangle was only $4.90.

I know why I am suddenly embracing my girlish side. Because I finally admit it's the side of me that still dreams and dares to hope. Well, there's the dream of making big bucks, but I suppose it's more of a symbolic representation of me wanting to go back to what I was when I was in secondary 1. My sense of humour and my death glare. ESPECIALLY my death glare, and my readiness to embrace the new and ponder over seemingly minute aspects of life, questioning humanity and being able to write poetry on the spot.

I miss that side of me. I miss my easy imagery and my swift command of vocabulary, I miss my metaphors and alliteration, I miss my deadpan humour as well as a love for all things macabre, I miss the days where I can feel something other than misery and stress. Joy that is not bought.

I miss my flute.

I miss everything that I was going to be, and thought I would be, I miss the dreams and hopes blown away by the harsh winds of change, I miss the past because it is always filled with regrets.

Heck, I even miss my creative cussing.

And YES, cussing can be creative. To hear it I have to be pissed off, but I don't recommend pissing me off because I frankly don't know what I will do if I lose the last strand of reason and control. Probably fulfill all my darkest fantasies of execution.

The carcasses and stench would be a major problem, though. Reckon I could mask it with some Anna Sui or hide the screams through loud revolutionary music? Music whose lyrics proclaim 'Give Chanel all your life savings. Because you want to and she's beautiful,. strong and deserves every shred of material wealth you peasants can scrounge up.'

Okay, please tell me you didn't take the above line seriously. But if you DO want to give me money, well...I guess I can accept with a ready smile (:

A VERY ready smile.