But To Be Forced Not To Care?

It's been nearly a month since I've moved along. After the preliminary painful flashbacks and the entire cleanup of whatsoever memories that existed between us, it became rather easy. Once I got over the fact that I was cruelly betrayed and I had lapped up all the lies fed to me, one after the other - I picked myself up and rearranged my priorities.

I didn't know that I may need to do it all over again.

This time it isn't lies. Or bastards. In fact, there isn't anyone else to blame ... but me.

It could just be that in - built feeling of paranoia working itself up again. Just as how I worry about completely impossible options for my future. Like how I might never get a job. And how I would be the most annoying person in the entire universe. Beyond aliens even, with a ceriticate to prove it. And how I worry that I might end up totally unwanted by guys - and that from today I should start collecting my forty-seven cats.

Yeah, that pretty much just skims it.

I have another fear in fact, the latest and the closest to logic.

I fear that I might lose my best friends.

There I said it. I fear that those I have become emotionally attached to, will just suddenly realise that I really could not - and at any cost - be included in their lives any longer because of any reason, or even no reason at all.

(I actually have a few thousand possible ones and counting, but I really want to get on with this post.)

They'd just, one day, finish taking whatever they want from me and then slowly forget about me till I completely slip away from their minds. And soon after my voice would follow. Really, I am convinced that the memory of my voice is the hardest to get rid of.

They might even let me down nicely : 'Hey. I'm really busy. Talk to me in ... a month.'

Or they could just tell me to fuck off, point blank : 'Hey. You're useless now. Fuck off.'

SO : Paranoia - or an insightful premonition?

Either way, I've prepared myself for the worst. I've really got to get used to being alone. To having no friends on my contact list. To be texting ghosts. To be talking to a dialing tone.

To be blogging just to look busy.

All I want to say is that I don't mean to be anyone but myself. If you can't handle the package, then send it back. I don't mind being left by the side of a forgotten road, all postmarked with nowhere to go.

-No comment-

*By the way, please take into account that only my closest friends have the link to this blog. So, I don't mean to be Miss Obvious, but you could guess who this post is addressed to. Cheers.*

I Have A New Job.

This is me.

This is me rising from the drama that nearly reduced me to total tears the night before. The one where I thought I had lost the bestest friend in the world for good (eventhough she might proudly remark how she wasn't going to hurt herself and I had once again fallen for the oldest trick in the book.)

This is me rising from the fact that I thought I was consoling a really, really awesome -and kick ass, as he likes to say - friend of mine (eventhough he might remark that he wasn't feeling any pain and I might as well have just died right there.)

I really thought that it was a good thing to care about people. Especially those in trouble. I attach myself so wholly and selflessly that no problem of mine seems to match even a miniscule of the new problem I have immersed myself into. I won't even imagine how I should be feeling about anything else at that moment because it's imperative to sort the fucking mess out.

I felt I needed to sort it out.

Or rather it was my job to sort it out.

Yes. It is in fact my job to sort it out. Like a doctor pulling the plug on the mother of three young children, who have no one but her. Like a soldier firing bullets into the foreheads of all the children of a family of eight, who didn't have anything to live for but the bond between themselves.

Like how I have to sort out issues like these. As painful as I gets for me.

Yeah, it really doesn't seem like I give a fuck. But, hey :

I fucking do give a fuck.

And yeah, it doesn't seem like I have much to deal with. But, hey :

I fucking do get hurt by this. Alot more than how it would feel for you if I wasn't there running back and forth through conversation windows, keeping you both away from butter knives and pills. And porn.

So, anyway. On a lighter note, I'm putting an ad in the newspaper and maybe online as well. Maybe you guys could review it for me?

________(MY NAME)__________ --->>> Problem Solver!

Why should you pick me?

• Because I always answer your calls and your online conversations!
• I always throw my problems out of the window and let them crash and burn so they could come back to me all at once (and maybe kill me - but that's okay!) and I would have to deal with them alone.
• I also attend to your problems immediately - sometimes burning a whole in my pocket JUST ON PHONE CALLS!

And ... An Extra Bonus ... I also make sure you're not dead the next day.

-No comment-

I Never Cry For Storybooks or Fairytales. Maybe It Was Just Too Perfect.

I bawled my eyes out until there was no more water left in me ... after which, I drank a litre and cried some more.

It's not a dude, people. I don't cry over dudes. Well ... I might now, now that I've said it. Goddamn Murphy's Law.

It's a book.

... oh, so you think the dude sounds more important? OK then, go touch yourself.

Well, it's not just any book. It's the last instalment of the Shopaholic series. And mind you, I type 'last instalment' with a very, very heavy heart. I think, apart from Sidney Sheldon, Sophie Kinsella has the greatest set of novels I could ever read. Perfectly catered to ditzy can't-tell-if-I'm-coming-or-going kind of chicks.

And probably from the point of view of that young girl who just wants to have everything - I just want to have everything.

I want the flat, I want the shops, I want the money, and most importantly - the man. I am so sorry, Becky Brandon, but I am hopelessly in love with your husband. I have already cultivated that shopping habit so that's not really an issue. Everything else is though.

Just when you think life is going to fall apart for her, she does something diabolical to bring herself right around. And it always turns out so peachy for her.

I've become her - I embraced the character. She's the smartest, bravest and kindest person I know. But then again, she's fiction. In a book. I must be positively bonkers for relating to someone in a book.

But I am positively bonkers anyway for dreaming of things from a book.

I just have one thing to say : I never imagined myself hoping for a fairytale life. Neither being a hopeless romantic.

And somehow, I want everything to go just as it's been written.

-No comment-

Oh, I Forgot.

In a sudden attempt to take control of my life, I swept out the bad dust and opened the windows to let some fresh air through. I cleaned out my closets and buried the skeletons deep in the dirt I stood on. I went outside and let the rain wash away my pain, and I just lay on the grass - sorting out the mess I had created for myself. I had done everything to completely purify myself.

Well, at least I thought I had.

If you didn't know before, it's time you did. I am a junkie. Addicted to things that give me pleasure and somehow make me forget all my problems and lapse into total peace of mind.

It's not crystal. It's not crack. It's not booze. Neither is it sex.

It's retail. And it's also the phone.

And it certainly isn't funny.

I am beyond depressed because I basically squandered my entire cash supply on useless outfits that I probably will never wear. And the other half of it : I used to pay my $300 phone bill. Yeah, because I just couldn't go to sleep every night without spending at least an hour on the phone. It's not like I was tired and forced myself to stay awake.

I just couldn't put down the phone. Maybe I wasn't tired because I was fuelling my body with the adrenaline rush from the addiction.

The worst part of it is I still like shopping. Even more in fact. It's as if I have a stronger urge to purchase things when I have no more money than ever.

The only things that remind me of my painful and bitter experiences are my full closets of shit - and my empty savings box.

I could kill myself now, or die from this addiction.

-No comment-

Persona Non Grata.

Thee shall have no communication with those inferior.

Thee shall not give praise to nor receive praise from those who are evil.

Thee shall not be vulnerable to those who mean harm.

Thee shall not give a total fuck.

Moving on was a crucial part of me taking control of my life, and everything beautiful I had in it : friends, fun, and family. I feel somewhat silly because I never knew what I had until ... it was gone.

Okay, no - it never left to begin with. I meant to say - I never knew what I had until everything else superficial - crumbled. Into tiny toxic little pieces. Leaving behind the most resplendent jewel ever found, once caked with mud and silt that used to shine under light.


At the end of everything, I feel totally free, totally liberated. Like as if a burden - that I had layed upon myself - was lifted, and destroyed.


The only thing left to do now is to maintain that degree of nonchalance. Oh, have I practised - playing out scenes in my head just to see how my mind, and my heart, react to them. And I can confirm that in a hypothetical situation, I am pretty prepared.


Playing out a scene where Sheep and Skankman are touching each other and making out, I am totally void of feelings for him. And playing out another scene with me and someone else, I feel nothing. All I have to do now is to put it to the real test. In a real situation. Where there isn't any other thought or vision I can focus onto to avoid any feelings.


If I have to learn one thing from any of this, it is that there is no room for forgiveness.


I must not forgive.


I must not forgive.


-No comment-

Move Along. And I'll Make It Through.

My favourite movie seems to have become the story of my life. I had embraced it so much that my social life fhad followed it To The Tee. I had a real-life Regina, a real-life Janice and most of all - a real-life Cady Heron.

I was Cady Heron. Entering an institution with no knowledge of how its student population was run. I imagined everything to be just peachy.

People who looked at you admired you; they didn't wish you were better off dead.
And when they smiled at you they didn't think you were the dumbest little thing they had ever seen; they thought you were a beautiful person inside and out.
And when the boys watched you walk by, they thought they would get a chance for your heart; not your virginity.

I was Cady Heron, who thought that the only way to enter the system was to surrender your dignity and your soul to the sinned rulers that will do nothing but feast on it and in return, pretend to have instantly mounted you on a pedestal of supreme popularity. And supreme popularity is something that someone truly naive will make their ultimate priority.

And that's just what I did. I was that home-schooled freak in a way, totally unaware to lies and betrayal, and believing everything little thing told to me. I trusted so many - and was fooled by so many. I give the benefit of the doubt like whores gives pleasure. Except I do it for free.

So what happens at the end of the movie? Cady has to suck out all that poison from her life, just like when a venomous snake bites you. I do too. I have to suck out all the poison so I can heal myself and move on. Move on to something that SHOULD be my priority and I hope to seal myself off from that jungle I entered a time ago because I thought that's where I had to be.

The irony of it all is, as many times as I saw the movie : I had failed to see it play out before my very eyes in real life.

And all I want to do now is to move on. To totally leave the mess behind in a locked vault and lose the key. Because I am so content with what I have.

I am content hanging out with Miss Turqouise in college and going shopping with her at the end of the week.
I am happy spazzing about Dark-Hunter men at ungodly hours to Athi.
I am content being with Feesh and doing totally insane things together.
I am content talking to the Slayer of Broken Truth because he makes me laugh for the silliest of things.
I am content going to concerts and losing my voice, screaming out the songs.
I am content helping out people with their love lives, eventhough my own is messed up beyond redemption.
And I am happy talking to my Bitch - about all the old times, and the things that make us smile.
And I am content with myself for being strong and making this change, and finally realising why I should be so content.

I just hope I am not stupid enough to believe things change. And stupid enough to do it all over again.

-No comment-

*To all the people mentioned above, I thank you for being there for me when it didn't seem like I needed you. I'm sorry for mistakes I have made in the past. And just as someone at near death is beaten down to the ground has to rise and walk on, I need all of your help once again through this change and to push me of my feet when I move along. Thank you. I love you all. *

My Heart In Panic. Part Two.

6.29PM : Miss Turquoise comes running through the entrance, nearly skidding across the polished floor and landing right next to me. This is followed by Feesh, who looks like an airplane that has not been cleared for landing - but is going to do it anyway. And well, she crashes. Into me.

Well, One Buck Short is doing their soundcheck and we were basically screaming whatever we wanted at them ... 'cos we're allowed. Nyeh. Anyway, I am just going to mention some of the things screamed at the band, trying desperately to do their soundcheck through the noise. Too bad, too sad :

1. Feesh : Hey, you're hot!
Bassist : Sorry?

2. Crowd : Throw guitar picks please! Drumsticks too! Guitars!
(Drummer waves his arms in the air to motion that he promises to do so.)
Me : Just throw yourself!
(Drummer laughs.)

3. (Lights come flashing on after a second of darkness.)
Crowd : Wooooohooooo!
Me : Why are we so jakun?
Random Person in Crowd : 'Cos we're Malaysian!

Ok, 'nuf said. Let's continue.

Anyway, the sound check is finally over and the band returns after a while to perform. They were quite good, in fact. And oh yes, the hot bassist throws his guitar pick and thank god for Converse because I caught it right under my foot (Mua-haha-haha.)

Finally, they retreat behind the tall black curtain. The Panic roadies come out on stage for a while to set up the instruments and we being ourselves (totally random and high) start yelling out random guy names to them . You know - Bill, Jon, Dan, Carl, Matthew, Taylor, Bob (my favourite) ... etc. And then suddenly one of us says Kevin.

One of the roadies looks up and smiles at us through the crack in the curtain. Hence, we proclaim that heavily-tattooed gentlemen as Kevin. We know your momma named you Kevin! Oh yes, one more thing - I forgot to mention :

Miss Turquoise found her husband. The only roadie not wearing black (well, he was wearing black ... boxers that is, and upon sight of them I screamed that I liked black too.)


Suddenly all the roadies walk off the stage and the crowd is submerged in darkness once again. To which the chicks scream blue murder. Now, these chicks scream blue murder to lights that turn off. I asked myself what they would do when the band actually walks onto stage.


And I was sorry I asked.


We suddenly see figures walking out and the girls go crazy. The only indication I had of myself screaming was the feeling of my throat disintegrating. And I don't even want to begin on my ears. A few girls passed out and they were carried out by the guards. So, let's forget about the bitchy girls now - let's talk me. Heehee. Deal with it.


When Brendon Boyd Urie walked out on stage - I died. Simple as that. Oh wait, I was reborn because I hadn't even seen him with the lights on. So then when the spotlights turned on, I died again ... and then I was reborn because they hadn't even started playing. So when Brendon started singing, I died another time. And I pretty much stayed like that - lapsing in and out of death - throught the show. And I repeated the entire thing with Ryan Ross.


Death By Multiple Simultaneous Orgasms. Interesting.


So anyway, throughout the performance I had one main aim : Get Ryan Ross To Wave At Me. Frantically, I was either waving my poster in the air or shaking my arms as if drowning in the sea of rabid bitches. Then, finally I see Ryan Ross's head slowly turning towards me. I increase speed of Mad Hand In Air. And just at that moment, he turns and we lock eyes for a brief moment. He steps back, smiles with his head cocked to the side and waves. Mission completed.

That gorgeous motherfucker sends me to the skies.


And Brendon is always doing the most adorable things. Like grinning and singing the song at the same time. Like shaking his head violently everytime there is a break in the song. Like opening his eyes wide at us while singing. Like rolling his eyes and moving his head like a bubblehead doll instead of saying 'fuck' in the song, and smiling at us when the crowd screams it out anyway. Like singing out the keyboard intro to a song with us. Like play a tambourine using your head. I mean - who does all that??


My Brendon. XD


So, basically long story short, after attaining partial deafness and throat disintegration - not to mention a few thousand orgasms - they play their last song and leave. Yup, they don't even stay long enough for an encore. But it's alrite. The roadies brought goodies.


At one point, drumsticks flew out into the air and as soon as I touched one of them, I grabbed hold of it - no matter how slippery my fingers were. And I didn't let go. I had a slight problem however. There was one other pair of hands on them. And they were holding on just as tightly.


OK, if you haven't established by now how bitchy and skanky I can get when I want something, you shouldn't even be reading my blog. So I clawed and I yelled and I screamed and everyone around us was creating space for our catfight. Until ...


Miss Turquoise : Bix! It's just Feesh - STOP! Feesh, it's Bix!


... oops. Well, we regained our composure and god bless Feesh for eternity because she let me have the drumstick. I love you. <3>We follow him in and it leads to the backstage. We see the roadies in the corner, all packed up and ready to leave so here, our newfound friends decide to take a few shots. But ... when it comes to our turn, one of the roadies comes from behind to put his arms around Feesh and I.

Ooh baby.

Anyway, turns out that Kevin is actually Basil. And he just looked and smiled at us because we were laughing and screaming. Thanks for the misleading information. We're gonna call you Kevin anyway.

And I would post those pictures up - if I had them. But they're gone and I really don't want to talk about it.

Conclusion : Panic at the Disco were fabulous that night. All four of them.

I hope you know what I mean.

-No comment-