And if I forget, or god forbid, die too soon.

I feel like talking about 2006 again, this won't make

much sense to a lot of you sorry,

here goes.

Before feeling so tired and The Days Spent In Bed,

we wrecked havoc in school

and cracked our brains for ways to skip training.

We met up in Bishan all the time [what the fuck?]

and we were fucking out of our minds.

Oh god, I was fourteen hahaha.

I never studied and always failed

and did Biology MCQ in WMUM

and felt like awkward girl number one.

I looked bad in my school uniform

and still had a discman that only

worked if I hit it on the table.

MyIdon'tknows&hair who remembers that phrase.

Cyanide and First Baybeats and FFB

and purple hightops and peanut butter.

Leech, Mole rat, Walrus, Lorry, Tractor.

Waking up in the dark to my phone ringing,

you remembered,

name that tune.

The year of mixtapes, firsts, crazy stalker girls.

Insanely happy and devastatingly sad

and now I don't feel either.

It's less exhausting but I still feel so drained.

Maybe it's just the late nights.

I miss it.

Them.

You.

Wake up. You're alive. We're on your side.

My To Write Love On Her Arms teeshirts

have come in, courtesy of my daddy,

who is also home. (:

I ordered six shirts

[Two for me, Three for Va, One for Qi Xuan]

and a sticker pack,

they are so beautiful yay.

THE LOVELY PEOPLE THREW IN A BADGE SET

[AND WROTE 'FREE' ON THE BACK, HOW CUTE].

I am happy.

I'll wear them with pride.

And remember The Story,

that's on the inside of my shirt

and tacked up over my bed.

But only you accompanied me all night... mp3 darlin'

Mein gott, I am so tired but speechlessly satisfied with myself.



I just completed my minimum wordcount thousand two hundred word essay for my writ comm assignment. Mind you, a thousand words is EASY to string out of my ass, (and maybe play skipping rope with it) but then they take away that option of bullshitting by forcing you to cite relevant sources APA style, so now it's not really writing a thousand or it's writing ONE THOU-FUCKING-SAND words PLUS PLUS and actually going to the library to do research.


They say the older generation of university students had it tough, where people actually had to look for books, whereas in my generation, it's just open laptop, google, then quote some shit website.

I should feel so lucky, but I feel like the words I wrote for the essay; like shit.

Need. To. Detox. Now.

-Nat

P.S

I am wide awake, and it feels like

the rest of the world is awake with me.

We have our little village of Macbooks here

in Macdonald's and I have 800 words down.

I feel triumphant and then I look up and see

a girl in a cocktail dress and heels.

At Four AM in a 24-hour fast food chain in Kallang.

Life is strange.

It is also strange in that it seems to be going in circles.

A word, so foreign, so ... unfamiliar now.

It used to flow easily off your lips and to my ears but

now it stops short and clutters up the

conversation but warms me still.

Short-lived as it is.

I persist in believing.

I'm stubborn that way.

But do you ever get the fear that your perfect verse is just a lie you tell yourself to help you get by?

I will block out the fact that I can feel

people's eyes on my back, watching my

every movement.

Or maybe they aren't even looking and

it's just all in my head.

I will sing my heart out

and hope you see cause I want you to

be happy too.

I think it's a bit different this time round.

I know for a fact it doesn't hurt as much anymore.

I still walk alone though,

for the last bus.

But you tell me that I'm pretty and I've

learnt not to say no.

Your indecision is taking over every time.

My feelings up and down

You're just a little inconsiderate

I couldn't bring myself to, sorry.

And I'm fat.

*

We're not kids anymore.

I'm sixteen, supposedly sweet

but all I've tasted so far is

the bitterness of disappointment, of anger,

of beer, of Second Time Around-s that

probably won't lead to Thirds.

I snatch any little time I have alone

to recall.

It's so unbecoming of me to sit and

think of you.

Your face, your little tics, your back,

your hands, god, your hands.

But enough about you.

I worry about them too,

us all in this little awkward stage

where we're learning not to be kids,

not to fuck up anymore because

mistakes won't be as easy to forgive or forget,

because band-aids and stickers won't

work for this hurt.

I am at a loss.

What more can I do?

Talk to me like you used to.

If only I could see, return myself to me.

I am a Maybe, slight distraction, short delay.

Never a Yes, sometimes a No, always a Maybe.

*

I fucking hate this okay, god damn it.

HATE it.

I can't even make the effort to act

like myself.

I want to take to my bed.

*

Oh and, maybe I'll be saying this instead of

hearing it from someone else,

like you thought.

I think he's bad for you.

I think you're bad for me.

And this is what I have.

So you went for a concert. I have... I went to play volleyball, as usual. You know I go there all the time, or at least, every Saturday now.



I didn't have live music, but I had speakers playing techno on the beach.

I didn't have booze, but I had 100 Plus and Gatorade.

I didn't climb no steps, but I tried reaching to greater heights with my new jump serve.



But I hope you had fun, and I know you did, in your own silly Tractoring way. So I won't worry about you in mosh pits with other guys (and (!) girls) flailing their arms.



And I might even be envious of your... alternative lifestyle, but at least my ears don't hurt, and I had lots of fun in my own Nice way.

-nat

But we're going around and around.

Today I saw:

The Fire Fight,

Amateur Takes Control [W/cute screamo boy we all like],

Deputy Siren,

Caracal [Field, which everyone likes. And KC yay],

WEST GRAND BOULEVARD

[Excited as hell

cause I hadn't seen them play in ages.

Need I really say who we Fangirl?

- Egan: Do you want to meet Bryan?

Tessa: OHMYGAWWWD AHHHHH JQHOIQWHJIQWIQW.],

Astreal,

Plainsunset x2.

Met Lydia, Jess, Lifen, Manprit & Mujia

- first time I climbed The Staircase of Doom

to Block Party at Old School.

Saw Hat Boy [WHAT ELSE IS NEW?],

saw Foo Fighters Boy.

Went down The Hill to get

Ruiyi & Tess

- second time going up The Staircase.

Vanns arrived and we went off to Weekend Trip.

It rained and everyone huddled under the tent,

people smoking, boys with shirts off.

Moshing on slippery floor

led to people slip-sliding everywhere, falling down.

West Grand was brilliant, top form!

We left halfway through Plainsunset's set

for dinner and then RUIYI AND I

BROKE INTO A LAUGHING FIT

that lasted all the way as

we walked from Cine back to Block Party.

Madness reached a high when

I challenged Nigel to race me from

The Istena back to Old School.

I AM SO OUT OF SHAPE.

Died halfway, only to race again

up The Staircase of Doom.

[Third time, if you're counting.]

2 for $10 beer, bad times are when

you actually like the taste.

Bad times bad times bad times.

We walk out at the end,

a tug on my sleeve.

What was all that about?

I am not expecting anything.

So why does everything, every small miniscule thing,

throw me off slightly?

Not like last time at least, thank god.

It has been a mad mad day and a crazier night,

I need sleep.

Everything aches.

I think it's from the effort of

holding myself up and keeping

some semblance of a smile on my face.

[And the odd flying elbow to the head.]

Sailed away on separate trips.

"I finally get to speak to you, and you

ask me about my fucking shoes."

So hopeless, so helpless.

I turn away to face the window,

but you call me back.

Wordless.

I close my eyes and try to think

of something to say that will

make you stop wishing you were dead.

I wish I were enough.

It's okay that I'm not.

I'm happier.

I want you to be too.

How am I supposed to know that you're high

if you won't even dance?

I'm not going to say that

I can't dance anymore.

Gobbledigook.

It's dark.

Under the train tracks, there is

a rush of sound and

our upturned faces

get illuminated for those few seconds.

Open windows, so we get little glimpses of

other people's lives.

I feel terribly alone sometimes.

You can't stop talking,

sometimes I just want to tell you

to shut the fuck up, please.

I miss being tucked in,

into blankets,

into the corner where your neck

meets your shoulder,

into the dark.

*

Afternoon at the table outside

My Humble House at the Esplanade

with our take-home pack of

Hokkaido Ice Cream

in Cookies & Cream and Banana Chocolate.

Lace up your shoes, here's how we do.

RUN BABY RUN.

We hxc dance outside a not-really-hxc place.

My bones ache, I'm getting out of shape,

need to train up again.

[HAHAHA OMG WE RUN AND LEAP

OFF WALLZ, NINJA BALLZ]

Then today we went to

The Roti Prata House at Thomson.

Kool Kidz at Thomson Ulu-Ville Plaza,

BLOODY FUCK NOWHERE IS SAFE ANYMORE.

[HAT BOY AGAIN JESUS CHRISTO.]

I think I will tie the ribbon

in my hair Warrior-style now.

Everytime I hear Check Yes Juliet,

it feels wrong if I'm not wearing those jeans & hightops.

Because er, slip-ons don't have laces.

We're off the heezay.