White walls

Was I born to be lonely? To exist in a world where nobody understands, and nobody tries to.

Why do I have to be born with such a sensitive and paranoid heart?

Why do I need to depend? Even as I tried so hard not to.





In Pieces

I’m holding on to strands, I realized.

It’s like déjà vu, but this time it’s worse.

I was stupid. I should have realized that them reconciling and living happily ever after is almost too good to be true. They don’t love each other anymore. At least, that’s what she tells me.

What can I do? I am but a mere observer. In the end all I can do is watch. It’s their lives. It’s their happiness. They deserve to decide what is best for themselves. Even if it means tearing my heart to pieces.

I should be more prepared. I faced this last year, yet I still can’t compose myself to look at her straight in the eye and tell her, “your happiness is what matters”. I’m so selfish I disgust myself.

I don’t even dare to start imagining what the future would be like. That part messed me up the most last year. It was a dark place in my mind I wish to never set foot into ever again. I’ll just embrace it, whatever it is.

I can’t blame her. I might do the same if I am in her shoes. Alas, I’m also not kind enough to smile and pretend to be happy for her. I can’t. My instinct tells me to run. Last year, I had the comfort of being in a boarding school. I ran, silently. I made up excuses not to go home, just because I can’t bear to sit in the same house where people are silently planning to leave each other. Where people act so normal it’s too ironic to actually know the truth behind those plastic surfaces.

Now, where do I run? Take me away from this misery, my heart and tear ducts can’t take it. I understand everything, yet I understand nothing. I am confused, sad, angry and frustrated. I don’t know who to talk to about this. I hope you guys, my silent readers can at least offer some prayer for my heart to be calm and receiving. Right now, I don’t need consolation. I just need courage, to face the new world head on. I need strength, to look at the memories and realize it will never be the same. I just need a hug. I don’t know how to deal with this.

I’m lost and we are back to square one.

I need to run.

Sadness vs Joy

Note the Inside Out reference in the title, I’m in love with that movie.

The past few weeks have been harsh on me. Please note that I am currently on my period, so this post might get a little bit emotional. I warned you.

3/3/2016. What a glorious, marvellous day that was. Indeed, that was one of the best days of my life. Smiles all around, warm fuzzy feelings and bright sparkly eyes looking forward to the future.

The week after. A week full of scholarship applications, photocopying certificates, finalising my resume.

18/3/2016. Kijang Academy at Lanai Kijang. It was a pleasant surprise to be nominated for Kijang Emas. Only 21 people out of 700 9A+ achievers around Malaysia, and shortlisted to the top 9. I was supposed to write a full post about this but at this point, I could not bring myself to. I’m sorry.

The week after. Spent waiting for a call from Bank Negara. I did not want to expect anything, but how could I not? There was a 50% chance at that time, and needless to say I clung on to the 50% chance to get a positive outcome. Blame me all you want, for having an unrealistic hope, but if you were in my shoes, you would too. You would, if the panel gave positive comments on your performance. You would, if the panel said “good luck with the elephants” as a response to your dream to pursue wildlife veterinary. You would, if the panel said, “you nailed this, you have high aptitude, and a good attitude as well”. You would, unless you are smarter than me and knew not to put your hopes up too high.

I went for a MARA interview at KMB under medicine. Needless to say, that planted more fantasies and dreams in my parents head. My dad was already imagining things like me flying over to the UK like my brother and sister did to study medicine. Little does he know I have no intention to study medicine anymore. I’m sorry mum and dad for wasting your time and making you put high hopes on me.

In silence, I was quietly hoping for that call from Bank Negara. The promise of the words ‘end of March’ I held on to, keeping my phone fully charged, refreshing my emails every few hours and having mini-heart attacks whenever an unknown number calls.

Well, the news dropped like a bomb. On 30th March, I found out that the Kijang Emas recipients have already got their phone calls a few days ago..while I was busy keeping my hopes up. On 31st March, I saw their picture with Malaysia’s governor, and all I could think about was how good would it be if that was me. I shed a few tears that day, I kept everyone’s hopes up only to disappoint them. I was the only candidate from SSP and still I could not make them proud. I did not tell my parents, but they found out by themselves when they saw the picture of Zeti Aziz and the 3 scholars in the newspaper. The least they could do was send me a rejection email, but they didn’t, as if I do not even deserve that last bit of dignity.

Things just went downhill from there. I did not even receive a response email for my application to Maybank, yet to receive an email from Yayasan Peneraju, Program Penajaan Nasional and tonight, I was eliminated from the Khazanah assessments because of a freaking personality test.

At this point, I’m just slowly letting go of whatever hopes I have remaining. I accept all these with an open heart. Alhamdulillah, for making better plans for your servant who has little to no knowledge on what is best for her.

Just allow me to be sad. I have been rejected numerous times. I remember when I was in standard 2, when I failed an interview to become a school prefect, when all my other friends succeeded. It was my first interview, and I failed. Luckily I learned from my mistakes and passed the following year, and ended up as Assistant Head Girl. I remember when I was eliminated from being a prefect when I was in Form 4. I cried my eyeballs out until my face was so bloated and puffy, but I ended up being one anyway, when I got to be a prefect without having to make posters, gain votes and giving speeches. I even became one of the top 10, which was a candidate for being a top 5. I remember getting my first ever C in add math, because the exam was held in between two major debate competitions which I lost, and I felt like major shit at that particular moment.

I failed. Numerous times. 10 debate competitions and not once did I make it to number 1. Not once did I make it to the top 10 best speakers. I count my failures, I list them, compile them and tuck them in somewhere behind my brain. That way, I can cherish them when I am successful, and I can reflect when I fail again. I succeeded just a little over a month ago, now I feel like I am a failure again. It’s okay, that’s why we are called humans. Life is like our own personal roller coaster, it’s up to us to decide whether to enjoy it or detach ourselves from riding it and blame the engineers who made so many loops and dips in the tracks.

Perhaps I would not feel so upset if nobody else was rooting for me. My parents imagined a lot of good things after my excellent results. My teachers were confident I would fly overseas, quoting one of them who said, “Maryam ni tahun depan dah takde kat Malaysia dah”. My friends rooted and prayed for me whenever I requested them to. It sucks to be disappointed, and it sucks even more to be a disappointment.

I may feel like I’m at rock pit bottom right now. I might feel useless and helpless now . I might feel lonely and detached now, but I will spring up. I will rise again. I promise. InsyaAllah. If God wills, anything can happen.






Who cares?

It’s funny.

I shape myself up to be this happy, optimistic, positive bundle of joy.

When I’m not.

I’m a hypocrite.

Maybe that’s why no one would care.

Maybe that’s why no one would bother talking to me every day.

Maybe that’s why I don’t truly have friends who cherish both my good and bad sides.

Maybe that’s why-

even I can’t bear to like myself.

I’m so fake, I laugh at my own desperation for attention. The long desperation that was never truly fulfilled.

To have someone understand me without having to say a thing.

To have someone’s arms hold me while I let my tears flow and my body shake out the sadness.

To have a sincere person, on whom I can trust, I can rely on, and I can bother at 3am when I couldn’t sleep but still be rest assured that the person would not mind.

To have someone pay attention to what I’m saying, no matter how petty and pathetic I sound.

Because when my insomnia kicks in and I am alone in this dark room, these thoughts just never seem to tire out and there is no one to hear it, except for myself.

My happy, positive self who always shows her good side to people until her real crippled self becomes an insecurity- and was shunt away at the farthest box at the back of her head, along with other insecurities.

Of never being good enough.

Of never going to be past average.

Of never having an attractive body.

Of never being able to love, and be loved.

Of never going to be “normal” enough.

These dark ghosts that I can easily walk past through during the day, but can never escape in the confinement of my room, at 3 am.

Every time this happens, the same old question pops into my head, although I already knew the answer-

If I died tonight, who cares?