She picks up the toothbrush and stares at her reflection in the mirror. So lost. So unfamiliar a face.
The stream of warm tap water gushes through the faucet as she runs the toothbrush under it.
Clumsily she picks up the almost empty tube of tooth paste and squeezes the meager leftover bits onto the frayed bristles.
The repeated motion of the ups and downs of the toothbrush against her teeth lull her into a false sense of security until she looks at the mirror again to see the perplexed look on her face.
So real.
But why. Why does she have these dreams. Dreams of impossible lives. Dreams that feel so real that the sensations tingle on her skin even after she wakes. Why here. Why now?
She forces herself to look away from the mirror, to stop analyzing the reflection that she can’t comprehend, spits out the foam and gargles.
The images from her dreams flash through her head in a quick jerky montage.
Stop it, she tells herself.
Let go.
She strips herself of her pajamas and walks into the shower. Naked and cold, she turns the valve for the hot water and lets the water fall gently from the shower head onto her hair, which trails down to her skin. And for twenty minutes, her hair and skin enjoys the soft caresses of warm water.
Entry @ 4:06 AM;
Saturday, December 19, 2009
she stood still
in her floral white dress
on the edge
of a cliff.
"let go, let go"
she tells herself.
and she tips forward in a graceful freefall
soaring through the air like a paper plane
BAM
she awakes
still on the cliff
unable to take the step forward
to freedom.
she fears
"what will i become?"
Entry @ 10:45 PM;
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
"Please, don't leave me alone!" She cries. The little girl clutches tightly to her teddy. Where has everybody gone? She calms herself down and realises that it isn't loneliness she fears. But the cold, barren place in her head which she's drawn to when alone.
Entry @ 12:22 AM;
Saturday, October 31, 2009
maybe it's an inability to accept reality.
maybe it's the false sense of self-worth derived from the flawed skeletal frame i use as a yard stick for defining self.
i should be happy doing things that i love. that people say i'm good at. and i enjoy classes. i really do. i suppose it comes down to the fact that i'm just not good enough.
everytime i feel not good enough, it makes me want to stop doing it. i know it's a quitter's mentality and i abhor it. that's why i don't. i keep trying or at least tell myself to not give up.
it's stupid really sometimes. i let one comment get to me so badly i keep harping on it. not outwardly of course. that passes in awhile. but once in awhile it'll resurface in my mind and i feel gosh, maybe this isn't my thing, maybe i'm just not good enough at it. maybe i should stop.
i was a listening to a song just now and i didn't feel like singing along.
but it's when i reflect on things that it feels as though someone's telling me "Look at how far you've come". and for a moment i feel like "woah yea". though the past is just it. past.
[edit] dad just showed me an episode of America's Got Talent which made me go "WOAH" and "woahhhhhhhh" at the same time
thank you daddy, where'd your girl be without u :)
Entry @ 1:38 AM;
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
i'm at the bus interchange and all i hear is the humming of buses. there are only two of us at the berth. in fact there are only two of us waiting for a bus at the interchange. total strangers. yet i realise how similar we are. i realise we are very different as well. it is as if being in a space with only two individuals heightens everything. the space. the quiet. the humming. the connectedness and disconnectedness. but this is broken by the arrival of the bus.
Entry @ 1:07 AM;
Wednesday, September 09, 2009
The Difference between Living and ThrivingA wilting flower asks for water.
"Please save me", she cries to the gardener as the wind threatens to blow her into obivilion.
the gardener sees her potential and water she gets. bit by bit she grow stronger.
the gardener starts to tend more to this flower, giving her fertiliser, and singing songs of colours and joy to encourage her growth.
and one day she truly blooms. the sun rays dance on her petels as the dew trickles off her leaves.
"thank you. thank you." she chants. and hopes to bloom forever and ever so that both the gardener and her can enjoy each other's company.
but the days go buy and her colour starts to fade. fearing for the worst, the gardener tries to give her the best plant food money can buy.
the flower tries her best to appear at her brightest, but to no avail.
"Please save me", she cries, whimpering softly. But water can't save her anymore.
Entry @ 2:05 AM;
Sunday, September 06, 2009
the lights. the sounds. the sights. the shimmer. the flash. the glimmer.
as she puts the finishing touches to her face, she purses her lips so that the glorious red of her lipstick spreads evenly between top and bottom lip.
perfect.
her skin, flawless. no doubt with the aid of beauty products, but still. flawless under the lights.
the dress, a most dazzling piece of art by a renowned designer. it fits her to a T.
with her matching purse in her hand she steps out of the limo onto the red carpet. people know her, know who she is. or at least they claim they do. with her occupation she's understood. chatty, confident, cheerful. some of the many adjectives assigned to her based on what people understand of her job.
the teenage girls in front of the TV whisper to each other about how they wish they were her and giggle uncontrollably at the thought of dating her exes.
she walks down the carpet, stopping for pictures and interviews.
but with every step, her foundation cracks a little, her lips chafe. the diamonds fall from her neck with a slow comedic effect. the seams of her dress burst thread by thread.
yet at the end of the walk, in her immaculate self she turns to wave once more. not a single hair out of place, with a smile as radiant as the sun.
tomorrow is another day, she tells herself. tomorrow is another day.
tomorrow is another day to do this all over again. all over. all over. again.
tomorrow is another day to not live up to today.
Everyday, she kills herself slowly with perfection.
Entry @ 1:59 AM;
Friday, July 24, 2009
