Glassy eyes of death

We were trying to walk from Zhongshan building to Nu Sentral. It seemed like a short distance, yet Google Maps showed a long, roundabout route. Coming from the experience of ignoring instructions and paths turning out to be safe, we started towards what made sense. This time around though, Google didn't lie; it was roads that has sharp curves where a speeding car may not see us. It was roads with barely any faux pedestrian paths. It was a highway with only slopping grassy sides.

So we retraced our steps, going through those dangers once again. I had a sudden feeling of guilt, that I asked for such a perilous walk. It was the road with sharp curves that made me worry most that he would be in danger. The human body is fragile, and we are so able now. Things could change so fast.


I can't remember the first time that image crossed my mind. Perhaps when it was when he was driving, and me in the passenger seat. A not-very-close call thing happened, and I imagined us crashing into a ravine. I imagined waking up blurry amidst the smoking engine and blood. I imagined when I reached over, his almond eyes are open and wide and dead. I imagined just sitting there, not knowing what to do, what to tell his dad and how long it took to cross paths with him.

I would look at him for a long long time. I do not want this.

Nasi lemak after exercise; the best.

It's like the elixir of life flowing into me, and it felt amazingly good. Note, usual meal consists of two eggs, either boiled or half-boiled.

Doubt and love

Doubt is a terrible feeling that haunts me. It has been for the past week. Worried about my own worth, my social slip-ups, being abandoned by friends, my work and my progress in life. There's a pattern I would know by now; that much of my fear isn't true and being like this won't help - the energy needed to recentre myself is simply tiring.

I also need to remember that work =/= true satisfaction with life.

It's funny how verbalising something soothes you. Maybe because when it's in my head, cells feed each other and escalating daymares. It circles and doesn't reach a concrete resolution. I was uncomfortable at first to talk to U about it. I'm always afraid that it would go against what he thought of me, and that adolescent fear of abandonment seizes me momentarily. Or how a wrong move had cost me dearly in primary school; from a favoured child to one that my teachers asked to isolate.

But he isn't they. And if it's someone I want to spend a long long time with, he should be a person I could be vulnerable with and who I could share my things with. So I did. He did not react the way my amydala told me it would.  That reminder that, what happened in my early years was two exceptions to a rule, is refreshing. And the reminder that my fear of vulnerability probably hindered me from a sense of tenderness in relationships.