how to be happy

I've yet to figure this out.

Like some woodland creature in its native habitat, it's adept at eluding me. I will catch glimpses of it, I will hear the earth it shakes and the twigs it snaps, I will smell its breathy scent, and I will at times feel as though I am in fact touching it.

But moments like those fade in an instant, and I'm left staring at my palms blankly, so sure that I was holding something tangible only seconds earlier.

It's a wispy notion that I want to capture and drown in.

But for now, I've constructed a series of steps that I believe I can use to achieve this end-goal.

1) Wake up to beautiful things. Open my eyes, and whether it be through my window in the ceiling or the glassy screen of my iPad, see something beautiful (in looks, in spirit, in intention) to start my day.

2) For even just one minute, sit in silence and bask in the world of daydreams. No hindrance from people, music, chores, homework, loneliness.

3) Start things early to avoid stress. Last-minute panic is a magnificent source of adrenaline and productivity. And stress. Avoid.

4) Write. Anything. Everything. Happiness and sadness, fantastic and vulgar, realistic and painful, condense every thought into a series of words that somehow align themselves into a coherent sentence (despite how jumbled it feels in my head).

5) Think of the future, and realize that I have a place in them. Though I do not feel I belong in the present, I have the future to hope for. I may not belong now, but one day, I will find some niche that I can burrow in comfortably.

Solitude is a gift, and loneliness is grief.

6) Wonders abound! Go forth and look for them. North, south, east, and west. Go. Unrestrain yourself from the chains of fear and reality, and go.

7) Be healthy. Eat well, sleep well, and exercise well.

8) Move to a place where there is no winter.

9) Drink more water.

10) Be fantastic. In every shape and every form, be fantastic, and forget the confines of my earthly cage. Forget the looks and the thoughts of my peers, and realize that all I have is one shot to die, and I ought to make it worth it.

All these steps are meant to direct me towards an end-goal. Which, of course, means that I should understand what this end-goal is. This requires me to answer another question:

what does it mean to be happy?

I have yet to figure this out too.

text messages

I've finally done something I've been meaning to for a long time; I can strike through one little task on my woefully long to-do list.

I've finished backing up all the texts on my old phone.

I probably should expand a little more on this, so that nobody reading this will scratch their head over why this is supposedly a significant task for me.

I'm currently wielding an iPhone 3G, a third-hand device that passed through the possession of my father and then my mother before landing in my grubby little claws. But before this, I used a Sony Ericsson W810i. It's a swanky white model, small and easy to use, and even though I've retired it for almost two years now, it's still dear to me. I used it from when I moved to Australia up until I graduated from high school.

It was and is precious to me. I'd load it up with songs, and hide away at school, relying on it to entertain me when I had nowhere else to go and nothing else to do. Whenever I was in an awkward situation, I'd pull it out and pretend to be busy texting somebody. Due to my incessant international texting, I used to rack up impressive phone bills that led to a lot of lecturing from my mother.

It was on this phone that I sent and received an array of messages to and from Vern. These were texts that I had stored in there all these years. All others unrelated, I've already deleted long ago. But his still remain, and all others related to him.

And I've been meaning to back them up to my laptop, to provide a safe archive for me to save and trawl through one day, in case this phone ever dies. That was one fear I had inside of me. What if I lost all those texts? Two weeks of short, constrained messages full of short-hands and slang and misspellings. What if I lost them? I couldn't let that happen. So I scribbled down on my to-do list: "Backup smses on old phone."

And I delayed. For various reasons (no time! can't find my old phone right now! where did that transfer cable go? i don't know what program to use!), I stalled.

A part of me was too afraid to tuck away my iPhone, grab my old phone and switch it on, flick through the inbox, and read through the past treasures stored in there.

I used to do that a lot. After Vern passed away, for the many months that followed, I read and reread all that we wrote to each other. It was easy. I was still using that white phone during then, and so I had constant access to those messages at any time I wanted. And it both beautified and haunted my day, reading those glorious memories again and again, when I felt sad or happy or lonely or content.

When I traded that phone for the iPhone, about half a year after Vern's death, that changed. The white phone became Pandora's box. Once I open it, I'd unleash a torrent of poisonous feelings - not into the world, but into myself.

Since it was no longer my main phone of usage, it was easy to ignore it. Accessing the messages no longer held the factor of convenience. I tucked it away in a drawer, safely and snugly, promising myself to Back Up My Shit one day. One day.

One day turned into a few months, which spiraled into almost two years, and here I am.

I found a program, I set up all the drivers, and I plugged in my phone. For a split second, I was worried that it wouldn't start up. That age and disuse might've led to its death, and the screen would remain black, and those messages would be lost forever. But the screen blinked, and my paranoia faded.

I archived them in my laptop. The originals still remain on the phone, but now there's a copy existing in my laptop. I can't explain just how relieved I feel. Not only have I crossed this off my list and shook off the burden of thought, I know have some sort of safety vault for these short memories.

I think I must sound a bit stupid. I can't really explain how this is significant or important to me, I guess. But it is.

Actually, the backing up process had a slight hitch in it. It's a bit convoluted to explain, but well, I discovered that one of the messages he had sent me was missing. The very first message he had sent me, in fact, which makes it doubly important and darling.

You see, because I was and am a clumsy idiot, I had somehow saved that very first message to the sim card, and my phone being the bizarre little creation it is, no longer kept a copy of it on the phone. It only existed on the sim card.

But when I got my iPhone, I had swapped sim cards.

And so I panicked. Well, one part of me panicked, the other filled with quiet, hopeless dread and acceptance.

"It's only one text," the latter part tried to assuage my frantic half.

But one text is more than enough. I had to somehow get it back - but did I even have the sim card any more? I couldn't remember throwing it away, but then, it's just a sim card. Who the hell remembers whether they've thrown away their old sim card or not? And my room is a disorganized jungle of old cables and piles of paper; how would I ever find it again?

So I settled, and preemptively gave up. There was little point in searching for a lost cause. And after all, it was only one text. Only one.

But you know what was the worst feeling at that moment?

It was that I couldn't remember what that text was. I couldn't remember what it said. It was the very first message he had sent me, and I couldn't remember a word of it. What was it about? I felt miserable as I realized this. I could recall a few of the other texts he had sent me, some of the more clever and cute ones he had written to me.

But this one, the very first one he sent to me, the one that started our ongoing conversations - it was blank in my mind. The chunk of my brain that stored it no longer functioned, or at least it refused to disclose any information.

It might've been really important. Or really cute. Or really sweet. I couldn't remember. And I needed to remember. I didn't want to lose it. I needed to recapture it and reenter it into my brain.

I had to find it.

So some sort of hopeless determination funneled its way into my heart, and I began to look for the sim card. I dug through my room, rummaged through every box of cables and technological doodad that I possessed, emptied every drawer and rifled through every bag. And I couldn't find it.

It was gone.

That one piece of memory of him was gone. Forever, because I had been too stupid and too slow in backing it up.

Some quiet sort of misery simmered in me. I hadn't been expecting to find it, so I wasn't exactly outraged, but having it confirmed that I'd never get back that one text was a blow to the heart.

So I sat down amidst the mess I had created in my room from my scavenger hunt.

And then I saw it. It was in a drawer I had pulled open, hidden within a mass of cables. But it stood out, white among black, and I could see the yellow emblem on it that declared it to be an Optus sim card, my old sim card. For a second, I wondered at how I could've missed it in my earlier search. But then I didn't care. I had found it! I had it again. It was mine, that one piece of memory was mine again.

So I slid it into my phone and started it up. I wanted to see what he had written. What was the first message he had ever sent me?

My phone screen flickered to life, and after a few seconds of loading, I navigated my way to the saved messages inbox. And there it was.

Vern
"Yuan yuan ?"

And then I remembered it. I remembered reading that text. I remembered receiving it late at night, hearing my phone sound its little ditty indicating that I had a new message, and wondering who on earth would be texting me. And then I saw that message, and even though I didn't have his number then and so the sender's number was meaningless to me, I knew it was him. He called me that, a petname formed from my Chinese name, one that I adored. Not many people call me that, only my parents do. For some reason he also did, and it was sweet.

And then I switched over to the sent messages outbox to see what I had replied to that. I was very eloquent.

"OMG! Vern! <3"

That's Pulitzer Prize-winning shit right there.

It didn't properly convey my glee though. I was bubbling over with a very loud type of pride and joy, and all I could manage was an "OMG" and a heart. But still, I think in the later messages I sent him, I expressed my happiness a little bit better.

---

Reading through the messages he sent me, all of them, I get a little teary-eyed. He was splendid. Within the confines of 160 characters, he was adorable and sweet. With a near blasphemous amount of exclamation marks, smileys, and spelling errors, he was amazing.

Re-reading the messages and reliving the memories attached to them, it's very clear to me that I've lost someone incredible by every measure.

I don't think I could ever again meet someone as perfect as him again.

He was a deeply flawed creature. But he was perfect for me. He was perfect for the time, for my age, for my situation, for myself. I needed someone sweet and brilliant and strange, and I got him.

---

Three things about his messages that I want to make especial mention of:

1) His overuse of smileys of every kind was very adorable and very effecting.
2) He had an array of petnames for me, from Yuan Yuan to "silly =P", from Meatball (a stupid play on my Chinese name that I didn't really like when others said it, but didn't mind when it was him using it because it sounded oddly cute from him) to "my favorite girl."
3) The generous amount of hugs he'd unleash on me through text. I think this is my favorite thing about these texts. It's as if every other one of them had the word typed out at least once.

Though every single one of these messages are precious to me (I sound like a parent), there's one in particular I cherish and love above all others (a very bad parent).

There's a bit of backstory and context to this one text. But there's no way that I can retell it without having it lose a lot of its meaning and potency. So I won't share the context, because once it loses just a little of its essence, it falls utterly flat. But just know that it was a highlight for me, a secret success that I prided myself on, and his response to it was one that injected lethal amounts of light-headed glee into me.

His response, my favorite text message above all others, with all its juvenile text-speak conventions and irrevocably sweet loveliness:

Vern
28/05/2009 11:53AM
!! Omgg !! I wanna hug u so bad now D= look who's the sweet one noww~ miss u miss u misss youuuu ! Hughughug*

You'd think that these kind of thoughts would eventually leave, and maybe for a normal person they do, but they're still hiding in the crevices inside my skull, lurking underneath the cobwebs and tunnels until one day springing up and slapping me in the face.

I don't know how people accept death and loss. I think it's impossible. I think what actually happens is that they forget. I'm forgetting. I cry less often now, but not because I've accepted what happened, but because of my own blessed memory deficit that doesn't remind me of what happened often enough to warrant me crying every day. Because those few still working neurons that are wriggling around in my head will sometimes by sheer miraculous chance meet, and the sparks of my memory starts flowing through, and goddamn, I remember everything, and I start to cry again and feel like that miserable day when I heard the news and holed myself up in the bathroom to cry for hours.

As time goes by and my brain tumbles down into ruins and my memory follows suit and drills itself into uselessness, it gets easier and easier to forget, and I don't cry as much, but what's the point of that if I'm left an idiot.

I am a goddamn mess. For today, I am a goddamn mess. I'll clean up my act by tomorrow. And then I won't be a goddamn mess, and I'll be the goddamn infinitely awesome me who's going to stay at home all day and study, because that's all I know how to do and nothing else.

I am done.

This is an update, a meaningless one, because I have nothing to say. I'm only writing this post because...I want to assure myself that this blog is still alive (though in a vegetative state).

So. This blog is still alive!

As I have spoken, so shall it become.

To the 0.5 people remaining who still peruse this blog: sweet child, you long-suffering saint, your patience and persistence shall be sung of for many centuries.

I don't update because I have nothing to say, much like this blog post. I should try to add something of interest to this pitiful chunk of writing.

At dinner, my mother checked something with my father, "Tomorrow is Christmas Eve, right?"

I sat there stunned. WHAT? IT'S GOING TO BE CHRISTMAS ALREADY???? BUT...BUT...WHAT!

My mental calendar lies to me, telling me that we're still only in the middle of December. Stupid brain, so useless.

As usual, my family won't really be doing anything for Christmas. It's not a holiday we celebrate in particular. The last time we exchanged presents (to be honest, it was more like my parents giving me and Rachel gifts, and the both of us just being happy and greedy) was...many, many years ago. I can't even remember when. I might've been 11? That's just a random figure I'm guessing. I might've been even younger.

My father will still work on Christmas day - Taiwan really does not celebrate Christmas evidently. They hang up sparkly lights around the city, and have reindeers and costumed Santas everywhere, but they do not really celebrate it.

I should write a post on Taiwan. Why not, eh? And maybe I'll even add pictures!

Oh my, I'm going too far now. Pictures! *shudders*

A series of dotpoints describing random things:

• Am working on my letters to Soph and Vonn. I fear that my letters to them will evolve into tome-sized chunks of paper that'll take them months to read.
• Have nothing to do in Taiwan. This is both good and bad.
• Will hopefully be purchasing a piano with my father - an electronic one, or a keyboard. Whichever. I need something to clack away on, and my father wants to learn the piano (finally, after all these years of inertia, he might venture forth and do what he's always dreamt of doing - playing the piano. Actually, the piano and my father is an interesting topic. I should write a blog post on that.)
• Has vertigo. The doctor gave me pills for that. Now I'm a dizzy drugged up girl. Awesome.
• Enjoyed my time in Malaysia very, very much. I will probably (not) write this up in more detail later. Another blog post! Oh my, I'm going way too far now.

Why is updating a blog so depressing? No, seriously! I feel a dull dread burning through my stomach as I write this. Likely, it's simply that I have no idea what to write, and hence am straining out words. (Or maybe I ate bad food.)

But at least I have a few topics planned now. Given my track record, I'll never actually write them. But it's nice to have plans (that you know will fail).

Back to dotpoints!

• It's really nice having my whole family together again. My sister arrived last night in Taipei, and now my family's all being fat and lazy with each other. I love it.
• I RODE MY BIKE YESTERDAY, FOR THE FIRST TIME IN NEARLY A YEAR! I FEEL ALIVE! I FEEL...sore. So very, very sore. I rode for a long time. Two hours with my father around the quieter streets of Taipei, and then one later by myself, with my father sitting nearby, playing Sudoku on my phone. (I should write an entire blogpost about my father. It'll be quite nice, I think.) So yes, my bum aches, along with other unmentionable parts of my body.

This blogpost is entirely too sober and unhyper. Really, reading this, I make myself feel like a downer. Not enough capitals. Needs more smiley faces. Boo!

Maybe I should take some more of my vertigo pills to incite some awesomeness. @____@

Anyway! Assuming in the likely case that I do not update this blog for a long while more: Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year!

(This post will look so stupid if I actually do update within the next week.

...

Ahahahahaha, that's not going to happen.)

a condensed slideshow of thoughts.

I woke up today feeling like a swarm of bees was buzzing around my head. It was that lightheaded, bleary dizziness that accompanied my morning ritual. Some mornings, you just wake up, and you already know that you want to punch yourself unconscious so that you don't have to go through with the day. Today was one of those days.

Given the (awesome) flexibility of university though, I could easily skip my classes, stay home and sleep away the bees. But no, I had a Chinese test today. So after a few minutes of swearing and complaining to TumTum, my ever loyal companion, I got out of the bed and got ready.

My day did not get better. I burnt my hand while pouring hot water from a kettle, my fringe was rebelling against my mighty comb, I missed my bus by a scant few seconds (few things are more frustrating than seeing your designated bus drive past you), and was stuck waiting in the rain for the next one to arrive, all the while anxious about whether I was going to be late for my test.

As a side note, when the next bus did arrive, I was pleasantly surprised to recognize the driver. I knew him from a previous bus ride of mine, and I like him very much. The first time I saw him, I was going back home from university, rushing with a crowd of others towards the bus. He quickly shouted us in, and was perfectly aghast at how full the bus was, and how slow we were at entering it. "The Great Lord Jesus will have His second coming before I get to drive this bus again," he cried out, laughing. A witty, humorous bus driver is always nice. From all my commutes to and fro university, I've seen far too many disgruntled, aggressive drivers. Understandably, they are irritated and impatient, but it's when they start yelling at passengers that I start disliking them.

Now, anyway, I spent my bus ride cramming for my Chinese test, air-scribbling down the characters, trying to jam as many strokes as I could into my memory. Then halfway through my bus ride, somewhere in between the Oakleigh and Westminster stops, I got an sms.

"PITIFUL HUMAN, WHO DARES DISTURB MY CRITICAL LAST-MINUTE CRAMMING?" I ever so mercifully thought.

It turns out that it was my mother who dared.

"I love you.

Take care."

That was what she sent me.

And then I felt both miserable and that my day had just been made. The latter because, simply put, nothing is more heartwarming than receiving an unexpected "I love you". The former because, again simply put, I miss my mother.

It's been a little more than a week since she left. My sister and I are perfectly fine: we cook, we clean, we rock and roll, we shop, etc. The house is fine. Perhaps a little bit more disorganized without a mother to run around tending to the minor details, but fine, given that the both of us are busy and with little time to spare for cleaning.

Food isn't so much of an issue, since Rachel is a good cook, and I'm a good assistant (yes, guys, I actually do help with the cooking, and yes, the kitchen is fine and undamaged). We're creative and we plan ahead, and we take after Mom by buying a crapton of snacks, so we're never really hungry. The only problem I have with cooking is when I have to cut onions. Those demented tear gas spirits, burn in hell.

And there are benefits of Mom not being around. For one thing, I'm not pestered about my studies. I don't study any more than I did when Mom was here, but I don't study any less. I'm fine with my studies. Of course, there's always more room for extra diligence, but what the hell, it's the first year of university, who exactly is extra diligent?

Another benefit is that I (as expected) feel more freedom. It's not much, nothing drastic, no explosion of overwhelming freedom. I've never been one for going out much or parties, etc., so I don't feel any increased freedom in that area. It's the more subtle aspects that I revel my newfound state in. Not being chased after for sleeping late. Not being chased after for waking up late. Not being scolded for my messy room (note to self: declutter tonight). Not being chased away from the piano because my mom wants to watch one of her sappy Chinese dramas (she's moved from violent to sappy dramas now).

So yes. I'm not exactly suffering from the depths of despair at my mother leaving.

I do feel quite miserable though. At times, when I think about it. As you'd expect, I miss her a lot. Just as I enjoy the subtle details of freedom, so do I miss the subtle joys that departed with my mother. Having a hot dinner already prepared when I come home from a rainy, tiring day. Being made a cup of hot tea, unrequested, when I stay up late burning the midnight oil for an assignment. Being driven to the bus stop on the days where I'm running late. Being asked to try on this new pair of jeans she found on discount and bought for me. Entering my room, and seeing all my books and papers placed neatly in a single pile for me to sort through later, a huge improvement from the previous jumbled mess it was in. Not having to cut onions myself.

Demented tear gas spirits.

I miss my mother. I miss my mother very much.

For the months prior her leaving, I had already been gearing up. Thinking of the various situations that I'd encounter in her absence (they've yet to happen; it's not very often Japanese ninjas break into your house, I suppose), reading and collecting various housekeeping techniques and quick cleaning tips, jotting down the odd recipe that she shared with me into my ubiquitous capture repository. And then, the vital preparatory step I undertook: hugging her every day before I left for university. The first week of university, it felt natural just to hug her, because I felt (and was) like a child being sent off to her first day of school. So I hugged her goodbye on my first day, and sprinted off to the bus stop. Weeks went by, as did months, and the pattern was set. Every day, at the front door of our house, I'd hug her goodbye, she'd tell me to look at both sides of the road (I know, Mom, I know), and then I'd rush out the gate. Some days, I forgot to hug her, or I was already running really late for the bus, or she was in the bathroom, so I skipped the hugging streak then. But I always tried to keep up with it, and it wasn't very hard to.

The first few times I hugged her, it was more of a "wish me luck, I'm a big girl now, whee, university, whee" act. Once university was no longer a new, exciting world to explore (it still is, but I guess the rainy waits at the bus stop dampens my spirit a bit), the hugging sprint became just a way for me to tell Mom that I loved her, and that I'll be home in a few hours, and that I'd miss her when she leaves.

She'll come back in a few weeks though. Either before my exams (about one-two weeks time), or in July. Either way, it's completely up to her, I suppose. I'm okay with either. As long as she comes back.

Moving on to other points of interest:

• Good Lord, the Chinese test was not easy. I'm not too concerned about it, to be honest, because it only accounts for 7.5% of the final mark, and I've gotten nearly full marks in every other assessment, so I can afford to lose a few here. I'm sure I passed, at the very least, so that consoles me. It was the grammar questions that tripped me up: asking me whether adverbials followed or preceded nouns or verbs, were attributives noun and adjective or verb and adjective related, is it appropriate to use the confirmation interrogative in this situation, blah blah blah reduplication of verbs blah blah blah pandas. STOP COMPLICATING MY BEAUTIFUL LANGUAGE WITH YOUR LITERAL JARGON! But yes, I did well enough in the translation and comprehension questions. Just the grammar questions, they can go get plowed over by a Chinese farmer. Not going to lie, I was very relieved when I exited the hall and heard the other students saying, "What the fajita* is an adverbial?"
• I keep forgetting to replenish my wallet with more money. I'm currently sitting on only a couple of coins, like a beggar waiting for people to fund his alcohol addiction.
• I really very much love university. It's like a fresh spring breeze after the frigid hellhole of high school. I love the flexibility, the environment, the BIGNESS, the way I feel like there's untapped potential hidden in every corner, waiting to be lured out and fostered into a magnificent being, the way I feel so much more in control of things, the way I feel productive and like I'm learning things that I both want to and need to. Yes, even accounting, despite my hatred for it, I recognize its usefulness and purpose. The only thing I hate about university: travelling there.
• I've been playing the piano a lot, and I'd like to say that I've improved a bit, but who knows. I feel like I understand music a bit more, if that makes any sense. The layers and the intricacies are unveiling themselves to me. It's a lot more fun and meaningful, to say the least.
• I've also been writing a lot. Well, not for the past few days, since Mom left, and I have to juggle between cooking and cleaning and studying, but I have been churning out some pieces, at least. Not very good ones, but some writing is better than none.
• For the past few weeks, I have been feeling glum, and this Sunday, May 30th, it shall spill over into a candlelit moment of remembrance and grief.

So here I am, in the Matheson Library at Monash, with ceiling-high bookshelves standing around me as compadres, with books from "The Whole Story" to "The Index and Abstract Directory" (of what, it does not say, and now I am curious, but this tome is far too large and heavy for me to bother pulling out) crowding around me. And I sit here, finally updating my blog with, of course, a blogpost far too long for its own good.

I sit here, and miss the various people who I love so much.

*word substituted because I am a stick in the mud and don't like swearing.

a broken chord

I am going to update this blog, or die trying. I cannot for the life of me figure out what to write, but I will persist, and find something worth writing. Words and thoughts seem have to come to a standstill, yet fingers still type on endlessly, fruitlessly - when will something valuable come out?

A waste of effort for the moment will soon stir forth a pot of golden thoughts.

drunken insomnia

I remind myself now: victories occur in small steps. Small little things are happening to me, and I must be ready to either accept them or challenge them! Next Monday, my results are released. My honest, genuine feelings are these: doubt, fear, anxiety, and...hmm...it is endless.

But now! I will adopt the following thoughts, reciting them until they become true: cheerfulness, perseverance, determination, optimism, and unbreakable willpower.

Sometimes it's a little hard to change your thoughts from pessimism to optimism. And I guess I don't know the secret to it either. But maybe, maybe, maybe the secret is to get drunk. Drunk in spirit, not in fact. Drink in all of what you desire to be: happy, outgoing, cheerful, determined. Find whatever feeds that spirit of whatever you desire, and drink it so much that you are at ease with it. Don't drink too much, otherwise you'll have a hangover, and you'll regret it. Regret is something you must now throw away, if you want to change, or simply, if you want to live a life of happiness. Drink in moderation and with regularity, so that you neither overdose nor starve yourself of your required alcohol.

I drank a little bit of alcohol a few days ago, and again during my stay in Malaysia. In Malaysia, it was red wine that came with a dinner set. A few days ago, my family went to a whiskey brewery, and there, the staff gave me a glass of whiskey, mistakenly thinking that I was over 18.

I hate alcohol. It is disgusting. How do you drink it? It stings your tongue, burns its way down your throat, and leaves you with a buzzing feeling, like something's not quite right and you need to fix it but you don't know how.

I think - maybe - once drunk, I will become one of those bitter, moaning, depressed people who gaze into the bottom of their glass, hating the universe and the stars. I don't plan to find out if I am that sort of drunk - not yet, not soon.

Oh! And I drank with my parent's permission (encouragement, actually), so don't worry! I am not a naughty law-breaking girl. They were actually telling me, "Have a taste," "Go try some," "You need to try some alcohol."

What is this...this...behavior...of encouraging wrong things?

Several habits I am trying to become drunk with:

• reading the Bible everyday. My mother has given me a bilingual Bible recently, with a Chinese and English side. She's been encouraging me to read it everyday, the way she does, and I will do it from now on.
• sleeping before 2AM. So far, not so good, but I will keep trying somehow. Soph! Stop making me stay up late. (I love you, rawr)
• exercising every day, in some form or other. Currently, I've taken to just walking in the streets, because it's a simple sort of exercise. Otherwise, I'll ride my bike with my father. (The butt pains are unbearable, however) Also, I'm trying to restart my daily habit of doing sit-ups. The flab that is my unfabulous stomach must go away
• eating more veggies - because I need my hair to grow fast
• writing more, in any form
• keeping a clean room - a clean room is a clean canvas
• enjoying the little things around me. Living in a city, it's hard to enjoy things on the street. I do, I honestly do, but it's hard sometimes. Like walking in a street, I will often look in awe at the skyscrapers, or at the hawker stores full of people working hard for their keep. But it's never possible to look at them long - somehow, a car will horn at you, or a motorcycle will nearly mow you over. To enjoy little things in a city is a dangerous thing to do.
• be less useless. This is an all-encompassing promise to myself, really. It's difficult to summarize this in a single paragraph, but I will try. I define 'useless' as 'being unable to please oneself and others in a certain shape or form'. That definition is, frankly, useless. Sorry. But often, I will look at my own life, and I will become unhappy. Not because I have regrets or I am jealous of others. But looking at myself, I realize that I have the potential to be so much more, but I have yet to fulfill that potential. Right now, I am a "could-be" girl, not a "is now" person. Becoming a "is now" person is a lifelong process, I realize and whole-heartedly accept eagerly, so that's why I want to start as early as possible.
• maintain and increase my depth of thought. I refuse to become a shallow thinker, concerned about my own existence in my own world only. I'm at an age where I am capable of planting the seeds of wisdom in my life now, and I want to see them grow as I age, so that one day, they may be harvested for a greater purpose.

Habits are, for me, difficult to form. I can continue my old habits very well - sleeping late, waking up late, being a picky eater, not cleaning my room, always being lazy, wasting time, hunching a lot. But new habits are near impossible to develop.

That is why I've now decided to become an alcoholic, and become drunk in my habits until they've become like my old habits: impossible to break.

Oh, but please pray that I do break those old habits above. They're very bad. I need a better sleeping schedule, and I need to have a nice posture. I always look at pictures of myself and think, "Is my hunch really that bad?" I never really know, because I don't look in mirrors often, so seeing my hunch in pictures is always very shocking. Maybe I should find a mirror and sit near it so I can check myself often. I am trying to stand up straight, but my spine tends to ache after staying in a good posture for a while.

Now! Let's drink and be happy. If today we fail, there is always tomorrow. If tomorrow we fail, there's always forever. Today, at this time, 2:18AM, when I cannot sleep because I am of bad habits, I promise to become drunk so that I may become a better person.

Let's hope I will be a happy drunk. ^_^

6209 days and counting

Happy birthday, Vern!

Well, in about half an hour, it'll be your birthday. I'm just preempting you, as usual.

I've been gearing up towards this day, mentally and emotionally. And now, I can spend it with you.

In an earlier draft of this post, I had written that I wished that we could spend tomorrow together, but now I realize - yes, we can.

In a way though, I am jealous of everyone back in Malaysia. They can celebrate together, and give you a celebration that you deserve - full of people and happiness. Our celebration will be a lot quieter and lonelier. But I refuse to think that I'm celebrating it on my own, alone. You're here, with me.

I remember that year when you bought me a bottle of Pepsi Twist for my birthday, and I bought you a bottle of Sprite for yours. Massive bottles, the type you buy to share with your friends. I kept my Pepsi Twist untouched for a long time, more than a month. It sat on a shelf above my desk, like something sacred on a pedestal. My mother kept looking at me oddly for that period of time, asking when can we finally drink it. 'Never!' I'd mentally answer. It's just part of my bizarre packrat habits, where anything precious is stored away forever.

And then on the night of your birthday, I asked where was the bottle of Sprite. And you said you had already finished it with the guys.

Good to know we're on the same page.

I'm thinking of ways to celebrate it today, anything, something simple. There's nothing I can think of. I'll find something, don't worry. We'll have our own private time. We can do anything then.

Something simple.

I wish there was an easier way to talk to you. There's a lot left in my heart and mind, still waiting to pour out. It's difficult just speaking out loud, trying to believe that you're listening to me. It's easier to put things to writing, but even so, the fingers are only a little looser than the tongue.

I've put you in my mind, a special little niche for you, though. And the little door to that niche opens up every second. Somehow, every subtlety knocks on the door, and pulls out memories of you. Sometimes words ("I remember him calling Soph that"); sometimes places ("he mentioned a restaurant like this a long time ago"); sometimes objects, foods, people, they all remind me of times we've shared. A few things have already become synonymous with you.

And yet, the sadness and grief has become a passing blur. It's no longer sharp and intense and cutting, it's a blunt emotion now, incapable of inflicting shocking pain. My memories of you have been overused and overexposed...but then, there are the moments when they suddenly sharpen, and then they hurt all over again. Sunday night, I found myself feeling lonely - more than that, feeling deserted and overwhelmed with emptiness. I cried a little, and then took out one of your shirts that I have, the black one. I felt alright talking with you then, out loud, really believing that you were listening.

I'm moving forward, but at the same time, I'm retracing old steps, tying myself to memories of you. Eventually, I'll find the right meeting point in between these two.

I am determined to not fall behind in life, and not have regrets. Because that's the only way I can make you proud now. Beyond the obvious fact that you'd want the best for me, I also know that you had certain expectations for me. I want to exceed them. There's nothing else I can do for you now, besides living up to your hopes, and not abandoning the path I'm on.

There's bits and pieces of papers stuck all over my desk, and there's a particular one that I took care in writing. Mental Memos for Oct-Nov 2009, full of self-notes and little kickstarts. And I have scrawled on it, "No regrets for 2009 | Year 12. Make myself + Vern proud."

That is in fact my driving reason now. I want you to know that I am doing this for myself - obviously myself, of course myself - and you. This is the moment where I shine, achieve my dreams, and be proud of myself. And let you know that I'm alright, that you've only made me more motivated, determined, and confident. It's the only way I can tack something onto your legacy, another moment where you've been an inspiration to someone.

Whether I do actually score as high as I want to is not the point. The only thing important now is that I'm attempting it, and trying my best. If I get it, then there you go, case closed, and a new light has shined on my path. If I don't, so be it, no regrets, I've done what I've done, and that was my best.

On the days when I flounder, barely scrape in an hour of work, I just read through my scraps of paper. Regain a little sense of purpose and motivation, and then set forth again.

I want to show you the good things I've done when we meet again. And I want you to be proud and happy.

Wish me luck, and keep motivating me, Vern! And yeah, just give a little bit more power. That's all I need. I still read your little motivating smses, and still feel the same rush of eagerness and determination. If I keep replaying the memories, I can find pieces of encouragement that I now collect.

Thank you. You gave me, unknowingly, a gift that I can keep for a long time. And now, it's my turn to return the honor, and give you a gift that'll make you proud.

Happy birthday. I'm empty-handed now, and bear no gifts, but that'll change with time. Wait for me!

Love,

Your yuan yuan

I was taking a nap just now, and my phone woke me up.

It was my father calling me. He asked the usual, how am I, what am I doing, where's mom, where's Rachel, have I ate yet, have I studied yet, am I a good girl?

And then he asked me how much I loved him.

Dad: Daddy is very tired right now ~___~
Me: Go rest.

Dad: Mm, I will after I finish this report. Haih.

Me: Haih.

Dad: Daddy misses you all a lot. Do you miss Daddy?

Me: Yeshhhhh

Dad: How much do you love me?

Me: A loooooooooot =D

Dad: How much? One dollar?

Me: No, more. D=

Dad: Daddy loves you very, very, very, very, very, very much.

The 'one dollar' thing is an old gag of ours. When I was younger, one dollar was, like, the bomb to me. If I had a dollar, I had the world. So back then, a long time ago, my father once asked me that question.

Dad: How much do you love me?

Kiddie Me: A lot! =D
Dad: How much?

Kiddie Me: One dollar! =D

Dad: ...=\

I love you guys one dollar!

And yes, mega-post on holiday is still incoming. Still working on the post for Saturday.

I have to start choosing my uni courses now. Need to submit my preferences soon. Commerce or Science, what shall I do? Or maybe a double degree. I've my eyes set on also doing a Diploma of Languages regardless of what degree I choose though.

It's very, very hard trying to decide on these things. I know that no matter what I choose, I'll probably have a whole career change in the future. I can see myself doing that, for some odd reason, despite the fact that I'm the sort of person who hates change. Maybe it's because from young, I've already seen myself doing that sort of thing? Going from this stream into that stream, just to explore.

Nonetheless, I want to choose my course carefully. With the limited years of life I have, I want to use every bit carefully, learning only things that I care about.

What shall I do, what shall I do...

Many expectations to live up to, many of my own dreams to achieve, many people to make proud...

One day, I shall go far away, to a field of tall grass and faint breezes, and scream, cry, and sleep.

lonely quiet club

It's 3:50AM - I should be in bed? I'm tired, but I just don't feel like sleeping. I've been meaning to update my blog - still need to finish up my full, huge write up of my holiday in Malaysia and Taiwan. Sorry guys, will get that done as soon as time opens up.

Yesterday, I walked around the city alone. It felt good. It felt perfect. I was surrounded by everybody, and was a nobody like them. Just a faceless figure in a crowd of nothing. But this crowd of nothing, it's full of something.

I don't know what I'm saying. I just really enjoyed my time alone. I walked around many streets, explored some I've never been into, and wandered around and got lost a bit. Good thing I've the navigational skills of a pilot.

A very good pilot, I mean.

It felt good. Walking alone. Just thinking by myself about things. The city, as faceless and metallic as it is, welcomes me and my thoughts with open arms. The breeze - can I capture it and blow it into my room? Wind, wind, wind, come and surround me, and hug me tightly.

I've talked to Yvonne and Ms Cath a little bit about religion and faith. I know that their own personal replies will not answer my own personal questions - but I guess I could say that they form the research framework that I need?

I'm trying to do what Yvonne mentioned, just talking and unloading everything to God. Everything. (It was her that suggested it, yes, no? My brain needs to sleep...) It feels good to do it. Not necessarily having to articulate my thoughts out to Him - just think it, and let Him translate it. That takes off a little stress. I can't explain my feelings or thoughts now, but I can think it out. God can work from there.

It's going to take me a long time to really assess and understand my faith. And not just that - my feelings, my thoughts, and myself too.

Am I sounding like a personal development pamphlet now? Haha, I feel like I'm expressing my honest thoughts dishonestly. These genuine feelings I have, how can I show them without coming across as badly rehearsed?

My formal is this Friday. I can't say I'm really excited for it. Troublesome - hair, makeup, shoes, dress.....

Should I be excited? It's just one night. Just play dress-up, sit at a table, and be a wallflower? I am a pessimistic soul...

It doesn't seem special to me. I don't know, should it? It doesn't anymore. Months ago, it seemed like a really exciting thing - I was going to get a beautiful dress, look like princess-bride, and have the best night of the year. And now, just one night away, it seems like it's going to be a very hollow, meaningless night.

I had asked Vern to be my partner for the formal - twice, in fact. First time in January, the 7th, about a week after the reunion where I last saw him.

2/7/2009 5:20:03 AM v є я я - wan me be ur date?

2/7/2009 5:20:05 AM v є я я - lets goo !

And then again on the 16th of May. Just because I'm a persistant little girl. But he wasn't going to come in July, it was decided. But I live on hope.

5/16/2009 2:17:27 AM v є я я - bought it for my cousin's wedding dinner

5/16/2009 2:17:43 AM v є я я - i danced with my mom on the stage

5/16/2009 2:17:45 AM v є я я - ==

5/16/2009 2:17:56 AM v є я я - she was like on the stage demonstrating

5/16/2009 2:18:01 AM v є я я - den we all had a dance-off

5/16/2009 2:18:09 AM v є я я - then she called me up

5/16/2009 2:18:20 AM v є я я - i simply dance like those 70's

5/16/2009 2:18:23 AM v є я я - hahahah hillarious

5/16/2009 2:18:32 AM RouYuan (neighbor is down, woot!) ahahaha

5/16/2009 2:18:34 AM RouYuan (neighbor is down, woot!) need videos!

5/16/2009 2:19:48 AM RouYuan (neighbor is down, woot!) i wanna see you dancing

5/16/2009 2:30:40 AM v є я я - LOL

5/16/2009 2:30:40 AM v є я я - noooo

5/16/2009 2:31:53 AM RouYuan (neighbor is down, woot!) fiinneee

5/16/2009 2:34:22 AM v є я я - if some miracle happen

5/16/2009 2:34:27 AM v є я я - end up in aussy by ur formal

5/16/2009 2:34:30 AM v є я я - dance with u la

What miracle can I expect this Friday? It will be a lonely night for me. I was talking to Zoe a little bit about it. She said something about me being disappointed because I had expectations...(sleep-deprived brain refuses to recall exact words...)

I am worried. Will I sit there in the formal, and realize that I am by myself? I think my friends will be busy having a good time - maybe I can find a no-dancing-just-sitting-and-eating partner to accompany me. If not - the walls have ears, and shall hear my secrets.

Or my triple chocolate dessert.

It will be a lonely night.

I don't feel sad when I remember memories of Vern. I feel happy, lucky, and blessed that I got to have them at all - what have I done to deserve them? But what makes me sad is when I think of all the dreams and hope I had. I think I can say that I had already planned out a year's worth of things for us to do (but knowing him, he'd go through it all in a month...).

The formal was just another dream I had. At first, it was that he would be my partner for the night, keeping me company, and dragging me to dance. When it was decided that was impossible, I decided to myself - have the best night, and then report the good news to him (and call him to surprise him).

It feels tiring to have to bury a dream.

It will be a very lonely night.

I need to go over my old conversations with Vern, pluck out some choice quotes, and send them over to the sister. I keep telling myself to do it soon, but the time never seems right. This seems like something that should be done with a lot of time and consideration. Maybe I'll post them up here and link it to her? I need to think of the best way to present it - convenience...

His family is amazing. Very open, very friendly. I want to write more on them - and will, in the big upcoming post about my holiday in Malaysia - but I will summarize them with a question: how can a family who has lost so much still be willing to give so much? I felt very shy and quiet around them - didn't say as much as I would've liked to. But regrets are meaningless - throw them away instantly.

Resolutions of the now:

1. Start reading the Purpose Driven Life
2. Talk more with God
3. Start going to church (???)
4. Clean up desk
5. Make time for going through old conversations with Vern
6. Guitar!!!
7. Study! Even harder!! Maths....
8. Do my best to have a good night on Friday
9. Piano!!

shout unto god with a voice of triumph...shout unto god with a voice of praise...shout unto god wih a voice of triumph...we lift your name up~we lift your name up!

Even in this time where I feel I need to really scrutinize, reassess, dissect, and unravel the mystery of my faith, there are three things that bind me tightly to my faith, my belief - three moments that makes me so sure God is with me. When I'm listening to a good song of worship, when I'm writing, and when I'm alone outdoors.

Maybe I should try doing all three at once? Haha.

I want to write more on my feelings and thoughts. What I am feeling now - how can I capture it with words? I want to pen it down and keep it for memories, for my writings, for references...for reflection. For life? I need to try being more honest with myself...

good night, Vern

Sometimes, I just want to fly

In less than 3 hours, I'll be leaving with my mother for the airport. I'm excited - and relieved. Has this day finally come? Am I finally going back to Malaysia? Yes -- and I am happy.

I love airports, airplanes, and flying. The miracle of soaring across the skies, across vast distances, across oceans in mere hours - how is it possible? It shouldn't be, but it is, and it's amazing. I never cease to wonder at how lucky I am to be able to travel.

I haven't finished packing yet actually. But I'm taking a break, heh. All I have left to do is just to shove a few last minute things into my bag.

I've been anxious about this holiday, honestly. Excited, of course -- but very worried. How will things go?

But I'll put aside my worries, and enjoy what I can -- that's all I can do now, isn't it?

I'll be getting the Great Haircut of 2009 tomorrow, on Friday -- and I still haven't figured out what hairstyle I want. I'll just hope my hairstylist is very flashbang and knows what to do to make me look fabulous.

Um, okay, if you guys see me with my fringe pinned up and away, then you know it was a disaster, and should give me a comforting hug.

That reminds me, I need to pack bobby pins and hairclips.

On Saturday, I'll be visiting the cemetery, and then his family. That's really the day I'm most worried about. I don't know if I want to allow myself to break down. And I also don't know whether I'm capable of breaking down anymore.

But I'll just let things be.

I won't have access to the internet in Malaysia -- but when I do, I'm going to be updating this blog a lot. Why? Numerous reasons:

1) Document how I'm feeling, what's happened (and maybe I'll actually post up some pictures, whoa)

2) Update Rachel on everything

3) Remind myself that I'm still alive.

Rachel: DON'T BURN DOWN THE HOUSE PLZKTHX. Don't over-download and keep checking at MyUsage, okay? I'll update this blog whenever I can so that you won't be so Roanne-deprived. Will post pics for you too! Okok? Talk to me via facebook. Wall spam me. Wall spam is good. I like wall spams. Be careful, don't do anything stupid, don't go out so much and catch swine flu. Have a good 16 days without me and mom! Careful, okay?

The fears and worries and emotions keep building up - what am I supposed to do with them? Maybe one of these 16 days will carry the answer for me. If it doesn't, then time will soothe me. Here's to me reclaiming a little bit of myself again. Here's to a fantastic 6 days in Malaysia, and 10 in Taiwan! Here's to life.

Here's to you, Vern.

forewarning: please forgive me for this

i find myself starting to hate everything.

well

everyone

not everything

i feel angry. at everyone. i don't know why.

i think i feel like no one understands what i feel. and that's quite likely true.

and i dont blame them for not understanding, i guess.

but that doesn't stop me from feeling angry.

i hate mom and dad.

i hate my friends.

i hate myself.

i don't know.

my head hurts.

this is just another hurdle i have to get over, isn't it.

this is not right. i don't really care what i feel anymore...i don't know what i feel anymore.

i thought i was getting better. and maybe i was. but now i feel anger and hatred manifesting itself within me. it'll go away, i guess. it has to. logically.

i am a disappointment to everyone. to him. and especially to myself. i will surrender myself to God, and let Him guide me through this.

to many, saying that is simple. or at least, not impossible sounding. but it's hard for me. i don't feel or hear God. i think i lack any sense of a spiritual being. i think i lack a soul.

i think i'm going to have to jump on the faith wagon, and just ride it out like that.

i don't mean to sound anti-religious, anti-God, anti-Christian. Not at all. I don't feel anger at God whatsoever, i don't know why. isn't it normal for people who lost a loved one to initially question God? I don't question Him.

but i just don't feel Him at all. I don't think i ever had. the faith and relationship i had and have with Him is one i grew up with, and reaffirmed through logic and reasoning and belief.

but there's no contact. i don't know. i never felt Him. not while praying, which i do do everyday, and not just repeating a prayer mindlessly, i actually pray with my heart. not while singing praises to Him. not while reading the Bible.

i guess i'm looking at this the wrong way. i think i'm expecting Him to flash a neon sign in my face, though i know that's not what really happens. i don't know how else I'm supposed to feel Him though.

He performs miracles everyday in my life. He gave me everything I have right now. i've shelter, food, love, everything i could possible need, because of Him. And I am beyond grateful, beyond humbled, beyond undeserving.

but I still don't feel Him.

I dont think i know what i'm saying anymore. I need to distract myself from thinking again. Thinking only leads me to saying things that i don't think i should.

i contradict myself too often. maybe it's mood swings. maybe i just don't know what's going on with myself. I don't know.

maybe i shouldn't be writing this right now? i should've written something earlier, when i wasn't feeling so down. i don't know why i feel so angry now.

i know i'm a spoiled brat who doesn't understand anything. i don't know how to change that. it's not until too late you realize you've done something wrong, and by then, everyone has this scarred image of you.

again, i'm a disappointment to myself.

things will work out eventually. this will pass.

I think given the opportunity, I would like to go away by myself to somewhere where there's nobody I know. a foreign country. again, maybe that's just my traveller's lust speaking, but isolation might help me.

I think I follow that pattern of grieving. Isolation, depression, re-integration with friends and family, and everything's okay again. It feels ideal to me.

But yes, isolation is not an option, I know. If anybody tries to tell me this, I will stab them. I do not need to hear it. I know it already.

And yes, I know isolation is not a healthy thing to do. I know. Please don't tell me.

I took a nap just now, and when I woke up and finally got out of bed, I found I had a terrible headache. I still have it till now. Maybe that's why I can't shut up about my thoughts right now.

I'm being really self-centered. Then again, this is my thoughts. So I guess I'm allowed to broadcast them here. But no, i am pathetic. I need to stop doing this. I need to stop feeling this.

Again, I need to distract myself with something else. It's been hard for me to concentrate on one thing lately. But I guess that means my ability to multi-task has increased?

I think I embody all seven sins. Is that even possible. If it is, then I do embody them. If it isn't, then I still embody them.

This anger will fade, this feeling will pass, this sadness will diminish. I've been telling people that I'm getting better, or that I'm alright and okay. I don't know. I don't really feel better. The sadness is still the same. I think the shock is still here as well, for some reason. Anger has just been introduced though.

One thing that gives me some hope is that though I'm not getting better, I'm getting stronger. I know I am. I can't not be getting stronger.

Eventually, I'll be able to not cry at all, not feel anger, and just...be happy? Yeah. Something like that.

I guess I'm treading through the grieving process as expected. Sadness, shock, anger? What comes next? There's no set pattern, I know. I'll tread my own course.

Life is beautiful.

At this point in time, life seems constrained, limited, and closed-in. It's a prison without bars. But once I escape from this moment, from this point in my life, the non-existent bars will lift away, and I can then really go anywhere I want.

I think that's the only hope I'm holding on to right now. That's the dream of my future. I don't know how to describe it really...

I feel...maybe trapped? I don't know. Studies, of course, are a factor. I have to choose my future career path soon. I have to...do many things i guess...

I kind of want to run away? Not sure whether i mean that in a literal or non-literal sense.

I won't. Because it's both illogical, and impossible.

As an afternote, and something I've been intending to say for a while now: thank you to everyone who's offered their condolences and support. Despite what I feel at this moment, I realize I couldn't have made it through the past two weeks without these words of encouragement. They will sink in eventually, and overtake all this negative feelings completely -- that is what I am hoping for.

This post will come across as a lot more depressing and angry than I want. I apologize to anyone who's disappointed with this post, or who was expecting a more uplifting, positive one where I'm just saying "Yes! I'm moving on strong strong strong!". You'll get one in the future. I think I can promise that. But for now, I will go where my feelings take me. I think I can only go up from here. The only difficulty is making the starting step that gets me up the mountain. I think God will help me with that.

Sometimes I wish I could go insane, just so I can pretend I can see him.

Here's to you, Vern.

A letter to him, my sweetheart, Lim Yu Vern

Dear Yu Vern,

I had this belief that everything happens for a reason, that in the ultimate end, every action, every reaction, everything would lead to some greater end, some higher purpose. Something good.

I don't know what I believe anymore.

You can’t be dead.

You said I'd be your first and your last. That was supposed to be a lie, that should have never happened. I shouldn't be your last. This should've never happened.

I don't know what I'm typing anymore. I don't know why I'm typing.

I love you more than anything. You were far from perfect, but flaws are what make people human. And you were more human and more alive than anyone else I knew, and I loved you for it.

I was the first one to say 'I love you', and I really meant it, though I think you never really believed me. I meant it. It was a different sort of love back then though. But that was my highest capacity for loving you then. I loved you with all my heart, with every bit of my childish being.

I still feel the same way. I still have that amount, and more, of childish, whole-hearted love for you. I wanted, I still want, so much to spend the rest of our days together, where I can just keep growing my love for you.

That was what was supposed to happen.

I was already planning our first date. You told me to, since you didn't know where to go here. And I was already planning it, six months ahead. Maybe a little early, but I had to work out the details. I was waiting to suggest my plans to you. Waiting for a few more months time, when the day you would be coming here would be closer. That way, I wouldn't seem so pathetic for planning so early. I had a Korean restaurant in mind. I wanted to ask you whether you liked Korean. And then we'd go for ice cream. Maybe we'd just share one, or we'd get separate, and I'd steal some from yours just to annoy you.

I wanted to go shopping with you. God knows you probably have a better sense of shopping than me. I wanted to watch a billion movies and dramas with you.

I just wanted to waste time with you. I just wanted to live with you.

I daydreamed, often, too often, about what it'd be like when we met again finally. It'd probably be in a train station, most likely Flinders, in the city, and it's a busy day with everyone everywhere. I'd be somewhere by the steps, waiting for you, impatiently and nervously.

What happened next always changed in my head. Sometimes I'd call you, freaking out and asking whether you were coming or not. Sometimes you'd call me, asking where the hell I was, and why couldn't you find me.

But then, we'd meet, and then we'd hug. We'd hug to make up for lost time. We'd hug to make up for everything. Our past, our fights, our stupid differences, the distance that kept us. We'd -- at least, I would -- forget everything. Forget all that. I'd just be hugging you because I could, because I wanted to, because somewhere at the back of my head, this was meant to be.

You were already talking about kissing me. We were already planning our first kiss. A vague plan, where the only thing certain was that it'd have to be under the stars. And then last night, I told you you had to kiss me and catch me offguard, or else I'll be too nervous and I might run away giggling.

And then I told you, last night, to not rush things. Don't kiss me too soon. I'm not ready for that. And you told me that your timing would be perfect.

I want to kiss you.

When I told people about you liking me, me liking you, I was afraid that they'd doubt I really liked you. I don't know whether people knew how much I had vested in you. But you knew, I know you did, and that's all that matters to me.

I loved you something stupid. It's difficult for me to define this feeling. I feel something for you that I don't feel for anyone else, something I never ever felt before. Something I didn't even know was possible. I don't know if it can be called love. I think it is. I was trying very hard to be complete mature and practical and logical about this, and was trying to tell myself that it was too soon for it to actually be love. I'm too young, you're too young, we're both too stupid to grasp that meaning of love yet. You understood this, thank God. But this feeling, if it's not love, this is the closest I've ever been.

I knew that I'd know when I was in love when I felt something happened in my heart. And something happened in my heart. It happened 6 years ago. It happened again and again every time we spoke.

But you were meant to come here and confirm it for me. We were going to meet face-to-face and I was going to feel fluttery and squishy inside, and I was going to be a puddle of goo just like I always am around you. I was supposed to figure out what this feeling was, for sure, as an undeniable truth. You'd come here, we'd go out, and time would tell me the meaning of this feeling. It might be love, it might be something else. Whatever it was, I wanted to find out with you. I wanted you to help me figure out this feeling, what it was and what it meant. Maybe you'd figure out your own feelings for me as well.

You were always confident in yourself, and you probably were confident in this feeling as well. So maybe you don't need time to figure out what this feeling was.

I won't ever know now.

You made me feel alive. You really did. You made me feel like I could conquer the world, that I was smart enough to do it, that I could do anything I wanted. You made me feel like I was special. That I was unique, that I was sweet, that I was pretty.

When I was with you, you made me feel an array of emotions I never felt before, with anyone else. I felt happy, so happy, so nervous, so insecure, so giddy, so excited. You were the spark that jumpstarted my heart.

Did I ever make you feel that way? I tried. I really tried. But I can't know what really goes on in your head. You told me that I knew you more than anyone else did. And I believe that. But there's still so much of you that I want to know, things I want to ask, things I want to learn through time with you.

Last night, before you left for your round trip around the island, you told me to sms you before I went to bed. I did, but you never replied. I waited for your reply, and went to bed wondering why you didn't send me anything. You always replied me, saying you missed me, that you wanted to hug me, and that you hoped I would dream of you as I sleep. But you didn't last night. I guess it makes sense now.

I still have every sms we sent each other. I never deleted them. Just like how I never got rid of any of our old msn conversations. Even the ones from 7 years ago, I still have them all.

I never got to hug you. Despite all our constant mutual wishes of hugging each other, we never hugged. Ever before. When we met again last year, and you were sitting by my leg, and I was trying to not be so shy, to talk to you...and then Julian turned down my hug, and asked you to hug me instead. You looked at me, like you were trying to decide whether you should or not. You didn't.

Later when we talked, it turned out that you did want to hug me. But didn't because I looked like I didn't want one.

I did want one. I really did.

I can't help but envy the others. Sophira, Yvonne, Megan, Terrence, Julian. I envy them because they got to spend more time with you in person. Perhaps I did know you more than they did, but they did get to spend more time with you face-to-face.

I was planning to make up for that when you came here. We'd go out, we'd stay in. We'd waste time together, and then I'd force us to study because we had to get good jobs so that we'd be swimming in money when we were older. I still remember that dumb conversation we had months and months ago, when you told me that since I was the smarter one, I'd go out and earn all the money while you stayed home and cooked for me. And then I argued that you were the man, so you had to work. And then we both compromised on both working and earning lots of money, and then retiring early with lots of bikes for you and me.

And I also remember when you just suddenly asked me, "so when are we getting married?" You were random, and I was stunned. And I replied with "why so random?", but what I really wanted to say was "one day, in the future, when we're older."

It's not that I was already setting our wedding date or anything like that. I wasn't writing down Mrs. Lim Yu Vern everywhere. It's just that...I can't see myself with anyone else. There really is no one else like you. You asked me last night if I was glad that I had a guy like you. And I am. I really am.

There's so many things I had yet to tell you. Stupid things, like that my dad had just bought me a bike, so that means we can go bike riding together like we planned. You were meant to be the one in my romantic bicycle-riding dream. I made that dream for you, but you never knew about it. And then, I was meant to tell you how much you meant to me. I think, I hope, that I made it clear through our conversations, through how much I cared for you. But I wanted to say it out, clear and direct, just because I knew you loved it when I was absolutely honest and absolutely brave like that.

If there was anything I could do for you, I'd do it in a heartbeat. If there was anything I could say that could bring you next to me, I'd say it in an instant, I'd scream it into the world. I just wish you knew how much I felt for you.

You were supposed to take me on my first date. You were supposed to be my first kiss. You were supposed to be the first person I ever fell in love with. And I wanted so badly to be the first person you fell in love with. That was our plan. That was our dream. That was our hope.

I really thought you were the one.

I wanted you to take care of me. I already depended on you. And I wanted to take care of you.

I want so badly to feel like you're watching over me in heaven, that you're somehow looking after me still. I want to feel you, like that you're right next to me, watching me right now as I'm typing this. I want to feel that you're hugging me, to make up for last year when you thought I didn't want one. I want to feel something. I don't feel anything. I feel sad, I feel helpless, I feel above all empty.

I want to rip out my heart. As strange as it sounds, I keep putting my hand over my heart, just trying to see whether it's still there. I don't know why.

I want to be where you are. I want you to be where I am. I want to show you how much I love you. I need you right here right now

My words are meaningless in the grand scheme of things, but I mean every word, and they're all I have to give you now.

The one person who made my life worth something got his own taken away.

I love you.
I want you.
I need you.
I miss you.

I can't stop shaking. I don't know why. You were my world. You are my world. You were my damn world and you were everything in it, and you gave meaning to everything.

I'm going to do something wrong. I'm going to jump off a cliff, I'd going to cut myself, I'm going to hit someone. Not because I want to, but because I need to. But I won't, and you know the reason why I won't.

It’s going to be Monday after tomorrow, and I can't believe it is, because I'm going to have to go to school and somehow go on with everything. I don't know how I can do that. I think you'd want me to, but I don't know how.

I want to keep doing things and learning things. I know you'd want me to. I'll keep practicing the piano, because you wanted me to play for you when you came here, even though I'm terrible and told you so. I'll learn how to cook steak because you liked it, and I'll improve that purple beetroot chocolate cake you asked me to cook for you even though it doesn't taste very nice. I am not going to become an umbrella girl however, even though you wanted me to, because I won't be able to be your umbrella girl.

I am dishonest, I am naive, I am selfish, I am insane. I never deserved you at all. I never understood why you felt anything for me, though it was quite obvious why I felt something for you.

I thought we had all the time in the world, that's why I wanted to not rush things. I wanted us to take our time. I was the one who jumped into things too quickly last time, and I didn't want this to turn out the same way. I said we had to go slow because why should we rush? You were going to be a part of my life till I die, and you still are, but not in the way I want.

You enjoyed life, and you lived with no regrets. I scorned and scolded you for being so careless at times, for not thinking before acting, but I was jealous at the same time. People said we were opposites, and we are, we absolutely are, but we somehow worked well together. Vern and Roanne didn't make much sense, but you and me did.

There's one thing I have to comfort me, and that's the realization that I treasured every moment I had with you. Sometimes I hear people mourn the fact that they've always took for granted the time they had with a person. I never did take you for granted. Every second I had with you was something ridiculously amazing, even if it was just you greeting me with 'yuan yuan!!!!'

Every time I went online, and then a conversation box popped up, and I'd see that you were the first person to greet me...those little things were what made my day. And then when you'd randomly sms me, even when your message was just "=)", my day would just fall into place and I'd spin right through the hours thinking only of you.

We were meant to webcam on Friday night. I wanted to see you again. I wanted you to tease me and ask me whether you looked handsome or not, and I wanted to say 'no, you don't' because you'd get huffy and you'd look so cute. And you knew I was lying. I was so transparent around you. Or maybe you always just knew what was going through my mind?

I swear, I thought you were a mind-reader at times. You'd just suddenly say something, something that I was thinking of at that exact moment, hit me in the right spot, and break me down into a babbling idiot. I was genuinely worried, sometimes. It was uncanny how perfectly timed the things you said were. Like when I was going to ask something, some serious question that had been bugging me for days, and then you'd just suddenly pre-empt me and bring up the topic. I was worried you actually could read my mind. I felt like I had to close off some of my thoughts, because I didn't want you to see them yet.

I want to open my mind and heart right now, and pour everything out to you.

I feel like such a fake. I'm feeling so much right now. But I can't express anything. People say they're sorry and offer their condolences, and all I can say is that it's not their fault. It's not, but I wish it was so I could blame them. The words I'm typing now seem so fake even though I mean everything. I just don't know what to say. I just don't know what to do.

I wish God would stop time, throw the two of us into the same world, even for just one minute. I'd say 'I love you' and I'd hug you. The two things I've been waiting to do to you, but never did because I'm too shy and too scared.

I want to see you again. We were supposed to webcam tonight to make up for yesterday.

I want you back more than anything. If you were alive, even if you didn’t remember a thing about me, or hated me, or didn’t care about me, that’d be enough. I just want you alive. I will sound incredibly selfish, but I don’t want you to be with God, I want you to be with me. People tell me not to worry, that you’re in a better place and you’re watching over me. And I just can’t bring myself to be even remotely comforted by that. I don’t want you in heaven, I want you with me. I don’t want you watching over me, I want you living with me.

I loved you like a friend, then a best friend, then a brother, then a kindred spirit. And now I love you like a soulmate. Then, now, and forever, you are my soulmate.

I'm trying very hard to be okay and be calm. It seems to be working, because people seem to think I am, much to their disgust and shock. I don't want them to worry about me, and I don't want you to worry about me. But you might be worrying anyway, because you always could figure out my feelings and read my mind. I have exams next week. I don't know what I'm going to do. I have a piano lesson on Tuesday. I hate how things just keep going on. I want to stop time. I want many things. I want you, most of all.

I should be ending this letter. It's too long. If you read this, you'd probably give up halfway and tell me to just hug you instead. Or maybe you'd put up with it and actually read everything. You somehow put up with all my nonsense. I don't know how to end this though. I don't want to say R.I.P.. I want you to be in peace, but to actually say that feels like I'm saying goodbye. I'm still clinging to some hope that this is all some pathetic joke, or a mistake, or that a miracle will happen and you'll come back and everything will be normal.

I remember sort of complaining to Sophira that you shouldn't have confessed to me that you liked me when you did. I mean, at that time, I had exams in a month and had to focus. Logically, you would've only been a distraction, though you're the best possible distraction I could ever ask for. But then, this accident happened.

You died exactly two weeks after telling me. Apparently the time of your death still isn't conclusive. But you died early morning, before 7, on Saturday. You confessed to me you liked me early morning, before 7, on Saturday the 16th. You spent all of Friday night, the 15th, being coy and hinting, and then you confessed on Saturday, when I was totally sleep-deprived but was waiting just for you to say those words.

You were right. Your timing is perfect. It really was. Those two weeks we had when we were totally honest and totally bare-hearted to each other were the most sweetest, forthright, and downright loving I've ever been with anyone. If you had waited till after my exams, I never would've been blessed with those two weeks.

This still isn't real for me. I've always been bad at accepting reality. I'm too used to living in my own world of daydreams. The thing is, you were the most important character in both my world of daydreams, and this world of reality. You were the prince, the best friend, the dreamboat boy.

I always worried about you when you went off on those rides, and I told you to be careful and be safe. You told me you liked it when I was being a protective mother hen. I should've been more protective. You were so passionate whenever you spoke about your rides though, and you said your bike was your first love. I couldn't hold you back from that, I knew it wouldn't be right. Now I wonder if it would've made any difference if I had been selfish and told you to make me your first love, not your bike.

I say I wish you were here, and I wish this never happened, and I've never wished so hard before. People are saying it, but I don't think they're wishing hard enough, because it's not coming true and you're not coming back. I've been desperate before, I've been completely desperate and pleading for fate to change, but now I'm beyond desperate. There might be a word for this, but I don’t know it. I want to make a deal with God to bring you back, but I can’t, and that’s killing me.

You're still alive. You are. You're in my heart, you're in my mind, you're in my memories, you're in my everything. You’re not dead.

Our sweet secrets. Our eager promises. The beautiful moments. Our feelings, mutual and strong. And now, my crumbling, trembling heart, and I can't hide anymore.

When we meet again, I will do three things, I promise you. First, I will hug you. Second, I will kiss you. And finally, I will say I love you.

I don’t know if I’ll be allowed to do that. But I will try. I will make my promise come true.

I'm finishing this letter, but that doesn't mean I'm done with you. There's so much more to say. But I can't find the words to say it just yet. I really miss you, so please wait for me, like you promised you would. I’m holding onto this promise. Always.

I love you.

Love,
Your yuan yuan

I want to remember him the way he was, and I want everyone to remember him. I wrote this last night. I think I still don't quite understand things right now. I can't let go.