lie with me.

I fabricate a lot of lies.

Over the years, I'd gotten pretty competent at lying.

I lied.

Now that too is a lie.

9 Lies I'd committed myself to in the span of 5 days :

1. that's the last popcorn I'm popping into my mouth

2. if I have a buffet lunch I can forgo the next 3 meals

3. I did 30 words in 8 minutes all i need is approximately 13.3 hours to finish this assignment

4. I can finish my assignment if I start 13.3 hours before midnight

5. green tea ice-cream is healthy I'll have more a bit more of the green tea one and less of the chocolate one also I'm picking nuts as toppings instead of sprinkles for the very same reason

6. I'm buying 3 tops from Topshop because Topshop is an investment and I'll wear them at least 50 times each

7. I don't need cakes or shopping to feel better

8. It's okay to wear the same pair of jeans 5 times a week no one notices jeans

9. To Ashley : Okay let's start our Legal Brief at 5pm

(at 5:01PM)

To Ashley : Let's start at 5:05pm I don't feel ready

What can I say, it's now 5:06pm.

3 in the morning

Obsession, Dominating, Power, Addiction,

Troubled, Enslaved, Jaded, Fear,

Bitter, Dissatisfaction, Frustrated, Deterioration,

Uncertain, Resentment, Spiteful, Grieve,

Negativity in the most offhand manner,

What grows on you at 3 in the morning? 

You are better than this,

One black spot tarnishes a blank canvas,

Until you decide to pick up that brush,

Dab it into acrylic paint of every hue, tone, tint and shade,

Tentatively daub, foreign swashes against a familiar background,

Over time, colours merge, vivid and dull accentutating each other,

Concealing the black spot.

You wonder if it remains obscured from view to relieve heartaches,

Or if it fuses in to complete the painting.

Melisa,

At 3 in the morning, you tell yourself,

You have to be better than this.

Pain,

Pain,

is it shattered glass, scattered along the stretch of this road you have to take barefooted, is it acceptance that no matter how attentive you are in every step, shards of glass are bound to pierce the sole of your feet.

Pain,

is it the rigidity of an elastic band you wind around a pole, like how you steadfastly hold on to these beliefs, confident it won't snap, assured of it's durability, until you let yourself slip, and it ricochets to hit you in the face in the form of contradictions.

Pain,

is it a fine line, a tread-rope to be walked on 10 storeys above ground, with rescue mattresses laid below, promises in disguise as safeguards you discover, never did exist when you stumble, a miscalculated step, to plunge downwards and land flat on you back.

Pain,

is it you.

What do you know about

What do you know about missing a person?

Does it begin when 'I wish's form habitually on the edge of your mouth, ready to be uttered, prepped to be inserted into snippets of conversations? I wish you were, I wish I were, I wish. Aren't those the mark of a start of a longing, this persistent coveting after a person?

Does time fragmentation happen unconsciously? Your calender readjusts, regulated by '11 days till you arrive home', 'it's only 4 months till we see each other again', '2 years is fine, we'll get through it'

Does it dwindle with time, do your daily routines ease it off, do you sometimes, completely forget? Or is missing your reality, and if it is, how often do you jolt back to reality?

Does it drip, of anticipation, of wistfulness, of yearnings, condensed to form droplets. Do they merge over time to form a pool of endless depth? Do you struggle to keep afloat? Or do your instincts kick in, like how traits go through a process of natural selection, you harden over time, you survive.

So, what do I know about missing a person?

Missing home so badly. Trying not to check air tickets every few hours (I'd been studying the trend of the prices more than any law textbooks)

I............................................can overcome this.

no promises

I'd always refused to be convinced that people could change.

That's it.

They could go through this revamp, might it be a meteoric rise, materialized overnight, done on impulse, fueled by one of those articles titled 'It Only Takes 60 Days To Form A Habit'***,
or it could be a process that devours time, undying commitment, an unwavering stance and in return, promises to spit you out a 'different person'.

***I made this up I'm sure they have catchier titles, personally I wouldn't read an article that requires anything less than 7 Days to accomplish something

Of course this was when I was much younger and rather cynical.

Also, this was backed up by this childish theory based on my own life*** that embarrasses me.

***I am very disorganized

(if I were to be a 100% honest here, I would replace 'disorganized' with 'sloppy')

 (According to my Dad, online statements like these are what will keep me unemployed in the future when our fate is determined by background checks on every post splattered on the social media - no wonder on FB he's constantly sharing inspiring quotes in pretty fonts against more inspiring backgrounds captioned with more inspiring words)

(Apparently I like to put myself into jeopardy)

But I am.

PRIME EXAMPLE :

When I was in Primary, I started off every year with 7 different colored files, pencils sharpened to the same length, bag packed in accordance to the height of each textbook.

Then from the 3rd day everything just.......disintegrated. I was dreadful. As much as someone with OCD can't stand filing Bahasa Melayu Karangan worksheets under 'Science' , I was the opposite.

It was almost this apprehension to be caught with worksheets that weren't creased and looked like they have been balled up and tossed around the room (most of the time they came close to that treatment) and using a ruler (my Mathematics formulas were pieces of art) and a desk with a compartment beneath that wasn't cluttered with junk.

I was dreadful*** I wasn't even that ashamed parading around with torn textbooks.

*** I realize the repeated usage of this word which by usual standards might be appalling but then i have also used 'i mean' 4 times in a tweet (we're limited to 140 characters and i waste them on 'i mean')

Up till this point of furious typing (which is how I type when I blog if only I manage an equivalent intensity when I'm going at my assignments)

I realize.................. this post is going no where (besides making myself out to be more dreadful*** than I was originally perceived to be)

***treading on thin ice here

The point, now the point is, until this day, this trait, is still glaringly apparent. Pep talks (from myself...to myself), incessant nagging (from my Mum) , horrified looks (from my roommate(s)/bestf) haven't done much.

I don't know why I strayed so much from the first line and centered this post on the dusty desktop and unfolded clothes strewn across my hostel room (definitely not housewife material)

I should stop

END OF PRIME EXAMPLE

In all honesty I was putting off studying for Spanish mid-terms.

if I end every post with a picture captioned 'Craving for Magic Matcha!! / omg I want tomyam naooo / pancakes plzzzz ' how juvenile do I sound

(the bottom line is I might believe that someone could change wholeheartedly, I say might but I have Spanish to study for and I refuse to elaborate)

I can do this ! *oozes enthusiasm that lasts the same amount of time contentment from a bar of chocolate brings before guilt kicks in (about 10 minutes)

Bye!

so after 10 weeks into this semester, I find out that this Intellectual Property Law course covers the Malaysian aspect. Also my assignment questions have been uploaded a while ago and the due dates are (frighteningly) near.

Good job Melisa.

Day dream your way through life and you'll get there.

Pasta or Pancakes

Hi there,

Momentarily distracted because 

1. I have the attention span of a housefly

2. this picture is distracting 

3. I'm supposed to be drafting an employment contract/doing law related assignments (or to be exact find out the assignments due some time next week/month) 

I really want Nutella now.

I don't understand people who pick pasta over Nutella and chocolate chip pancakes (ie Louie Ong)

Do you see a pattern forming here ..... 

Goodnight!

when I hit 1.7k words I'm re-downloading Instagram.

Current status : 931 words (of no substance)

5 things.

5 things when you attempt a 2.3-2.7k words law assignment 3 days before it's due date

1 / bibliography the heck out of everything just toss it all into the footnotes section and be done with it

2 / you are so much better at bs-ing then you ever thought you would be. embrace it.

3 / exploit thesaurus. milk it for all it's worth.

4 / enjoy little leaps of joy (or waves of panic) when you check your Word Count every 3 minutes

5 / stop telling yourself you can leave it till the day before.

(also don't kid yourself this is a routine you'll never break free from relish in it till the end of your degree)

(I hope I make it till then)

*panics*

p/s: I started on this assignment 2 weeks ago started strong with 24 words 2 weeks later I'm still at 24 words today I reread those 24 words and ended up punching the backspace button that's the end of my 24 words period.

I want Auntie Anne's chocolate coated pretzels :(

But I deserve no sympathy so .......................

其实；

其实，有了爱情，最幸福的就是两个人的爱简简单单；

其实， 告诉一个人‘我爱你’，何必再加上’虽然’ 这两个字；

其实，爱了就不应有了条件；

其实，说不出爱一个人的原因并不是不好的事， 如果你说，“我爱你因为爱上你的笑，你体谅的性格’， 那么，有一天她不再微笑，不再对你那么有耐心，就不爱了吗；

其实，爱是一个选择；

其实，两方没人应该受任何的委屈；

其实，幸福了。

breaking it.

I'd been in this cycle. Viscous cycle. That's how everyone labels cycles, no? Viscous. 

on the 17th of May 2013, I said,

" it's a cycle, you grab all these feelings of yours, bundle them up, grab a shovel, bury them as close to the core of the earth as you can get, mother nature shifts, thunderstorms, earthquakes, floods, all these feelings you find disdainful and discarded without a second thought, today you find them spewed out, washed up, all laid out in the open

and the irony when you discover them at your doorstep, right where they once belong."

Today. I refuse to celebrate sadness anymore. 

Because that was exactly what I have always done in the past. 

Why do posts on slit wrists, quotes on being suicidal, empty eyes receive the highest number of reblogs on Tumblr?

________________________________________________________________

I'd always hung on to this notion that I could forgive. 

You don't forgive on your own strength. 

Try and it turns into you clinging on to a plank of wood in this desperate attempt to stay afloat, while the rise and fall of the sea level, one minute perfectly still, deceives you with hope of survival, the next it pulls you under, leaving you to choke and gasp for air.  

There are things I don't like bringing up.

Can I say this.

God is so real. 

Training, not trying to not make the same mistakes again.

You make me wonder.

this ride home

So, on this particular plane ride home, I decided to start a series of appreciation posts. 

No time constraints, no limitations on the number of posts, no specifically required content because I shrivel at the thought of deadlines (I have enough of them in law school on a regular day I sit in a corner 3 times a day and wilt in a highly unappealing manner) 

Also, I like to stave off work because I indulge in the thrills and adrenaline rushes from scrambling to hand in an assignment due in 5 minutes (truth)

So, appreciation posts they are. 

They'll be 

1. Detailed. Eg : An entire post wouldn't be dedicated to 'food' but 'Raja Uda Tomyam Noodles' / 'ItemC4 from Zhia's Kitchen'

2. Done in no particular order. Eg : #Appreciationpost1 wouldn't necessarily be of more importance than #Appreciationpost58 (assuming I even hit that number)

I ran out of things to add. 

I'd been home the entire day.

Nothing. Just. (probably against his will) promoting   Louie Ong's blog.

He definitely rocks this blogsphere/blogmosphere (???) more than I do.

 Hahahahahahahahahahahaha.

 Nothing. I need new glasses that's all. 

Ok. I'm dealing with my assignment(s) (?????) tomorrow.

Why am I so lost.

Need to get my sh_t together.

(?)

I wonder where I'm going with this blog.

This space, no longer has the need to be filled with over-edited pictures because Instagram caters for that department.

 I don't do reviews. Not on cafes, not on the RM2 latte I had at Thirdwave a week ago, or the Porky Pancake I had for brunch today (honey and bacon who knew right?).

I struggle to search for adjectives because, food is, well food.

Shocker coming from me because I used to come off as a food enthusiastic.

Maybe hostel life has weaned me off the idea of the need for 2 proper meals in a day and eating has transpired to survival? I don't know really. I still like waking up to freshly baked pies everyday, pasta cooked al dente and a constant supply of greek yogurt at home. But here, living on my own I also like picking out groceries and coming up with dishes (that ideally takes under 15 minutes, requires minimum usage of dishware and ingredients - to every student out there the microwave is your saving grace the trick is to drink an extra liter of water to cancel out all the radiation).

right.

I don't do 'daily life' too. It's so........mundane. And if I did, I would inevitably have to insert my opinions on places I go to which I don't like doing.

Eg : Today I went to map's. Everything had bits/slices of bacon in it. It was good. Price was decent.

Eg : Yesterday I forgot what I did. But I broke a plate by bending it. I wish someone was there to witness it.

I could do 'About Me' posts. But there's only so much I'm revealing here (which happens to be a whole lot more than what normal standards deem appropriate)

If you have read every word, I feel obligated to reward you with a picture of my Porky Pancakes.

(at this point I have been distractedly scrolling through my photo gallery and have since then abandoned this post for 40 minutes)

(I HAVE SO MANY PICTURES OF FOOD???)

(no really it's more alarming than gratifying)

(this post is gravitating towards being Melisa's meals centered)

Also rewarding you with a picture of the sunset. Haven't seen pretty skies in awhile now. 

My point here is, like this blog, I'm not quite sure where I'm going in life. 

But it's okay. 

Maybe that explains the look of exasperation I constantly have. 

can we not talk about feelings.

The ability, to snap your fingers, and have your feelings stripped away, might be a superhero power on it's own.

You would have no qualms addressing a crowd of strangers. Hindrance that settled around you in a cloud of fear and anxiety, for your chances of happiness being squandered, it dissipates. You do the things they have long held you back from. You say the things you think fitting.

This facade you put on, it could quell panic, it could soothe the distressed, it could eliminate grief, no emotional interference on your own part, a perfectly mastered mask, facial muscles in place to comfort, to appease.

This elimination of feelings, it might work.

Sometimes, I feel, so much, almost as if every cell, every nerve, thrives on emotions. Excitement channeled fervently through my bloodstream, an increase in heartbeat fueled by laughter, relishing in affection.

Then there's the surge of white-hot anger burning through my veins, the acidic taste of bitterness on my tongue, the swell at the back of my throat only distress can bring about.

I wonder if one day, these feelings, at the intensity they billow out, would send my body into a muddle, and it decides it no longer has the mechanism, no longer wants to process, all my complications no longer has any alternatives, but to shut them all out.

I wonder if I'll like it that way.

-my 4am thoughts.

your words.

Words,

you fancy them up like a newborn baby girl in a bonnet adorned with lace and ribbons, she chuckles, you look at her, your heart swells and spills over, and you want to hold her in your arms and wish the best for her.

Words,

you inject this thrill into them, like a toddler the very first time he experiences rain, the magical appearance of droplets of water, the very first time he learns how to crawl, and it irrevocably changes him and it's all he wants to do

Words,

you tire them out, a high schooler who knows she doesn't quite fit in, and when she tries, a tight silence places a noose around her neck, every try is a struggle, every struggle brings about clenches stronger than the last, so she stops.

Words,

you fritter them away, a college student who doesn't quite know what he wants, he goes through life, he does what's required, he says the right things, but he doesn't feel.

I'll tell you this.

Words, are words, so much they can do.

Either the world. Or close to nothing.

my day.

I don't blog about 'my day'. I don't even recall the events in a day during Skype calls. I just don't.

Its 4pm. My feet is propped up on a pillow. Vampire Weekend is on replay. Air-con and the rain caters for the perfect nap.

I'm blogging about my day.

10.20 am: Jolts awake from a succession of nightmares. 5 to be precise.

10.26am: Tweets about nightmare

11.40am: Realizes I don't have a blazer. My formal blouse needs to be ironed. Zipper on my skirt doesn't work. And class is in 20 minutes.

12.01pm: Leaves the house.

12:02pm: Regrets.

12:03pm: Returns and switches from heels to flip flops. Stuffs heels into paper bag.

12:07pm: Walks across campus. Heat is unbearable. Sweats profusely. About 60 students clamoring outside a lecture hall. They take up the entire walkway. Explodes on the inside. Perspires on the outside.

12:08pm: Decides to avoid students. Uses the stairs.

12.10pm: Reaches 4th floor. Block D. Realizes class has always been in Block E.

12.11pm: Gives up. Squeezes past students. Waits for lift.

12:14pm: Waits for lift. Many other students waiting for lift. Sweat trickling down my forehead.

12:15pm: Grabs tissues from the restroom.

12:16pm: Waits for lift.

12:20pm: Reaches class. Realizes the dress code is smart casual. Not white blouse tucked in pencil skirt and killer heels formal.

1:32pm: Heads off for interview with accreditation board.

1:40pm: Sees everyone in casual clothes.

2:07pm: Dean starts ........................................ talking

2:17pm: Tweets about my unwashed hair.

2:20pm: Thunder starts rumbling in the distance.

2:22pm: Finds out I'm not needed for the interview.

2:23pm: Rushes off.

2:24pm: In the lift. Prays for the rain to hold off till I get home.

2:25pm: Attempts to run in heels. On an uneven pavement. Trips in the most horribly embarrassing manner.

2:26pm: Changes from heels to flip flops. Heels has these tiny straps with buckles.

2:30pm: So far 782541 people have witnessed me in my appalling state. Still attempting to remove heels while standing upright.

2:31pm: Ignores throbbing ankle and bleeding knee. And that my skirt has shifted into this weird position. And that half of my hair has escaped from the bun and covers half my face.

2:32pm: Hobbles home.

2:33pm: It rains. So heavily.

2:35pm: I get home

This is why 'my day' does not make it as blogging material.

My anger lasted till 4pm. I'm okay now. I had fried chicken. Hahahahaha. And my boyfriend Skyped me. Which is better than fried chicken. I just had to mention fried chicken first.

Sometimes, my dad looks at me scuttling around panicking and knocking over stationary items shakes his head and tells me I remind him of a cartoon character.

I laughed so hard at this.

Sorry. I'm not very interesting. I think I used to be slightly more than I am now.

Bye!

with age comes.

An upset,

5 year old you would scoop chocolate ice-cream out of the tub by the fistful and out of spite, leave smears on the couch.

11 year old you would throw tantrums, and you would make certain that with the severity of their outrageousness, for ripples of tremors to run through the house in a way even slammed doors, raised voices and a thunderstorm combined wouldn't achieve.

14 year old you would reciprocate by throwing up a middle finger and cast baleful glares while uttering profanities under your breath. 

16 year old you would sit, tight-lipped and unrelenting, radiating disapproval while conjuring up walls, solid and unforgiving for all it's transparency, the perfect barricade against justifications.

20 year old you cries effortlessly. 

I like being 20.