23

Okay so it’s 11:29pm on November 3, which means I’m turning 23 in 31 minutes. I have literally half an hour to still be 22. I shall spend it writing because why not? I promise to stop when the clock strikes midnight, regardless of what I’ve written. I tend to blabber on and on and you’re free to stop reading now because the world is out there and you got better things to do. Oh I absolutely love the silence of a late night. Thoughts come pouring in but you can’t really focus because you’re somehow enveloped in this silence that for some reason feels like a tight hug. Or not. Or maybe that’s just me. Or maybe that’s just tonight.

On my way home tonight I listened to only one song the entire one a half hour drive. That’s the first time I did that and it felt kind of good. I’m not sick with the song yet so it must mean I actually do love it. If you must know, it’s “One of those Crazy Girls” by Paramore. I am a crazy girl. And proud of it.

Actual words I said earlier today: “I’m losing my mind – if I have one to begin with. But of course I do, because if I don’t, then that makes me, what, a jellyfish?” I’m sorry, jellyfish, I have nothing against you. You just sort of came to my mind and it was so random but it has been said.

I’m such a sentimental person, truth be told. I’m like a big bundle of emotions but on the outside I can be as hard as a rock. What.

I had Singaporean laksa for dinner today. So good. I’ve had it a handful of times and it still has the same effect on me. This post is so narcissistic.

“Even in the loneliest moments I have been there for myself.” I read that quote somewhere, wrote it on a paper and pasted it on a wall because it’s like the story of my life.

My friend brought up a really good point about fixation last week. I am swept away. Still doesn’t change the fixation. Sorry, can’t explain.

“Inflicting pain is the special power of the people we love.” Pain and love are always together. Read that quote in sophomore year in  college. Never forgot it since.

November is novel writing month. I can barely write a paragraph. As usual, I’ll pass. Maybe next year.

If people treat you like crap, is it their fault, or is it yours, because you allow them to?

I want to go to Singapore.

I want my pillow and blankets to turn into actual persons even for five minutes just so I can hug them tight and thank them properly for all the warmth and comfort they give me every night.

If the Booksale store near my house ever closes, my heart will probably shatter into a million little pieces. Hi, James Frey.

I love our current dog Loki, but my heart will always belong to our dead dog Peewee.

Floating.

Stephen Chboksy, I beg to disagree. We accept any kind as long as it’s from that-which-need-not-be-named.

Maybe I’m a poetry disguising as prose, just waiting to be arranged into a rhythm and structure. What.

Believe Jodi Picoult about loners. She’s right.

Drunk in nostalgia and high on what?

Thank you, 22. What a ride. We made it, though. Inspite of it all and because of it all. Good job. Love you. 23.

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