The Beginning


A Mystery.

My origins.

My identity.



and Why.

The dew

My sweat

The ripple

My heartbeat

The wind

My cry



and What.


Of Anxiety: Exam Horrors

Hi everyone, so I just want to talk about something that I rarely tell people, which is my anxiety.

I suppose in my society where there is a huge emphasis on exams and either-ace-it-or-flunk-it mentality, people nowadays get a tad highly-strung up when they start making the dash for practice drills, graded assignment deadlines and whatnot.

As for me, my first taste of test-related anxiety was when I was taking an English essay diagnostic test in the my third year in middle school. I got that damned writer’s block, and I couldn’t write more than a few pathetic sentences before my engine went totally dead. So I panicked. I thought of myself not being able to finish my essays during the O Levels, and flunking it, and that would be a great pity as I had been consistent in my work, and I love writing, have many ideas about writing and I had put in so much effort in writing… All these thoughts came whamming in my brain.

So somehow after that episode I started to have that streak of paranoia when it comes to essay tests, like I was the most jittery the night before English essay tests. Since English is always the first subject to be tested in the whole list of examinations, to me it’s a sort of terrible, palpitating, pent up maelstrom within me that gets just the cathartic flood of garbled ideas and uncontrolled gush of emotions during the actual performance. And after that the others are quite a breeze, relatively speaking.

Actually I am more of the panicky type by nature. Like I often worry about getting up late for school, forgetting to do homework, though I did every single piece of homework first thing after school and am never late for school. These little bit of everyday issues didn’t really drive me berserk, but it hit the limit during my graduating year in middle school. It was in October, the O levels were looming menacingly round the corner, and I thought I had so many revision undone that I just freaked out totally. For the entire week, my heartbeat was fluctuating crazily, my mind was a total blank and I would lock myself up in the bedroom and cry. It was one of the worst periods of my schooling life, and I felt so desperately alone and there’s nobody to turn to for help, as so coincidentally it was study break and there’s nobody that I knew from my cohort who was in school. One unforgettable memory I had was when during a weekend, suddenly I just felt I couldn’t take it anymore. My moods was like a roller coaster, going highs and lows in a dizzying rush, one moment I felt like a superstar ready to take on all the drill practices, and the next moment I felt like a total loser in the eve of an apocalypse. The mountains were crumbling down on me and I’ve got nowhere to hide. I ended up frantically punching the numbers down the list of hotlines in the student handbook: Tinkle Friend, Care Corner, even Pregnancy Crisis Hotline. But nobody answered (damn it was a Sunday) So when I finally dialled the SOS hotline, after ringing like a zillionth time, finally somebody picked up the call. I was crying so hard that the person on the other end seemed pretty shocked. After talking (or rather sobbing) my woes to him I felt so much better. But still I ended up having an emotional breakdown in front of a teacher a couple of days later, which landed me in the clinic (though the doctor refused to give me drugs), and I almost got referred to the Institute of Mental Health, but in the end the suggestion was dropped.

But eventually I still went through the exams without much hiccups, although I didn’t really do very well in them.

Well I guess besides my usual panicky personality, there were some other factors that contributed to this huge major anxiety attack. Actually I had chosen the course that didn’t suit me, and I had to endure and loathe it for two years. Next my school had this unstated branding of classes according to their academic capabilities and subject combinations and my class was the so-called ‘best class’, so competition was really intense, especially among ourselves. And I wasn’t really cut out for this environment, so not surprisingly, it had been the most tortuous two years of my teenage life.

So for now in high school, while I still have a long way to go in dispelling my anxiety altogether, me exam-panicking condition has improved quite a lot. I guess it is due to the relatively laid back atmosphere of my new school, and there is no branding of classes or other related nonsense.

So well, I guess for now exam horror not that big an issue at the moment yet (and hopefully never) I am satisfied with my course, building confidence and well, pacing myself in general. I hope this can give you guys a bit of my perspective in exam terrors. Thank you for reading ūüôā

Some Kind of Adventure (Part 2)

Hi everyone, so I have left off in the middle abruptly yesterday,.. so now I am continuing on where i had left off in my previous post.

Just a bit of recap, that Sunday morning I decided to take another route for my impromptu morning stroll, and I later ended up somewhere along Buangkok Park Connector.

So I was travelling down the path after a short break at the soul-less community club, and then I noticed that I was -somehow- crossing paths with that of the river, which will lead to the sea at Punggol Point. I couldn’t help but think of Boey Kim Cheng’s ‘By the Cauvery River’, in which the persona travels along the pulsing life of the river and he had a carefree stay with the natives as they immersed in the simplistic, rustic lifestyle along the way. Well, I guess mine is quite a bit of contrast… there’s some weird,polluted kind of, should I say monsoon drain??? There is no chanting in the twilight, no moonbeams beading pebbles what-so-ever, no native to guide me in making chapattis and brewing chai, and I am just facing this lifeless canal right smack in the middle of some man-made flora and fauna. But looking across the river somewhere at the connector near Tampines (now that’s really a river of sorts, rumored to be the haunts of crocodiles and mud-skippers) I see huge patches of undeveloped land at the other side, still covered with dense foliage, all the trees and the thick, velvety, menacing dark green over there. Maybe I should kayak there one day… Do they even allow people to go there? Erm fine I sidetracked a little.

So well here’s the highlight of my walk. For a moment I had a feeling I was getting closer to Yio Chu Kang Road, as I start to see those private housing estates that I used to pass by on my way to music school when I was still in elementary grade. The huge monsoon drain runs along beside the path, separating me and those huge majestic houses. And then I came upon this T-shaped Junction of sorts, on the left side of the path there is this small curious-looking, winding mud track leading to a clearing, and it was an opening into the last native village in the country, the Malays call it kampong.

So basically what a kampong looks like is that it consists of a cluster of households living together, with the village chief and his family, just like many other kinds of villages. In this particular village the members are largely Chinese and Malay families, and there is this distinct contrast in the way their traditional housing is modeled. So for a Chinese kampong house it is largely influenced by the traditional design of a traditional China Chinese house, with wooden planks nailed into walls and plastered with cement, cemented floors, a veranda for space for hanging laundry or parking bicycles and motorcycles or even cars, and maybe there will be space for people to sun cocoa seeds, nuts to make preserves. Normally the Chinese kampong houses will hang red banners at the top of their doors for luck and some of them will hang this huge tablet inscribing the family surname of their origins. Sometimes in older models there is a threshold at the entrance, so if you want to get into the house you have to cross the plank of wood at the door. Do not stand in the wooden threshold as it is very disrespectful to the owner of the house. As for Malay houses basically attap houses had been a favorite in those really traditional Malay villages I had visited in Malaysia, but in this village they have this more modern, low-lying concrete/wooden houses with a similar veranda and a backyard like the Chinese houses. And there is a little masjid in the middle of the village, which is the worship place for the Muslim inhabitants there.

So as I walked past a Chinese house there is this little plot of farmyard, with cages for chickens and zinc shelters for dogs, and there are skinny black roosters and hens running and flapping around, and there is this bamboo pole on which freshly laundered bed-sheets and towels were swaying to the morning breeze… love the thought of pressing a freshly sun-baked hot white fluffy towel to my face. And the cooking was singing loud and clear from underneath the zinc roof… many households in the kampong love to situate their kitchen alfresco… saves all the trouble of mopping oily floors after cooking, which is the main disadvantage of indoor kitchens… And I smell eggs and curry and basil leaves… or maybe a tinge of banana cake? Banana fritters perhaps. I could imagine the hot sweetness of banana-ish caramel melting in my mouth as my teeth sink into the crisp of fritters… Mmmm… I shall move on.

Crossing the little bridge I spotted some familiar plants… coconut trees, this bush og big, bright yellow flowers, and guavas and jackfruit and whatnot.

So in all this entire landscape looks kind of weird… with this rural-ish dwelling right in the midst of a metropolitan setting… the big busy road at the opposite, the rows of concrete grey just right beside it, their claws slowly sinking into the last bit of the keepsake of the nostalgic yesteryear, which is quite sad at retrospect.

Finally as I emerge from this little kampong, I ended my weird little adventure. Perhaps I might try exploring other areas and show you guys next time. Promise yeah.


Some kind of adventure (Part 1)

Sometimes when a girl feels like it, she does crazy things.

Right now I can scarcely imagine how I can ever wake up at six in the morning, just pull on a pair of tights and some random long vest with bling blings and get out for a 10 km walk and back? (or perhaps a tad more than that, I didn’t bother to check) But for Abigail, this is what she does when she wakes up at irregular hours and can’t get back to sleep again.

So I started at the entrance of Punggol Waterway, and I started a slow jog along the tracks, just going on and on, knowing in mind that somehow it will lead to a destination (it always does, in different kinds of lovely surprises) (Actually I hope that for me Life can be like that, just go on and on, and some surprise will wait for you at the end, it always does. Or rather, is it that Life is already like that, yet I am oblivious to it still?)

So coming back usually during my evening jogs I just jogged on and on, no taking u turns, nothing, until I reached somewhere near Tampines Expressway, and then I either turn out to Punggol Plaza or just turn round and jog all the way back if I have enough determination to do so. But, but but, that Sunday morning I decided to take the road less traveled.

So basically I didn’t go in the usual direction. Instead I went the opposite direction I think… (sorry I’m just so bad at remembering roads and stuff, just bear with me as I try to re-navigate my way out)… well… I’m so ashamed to say, according to the map I am referring to right now, I think I was on the Sungei Serangoon Park Connector instead… (any kind souls please help correct me if I am wrong. Many thanks)

So well, I was walking on and on, and the morning air was cool and fresh, and peppered with a tint of that lukewarm scent of the grass. There was little wind, the canopies of trees shielded the sun and the bushes and grass patches around the tracks were littered with leaves, some golden brown, some still in the prime of their lush green, some limp and soaked in murky puddles, all that, and there are fallen petals, some white, some yellow, rolled up into creases and lifeless among the humus and mud. I just recall that there was a heavy rain in the wee hours the night before, so yeah. I guess this is so parallel to what everybody is facing… perhaps we don’t have much reason to lament that Life is so unfair for us… I mean, Life does not treat everybody equally, so note to myself: just suck it up and get on with it.

So at some point I entered the Buangkok Park connector. And I remembered that at some point before that I knew I was somewhere around in Sengkang. I just came across this swimming pool cum community center (I think it is Sengkang Sports and Recreation Center) and nobody was there so I just went in to freshen myself up. And well, apparently it was kind of a ghost town… I mean who will go swimming so early on a lazy Sunday morning??? Me perhaps. But I didn’t bring along my bathing suit so no.

So due to time constraints I have to end this quickly. So maybe next time I shall post the next part of this lovely (yeah lovely) adventure when I came across an unexpected discovery… let’e keep this a hush hush for now…hehe…


Random post on a random rainy day

Hi guys, it’s raining like cats and dogs, and I just thought of taking a break and writing something…

So it has been over six months since I last entered this domain… ugh lots of housekeeping matters to attend to. Any way so many things has happened these eight months or so… kind of make me feel like I am little Dorothy recovering from that whirlwind and trying to make sense of what the hell she is getting into right now.

So now I am on my second final lap towards A levels. Frankly speaking, this eight months is – i can’t find the exact words to describe it – to me a kaleidoscope of – like, sparkles of hope, flushes of excitement and challenges, the sweetness (sometimes an overdose of it) of girl power and tons and tons of candy and chocolate (sorry my language is territrocious) and also huge patches of grey disappointment, shards of broken glass and bitter gourds and sometimes fiery hot chili and wasabi from the teachers. But most of the time it’s more of pushing boulders up the mountain, whether you like it or not.

Sometimes I just can’t help but feel frustrated about the things I see around me, my past, my present and my future. It just seems that that pot of gold is perpetually out of my reach, like I’m getting there… getting almost there… but with one ‘wham!’ something comes down hard and solid on me and I realize what a trash (of sorts) I had been in my endeavors. The saddest moment is that when I see people around me getting it so smoothly. Undeniably I don’t have the foundation they had (and that is another story), but initially I believe that hard work will always match up to talent … but in a two year race between imported talents from middle school in humanities subjects like literature I just realized that such things require a certain amount of experience in it, it isn’t as easy to train as in maths and sciences, in which there is a fixed theory or formula for nearly everything in the syllabus.

I have a really really big ambition. I guess that is kind of unrealistic at this moment of time, but from the beginning of high school I have a feeling that a career of this nature suits my personality the best. I wish I can take up History (international or Southeast Asia) in uni, graduate with at least a second upper honors and go into the academia after that. I wish I can go explore round the world for exchange program, going to places like Cambodia to learn more about mines and their tumultuous history, and doing social work there, fly to Poland to visit the concentration camps, Israel, Washington DC, the Middle East, the Peace Palace, DMZ and North Korea, stuff like that, and helping out in research and writing of articles, this kind of thing. Perhaps I am quite simpleminded and naive now, but this is my ideal in my life. This has been my motivation to study hard these ten months or so.

But sometimes certain things got the better of me. They distract me. I had promised myself on the first day of high school that I will not compare results with my peers like how I did in elementary and middle school, so I try my best not to be swayed by all these kinds of things in Year 1. But until this year, suddenly best improvers start mushrooming out of nowhere… I mean, this is quite scary for me who is trying very hard to keep up, and well, it really spooks me out, for I started losing confidence in myself, like, “Jesus Christ am I slacking off? Why don’t I seem to improve while my classmates are like zooming across the tracks like F1 racers (even though the results slip shows I have, in fact gone up like 17 rank points within three months, but the point is, its just not enough to me)”
Given that the A levels are looming right the corner, our mathematically obsessed headmaster is counting crazily in the chilling coldness of his concrete cave (I wonder why he never needs a cardigan or something), and well, the time bomb is ticking. Ugh. I appreciate his like-a-kid-counting-down-to-Christmas-ish eagerness, but really, that’e the last things I will need. And while that time bomb is ticking, here I am wasting my life over a WordPress post.

And speaking of that, sometimes, I mean, perhaps people may feel this sometimes, I feel that I am just a loveless, useless body wasting air, food and space (I mean maybe people out there do feel this horrible sometimes). No input to household income, just sit there and eat and sleep, occasionally checking the internet and study study study. Sometimes I couldn’t help but wonder that the education system nowadays is getting creepier by the years. We students seriously need a life. Get out, throw away all those drill practices that only turn us into mindless machines only capable of replication and photocopying ‘smartly’ (yeah right) and do something useful. Learn a skill, do some manual labor, help the people and contribute to society. Really grades may be something in some situations but they are not everything in everywhere. Things materialize only when people believe and emphasize on them -as a whole-.

Perhaps I am just writing this because I am not the high achievers here, true, but really, is this what Life is ALL ABOUT? Getting the best grades, the highest KPIs and move on without much thought forever and ever? This is a freaking stupid rat race really, people lose their creativity due to them being caught in the flow, as society demands it, and they just become iron-hard (and rusty) moneymakers. Seen these kind of people around, even on the podium of lecture halls in high school. Pathetic.

But what if I become like them next time? When my dreams are dashed, and I have nowhere else to turn to thanks to the way that my society views humanities, that the only viable way is the education sector, and I will be the next pathetic old preacher in a worn out suit droning on and on monotonously to a cohort obviously not paying much attention, throwing in snippets of sarcasm here and there and… carry tons of papers home to mark, giving half- hearted ticks here and there, correct… not so correct… and maybe scribble some big words in there, trying to spice up my language and sound more intelligent than I really am. Imagine doing that for forty years until I get my pension. Yuck.

So for now, I’ve just said my piece. sorry if I sound really bitchy to people… honestly speaking, I have been pretty out of sorts these few days. Maybe I should write a few more posts next time about some lovely things I had experienced… I mean, after all the rain has stopped, the sun is shining, and suddenly I just feel… brand new… ūüėČ

I love you so much and it hurts


Right, I have something to confess.

Really really something to say it out before it bursts in me.

I like somebody.

Yes, I like somebody and it gets so intense sometimes it freaks me out. I having been experiencing this feeling for more than 2 years.

Before I begin I must admit that I once had a relationship with a nice guy whom I met in an online dating site. He is a very well mannered person, very kind and caring and makes me happy all the time. We even met once in person when he visited Singapore for some sight-seeing and stuff. However we broke up after half a year.

The reason is, there isn’t genuine romance involved. Not his fault, but mine.

I have been using him as a substitute for this person whom I had silently harboured unrequited feelings to for the past two and a half years.

This is weird really.

I am in love with somebody I am not supposed to.

He is my former teacher.

He is in his early thirties, a good 14 years older than me. And he taught English and Chemistry (pun not intended) and was my class’s form teacher for our graduation year in middle school.

I don’t understand really. I thought I am supposed to fall in love with the hottie from next class or the sexy new bag boy in the grocery store down the street. Or flirt with the dashing President of the Student Council who had just celebrated his 18th birthday.

But I just don’t. What’s wrong with me?

I have tried doing an analysis to find out what makes me so attracted to him. Well, he is an introvert like me, and rarely displays his feelings. He never scolded or yelled and rarely smiled. And well, from what I (and many others) had observed he is effeminate. I’ve heard juniors making fun of his appearance and somewhat feminine appearance. Even if I do not have any feelings toward him it is still a malicious thing to do.

But somehow he seem to be a representation of certain values that I wish my parents could have had. He is very patient, very sensitive towards others, and have very refined manners and ettiquette (even though they may be a bit feminine). He is also very soft tempered and he will just encourage people on quietly, just as he would chide softly at a misbehaving student. He just have that maternal value. And at times even when he overheard people saying nasty things, he would just pretend not to hear and go away, not like many other teachers who would be putting on the evil smirks and jump at the opportunity to dish out detentions and horrendous things in revenge.  

Perhaps I am only falling in love with the ideal of love and not with the essence of love?

But if it is only a crush, why do I still think of him after so long? If it really is puppy love my former boyfriend would have had easily filled the gap for me.

Sometimes I really wish he is my dad… but if he really is, I’m afraid I am going to be enemies with my mom.

I am so confused. What do I exactly see in him, a lover, an older brother, a father, or a mentor? Or is it all four?

I really don’t know.

But now my heart still pines away and the pain is so sharp that it made me cry sometimes.

I never have any more crushes in junior college, and I doubt I will ever have any in the future. He is the first and most probably the one and only crush I have.

I think I am starting to sound like Duke Orsino, that silly fellow.

Since I have graduated from middle school, I guess it is worth giving it a try after A levels? I’ve seen from the magazines that sometimes, miracles do work out. Just entertaining¬†a rather¬†crazy thought.

To that person whom I am referring to: I just want to say, I love you. I love you… so much…





My not-so-perfect family

To be really frank I think I am emotionally enstranged from my family.

Truth be told I never write to my family.

I just don’t know why, I just don’t feel that my thoughts and values are in sync or in the same frequency as my family.

To put it in other words I never truly understand and appreciate what my parents and my siblings want, and neither do they really take note of what I really desire.

I know sometimes I am self centred, wilful and a tad idealistic. But I just can’t help feeling that way sometimes, even though I do try to control my mood to suit the occasion.


My ideal vision of a family: An intelligent dad who cracks jokes with a good sense of humor that warms the cockles of my heart but never freak me out, guides me patiently and encouragingly in my work but never boss me around of make me feel inferior, takes me out to try new things like fishing, mountain climbing, taking a dip in the sea, horse riding, barbecueing, fun stuff like that. A sweet tempered mum with a lot of patience and good reasoning and being calm and rational when something is wrong, like when I accidentally cut myself, or fall down, or during my periodic bouts of uncontrollable diarrhoea and vomiting, one which I am able to share stuff such as crushes or moody feelings and things like that, and still being able to guide me through them. Next is an older brother who is a couple of years older than me, who loves and protects me as his little sister and is very very strong. He will share his college experiences and introduce me to his girlfriend when she comes round for dinners, or accompany me to the clinics or hospitals when Mum or Dad is not free to take me and during weekends or the holidays he will take me along to hiking trips, camps, to the beach where we can trek along the rocky coasts and collect seashells, or just sit there and watch the sunset with our dear old collie whom I will name Bert. My older brother will protect me if anybody tried to bully me in school, and he will make sure I will not be ostracized whenever possible. And then I have good old Bertie, who will always lick my toes and place his paws on my hands and wag his tail at me whenever I feel upset and nobody is around to comfort me. He will follow me to school every morning and sit beside me at my desk. He will also be my trusty protector whenever I go mountain climbing or fishing or stuff, basically he is my 24 hour bodyguard and good friend.

We will live in a large house in the countryside with vast green meadows and pretty orchards brimming with apples every autumn,¬†shimmering stars at night, and undulating hills blanketed with pure white snow every winter. We will have a stable at the backyard, from which I take my¬†Shetland pony out for a¬†canter in the fields – for Dad¬†won’t let me touch his Thoroughbred – it is too strong for me to control. My family will attend every prize giving ceremony, plan every birthday party for me, and go out together for a getaway in beautiful places like the Great Barrier Reef, the Enchanted River in the Philippines, Tibet, Bhutan, Stonehenge, Gold Coast, the Great Canyon, the Great Wall, the Golden Pyramid and many more. Or we just simply harvest the apples together with the wither leaves coated in brilliant gold and amber under the rays, mom would make maple syrup, bring out the honey, brew red tea¬†and¬†knead sourdough for healthy bread, and we would¬†settle for a lovely supper of apples coated in maple syrup and honey, toasted bread with maple syrup and honey and butter and piping hot red tea. My favourite.

Couldn’t really fathom what the heck is going on in the apartment recently.

Mom just got, well, fatigued. I am partly to blame, I am too immersed in my musings (and too indolent perhaps) to give her a hand in things.

Actually, my¬†mother is a rather little lovely woman who is a comfortable presence to have at home. Her name is Sharon and she is an immigrant from Tangkak, a little town in Johor, Malaysia. She persevers in her everyday doings, cleaning the house, cooking meals, going grocery shopping and taking care of my little brother and my father (I’ll explain later) even though she admitted that she ‘should have better things to do’. I think she is a wonderful lady.

My father is a rather rough character at home. He is gentlemanly in social events, but very brash and insensitive at home. He places financial coverage and food as priority,¬†and used to heap colossal helpings of lavish dishes like roast duck, braised pork, grill salmon, fried chicken wings on his (and ours) plate until the diagnosis of terminal cancer hit the sense back into him last Christmas. I feel obliged to have a bond with him and reject him at the same time. But for now I have to move on. Don’t ask me why.

My younger siblings are, ugh. Well, my younger sis Elleora is in her second¬†year in secondary school. She is top in¬†her class and the fourth in her cohort – a¬†very promising young girl who is going to receive a prestigious academic¬†scholarship from the Ministry of Education very soon.¬†She is setting her sights in the Humanities stream for her O Level course next year. She is a great friend and confidante (only in certain topics!) but she may be too obsessed with her Korean pop stars, sometimes (actually most of the week, if you minus the glorious 10 hours she clock¬†for her bedtime, but still she¬†even DREAMS about her T.O.P and G Dragon oppas, facepalm haha)¬†And that’s not very promising for a young lass who still hasn’t got a boyfriend. For my brother Cecil, he is in his first year of kindergarten and is moving on to year 2 next spring. He may be very cherubic but he can be quite a devil, he nearly tore my study table down when I was not around for a week (I went to Malaysia for a break) But still he is intelligent beyond his years. He can form proper sentence structures and apply his linguistic abilities in real life while his peers are still struggling with phrases! Amazing isn’t it? But sometimes I just can’t stand him.

I have two cousins from Malaysia staying with us for a few years. One is Elder Sis Alvina, only daughter of my father’s 2nd elder brother,¬†who come here from Pulau Pinang to study in a polytechnic and university before finding an apartment¬†in Singapore to live here for good. Another¬†one is Elder Bro Sheng, eldest son of my mother’s elder sister, from Tangkak Johor. He joined us in about July this year after graduating with honors in Newcastle University in the UK to begin work in Singapore as well. He wants a PR status in Singapore. I guess he will be staying for good as well.

I guess Mum’s pretty overwhelmed having to deal with so many things within such a tight schedule. I can tell she so desperately wants a holiday. I’ve tried offering her one, at the expense of my scholarship allowance (which is a couple of thousand dollars). But she refused everytime, saying that I will never know what she wants, and besides she have other duties to do.

But really, it is not a crime to forgo your duties ONCE IN A WHILE and have fun right?

Couldn’t understand what this woman is thinking about.

But sometimes I just feel so helpless as well, being unable to get rid of certain issues for my mum.

Sometimes I feel she is just being exploited by the whole family, even myself, sometimes.

I just get the feeling that she is being pressured and bullied into doing things for people.

Kind of sad, really.

But sometimes I thought it was her fault that she didn’t pursue a higher education in the first place and marry someone better than my father.

But the case is, I don’t really know the full story of everything right?

At times she will get really upset about nothing in particular, perhaps by a comment that I uttered unintentionally and she would scream at me for making her suffer.

Every morning is not always a good morning. Sometimes I wish she can disappear and do the cleaning and cooking from another dimension.

How selfish a thought. But it’s only a thought.

Selfish me. Undeserving me.

I hate myself sometimes.

Getting frightened

I am a rather timid person, there have been countless of times when I had been scared stiff. Before I get started on therapy and counselling I used to be very scared of nearly everything – the roar of the motor, the screeching of brakes, the bellow of thunder during the monsoon season, creepy crawlies, horror movie trailers, a frazzled teacher’s scream in school, the bottles of antibiotics, syrings and the IVs during my monthly hospital trips, even my mom’s big black foundation brush (I thought it looked really creepy then).

But there’s one incident that pretty scared the hell out of me at a greater intensity than the rest. It happened when I was about four or five years old. A clarification, not just at an instance, it happened quite a few times as a matter of fact.

It mostly happened during the night when I was about to go to sleep. Well, I never watched any horror movies or creepy things like that prior to this experience. But as I close my eyes I never fail to visualize this girl in my mind. She looks rather eerie to me. She was dressed in a¬†white nightgown, her long black ann untidy hair hanging on her shoulders and down her waist, and her face, I have to say this, her face is totally white and really really scary. There were two huge gaping black¬†holes at the place where her eyes should have been, and she was always grinning sinisterly at me. It was really terrifying and disgusting to me. So I would open my eyes and try to focus my gaze at something else in the room to pacify myself and make sure that I was still in reality. I didn’t dare to go to sleep until I got really very exhausted and my strength failed me. To make things even worse I find the curtains in the room equally crazy as well. My mom used to buy tons of¬†fabric for the tablecloths and the curtains, and for some uncanny reason she preferred one which had the Sun in splendour print. I hated that really. It looks creepy.¬†


Hello and Introduction

Hi I am Abigail, and I am from Singapore. This is my first time typing out my thoughts in WordPress. My previous blogs are all powered by Blogger. The reason why I choose to switch to WordPress this time is that with the passing my 17th birthday I feel the need to move on to another phase of my life. Just a feeling really, a conviction that occurs out of nowhere that prompted me to abandon my previous blogs and start afresh on this new one, despite myself knowing the immense amount of time and effort I took to contribute to the enormous content of my previous ones.

So well, hi and I am Abigail. I am studying in a junior college in Singapore right now and I am going to do my graduating year next year (2014). It has been a very interesting and challenging year for 2013 and I am just so relieved that I have passed the promotional criteria (though it isn’t really a brilliant score) but well, at least I got promoted.

Now to make things clear to people who happen to chance upon my blog I must say, there is no exact genre or theme to what I am writing about. I just write when I please. And really I write anything that I feel like writing about. To me thes few years have been rather tumultuous and I just want to get some things off my chest. Really.

Actually in real life I am much of an introvert. I don’t know how to socialise the ‘right way’ (and¬†how exactly do you define ‘right’ and ‘wrong’ anyway?) and I just… can’t bring myself to say hi to people and stuff like that.¬†And I don’t really know how to articulate¬†what I want to say confidently. I just want to be confident and make people like me for who I really am, but¬†sometimes it seems that¬†people just dismiss me like any other shy geek.

So well, I guess I shall end my intro for now and get started on something next. Yeah.