Saturday, January 20, 2018

I said, "I'm the type of person who doesn't know what she's feeling until she talks to someone about it. Which is terrible, of course, I know."

Writing on my blog is almost like talking out loud. And after writing my thoughts, posting it and reading it on a peach-white background with curling leaves, I find that I can analyse what I'm saying. I can think about it, rather than just think it. I can see the flaws in my reasoning and the gaps I hadn't noticed.

I guess after reading what I wrote, I realised....Well, yeah, I had a point there. But there's another point here, a huge pink elephant sitting on the sofa which I didn't see until now. So, hello.

Sigh.

Thursday, January 18, 2018

I guess it's fine to do retarded things when the other person gets it, but if they don't, then you're just a retard. In a sad way. Damn.

Saturday, January 13, 2018

"Then, for a momentfor that moment's pause before he spokethen, I think, he remembered the truth. His memory stood ajar for that moment and the light of his spirit guttered in the breeze." 
True Crime, by Andrew Klavan

"But, of course, it was not the same as before. Once you have seen something, you can't simply stop seeing it." 
True Crime 

Sunday, January 7, 2018

Graduation is coming and the establishment (aka red tape) requires us to send a truckload of documents to prove that 1. we are Singaporeans, 2. we exist, 3. we graduated, 4. we have attended school etc etc. Oh and 5. we don't have infectious diseases. 

For my O and A level certs, I had to dig through the box where I dump stuff I don't care about - which is interesting considering that those years of study would have been quite useless without the certificates we got at the end. 

In the process I got caught up reading all the things my teachers said about me through the years. 

I'm not kidding when I say I don't remember most of the past. I don't remember what the first few years of med school was like; I barely remember what last week was like, other than reaching the hospital before sunrise and being treated to milo. 

My memories of primary school consist mostly of the fishball noodles and fishballs on a stick I had for recess. Secondary school was tennis and friends, plus random memories like one traumatic visit to a friend's house, and one (not traumatic) lunch when I was told I eat fast. JC was mainly the people (again), literature classes and of course Tahan. I never knew I had so many tears, or so much endurance until tahan. I didn't know I could make friends from the deepest part of my heart until tahan. I didn't know how much I loved nature until, you guessed it, tahan. 

And then med school, where I don't remember anything (big surprise). It's a miracle I remember the definition of cardiomegaly. The way my brain works, I guess it's a miracle I remember my name.

I'm not sure where I am most of the time; why is it that time passes and things happen while I'm in some headspace? I must have been dreaming, drawing, or writing. I'm never 'here', unless I really have to be. 

But back to my teachers. Thank you guys for believing in me even though I was spacing out all the time. Thank you for seeing the good in me when I was doodling through your classes. Thank you for believing I had the potential to do better and do good. 15 year old ying yue was a space head, just like 23 year old yy, but y'all taught her well and gave her wings to fly (above the pass line). Thanks so much. ♥

And I was always an emo kid who was oversensitive and thought too much, just like I am now, but I was always trying to be someone else. These days I'm mostly trying to figure out who I am, rather than trying on different identities. What hasn't changed is the people I love and also my love for doodling. 

Ok ciao for now. 

Saturday, January 6, 2018

Who says a dreamer can't do anything!



#roastingpineapples

Friday, January 5, 2018

But then again maybe it's too late.


Thursday, January 4, 2018

Compartmentalizing my emotions from my thinking brain has become almost second nature. When people say 'it's sad' I just look at them blankly. The awfulness usually hits me later, when I have time to reflect and to feel... Anything.

So, yes. It is sad. It is terribly heart-crushingly why-is-the-world-so-unfair sad. It is soul-rippingly sad. I don't know if it's better that I can feel these things. Although I suppose if we numbed sadness, we'd have to numb joy as well.

Better not lose the human.