Remembering all the familiar names,
Recognising all the familiar faces.
What I call “Friends”.
Some are “Ex-lovers”.
Some are “Best friends”.
Some are even “Family”.
Some I have known from school.
Some since I was younger.
Some I have met recently.
Some I have never even met.
Any of them could be a murderer.
Any of them could be psychologically disturbed.
Everyone has psychopathic tendencies.
It just takes a trigger.
One, sweet, little trigger.
That put those thoughts into action.
To put it simply, how much can you really know about someone?
How many steps ahead can you be?
How familiar are you with those close to you?
You may know their habits and their life stories,
but how much do you know what is going on in their heads when they talk to you?
What if sometimes they imagine how crunchy your neck will snap in their hands?
What if sometimes they imagine how smooth the knife will glide against your skin?
What if sometimes they imagine how bloody it will be when they smash your head against the wall?
What if one day, something pulled the trigger and they unleash their psychopathic thoughts on you?
How much can you really trust someone?
How much can we believe in other people?
Obviously I’ve been watching Gone, Girl and also How to Get Away with Murder too much.
They told me I should not care about external appearances,
but then they said I have to take care about my appearance.
They told me I should chase my dreams,
but then they said I need a feasible dream that can earn me some money.
They told me I should fall in love passionately,
but then they said I have to be logical and can’t be fooled with love.
They told me I should be firm to my beliefs,
but then they said I have to be adaptive and open-minded to changes.
They told me I should not waste my youth,
but then they said I have to be mature faster and think about my future.
They told me I should be honest to myself and other people,
but then they said I have to know what to point out to other people and be considerate.
They told me I should be a strong, independent woman,
but then they said I have to be feminine and not stronger than men.
They told me I should be myself,
but then they said I need to fit in to the society.
They told me I should be a unique individual,
but then they said I have to be the same or the society will reject me.
These dualities are the things we hear in our daily lives, since we were a child.
We were told to do things, but then we were also told to do the other.
No wonder the society is so f-ed up with its double standards.
Some people say, “chase your dreams and passion in life,”
Some people say, “be realistic about your dreams,”
And I’m just here, somewhere in between.
I’m an idealist.
I want to change the world.
I want to revolutionise the way people think.
I want to create a better world. An utopia.
I’m also a realist.
I know I’m just a drop of water in the sea.
I know the world will not rotate the other way when I wish for it.
I know I can’t change all minds.
I don’t know which to bow down to.
The power of persistence, or the power of logic.
If I choose one, I may be a fool, thinking that I could change human being.
If I choose the other, I may be like the wind, flowing free without any directions.
Everything needs to be done in moderation, so they say.
I have been doing everything in moderation my whole life.
I lost my identity somewhere in between.
Never truly a part of something.
Then I realised, I’m an opportunist as well.
I take the smallest chances I can get.
Maybe, just maybe,
This path will take me to my utopia.
It’s not language that helps you to understand…
Understanding is a concept that goes beyond language.
You can converse in the same mother tongue, but you never understand each other.
You can both converse in a second language, yet you can understand each other perfectly.
Those sweet gazes and stares,
those shy smiles,
those frequent nods and giggles,
but I know in our minds, we understand each other.
With some people, even though you’re using the same mother tongue, you just don’t understand.
Because our minds are not the same.
It’s not even about similarities.
Some people can be so similar, yet so distant.
Some people can be so different, yet so close.
Some people have the right amount of understanding, words aren’t needed anymore.
Understanding is what bonds people together.
Because how can you bond with someone you can’t understand?
It’s not about merely accepting.
Understanding involves a lot of process beyond accepting.
And if you can’t understand everyone, it’s completely fine.
No one can understand everyone, and it’s okay.
Some people are more understanding than most.
Most people pretend they understand when they’re not.
You can tell who are the genuine ones, and be grateful for them.
Everyone can be understood by someone.
No matter how weird or awkward you think you are.
No matter how you feel like an outsider.
Someone understands you. Someone who really does.
And the deal is, you don’t even have to try to make everyone understand!
When they understand, they just do.
No matter how complicated you think you are.
No matter how you feel like the odd one out.
So, do you understand me? Because I understand you.
No dark clouds surrounding me,
just my red blanket enveloping my body.
The air feels clear and crisp,
but why am I suffocating?
The hammer plummeting inside my head reappears,
followed by the familiar little tingling steps of the spiders,
perhaps to me they’re all just reminders,
of the one thing I’ve always wondered…
Am I sane or am I not?
The urges to scream,
yearning to feel the breaking bones in my hands,
the need to shout,
desperately wanting to create chaos…
Craving to feel alive again.
My thoughts are criminals.
They’ve been caged within the prison of morality.
Arsonists, rapists, murderers.
They are jailed in a prison deep in my mind.
They would stomp the ground,
dig with shovels,
destroy the cells,
to run away and be free.
The world is clear to my senses,
but not in my head.
My head is in a state of calamity.
Those drips of burning alcohol,
I took it without hesitation.
Five, six, seven, then I lost count.
My system digests it too well.
I wanted to get drunk.
So it might just be easier for me to dream of you again.
I was vast asleep, only briefly.
I wanted to see you.
But I woke up in this ungodly hour,
As my playlist was finished.
I wanted to cry, but I couldn’t.
But I can only hurt.
It’s fucking 4:44 am.
Just the darkness enveloping myself.
No more alcohol to knock myself out again.
What am I supposed to do to see you again?
I changed positions hesitantly,
Counting endless numbers,
Listening to my lullaby, my ritual to fall asleep,
Yet, I could only see black.
I wanted to cry, but it wouldn’t fall.
I felt like I would take the fall.
Just in case I could probably see you again.
Do I have to jump?
Do I have to hit the concrete pavement to feel your breath on my neck again?