Maybe when life's too boring, everything becomes interesting.
For instance, things like documentaries...
Who watches them?
Stereotypes have you believe them to be the geeks with huge glasses,
the little kid who talks too much and who think they know everything...

But in reality, its the alcoholic in his boxers too hung over to flip the channel,
Or people with nothing better to do, nothing to believe in, with no motivation for anything to look forward to...
Its really just easier to watch the kangeroos hop into pockets, giraffes running in groups.

Perhaps its the staticity.
The perfect description of a strange subtle boredom;
A naive little anecdote about facts so random you don't think to wrap your head around...
You just absorb it all, like a baby suckling on milk, too intrigued to take your pupils off the screen.

Perfection is an addiction.
A drug that takes everything away from you, despite how you so cautiously carve your path towards it.
From a chatty talkative person you transformed into the quiet one
always observing, looking for the opportunity to pop in with perfect little funny sentences
so people think you smart and not redundant.
From a spontaneous go-getter, your personality is now muted to boring and ambitious
Perfection exhausts, engaging control and you grow uptight, self doubting, critical, self critical, dissatisfied, determined...
only to be better, better, better.
to be perfect.

It's strange to not know many people. Back home I don't know that many people anyway...I don't try to know...the hi and byes that I get and give along the corridors of NUS all amount to nothing much.so what if people knew my face my name what I do? They don't know me...all amounts to naught. I have a new friend..the only person I can tell my architecture related/personal expectations to.I think he understands but at the same time he doesn't. Not enough at least.when will things start to weigh enough to amount to something slightly more than negligible? When will I let myself form relationships purely unintentional and kind?without losing myself in the expectation of the monumental and ideal..or harvest the imagination of the glamorous?

For some reason I was wondering what was the worst scenario to die...
My first answer was that the worst way to die was to die hungry.
That being unable to quench the unmitable urge to fill the sour pit of your stomach as a cruel, and unfortunate situation.

Perhaps not.
My second answer was that the worst way to die was at the moment you were holding your pee.
The moment of death will lead to an uncontrollable release of that warm liquid trickling yellow slow down your legs, but perhaps the warmth were slight and you wouldn't be able to feel it anymore...
Oh the shame.

There must be certainly more dramatic and more painful deaths that exist... But for me I think it must be the most mundane, unexciting means of end that scare me. So for the countless times I held my pee, or postponed my meal times despite a tight bladder or nagging hunger...They might all get me back. I will try to not do it again, but I must say it is hard.

It is so hard to trust people. I realised today I don't know how to love. How to be normal?

Alone busy tired not so busy tired alone quiet relationships silence work work to dos determined silence paranoia alcohol inhale tired silence noise movement tired exhilaration movement movement concentration attachment listen warmth warmth exhale inhale comfort contentment movement tired movement quiet quiet quiet quiet sleep

Alone determination creation resolution doing being contentment silence inhale contentment silence work work creation silence confidence alone alone tired

Independence is crazy. I'm tired and want someone too but why does my head not allow me to?
The only thing familiar to me here is myself my work my loneliness. I guess you could go traverse the whole world and absorb all of the stillness still and not feel fulfilled. Distraction can lose you time but that's all it does.

I experienced my first weed last night. My first drug, all these years, not even a ciggarette and now straight up, weed please!

 Life is often unpredictable.
What you want, you most likely are unable to obtain.
Perhaps people who know what is truly reachable, and who aim for those things that are possible, are to be envied.
Perhaps, because I don't quite know yet.

I have a very blessed life.
I have been given everything that had otherwise been taken away from me.
Actually I should correct that.
I have been given everything that I couldn't have asked for more.
But continually, I keep asking for more, expecting more, yearning for more, fuelling a self destructive sort of dissatisfaction.

What I have not been given are but blessings in disguise
I am glad today someone's predicament has helped me undo the blinds, and now I see.
I love my parents. I truly do.
Words cannot describe my gratefulness. 
Perhaps my filthy life can't even be sacrificed as worthy enough to repay my debts to them. (Monetary or not)
I love them. And I wouldn't give them up for anything else in the world.

I had a hysterical dream.
It didn't evolve from a 2d movie screen-esqu dream into a 3d physical hysteria in sleep.
But it was freaky enough.

It was a classroom scene, with the teacher giving out grades.
Everyone was rumoring how I did the worst in class, and I didn't receive my paper as I watched nervously as the teacher returned the scored papers to each and every one else in the class except for me.
And after he finished giving out the papers, he turned his back on me and walked back to his desk. He didn't address me, like I didn't exist even though I was the only one who didn't get my paper back.
And he went back to his desk, and many students began approaching him and asking him for a half mark here, and stuff that you go through in secondary school and JC.
There I was, freaking out, awaiting the worst whilst people around me talked on about how I did the worst.
But the paper didn't return to me.
Why aren't I getting my paper back?
And as I pondered over these few main thoughts, the anxiousness grew and overtook me.
I approached the tutor, and as if sensing my anxiousness, several students made way for me to stand near him.
Quietly, I asked for my paper.
The tutor didn't so much as turn to look at me.
I asked again. And then hysteria grew.
"Why can't you return me my papers?
Why?! I want to see my papers!"
All I want to do is to know how I did!"
Casually he turned to me. 
In my bloodshot eyes of hysteria he looked to me to be condescending and coldly calm.
"Why do you need to know how you did? So that you can compare with others?"
I grew into anger himself. And perhaps an amalgamation of everything emotional and ominous: defensive, fearful, desperate, demanding, sadness...
"I'm not comparing how others did, I DON'T CARE!
I don't care how others did! I just want to know how I did, and why are you doing this to me?!! 
ALL I WANT IS TO KNOW HOW I'VE DONE, WHETHER I HAVE JUSTIFIED MY OWN ATTEMPTS AND EFFORTS!"

And then all I remember is the look on the face that he gave before I awoke to the sound of Lykke Li's Let It Fall.
And I tried hard to fall back into the dream, I still wanted to know how I fared, out of the dream.

The look on his face was searching, curious, calm, patient, determined
in contrast to my imagination of mine; of desperation and impatience.

I think my mind and body is resisting me giving up the core of my being: that of the need to compare, measure and validate myself.
But I need to stop being so ambitious and driven. I need to work with what I have.