You're Dead Wrong.

A friend told me a while back, "You're going to learn a lot about yourself this year, Gwen."

I turned to him and raised my eyebrows quizzically, to which he merely smiled: "Just a feeling."

Couple of weeks down the road and that statement is already coming true. I don't know if it's because I held more of myself back in high school, or if the people at INTI are more perceptive, or if I'm just in desperate need of a wake-up call - but I'm not getting the most positive of feedback from my peers. I suppose it was to be expected: after all, why would anyone take a liking to the loud-mouthed, big-haired freak with bipolar tendencies? Not to mention she's sensitive as hell. They could all be joking while she's here, fretting over bad vibes and bad choices. Pathetic, really.

But perhaps my worries are founded, and I really am a horrible person to begin with. That could be the case, couldn't it? I can't help that I am easily excitable when exposed to a new environment. I can't help that I decided to be more expressive in said new environment. I can't help that I chose to show that side of myself - the side I normally reserve for people I am extremely close to - to a loosely-knitted group of friends I have come to think of as 'family'. And if they think that I am a horrible person, when I am showing them one of the more genuine sides there is to me, then I probably am one.

I portray myself as a blonde, but really, that's only because "blondes have more fun". Perhaps that was the wrong first impression to give, though, since everyone currently thinks I am incapable of: 1) coherent thought, and 2) caring for others. Admittedly, I do get carried away quite often - when you're immersed in SS15's hectic nightlife, it's hard not to - but I always manage to atone for it later on. Ling said everyone had an Achilles' heel; for me, it was my "bossiness". Hence I make it a point not to overdo anything that might make me seem too overbearing. Again, this is where the hyper self-awareness comes in - and it has proven to be quite useful so far in keeping myself in check.

But lately, it's been kicked into overdrive: every sensation seems too strong, every stimuli too sharp; prickling at my skin and making me bristle. Every notion is regarded seriously; every sentiment taken to heart. Because I have chosen to let down my guard and expose more of myself, I needed to know how everybody was responding to it. In order to do that, I decided an informal social experiment was in order. And so began the analysis of everybody around me; their thoughts, their emotions, their actions. Sometimes, if they refused to share, I'd revert back to my old ways and try to squeeze it out of them - and that's where more issues arose.

I've never been very gracious at accepting criticism, especially when it cuts deep enough to hit a nerve. Top that all off with my new-found 'bimbo' status, and you have a sublime recipe for disaster. To everyone right now, I'm just an air-headed pushover with a penchant for sticking her nose into other people's businesses. Don't get me wrong, I don't mind being the butt of everybody's jokes, or the victim of everybody's verbal abuse, or on the receiving end of everybody's insults - but not when you go that one step too far. I've snapped a few times already, which is way more than anything I have ever shown back in WMS. I have yet to decide whether that is a good thing or a bad thing. Should I be glad that the monster within me has started to reveal itself? Or should I be afraid?

One thing I know, it's frustrating. When I am too loud, they tell me to keep my trap shut. When I tone myself down, they tell me not to be so quiet because "it's so unlike you, Gwen". SWEET MOTHER OF GOD JUST MAKE UP YOUR MINDS, PEOPLE. What do you want from me?! You can't ask someone to shut up and expect them to remain in high spirits, can you? That being said, I should probably start learning to strike a balance between my two paradoxical sides - the party animal, and the pensive thinker. Everyone else, on the other hand, should start learning how to tell those two sides apart.

But holding true to his words, I am learning a lot about myself. My college friends, they may be more brash and outspoken than I am accustomed to, but the things they say do make me reflect on myself. Nobody else has ever been capable of that before. And their continuous slew of bashing makes those rare moments of genuine care - "Will you accept my apology?" - all the sweeter. So I'm not going to blindly conform to their expectations of me, but I am going to take into consideration whichever method of dealing with people works best. Because that's what life is all about: learning how to discrete and change and grow.

And if this is what 2012 is all about, to that I say:

The Wait.

Build-up.

There is an extremely annoying habit I have: procrastination. So many lovely things going on, but instead of recording them down, all I can bring myself to do is... Well, indulge in them some more. I seem to forget that our mind is analogous to a sieve; it picks and chooses, so the end product that gets locked away into our memories isn't actually what really happened at all. This notion, it bothers me: I mean, what if all the experiences I've had so far aren't really what I remember them to be? Would I be deluding myself, then? Would I be living in denial?

... I need to stop thinking so much.

It is the morning after Hui's birthday party, and I just got back from breakfast at - where else? - Asia Café after a quick siesta on Bilal's bed. That is my life in college: night after night of aqua vitae and hookahs, our visions clouded and our faces red and our lips parted in the widest, silliest of grins. One thing's for sure - debauchery comes in real handy when you're trying to forget.

Another extremely annoying habit I have? I only blog whenever I'm feeling depressed.

So all the joyrides, all the midnight movies, all the boisterous karaoke sessions, all the mamak binges, all the late-night talks, all the coming-of-age parties, all the abusing of our new-found freedom... Time and time again, they are rendered second-best to the bleakness taking residence in the pit of my stomach. Sad, really. And people wonder why I'm so pessimistic about myself.

Anticipation.

The weather yesterday was a good testament to the flurry of emotions inside of me. It was like a hurricane had struck SS15: potted plants were toppling, signboards were flying away, water pipes were bursting - heck a tent even got blown over and crashed into a car, its metal legs flailing in mid-air. Meanwhile, I was running through all this mass destruction like some melodramatic heroine, leaping over streaming rivulets of water and missing fallen tree-branches by the skin of my teeth (TRUE STORY BRO). I even managed to give my Anthropology lecturer an acknowledging nod when running chivalrously by - "Nothing to worry about, ma'am, just doing my job!" and give my Cheer girls a heads-up about the tent on the loose. All in a day's work.

As epic as the scene painted above is, though, I can't deny that it was scary - but not how you'd think. See, I could relate to the storm; its almost-tangible presence, the suddenness of its wrath, the devastation that ensued. I've been hyper-aware of myself ever since the aforementioned Anthro lecturer analyzed my extremist nature and dubbed me "borderline neurotic" - I felt like I had lost all control; like I had been consigned to the mercy of my "trigger", whatever that may be. I don't like losing control.

That's why I am still teetering on the edge; restless, unsettled. The storm did not satisfy. There was more to it. There had to be. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. For her to just come out and say it ("Yes, I'm after him too"). For him to just come out and say it ("I don't want that"). For this guessing game to be over and done with so we can all just get on with our lives. I keep waiting for change to happen - but it's holding back, for some reason. Just like how I'm holding back. Just like how we're all holding back.

One more annoying habit I have: I like listing out my annoying habits.

Let's see who caves first.

Release.
?

Break-Through? Break Down.

People are odd things.

They amaze, bewilder and stupefy me.

They shake me up, they open my eyes, they sweep me off my feet.

They spark my interest, but usually fail at retaining it - and because of that one flaw, end up getting hastily thrown back into that vast, swirling blur of 'acquaintances' and 'just friends'.

We're all boring people, it's true. We lead boring lives, filled with boring work nobody really feels like doing for boring things that nobody really wants. That is why the people we surround ourselves with are so important - they bring life into whatever we do; they make it real, make it count, so that we have a reason to wake up each morning and charge back into the game.

You lose that reason, if you're surrounded by boring people.

Which is why I am so very blessed that I have the complete opposite as friends.

I admit, I used to have an odd concept of friendship: I have been hurt a lot in the past; far too much, in fact, to the extent that I felt like I could no longer get close to people.

Thus began the vicious cycle of what I'd like to call emotional self-harm - I subconsciously distanced myself from people, creating a solid barrier between our two entities so nothing, not even the tiniest sliver of feeling, could slip through; while at the same time, bemoaned the complete and utter lack of intimacy I had in all my relationships.

It was silly: there I was, pretending these amazing people I had around me were just there as a source of information, data, entertainment; something I could observe and analyze and decipher on my own like some stone-cold anthropologist (remember?), when in reality I was just a jaded seventeen-year-old aching for some closure.

And now they're all leaving, and I finally realized that well, perhaps they did manage to get through that barrier after all.

Today marked the (semi) end of SPM for me, and a lot of lasts. The last time I was going to wear this particular school uniform, the last time I was going to write in BM, the last time I was going to be sitting in a classroom with a few of my closest - I still use this term loosely, mind you - friends.

This realization alone was enough to make me sentimental; but top that off with a foodie outing which comprised of a seemingly miss-matched group of friends (whom I later realized actually shared a large portion of the year with me), eating egg-soaked wagyu beef and chilling out and just having a great time... I was near tears by the end of the day.

I would say I wish I could turn back time and reinvest more time into them, but in truth, I don't. Not that I want to mean that cliche, but I'm happy with the way things are now: the wistfulness, the nostalgia, the quiet rejoicing that I wasn't actually heartless for the past two years.

Like it or not, these un-boring people have actually gotten under my skin.

And I'm glad they did.

Thanks for the memories, guys. I hope you'll remember them, for they'll forever be in mine.

The Beginning Of The End.

So it all comes down to this, then.

First, the last SPM paper.

Then, prom.

Next, the NST Young Writers Award Ceremony.

After that, the 14th annual KYC. I'M WRITING THE ARTICLE THIS YEAR OMG!!!!!!

Pretty soon the Japanese I'm hosting is going to arrive, and then it's going to be a whirlwind of "Malaysia Truly Asia" hotspots until she leaves next year.

Top it all off with another prom, the PD trip with the Jolly Rockers, and (hopefully) an interview with INTI college, and you have my post-exam holidays.

And all too soon, it's hasta la vista the comforts of home, and bonjour to my newly-fledged college life of American syllabi, off-campus accommodations and total, untrammeled freedom.

How I feel about this 180-degree change in my life, you ask?

Well, to be honest...

I'm scared shitless.

It's one thing to have a completely fresh start at an institution thousands of miles (I exaggerate) away from everyone you know and love - 80% OF FORM 5 WESLEYANS, Y U ALL MASS EXODUS TO MCKL?! - but now I am actually living alone, without the constant cacophony of my mother's nags and my sister's whines ringing in my ears, in my own little room, 15 minutes away from campus.

I wonder if all that independence will be the death of me.

I wonder if the loneliness is going to finish me off first.

I am capable, I know. But whenever things go right, doubt has a very irritating habit of creeping into my mind and taking hold, so that I am fallible and vulnerable under its control.

I make mistakes, I hold back, I let good things slip by.

It is a stupid thing to do, but I have been dealing with these self-worth issues for as long as I can remember. In fact, I am still dealing with them now.

But I am determined not to let that happen again. Not this time.

It's just so goddamned hard.

It is times like this that I look back on my year - and all the small comforts in it that have brought so much joy to me - and feel this dull, aching tug on my heart-strings. 2011 has treated me well as a whole, and I was going to be hard-pressed to let go of this high school life I have come to be so fond of after five whole years of flailing about in it, trying to get used to the water. I am proud to say that I have finally become accustomed to this way of life, and while I absolutely abhor routine, I find that some of the most unchanging aspects of my school life are what I am going to miss the most.

And no, I don't mean my horniness. Ahem.

For one thing, I was privileged enough to be able to enjoy my last year of school under Madam Chia's able leadership. Madam Chia is the kind of principal kids these days would describe as "cool", even though we're much too trendy to use that adjective anymore. She broke the long-running futility track record of chanting "HOLIDAY HOLIDAY HOLIDAY"s after every school event by actually granting not one, but two off-days this year - after Sports Day and the School Concert respectively.

I have much more to thank her for than an extra day of rest, though. She sat down with me, more than once, to discuss matters I felt weren't right with the school - when she wasn't obliged to even look me in the eye twice. That was a huge revelation for me, because for the past four years I have had the impression that school principals were stuffy, narrow-minded women who were incapable of change and, well, rational thought (ahem). That mindset, thanks to Madam Chia, has now been uprooted and replaced with a fresh sense of hope for humanity WMS.

My fellow juniors, you have immensely bright futures ahead of you. :)

Except you, Gwen Lyne.

You're going to end up as a Kotex salesgirl LOL JK OR AM I?

I am going to miss all this, really. The immaculately cultivated Wesleyan culture - with personalized greetings, tan-lines and military-trained asses to boot - especially. We hate on the rules while we can, but once we venture out into the "real world" (or well just college life), we find that the things we used to take for granted - like our security and discipline - is greatly challenged in reality. It just isn't the same anymore.

There will be no more greetings of "Sir" and "Madam", either echoing down the hallway or across the assembly ground. No more differing colors - not only on your four limbs, but on the Book covers of The Tie-Wearing Ones. No more pulling up your ties, socks, pants. No more slips: Late, Detention, Incomplete Attire. No more being reprimanded for the language you use; be it Chinese, Tamil or gutter. No more lining up - and then pressing each other up against the counter like it's a Lil Wayne video - to order 'nasi lemak wedges tambah chap'. No more Jimmy. No more Louis. No more Wesley.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not a stickler for rules. In fact, I've only assumed the role of Assistant Monitor once in my entire high school career; that's how much I rebel against authority. But these rules, they are what make us who we are today: young men and women who find the world a much easier place to take on, because of the school's incessant molding, shaping and nurturing. I admit, it is not easy to shine in WMS - not when you're forever stifled by its rules and surrounded by its creme de la creme - but this highly-pressurized environment is what helped me to grow and thrive, in so many ways I never thought possible.

2010 was shit, yes. I went through a lot, suffered through a lot of heartbreak and taunting and bullying, but ultimately emerged stronger than ever before. That was one of the main reasons why this year was so amazing: I realized I could make something of myself, even without the aid of a leadership position, and I did.

My biggest contributions would definitely have been towards the Leo Club. Being their residential script writer/actress, all the performances usually fell to me to piece together and execute. As a perfectionist, this was sometimes too much to bear, as I felt that everything needed to be flawless - when none of us were. But I got over it. I did.

 

The 8th Leo IR Day, especially, was the highlight of the year. I was in the line-up a total of three times: as a belly dancer, as a speaker, and as a ring mistress for the fashion show. When you're as passionate about performing as I am, it is a dream-come-true just to be on the stage - so that truly was a magical day for me. Even though I've achieved many bigger things this year - ironic, isn't it, seeing as it is my SPM year but yet there I am on the field, as active in my extra-curricular activities as ever - that day still strikes me as my biggest achievement, simply because I was able to share something I loved with the people I loved.

The people. Oh god, how much I'm going to miss them.

It didn't fully sink in on Graduation Day how I wasn't going to see all of them anymore; it was only during SPM, when my Science Stream friends were off mugging Physics or Add Maths or god-knows-what-else in their classrooms, that I realized our time together was up. Done. Over. It just seemed so surreal.

You see, like any other high school, in WMS we have 'gangs'.

However, unlike any other high school, I belong to more than one gang. And I'm going to miss all of them dearly.

My Jolly Rockers. You three have been the sole thing that has tided me through my life in 5M. So much so that our friendship has extended outside of the classroom: many a time you would see the four of us laughing hysterically at the back corner of the canteen about some blond/pervy/wordplay/blond pervy wordplay or the other. It's a miracle how we even found so much to laugh about: Gil and Yuan's gay relationship, the white sauce of the spaghetti, my sister licking a banana... We just found everything hilarious. Things may not be like that anymore, since SPM is looming over us and we're all pairing off, but I just wanted to say thank you for everything this past year. Thank you Ber for your extremely lame puns and generous hospitality; Gil for your never-ending faith in me and the uncanny way you always manage to tell when I'm upset; Yuan for... Well, just being Yuan. You three have shown me something I have severely lacked these few years in high school: friendship. I can be myself around you guys. And I mean it when I say I love OUTREACH every single one of you.

My other 5M-ers. Sara Chen Henlum (YES FULL NAME), a gangsta pixie whom I simply adore for the way you manage to be both cute and evil at the same time. Clar (or should I say Cassie?), for being such a lovely person to feud with all these years. Ching, for all the shopping trips and long talks, often courtesy of the Leo Club. Woo, for the bubble tea and Subways and McD's breakfast sets and your general air of kawaii-ness. Ann, for your loud 'WINK WINK's and how you just manage to boost the class' atmosphere. You guys make 5M the treasure trove of a class to be in it is.

My girls. Yes, I'm talking about you, Vern, Ling and Manda. The four of us started hanging out in Form 4, and maaaan, our recesses and vocal boxes have never been the same again! I have to say our karaoke sessions are the most memorable part of our friendship, with all the craziness that goes on in those party rooms, but I also have you three to thank for the intelligent discussions we have over our nasi lemaks during break. With Vern's chatterbox tendencies, Manda's dry sarcasm and Ling's all-around quirkiness, you can be sure there's never a dull moment in our group - and that's just the way we like it. I love how the four of us share so many things in common, like our love for FMK the little idiosyncrasies in our personalities, which makes 'The Pointing Game' so much more fun 'cause it really could be any one of us! That's how alike we are - and yet we all have our own special characteristics that set us apart from each other as individuals. A fabulous group of friends, we are. I'm gonna miss you girls to bits and pieces.

My other girls. Otherwise known as the Siao Club, which comprises of just about every other girl I know. There are certain friends I'd like to thank, like Zhi Le for the David Archie concert and Winnie for remaining as the retarded girl I know and love, but highest up my totem pole are Sam Lim and Hui Yi - the two K girls. Sam, you horny girl, thanks for all the laughs we've shared since Form 1. You were always a great friend to have, even though I'm deeply intimidated by your long tanned legs. ;) Hui, thanks for that extremely long call that night. I guess both of us didn't realized how starved we were of actual conversation up til that point. You've always been such a fiercely loyal friend, with such high expectations; I'm sorry I let you down back when I was still silly and naive in Form 3. It was nice being able to rekindle our friendship; I was surprised at how many things we still had in common, despite drifting apart over the years. Guess it shows true friendship never dies.

And I really do hope my friendships with all these Wesleyans - and so many more (I'm talking about you, Ted Chee Gee Keat! You better hang out with me when I'm in Subang, or else I will break all your Script and HIMYM discs) - never die. There are many more names I would like to mention, from the various things I've participated in this year - Boomworks (Joey, Vic, King - it has been a pleasure), ISKL SEA Forensics, Earth Rangers (My KYC gang! Missin' y'all), MUN Conferences, Leo Fourm (May baby, see you at prom!), Niexter meet-ups, the school concert, to name a few - but these friends are few and far between. They have all had a hand in making 2011 what it was, though, and so I thank them all for it. Thank them all for conglomerating to make the best year of my life thus far. And it's not even over yet!

It's 4.10am, and my temples are start to throb. But the doubts and fears I had when I started typing this at 12.30, have now subsided into a numb little knot inside my heart. And hopefully that is where they will stay, because I have great friends and an even greater determination to rise above it all to make 2012 the fantastic year it's supposed to be.

I guess it really does come down to this: and by this, I mean having the perseverance to take on all the curveballs life is prepared to throw at me throughout the throes of college life with my head held high. Because problems are going to arise anyway - it just depends on how I deal with them. I can choose to frown, or I can choose to smile: and well, knowing how much of a slacker I am, I'm probably going to go with the option that requires less facial muscles. LOL JK.

Wow. I can't believe I just counselled myself out of that. Writing is therapeutic.

So bring it on, college. I'm reaaaady.

Warmth: A Poem.

I have never felt this way before.

It feels like summer has sprung
in the pit of my stomach
and the warmth
burns me from the inside out
fills me up
so that the back of my eyelids
turn red
and I cannot see
cannot think
cannot feel
cannot want for anything
more than I want you.

It feels like flying kites
on a windy day
with your hands -
warm, solid, mine -
pressed against my sides
as we tie all our doubts
our fears
our hesitations
to a string
and let it soar, untethered,
into the sky.
Free.

It feels like knowing beforehand
that a bitter winter is afoot -
the kind that makes both icicles
and hearts
break -
and yet not bothering enough to
stock up on pyre
or dig out fur coats
or extricate myself from
the heat of your embrace:
whether out of security,
or just plain stupidity,
I cannot say for sure.

And although
it feels like standing on the edge
with my palms sweaty
my heart in my throat
and nothing to hold onto but
this,
us,
and a love that threatens to consume me -
I think of you
and all that you've given me
and I am ready to take that plunge
once again.

Because anyone can take
the cold away:
but what matters most,
is the warmth that stays.

A Day By The Sea.

Last Friday, I went to the beach.

It was not the holiday getaway-type, with crystal blue waters and pristine sands. Quite on the contrary, it was located in Malacca, where the people don't normally give two hoots about the environment, so the ocean was a dull grey colour and the beach was littered with cigarette butts and plastic bottles. My friends, clearly appalled by this, tried to better their situation by reminiscing about the picturesque beaches they'd visited in Phuket and Bali, with their crystal blue waters and pristine sands.

I, however, do not travel much, so I was perfectly content with this local beach we had been assigned to clean up. The surf may be grey, but the view of the horizon really was a sight to behold. And at least the sand could be trodden on without getting my feet sliced into strips. So I took off my shoes and walked along the shore, watching the waves swell up and tide over and generally feeling more tranquil than I had in ages. I suppose that is where my love for open water stems from - to me, there is nothing more therapeutic than staring out at that endless stretch of blue and feeling everything melt away into nothing, just like how the sky merges effortlessly into the sea.

There was something hypnotizing about the way the sea flirted with the shore that day, with the waves stretching their long white fingers lazily over the sand before retreating unto themselves once again, leaving only a trail of foam in their wake. It was that foam that I was later captivated by, staring for hours on end as it bubbled away in the remnants of our footprints, fizzling up and disappearing as soon as it arrived. Believe it or not, they made me feel sort of humbled, like everything I crave and slave and rave over really could become nothing in the blink of an eye.

I wouldn't say that I have been happy these days, but life has pretty much been incident-free - so I'm just trying to savour the calm before the storm. I am not a believer of happy endings; I am mature enough to know that there will always be ups-and-downs in this roller-coaster we call life. The ride is short though, so when there is a gentle wind blowing and sea-salt on my lips and the sound of giddy laughter all around, I stop over-thinking things and just enjoy that particular up... While it lasts.

When the sun set later that day, it was not the seaside spectacular everyone had envisioned. There was no fantastic suffusion of pinks and golds; no brilliant bursts of light as the sun licked the edge of the horizon. Instead, it was just a red orb in the sky, descending into a scurry of clouds and then vanishing before any of us even had the chance to process what was going on. Of course, it would be a lie to say that we weren't disappointed, but in reality I was quite relieved it didn't live up to everybody's expectations. You see, I was alone when I watched this ball of fire go down, breaking away from the chatter of my friends (who were still going at the whole Phuket/Bali thing) and taking a stroll by myself, and it would've been a real pity if it'd been pretty and I had no one to share it with. Instead, the nature of this sunset suited my mood perfectly - understated, subdued, a no-frills kind of thing. I had been high for the whole of the trip; that was my time to calm down.

I had not been alone with my thoughts for a long while, even more so while in the presence of people. I am an extrovert by nature, instinctively seeking others out as a bid to keep loneliness at bay. But this time, I embraced solitude like an old friend, walking with him along this quaint little Malaccan beach and watching the foam dance on the sand. However, the volume of my thoughts were crude, abrasive; they matched the cacophony my schoolmates were making, and I didn't like that. Solitude was supposed to be a quiet affair - so why was my mind even louder in this silence?

My mind went into overdrive, then, dredging up all the things I have been trying to suppress. Things that are broken, things that are teetering on the edge, things that are going nowhere. I looked out at the sea, trying to soothe my thoughts, but they just kept churning and frothing and crashing, making my mind as tumultuous as only the sea can get. I was suddenly and violently reminded of why I avoided thinking at all costs: it depressed me, filling me with blinding hatred and making me feel like I should never be loved, because who could love a girl with such a loud mind? Before I could get sucked any further into that abyss of self-deprecation, though, I heard a quip one of the teachers made about how I was roaming the beach like a broken-hearted Korean drama girl, and snapped out of my reverie. Which was good, except now, I know what horrors lie in wait for me in the minefield that is my mind. And I am afraid to go back.

Thus there is a contrast of sorts; the calmness of the beach as opposed to the chaos of my mind. Perhaps that is why I enjoyed the ocean so much - it felt nice to be able to see a concrete manifestation of peace and tranquility, hoping that maybe, somehow, some of it could rub off on me.

But perhaps I am like the sea, forever changing, morphing, transmogrifying. Calm one moment, and chaotic the next. A clash of opposites. A contradiction. A paradox.

Human.

All I Want: An Exposition.

I've never really understood the need for secrecy.

My life was an open book; people were free to flip through my pages, to have a quick browse through my contents. Usually, the things I let on were pretty superficial: my opinions, my emotions, the thoughts flitting through my head at the time. I'd give you my take on education policies; tell you if I was feeling delirious with rage; announce to the world that I was contemplating getting a pony. Stuff like that.

If people were to dig a little deeper; rummage through the fine print of my mind, they would emerge with a few more tidbits: the more twisted side to my experiences; the festering wounds I'd forgotten that have yet to fully heal. Don't get me wrong - it's not like I had anything to hide. There were no skeletons in my closet; no deep dark secrets to be kept: just an odd dust-ball or two from disuse.

And that was the problem. I've always been a stickler for care - it's such a lovely emotion; the suffusion of warmth and joy that starts at the pit of your stomach and spreads to the very tips of your soul. Unfortunately, that doesn't come by very often for me: when you're raised by a single parent, extra affection isn't exactly at the top of your totem pole. I eventually came to realize that I was not on the receiving end of it - not from the right people, at least - and probably never will be.

So instead, I tried to satiate my hunger by caring for others: I am always the first to pick up nuances in people's tones; the first to notice the subtle shifts in their demeanor. If you'd pay attention, you'll notice a good number of my retorts involve either the words "Are you okay?" or "Do you need to talk?". That's because I'd go out of my way for just about anyone I deem worthy of help - painstakingly asking them over and over again if they needed a helping hand or a listening ear, despite being shot down countless of times. In fact, the more people push me away, the more I press forward, for I think of hesitance as a silent cry for help; a wall people build around themselves as a test to see who cared enough to break it down. However, there is a limit to everything, so sometimes I have no choice but to suck up my overflowing concern and save it for someone else. Who does come along, sooner or later, hence the process never really ends.

Sometimes I think the only reason I care so much for other people is because I do not think I myself am worthy of it. Self-deprecation has its perks - because I think so little of myself, it is easy to put myself in others' shoes; to empathize with them and feel their pain. I busy myself with everybody's problems and tirades and lives; being that perfect friend whom everybody wished they had all to themselves. But I am not one particular person's best friend - I am everybody's. I listen and ask, ask and listen, so much and so often that it soon becomes a cycle we are both entrenched in - we are addicted to what we've become to one another; a source of comfort for one, and a source of data for the other.

I don't deny it. I hoard personalized trivia about people the way hoarders amass material goods - taking particularly momentous snippets from conversations and tucking them away into the folds of my memory, so that some day, when we return to that topic, I can dust that little nugget of information off and surprise them because "Wow, I DO still remember!". I'm not sure why I do it; why I give so much of myself to the sole act of saving pieces of everyone. Probably because I think everybody has the right to be immortalized, if only just within some obscure part of my heart. That explains why Chuck Palahniuk's quote resonates so strongly with me: nothing of me IS original, for I am the combined effort of everybody I've ever known - literally.

However, this is getting to be a rather big issue, because I have recently taken into account the sheer amount of information I have gathered from everyone - and the comparatively feasible amount I myself have shared. That isn't very fair, to be honest, but let me reiterate that it is not because I have secrets to hide. In reality, it all leads back to my self-esteem issues: I do not think of myself as worthy to be talked about, hence I always do all the asking, never the sharing. There is something so presumptuous about just telling people things on your own accord: what makes you so sure that they WANT to hear about your heartbreak, or your loss, or your rage? Which is why I prefer to keep my lips zipped until somebody actually asks, after which it will all come gushing out like water from a broken dam.

But that will never happen, because of - ironically - what I have been doing. My friend once described his inane urge to tell me every last detail of his life as that river that had been freed of its dam: once he started, he just couldn't stop. There is an addictive quality to ridding yourself of emotional baggage - you get so caught up in the liberation of it all; in the unending flow of the current, that you don't even stop to think that your listening ear might just have a few stories to share of her own. There should be a give-and-take to this kind of thing; surely a person cannot be the one airing out his closet all the time while the other party's remains closed and stuffy, all the bad air and bad vibes and bad feelings accumulating until it reaches its bursting point. Because really, I don't mind being the venting outlet, or the agony aunt, or even the emotional punching bag - but is it too much to ask for my efforts to be reciprocated once in a while?

I guess you can say that, at the end of it all, I just wish somebody could be to me what I have been to them all this while - a friend.