my heart: damned/dammed

by The Dreamer


I keep looking back.

I could be walking forward, but my gaze lingers; it becomes physically painful to resist the currents, and I turn. And I look. And I remember. And I mourn.

I don’t know why but I can’t find the will to extricate myself from this vicious cycle of self-loathing and questioning my existence. It happens every year – just when I think I’ve matured and I’ve found myself, my purpose…just like that, I let it slip past my fingers away and wedge myself in a mess of confusion and hurt and “what-the-fuck-am-supposed-to-be-doing-with-my-life?” playing over and over like a broken mixtape.

Nevertheless, I am thankful for this week, even if it was a constant battle of hating myself for being stuck in a rut, and also deciding to just heck it.

On Monday, I snuck my friend into my school and hid her in a discreet corner to her own devises as I completed a scholarship test to see if I could potentially be a Public Servant. The thought of it entertains me, but I’m pretty sure I flunked the examination anyhow, what with their numerical reasoning and critical thinking questions that literally made my head pound in its skull. The personality test, however, I probably aced. Just kidding. But I guess it was a small enlightening moment for me when I scanned through my answers and saw that I only checked off the boxes “Strongly Agree” or “Strongly Disagree”, and in-betweens were rare.

“You often choose heart over head.” “Strongly agree.”

“Logical and scientific reasoning bores you.” “Strongly agree.”

“You believe in justice without mercy.” “Strongly disagree.”

It was as if I found out that I see life pretty much as black-and-white; either this or that, there isn’t a room for middle ground. It’s a pretty scary thing actually, but oh wells.

Then Shu and I headed to the Korean restaurant and cafe that I frequented simply because it tasted like familiarity, and I think it was mostly me listening to Shu go on and on about her crush and her adventures in dance. Not that I minded. In fact, it was actually super pleasant and riveting. More than anything, I love being surrounded by passion, and to hear my friends enjoying and loving what they do, it fills me with a strange sense of fullness as well. It makes me happy, seeing the light flicker on in their eyes, even if mine are dimmed. Kahei joined later, and I just really enjoyed the company of my friends. I missed them dearly. Recently I’ve just been craving for familiarity. I no longer seek for something new. I just want to indulge myself in the old, reminiscence what has been and what has past, and try not to scare myself with the daunting thoughts of the uncertain future. Like I said, I keep looking back. It’s become an unhealthy habit.

On Wednesday, I met Rachael for a math consultation, but both of us really didn’t feel like studying anymore, so we headed to a bakery cafe instead and had brunch. Again, it felt good. Sometimes silent, we just chewed on our sandwiches and stared off into space, taking in our surroundings, people-watching and enjoying each other’s presence. I put in way too much syrup into my tea because I couldn’t stand how bland it was (like my life), and in a sense that was quite oxymoronic because only two days ago did I truly get used to appreciating the bitter aroma of coffee, and now I’m already craving sweetness yet again. We got V a birthday card too, since her birthday was coming up. I admit, we were a bit hesitant, but still decided to be kind anyway. I felt quite bad that this was more a move of sympathy rather than friendship, but I hope V still appreciates our conscious effort to assimilate her into our class. I know how it feels to be left out, and I certainly don’t hope V to ever feel that way. Everyone has their flaws, and one shouldn’t be shunned just because of it, no matter how intolerant it may be.

After all, like Katy said, when you feel small or insignificant, do something kind for someone else. It felt good to buy that card. V is still an amazing individual nonetheless and deserves all the kindness and love she can get.

I still remember vividly the conversation I had with my mother over breakfast on a Thursday morning. She told me that she had found my old childhood notebooks tucked in various corners of our house containing my old doodles and stories. Ever since as young as 5, as soon as I could write, I was already penning down fantasies and creating worlds I could call my own. I was suddenly hit with a pang of nostalgia, and suddenly I felt rather conscious of the beating of my own heart, with only resounded louder in the emptiness in my soul. For a while now, I mourned over the loss of three of the most important things in my life: my words, my hope, my passion. But the pounding in my chest reminded me that I still had a chance to change everything around. Yet after being stuck in a limbo, static for long periods of time, it can be hard to break free from such stagnancy again. And that’s exactly what I felt. Stuck. Suffocated.

I looked up old pieces of writing that I had posted online, and to my surprise the views had surged up to 128k, and even on my new account, I had received heartwarming comments exclaiming how much they enjoyed my writing. I felt the embers rekindling within me.

I still remember me in Primary school. Aged 7, teaching my then best friend how to draw her first anime eyes, how to angle her pencil such that the hair could flow more naturally, and then giggling as we exchanged doodles under the table daily. Aged 8, winning first place in the drawing competition in school. Aged 8,9,10,11,12, clinching the top place in penmanship every year. The thrill of getting praised for my creative writing essays that I actually looked forward to writing. Aged 11, befriending my next best friend and carefully guiding her hands as she sketched her first anime character. Aged 12, writing fanfiction for my classmates and passing daily chapter updates for the class to read and pass on.

In a strange twist of fate, my two best friends, whose passion and love for art I had indirectly inspired, whose drawings I observed were painstakingly transforming from amateur to perfection, were now respectively studying Graphic Design in SOTA and taking Art in A Levels. They had surpassed me so far and were soaring so high, while I, ironically, and tragically, remains grounded with my wings clipped.

Why did I allow the fire inside of me to die out?

Why did I resign to fate, why did I just give up?

When did the colours in my life slowly fade out?

When did I become numb…

When did I become


钧 x x

j e a n x x