Strength.

One thing i hate about myself is that i have no strength.
I give up easily
I can only rely on enhancers like anger, motives and desires to cultivate strength.
I can’t accomplish by myself.
The devil overpowers the angel of myself.
Someone in the past told me i have rather good stamina.
That’s because i kept on running till i can’t think.
Therefore i suck at sports.
I can’t run unless there’s someone infront of me.

Therefore, i’ll never win. =(

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I do.

Have you ever wished for someone that would just understand?

I do.

Every single time.

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There ain’t decency being fucked up alive.

“Remember, today no one believed in you. You owe it to yourself.”

- Once you get burned you’re never the same.

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SINCE EVERY SINGLE ONE IS TOO BUSY,TIRED OR CAN’T REALLY BE BOTHERED. IM SORRY FOR TRYING TO PRY IN TO YOUR LIVES. I SHOULD REALLY JUST GET MY OWN LIFE AND DO MY OWN STUFFS. SO, JUST FUCK OFF. DON’T BOTHER EVEN TRYING . REALLY JUST FUCK OFFFFFFFFFF.

 

FUCK OFF.

JUST DONT TALK ABOUT “EHHH… RODNEY REALLY BORED LEH. ENTERTAIN HIM LEH.”
I DONT NEED YOU TO.
FUCK YOUR SYMPATHY.

I WILL FIGURE MY OWN LIFE OUT.
FUCK YOU.

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Cookie

In a cookie jar,
are really nice brown crunchy cookies.
My eyeball magnified as i stare into them.
I wonder why do some of them have cracks in them.
I wonder why some of them are broken.
Some have walnuts on them, others have chocolate fudge.
The cracks are damage, the chocolate are the memories and the walnuts is the future.
When the cookie cracks and breaks,
it splits.
The two broken dough take away different perspectives the same memories.
The previously stuck walnuts seperate.
So i ask,
Can we dance on the cookie?
We will then round every walnut and dip in forever chocolate-ty thick happiness.

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The star.

I asked the star,
“How do you be so perfect?”
He said,
“It’s just because you’re far away.”
I asked the star,
“Are you something of a higher being?”
He replied with the same question.
I asked the star,
“How do you shine?”
He asked,
“How do you move?”
I finally said,
“I think you’re really beautiful.”
His final reply was
” No you are….

Because you thought of us.”

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Mister Rodney Tan Pussy.

I don’t know what to write about. I can’t seem to think of anything to write about. The hot air from my laptop is stuffing me with heat. I feel like a spoiled child denied a lollipop. I seem to have lost my creativity. I also think i’m paranoid. Because i got nothing substantial to write about, I write about these shallow feelings.

Fuck, i shall just draw a quote which i love of the book i’ve been reading.

(About the author’s wife.)

“At times, we operate on our individual spheres, seeing different friends, pursuing different goals. But the joy is to come together in the evenings, share our different days, and be loved without having to change or pretend to be something other than what we are.”

I want to write, write , write. I want to write the best, be the best. The absolute best doing the absolutely best.

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Enjoy now or suffer later.

In about a few months time, i’ll pass 19. Today i sat and felt the world fill me with responsibilites.
Today i realized the days ahead will never be the same again.
I am slowly losing the belief that nothing in the world can stop me.
Nevertheless, I’m happy.
I’m happy that my days before were memorable and what made me even happier was i realized i was actually happy.
I’ve had a great youth. Part of me says it could be better but most of me says not much.
I know i may never have a million dollars or have a million regrets because of what i did or didn’t.
Maybe the million dollars could really buy happiness. Maybe the regrets can really kill.
But i know, i’ll never recover my innocence.
Thank you all who’ve been there. Thank you, i’m blessed.
Because i’m finally old enough to know that, the only time when happiness is pure, it’s when you doesn’t really know it at all

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I had a bad dream. Now i’m too afraid to fall asleep and continue the nightmare.

I dreamt of deaths.
Deaths of people who may seem relevant to me.
I dreamt of a bloodbath.
I dreamt of deaths of police officers.
I dreamt a car collison.
I dreamt of deaths of of taxi drivers.
I dreamt a person burnt to death.
I dreamt of people got shot to death.
I dreamt of a person got stabbed to death.
and me, I was just peeping through my house window watching people die at my carpark.

I texted my warrant officer while i’m in bed.
I dreamt he texted me some really awful stuffs.
I dreamt i was told i simply wasn’t good enough.
I woke up and i looked through my phone, some of the messages weren’t there.

I hope there’s just a math working in my head to make my dream logical.
It know it can’t be true.
A dream’s a dream and a dream’s a dream.

But when i’m awake, something tells me its feels all fucking relevant…..

The way we’re supposed to die.

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The Perfect Robot.

Being a teen is hard to do.
I’ve had hell of night yesterday.
When i put facades after facades after facades,
it became far too easy.
Smile as when i want to.
I’ve also looked at some people with skepticsm.
I am darn proud of myself when i know the emotional pain they’re going through is nothing compared to what i’ve been through.
But don’t ever do that.
Because yesterday when my limit broke, my heart exploded, i couldn’t find anyone to talk to.
It’s like being dropped in a deep dark well.
The bunch of keys i always have, don’t unlock the doors anymore.
Being a teen,
insecurities are always there.
But being a teen, you’ve got to let your insecurities flow with you.
Understand its a part of life.
There will definetly be the ones who would laugh at you and mock at you
making you feel even worse.
But there’ll also be the ones, who like your parents, will help you and not judge you.
Don’t be like me always waiting for an outstretched hand and ever planning to reach for them myself.
Don’t be like me not always wanting an true, sincere outstretched hand and always fearing.
Like Bono said, “Sometimes you can’t make it on your own.”
Don’t see it as a sign of weakness, its human.
Its always tempting to be superhuman but one day it’s going to eat you up inside.
Don’t be a perfect robot.
People will read what im writing and try to figure out what is going wrong with me.
But people always don’t understand or understand what i’m writing fully.
They always say its because my english very “chim”
I have to say that i am happy and blessed to have complex creativity of expression
but part of the reason i write in such a way is all boils down to step 1.
Step 1 being that i’m insecure.
How much you know from reading what i’ve wrote, its because i want to let you know.
I am not daring enough to write my deepest secret hear via the internet like that (even with complex expressions.)
I envy those to can be true to themselves like oil to water.
They’re the saddest when they cry, the happiest when the laugh.
Most importantly, they’re the ones who are able to sleep at night.
I can’t be like them anymore because i always thought it’ll be better to be a perfect robot.
You nay think im writing this here because i want you to read it,
I do want you to read it. But its also because i couldn’t tell a living thing about anything.
This blog is my solace.
Not a soul is my solace.
I stress the importance of confiding in somemone. (debate-sounding.)
Learn a lesson for other very insecure teens like me,
get over your insecurities and it’ll spare you alot of pain.
Like this passage, people will probably think what i’m writing is stupid. ( I myself probably would when i get better.)
Speak your mind like i couldn’t

Even when i could,
they might not even understand me anymore.

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