boo. hey look i scared you.

This skin is featuring Audrey's kawasaki's artwork. Layout and icon by: Dawnoflights. Textures are from: lemon end. /// resurgere /// ex-posed /// plasticxromance /// XX there aren't much textures used so i think that's all. It's just scrap and white paint.

Archives over here March 2009 April 2009 May 2009 June 2009 July 2009 August 2009 November 2009

Came across a compo from last year when I was clearing my room. I was bored, so I edited it like mad. And here it is :D Rather emo, though.

I originally wrote it to the topic of 'Gone'. Then I edited it, and I realise that it doesn't suit anymore -.- Any one has any ideas?

-------------------------------------------------------------------

They all stand together, dressed in black, as if huddling together would provide some comfort, some warmth. Slowly, the white casket is lowered into the ground. It will never see the light of day again, feel the warmth of the sun, like its occupant inside of it. Dressed in red, she stands away from the crowd, a gaudy finch among haughty, judging ravens. She remembers.

'I hate you.'

Silence hangs in the air, like a heavy and thick smog, engulfing everything. She is alone in the room, her black dress stark against the walls, painted a harsh, unforgiving white. She cannot see him, his face, over the telephone, but she can sense his emotion. Shock, confusion, denial, among others. Their conversation would seem meaningless to anyone else, but through the minutes of silence, he conveys his feelings better than he had in his entire life.

'Why?' He finally breaks the silence.

Why? she asks herself. Why indeed would I hate my father?

'I hate you for everything.' Her voice is calm, collected. None of the hatred she feels in her heart is betrayed through her voice.

'I hate you for leaving me and Mother alone in the house while you went overseas. I hate you for pretending it was work that kept you overseas.'

'I hate you for making me feel bad that you had to work so hard for us.'

She says all this with no more emotion than if she had been speaking on something as inane as the weather.

Yet it is this lack of emotion, of feelings, that is shooting deep into him, thudding right into his heart, like the sharpest of arrows, laced with poison, embedding themselves deep.

Too deep.

'I hate you for marrying Mother when you knew you could not stay faithful. I hate you for for making her feel sad, disappointed, angry. Worthless.'

A pause.

'I hate you for killing her.'

She hangs up.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Halfway across the world, an old man sits, paralysed by the words he has heard. The long beep of the phone is drowned out by the resonating voice of his daughter in his head.

My daughter hates me, he thinks. Suddenly, as if the thought has woken him up from a deep slumber, he returns the phone back into its rightful place, its cradle. The bright, polished red plastic stands garish in the small dull room, making the room's despair all the more apparent. The wooden table is chipped, worn in places. Paint, yellowed with age, peels to reveal gray, hard concrete.

He sits still for a while, absorbing the impact of her words. I was thinking, that it'd be nice to be a housewife.

Take care of the household, bake stuff and take care of kids that is.

The only part I don't like about it is the 'wife' part of it.

For some reason, although I can see myself as a bride, I can't see myself as a wife, married to somebody.

I don't think I will ever be able to actually trust someone, fully, love, in fact, someone, enough to want to be with that someone for the rest of my life. I can't see myself with someone forever.

Yeah, I know that most times suc unions don't last, in this day and age. But still, if I can't be sure, actually feel secure, I don't think I shall get married.

Getting married, is like jumping out a ship into the sea when you can't swim, and believing that that someone will come and save you.

That seems rather stupid.

Therefore I do not believe I shall get married.

----------------------------------

I suppose most people have different mindsets.

I mean, Debbo already has plans for kids. I have no clue how she does that.

That, being the ability to trust fully that she will someday find someone that will click with her. Marriage, to her is like something that is a guranteed thing, something that doesn't need to be said aloud. That's how it seems to me anyway.

I don't really get her on this.

How come she's so sure of what's going to happen?

I think I might envy her a bit, that she is able to trust, that in random cycle of things in the universe, everything will be okay, turn out more or less as she wishes. I don't get you.

How do you expect me to respect you when you've never done anything, said anything, worthy of respect?

Alright, you are my father. So I ought to respect you for fucking my mother?

Because other than that, I can see nothing else that you've done.

You can't demand respect like it's owed to you. You have to earn it.

Fuck you.

hello, my name is diana. all you really need to know. well, not really technically. i am quite sure you can function normally, without knowing my name. Oh well. i tend to ramble. i think you might have noticed by now. and i can't really bring myself to like goldfish.







rachel, the chua.
seiyin, tan.
lee, debbo.
penege, alyssa.
cheng, julia, of the weird blog name.
quek, rebecca.
foo, melissa.
chow, carine.
yeo, fiona.
tan, dayna.
seah, estee.
qijia, ong.
mui, cheryl
yihua, leong.

Came across a compo from last year when I was clearing my room. I was bored, so I edited it like mad. And here it is :D Rather emo, though.

I originally wrote it to the topic of 'Gone'. Then I edited it, and I realise that it doesn't suit anymore -.- Any one has any ideas?

-------------------------------------------------------------------

They all stand together, dressed in black, as if huddling together would provide some comfort, some warmth. Slowly, the white casket is lowered into the ground. It will never see the light of day again, feel the warmth of the sun, like its occupant inside of it. Dressed in red, she stands away from the crowd, a gaudy finch among haughty, judging ravens. She remembers.

'I hate you.'

Silence hangs in the air, like a heavy and thick smog, engulfing everything. She is alone in the room, her black dress stark against the walls, painted a harsh, unforgiving white. She cannot see him, his face, over the telephone, but she can sense his emotion. Shock, confusion, denial, among others. Their conversation would seem meaningless to anyone else, but through the minutes of silence, he conveys his feelings better than he had in his entire life.

'Why?' He finally breaks the silence.

Why? she asks herself. Why indeed would I hate my father?

'I hate you for everything.' Her voice is calm, collected. None of the hatred she feels in her heart is betrayed through her voice.

'I hate you for leaving me and Mother alone in the house while you went overseas. I hate you for pretending it was work that kept you overseas.'

'I hate you for making me feel bad that you had to work so hard for us.'

She says all this with no more emotion than if she had been speaking on something as inane as the weather.

Yet it is this lack of emotion, of feelings, that is shooting deep into him, thudding right into his heart, like the sharpest of arrows, laced with poison, embedding themselves deep.

Too deep.

'I hate you for marrying Mother when you knew you could not stay faithful. I hate you for for making her feel sad, disappointed, angry. Worthless.'

A pause.

'I hate you for killing her.'

She hangs up.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Halfway across the world, an old man sits, paralysed by the words he has heard. The long beep of the phone is drowned out by the resonating voice of his daughter in his head.

My daughter hates me, he thinks. Suddenly, as if the thought has woken him up from a deep slumber, he returns the phone back into its rightful place, its cradle. The bright, polished red plastic stands garish in the small dull room, making the room's despair all the more apparent. The wooden table is chipped, worn in places. Paint, yellowed with age, peels to reveal gray, hard concrete.

He sits still for a while, absorbing the impact of her words.
I was thinking, that it'd be nice to be a housewife.

Take care of the household, bake stuff and take care of kids that is.

The only part I don't like about it is the 'wife' part of it.

For some reason, although I can see myself as a bride, I can't see myself as a wife, married to somebody.

I don't think I will ever be able to actually trust someone, fully, love, in fact, someone, enough to want to be with that someone for the rest of my life. I can't see myself with someone forever.

Yeah, I know that most times suc unions don't last, in this day and age. But still, if I can't be sure, actually feel secure, I don't think I shall get married.

Getting married, is like jumping out a ship into the sea when you can't swim, and believing that that someone will come and save you.

That seems rather stupid.

Therefore I do not believe I shall get married.

----------------------------------

I suppose most people have different mindsets.

I mean, Debbo already has plans for kids. I have no clue how she does that.

That, being the ability to trust fully that she will someday find someone that will click with her. Marriage, to her is like something that is a guranteed thing, something that doesn't need to be said aloud. That's how it seems to me anyway.

I don't really get her on this.

How come she's so sure of what's going to happen?

I think I might envy her a bit, that she is able to trust, that in random cycle of things in the universe, everything will be okay, turn out more or less as she wishes.
I don't get you.

How do you expect me to respect you when you've never done anything, said anything, worthy of respect?

Alright, you are my father. So I ought to respect you for fucking my mother?

Because other than that, I can see nothing else that you've done.

You can't demand respect like it's owed to you. You have to earn it.

Fuck you.