Sometimes I post things on social media because I’m afraid I’m really lost in a space separate from reality.

I wonder if I feel this way because I spend so much time by myself.

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看了我一年前寫的東西
然後再看去年年底寫的

有時候真的會嚇到自己
原來自己是多麼的醒目
原來自己是多麼的清醒

我一直都相信我有兩種很不一樣的性格
但有時候望著鏡子 看到另一個我
還是會感到意外

我一直都好怕做後備
我並不是一個特別好勝的人
為了我身邊的人 我很願意放下在手裡的東西
很願意給別人

就算不是很願意 我也能說服自己
這不重要 重要的是他們的快樂

我這不是善良 不是無私
我只是把自己的快樂放在其他人身上

這是個很愚蠢的做法
但我從以前就是這樣

當然不至於會被利用的程度
但我很少會對任何事情固執

但我真的好怕做後備
若愛,請深愛。若棄,請徹底。
我就是這樣的
有深愛 有捨棄

以前更加嚴重添

我自己的不自信就會更加令我胡思亂想
老覺得人家放不下
老覺得我很容易被代替
對普通朋友我就算了
但對家人,深愛的人,最好的朋友
我不行

這就是我活著的價值啊
我不求成功 不求發財
只求被需要 被愛

很久了呀。。。
哈哈
“看透這個世界了”

好可愛啊

我不是看透
我只是接受了

要被愛 被呵護 被疼惜
要失望 受傷害 被刺激
要得到 要失去
儘管來吧

有祂我就夠了

希望有天我會真心相信這句話 哈哈

我還是有希望的噢
世界不只是黑暗的

香港人,別太悲觀啦
無聊的樂觀也許會帶給你無聊的快樂呢

她說:
我很累呢 雖然知道我一定能應付一切
嘿 親愛的 我愛你

她有一個她非常愛的男人
對她非常好
但不知道怎麼對自己好

年輕人啊 那個年紀 覺得一點點事就艱難了
做什麼都很快放棄 還覺得自己會放下 很聰明
堅持對他們來說是個很大的成就
所以他們總覺得生命好辛苦 活著好辛苦

人的腦子很厲害的 讓你覺得很多東西很真很刻苦
其實幾年之後 你回頭看 也不過是個回憶
是當你正在感觸很深的時候做的舉動和反應 改變了你原本在走的路
那一刻 就有了意義

她說:
我很怕
我很怕失去 我很怕控制不了

就算知道我能控制的東西太少太少了
就算知道『怕』沒什麼用
但心和腦子卻隔了一世
到了最緊要的關頭 它們總是走反方向

很心疼呢
還有點後悔呢
但又如何呢

失去了
得到的
誰決定值不值得呢
值得又如何
不值得又如何

睇化左 真的嗎?
還是純粹放棄了
還是無敵懶
哈哈

為了愛情犧牲了友情
為了友情犧牲了愛情
愛情和友情的矛盾 很大嗎?

她愛的男人
她愛的女人
愛了又如何
開心了
心印了

有多少個一生一世
真的會一生一世呢

還好有家人
my family is my biggest comfort.

對不起呀
你是個很好的人
我真的好想和你做更好的朋友
但總覺得我在的時候 氣氛就不太輕鬆
覺得有我在 就不好玩了

全職
你是我的全職
我可能隨時被更換的
隨時被炒的
因為那麼難得遇到一個我真正喜歡的全職
所以更害怕失去

自由一定是美好的嗎

我真的好希望可以快些離開你
但這樣的人 到處都有

你覺得我不會有這種誘惑嗎?
我當然也想撇下什麼都不管
但我不能
我能在這間學校讀書是一件非常難得的事情
有很多人非常支持我
非常幫我

我已經很墮落了
我不能再辜負其他人了

我要爭氣

但我真的好累

到幾時
我才能好好哭一場
我才能什麼都不管好好睡一覺
我才能什麼都不用想所有事情都安排好

都說了
無敵懶

你怎麼了?
說出來吧
世界簡單些會比較美好的
別再讓人猜測了
毫無意義
浪費時間

收拾你的情緒
move on
安靜
用多些腦子
收拾你的心
吃少些
擔心少些
來了四年
老了十年

There is a sad place in my heart. Its a dusty dank corner with water dripping from the ceiling, and filled with a fog that you can barely see through.

Its not a place that I visit often, but occasionally that corner sucks me in. Sometimes its when I see someone, sometimes its when I have a bad performance, sometimes its when someone hurts my feelings. But most of the time, its when I am scared and worried.

Scared and worried about what will happen. Scared and worried of what others think of me. Scared and worried that I will lose close ones.

I hate that corner.

It takes so much energy to get myself out of there.

And then I see those around me that are happy to sit there and wallow. They believe they cannot do anything to escape. No one can help them through the blinding fog.

Why

Why do we chase after buildings and cars

Why do we chase after stability

Why do we chase after control and ownership

when we bring nothing with us into our graves

when our children would learn more with having less

when our envy comes from seeing other material possessions

Is conscience innate?

Is evil natural?

Did darkness come from where God came?

Did God create sin?

Why is there such beauty and such awfulness

Do opposites have to exist in order for us to understand anything?

Why does love make us all silly

Why does loss hurt so much

This powerlessness is scary.

This childish feeling of loneliness in the face of things that are within my control, within my understanding.

Its boredom isn’t it?

Cold air wraps around my exposed skin, pulling at my toes, my neck, my ankles.
I am waiting for something that I know will not come now.

There are books lying, closed, beside my arm. They will not be opened tonight.
I wait for sleep to come, at eleven. Somehow I have made it this far, doing nothing.

It is not silence, not a vacuum, not sadness.
It is a buzzing in the ears, a ringing in the ears, a humming in the heart, counting the blinks that happen, feeling the blinks, the sensation in and around my eyelids.
It is a slight frown in between the eyebrows, barely there, barely visible.
Its tight. The heart, the face, the frown, the skin, the muscles, the breath.

Do something for the sake of doing. To move, to be purposeful, in a life that will end in stillness, bringing nothing with it into wherever.

What is purposeful, meaningful, to whom?

Why did God put me here, not in London, not away from the rest of the people, but in time? In such long, dragged-out time?

How will this emotion that I do not know how to describe yet transform me?

This slight frown, slight quickening of breath, heightening of senses, numbness in the head?

Will it transform me? Is this a lesson on purposelessness/purpose? There is no purpose which is not given by humans. A journey that has an end has value because it is shared with others so one can experience more than one journey in one journey’s time? If it is not shared does it have value? If something has value, that value is our reasoning for taking that journey?

mmmmm…..

It hums, the space and time around me, in me, through me, around me.

Why him?

I don’t know…

….. maybe because… he’s more broken?

Broken? And you want to fix him?

Not fix… just… be with him, so that he knows its okay… to be broken.
He doesn’t have to fix it, face it, or all that if he doesn’t want to.
I’ll just be here, even if he doesn’t need me to do anything to help.

I just want him to know, he is loved, and not everyone leaves, at least I won’t.

I want to be his rock, his shelter.

And amidst that warmth, that security, he might accept the empty parts of himself that have broken off. Not fill them up, not to explore the holes, just to live with them, and appreciate the unique shape that he is because of them.

Tonight the city lights make me feel sick.

Looking at them from afar, from the top of a hill, the gleaming rows of orange lights… they look disgusting.

I don’t want to travel to Beijing. I don’t want to go through the airports. I don’t want to take the subway alone. I don’t want to go into a place just to sleep.

I don’t want to walk on the dirty streets. I don’t want to listen to noisy people and cars.

I don’t want to think and feel dumb for not being able to think of better ideas.

I want to break my head open, feel my skull crack, my brain matter oozing out through the holes, letting out all the pent up air and pressure.

I want to slowly push a short, sharp knife into my 太陽穴, feeling the sharp sourness of pain as it slices through my skin, pushes through muscle, hits my hard skull.

I want to bang my forehead hard onto the floor, hit the sides of my head on the walls, and then fall backward onto the back of my head, repeatedly, repeatedly, repeatedly.

I want to get knocked down by a car, break a few limbs, shatter a few bones, suffer some kind of concussion.

I want to fall into a coma for years, crying in limbo seemingly for forever.

I want to overwhelm all my senses, running or dancing till I collapse, till I can think of nothing but overload overload overload.

I want to sweat and cry at the same time until I pass out.

I want release, just any kind of release.

Release from the pressure, release from the aloneness, release from the fear, release from the anxiety, release from everything I’m doing to hold myself back.

I want release from myself.

Who the fuck cares about sensations

What can you do with them
other than emote

People don’t want to be thankful for the basics
we want success, prestige, power

There is a version of me
that is sincere in her gratitude
that is emotional about the simple pleasures of life

There is another version of me
skeptical of humans
distrusting
endlessly building up walls
doubting the ones closest to me

There is an angry me
hateful
violent
that wants to hurt others
hurt myself

There is a melancholic me
which I suppress
because it is the most resilient
but I embrace it
when it rains
when I listen to soft music

There is no sexual me now
Sex is power play
where women are mostly oppressed
looked down upon
flattened, violated, strangled
There is an angry me

There is an intellectual me
lazy
that comes out before I sleep, mostly
or in the shower
or in the bus
but rarely when I am writing or reading

There is a version of me
that tears up at the thought of reunion and farewells
that romanticises the past
that wants to stay in school always
vulnerable
and weak

There is a confident me
smirking when I hear stupid words
condescending and arrogant
who tries to stare people down
A pitiful, laughable me

There is a me in pain
struggling
with stress and fear
with trying to build and break down my own walls
at the same time
She lives in the pit of my belly
clenching and unclenching
pulling all my innards into a black hole