It Gets Worse

The times will heal the wounds,
But it left scars.
Ugly,
Obnoxious,
Big,
Black scars.

Scars that sometimes will never fade away,
And it worms into your heart,
Like maggots,
Deciding what to do,
Where to occupy,
When will the host will finally succumb,
And claimed by darkness.

I spent so many times,
Being angry and bitter,
Hating those who wounded me,
That over time,
I became tired and exhausted,
That I decided to let go.

It's not "I forgive you" kind of let go,
It's the "I don't care anymore" kind of let go,
I wanted to embrace the former,
But something within me wouldn't let me.
Ego?
Or was it obstinacy?

I don't really know anymore.

Being angry is really tiring.
And I'm tired of lying,
Faking,
Smiling,
Everything.

There's A Special Place In Hell For People Like This.

Yea, I'm not a good person. But I'd make a bad example. Not totally useless, right?

Of Disorders

There are only too much the body and the mind could take.

I'm still thinking about it.
What would happen when my mind and my body gives out.
Would I become violent,
And be put in straitjacket?
Or would I be admitted to where they say a place better for me?

Every thought is a battle. 
Every breath is a war.
And I don't think I'm winning anymore.

I'm still keeping tracks of the muddy steps that I've erased.
I am not my illness.
My illness is a part of me.
Except you cannot outrun insanity,
Anymore than you can outrun your own shadow.

I'm not crazy,
I'm stark raving sane.
I don't want this anymore.
I'm 22 and I'm already exhausted.

It was almost like a reverse nightmare,
Like when you wake up from a nightmare and you felt so relieved,
I woke up into a nightmare.

Incapability Of Doing Something EVERYONE Could.

My biggest mistake,
And my utter weakness,
Is incapable of telling the truth.

I say I love someone when I don't know my own feelings.
I say I am fine when the tests showed I am not.
I refused medical helps because I lied to myself everything is peachy.

I want to be normal.

I want to be like most girls,
They are boring but they are happy,
They can blend in because society thinks its their nature,
Whether gossiping, 
Obsessing about handsome actors,
Falling in love with the same guy even after many years,
Repeating the same routine,
Typical girls.

"You are not the same because you are unique."

I don't want to be unique if it costs me my mental health,
Maybe I don't want those poorly structured traits of girls,
But at least spare me my sanity.

And sometimes,
Most of the times,
I think I am incapable of loving someone.
I think deeply,
Probably because of the damned past,
But then,
I cannot blame the universe,
Because the universe were trying to teach me something.
I blame everything,
Everyone,
When the core of the problem lies within me.

Within my mind.

They say it is not because I am incapable of being in love,
It is just I haven't found the person I could fell utterly,
Hopelessly in love yet.
But somehow,
I feel like I rein my mind in from opening up,
Because apparently trusting people is not a good thing in my mind.

I tell myself day and night,
It doesn't matter,
It will come one day.
One day.
But even if it did,
How many seconds, minutes, hours, weeks, months, years,
Would it stand?
What if my very existence,
Was so that I could hurt people?

I destroy everything within 10 meter radius.

Like Maggots

"The eyes are useless when the mind is blind."

What you allow,
Is what will continue.

Why?
Because some people are just terrible human beings.
And terrible people do terrible things.
Just because.
*****

I went for a mental illness tests.
The results were,
Quite a few.
What I know I already have is introvert personality type.
That doesn't quite bother me.

What does bother me,
Is that I am a sociopath,
Suffering from depression,
Having bipolar disorder,
Antisocial Personality Disorder,
and Avoidant Personality Disorder.

But hey,
At least I'm not a violent murderous psychopath.
Amir would be so proud of me.
Now I know why I understand his way of thinking.
Two sociopaths,
But one of them is in denial.
He is just a high-functional one.

Jeez,
This turns out such a great welcoming greatness in advance.

"You know what you did."
But I didn't remember it.

You wander around in people's mind,
But your own becomes vulnerable as they could come into yours too.

At a time when other people fear their isolation,
Yours has become understandable to you.

"You are alone because you are unique."
I'm as alone as you are.

I know who I am.
I am who I've always been.
The scales have just fallen from my eyes.

You have  no traceable motive,
Which is why you were so hard to see.
You were just curious what I would do.
Someone like me.

Someone who thinks how I think.
Wind her up,
And watch her go.

The Broken Radio Is Playing Suicide

"I seriously don't know how do you manage to keep your GPA normal when all you ever do is write or read fanfictions."

Pshaw,
Please.
I am awesome.

Stupidity aside,
There are many things roaming around in my obnoxiously-running-wild brain.

Masochism and narcissism doesn't go hand in hand.
But being homicidal and both suicidal is a blasphemy?
BUT HOW?

Travelin' Soldier

A couple of days ago Jowy gave me a lullaby "Un Piano Sur La Mer" , a John Legend "All of Me",
And I reciprocated with Colbie Caillat's "Hold On".
We always do this since PPISMP Sem 1,
And I guess our friendship is not subtle to many eyes,
I guess it was kinda selfish,
But the selfishness was mutual.
We share a lot of things in common,
Arts, books and movies.
I guess it is a normal thing to share music taste too.

And while scrolling random songs on Youtube,
I fell in love with Dixie Chicks' "Travelin' Soldier".
And to think I haven't write Sterek fics for awhile,
The idea from the song just came to me.
As spastic as I am,
Whenever I listen to songs,
There will always pairings that came across my mind.
Like One Republic's "Come Home" belongs to Stony.
And whether the songs provide me story lines,
Or I just keep imagining the couples meant for the song,
It depends.

Like this one.
********

Derek walked into the diner and dropped into an empty booth. He ran his hand over his buzz cut hair and hooked his foot through the handles of his duffel bag out of habit.

A boy bounced up in jeans, a Batman t-shirt, and a blue plaid shirt over it. Pinned to the front was a black ribbon that Derek easily recognized. The black ribbons almost everyone in this small town was wearing to support the veterans and to show their hatred of the US’s latest war. The biggest war since the last World War. And the first time since Vietnam that the US used a draft.

“Hey there soldier.” He grinned. “What can I get you?”

“Anything.” Derek muttered. “I-” his voice broke and he ducked his head.

“Hey it’s alright.” The guy said, setting a hand on Derek’s shoulder. “We have the best burgers and fries so I’ll get you one of them. Is coke good for your drink?”

Derek nodded soundlessly.

Stiles nodded and walked away.

Derek sat completely still, staring at the table without actually seeing it. He jumped when the waiter slid his plate onto the table with a small smile.

“I get off in an hour.” He said. “We can talk. Or I can talk. Or I can leave you alone if that’s what you want.”

Derek nodded. “In an hour.” He whispered.

He smiled. “My name’s Stiles by the way.”

Derek smiled slightly at the strange name, but for some reason he thought it fit the boy perfectly. He watched Stiles as he ate and he never stopped moving. He was always doing something. Tapping his fingers. Tapping his foot. Swaying his hips. He was never completely still. Derek thought it was a good thing he hadn’t been drafted. He’d have made an awful soldier.

The hour flew by quickly and soon Stiles was leading Derek away from the diner. Stiles led him out to the pier and to the end. The two males sat next to each other and Stiles looked at Derek.

“You’re Derek Hale, aren’t you?”

Derek nodded stiffly.

“I’m not going to say sorry about your family. Not because I’m not sad for you, but because I lost my mother and after a while you get sick of hearing it.”

Derek looked at him, unshed tears in his eyes.

“Did you get drafted?” Stiles asked.

Derek shook his head. “Volunteered.” His voice was quiet as if admitting a secret. “A while ago.”

“Why?”

“I have nothing left.” Derek whispered, his voice breaking a little but he plowed on. “My entire family is gone and I have no one left. There’s no reason for me not to join up.” He glanced at the ribbon on Stiles’s shirt and sighed. “I’m just another traitor in some people’s minds.”

Stiles shook his head and threw an arm around Derek, squeezing his shoulder. “Dude I can’t imagine being brave enough to join. And I can’t imagine how the drafted people feel. I got lucky. My ADHD makes it impossible for me to be a soldier.” Stiles said it as if it was a blessing and a curse. “I don’t support this war. I think it’s stupid and a waste of resources. But I think what you’re doing is amazing. You volunteered for this even knowing that when you come home, because you will come home, there probably won’t be parades. There probably won’t be celebrations. There will be normal life and we will carry on the way we always have, but you won’t be the same you.”

Derek was shocked by how much this kid actually knew.

Stiles chuckled at his obvious shock. “My dad’s the Sheriff.” He explained. “I’ve seen soldiers come home before.”

Derek nodded. He didn’t feel like saying anything else. But Stiles seemed to. He sits there with him and tells Derek all about his dad and how he was dedicated to keeping him around, even if it means making him eat vegetables. He tells Derek all about his best friend Scott and Scott’s girlfriend Allison. He tells Derek about all the trouble Scott and he get into on a pretty much monthly basis. Derek smiles and even chuckles at a few of the stories. As Stiles finishes telling him about how they stole a beaver from another high school (it was their mascot and they were dared it was all Jackson’s fault anyways), Derek looks up at him and dead in the eyes for the first time since he started rambling and cut him off.

“Will you write to me?” Derek asks.

Stiles stops short and looks at him, surprised.

“I told you.” Derek whispered. “I don’t have anyone. And they said it’s not as bad if you have letters to look forward to.”

Stiles took a second before smiling. “Definitely. I will definitely write to you. But you have to promise me something.”

“What?” Derek whispered, wary of this kid he just met.

“Come home.” Stiles whispered, tears springing up in his voice. “Promise me you’ll come home.”

Derek nodded, tears springing in his own eyes. “I promise.”

Stiles smiled. “Good. Then you have my letters to look forward to.”

Derek smiled. “I can’t wait.”

**********

The letters started coming in a few days after that night, the night Derek caught the bus out of town, from a base in Southern California. He couldn’t tell Stiles much about his training, but he did tell him more about his past. He told Stiles about his siblings, two older, two younger, a brother and sister of both. He told Stiles about all the trouble he used to get into with his older brother, only two years older. He told Stiles things he hadn’t told anyone for a long time. And when Derek sent his last letter from the States before shipping out, Stiles knew better than to mention the tear marks on the paper. The letters started coming less frequently and they were shorter, but Stiles didn’t care. He still sent letters to Derek. He wrote about Scott and Allison, still dancing around each other. He told Derek about how evil his teachers were and how his dad thought he was clever trying to sneak bacon at work but he had all the deputies in his pocket. They all wanted their Sheriff around for a long time coming. And he ended every single letter the same. ‘Remember your promise soldier boy’.

Derek wrote of the people he sees on his patrols. Of the people he helps, the people who hate him, or just the performers he sees on the streets sometimes. He tells Stiles everything he sees and hears and tastes when he tries new food. But he can’t tell him anything about his mission. He does say that it’s hard on him sometimes, seeing the war, but that whenever things get to be too rough he just thinks of a scrawny little kid that sat with him on the pier with a black ribbon on his shirt and a smile on his face, and that memory makes him smile. Every time.

Six months into Derek’s tour, Stiles got the shortest message yet. It was only a few days after the last one so Stiles wasn’t concerned about the length, only the content. Derek was heading into the warzone and he said he wouldn’t be able to write for a while.

Stiles keeps writing him letters, refusing to believe that the soldier he’d grown to care about is in danger. The soldier he’d come to love if he was honest with himself. He didn’t send them though, just sealed them and stuck them in a drawer, ready to send as soon as Derek sends him another letter saying he was okay. But the letter never came. And soon he knew why.

Stiles goes to every lacrosse game to cheer Scott and the team on. But he sometimes wishes he never went to that game. Or that he’d gotten there late. Because before the game, after the National Anthem was sung, a man stepped out onto the field with a sheet of paper and a microphone.

“Would everyone please stand and bow your heads to take a moment of silence for our local dead?” The man said. “Privates Erica Reyes, Vernon Boyd, Isaac Lahey, Aiden Morris, Ethan Morris, and Sergeant Derek Hale.”

Stiles’s world froze. Sergeant Derek Hale. No. Not Derek. No, he promised.

“Stiles?” His dad said from next to him as he sat down hard. “Stiles, breathe!”

Stiles was gasping for air as all he could hear was Derek’s name, repeated over and over and over inside his head. Dead. Dead. Dead.

“He promised.” Stiles choked out. “He promised he’d come home.”

“Derek?” His dad asked. He’d known Stiles was sending letters to a soldier overseas and he knew his name was Derek, but he’d never known his full name or his rank.

Stiles nodded stiffly. “I need to go.” Stiles pulled away and stumbled off the bleachers. He could hear people behind him calling his name but all he could think about was getting away. He stumbled his way to the waterside and stumbled down the pier, falling down onto his knees at the end. He let out an anguished scream over the water as the tears streamed down his face. He didn’t want to believe it. Couldn’t believe it. Derek couldn’t be dead. He’d promised. He’d promised he’d come home. Derek promised.

Stiles didn’t know how long he was there. He didn’t know how long he sat there, sobbing, but the next thing he knew Scott and his dad were holding him and pulling him away from the water’s edge.

“He promised.” Stiles gasped. “He promised. He promised. He promised.”

“I know, Stiles.” Scott said, starting to cry himself. “I know he did, Stiles, I know.” Scott just kept talking but Stiles could barely hear him. Now he just kept hearing the man say Derek’s name. The man saying the word dead. And Derek’s voice, promising to come home.

Scott held his best friend in his arms as he fell apart and looked up at the Sheriff, tears streaming down both their faces.

The Sheriff nodded at the pleading look Scott gave him and walked away, leaving the two boys on the pier, one crying into the other’s shoulder.

 **********

Five years later and the war was finally over. Stiles was working in the same diner on his winter vacation from college. He’d bought it off the old owner a few months after he turned eighteen and worked it himself whenever he was off school. He hasn’t had a girlfriend of boyfriend in his entire life and he still writes Derek letters. The drawer in his desk has become a shelf of them on his bookshelf, but he won’t stop writing. When he’s writing to Derek is the only time he feels any of the happiness he used to be known for. Everyone in town knows the story now, but it’s still a secret. Something only talked about in hushed tones with hands hiding lips. Something never spoken about around Stiles, the Sheriff, any of the nurses at the ER, especially not Melissa McCall or the town’s new vet, Scott. Everyone knew the story, but no one was dumb enough to talk about it. And no one was stupid enough to mention the change in the Sheriff’s only child. After that lacrosse game, and the long, sleepless night that followed, Stiles changed. He doesn’t laugh anymore. He rarely smiles. And the only times he looks even slightly happy is when a soldier comes through town, comes into his diner, sits down at his counter, and asks about the burgers. As it turns out, Derek had told others about Stiles and his diner’s burgers and now he had people coming through that knew Derek. That fought with him. And as he stood there, listening to someone talk about the brave man Stiles knew he loved and would always love, a small smile would trace his lips. Not anything like the grins he used to wear, but a smile. A genuine smile. And as the soldier leaves the diner, someone, no matter what, always pulls them aside and thanks them for making the lonely man smile.

Stiles was getting ready to open the diner for the day when he walked in. Stiles was cleaning behind the counter and heard the bell ring. “We’re closed.” He called out. “Come back in an hour.”

“Stiles?” He heard a man’s voice say. The voice was broken, and quiet, but even in almost six years, Stiles hadn’t forgotten that voice. He stood up slowly and looked at the man standing by his diner’s door.

The man resembled the man he’d met but this man was obviously broken. His hair was longer, shaggier, and his right hand was twitching with nervousness over the duffel bag he’d dropped on the floor. He was thinner than he had been and his face was gaunt, but Stiles knew those green eyes anywhere. He’d dreamt of them every night since the day Derek shipped out.

“Derek?” Stiles asked softly, his voice cracking with his hope against hope.

The man nodded quickly, tears welling up even more before spilling over and running down his cheeks.

Stiles didn’t even stop to think. He just jumped over the counter and flew into the man’s arms. Both men were sobbing into each other’s shoulders as they clung to each other, unwilling to let go.

Stiles pulled his face out of Derek’s neck and looked at the man. “You were dead. You were on the list of the dead.”

“Presumed.” Derek whispered.

“How?” Stiles muttered.

“Pow.” Derek murmured.

Stiles’s eyes widened slightly in understanding. He knew what Derek was saying. He’d been a Prisoner of War. And judging by the way Derek’s voice broke when he said it, it hadn’t been a good war camp. He let Derek pull him in again and returned his head to his shoulder, a smile on his face.

“You came back.” He whispered. “You came back.”

“I made a promise to a scrawny little boy that I would.” Derek whispered back.

Stiles choked out a laugh and pulled away again to look at him. “I can’t believe you’re actually here. I can’t believe this isn’t a dream.”

“Count.” Derek advised.

Stiles gave a small smile at that. He’d told Derek about how he sometimes has nightmares where they’re so real he doesn’t know if he’s actually awake when he wakes up so he counts his fingers because in dreams you have extra fingers. Stiles reached down and grabbed Derek’s arm where it was wrapped around his waist and pulled it up. “One.” He whispered, touching Derek’s thumb. “Two. Three. Four. Five.” He looked at Derek, happiness clear in his eyes. “Five fingers. You’re really here.”

Derek smiled. “I missed you.” He said. “And your letters. The only thing that really kept me going was imagining what you were doing. And if you thought about me.” Derek blushed a little at that admission but Stiles grabbed his chin and made Derek look him in the eyes as he spoke.

“Derek I have thought about you every single day since we met. After you were announced dead at a lacrosse game, well safe to say most of the town knows what I’m going to say next. I love you. I have for a while. I’m a senior in college and refuse to any sort of relationship because it isn’t fair to the other person when I am in love with you still. Derek, I have been yours for six years. Of course I thought about you. And I may or may not have kept writing to you as well.”

Derek was shocked. “You kept writing? Even though you thought I was dead?”

Stiles nodded slowly and wriggled to get his phone out of his pocket without pulling out of Derek’s arms. He pulled up his pictures and clicked on the picture he’d recently taken to show Scott how many letters he had now.

“Each of those envelopes is a letter to you.” Stiles whispered. “I’ve written at least one a week for the past five years. But I never sent them. And I didn’t want to get rid of them either.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.” Derek whispered. “I want to read them all.”

Stiles smiled and glanced at Derek’s lips, biting his own. 

“I missed you.” Stiles gasped, tears sliding down his face. “God, I missed you.”

Derek twisted his head and kissed the tears from Stiles’s face. “I’m here. I’m not leaving again. Not ever again. I promise.”

Stiles twisted his hands in Derek’s shirt. “No. Never again. You’re never leaving me again.”

“I’m broken.” Derek whispered, sounding a little scared Stiles would change his mind once he heard. “I-I’m not the same person I was. The things they did I-“ His voice broke but he plowed on. “They said I might never lose the memories or the nightmares.”

Stiles smiled softly. “I don’t mind. I can handle it and I promise you I won’t try to change you. I won’t get upset if you don’t get better. I know my love can’t fix everything. But I can still give it to you just as completely.”

Derek smiled and pressed his forehead against Stiles’s again. “Thank you.”

Stiles let his eyes slip closed as well as he smiled. “Thank you Derek. For keeping your promise.”

Of Money. And Reciprocate.

If I have to choose the most worrisome issue in my life, 
It would be money. 

Mostly women my age, 
They would worry about marriages. 
Mid-20s women has that kind of thing going on in their minds. 

But mine, 
I would think about how can I make my money grow in my account. 
How do I keep on making more,
And more. 

And of reciprocation.
When people give you presents or just simple things,
You usually say "thank you"s and be grateful for it.
Of course I am grateful.
Of course I say thank you, to be polite.
But in my head,
I would find a way to reciprocate,
Worrying constantly,
Because even if it is a gift,
I was trained (by myself) to not feel indebted towards others.
It was a stupid thought.
But it is mine.

Daddy always say I worry about finance so much, 
Someday I would marry money instead of a person. 
Just today,  
When Daddy changed the tires and rims of my car, 
I worry about how should I pay him back. 
How should I reciprocate. 
Daddy just laughed and says, 
"I love you. Thats what fathers do.
Just think of this as a present for Aidil Fitri."  

But my mind keeps making this counting, 
And ways, 
And I worry about how should I reciprocate.

This is my worldly sin.

"The Fault In Our Stars" Book Review. Among Others.

"I fell in love with Augustus Waters."

I would say it out loud,
I really do.

He is an epitome of perfection for what literature nerd-girl would say.

He has a good quality of wittiness when talking about the generality or specification view about practically... EVERYTHING.

He talks with good quotes from the book "An Imperial Affliction",
He loves listening to Hazel Grace reading poems,
He has no qualms of being who he really is,
He has a weird obsession of saving pixel-graphic children in video games,
He is too straightforward for his own good,
He can make people in awe with what comes out from his mouth,
He can make Hazel Grace laughs without even trying,
And his view of world is different from others as he already struggled from the side effect of dying.

I guess cancer survivors really DO live their lives to the fullest.
And I would be telling a lie when I say I didn't cry at the end of the book.
Spoiler alert: He dies.

But then I would be a hypocrite if I say it out loud.

I would be a walking cliché like I always view of other Malay girls who sighs at the novelty of perfect protagonists in stereotype Malay novels.

Because it was like falling in love with "An Idea of a Perfect Guy."

It is always easy to fall in love with a fictional character in books because the author always has a good impression what a PERFECT PROTAGONIST is.

For example,
Captain Abraham Griswold of "Dearly, Departed". 
The author, Lia Habel drilled her readers' thoughts to fall in love with zombies instead of being terrified of them.
Girls started that conception from the movie "Warm Bodies",
But my sister and I loved them long before that.
Like I said,
A walking cliche.

Then,
We have Will of the "Firelight Trilogy".
Girls are trained to love something that the stars aligned "impossible".
In the books,
Will and Jacinda are stars-crossed lovers.
It is easier to say that they are the "dragon and hunter" version of Twilight Saga.
It is an impossible love,
And girls sighs longingly at the idea of the challenging adventure of having a star-crossed relationship.

Speaking of Twilight Saga,
I have a joke about that pathetic movie/books.

"Who will Bella choose? Whether it is bestiality or Necrophilia."

I will marry the guy who laughs at this joke. No. Seriously.

Putting those two books aside,
Yes,
"The Fault In Our Stars" book review.
It was supposed to be a literature teen novel,
Not a love-centered chick flick novels.

Because it teaches us to snatch whatever small hope we have,
And to live.
Live.

"I'm in love with you, and I am not in business of denying myself the simple pleasure of saying true things." - Augustus Waters

One Step Towards Doom

I just finished watching "Geography Club."
I have to admit at first I was attracted to the movie mainly because of Justin Deeley and Cameron Deane Stewart.

And knowing Ally Maki (Jackson.. I mean Colton Haynes's best friend) is cast as a queer makes me rethink about Colton's status. I wish.

But then the end came swooshing and all I know was it was the best movie a confused teen could ever watch.
Not me.
I am positively not confused.
But overall,
It was a good movie.

Then I found out it was a Goddamn series.
No,
Not the movie.
It was a book tie-in.

So,
I NEEDS TO FIND THE SERIES!!!

Well, 
Yeah about the title.
If I never found out about the movie,
Then I would NOT obsess about finding the books.
And leading me to my despair.

Dammit.

Soulmates

"Sometimes you have to accept that your soulmate is not your husband or your wife. They are simply your sibling, your parents or even your best friend." - Sabariah binti Kese, 2014.

Her.
My Stiles.
My Steve.
My Lainie.
My Celia.
My Widget.

I think those covered enough how she is my soulmate.

Him.
My brother.
My twin.
My other half.
My freakin' mother hen.
My shoulder to lean on.
My hugs to cry on.
My place where I can be a child.
My sanctuary where I can be selfish.
My oasis where I bare my soul and offered my weaknesses.

He is one who I cannot let go of, no matter what, where, when, or to whom.

Him.
My partner in crime.
My mentor.
My crazy cracked half of brain.
My playground where I can be alive.
My holiday places where I do not go crazy.
My stupid no-mouth filter.
My hope of seeing the world.

He is one who I will never see another in this life.

They are my soulmates.

They are on this endless cycle, destined to be pulled apart and pushed back together in every scenario, only to be broken apart again.

Of Perspective

Amir is going to kill me.
Worse,
He'd shove a pile of sleeping pills to shut me up and throw a fit,
Possibly chain me in my bedroom forever.

I mean,
It's not my fault the man came up to me and bruised my arm till it was blue.

"No, totally your fault. I told you to expect the unexpected.
I TOLD you to bring someone, preferably a male.
There is Fadhlan, Kamarul, or even Irfan.
Why do you have no self-preservation at all??"

Okay,
That part was my fault.
But I don't want to burden them!

"And did I mention to tell your parents about this?"

A thousand times?
Dude,
I cannot bring my parents into this mess.
This isn't their problem to begin with.
But if one day that man came along and probably drag my lifeless body somewhere in the ditch,
You will be the first witness.

"It's not funny."

I am funny and humorous.
Deal with it.
Right,
I am sorry for telling my parents half-truths.
I am sorry for not listening to you and be the hero that I am not,
I am sorry for having no self-preservation.

"This isn't the end.
I know there will be something else.
It will always be something else.
Please, please be careful.
I am not in Kelantan-"

For the record, 
The incident is happening in Terengganu, not Kelantan-

"Not the point, Vet.
You think the remark I made last night of you wearing a purdah was a joke?"

It's not?

"What am I going to do with you."

I will start by watching my back every time I walk?

"You better.
Stop looking at your feet and start looking ahead, stupid.
You maybe can avoid shards of glasses or nails,
But people are more dangerous.
And be cautious of your surrounding.
I don't want to have to wait for your calls,
Listening to you having panic attacks,
Being ambushed by some pervs,
Or anything that would make me regret letting you take things by your own account.
Your blurness is going to stump the whole nation,
And I don't mean it in a good way."

Pshaw,
Stop treating me like a hothouse flower.
We're not 8 anymore, you know.

"I am not going to comment on that.
One of these days you will be taking years off my life, I swear.
And CALL me even when there is a tick."

Sir, yes sir!
I promise.
Lighten up a little,
And do your best in your exams.
I love you.

"Same here."

12:06 p.m.
-12 June, 2014-

Yeah, I'd guess I won't survive my teenage years (or even my adulthood) without him.

The Returners

I don't know where I am going.
I'm walking unsteadily down the street,
Bumping into lamp posts.
No, walking into them.

I need the crash,
Need to feel the pain.

Inhumane.

I know what the word means now.

It means me.
It defines me.
I am evil.
I am the boogeyman children are so afraid of.

I stop dead.
It wasn't me.
It wasn't me who...

Was it?

I fall to my knees.
I cannot cry;
I can only groan silently,
My stomach full of bile.

I am in the middle of the road.
But it's late - there are no cars.
I pull my knees into my chest and I rock slowly.
I am crumbling.
There is nothing to hold me together,
Not anymore.

I rock back and forth.
If I rock hard enough,
I will cease to exist.
If I rock hard enough,
Everything will stop.

Realization

The first thing she thinks is that they look very squishy and small. 
The second thing she thinks is, Holy shit I'm a mom now, oh God.
And no, it didn't take very long for the panic to set in, but hey.
She hadn't been expecting it to be that fast.

Amir is, unfortunately, right there behind her.

"Friggin' shrew," she says quietly, since the twins are sleeping and she has enough parental instinct to at least be quiet about her freaking out.
" I am a parent." She looks terrified.

"This... who thought this was a good idea? Was it you? You thought expanding our little pack was good? Or was it me? I can't remember," she blabbers.
She thinks it was her since she carried the damn TWO bowling balls around for nine months, but hey.
She could be wrong; she's been known to be wrong before.
She gets quiet too, though, because Amir is quiet and it seems like a smart thing to do.

It's only been a day; all of the family came and be with her when the twins arrived.
Her sister coos at the names, though everyone seems to vaguely remember the other participant of the making of the twins.
They are healthy and whole and hers,
The thought so new and terrifying that sometimes, 
She looks at the twins in the bassinet and doesn't associate with her.

And then she remembers, oh that's mine, and a warm, content feeling gushes into her chest and makes her throat feels tight and she's in love all over again.
And then she realizes, holy shit that's mine,  and she freaks out.

Like right now for instance.

I blame Amir for the dream because he was the one started talking about bassinets and Moses baskets and then it spiraled into THESE. I am starting to regret the decision for keeping him around.

Liaison and Future Planning

I cannot help myself from thinking about it.
In lieu of making amend to what I precariously brought upon myself,
There are two things that trudging back to my mind.

She was right by making that decision.
By disengaging herself from the people that she thought are pulling away from her,
At least she feels at peace knowing that nothing could harm her anymore.
Or the other way around.
If she feels happier and more secure this way,
I hope she feels more at ease.
I want her to be happy.
She deserves it.

And now I feel like that.
Probably because there were many incidents enough,
And now the lines are shouting "labile" and "breakable" and "fragile",
and "untrustworthy".

Maybe it is what time give to people in associates.
You just... see.

The second thing is future planning.

I finally found my partner in crime,
For travelling around the world.
Ricchan gave me his word.
With him having experience travelling,
It would be the coolest thing to go backpacking and seeing the world with him.

Post-graduation,
Ricchan promised me.
Florence, Venice, Rome, Italy.
Moscow, Vyborg, Petrozavodsk, Saint Petersburg, Russia.
Istanbul, Turkey.

After I am not tied with IPG,
We only have to check the time we are going and collect ourselves some money.
Amir would kill me.
But I want to live.
I want to see the world.
It doesn't matter if the destinations are not popular,
There are precious things called experience.

And being tied up,
In marriage,
It is not what I include in my future.
In the distant future probably.
But not in the near 10 years.

Thinking about my aim in future give me jitters.
A good kind of jitters.
Imagining that when we check in to an alien place,
Where people don't speak our natives,
Go where our feet take us,
And just absorb everything.

I want that.

I want to go to Istanbul twice because first, Mom wanted to see the tulips.

I want to give her that.

Second is my own selfish reason. I want to see the farthest my feet could take me.

Reap What You Sow

"Think deeply and clearly about this matter.
Only you and that person knows what you both want."

How do I think deeply when I don't even know what to think?

The only thing I know is that I am the troublemaker in this matter.

I am the villain.
The bad guy.

So I have to think about the other person's feelings.
Mine doesn't matter.
Because I was the one who create this problem.
What I want,
Or what I feel,
I have to lock it and throw it away,
Deeply into the abyss.

"There are many factors.
It can be the chemistry.
You don't have the chemistry."

No, love.
It doesn't matter anymore what the factors are.
The deed is done.

"Then what do you want to do to solve this problem?"

Do what I always do.
Run away for a couple of days.
And come back with a bang.
Cruel honesty.
And the other party will decide what they want.
Because their needs and desires matters the most.
Because I was the core problem.
I create this mess.
I have to abide by their rules.
Their ending.

Sometimes I just wants to cuddle up to Amir and Ricchan,
And cry into their shoulders.
Because I feel like I am the lowest of the low.
The person that should be erased from this Earth.

Why do I even exist?
To create chaos?
To hurt people who loves me?

"End this, Velvet."
"It's yours to settle."
"What do you expect the ending will be?"
"Didn't I always teach you to expect the unexpected?"
"I knew I should never let you roam around mindlessly. 
Insinuating yourself into other people's hearts."
"There is no easy way out. Whether you hurt the other party NOW, 
Or you hurt them LATER. 
You are being selfish, Vet."

I know.
That is why I am reaping what I sow.

She is a little fish that is being pulled by the current and only can follow the flow.
She should know better.
Serves her right.

Sometimes you have to take the role of a villain so someone could be a hero.

A person with distorted mind should not be given a chance of making decisions.

DEREKS

Okay,
Too many Dereks in one day is SO not good for me.
It is bad enough I've been obsessing for one Derek my whole life. With the surname of Hale.
One particular brooding, gloomy sourwolf who only lurks in the corner of one teenage boy's room,
In the middle of the night.

That came out wrong, didn't it?

the aforementioned sourwolf and also, a failwolf.

Alpha my foot.

No wonder I am attracted to John Hayden of Abandon series.
He is that epitome of brooding, gloomy figure.
Is it that what teenage girls crave for in a boy?
Dark, gloomy, brooding figure?
Or is it just me?

if Cabot didn't mention John had a long hair that looks shabby and shaggy like potatoScott did, I would totally imagine him like Derek.

Well,
Who knows in one day,
I'll be dealing with too many Dereks.

The first is from Cathy Glass's "Daddy's Little Princess".
Which the disturbed father from the book whose name was Derek.
I choked on my laugh and stopped reading altogether.
Because DEREK!
But this Derek is near-fifty Derek.
Who pounces on little children.
And mentally disturbed.
But man,
Still Derek.

I blame my sister for making me addicted to Cathy Glass's books.

Then,
We have Prince Derek from Swan Princess.
Oh I know Swan princesses.
Growing up from Disney cartoons do that to you.
Maybe he has that weird hair that makes him look like Conan The Barbarian,
But the name.
It's the name that counts.
And the douchebagery habit of being a total douchebag is similar to aforementioned sourwolf.

I really loved Rogers' sarcastic remarks towards Derek's douchebagery 

"You should write a book: How To Offend Women In Five Syllables or Less!"

Well,
That's about it.
And I still am torn apart between signing up for novel-writing contest Dila gave me.
I mean,
I write for fun.
I write in the archives,
But my readers are LIKE ME.
Abnormal people.
I can't write normal stuffs.
If normal people know what I've been writing in the archives,
I will be stripped off from my teaching position.
No,
It's worse.
The government will banish me from Malaysia.

Mask Wearer

I look at the image and it got me thinking.
"Is this it?"

You never know which is the truth, The person behind the mask, or the mask hiding the scars.

In my 22-years old of living,

People really misunderstood the idea of having me in a crowd.

Sometimes I give off vibes saying "I am far more superior homosapien than you lot",

And sometimes people think because I smile I am easily approached.

Those who knew how crazy I am also knows how I hate people.

So,

Is it because people assume things,

That when they found out the truth of the person hiding behind the mask,

They got shock?

Or disappointed?

Or they thought the person they knew changed?

Maybe the person they knew simply lies to them,

And hides beneath the smiles and laughter. 

I always disappoint people.
People who thought I was approachable.
Who thought I was that prissy, naive and happy-go-lucky girl.
When I open up,
They was taken aback,
Because they saw the scars,
And was disgusted by it.

But I never learn,
Did I?

In the end,
It always come back biting at me.
Like a distorted mirror in fun house,
I am a clown.
A laughing stock.
An object made to be laughed at.

That is why there are many layers beneath that smile.
It is just an easy task to make them believe there were only one or two layers.

Like Koala Bears

I always woke up in the middle of the night realizing I was cuddling my sister absentmindedly when we were asleep. And it took off into a Sterek drabbles. Lo and behold!
**********

When they're both asleep is when the magic happens. They both subconsciously snuggle closer together, as if drawn to each other.
Stiles will scoot closer to Derek if he gets too far away, and Derek will roll over to make sure it doesn't happen again. 
They fall asleep like koalas, wrapped around each other, like they're afraid the other will somehow disappear in the night.

Of course it's adorable, it's Derek nuzzling his face in Stiles' stomach, his arms wrapped around the latter's smaller frame and one leg hooked over Stiles' lap.

That is one thing no one would expect to see; Derek Hale, the epitome of dark and mysterious, cuddling an ADHD kid like some koala bear.

"You're burning like a furnace. Get off!"

"Make me."

Her

I cannot. 
I cannot part with her. 
I cannot accept that whenever I am coming home, 
She won't be there to greet me. 
I cannot accept that the one who understands me the most, 
Is leaving. 

It is too far. 
Too far away. 

I wanted to do things for her. 
With her. 
To amend for the times that I didn't. 
For the times when I was being rebellious. 
For the times when I ignored her. 
For the times I hurt her. 
Whether intentionally or not.
I wanted to be with her. 
Forever. 

When did I ever being the good side? 
All I ever remembered was being an asshole, 
Most of the times. 
She keeps my beast intact. 
She keeps my wolf at bay. 
She is the Little Red to my Sourwolf.
She is my good side. 
My conscious. 
I want to protect her as she protect me. 

Of course I want her to see the world. 
See things she never seen. 
Experience new environment. 
New people. 
Be happy. 
Be happy from the unhappy things that makes her sad, 
Makes her cry at home. 

I love you a thousand times. 

To the moon and back.