May Zhee - Blog: November 2010

Monday, November 29, 2010

Half a wing broken and all that.

Hi, it's me again. And I'm writing this on the train, as I'm on my way to Penn Station, New York. [Editor's note: Yeah, I'm publishing this a lot later.]

Okay so I guess I conked out a little in my previous post.

At this point you must be flailing your arms going, "A little?! A little?!?"

Okay a lot. I conked out a lot. I was all over the place, and everything just kinda merged into one towards the end of the post. My anger displaced, the enemy obscured and my sanity somewhat in pieces.

Writing this from a (relatively) happier perspective, I can see things (relatively) clearer now. I guess things were going way too well for me in this new home of mine. I mean, I'm adjusting well, I'm not missing the food too much and at any rate I haven't completely broken down yet, crying for my mom.

And so I proudly boast to everyone that I don't feel the least bit homesick, and that I'm doing perfectly fine here, and hey look at me I'm better than everyone else.

But now I've realized this: if I've never left home in my life - let alone 36 hours away - how would I know how homesickness feels like? How would I have known even if it hits me in the face? Would I have recognized it for homesickness, or just shrug it off as another form of depression in my day-to-day life?

And I think this is homesickness coming to me in the strangest form ever. It's not bad enough to completely debilitate me - the most it'll do is disrupt my daily functions, annoying at most - and so shrug it off, I did.

When the going is good, I don't notice it lurking in the corner, bubbling under the surface, manifesting in the cracks. It's when there's a slight tweak in my grand master plan, that's when it makes its presence felt, like a wound that has been left to fester in the open. It only gets worse.

And then I start having thoughts like:

"WHEN I GO HOME THIS CHRISTMAS, I SHAN'T RETURN."

"THIS IS A SHITHOLE A HELLHOLE GET ME OUT OF HEREEEE."

"FUCK THIS COUNTRY FUCK YOU ALL."

Except not even that eloquently phrased in my head. On Facebook statuses and Twitter updates, sure. But in my head it's all just a jumble of confusion, anger and vulgarity.

I used to think that homesickness just meant pining for your family and friends, spasming at the thought of Asian food and breaking down completely, crying for your mom.

But now I realize that homesickness can also come in the form of frustration at American politics and its people, realizing how much of a role family has played in soothing your frazzled nerves, something you were never away long enough to see the effects of, and just being angry and depressed at everything
(like a Cheerios cereal box, or walmart), despite life going really well for you (and despite the fact that you really like Cheerios and Walmart).

I am at the weakest point in my life so far (more to come, no worries); I feel like I'm a shadow of the person I used to be.

To be honest, at this point, I have no grand master plan to fix this. I really don't. I guess grand master plans can only be made in times of joy.

I really do feel that despite being strong and happy on the outside, I'm slowly dying on the inside. Even as I type this. Even as I'm starting the process of healing, even if I'll soon get what I want, even when I know I can fix this.

Some things, when unleashed, just refuse to back down.

[EN: Now back to the present.]

Don't worry, I'm almost done. The whining will stop soon. I'm glad I saved the last part for now, so I can write in retrospect and sound less whiny.

When I was writing the above, I remember thinking, "Shit. I'm going down." And it was true. I did feel like I was going down, and even now when things are all fine and dandy, I still remember how it felt.

I also remember feeling, for the first time, like I needed someone. I would have taken anyone. In this little movie I'm playing in my head I keep seeing a little wounded sparrow by the road - you know, half a wing broken and all that.

Considering before the movie was usually a montage of my awesome one nights to some awesome soundtrack, and now it is the sob story of a woodland creature, I say it's quite a big change.

Sigh. Do I need someone now that I feel better? I don't know. Would I merely be using that person to pick myself up again? Definitely. Wouldn't that be wrong? Possibly.

Anyway, I gotta go. I've got a life to lead.

Wednesday, November 24, 2010

What you're reading right now is really a whole blog post, deleted.

I can't write. Not right now. I really can't. I hope you don't start construing this as me "writing" because I'm just not capable of it anymore. Not right now. I'm just gonna go ahead and tell you how I feel and why I'm feeling what I'm feeling.

I feel like shit. In the deleted blog post, I used the phrase "a hermit that has mishandled its shell and broken it somehow". That still holds true. But I'm going to have to explain it now, and not leave it hanging, since I am no longer "writing".

When I came to Rochester, I had an idea of what I was going to be here. Half of that was fulfilled, the other half not.

The fulfilled part was, I developed goals, I am working towards them, I am keeping myself busy, I am maximizing my time and I am being successful. I am on top of my game, as I was back home. I've successfully projected that part of me onto my life in America.

The unfulfilled part is, I no longer party. I no longer drink. I no longer sleep around.

In fact, quite the opposite, I have fallen for someone, and paying the price for it too.

While I have also managed to find people I expected to find - smart people with goals in life - as well as the stimulating environment I had expected an American college to be like, I am also extremely infuriated by the ignorance of the smart, average Americans, who think Obama and Bush are the same thing.

So not only have I failed to project social and sexual niches onto my American life, I am also being pushed back on the frontline here. I feel like the old me is being erased, bit by bit, and it's eating into my successes, effectively reversing all the happiness I thought I had felt here, hence I feel like shit now.

My main source of frustration is that I can't remember who I was before I came here. I could feel myself dying inside, slowly, as my days in Rochester went on and now I have to face it all at once.

I am looking at things and feelings that old me would have done and experienced, but they're not coming to me anymore.

How could I have changed that much, and will there be a way to restore myself? Or have I been damaged way beyond repair? Why are beliefs made in the past so fleeting and obsolete?

Like a true man, America stood me up. Today, right now, in this moment, 9.27pm ... he stood me up. He made promises he couldn't keep, and it really hurts. Because I had fallen for him. A good couple of years ago, I had fallen for a country by the name of America, and I had formed all these expectations about him, listed all the good things about him, planned out things I was going to do with him, convinced myself that everyone was wrong, and that I would soon be going to a better place. But he never could live up to it. For three months I've been pining and hoping. I felt like he didn't even try.

I should have known from the start that he couldn't reciprocate my feelings, that he just didn't have the mechanism in place to reciprocate, and I felt like somehow he had tried to tell me, but that wouldn't have stopped me.

I was hooked, and I was only going to fall deeper.

(A woman's life ends the day she falls for someone. She knows from that day on, she'll have to start the process of picking herself up, and women are just not very good at that.)

All the ideals about him that I formed in my head, all the things I thought he would be, all the things he would give me...

He tried to tell me, but I was hooked.

I was getting weaker by the day, having my insides eaten, erased, destroyed ... the more I believed in him, the more hope I put on his broad shoulders that I had found so attractive, I didn't notice him turning away from me. I was dying inside, as one by one of our make-believe promises started falling apart, and only one of us felt hurt by it.

Like a true man, he stood me up. Like a true woman, I died inside.

If you want the truth, here's the truth. It'll make my blog feel like a large, depressing clump of shit, but I don't care right now. These are the list of words to describe how I'm feeling right now:

Empty, blank, down, depressed, scared, vulnerable, numb, empty, empty, upset, numb, confused, hurt, angry, blank, blank, hollow empty blank blank ...

And so on.

Today I stand as a feeble woman, without a past and no sight of a future, except for the fact that I have lived, and will live.

He had ruined me. But it was only because I had attached myself so closely to him that he had something to destroy.

In seven hours, I am going away. I am leaving my birthplace, to try and cut away the umbilical cord that has led to my abuse, and I want to fix myself. I want to live again, breathe on my accord, not for him or his ideals. I want to live in my own right, not with my fantasies of being with him hanging over my head.

It's time I stop falling for his broad shoulders, and take apart my dreams for the little frauds that they are.

In seven hours, I am going away.

"Right, I meant South Korea. You guys know North Korea, South Korea, all those Chinese look the same to me!" - Sarah justwhenyouthinkshecantgetdumber Palin.

Get me out of here.

GET ME OUT OF HERE
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GET ME OUT OF HERE

Thursday, November 18, 2010

No pain, no gain.

I'm trying to create emotional duress for myself because I am getting my arm pricked with a needle in three hours and if I do this good enough I will be SO distracted by the time the doctor takes my blood sample that I will feel no physical pain.

Muahahahahhahaha.

So. Let's recount all the things that are genuinely fucked up about your life, May Zhee. Let's see where do I even start...

You hate humanity. And you hate humanity even more in the morning when you have to share the bathroom with ten other college girls. In the morning you feel like stabbing everyone in your way, even if they're not in your way. All they have to do is to exist in the bathroom, in the morning, and you'll hate them.

You're a solitary person. You like doing things alone, and you're getting increasingly so as the days go on, and you favor success over everything else.

You hate being with people. You hate people. Unless you feel they're good enough for you. To you, everyone's an idiot. Humanity's an idiot. Human beings are stupid in general. That's their baseline quality. The way they fall prey to - GRIMACE- emotions, how vulnerable they are ... pathetic.

If you want to fall prey to something, fall prey to success. At least you would know you've achieved something. Or die trying...

Humans are inherently stupid, and you hate them all. Especially college girls. In the bathroom. At 9 in the morning. Fuck humans.

Now let's get into the nitty-gritty stuff.

You're pretty much a slut. By society's terms, and yours. You sleep with pretty much anything you find attractive. Your only standard is they have to be hot. And you do that because it's a defense mechanism. Because when people judge you, you judge them back. Because you know if given the chance they would do the same. And if they don't they're either ugly, or liars. And it gives you something to fall back on. They say I'm a slut well who cares I fucked someone hotter than they did. Well fuck you I fucked someone hotter than you did. Talk to me when you wake up in a house with four fucking gorgeous male models.

I care and don't care about judgments in that way. So in a way I still care.

Your only access to emotions, to affection, to be loved and cared for ... is sex. In that one night. That short session. That's what a relationship is to you. The thrusting and pressing and moaning and groaning. One night. That's all.

That's love to you.

And do you remember the taxi rides? Do you remember the taxi rides in the morning? When you feel that guilt taking over you, the feeling of depression sinking in, you feel shitty and helpless and awful ... that is your life in a nutshell, May Zhee. Your sad, pathetic life.

You like fucking and leaving because you feel like you're in control when you do it. You feel like you can easily access to that joyous channel of love - so to speak - and then ditch it the next day. You like knowing you're in control. You like doing what others can't do. One night. That's all.

Equally, when you fuck ... and you can't leave, you freak out. Because you feel like you're losing control of your emotions, and that you're weak. And that's just not acceptable.

Now, on to men. Yes, let's talk about your choice of men.

You like assholes. Plain and simple for you right there. You like assholes. Men who don't give a shit about you, men who will treat you like shit and men who can and will hurt you emotionally in the most brutal way possible.

Why?

Because first of all, well, that's attractive. It's manly. You can tell how good of a fuck someone is by how much they don't give a shit about girls. You just can. Tested and proven, girls. Tested and proven.

More importantly, it's because you're self-destructive. You choose assholes, because you know that in the eventuality that you do fall for them, the link will self-destruct. You know there will be no possibility of anything beyond what you have now (sex every fucking night) because he simply won't allow it. So if your stupid womanly brain messes you up, you still have the asshole to count on. He won't move beyond what you have.

Tested. and. proven.

Three times in two years.

So that's why.

It's as fucked up as saying I stay with an abusive husband because I like to be beaten.

In the eventuality that I fuck up and don't fall for an asshole (some men can be quite deceiving...), I can always fall back on myself. I know I'll fuck things up somehow along the way. Actually even before I start moving along the way.

There's a formula to it - it's quite beautiful. First I go, hey I like you and I can't sleep with you anymore. Next, I sleep with him some more. Next, oh wait no I can't sleep with you anymore. Again. And ... I sleep with him some more. Somewhere along the way he'll sleep with a friend of mine, or fly off on a plane, or fuck up himself. Still not working? Repeat steps one to four.

Ah fuck. I feel so much better after letting all this out. Fail.

Urgh.

I know. I'll listen to some Taylor Swift. She always seems to be able to get some silly girls somewhere really sad about her life when she doesn't have to be.

In the middle of the night,
When I'm in this dream,
It's like a million little stars spelling out your name,
You gotta come on, come on
Say that we'll be together.

This is the stuff TEARS are made of.

Like .. stars in the sky ... untouchable ... something ... diamond sky ...

I hate this.

Just think: the taxi rides in the morning, the fact that you're vulnerable too, don't you hate being vulnerable, yes you do, oh my God work goddamnit WORK ... (*@#$*&(@#$*

The fact that you know if he left, you'd die inside.

Okay I'm ready. Let's do this.

Tuesday, November 16, 2010

How does Taylor Swift sound angry?

Like this.

UNTOUCHABLE LIKE A DISTANT DIAMOND SKY.

I'M REACHING OUT AND I JUST CAN'T TELL YOU WHY.

I'M CAUGHT UP IN YOU.

UNTOUCHABLE BURNING BRIGHTER THAN THE SUN.

NOW THAT YOU'RE CLOSE I FEEL LIKE COMING

UNDONE.

Just might pass as metal rock. Just might.

Sunday, November 14, 2010

Things to do.

You know how people always make list of things to do, just because they LIKE making list of things to do, or because it just feels good to make lists? Well ... this is not one of those times. This is a genuine MUST-DO list, which I will try to the best of my abilities to execute, hopefully sometime in the near future.

1. A New York State ID ... or an ID of some sort that is not my passport and would potentially go missing resulting in my eternal despair. Because I need to go clubbing, yo. Or if you can find me some other way to be identified in a club in America ... that would be helpful too.

2. A fucking Canadian visa which involves me going to fucking Buffalo, which could potentially result in my eternal despair. Fucking travel visas grumble grumble. Also for me to go clubbing, yo. And in a country where age 20 is legit for drinking instead of this America bullshit.

3. Sex and the City dosage. I need it. I just do. As ridiculous as drawing strength from fiction sounds ... well fuck you. If you can draw strength from love or whatever, I can from Samantha Jones, okay? Because guess what? They're both NOT REAL. Fuckers.

(I don't know how or why I got so angry here.)

(I am also totally drunk by the way and this has necessitated me writing over some words many many times. I don't even know if I'm coherent. But hey I try.)

4. Put Barney Stinson in that list. I need to feel awesome again. Hank Moody also makes me feel awesome, but sometimes he also makes me feel meh, because of his need for a woman, despite how he fucks many women, but he's weak for one woman, I mean ... who does that.

5. Tickets back to KL this December ... oh wait motherfuckers, I got that. THIS BITCH IS GOING HOME.

(I am also apparently very vulgar when drunk. Sigh.)

6. Good sense. Good sense good sense good sense good sense good sense good sense. (It was "God sense" the first time.)

7. Meaningful things to do, like I gotta start writing again, or reading again, because there is no greater love I feel inside than my love for literature. If men won't do it, Milan Kundera will. And there are so few men here ... so few ...

Oh Russian navy boys ... architects ... beautiful creatures of the night ... Hungarian homemade alcohol in the fridge of your hotel room ... "regional area managers" ... the occasional schoolboy ... am I even remembering this right ... always across the lobby the walk was practiced and perfected, always across the lobby ... shiny lifts, my reflection and yours, am I remembering this right ... double French grabs we made... just memories you all are. Just memories. If only memories provided strength, then I'd be a happy girl now. But truth be told, I can barely remember any of you. Learn to be substantial, before purporting to give me strength. I can barely remember any of you.

Really?

All I can remember now is the hollowness I felt when I walked past your apartment, again and again, night after night, sitting by the taxi stand ... knowing things will never be right with me ... men of the fucking Iberian peninsular fucking fuck fuck...

I need my city. I want my city.

For you I bleed myself dry...

Thursday, November 11, 2010

KL is talking to me again.

And this time, I responded. Oh yes I did.

I'm ready to go back for Christmas break. By ready I mean I actually want to now. I'm a firm believer that home is where the heart is, and right now my heart is here in America, yes, but a part it is still in KL, still beating for KL, still bleeding for KL.

I've done a lot of exciting things here. I both love it and hate it here, as I do with Malaysia, but I am so. ready. to. go. home.

Home, where football actually garners respect from people, where people use the right words (kilometers, Celsius, zebra crossing you fucktards ZEBRA CROSSING), where I lived and breathed as a nomad during the nights, where men - MEN - know the game and play the game, where politics is fucked up in our own special way, where accents actually exist ...

Oh, accents. What I would do to walk down Changkat to hear the diversity of accents again.

It's getting really hard to be a single-loving, free-thinking bitch in America because all the things I love and cherish about being single are taken away from me. For example, choices. The whole point about being single is your freedom and diversity in fucking choices. Yes shove that pun up your ass.

Today for the first time I looked around the room I was in and realize I was in a shithole.

A shithole.

Debra you're right, this is a shithole.

And I want to go home.

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

No May Zhee you must let go now just think about it let go let go he's not worth it fact he doesn't give a shit about you if you're so bothered by it now think about what he could do to you if you let it drag on just let go now if you're feeling like shit now because you don't talk to him or see him think about how you would feel in the long run when you just fall deeper and deeper let go now he's not worth it fact he doesn't give a shit about you no no why should I why because I feel miserable without him I can't do shit I'm so demotivated I Just want to sleep in my bed all day long why I can't help it but no May Zhee let go now you could do so much better you just can't see it now because no one can see it now trust me you'll thank yourself in the long run look back on this day and thank yourself you did it you can do it you did it with Alex Ed now you can do it think about the past he's not worth it you can do it you can rise above it just pull through you've been doing well just pull through don't talk to him don't go into the office don't talk to him don't talk to him you need to stay away can't like someone who doesn't like you back only going to get hurt you'll meet new guys this weekend just stay away stay away till then immerse yourself in work but I can't I can't I feel like shit every day every second I feel incomplete but no no you can do it just do it this is the hardest part once you pull through you'll be fine you can't see it now but once you see it you'll see it you can get to the end of this tunnel the light will come soon you'll be able to let go and forget him soon just do it May Zhee he's not fucking worth it do it do it pull through let go just let go.