Happy Cruise

People onboard the happy cruise, as the name speaks, are in search of something called 'happiness'. They believe they are meant for something really great in life. Far beyond what anyone can imagine. They look forward to the final destination. The cruise took days, months and years. They sought and waited. That day never came. It was a cruise to nowhere. The happy cruise was real only to those who believe they are on it.

Life's a lonely. Sound's a silent.

I am tired of wishing for a miracle everyday. Hope lifted, hope dashed. Please, come the day when this nightmare is over.

All I want for Christmas

is to be normal.

Chronicles of Nat II

Guilt.

You have trained your mind too well.

To feel guilty - little of it or alot of it.

I have a narrow range of emotions.

I did not know I have 9 other rooms in my life.

I stayed at the basement.

And blamed myself.

Chronicles of Nat

On 20 November this year, I visited Dr Mark. A psychologist. At school of counseling in The Bible College at 9 Adam Road.
My first time for mental therapy.
To me, this is the first step to recovery.
I think I am being positive enough at this stage.

Very effectively, he pointed out that my perfectionist attitude towards life has narrowed my worldview to a few options in life. I have hence become a problem-focused person. In a familiar setting for the past few years, be in school, church or a kind of routine lifestyle that I have been, any drastic change has caused me to be very much shaken. My fixed or perfect image of things has hence been greatly shattered. This explains why I became so depressed and a big dent in my confidence when my hair met with her trauma. And that I did not get out of one problem after another. This habit of mind that I have could well be around since the last 12 years. The objective of this therapy is to break this habit of mind. Dr Mark says that I need to begin nurturing my needs and have a curiosity towards learning and anticipate growth, so that I can really grow and make meaning through this experience.

6months or 1 year ahead.... It looks really long and unbearable.

The girl whose hair went up in flames

I was grieving.

The girl whose hair went up in flames.
She used to be that Rapunzel with hair long, beautiful and precious.
A nightmare took that away overnight.

When I looked at the mirror, I had been looking at the loss.

The girl missed her hair, totally, completely and very honestly.
She couldn't understand why it was taken away from her.
Just like that.

When I see photos of my used-to look, I felt the most sorry for myself.
Reminders of the past scare me.

I was nervous.

I kept looking at the mirror,

I couldn't register the new me.

The girl cried everyday, and she lost her mind.
She couldn't accept the once perfect hair is replaced by hair so tortured.

I was still grieving.

I am the girl whose hair went up in flames.

Me, crowning glory.
Lost, turned the night.
Left, but a memory.
Tears, response or regret?
Come, senses.
How I miss the yesterdays.

Story

My story, Strung in chapters All jumbled, almost unwanted. Much forgotten, smudged on papers faded. You pen the plot, I play the role. You begin and you end, like long ago. Living through each chapter, Only thinking it will get better. You said there was a last chapter, I didn't care to wait. And I am sorry, each time I have overstayed. Arrived but slightly late.

So.

My heart has grown very cold. I am your best Eskimo friend.

Being.

I only know one way of living. Today I am seeing that this is nothing but horrifying. This existence, is but a foil to a greater being within. Even the best falls down. It happens way too unconditionally. How very twisted.

If my heart was a garden, you came and plucked the flowers. You have seen my many guises, you do not know me still.

What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why, I have forgotten, and what arms have lain Under my head till morning; but the rain Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh Upon the glass and listen for reply, And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain For unremembered lads that not again Will turn to me at midnight with a cry. Thus in winter stands the lonely tree, Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one, Yet knows its boughs more silent than before: I cannot say what loves have come and gone, I only know that summer sang in me A little while, that in me sings no more. by Edna St. Vincent Millay

Precious

Gravity. Connection. Simply awesome.

If this is what you want

How do you feel?
What do you want?
Why do these questions confront me like a hurricane arising from within? Why have I forgotten how it last felt to be really sad? Why have I lost touch with the last defined happiness? Can the lost ever be found and be the same when found? Why do the graphic memories of pain appear distant and forbidden? Why am I then feeling surges of pain that arrest my heart as I thread between memory and reality? Why did the former passion go into hiding and swear never to appear again? Why does the equilibrium get shaken when it has promised to be stable, good and unfrightened for a long time? The familiar pain is the remnant of the past and is back again, but I choose to be braver than I believe.

Absolute greatness
Unceasing power
Jesus I love
The throne of my life