I was woken up today by some sort of old ass tacky Chinese songs blaring out in the streets. I was ultra annoyed by that. I'm tired. I'm irritable. I wanted to scream at them to shut the fuck up. I don't know what their deal was, but it was simply selfish of them to disrupt the neighbourhood like that and assume everyone's into that shebang.
There was some vague direction in my head when I thought to mention that in writing that would maybe tie into the point I wanted to make later in this post. When my fingers hit the keyboard though, all of that just vanished. I don't know if that's a good thing or not. I feel like I'm getting too used to having an end when I write, a point I wanted to make, and how to lead up to it, thanks to all the car reviews I'm writing. But sometimes, in wanting to make a piece coherent or flow well, I forget that shooting from the hip honesty can help express myself better, which is especially important in personal writing in a diary.
When I left my house to buy lunch and was more awake, I thought about me wanting to shout at them. I thought maybe there wasn't a need to be such an asshole. I thought about how that negativity only serves to tear down everyone, myself included. Entering the lift, the thought that it's not the world that's broken, but me, scares me. No way in hell a parade like that happened without official permit in Singapore. I mean, we could close public roads for a week so people infinitely richer than me can wank on our roads for almost a week in their high downforce machines, what's a little karaoke parade lasting an hour? Maybe I'm too stressed, too tired, too depressed, to be able to breathe in the happiness around me. Maybe I'm constantly in fight or flight mode. Maybe the world is broken and crazy and it's okay with it. Maybe I'm broken and crazy and I should be okay with it. Maybe I never feel at rest. Maybe I'm just dead to the world, and the world to me.
Why does everything tire and annoy me so much? I hate everything for little to no reason. I just want this all to end, for it all to disappear. I want to see it all in smithereens. I just want to be left alone. My feelings no longer have a traceable source. I just feel them and they become who I am. They start to define me. They become my character trait. I become one dimensional.
I was more awake when I left my house, but I wasn't awake awake. When I got to the stall that sold the meal I wanted, their Kopitiam card reader was broken and I had to pay by cash. Filthy, disgusting, germ ridden, probably been up a hooker's ass cash. And coins. The filthy, disgusting 5 cent coins that go nowhere and do nothing. I was even contemplating not bringing my wallet when I left my home. Good thing I brought it, I guess.
The cashier started by asking me if I wanted to pay by cash instead. I, not thinking straight, just shot her a curt "no". Maybe if I had been more awake, I'd have realised that she was trying to tell me the reader was broken. I didn't think that far and she had to spell it out for me. But like, motherfucker, can't you just have told me that from the start? I don't have my game face on, I'm not at my job where I have to put on a polite, mind reading mask. And so I just took her words at face value and shot from my hip. Hey, everything has to be so quick and convenient nowadays, why not our words, of all things? Because it's rude, I guess, boo hoo. I'm not your therapist, I don't want to deal with your bullshit. Give me what I asked for or fuck off.
I know I sound like an asshole, but I really didn't mean to be rude or cause trouble to anyone. I got my food, thanked the cashier, and left. I think I'm good at internalising my turmoil, maybe too much so because now I feel no point in expressing my feelings, to the point where I don't even know how to talk or write about how I feel anymore.
It's probably not a good indication of reality, but when I see romance dramas or people my age getting married, I feel like I'm watching a freak show completely disconnected from reality. A car sprouting wings mid race and teleporting seems more plausible to me than people finding love and sharing a connection with each other. I truly don't know how people meet one another in a setting that lets them socialise and put down masks. I don't know how they can have their jobs not drain them entirely and have their finances sorted out well enough to be able to afford weddings costing five figures and houses costing six. I don't know how transactional and "现实" it is, if they genuinely love one another, or a mix of both. Me personally, I don't even know how to sustain a conversation with a person, let alone feel a meaningful connection with them.
It's not for the lack of trying, either. In fact, the reason why I can say I've no idea how to sustain a conversation with someone is precisely because I've tried. I don't know what it is about me, maybe I'm a boring person, maybe I'm someone that people intrinsically hate for reasons beyond me. Would at least explain why I was bullied as a kid in a class that's self proclaimed to be "the most united in our batch". I tried talking to —. I tried continuing to talk to —. I tried talking to —, and I'm ignored every single time.
It's a fucking mad world I live in. Or maybe I simply don't belong.
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