The Ripped Soul

So like, wow. Haven't been blogging as often.. So here I am. Gonna rant and blog about my life, again.. but it's not like as if you guys actually care right? Right. Afterall.. who bothers to read this thing. Almost feel like its gathered cobwebs and worth closing. Bah.

So I'm just done with The OC. Can't believe I'm such a fanatic. I actually had a freaking marathon. 7 Discs in 2 days. Every bloody single episode. I even watched it from 10pm to 5am yesterday. I must be really that bored. Or interested in what's happening in Ryan and Marissa's life. Or Seth and Summer. Or Sandy and Kirsten. Or Marissa dying. Or whether she lived to make it to the hospital. Or.. okay, nevermind. Doubt you'd care. Unless you're like an OC fan who's still waiting for season 4 to be done over with so you could get the bloody DVD. Hah.

Then me. I've been doing nothing much these days. Just me and OC and babysitting and missing every other good moment I had in my social life. Yeah, I miss the parties, the drinking, the getting drunk, the laughter, the movies, the popcorn, the nachos.. In some cases, Energy.. Running away, spending time with friends, cycling, going to the beach, hanging out till 3am in the morning, horror movie marathons..

I went back to that school. With Jaws. Had to hand over whatever book to a teacher's cabinet. Saw the place and I kinda missed it. Yeah I know.. you never thought I would right. Even I myself couldn't believe it. Would've teared, actually. I mean, the numerous scoldings, the running arounds till you felt like punching the bookie at fucking 745am when youre late, the cheating[s] in 2.4km run, the food fights in the canteen, hanging out with buddies during lunch break, teasing Rachelle every single school day, spitting ice at AJ, staring at arch enemies, sabo parties, running around spraying water in the canteen, staying up to finish that stupid grad project..

A part of me hates to say it, but I actually had fun in that school. And its kinda sad leaving. Okay, not really sad leaving.. but sad knowing that all that fun would be just another memory. I couldn't go on re-living it over and over and laughing about nonsense or bitching about shit and feeling good about everything. Sigh.. Well, least I'm leaving the place in peace. Apologized to everyone, .. i think. Now just time to wait for results day and wa-blam! Sayonara sekolah! [sekolah = school; in malay]

Anyway.. I think every single one of you knows that I'm staying away from you guys. I'm trying to kill my social life, I know you guys know. Why? Cos I have to look after my cousin.. and I really don't want her to make the same mistakes I did. Guess every parent feels that way, huh? But its just.. you know, I don't know why I feel so responsible. Its not like as if she was a child of an unplanned pregnancy of mine or something. She's just my cousin, and I'm just 17 going on 18. So what's the deal? Why do I care so much? Kids my age now would be working, studying, partying.. having fun. There I am with a kid who doesn't really give a shit about the sacrifices I'm making. Sigh.. I guess everyone has their little crosses. This is just mine.

And if you guys want to ask me out to cheer me up or whatever, don't even think about it. Ever since my uncle died, things just didn't feel right. And somehow, despite the smiles, the laughter, the walking arounds.. I'd cry almost every night going to sleep when I think of him. I think maybe it's just because I wasn't there when he was dying. I just feel sad. Miserable. Depressed. Nah, miserable's the word.

Feeling miserable.. sigh.

I guess its just that when I was small and when he was looking after me along with his wife, he was sort of the dad I never had. He made my milo the way I liked it - and if you thought Milo Dino's popular now, it was way invented in his time. He always gave me his last tiny drops of ABC stout.. made my milk, let me watch cartoons, let me sit on his throne, listen to music on class 95, clean and dress my wounds whenever I played, ran around and fell.. And then he got sick. I grew up. Stopped visiting until his wife asked me to. He was so sickly and so skinny then. So different from the "dada" I once knew. Then his limbs got amputated. He started going in and out of hospy. Then he lived in that home with all the other elderlies. And the only other time I saw him was on his birthday. He was dying.. they all said. He was getting older, he couldn't remember things, he said a lot of stories which were sad.. because they were fictional. Then he couldn't remember me. Then after his birthday, his situation got critical, and he was really dying. Yet, I never went to the hospy.. thinking he'd be fine. Then one day he died.

And I'm tearing myself apart because I didn't visit. Because if I knew it would hurt like this right now, I would've done something. Visited, seen him more often, seen him so much that he'd have gotten sick of my face. Seen him so much that he'd have remembered that I was that little girl he helped look after when I was little. And you know what's worse? I know what his birthday wish was before he died. He wanted someone to take him back home. He didn't want to live in that home with all those sick old people. And I felt so sad for him because that dream was never fufilled before he died. And now its too late. So late. So damn late.

And here I am, crying my heart out since they say crying it out would make things hell lot easier. But its not. And the more tears that fall, the more I hate myself. The more helpless I feel. The more regrets I have.

I miss my crew. The 2 people in my life who made everything fine when it was so fucked up. But they have their own lives now. And what the hell right.. I shouldn't just go a-knocking to ask for their company cos I feel like total shit. Just ain't right.

So bah, humbug. People who wanted a blog entry, this is your entry. Happy? Now I'm gonna go wash up and pretend I have a flu so my mother wouldn't suspect anything.

Goodnight.