Year 2009 is coming to an end, and we’ll be welcoming the new year soon. This year is by far the most eventful yet HORRIBLE year I had to endure. Apart from making many mistakes that I have come to regret, which is letting assholes and bitches into my life, I was also put through a near death experience.
Yes, folks, I nearly died this year. I can still remember the date. It was 18 July 2009 when I barely escaped from a burning house. I come to realized that Death can come knocking on anyone’s door. Apparently, Death does not discriminate. It doesn’t matter if you’re young or old, sick or healthy…if it’s your time to go, then by all means, you WILL go. Let’s just say I am lucky to be able to cheat Death this time.
I had very little comfort this year, and I saw the ugly side of God’s creature known as human. A series of unfortunate events seems to unfold before my very eyes. One after another, and I’m forced to deal with it. No one in my blasted life was actually there for me physically. No hugs, or kisses or even words to tell me that everything will be all right. Of course Eugene, Cheeyee, Jen, and Claire knew what happened to me, but it’s not the same, because though I appreciate their kind words and motivation, it’s not the same with having physical comforts.
I also feel sick of being taken for granted. Thinking back… I feel sick to the stomach when I flashback to those important dates of my life… like anniversaries, V-day, birthday, certain festivals. I am expected to make people happy during those dates that meant a lot to me. It seems that no one even care about what I feel anymore.(my parents are an exception though) Everything is just about them now. I feel so sick of it that I could puke thinking about it right now. Goddamn it! They can’t seems to get out of my hair! I couldn’t even go on vacation in peace because of them.
Being a hopeless romantic, I am tired of people not wishing me Happy Valentines Day and Happy Anniversaries . I loathe it when people did not ask me how I want to celebrate my birthdays or even the birthday of my family members. I feel like showing my middle finger when I flashback to the time where I spent my very own birthday, sleeping on the goddamn bed, fighting off fatigue because I could no longer move about as I had to endure and tolerate ‘certain matters’ the day before and on the exact day of my birthday. And no, it was not sex. I wish it was sex, though. I wished I celebrated being 25 years old this year the way I wanted it to be, instead of dozing off.
Turning 25 on 2nd September 2009 was supposed to be important to ME. Not other people…It is important to me to celebrate being alive, being able to survive the fire. Not… other people.
I really resent it because besides my father, my mother, my sister and Pauline (my high school bestie) no one else in my ‘offline’ life bothers about it. There are no presents whatsoever (well, what’s new in that, anyway. Every year I didn’t get any presents, anyway). Not even a ‘Happy Birthday’. Because it seems that other things… other people are more important than me.
Though I am touched that my FIL bought me a cake on 31st August 2009 during a dinner that I hosted at home, I can’t say it helped much to ease the sorrow that I felt a few days later. I know I am nothing special. But then, not even the courtesy to let that day be mine? That’s a little bit too much for me.
People might have thought I had a blast turning 25 years old. But no one actually knew that I called up my father in the toilet and cried silently as he spoke to me the day before my birthday. I needed to hear his voice so much, because I knew what will happen the next day. Which is nothing. He wondered why I sounded so strange. He asked me what was bothering me, but I could not tell, because it will break his heart if he knew his daughter was not happy, and what had caused her to feel so tired. I lied to him. I told him I had a flu. We chatted away as I silently sob in the goddamn toilet, trying so hard to smile and laugh at my dad’s lame jokes.
For the first time ever since I left home back in 2002, I wish I could just celebrate my birthday with my parents. Even if there’s no presents, they would hug me and kiss me and wish me Happy Birthday. It would have been enough. Yes. A simple greeting would have been enough. It would make me feel happy. And it would have definitely make me feel appreciated. Some people would say action speaks louder than words. But sometimes, words speaks louder than action… well…words definitely speaks louder than action when there’s no action taken to make things better in the first place.
I am so tired of ‘being a good girl’ who pleased others. I want it to be all about me next year. Yes. No more Ms. Nice Girl. I want to be a bitch next year. There’s no need to care for others anymore. Why bother when they don’t appreciate what I do? Why bother when you’re nice to them, they treated you like the lowest scum on Earth? And why bother when all they know is just find faults in you? I’ll never be good enough because in their eyes, I’m just a slut who only knows how to waste money anyway? Ohh, yes, whore. I’ve heard what you’ve been saying about me. If I had it my way, I would have probably sued you for defamation. (Don’t get me started, bitches and whores out there. For what it’s worth…all of these while…during my blasted 25 years of my life, I don’t owe anyone money. PEOPLE owe ME money instead. I don’t owe anyone. Except for my father and mother.)
Anyway… as I’ve said. I wanted next year to be about me. I won’t have anyone dictate on what I should do, and what I shouldn’t do. And I won’t have people tell me on how I should run my life. And most definitely won’t let people I loathe have their ways anymore. Who the hell are you people to dictate my life? I am my own mistress, you bloody fool! I’ll be damned if I let people run my life and ruin those special dates, because I am so fucking tired of being taken for granted, and I am also bloody pissed off when I am forced to give face to people when they don’t even bother to respect me in the first place.
I am getting tired of not getting any ‘Happy New Year’, ‘Happy Valentines Day’, ‘Happy Anniversary’, ‘Happy Birthday’ and even ‘Merry Xmas’. Bloody fool, I am so sick and tired of not getting any of it! So sick that I haven’t been celebrating life. And since you blokes out there took me for granted and couldn’t take a clue, I am going to do something about it. I am going to make myself happy again. On those dates, and on every goddamn day.
Do you know what I am going to do? I am going to write to my future self. Why would I want to do that? Well, elemantary my dear readers. I have a premonition that next year will not be any better than this year. It’ll be pretty much the same. No fun… AGAIN. No wishes… AGAIN. No presents… AGAIN. I want those. But I can only tell myself to dream on, because there will be more bad things happen next year. And I will find that I will be consumed with self-pity, resentment and hatred again.
I’m going to write myself ‘love letters’…to wish myself. To comfort myself. To advice myself.To remind myself that I am worthy of life, and I am who I am, and no one should be allowed to take that away from me. This may sound pathetic to everyone who is reading this. But… hey… I need to remind myself that even if there’s no one else out there to make me feel happy and full of life… I still have 3 people in my life.
That’s ME, MYSELF and I. Those 3 people loved me. THEY are going to write to me and comfort me, and all I have to do is write little comforting notes. They will ‘talk’ to me about the things that I couldn’t even talk to my other half. They will cheer me up and make me do crazy things that will make myself feel good from January until December. I am going to write 365 notes to myself, and I will open it on those dates dictated on the envelop. (Damn. I only have 10 more days to write 365 notes to myself. I gotto start now!) Originally intended to send schedule emails to myself, but I wanted something physical, not virtual. Hence… it’ll be letters, not emails, or scheduled private blog entries.
That’s my cat, Meow Meow… ‘guarding’ my newly bought writing pads and envelopes.
Since I have openly told you readers that I wanted to stop feeling horrible and sorry for myself by writing notes to myself, I’ll let you know what my first letter in January would tell me. The rest will be for me to know, and for all of you not to find out.
Happy New Year, Lizzie. It’s a brand new year, and it’s been a while since you had fun. You promised yourself that 2010 will be about you, and here I am reminding you to do what you pledged to do.If there’s no one there to celebrate New Year Year eve with you again this year, don’t you dare give a damn. Watch the firework and countdown with those crazy party goers. And when the clock stroke 12, jump like a madwoman and do that little Hula Dance you learned on the net. Sneak out of the damn house, and bring your cat for a walk. It’s a brand new year, babe. Celebrate it.
First letter to myself. Safely sealed up now. Only to be opened on New Year’s eve.
Cleffairy: Hooyeahhhh…. next year will be a bad year again, as usual. Gonna be a bumpy ride. ESPECIALLY FEBRUARY. FEBRUARY WILL SUCK. (Don’t ask me questions, and I won’t bitch about it) Bitches and bastards will still be in my hair as well, nothing I can do to change that. But I can at least have some crazy fun and learn to celebrate life again. People are gonna regret it when they figured out that I don’t need them to wish me or to make me happy anymore. Yes… I will heal!
ps: Thank God there’s no flower shop near my home. Else, they would earn loads from me cuz originally, I planned to send flowers to myself!