new year, but maybe not a new me
It's been a long time since I've put pen to paper, or more accurately, fingertips on keyboard. It's been a long time since I've sat like this, mug of Earl Grey on my left, Taylor Swift/BTS playing through my headphones and half-lidded eyes flickering between my split laptop screen of this current WordPad document and my notepad document, where I've sketched out the outline of this piece.
Even in the brief paragraph above, I can't help but catch myself re-reading it, tinkering with words, shuffling phrases here and there.
I can't help hesitating.
Previously, it took a long time and a lot of discipline for me to fall into the habit of simply writing, breathing life into this flowing stream of consciousness in the first draft before editing it in another sitting.
No matter, my muscle memory and writing idiosyncrasies will return soon enough.
I doubt anyone still reads this, but does it really matter? No, I don't suppose so, since I write for me to mark and capture the different chapters of my life. My last post, albeit cryptic, was a year ago, on April 23, 2020. How fast time passes-even faster during a global pandemic.
Even though the swirling sands of time whip around my ankles in a frenzied hurry, it feels like I've done nothing but stand still for the entire year.
****
I started my new job at a local statutory board on 2 January 2020.
I don't know what good deeds I've accumulated in my last life to be able to a) get a job in the nick of time-2 months before the pandemic hit our shores; b) secure a stable and decent-paying post in the public service; c) get a job that I enjoy and find much meaning in (although sometimes I have to dig just a little bit deeper to find that half-buried, quivering flare of passion); d) work with a friendly team; people that I can learn lots from.
It's definitely something different, and something that I've slowly gotten used to, over the past year. Weekly meetings (even during WFH), safe distancing duties, dealing with the public, assisting in the elections, organising environmental educational programmes at a new location, things like that. I've just finished my first project a few weeks back, and yeah, I'm pretty damn proud of it.
Going from the private sector to the public sector is an eye-opening experience, certainly.
Even more unique is the fact that I've been working from home since March 2020. We're transitioning to a hybrid working arrangement from next month onwards, and I'm conflicted about that. I'll desperately miss the absolute freedom and flexibility, savings on transport, food and time, being able to work in my super comfy home clothes, seeing my parents more, sleeping more, but on the other hand, I'll get to see my colleagues and bond with them a lot more.
Sometimes, it still feels like I'm on the outside looking in.
When I look back on my full-WFH experience, I'm wracked with guilt, regret and disappointment at the staggering amounts of time I've wasted and the sheer lengths of my procrastination (think about it, I'm writing my 2020 wrap-up in fucking April 2021). 2020 dissolved into days bleeding into months, and months fading away into a year of lazing in bed, texting the American for hours on end and doomscrolling on youtube and Reddit (I deleted Reddit months ago, I couldn't fucking deal with that suffocating guilt anymore).
I could have finished my fucking novel instead.
But throwing myself a pity party with smashed cake and popped balloons does me no favours. Although 2020 has come and gone, I've still got eight more months left in 2021 to reclaim. Progress, momentum and developing the habit of consistency doesn't travel in a straight line that climbs smoothly upwards, but in steep drops and flat lines, twists and turns, like an eternal, treacherous game of snakes and ladders.
You're basically fighting with yourself.
Take going to the gym, for example. I did fuck-all for exercise in 2020, when the gyms were closed and my regular kickboxing and muay thai classes were cancelled. Even when my gym reopened in the later half of the year (even though my favourite classes are still cancelled up till today, sadly), I told myself that the gym was not safe because of Covid (which isn't entirely wrong). I lied to myself, saying that I'd do home exercises and take jogs around my block, but those were promises that shattered the moment I tumbled into my bed, a mere step away from my work laptop.
I lost all of my workout progress-my distance on the treadmill, the load that I lift on the weights-that I've painstakingly trained for the past handful of years. I'm not getting any younger. If I don't invest in my body now, I'll pay for it in spades years down the road. And I like how exercise makes me feel-stronger, fitter, more alert and disciplined. I hope this discipline spills over to other aspects of my life.
I got tired of breaking my promises to myself. My first visit to the gym this year was on 17 January, and I've been pretty consistent (roughly 2-3 times a week) since then, although I do fuck up occasionally, suffering from a lapse of judgement and staying at home instead of exercising. Nevertheless, I aim to do 5 km on the treadmill every time and I'm slowly increasing the load I lift every few weeks. I continue running, heart thumping in my ribcage and long hair sliding out of my ponytail. I continue placing one foot in front of the other with my beloved adrenaline-pumping BTS music blasting through my headphones, reminding me that it's not my body that's telling me to stop-it's my mind.
It's my mind lying to me with hushed whispers like smoke and shadows, enticing me to take the easy way out and stop.
I ignore it and continue to rack up the metres.
I did my first weekly HIIT class (a new class at the gym!) two weeks back. I taught myself to grin through gritted teeth and straining muscles. I watched as the droplets of sweat on the floor became bigger with every passing second in the fucking side plank position. When my body aches for two days after, I congratulate myself for putting in a good day's work.
When I'm running, I don't know what I'm running away from.
******
I find myself thinking about love lately.
I marvel at my undying love for the Harry Potter universe. The last piece that I wrote-no, the only thing I wrote was in September-October 2020, a HPDM story for a yearly fest that I always look forward to writing for.
My love affair with this ship has outlasted all of my real-life romantic relationships, because I know that no matter how alone, dejected and lonely I am, I can always go home to my writing-these multi-faceted, beloved characters that I'll never tire of, this vibrant world and shimmering strands of plot that I've crafted and cupped lovingly in my palms, stories that harbour these emotions in me that I can never articulate in real life.
With a world-weary sigh, I list out all of the real-world, somewhat-annoying tasks and obstacles that I must tick off my to-do list before I can fall headfirst into my writing like how one would dive headfirst into the clouds. Because I know that once I restart the momentum on my novel, I'm not gonna stop for anything else.
Pack my room. Read these websites about investing. Sort out workout routine.
I slump my shoulders and shove wayward, runaway thoughts about my novel back into the trapdoor of my mind.
*****
I love BTS.
I love their music, their meaningful and heartfelt lyrics, the hypnotising grace and power of their dancing, their heavenly vocals and fiery raps. I love how they make me laugh-just like how a lover would-every Tuesday when I'm watching RUN BTS. I love how their songs are like a soothing, healing balm to my jaded soul-a soul brittle and rusty at the edges-when some days are lonelier, more draining than usual. I love how their music encompasses every human emotion there is, and I love how I'm able to write any scene I want, imbue whatever emotion I want in my words, as long as I have the staggering variety of their repertoire in my Spotify playlist.
I love how Jin teaches me to persevere and try my best, even with my limited talents and capabilities. When I think of him spending countless hours practising the world-class choreography of the group, I find myself pushing myself further on the treadmill. I tell myself not to give up, because he didn't.
I love Suga's deadpan sense of humour, his love for sleep ("I wanna be born as a rock in my next life!")-which is so relatable because of my ocean of love for my bed. I love his rapid machine-gun rap, which I will forever be in awe of.
I love RM (KIM NAMJOON, KING OF MY HEART)'s brain-his sheer intelligence, leadership and talent for songwriting and storytelling. His powerful rap leaves me breathless and whenever I lay eyes on him, both on and off the stage, I literally don't know what to do with myself.
I love J-hope, our eternal ray of sunshine, always there with a cheerful smile and endearing sound effects-seriously, I look at his face and I grin, because he simply triggers jets of pure, undiluted happiness coursing through my system like summer. I love his commanding stage presence, melodious rap and out-of-this-world dancing expertise. Watching him is like watching the puzzle pieces slot and click into place; seeing him on stage is seeing someone doing exactly what he was meant to do, naturally born to do with his life.
Like how it feels when I write.
There's Jimin, Jungkook and V, of course, and they contribute so much to the group-Jimin's adorable facial expressions and angelic vocals, V's quirkiness and deep, soulful voice, and Jungkook, the golden maknae with the consistently steady vocals and amazing dancing who everyone loves. But I will always, always have the softest spots for the hyung line and the rap line.
I love BTS so much.
Some days, they're the stray rays of sunlight gathering in the darkest corners of my broken-down machine of a heart.
****
Let's move away from such faraway, untouchable things that I love. Let's talk about something nearer, more realistic.
Let's talk about the people in my life.
Love reminds me of my parents-all of those family excursions that we've taken in 2020 and in the beginning of 2021. We went to the River Safari, Jurong Lake Gardens, Zoo, Chinatown light-up displays for both the mooncake festival and Chinese New Year, Fort Canning Park, Gardens by the Bay and the Jurong Bird Park.
My mum will always be my best friend for life.
I also think often about my uncle; which reminds me, I should ask him out for lunch soon. I wrote him a letter last year because I couldn't meet him due to the pandemic. I hope he's doing okay and has taken his vaccinations, and I hope he can retire soon and enjoy life.
I last met Darren and the lab during CNY, when I popped by for lunch and dropped off my yearly gift of bak kwa. I miss them dearly, especially Darren and Max's parties. I look back fondly on my time at the lab, which was my first job after university. Darren is giving a talk next month about invasive species, and I've already signed up as a participant.
My last pet died on 3 January 2021, when I was at JLG doing safe distancing duties. My rabbit passed away around 6 pm, and my parents waited for me to finish my duty around 9 pm before calling me. At least I said my goodbyes-she was sick for a few days before, recovering and then falling sick again. It was Sunday when she passed. Because her regular vet is closed on Sundays, I made an appointment for the next week, but it was already too late.
I was sad, of course, shed a few tears, just like how I did when I lost my other rabbit in 2019 and my three guinea pigs before that. But I'm relieved, because she was in pain and was elderly. She passed peacefully at home, without being put to sleep.
2021 is my first year since 2014 with no pets.
I do have to mention my friends, of course. Jing Xiang (and the clique), Ian and the clique. They're pretty much the only few friends that I meet nowadays. Knowing me, that shows how much they mean to me.
Especially Jing Xiang.
Two of my friends celebrated major milestones last year-one gave birth to her first child, while another got married. Of course, this shines the spotlight on my singlehood. I honestly don't think about it often (although my mum still nags about it once in a while, but a lot lesser now since I lost my temper and shouted at my parents in mid-2020).
My last date was in 2014, an absurdly long time.
I'm gonna try online dating, put myself out there and see what bites, in the second half of 2021, after my full round of vaccinations. I don't know how to feel about it-falling into the thistles and thorns of getting a partner again and forging a relationship that has a 50/50 chance of bursting into flames and fury. Just the thought makes me shake my head in weariness.
Yet, I can't deny the long-forgotten spark of hope, however faint, twinkling beneath the tedious layers of jadedness and darkness.
I've changed a lot in the past seven years.
The funny thing is, I don't know if I've changed in a good or bad way.
****
We're four months into 2021. January was pretty much a waste-I was still clinging onto the vestiges of procrastination that dogged my footsteps in 2020. Late February was when I shook myself out of my stupor, woke the fuck up and crafted my level 10 life in my bullet journal. This spells out clearly the goals that I wanna accomplish in 2021, along with the specific steps to achieve that.
I'm rather proud of my 2021 journal spreads; I've given more thought to them, and armed with new and super cute BTS stickers as decorations, flipping to those pages simply puts a smile on my face. I finished the usual end-of-year housekeeping tasks too-packing my laptop files, Dropbox, Google Chrome bookmarks, Facebook friends and emails.
Work was a lot busier in March, so I focused only on my finances-relooking my 2020 budget to plan for my 2021 budget, investing in some new asset classes and shares, tidying my investment paperwork and preparing updated details in my insurance spread. However, I lost momentum in the second half of March and early April, retreating to my usual excuses and tumbling into the vortex of Youtube, where productivity goes to die.
Yet here I am, in mid-April, regrouping, restarting and dunking my head in a basin full of cold, refreshing motivation.
Note to self again: progress and momentum isn't a straight line.
I can prepare as many level 10 life spreads that I want; plan as much as I want, but all of that shit is useless without action, drive and discipline. I'm bone-tired of re-writing the same to-do lists because I keep putting off shit.
Three realistic goals a day, and daily progress, no matter how small.
Just start.
I've been writing these same few phrases in my yearly bullet journals. Sometimes they work, sometimes they don't.
I must be better this year.
*****
2,826 words.
9 pm to midnight.
Hey, that's not bad for someone who stopped writing for half a year. Reminds me of when I used to write my novel until two in the morning, my world narrowed down to my rhythmically tapping fingers, rapid-fire words scampering along the lines and my story and emotions spilling out onto the page like spilt champagne.
I miss being consumed by the flow, losing myself entirely in a different reality light years away from the one that my body is shackled to. Maybe I'll even update more, call for Chloe-I haven't spoken to her in ages-to claw away the cobwebs and wipe away the thick dust gathering on this abandoned, decrepit journal that I've held onto since I was 16, like a sentimental fool who should have known better by now.
Will you still be here?
Even in the brief paragraph above, I can't help but catch myself re-reading it, tinkering with words, shuffling phrases here and there.
I can't help hesitating.
Previously, it took a long time and a lot of discipline for me to fall into the habit of simply writing, breathing life into this flowing stream of consciousness in the first draft before editing it in another sitting.
No matter, my muscle memory and writing idiosyncrasies will return soon enough.
I doubt anyone still reads this, but does it really matter? No, I don't suppose so, since I write for me to mark and capture the different chapters of my life. My last post, albeit cryptic, was a year ago, on April 23, 2020. How fast time passes-even faster during a global pandemic.
Even though the swirling sands of time whip around my ankles in a frenzied hurry, it feels like I've done nothing but stand still for the entire year.
****
I started my new job at a local statutory board on 2 January 2020.
I don't know what good deeds I've accumulated in my last life to be able to a) get a job in the nick of time-2 months before the pandemic hit our shores; b) secure a stable and decent-paying post in the public service; c) get a job that I enjoy and find much meaning in (although sometimes I have to dig just a little bit deeper to find that half-buried, quivering flare of passion); d) work with a friendly team; people that I can learn lots from.
It's definitely something different, and something that I've slowly gotten used to, over the past year. Weekly meetings (even during WFH), safe distancing duties, dealing with the public, assisting in the elections, organising environmental educational programmes at a new location, things like that. I've just finished my first project a few weeks back, and yeah, I'm pretty damn proud of it.
Going from the private sector to the public sector is an eye-opening experience, certainly.
Even more unique is the fact that I've been working from home since March 2020. We're transitioning to a hybrid working arrangement from next month onwards, and I'm conflicted about that. I'll desperately miss the absolute freedom and flexibility, savings on transport, food and time, being able to work in my super comfy home clothes, seeing my parents more, sleeping more, but on the other hand, I'll get to see my colleagues and bond with them a lot more.
Sometimes, it still feels like I'm on the outside looking in.
When I look back on my full-WFH experience, I'm wracked with guilt, regret and disappointment at the staggering amounts of time I've wasted and the sheer lengths of my procrastination (think about it, I'm writing my 2020 wrap-up in fucking April 2021). 2020 dissolved into days bleeding into months, and months fading away into a year of lazing in bed, texting the American for hours on end and doomscrolling on youtube and Reddit (I deleted Reddit months ago, I couldn't fucking deal with that suffocating guilt anymore).
I could have finished my fucking novel instead.
But throwing myself a pity party with smashed cake and popped balloons does me no favours. Although 2020 has come and gone, I've still got eight more months left in 2021 to reclaim. Progress, momentum and developing the habit of consistency doesn't travel in a straight line that climbs smoothly upwards, but in steep drops and flat lines, twists and turns, like an eternal, treacherous game of snakes and ladders.
You're basically fighting with yourself.
Take going to the gym, for example. I did fuck-all for exercise in 2020, when the gyms were closed and my regular kickboxing and muay thai classes were cancelled. Even when my gym reopened in the later half of the year (even though my favourite classes are still cancelled up till today, sadly), I told myself that the gym was not safe because of Covid (which isn't entirely wrong). I lied to myself, saying that I'd do home exercises and take jogs around my block, but those were promises that shattered the moment I tumbled into my bed, a mere step away from my work laptop.
I lost all of my workout progress-my distance on the treadmill, the load that I lift on the weights-that I've painstakingly trained for the past handful of years. I'm not getting any younger. If I don't invest in my body now, I'll pay for it in spades years down the road. And I like how exercise makes me feel-stronger, fitter, more alert and disciplined. I hope this discipline spills over to other aspects of my life.
I got tired of breaking my promises to myself. My first visit to the gym this year was on 17 January, and I've been pretty consistent (roughly 2-3 times a week) since then, although I do fuck up occasionally, suffering from a lapse of judgement and staying at home instead of exercising. Nevertheless, I aim to do 5 km on the treadmill every time and I'm slowly increasing the load I lift every few weeks. I continue running, heart thumping in my ribcage and long hair sliding out of my ponytail. I continue placing one foot in front of the other with my beloved adrenaline-pumping BTS music blasting through my headphones, reminding me that it's not my body that's telling me to stop-it's my mind.
It's my mind lying to me with hushed whispers like smoke and shadows, enticing me to take the easy way out and stop.
I ignore it and continue to rack up the metres.
I did my first weekly HIIT class (a new class at the gym!) two weeks back. I taught myself to grin through gritted teeth and straining muscles. I watched as the droplets of sweat on the floor became bigger with every passing second in the fucking side plank position. When my body aches for two days after, I congratulate myself for putting in a good day's work.
When I'm running, I don't know what I'm running away from.
******
I find myself thinking about love lately.
I marvel at my undying love for the Harry Potter universe. The last piece that I wrote-no, the only thing I wrote was in September-October 2020, a HPDM story for a yearly fest that I always look forward to writing for.
My love affair with this ship has outlasted all of my real-life romantic relationships, because I know that no matter how alone, dejected and lonely I am, I can always go home to my writing-these multi-faceted, beloved characters that I'll never tire of, this vibrant world and shimmering strands of plot that I've crafted and cupped lovingly in my palms, stories that harbour these emotions in me that I can never articulate in real life.
With a world-weary sigh, I list out all of the real-world, somewhat-annoying tasks and obstacles that I must tick off my to-do list before I can fall headfirst into my writing like how one would dive headfirst into the clouds. Because I know that once I restart the momentum on my novel, I'm not gonna stop for anything else.
Pack my room. Read these websites about investing. Sort out workout routine.
I slump my shoulders and shove wayward, runaway thoughts about my novel back into the trapdoor of my mind.
*****
I love BTS.
I love their music, their meaningful and heartfelt lyrics, the hypnotising grace and power of their dancing, their heavenly vocals and fiery raps. I love how they make me laugh-just like how a lover would-every Tuesday when I'm watching RUN BTS. I love how their songs are like a soothing, healing balm to my jaded soul-a soul brittle and rusty at the edges-when some days are lonelier, more draining than usual. I love how their music encompasses every human emotion there is, and I love how I'm able to write any scene I want, imbue whatever emotion I want in my words, as long as I have the staggering variety of their repertoire in my Spotify playlist.
I love how Jin teaches me to persevere and try my best, even with my limited talents and capabilities. When I think of him spending countless hours practising the world-class choreography of the group, I find myself pushing myself further on the treadmill. I tell myself not to give up, because he didn't.
I love Suga's deadpan sense of humour, his love for sleep ("I wanna be born as a rock in my next life!")-which is so relatable because of my ocean of love for my bed. I love his rapid machine-gun rap, which I will forever be in awe of.
I love RM (KIM NAMJOON, KING OF MY HEART)'s brain-his sheer intelligence, leadership and talent for songwriting and storytelling. His powerful rap leaves me breathless and whenever I lay eyes on him, both on and off the stage, I literally don't know what to do with myself.
I love J-hope, our eternal ray of sunshine, always there with a cheerful smile and endearing sound effects-seriously, I look at his face and I grin, because he simply triggers jets of pure, undiluted happiness coursing through my system like summer. I love his commanding stage presence, melodious rap and out-of-this-world dancing expertise. Watching him is like watching the puzzle pieces slot and click into place; seeing him on stage is seeing someone doing exactly what he was meant to do, naturally born to do with his life.
Like how it feels when I write.
There's Jimin, Jungkook and V, of course, and they contribute so much to the group-Jimin's adorable facial expressions and angelic vocals, V's quirkiness and deep, soulful voice, and Jungkook, the golden maknae with the consistently steady vocals and amazing dancing who everyone loves. But I will always, always have the softest spots for the hyung line and the rap line.
I love BTS so much.
Some days, they're the stray rays of sunlight gathering in the darkest corners of my broken-down machine of a heart.
****
Let's move away from such faraway, untouchable things that I love. Let's talk about something nearer, more realistic.
Let's talk about the people in my life.
Love reminds me of my parents-all of those family excursions that we've taken in 2020 and in the beginning of 2021. We went to the River Safari, Jurong Lake Gardens, Zoo, Chinatown light-up displays for both the mooncake festival and Chinese New Year, Fort Canning Park, Gardens by the Bay and the Jurong Bird Park.
My mum will always be my best friend for life.
I also think often about my uncle; which reminds me, I should ask him out for lunch soon. I wrote him a letter last year because I couldn't meet him due to the pandemic. I hope he's doing okay and has taken his vaccinations, and I hope he can retire soon and enjoy life.
I last met Darren and the lab during CNY, when I popped by for lunch and dropped off my yearly gift of bak kwa. I miss them dearly, especially Darren and Max's parties. I look back fondly on my time at the lab, which was my first job after university. Darren is giving a talk next month about invasive species, and I've already signed up as a participant.
My last pet died on 3 January 2021, when I was at JLG doing safe distancing duties. My rabbit passed away around 6 pm, and my parents waited for me to finish my duty around 9 pm before calling me. At least I said my goodbyes-she was sick for a few days before, recovering and then falling sick again. It was Sunday when she passed. Because her regular vet is closed on Sundays, I made an appointment for the next week, but it was already too late.
I was sad, of course, shed a few tears, just like how I did when I lost my other rabbit in 2019 and my three guinea pigs before that. But I'm relieved, because she was in pain and was elderly. She passed peacefully at home, without being put to sleep.
2021 is my first year since 2014 with no pets.
I do have to mention my friends, of course. Jing Xiang (and the clique), Ian and the clique. They're pretty much the only few friends that I meet nowadays. Knowing me, that shows how much they mean to me.
Especially Jing Xiang.
Two of my friends celebrated major milestones last year-one gave birth to her first child, while another got married. Of course, this shines the spotlight on my singlehood. I honestly don't think about it often (although my mum still nags about it once in a while, but a lot lesser now since I lost my temper and shouted at my parents in mid-2020).
My last date was in 2014, an absurdly long time.
I'm gonna try online dating, put myself out there and see what bites, in the second half of 2021, after my full round of vaccinations. I don't know how to feel about it-falling into the thistles and thorns of getting a partner again and forging a relationship that has a 50/50 chance of bursting into flames and fury. Just the thought makes me shake my head in weariness.
Yet, I can't deny the long-forgotten spark of hope, however faint, twinkling beneath the tedious layers of jadedness and darkness.
I've changed a lot in the past seven years.
The funny thing is, I don't know if I've changed in a good or bad way.
****
We're four months into 2021. January was pretty much a waste-I was still clinging onto the vestiges of procrastination that dogged my footsteps in 2020. Late February was when I shook myself out of my stupor, woke the fuck up and crafted my level 10 life in my bullet journal. This spells out clearly the goals that I wanna accomplish in 2021, along with the specific steps to achieve that.
I'm rather proud of my 2021 journal spreads; I've given more thought to them, and armed with new and super cute BTS stickers as decorations, flipping to those pages simply puts a smile on my face. I finished the usual end-of-year housekeeping tasks too-packing my laptop files, Dropbox, Google Chrome bookmarks, Facebook friends and emails.
Work was a lot busier in March, so I focused only on my finances-relooking my 2020 budget to plan for my 2021 budget, investing in some new asset classes and shares, tidying my investment paperwork and preparing updated details in my insurance spread. However, I lost momentum in the second half of March and early April, retreating to my usual excuses and tumbling into the vortex of Youtube, where productivity goes to die.
Yet here I am, in mid-April, regrouping, restarting and dunking my head in a basin full of cold, refreshing motivation.
Note to self again: progress and momentum isn't a straight line.
I can prepare as many level 10 life spreads that I want; plan as much as I want, but all of that shit is useless without action, drive and discipline. I'm bone-tired of re-writing the same to-do lists because I keep putting off shit.
Three realistic goals a day, and daily progress, no matter how small.
Just start.
I've been writing these same few phrases in my yearly bullet journals. Sometimes they work, sometimes they don't.
I must be better this year.
*****
2,826 words.
9 pm to midnight.
Hey, that's not bad for someone who stopped writing for half a year. Reminds me of when I used to write my novel until two in the morning, my world narrowed down to my rhythmically tapping fingers, rapid-fire words scampering along the lines and my story and emotions spilling out onto the page like spilt champagne.
I miss being consumed by the flow, losing myself entirely in a different reality light years away from the one that my body is shackled to. Maybe I'll even update more, call for Chloe-I haven't spoken to her in ages-to claw away the cobwebs and wipe away the thick dust gathering on this abandoned, decrepit journal that I've held onto since I was 16, like a sentimental fool who should have known better by now.
Will you still be here?