To my very specific set of friends (there are 11 of you, one of whom is new to the concept of how I treat my friends), I feel like I’m running out of time.

I am losing more and more opportunities to meet everyone I love. One is out of the country, I’m no longer in the same city where my friends are studying, some have their own business outside of uni academic life, and one is leaving for China.

I have three drafts to talk about this specific problem, but I can’t seem to get my message across with these past drafts. I tried to be reasonable and tidy with the writing, but I just can’t handle it anymore.

i feel like i’m running out of time. i feel like i’m running out of time. i feel like i’m running out of time. i feel like i’m running out of time. i feel like i’m running out of time. i feel like i’m running out of time. i feel like i’m running out of time. i feel like i’m running out of time. i feel like i’m running out of time. i feel like i’m running out of time. i feel like i’m running out of time. i feel like i’m running out of time. i feel like i’m running out of time. i feel like i’m running out of time. i feel like i’m running out of time. i feel like i’m running out of time. i feel like i’m running out of time. i feel like i’m running out of time. i feel like i’m running out of time. i feel like i’m running out of time. i feel like i’m running out of time. i feel like i’m running out of time. i feel like i’m running out of time. i feel like i’m running out of time. i feel like i’m running out of time. i feel like i’m running out of time. i feel like i’m running out of time. i feel like i’m running out of time. i feel like i’m running out of time. i feel like i’m running out of time. i feel like i’m running out of time. i feel like i’m running out of time. i feel like i’m running out of time.

It’s been a recurring problem of mine, not feeling “adult” enough for adulthood, but too mature to claim teenhood.

I thought we had more time.

I’m constantly stressed out about how close I am to adulthood. I don’t know how friends work with the circumstance that one day, we’ll all have responsibilities I’m too scared to even imagine, and go on with our days.

With distance and time, I keep having doubts and paranoia.

I think I’m just scared we won’t physically meet that much anymore.

I always reassure myself with how easy we are as friend groups, we can meet up anytime and talk about whatever we want to, almost in any form of communication.

I always say that I won’t be strangers to them (to a set of people,) and it’s true (at least this far,) that we feel so familiar every time we talk.

But I have so many what-ifs.

My biggest one that has been bothering me is:

What if we actually become strangers?

I know it’s silly, knowing most of you have stayed with me through my worst. (yes, there’s this one guy who hasn’t seen my rock bottom out of 11)

But I have this feeling it won’t be the same once we run out of time, when we have to actually act like adults. talk like adults, dress like adults, work like adults.

How do you even maintain friendships as adults?????????????????

Again, we still have time left before actual adulthood. But I’m so scared of what’s ahead (coming from a very anxious perfectionist). All this uncertainty, no-guide-book-to-life situation is killing me.

With all this worry about friendship I have in my mind, I only have one thing I’m sure of. I can still try to communicate everything I think of to navigate my friendships; hence, this entry. (idk how to use hence, but this feels very fitting)

This feeling that I’m running out of time to maintain friendships, I know it’s silly. What’s worse is that we all seem to have less and less time, it’s not just me!!!!!!!!!! and i’m soscaredwhatthefuck!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

One thing for sure is that, despite all this, again, is communication.

With that, this is my way of saying I’m scared and I miss everyone so much, even the ones I talked to 30 minutes ago and the one I called with while I wrote this. Thanks for always being there for me, and I'll always say it. Never be a stranger.

(Yes I did write this for Valentine’s day. I actually did all this because I felt like I’m running out of time, meetings, and occasions to tell you all I love you WKEEKEKEK. I feel like you all know that already, but I always still feel the need to say it, and Valentine's felt like a nice occasion for it. See you guys soon.)

Hi! It has been a while since I actually wrote something decent. I thought that I’d just update what I’ve been writing here in this substack post, rather than just let it rot in my docs file. I just think that this post could be a form of manifestation, a form of materializing plans into actual habits. Enjoy these logs lol.

Here’s the playlist I listened to while I assembled this whole post. enjoy!

My Hair is Killing Me

I did a keratin treatment on my very curly hair 6 months ago. My original curled-up hair pattern has grown ever since then. The top of my hair and about 6 centimeters of my hair grown from my roots is now curly, but I still have very-straight hair strands that are pretty long. I’m very frustrated over how my hair looks.

I have plans, I either:

• wait for the curls to grow long enough for a bob and use hair oil to speed up hair growth,

• cut it into a pixie, get curly hair products and use hair oil to speed up hair growth too lol.

• perm (VERY LAST RESORT)

I have a list of things I need for my hair to look great again:

• makarizo daily hair salon shampoo and conditioner

• curly hair cream

• diffuser

• hair dryer with cold air option

• everyday hair oil

• tub full of cream bath

I’m going to krill myself I just realized how many products I need. I’ll plan how I’ll spend my money.

My Relationship with Ambition

I’m trying to figure out my very weird relationship with ambition. For years, I’ve lived with the drive of not fucking up. I have this weird obsession to always be the best, giving my absolute all to everything to the point of losing myself in the process. My ambitions to do everything perfectly and become the best in everything I do have been eating me alive.

My ambition has turned unhealthy as it manifests in my very severe case of perfectionism. I tend to exhaust myself physically and mentally due to all these ambitious decisions I make.

I’ve been contemplating a lot of things, especially about the actions I should take this time in my 4th semester of university. It reeks of perfectionism, I know, having to plan every step of the way for a semester, even before it starts. But I feel the need to take careful steps this semester to not burn myself out and eventually harm myself in the process.

I needed to have multiple conversations about what success means to me, as ambitions become a form of motivation to reach the success we dream of.

The definition of success, the goals to reach it, is such a personal decision. I used to tie it heavily to societal expectations. I felt the need to look busy, participate in things to busy myself, to create a certain sense of accomplishment and success. All the things I did outside of academic activities were tiring. It dried me out, and I couldn’t even explain to myself why I did them these last three semesters. All I could say was that I needed to feel and look busy to reach a certain feeling of accomplishment. I could say that it makes my CV or LinkedIn look better, but if I’m being honest, it didn’t really fill me with joy.

And if I’m being honest, I’ve also been so hard on myself over my academic achievements. I’ve been very much of a perfectionist about everything I do, and would punish myself for mistakes that I make.

I lose myself in perfectionism.

I even had to ask myself, what am I doing all this for, especially all this perfectionism? It hasn’t been making me happy these past three semesters. What am I trying to actually achieve and why is it only trying to seem like I have everything under control and look good in everyone else’s eyes but not mine?

It’s probably because I don’t have my own standards of what I think is an accomplishment, my own definition of success. What are my realistic accomplishments that could define my own version of success?

I no longer want success defined by everything else but my own personal and realistic expectations. I want to be healthy this year. I want to be happy this year. I want to be me again this year.

I’d start with very achievable expectations to accomplish this year.

I want to learn better in uni, and still take things easy. I want to spend time on activities that I actually enjoy and are beneficial to me. I want to become less of a perfectionist. I want to change my way of thinking and become more optimistic, even when things sometimes sound too good to be true. I want to expect less from others, but also believe that I’m also more capable than I think.

I just want to become more realistic with myself, have a healthier definition of success, and focus my ambition on bettering myself, based on my own expectations.

2026 ins and outs

in:

• pixie haircuts (biased because i’m planning on getting one)

• printed fabric and colorful tights

• sweet scented perfumes

• rereading books you read when you were in middle school

• chipped nail polish <3

out:

• generated AI art slop ew

• mint chocolate flavor (been praying on this downfall for years now)

• hoarding (very personal because i get sentimental lover things and collect memories a little too much)

• banana artificial flavoring

• white tissue paper (super specific but i have a certain type of despise)

20

I turn 20 this year, on January 3rd. I honestly have a personal problem with birthdays. I started crying over birthdays when I was 17. I no longer find it that exciting. I tend to feel like the clock in my head ticks louder when it’s getting nearer to my birthday. I know it’s cliché, but I really do not feel that much of a difference from my 17-year-old self. I sometimes feel like I revert to my younger years when I’m under stressful situations or even happy ones. Feeling like I’ve reverted to a certain younger age doesn’t mean that I miss being that specific age, as things aren’t that much easier before either. Certain feelings just remind me of very specific moments in my life. I realized that I will experience this certain feeling more and more often as I grow older, but I wish to revert to the better times I remember in my life.

2026 goals and achievements so far!

This year, I want to be more active online. Okay, maybe it sounds bad when I say it like that. I want to create more this year and share about things I like more often online. Once I realized it would be hard for me to get rid of social media, I decided to benefit from it instead of having it kill me slowly as I doomscroll. I thought I’d make consistent new content and make more friends online, rather than have these social media apps support my doomscrolling addiction.

I also want to follow my daily routine checklist and log in my mood tracker more often! I actually did my every-2-months-room-deep-clean routine and successfully did a bunch of exercises to fill my days! I have also tracked and logged my food, which has been a goal of mine last year. Here’s to more self-discipline!

In-yun.

I watched “Past Lives’ with Sese and Aje last Saturday and it broke me in ways it hadn't in my first watch. Everything reminded me of you. The fact that they were talking after a while of absence, the way they missed each other, the calls over sleeps and the fact that each other’s presence was enough. The way Nora made Hae Sung watch “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind” reminded me of when I got so excited over the fact you watched “La La Land” after I recommended it to you. Sometimes I still get sad that I will never hear you play the song on your keyboard over the call ever again. It panged me really hard when they had to stop talking and when Nora apologized, Hae Sung questioned why she did as if they were lovers. That was it. The moment when they realized they were more than friends, not lovers but a secret third thing. The three of us immediately knew what the scene meant for me.

We might not have the In-yun to be the kind of people I’d like us to be in this life. Though we don’t have 8000 layers of In-yun in this life, maybe we did in another life. I thought about it so much. If we didn’t have In-yun, why did the universe let me meet you in a time where I probably needed you most? Why were you sent to be available for me to call especially when I needed to and when I was near rock bottom? I was spiraling over what could have beens and how similar our circumstances were in some aspects to the point where it scared me over how familiar things were between us. I was scared of losing you because I was so scared no one would understand me as much as you did, especially over the familiar sense that always lingered with you.

But I eventually did lose you and it was once the scariest thing I felt. But after a “Past Lives” rewatch, I believe that maybe it’s okay that we lost each other in this life. Again, I don’t think we have the 8000 layers of In-yun with us in this life for us to be with each other. But I do believe the 3 months we had meant that we actually had layers of In-yun within us. Maybe in our past lives, we brushed each other's clothes as we walked past each other and then stood next to each other in a bus ride just 3 meters away from one another. Maybe you were that random guy I told you I met randomly three times in Jatinangor in another life. Maybe you owned a bakery and I bought your 3 dollar croissants. Maybe we met in a random 3-day camp and actually stayed friends. Maybe we were actual lovers who stayed with each other for 30 years as sometimes it baffles me how much I felt like I never knew you and knew you for forever at the same time. In this life, we are just a secret third thing for other people. But it gives me a little glimmer of happiness that I knew we were never nothing to each other. We could’ve been everything less or more, at least in our past lives.

Last one.

I don’t know when it will finally stop, the time when my stomach churns when I see you recommended by instagram so that I’d follow you. I atleast have you muted on instagram because I do not like the idea of knowing how you’re doing from an instagram story and not an elaborate call. I do not know how to write less about you, but I now forget how I managed to write the letter where I demanded closure from you. I still make playlists to forget what it’s like to listen to music we share, but I’m getting used to listening to the marias and forgetting what it’s like to have my stomach churn over songs I thought you’d associate me with as I am delusional at its core. I don’t know if I’ll ever write as nice as this one letter I wrote about my mind wandering back to you every time i’m in my journey home from BSD to Jatinangor as I cry in ELF cars more often than one would think, but I’m getting used to not write as well as I did to you as if my worsening writing skills mean my ability to erase you from my mind is getting better. I just mis-wrote “better” and thought of your name. My heart still aches when it reads all the variations of your name, whether it is from a powerpoint in class or a crew name from a movie’s credit scene. I swear it’s getting better as I no longer want to believe that your name popping up means it’s a sign to start a conversation with you again after a while. Sometimes the conversation we had about you wanting to pray again plays over in my mind whenever I feel like losing it. It once made me feel like I was valuable enough for you to start including me in your prayers to make whatever we had work. It once made me feel so special. I no longer believe it as I’ve also started to remind myself that one time I cried in front of you as I made you confirm that the better life you wanted to have might never include me. I still have songs like “undressed” or “spring into summer” recommended to me and I’d have to stop myself from listening to what the algorithm thinks are sad break up songs so I don’t have too much sadness lingering in me when I try to go to sleep. At least it now knows what type of progress I’m making, where I’m at a point that I’m no longer latching onto hope and finally accepting defeat. I still believe in channeled messages and cry over ones that mention the number 8 or saturday, but at least I no longer stay and watch 2 minute tarot readings my tiktok for you page gives me that would talk about past someones. I’m not going to lie, I sometimes dwell on the “what could have been”-s, but now I dwell more on how bad things would’ve gone more than how great things could’ve happened. I suck at letting things go, but my laptop is suddenly on power saver mode, my phone is at 7 percent, and I’m getting sleepy. I should stop believing that mundane phenomenons are signs but I’ll take this as a note that I’m supposed to end this quickly, this letter and my feelings for you. I really hope you’re doing well. I don’t know if this will be my last letter, but I know that this one will be the last one for a while. I know I sometimes still cry over how much I missed feeling what I felt during our calls that would result in me writing so much about you, but at least I’m starting to forget over the things that made me smile when I write another line about our latest calls, and I’m getting more and more sure that this is the last time I’ll write about you.

If I could stop time, I would do it in this particular afternoon in my grandmother’s room.

I was laying down with my cousins on our grandmother’s bed, like scrambled sardine inside a shaken can. We are all listening to the music blasting from the bluetooth speaker, doing our own things.

The oldest is sleeping, taking a very much needed nap. The lingering sweat that she released while cooking the whole day is now dry from the help of the wind blowing from the two open windows right beside our bed. It was a really great day to nap, with the sun out warm enough to dry all the clothes out on the drying rack and the breeze perfectly lilted with enough ease to send people through long naps after their tiring day.

One of the twins is also sleeping with a promise inside his head. Me and his mom had plans to go to this bougie supermarket. I was planning on getting books while he and my aunt buy ingredients for our specific family’s macaroni and cheese recipe. Like playing tetris, the four cousins, including me, are on top of the bed like different blocks in the game in our own particular shapes, positioned in our own preferences. He was forming the letter L with my oldest cousin, with the oldest forming the horizontal line and him forming the vertical line.

The other twin was right beside me, scrolling through Instagram reels. He was relaxing after doing almost half of the questions of his mock exam. The twins are going to university in 2025 and they’ve been working extra hard on these mock exams these past few months. They’d go to their course place to have extra classes after school and do these exams with 155 questions that they’ll eventually have to review one by one in a big folder, handwritten. He had done 60-ish questions, and watching reels is one of his escape from having to think about the handwritten reviews. Little did he know, the day after this particular one, we all had more to think about as all the cousins and his mom gathered as one in the bedroom, scrolling through this one powerpoint talking about university acceptance quotas, future majors and what to prepare for upcoming tests.

And then there’s me. I was just staring at the ceiling as everyone was doing their own thing. I just officially finished a semester of uni. It was a little silly to think that I still had to open this one assignment file to revise something on a holiday so my lecturer could grade our 3rd assignment. I just got the grades of my religion exams. I was shocked over the grade I got, thinking I did poorly because I cried over all of the assignments this whole semester. I didn’t feel honest about myself, like I was lying for a grade doing all those religion assignments.

As I said, I was staring at the ceiling the whole time. My phone was dead and my books were somewhere out of my reach. I thought about this one job that seemed never ending, something I was working on for the past 2 years that caused a lot of anxiety in me. But on this particular afternoon, I wanted everything to stop. I felt the need to write about what’s happening at this particular hour, particular minute, particular second. I want to stop breathing in this particular rhythm because of the job. I want to stop my heart from beating too loudly over my desire to open this one chat room and start texting that one person again. I want to stop thinking about what I want to do next year.

I want everything to stop and let myself sleep in this one position forever with the same people in bed, with the same gentle wind with some sudden gust of heavier wind every few seconds, with the same white sheets covering the bed, with the same 2015 radio songs playlist blasting and filling up the room, with the same sentiment I have as I lay down here for the past 30 minutes.

I want to watch the very old sink that has now stopped working in the corner of our room that is now piled up with unrelated sink-things like deodorant, matte lip cream, one jeans, two trousers and a single singlet to stay that way, not getting covered by more non sink-things that would eventually pile up. I want to wonder about what’s inside these two big cupboards beside the door in front of the bed as I'll never get the courage to ask my grandmother to open them for me. I want to inspect the other smaller cupboard that is specifically made for babies that are placed in front of the two big cupboards vertically with more detail. I want to inspect everything on top of the smaller cupboard, the one with winnie the pooh stamped on its door. I want to open the bible wrapped in vintage snoopy gift wrapping paper, look at all the fans my grandmother got from various countries stored in a circular can, read all the cooking and fashion magazines my grandmother has collected over the years, fix the old black cassette player, I just want to inspect everything on top of that cupboard.

Most importantly, I want to stop the time right here so that I wouldn’t need to feel that same pain in my chest that inflicts itself every night right before I sleep as I open my phone. I’m too scared to open my phone and see what they’re up to. I hate that I miss the routine I usually had every night suddenly disappearing these past two months and I can’t do anything about it. I don’t want to miss them every night, I wish I could stay in this afternoon forever.

Sadly, time passes. The day gets a little colder and the sky a little darker. I don’t want the afternoon to end. I don’t want to stop raising my hands and seeing the high, squared ceilings through the gaps from my fingers. I don’t want to stop feeling the tiny droplets of sweat eventually dried by the sudden gusts of strong wind. I don’t want life to go on if it means I have to get off my grandmother’s bed and move on with my life. But sadly, that’s just how life goes. I’ll be having mac and cheese as I go through it that night.

I know it has been a while since we talked. I myself don’t find this easy. I thought it’d be easier to let myself not lose you and continue talking even if I feel some type of way about you, but it wasn’t. It doesn’t mean not talking to you is easier, but it’s more bearable than having to fake my okay-s when I don’t actually mean them. I didn’t even realize how much pain it caused when I was just happy you called, trying not to care about how you feel as long as we keep talking.

I want to blame all my journeys back home in big ELF cars for effortlessly spewing out words I immediately jotted down on my notes. Whenever I have nothing to think about on my way to uni, or when I have nothing to think about while dissociating in the middle of conversations, or when it’s crowded and I blank out, and especially when I’m in the middle of a 3 hour ride back home to BSD, I think about you. When I don’t know what to think about, I think about you.

Today’s ride back home felt like the last one I had where I sobbed about you too, and both of these rides really made me sick because it both casted out letters, poems and words about you.

This time, I think about when I will finally be okay about you.

I’m so so tired of missing you, of not knowing what to do with all the pooling sorrow I feel when I miss what is now lost, of trying my best not texting you.

The worst thing of all this is that I’m so tired of what if-s and what could have been-s. Ever since we stopped talking, I felt like I haven’t had some type of closure even though I never knew what I’m expecting from you. I no longer wish for you to feel the same as I do, I just wish you can tell me,

What happens next?

Should this be the end? Should it end this way? Should we continue talking when I finally feel normal about you? What does feeling normal to you even mean? Will we ever be friends again? Can I even still hope about anything happening?

Actually, I’m lying. Maybe I still wish you feel the same way as I do because there’s this one question that lingers over me as I go through everyday that might relieve some of my pain if answered.

Is there another girl?

I would be lying if I said it is easier for me to hear that there is someone else, but it is more painful that I haven’t heard about any other person and I keep thinking about more what if-s and what could have been-s. If I knew there was another, It'd be so much easier to finally let you go. If there isn’t, at least I can still ask you how you feel about us and move on if you don’t feel the same.

Maybe the easiest question to end my thoughts from thinking about you is,

Will you do so much to make this work, fighting for us to happen?

I personally think you could’ve done more, but I don’t think you will. But who am I to push you into it, especially when you don’t feel the same.

These thoughts scare me, the ones about you, because it will always come back to thinking things would happen and everyone knows it wont. But I wish we could just talk for one last time to get me out of this misery.

Tell me how your day went, tell me what you ate today, tell me if it’s another girl and tell me you didn't feel the same one last time.

tell me, tell me, tell me.

I can't go on thinking we could’ve happened, in this life or another.

The countless cries I had,

I wish you could show me if you were worth it,

but I already know you don’t feel the same.

It’s so idiotic of me to even have these questions because in the end or have you say it again and again about how you feel.

Everyone knows you don’t feel the same.

But again, please help me. One more time, just one last time,

tell me that it’s another girl and/or you don’t feel the same as I do,

Will you do so much to make this work, fighting for us to happen?

It is one of those days where you wonder why you’re crying on a random Saturday afternoon. I decided to do what I usually do when the room suddenly floods and reeks of melancholy.

I will have to spot 10 things I can see, write, hear, drink, touch, smell, everything.

I can drink a bottle of sweet tea I got from my fried chicken meal I ate at brunch today.

The tea is so sweet and it comes in a 390ml bottle. If my parents know, they’d ask me to throw it away, but if I didn’t buy the fried chicken package that comes with sweet tea,  I won’t be able to get a special price on the shipping fee and a 10k discount. I made milk tea with that specific tea just the other day and the taste of milk is still on my throat until today. 

I can smell my drying hair that I slept on.

It was wet when I slept on it, and now my grey-blue raglan t-shirt is all wet from all the water dripping down my back.

I can also smell the lingering smell of wet, drying underwear from my bathroom. Fortunately, it’s a nice scent of flowers. I can imagine an aroma trail slowly coming out from below my bathroom door, up to the ceilings of my room forming a tornado-like shaped trail, letting me know the underwear I scrubbed for 20 minutes are now drying on the dryer rack. I can see the blue trail color, circling my room. I’m just glad I like the smell. 

I can see the point of my nose from the position I’m sleeping right now.

Actually, I can always see the point of my nose. Weirdly, from the position I’m sleeping right now, where I sleep on a copy of Emma and a much larger pillow covering half of my vision while I look at my half-filled cork board on my table, the bridge and point of my nose seemed more visible.   

I can hear the wind blowing through the stack of my hanged clothes.

Each hook is filled with at least 3 items, from red, bright stockings to black, dark jeans. I can hear the ruffle of my scuba, blue stockings and my heavy, orange felt sweater clashing into each other as their ends float a little. 

I can see the art prints from my friends and favorite art store falling apart.

I pasted them on the wall this morning with regular tape, and now I can see all the art leaving a trace of tape on the wall, half still stuck on the art and half just stuck onto nothing but the wall. I wish I could fix them right now but I’m writing about 10 things. 

I can see a dead moth I killed by spraying bug spray on it 3 times.

It tried escaping from my bed, falling from what would be a 20 story building for it, and it tried crawling out the window before finally dying. I’m so sorry, I’m just really scared of you guys. I can still see the carcass right beside my water gallon. 

I can tell you three ways I’ve folded my body whenever I felt this way.

First one is a simple stretch on the back. I’d sit on the cold floor and rest my back on the side of my mattress. I’d fold my knees and try my hardest so that my arms and the point of my fingers reach my toes. I could feel my whole body stretch, blood circling around my body. I can feel a small crack open on my back, and I let out steam from my spine. I can hear a tiny squeal, but a pretty long one escapes from that one big crack on my back. My body is so big but when the squeal ends, my folded body feels like the smallest one in the world, taking up the smallest space in my room. 

The second one is pretty simple. Note that my whole body faces the mattress as I sleep on it. From the neck up, I have my pillows support me.From on top of my head, my body would be the perfect slide if I was a tiny ant. I now have my hands posed and positioned like a supermodel, but instead of having my hands on my hips, I have it below my under boob, palms opened wide so that I could feel my heartbeat, and let my other arm trail its way on top of my head, resting on the pillow, and have my hand hold my phone, blasting “when the sun hits” by slowdive as I rest my eyes.My legs are wide open, and I can feel the crack on my back open wider and stop just on top of my bum. 

The third one is trickier. Still facing the mattress, now my whole body lays flat with no other support anywhere but both my feet on top of my folded blanket. I let my arms bend so that it’d cup my cheeks, letting my whole face get supported by the palm of my left hand. With my right hand, I find an opening and play with the piercings on my left ear. My feet would swing occasionally, but I mostly let my legs form a P, the left one folded sideways, and the other one straight. It both forms a triangle, but since the straight leg is longer at this moment, I think it is more appropriate to call it a P instead of a triangle. In this pose, I can feel the crack opening up bigger, stretching from the top of my head to my heels. This time, the squeal is no longer heard, but the small hint of blood can be smelled through the air,and tiny, small red droplets are finally formed along the lines of the opening.

Now that I mentioned 10 things, I can feel anxiety building up again, tears forming little by little, and I have the same gut feeling after you can’t stop sobbing throughout your whole cry. I haven’t cried yet because I’ve been blasting slowdive to distract myself.

Right before I texted my friend “are you awake?” She replied yes to an unrelated question. I felt very happy even though she told me about her toilet situation. My mom and my dad also replied to my texts, and I finally decided to play my middle school playlist.

I went outside and felt the sunshine hitting me as I sit on the floor. Me and my dorm friend pet the two cats waiting for food outside, and we pet them as we feed them too. We talk about being homesick and crying over it too.

Even though it is one of those days, I’ve definitely felt better now. 

Hello everyone,

I decided to write about today’s very random cry on a saturday afternoon. I can’t help but write saturdays as tuesdays too because I don’t really have classes that day. To be honest, all of this was not that random, I think I pinpointed some possibilites on why I cried.

All my highschool friends met, I’m so happy but also sad that I couldn’t be there. I’m also really sad about not being in my old room this week. Even though I made my new room for college as comfy as I could, I still miss home. Lastly, I went through the first 30 minutes of Blue Valentine. I got so sad I had to stop halfway.

I wrote this in 2-ish hours? It is super messy but I felt like sharing.

I hope you enjoyed it :)

songs played in the background while we did granny stuff.

this is my 18th summer. if i’m being honest,  this one felt the most surreal.  i don’t know if it’s great or not that this one doesn’t feel real.

i feel like there’s a huge hole permanently dug on my chest, and instead of filling it throughout this summer, im digging it deeper, and deeper and deeper into my back everytime i spend this summer with something to do, creating a very huge hole instead of a crater.

not going to lie, the hole is a huge sentiment of a fading childhood. yes, i don’t want to grow up, i don’t want any responsibilities yet, and i don’t want people calling me aunty yet.

i want to keep crying over feeling lost or unstable without bells ringing, singing me songs and tunes that i should be stronger everyday and no one would understand a single thing i’m going through. i dont want to cry, have panic attacks and have to explain to other people what’s happening, especially to new people in uni having to know i have disorders. i want to spend summer like my 17 previous ones sleeping, writing, painting, reading and journaling on my bed as the breeze from the semi-opened window hit my face.  i don’t want someone saying it is not reasonable for me to be able to collapse on the floor after spending the day. 

but, i’m trying not to complain.  again, i spent this summer and felt like it’s the most surreal one yet.

i reconciled with 3 fading relationships i care about most, 

and spent this one with my 4th and 9th summer. we spent it doing all the things i have had on my bucket list for a while now.

a concert, eating the same recipe of cookies and noodles we had for years now, and drinking to the point i had a manic episode.

i too talked to both my 12th summers.

but i really loved my 4th and 9th summer who never really faded away from me,

who stayed throughout all the summers since we’ve met, watching movies and staying over, doing granny activites and talking about people we know or even people we like. 

the hole dug became better, it wasn’t as bad as i expected. i’m just taking parts of me that made me myself, and left it in the summers i’ve spent.

this one is surely a huge chunk, but i dont think i regret leaving a huge part of myself into a time capsule we’re going to open in a meeting where we probably drank, ate noodles and baked cookies again. 

to my 4th and 9th summer who had never left, thank you.

i don’t think i’ll ever spend any summer without you all the same way we’ve spent all our summers ever since we’ve met. i love you. 

I actually do think it’s you, and it has always been you. I don’t laugh or feel as much to the other ones I've felt the same to.  I giggle, I laugh, I’d sleep watching you do things that has nothing to do with me. 

It really made me think, i’ve always felt the same. I don’t think i’ve ever moved on. i’d get mad and sad thinking why things have stopped before, and get all giggly when we first talked again, and now i'm more giggly when i get to talk to you everyday. 

life feels the same way as middle school again, but not in a bad way. not in a sense of when i’m always trying to fit into a box, or when i’m too scared to do anything flashy or big.  

it’s the same as when i would shake your hand when i’m nervous, or when we share the same cat game together, or when we’d call with our friends till it’s too late to sleep and wake up for tomorrow’s zoom classes.

i’d listen to reality club with the same sentiment i felt when i listened to boy pablo every evening after zoom meetings, tired and juiced, but thinking of you.  i’d write and scream the same way i did before, thinking of the things we stupidly talked about together. 

yes, the four dreams seemed very extreme, but i guess everything could be a sign if you make it one.

and this time, it is.

Hi, this is something pretty personal. 

I’ve always tried to write things out when things get pretty bad, and the haunting dread of growing up really got to me on a random friday morning. I wrote all this in my notebook and decided to edit it all out on my laptop. I’ve always wanted to try publishing stuff that felt pretty personal or relatable to others, so I decided to make cherry chipped nails, a place where I could publish my writings! I feel like they deserve a website that’s a little more appropriate to post on.

This first entry is really just an edited messy writing manifested from a manic episode I was in. Being a bipolar and clinically depressed teenager, everything could really trigger you in any way possible, and in my case, my middle school playlist really pushed me into a downward spiral with all the things I could possibly remember. I’m still really scared of growing up because I don’t feel like i’ve changed that much from my middle school self, but i’m trying to accept it by writing all the doubts down, and maybe find some people who feel the same way! it’s really up to you whether you decide to read or not, but if you feel the same and feel like sharing, feel free to talk to me abt it ^^

also here are some songs that i grew up with that inspired this, especially 4ever.

The end of may 2024. 18.

I wish I could tell you all that I'm okay. 

I listened to the playlist I made back in 2021 and the same sentiment stayed in me.

It brought me back to the cold floor I was sleeping on, with one pillow supporting my head while I held my phone, charging, and playing that particular playlist.

The day had been pretty dull, so I opened the windows and turned off all the lights. 

I could see rays of light from outside hitting the ceilings and walls right from the opening of the window as it formed the shadows of my window’s grilles. I couldn’t cry that day, but that same feeling I've never been able to shake off since fourth grade was still intact to my gut. I was so ready to retch them out but they just won’t spew out. Movies or music with all this are probably very schmaltzy, and some would describe the feeling as tweeness (google said so). I think I love every small sentiment I got from every feeling I’ve ever felt and bring it with me everyday till this day. 

I wish I could tell you all that I’m okay and some happy songs don’t make me feel blue.

All the songs from that playlist were so different to what I listen to today. They’re not too depressing, but they’re not that happy either. I remember playing it on the car’s bluetooth speaker and I laughed with my mom over it because all the songs sounded so soft that the speakers won’t pick up their sounds. It was too gentle to be heard over the car’s standard volume. I was such a different person, but that same feeling still lingers to every song I listen to. I try to listen to happier songs these days, but I can’t really lose the sentiment in every song I’ve chosen to listen to.

These playlists, they reminded me of how much people I’ve met and became, I’ve been multiple “me”s.

I can’t help but I’ll always end up saying,

I wish I could tell you all that I'm okay, and I know who I am without having to mirror every single little thing I see in front of me, from real people, favorite shows, favorite songs and favorite movies.

Each song reminded me of every other film or show lines I’ve learned, or every time I’ve let a book control how I felt, letting it tint how I view everything for a good minute with a particular shade of color (I wouldn’t call that it has tainted me, because It’s not all bad). It also reminded me of how I tie myself to a character I see myself in my own persona.

I wish I could tell you all that I'm okay, and I definitely haven’t stolen a few songs or movie scenes and let it consume my whole being.

From the tolerable to the most extreme, I might’ve done it all to build myself. From learning how to talk to people from media I've consumed, to adopting a few lines from people, songs, and stuff I see on tv, I feel like being in a very long play with scripts and a few improvisations. You’ve tuned yourself into a few different characters you’ve shaped by sticking a bunch of lines from every media or saying a real friend has said to survive in the play. 

I’ve become everyone I met, I’ve sounded like every song I listened to, and I have mannerisms from my favorite tv show or movie characters. It’s pretty hard to sit right and accept that I’m everyone from everywhere when there’s a feeling in your gut telling you that it’s wrong.

I wish I could tell you all that I’m okay and I’ve changed so much from when I’ve last heard each song.

As much as I’ve taken from everything that came my way, I’m still a singular individual, a sentient who happens to steal a lot but still has a tiny sense of ground of what I need to be. I’m also the owner of a voice that speaks about a thousand things it could think about, but unfortunately also the bearer of the same feeling I bring everywhere I go ever since I've learned to start lying for the better. 

I still walk with the same worrisome sense my teacher pointed out  in 4th grade, even though it changes according to how I feel that day. I still write about what I should say tomorrow and sometimes dream of reenacting them, but I'd say I've done less of them nowadays. I still listen to what I think would make me look cool, open up my scrobbles in last.fm, manipulate them by looping a specific song 56 times so “popular” from wicked won’t show up on my spotify wrapped, but now i’m trying to listen to more music regardless. I still have the same temper, but now I have more methods to cope with it, I no longer quiver trying to keep them in. I still get angry at my brother, but I’m getting more tired of trying to understand most of it nowadays. 

I still have the same switch, buttons and batteries that operate on different people, but I melt down and struggle more these days because I’m meeting more different kinds of people all at once, short circuiting the system. I still see everyone in me and then I’ll start picking my lips, my scalp and my face or count to 10 with my fingers the same way I've done it since the start of every day. I still have the same irrational paranoia over uncertain things, but now I can sleep alone without fearfully looking at the clock, knocking at my parent’s bedroom door.

I wish I could tell you all that I’m okay and I haven’t let these songs make me feel too much. 

I wish I could tell you all that I’m okay, but i’ve been stopping myself from writing more so that I would keep being concise and on lane. 

I wish I could tell you all I’m okay, but I’m still me, and I’m still known as the keeper of that same feeling i felt since fourth grade that won’t budge and could manifest through everything I sense or remember, like from this particular playlist from middle school that made me start writing all this from 2 till 4 am. 

so i am here to write about things i think about,

occasionally maybe a tad bit more questionable ones,

or i’d just log different writings from different times of my life,

maybe ones from the past or what i’ve written for future me.

so, hello substack, this is 17 year old dhya with a bunch of things to dump about, see you every 2 days (maybe)