I grew up with my aunt and my brother. We were all close and stuff, like a family. I was happy. I went to a kindergarten opposite my house when I was 2 and a half because I asked to. I had waist-length silky hair. People loved me. I was happy. At the age of 4, I was “kidnapped” away from where I thought I belonged. I fought but it was all futile. I was brought back to “home”. That was the end of my life, and the start of my DR journey. Satisfied materially, I had an entire village of Barbie. After living the life of a princess for half a year, I got sent to a kindergarten at 5. I topped the class, level, whatever, and everybody agreed that I was “smart”, little did they know that I studied more than I did for GCE Os. I left for another kindergarten because the previous one was apparently not challenging enough for me since I managed to do well. Being the new kid, I was in the last little group at the end of the class near the door. My group wasn’t even a complete group of 6, there were 4 of us. I had two Malay groupmates, and another friend that I really treated as my bestest friend. I still remember her name – HJ, but I doubt that she remembers a thing about me. HJ once came back from one of her many overseas trips and she gave me a pen with yellow fishes on a blue background. I’ve never been happier receiving a pen in my life. My class teacher was the principal of the kindergarten. For some odd reasons she hated HJ, maybe because she wasn’t in school for half the year. She told everybody not to befriend her. The entire class of almost 30 children ridiculously nodded their heads. I wanted to rip her apart, but I was 6, you see. Being the “rich-kids’-school”, everybody was a bitch (or a dick, for that matter), except for HJ, who disappeared from my life ever since we “graduated”. Not keeping in touch with this friend is one of the biggest regrets of my life. Mind you, regretting is not something I do often. Half way through the age of 6, I lost about 10-inches of hair to a gay hairdresser, because I was too young to fight against my aunt, who kept my mum uninformed about the haircut appointment. I was literally forced to sit down in front of that mirror and hand my life over to that hairdresser that I first met. That was the first time I had short hair. I felt violated, like I had been raped. 2 weeks later, my mum came back from China and saw what my aunt had done to me. She said nothing. I was broken. I was sent to primary school at 7, with the shortest hair I have ever had, because I was conveniently sent to the school next to our condominium, which happened to have ridiculous rules (e.g. girls are not allowed to keep long hair). There, I had my ego crushed, my trust broken, my mind trampled over. I also had the fakest friends, and bitchiest teachers. Somewhere between 2003 and 2004, a boy by the name of V moved into my house temporarily. He had a tragic childhood, was all I heard. He was once a very, very close friend of mine for a few months of my life. Then he left, for a new family that loves him. It’s been a decade since I last saw him. After he exited my life, I fell, and I moved on. At at the age of 8, I drafted my first suicide plan, which was, unfortunately, not carried out due to my lack of guts, as well as an opportune moment. I had the edge of a knife placed against my neck. I slept locked out at the balcony. I got Max, my stuffed toy dog that sleeps with me still. I cried my lungs out. I got beaten up with wooden clubs, metal sticks, countless times. I was told that I was bad, terrible, and that I will never make it. I learnt to play the trumpet. I tasted favouritism, both sides of it. At the tender age of 12, I left home for Singapore. I dreamt of freedom and got the exact opposite. I made friends, I lost friends. I became even more materialistic than I ever was. Abandoning what I was, I smuggled myself into an entirely different culture. Transformations and transformations took place. People call it growing up, but I really thought fucking up was more apt a way of putting it. There was where many of my first-times took place. I accepted Jesus Christ as my Lord and Saviour on the 25th of April, 2009. Later, I experienced, and was traumatised by the presence of Satan sometime during August/September that year. That had a larger impact on me than I thought it did. Every year since that year, July – September becomes the season when I will fall into some sort of depression. Things get better every year, though. Over the span of 4 years, I ticked checkboxes off the things-to-do-before-I-get-legal list. I intend to leave entering M18 and R21 theatres alone simply because I doubt that I can last through the movies. I started my secondary school life with an aim to become a person with love and compassion; and when I left I found myself to be full of anger and hatred, skepticism and lies. Things never go according to plan, and so I left Singapore after 4 years to do my CAL back in Malaysia. I am a Kinsey 2. I hate my nose. I tried tanning myself and failed. I have scars all over. I have doubts about religions. Sometimes, I have so much thoughts that I wish the other me living in me would just shut up and mind her own business.


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