Live Ugly, or Die Beautiful

I hate myself. I hate my inconsistencies. I hate my paper-thin determination. I hate my extreme lack of self discipline. I hate the mess I'm in.
        I hate that for all the reasons I spout out to stay on a strict diet plan, I still fail. I hate that for all the dissatisfaction I have of my body size, I still stay the same. I hate that for all the pain I endured to alter the way people might look at me, I somehow wasted them all over something as petty and frivolous as a comforting, satisfying burp.
        Urgh. Ergo, the consequence for my inconsiderate act would be the lost of excitement over outfit-picking a day before my departure, a ten hour painful jouney spent in grumpiness and self consciousness, and no more oohs and aahs due to my inattractive and shapeless appearance during reunion. Again, urgh. 
        But my heart is strong. It will not be dampen even by a strong blow as this. I will accept my punishment and bear the consequences. Nevertheless, everything is still not lost. I still have other reunions to look forward to. My plan starts again tomorrow and goes on until Chinese New Year and even days after, depending on future occassion requirements. But the point is, everything - these binge, these sways, these wander aways - must stop immediately. I will not encounter another failure, or die of shame and guilt. To live ugly, or to die beautiful is my motto.

Painful Reminiscence

Somehow I felt obligated to explain my reason for going off the grid for the past six months.

        It was a time I thought of all the time but never talked about. A time I wished neither to recall nor to forget. Two things happened to me then. Both occurred in august. Both almost ended my life-my real life, as opposed to my physical existence. I was never the same person since then.

        On the second week of August, I failed my parents. The following week, he failed me. For a person not accustomed to failure, I was devastated. Compared to the 312 incident, this was a catastrophe. My first instinctive reflex called for an emergency retreat. For the 180 successive days, I was a wreck. I shut out the world, avoided everyone I knew, refused food, slept for excessively long hours and spent every waking hour on computer games.

        Once in a while, whenever I told myself that I could never go on like this forever, I tried leaving my room, but instantly realized my mistake: I wasn't ready to face the world. Whenever I met someone, I clenched my fists, bit my lips, averted their gazes and shrunk away physically from them. Even around my friends, I deliberately avoided any conversations on classes and exams, changed the subject incessantly, faked a smile at every jokes and feigned interest in their daily happenings. Eventually the pain was so unbearable that I stopped seeing them. 

        Looking back, I was amazed I managed to pull through the dark hours. Nevertheless, what I'd been through neither took my life nor make me stronger. In fact, I was still haunted by its aftermath. I never admitted to anyone how badly wounded I was; how many sleepless nights I had; how often I planned on ending my life; how reluctant I was to point out the fact that I wasn't a regular batch student; how hurtful it was to feel like I was not good enough to belong.