I yearn for the day to get out of this town and be on my own somewhere and start anew. Just leave everything behind and go someplace where I can do something awesome and where I'm accepted for who and what I am, inside and out. A fresh start. Shedding my past and starting anew.

New life. New home. New friends. A new me. A different me and a happier me.

I wish for the day that all my wildest and most fantabulous dreams will come true. And not one of you will be in it.

Completed my online applications for NUS and NTU. Now I'm left with the application fee and application for residential dorms at NUS. Can't decided if I want to try and apply for the USP thing. If I get in (that is, IF i manage to get into NUS which might be a far cry, thank you very much), I could go overseas (STATES!) and study for a semester!

The USP brochure was showing pictures of the USP students and their testimonials about how they went to Yale and wherever they applied to and had a clangalanging time there and I want to be in their shoes too! (US size 8.5 thank you very much)

Or I could either apply for regular residential living and then go for the overseas internship thingy? Either way, I can only apply for USP or regular residential living @ Tembusu. According to YI, I would be extremely lucky if I get a dorm there @ NUS.

Imma look at the brochures again and make a decision tonight. Relatives coming over for lunch later and I'm still feeling sick. Why won't my cough go away? I feel stripped of my energy and need to get better by Wednesday. Fredy's SJ!

Once MP is done, Imma go get a PTJ to fill the long boring days at home.

Okay back to ANTM. How can Tyra ask Janice to quit her role as an ANTM judge?! I'm utterly moritified. She's fiesty and full of no-nonsense.

Okay so I lied. I regressed. I have taken my body art to a complete new level, such that I’ve got a word on the back of my forearm this time. It’s all my relatives' fault, and my stupid sister. At each house we went to, my relatives would comment on skinny my dumbass sister is “Wendy, you’re so skinny!” And I’m sitting there like: “Oh yeah. Awesome stuff.”

I wore a dress that I bought from Dorothy Perkins the year before but couldn't find an occasion to wear it. Plus, I thought my mum would say how weird it would be. The dress had slits at each sleeve so my shoulders are exposed. And the dress is knee length too because I’m too short to pull off a maxi dress right now. But I completely forgot about the fact that I have butt ugly large muscular calves. So when my aunt pictures of all her nieces taken, I looked like a freak. A pretty dress does not go with man calves. So I came out looking like a fat drag queen. It’s bad enough that I look like a man, considering I inherited my father’s cheena-looking facial features.

I have the small eyes, the bulbous nose, the misaligned jaw and the flat footedness. As if I’m not enough of a freak already, God had to come all down and make me obese. And to top it off, all the relatives were all “Wendy, you’re so slim!” And I just sat there thinking how I wish I had never come. So I hid in the kitchen of my grandfather’s house while everybody was mingling over the dining table. And I sat with my grandfather’s domestic helper and she said she thought I was much prettier than my sister and that made me feel better and I gave her a hug. But I still felt disgusted by how I lucked out in the looks department. No boy wants a girl with mannish facial features and shoulders and calves. I predict that I would perish a spinster.

So the two days of visiting were filled with comments about how skinny my sister looked and I feel mortified at myself. I’ve been fat all my life and been trying to lose weight since I was probably 17 and I’m still looking the same? Something has got to give!

So yesterday when I came back from visiting, my dad left for a company function and my stupid sister went for a “friend’s birthday party”, I decided to go and run. And I ran for twenty minutes and felt so uncomfortable. I felt as if my clothes were sticking to me and exposing my whole fat torso. That, or my shoes were too small, or my shirt was too small or my bra was too tight (Nike sport bras are a BITCH) or my arms were bouncing too much. Something was making me feel so bloody uncomfortable. I went home and just suddenly screamed at no one at particular, because no one was in the house and just screamed and screamed and screamed and ignored Bobby’s incessant barking the entire time and I started slapping at myself. My arms, my face, my stomach, my thighs and punched my calves real hard because that’s the body part I abhor the most. And I started hurting, but I didn’t want to stop right there. Nuh uh.

So I went to kitchen and started overturning the cabinet and unearthed a safety pin and I carved the word “fat” just above my elbow. When I was done, I just sat back and the sofa and closed my eyes and let the tears come all the way through, and just breathed in and out really deep. Like I was meditating or something and letting the physical pain course through my entire system.

I’m not psychotic. Nor am I crazy or have a mental disorder, classifiable or not. I’m just hurting. Deep inside. My desire for perfectionism has driven me to such extreme steps that its making me feel mentally exhausted. Even as I’m writing, or rather, typing this down, I’m crying, because I hurt so much, but people who don’t go through what I’m going through cannot understand, because they don’t know how much effort it takes to try to ignore all these mental taunts that you throw at yourself, and how much effort it requires to get back on your feet and get back at the game again, and time and time again, be thrown to the ground again and having to go through the same process.

It is just crap. Honestly, because I’m so tired. I am changing and trying and that’s so much better than constantly whining about it and sitting your ass on the chair all day and doing nothing. I know I’m not pretty and that can’t change, because I’m born looking like a man. And because I’m genetic

Okay so I lied. I regressed. I have taken my body art to a complete new level, such that I’ve got a word on the back of my forearm this time. It’s all my relative’s fault, and my stupid sister. At each house we went to, my relatives would comment on our skinny mu sister is “Wendy, you’re so skinny!” And I’m sitting there like: “Oh yeah. Awesome stuff.”

I wore a dress that I bought from Dorothy Perkins the year before but couldn’t find an occasion to wear it. Plus, I thought my mum would say how weird it would be. The dress had slits at each sleeve so my shoulders are exposed. And the dress is knee length too because I’m too short to pull off a maxi dress right now. But I completely forgot about the fact that I have butt ugly large muscular calves. So when my aunt pictures of all her nieces taken, I looked like a freak. A pretty dress does not go with man calves. So I came out looking like a fat drag queen. It’s bad enough that I look like a man, considering I inherited my father’s cheena-looking facial features.

I have the small eyes, the bulbous nose, the misaligned jaw and the flat footedness. As if I’m not enough of a freak already, God had to come all down and make me obese. And to top it off, all the relatives were all “Wendy, you’re so slim!” And I just sat there thinking how I wish I had never come. So I hid in the kitchen of my grandfather’s house while everybody was mingling over the dining table. And I sat with my grandfather’s domestic helper and she said she thought I was much prettier than my sister and that made me feel better and I gave her a hug. But I still felt disgusted by how I lucked out in the looks department. No boy wants a girl with mannish facial features and shoulders and calves. I predict that I would perish a spinster.

So the two days of visiting were filled with comments about how skinny my sister looked and I feel mortified at myself. I’ve been fat all my life and been trying to lose weight since I was probably 17 and I’m still looking the same? Something has got to give!

So yesterday when I came back from visiting, my dad left for a company function and my stupid sister went for a “friend’s birthday party”, I decided to go and run. And I ran for twenty minutes and felt so uncomfortable. I felt as if my clothes were sticking to me and exposing my whole fat torso. That, or my shoes were too small, or my shirt was too tight or my arms were bouncing too much. Something was making me feel so bloody uncomfortable. I went home and just suddenly screamed at no one at particular, because no one was in the house and just screamed and screamed and screamed and ignored Bobby’s incessant barking the entire time and I started slapping at myself. My arms, my face, my stomach, my thighs and punched my calves read lard because that’s the body part I hate the most. And I started hurting, but I didn’t want to stop.

So I went to kitchen and started overturning the cabinet and unearthed a safety pin and I carved the word “fat” just above my elbow. When I was done, I just sat back and the sofa and closed my eyes and let the tears come all the way through, and just breathed in and out really deep. Like I was meditating or something and letting the physical pain course through my entire system.

I’m not psychotic. Nor am I crazy or have a mental disorder, classifiable or not. I’m just hurting. Deep inside. My desire for perfectionism has driven me to such extreme steps that its making me feel mentally exhausted. Even as I’m writing, or rather, typing this down, I’m crying, because I hurt so much, but people who don’t go through what I’m going through cannot understand, because they don’t know how much effort it takes to try to ignore all these mental taunts that you throw at yourself, and how much effort it requires to get back on your feet and get back at the game again, and time and time again, be thrown to the ground again and having to go through the same process.

It is just crap. Honestly, because I’m so tired. I am changing and trying and that’s so much better than constantly whining about it and sitting your ass on the chair all day and doing nothing. I know I’m not pretty and that can’t change, because I’m born looking like a man. And because I’m genetically female, that makes me a freak.

No wonder I display over-compensatory behavior in my school work.
ally female, that makes me a freak.

No wonder I display over-compensatory behavior in my school work.

I fucking hate my fucking calves.

So it seems that I would start keeping a food diary tomorrow onwards. Here's to my goal of losing 5kg! Aaaargh.

I was fuming at the fact that so many food stores are closed on New Year's Eve. Was a little hungry for I was in the Lab for quite a long while and wanted to grab a bun and have it on the way home, but all the stores I walked past were closed! PEOPLE. It's ONLY New Year's Eve. Its not like its the actual New Year hello! Pffft.

I bet this is a sign of workaholism.

Am feeling sleepy from the heavy lunch I had just now. Aaaaargh. This is what happens when you're fat and have irregular eating hours. Okay. Reunion dinner - eat little. After dinner, run til I drop.

Mission. To be accomplished. So far, I've managed to keep the house under control without the mother. I'm so proud of myself. Except for the fact I refuse to hang the wet clothes (sis does that) or wash the toilets (dad does that) or mop the floor (I might just take a wet cloth and spray Dettol on the floor and wipe away, rather than using the actual mop)

Aaaargh. Reunion dinner. I get so bored there. My cousins are too...young to carry out intellectual conversations with me (haha yeah right), or rather, we don't click as much as when we were younger. And the adults just sit at the table and talk politics (boring). And my obsessive aunt will badger me to coming to church and I'll be thinking "I DON'T WANT TO GO TO CHURCH. WHAT PART OF THAT SENTENCE DID NOT GET DRILLED INSIDE THAT HEAD?" But that'd be disrespectful. Would it? And all the food. I shall NOT touch any goodies there. I will have a small portion of rice. And..whatever side dishes there are, but that's IT.

Shall write down what I have dinner later and see if I stuck to my goal. And I shall go running when I get home. I don't care if its late by the time I get back or if I'll miss C.M (I've seen all the episodes already anyway), Imma run away (from) everything I ate. Or at least. Half of what I ate.

Now that's a sign of an eating disorder right? But I can't have an eating disorder. Only skinny girls are anorexic and bulimic. If I told a doctor I might have an ED, I'm sure he'd take one look at my body and wet himself laughing.

I want gingham dresses.

Imma watch America's Next Top Model now.

It might just be that I'll be 50 years old by the time I achieve self actualization. I realize I've been lamenting on the same issue for the past 3 years, but at this point, I figured it'd beat cutting myself.

K suggested I switch to jogging or running when I admitted that brisk walking may not be as effective as it was when I started out. So it seems that my goal to lose 5kg before I graduate from TP has gone to dust. Maybe this might be achievable before my 21st birthday - losing the 5kg I mean. I heard about keeping food diaries, but the idea seems dodgy. According to weight management experts, keeping a food diary is a good way to keep track of what you eat and helps prevent yourself from consuming any unwanted junk food, yet on the other stupid hand, some experts claims (online) that keeping a food diary is a classic sign of an eating disorder. Ironic much.

Yes, I know that I should learn to love myself and accept myself for who I am, and that I should be thankful that I'm healthy and not grossly disfigured. But seriously speaking, being bigger than most girls I know does nothing for my self esteem. Its just my luck to have close friends who are as thin as sticks which seriously pressurizes me. It also doesn't help that I LOVE watching America's Next Top Model. Even though they do have one or two plus size models, they're slim. They don't look like Norbit in a bikini and they can pull it off without anything jiggling . Plus, seeing so many skinny girls in TP wearing awesome clothes makes me mad at myself. And disgusted. I want to be able to wear sleeveless tops without feeling like a pumpkin. I want to be able to wear a bikini without thinking I look like a pig in tights. Oh and did I mention I have man thighs and shoulders? I can barely wear a knee length skirt without looking like a freak who escaped the circus.

I want to be thin. I know I have to work at this, but its so hard. Maybe the process of weight loss is genetic. Like, whether one is able to lose weight easy and with setbacks. My mum said it took her years to lose weight, so I suppose I'm genetically predisposed to suffer the same fate. Oh and it might not also be a coincidence that my mother had disordered eating phases as well. Well blow me down sister, I will never underestimate the power of genetics ever. Though my mother was never one for cutting her arms and depressed.

I am a freak. With my man shoulders and calves. And my small eyes. And my undesirable skin tone, and my short stature. And my wobbly figure. No wonder I'm depressed. I'm enough of a freak already.