PSLE Oral's coming soon.
Who cares as long as you have your tongue, too bad if you can't speak.
I don't care, it's just another stupid exam.
I won't feel nervous, like all other tests I've ever sat for.

I have no idea why, but lately my mother's been trying to approach me a lot.
Definitely, there must be something up her sleeve.
She even watched me do my homework, for once in my entire memory.
Something just seems fishy. I don't know, but I get this feeling that she is going to "help" me choose my secondary school, and it's certian for her to choose some elite school since she was from RGS.

I HATE ELITE SCHOOLS. I don't want to go to the elite schools which are practically fantasized by all my classmates. I don't want to see any of them again, no way am I going to spend 4 years with anyone of them in a common school again. I hate them to the core. Laughed at me for my ugliness, so disunited, such selfish people. I'm always left out, I've thought so much, but I just can't figure out why.

From my observance, elite school students always receive a variety of weird stares ranging from disgust to jealousy from passers-by. There's no way I am going to like being trapped in this type of center of attention. Anyway, elites disgusting, probably even worse than the skunks in my class. Proud, competitive, people, who only fight for themselves, individuals. They want all these ELITE recognition just for the sake of high salaries, which not all ELITES get, luckily. I just want to be a normal student from a normal neighborhood school. I will not dare to fool around for A levels, my goal is Harvard. Honestly, I want to run my own fashion boutique or wedding shop, a famous model, or a surgeon for transsexual operations.

My blog is the only place where I can rant all I want. DO YOU KNOW THE TREMENDOUS LONELINESS I HAVE TO SUFFER FROM DAY TO DAY? Nobody talks to me, and I only hope for a classmate to say a simple "hello" to me when I walk into the classroon. Days and months I waited, for this that will never happen. Everyday, I interacts with myself, just myself, or very occasionally, with my hectic mother. My loneliness is something I'll never dare to speak openly about. I pretend I'm happy, I'm pretending to enjoy my own company to everyone around, and PRETEND that I'm perhaps autistic. This pretension will never become real, I'm one who just craves for company too much. Maybe one day it's possible, when my heart dies, or when I somewhat become a stone. I tell myself it's something I have to change, but it's not that I don't take the initiative to interact, but it's them who ignore my begs for response. I've long given up on this class, I suppose. Seriously, this overwhelming loneliness is driving me mad, a centimeter away from killing someone, a meter away from commiting suicide.

It's really, very , very fortunate that in fact, I have something to look forward to now. Mom told me that she's going to get me a puppy for my birthday, a lovely one, she said. And my birthday's in two weeks' time. I am desperately looking forward to this to-be faithful companion and best friend in my life, in frantic hope that she does not change her mind.

My puppy, I promise you'll be safe with me.

I'm pretty proud of myself now for achieving this impossible figure. I knew I could do it.
I'm smiling at the rainbow outside the window. My first smile this entire month.

PSLE is coming.
It concerns me, theoretically, the whole Singapore seems concerned. For God knows what reason.
I am not going to revise, I am not going to study, and it is of nobody's business even if I fail. At least my mother doesn't care, she never ever tells me to study. It's just an exam for entry of secondary schools. Secondary schools are nothing, it's not going to give you any superb benefits just because you enter some prestigious secondaries. It's your university that matters, nobody gives a damn about your secondary education when you've got Harvard as your university. I'm only going to care about my A levels. I'm not gonna give a damn about this retarded PSLE.

It isn't worth all the headaches everyone around me complains of. Not at all.
For goodness sake, relax people, I just don't get what all the fuss is about. Even if I don't revise, I'm pretty sure, with all the knowledge my brain's acquired, I'm guaranteed to score at least 250. And I'm satisfied, because anyway, even if I revise, there's no way I can be the top scholar of Singapore and no way would I win a few thousand dollars. Hence, what's the use?
Let me just hide among the shade and be unimportant. And I only pray to allow me to conquer A levels with all my might.

PSLE forebodes disaster. I'm sure there're ones who would jump off the buildings nowadays due to their PSLE results. PSLE, the black plague, everybody wants a challenge with you. I don't care as long as You let me pass. Seriously, they should lower their expectations for twelve-year-olds who are mostly retarded and immature. PSLE is useless, I suppose.

My secret formula did turn out to be a miraculous solution to my obesity.
I love the way I look now. Downright slim and skinny.
I could be a model I thought.

However, I have to admit, i always feel weak. Lack of energy. Everything i does seems enervating, even the simplest task of lifting my bag up. My favourite hobby is but sleeping, and wandering to a dreamland far far away.

Recently, a disaster broke out and messed up my privacy.
Yesterday, she caught me.
My mother, my freak mom, caught me hugging the toilet bowl and feeding it with my vomit.
That day, I came home as usual, ate lunch with my enormous appetite and strolled into the toilet as usual. And as usual, I was the only one at home. Plunged my finger deep down into my throat, felt the rush of food upwards against gravity, and off the chyme poured into the toilet bowl.
And an arm wrenched me up from behind.
I turned around and found myself facing the woman I hate.
The woman that rarely spared time for me.
Facing the woman that should have not been here this moment.
Wrong place wrong time. Coincidence. Whatever.

I winced away and dig my sight down into the cold hard ground.
The heartless squares segregated by endless lines of cracks - the tiles;
the awkward silence; the sparse air particles;
that's all between us, me and mother,
theoretically.

"April. What the hell do you think you're doing? Oh my god. For goodness sake, why, out of all people, must my daughter has bulimia? Come. I'm bringing you to the doctors' ! "
At that moment, I had the urge to smash the basin on her body and squash the soap into her distorted mouth.
"no I dont want to go with you. I don't have bulimia!" I screamed back at her.

"Then explain to me how you've become so skinny in a few months? DO you know how fragile you look? Tell me why you're throwing up! "

"it's just none of your business."

She slapped me. Mercilessly. "Wretch! Do you know how worried I am for you? I've been wondering what happened to you! For your whole life, all of your business is my business, You understand April?"

I covered the patch of burning skin and fought back my tears. I ran down the stars and burst out of the gate.

Every recess, I would find the most anonymous table in the canteen to sit at.
I always chose the one at the corner, near the dustbin, where no one would usually go near to.
I wish we could be allowed to eat in the library, or the benches between classrooms. So that I could seclude myself comfortably, without other disturbing sounds around.

Every recess, I would drag my feet across the ground unwillingly to the canteen to fill my grunting stomach. There was no one at home to prepare food for me, I had to queue.
That was not the worst part, the worst part was walking across dozens of filled table and settling in a spacious yet dirty table, having to endure the cacophony of chit-chats prevailing the entire canteen.

And I Why I I had to be alone.
I longed to be part of them, no matter how much effort I put in, I just wasn't gifted with the basic quality of fitting in. Nobody wants me. People barely speaks to me. Every recess, my mood was similar, that same feeling of emptiness, low self-esteem, jealousy, all the negative thoughts would only run repetitively through my head. The worse my mood is, the more food I tend to gobble down to force my tears to retreat. Every recess, I can never control my food intake, 3 bowls of stapler food is my least intake. And then, I'd start eating tidbits and other food to fill the gaps between my stomach.

Recently, I walked around the school compound rounds and rounds, alone. That was when I realise the existence of a hidden bench in the garden. Few people ever crossed this area. I started taking my food there to eat secretly. Nobody would knew.
Yes, I am safe. There, there is little noise, the cacophony would barely be heard here.
So was my pressure reduced. Here, I feel much more secure. Since there is no other visible human figures, I always imagine I owned the world here. In other words, this small Eco-garden was my escape from reality.


Starting from half a year a ago, I discovered the most amazing way of slimming down.
They call it bulimia, what a horrible idiotic name; I call it my secret formula.
I could never stop myself from eating.
That day, half year ago, I was so angry with myself that I decided that I had to expel everything out. I was so young I didn't know how and where to buy laxatives from. I decided to throw up everything. Hidden in a cubicle, I was nervously fretting over my food that has already started being digested. I remembered how the toothbrush made me choke feel nauseous.
I did the same, this time, however, with my fingers.
I slid my fingers into my throat slowly. I was getting that disgusted feeling. I gulped. And then I stuck my fingers in deeper. My tongue stretched out of my mouth. Just as my finger slipped in a little deeper, the tension built up fully and I splashed the disgusting chyme all over the toilet bowl. I paused, before bursting into another session of food-expelling. Toilet water splashed into my face. EEEEeek. The disgusting food particles were mostly yellowish, orange and green in colour, in a thick mixture. The stench was a little pungent, but I liked it anyway. The aftermaths of the vomiting left my nose and back of the cavity numb and swollen. But I liked the sourish, acidic and hot feeling. WHoa! I puked out all my food! I could take in any amount I want, and I could get rid of them nearly as easy as how I took them in!
I was happy, I thought.

For the next half of the year, I had been doing it quite a number of times. That explains my satisfying weight of 42kg from my shameful 60kg before.

Everyone should try it. I believe it's perfectly healthy.

An unfamiliar teacher called me outside.
I was bewildered.
When I came back, my deskmate wanted to know what happened.
She called me to join the Fitness For Life programme, I answered.
Which was obviously a programme for the overweight students.
I was 60kg, overweight by 14kg, which I didn't think was a lot.
The next thing I knew, my deskmate was virutally telling everyone around him, telling everyone how I was invited to join that programme, and complaining about how he is suffering sitting beside a fatty.

I was utterly embarrassed. I hadn't know things would end up so embarrassing, never knew I would be humiliated like this for being slightly overweight. I hate him. I hate my desk partner.
For the entire lesson, I did nothing but stared down hard at my table, trying hard to keep back the hot tears. I had always thought that I looked okay and cute and normal, never fat. Maybe, there's more to what my eyes saw from mirror reflections. The tears defied my wishes and escaped. I cried for the whole lesson, trying hard to keep a stable position of pretending to take notes. All the while the tears wailed, my ears was surrounded by on-going mumblings in the class. I myself had always wanted to laugh at the fat people, yet ironically, I didn't know I was one. I wanted a hole to dive in, to hide from the dangerous stares digging down on me. I know they were gossiping. When school ended, I gave him a punitive cruel pinch with all my force before running off. I know I had never and will never have any friends from this class.

This happened one year ago, in Primary 5.
Yet every detail stays rooted to my strong memory.

I'm merely 42 kg now.
And I had never attended a single session of Fitness For Life programme, no matter how many times the teacher complained to my parents.

The process of achieving 42 kg for a non-human is definitely painful.
I thought 60 kg was perfectly normal.
But the humans, the ones I could never fit in with, they said it was too heavy for them,
and maybe, they assumed it was too stressful on their Mother Earth.

I selected a piece of mirror down the streets.
I see the face I hate,
the numerous imperfect flaws on my skin.
What a face I have
What a flawful face I should hide away.

And then I passed by panels of glass.
There, I see,
is a cute lovely face, though expressionless,
my skin slurred, all the flaws disappeared, as I looked from afar.
This is still a reflection of me,
the one I love much more than the one in the mirror.

I know I'll be the prettiest girl one day.