24th October 1986

Today I’m going to start keeping a diary. It was mother’s idea. She was upset that I wasn’t using this journal when she first bought it for me. I think she loves me very much, but she doesn’t think I love her, because I don’t tell her things. Well, I don’t tell things to anyone. There is nothing I can think of to tell people. Anyway, I’m supposed to write down what I’ve been doing today. I woke up at 7am and got ready for school. A boiled egg and a glass of milk is all I usually have for breakfast. I don’t normally like carrying lunch to school. I don’t like eating in front of other kids. Mother always makes lunch for me, and I either throw it away or I eat it secretly in the girls’ toilet. I did that today.

Mandy followed me after lesson. She took Jessica with her, because otherwise she would be scared of me. I was sitting on the toilet seat, looking up. I could see Mandy’s hands grabbing hold of the wall, as she was trying to climb up.

“Disgusting bitch!” she called me. “You’re eating on the toilet! I’ll tell Mrs Mills!”

I carried on eating and then she started spitting on me. I felt ill and threw my sandwich at her. At least Mrs. Mills is a nice lady, she knows what Mandy is like, but I don’t think she likes me much.

When I got home, I went straight into mother’s library. She has read a lot in her life and I want, too. All four walls are covered with bookshelves, which go high up to the ceiling. Each single book is a part of life; I know it and I want to know what life is about. Mother seems to know, but she won’t tell me. The bookshelves in the far end of the room were the ones she used to read as a little girl and she wants me to start with those, if I ever want to read anything from her proper collections.

“You’re too young to read the others”, she always says. I have to admit that I don’t understand them anyway; I have tried reading Frankenstein earlier, because I liked the front cover of the book. I only made it to page four until mother came and took the book off me.

“You won’t understand the language, dear.”

“But it’s English and I understand English”, I said
.
Mother read out the opening of the book with such fluency that I couldn’t follow. “What did you make of it?” she asked me.
I only remembered having read the same words, but not in the same way as she did.

“At your age, you should start from where I tell you.”

She shook her head as if I was stupid. I hate her.

None of her children’s books interests me, I know them all and it is no fun to read them again. I didn’t get a quiet minute to read anyway, when mother is bored, she keeps coming into the library to see me, checking on me. I won’t stop reading the books she forbids me to read. So whenever I hear her footsteps on the corridor I immediately go change the book before she enters. When she thinks I’m reading Huckleberry Finn (again), I’m actually reading Madame Butterfly. I had to climb up the shelves to get the book. I was so attracted by the word “butterfly”. I love butterflies. It reminds me of playing badminton with daddy in the garden during summer. It was a strange book, there were only people talking; it was like watching a theatre in a book. I’m tired now.

26th October ’86

I forgot to write yesterday, I was so impressed by Madame Butterfly. I don’t understand the story, but I like her. I feel like the child, who she blindfolds. It also reminds me of mother covering my eyes when Rusty got run over by our neighbour’s car. Madame Butterfly is like Rusty; she is not a butterfly. Is this life? I don’t want to tell Mother that I want to go as a geisha for Halloween. Maybe I shouldn’t go at all. But Phil is going! I hate him. He is the only one who is nice to me, but I don’t trust him. I don’t talk to him, either. He smiles at me for no reasons and then goes talking to Mandy. He is an idiot!

27th October ’86

I pulled myself together today and asked mother to paint my face like a geisha. She used to be an actress on stage. I saw pictures of her with painted face. Maybe I shouldn’t have said ‘geisha’, because she gave me a funny look. She said she would and painted my face white.

“Guess you have already decided what to go as for Halloween.” I smiled and then she looked me deeply in the eyes, which I didn’t like. It was as if I had done something bad. I don’t know what. She became strange and kissed my head. I didn’t like it. After she was done, I found myself looking like Snow White.

I didn’t look like a geisha at all. It wasn’t what I thought I would look like.

“It’s because you’re not oriental looking, dear” she said.

It upset me, even though it looked very pretty. But then mother suggested getting me a wig, which might change everything. I can’t wait.

29th October ’86

I fell asleep last night. I couldn’t be bothered writing. I started reading Great Expectations, which is difficult, but I have replaced “Pip” with “Phil” and this made it easier for me, I don’t know why. And I imagine myself being Estella, because I love the name so much. I asked mother why she didn’t call me that. She said I was no Estella and that she had a cold heart.
“But you will have someone like Pip running after you one day”, she said and had spoilt my interest in carrying on with the book.

30th October ’86

School was terrible today. I threw my lunch at Mandy again. Everyone was saying that Phil fancied me. But they weren’t laughing at him, they were laughing at me. I don’t understand why.

“Phil has such a bad taste”, Mandy shouted.

In fact, I didn’t see him in school; otherwise I would’ve thrown my lunch at him instead! Idiot! I haven’t been reading today. I can’t concentrate; I’ve got a funny feeling in my stomach. I wonder if Phil is coming to the Halloween party tomorrow, I’ll slap him! Mother showed me the wig today. It looks strange. It looks like I’m wearing a black gift box on my head! Or a black puppy!
Mother said she was going to work on the wig, so it doesn’t look so big. I told her to hurry, because the party is tomorrow. I can’t wait!

31st October ‘86

15:40
I couldn’t wait. I have to tell you about my costume. Mother has bought me something that looks like a dressing gown; I forgot the name, but it has very pretty patterns of flowers and butterflies on it. The wig doesn’t look so bad anymore. For the first time, I find myself really pretty. I wonder what Phil will think. But if he dares coming near me, I will punch him!

22:30
I’m not tired. Mother just helped me to wash my face. I look the same again. Maybe it’s better this way. Attention is nothing good, I hate it. I can’t stop looking at the mirror. I don’t want to be me. Mandy pulled my wig off…right in front of Phil. In the end I just looked like a pantomime or even a clown in a dressing gown. I must be so ugly, not even hiding my face helps. Mandy dressed as the snow queen. She was very pretty, but cold like Estella. I don’t know to whom I’m similar. I locked myself up in the girl’s toilet, until Mrs. Mills came to see me.

“Your costume is the most beautiful of all tonight, my dear”, she said to me. I didn’t believe her.

If I had had a sandwich I would have thrown it at her. “No one knows what you are going as, because they are not as culturally educated as you are.”

I don’t know what she means by that, I don’t care, either. I just wanted to go home and hide in the library. When I left the girls toilet, I bumped into Pip. He looked at me, first with no expression and then I saw him attempting to smile. I walked off straight away. Idiot! Mother came to pick me up, but Mrs. Mills had stopped her. They were talking while I was in the car. Mother didn’t sound happy; she was raising her voice, making angry hand gestures. We didn’t talk on the way home. All she said was:
“At least she agreed that you were the most beautiful tonight.”

I think after mother has gone to bed, I’m going to sneak into the library.

1st November ‘86
10:12
I had a very bad dream. I woke up crying. I only dreamt of Russian dolls. Like the ones I got from grandma. I kept opening them, but they wouldn’t go smaller. I don’t know what I was looking for and began to cry. Whatever I had wanted, it must have been hidden in those little monsters. It’s Saturday and all my homework is done already.

21:35
I went into the library today and lay myself on the floor in the middle of the room. It was so nice and quiet. The sun was shining through the window, right in my face. I think I fell asleep for a while. I got woken up by a whispering voice, but it wasn’t mother. I got up and looked around me, but the voice had gone. I couldn’t remember what I had dreamt, either. My eyes rested on a red book, which was on the top shelf of what mother called the “adult” corner. She had told me that she was a feminist and that those were the books she had spent years reading. She said that I would read them, once I’ve grown. It was too high, I couldn’t reach. Mother had taken the stool out of the room. Then, I remembered the story of The Tower of Babel. Daddy used to read things to me out of the Bible. I had an idea. I piled books up, only big and heavy ones, until it was high enough to get the red book off the shelf. It was called Giambattista Basile’s Folk & Fairy Tales. Why did Mother put children’s fairy tales on the top shelves? It didn’t make sense to me. It is a very old book and the writing is very small. There are no pictures, either.
I hid the book in between some children’s books and replaced the gap on the top shelf with One thousand and one nights, because it was huge and red, too. There are many stories in the big book of fairy tales and I’ve started with Sun, Moon, and Talia. I think Talia is my age and I’m not sure, if she has sex with her father. The language would be easier to understand if I read out loud, but then mother would hear me and ask me what I was reading. I wonder how sex works. A girl in school says it’s when you start bleeding. Daddy never told me. I don’t think I ever want sex, then, if I have to hurt myself. I sneaked the book into my room…I’m going to carry on reading in bed.

2nd November ’86

Oh God, I nearly got myself into trouble! Mother woke me up this morning, but luckily I was lying on the book, so she didn’t see it. I can’t remember when I fell asleep last night. I was scared, because I heard someone knocking on my window. When I looked there was nobody. It couldn’t have been anyone, because my room is too high. But I was scared. I don’t know if it really happened or not. I can’t remember. I carried on reading the story from yesterday. I didn’t like the queen, she sounded evil, but I don’t know why I had to think of mother, because I don’t think mother is evil, except sometimes when she forbids me things. I read Rapunzel as well, but it was different from the real version. This one is so sad. No one seems to like her. She always cries and the prince is an idiot! Maybe she needs sex. I spent all afternoon reading the stories.

3rd November ’86

School was terrible. Pip and Estella laughed at me when I slipped over a wet floor. I hurt my knee, it still hurts! The cleaner shouted at me that I couldn’t read. I can! I can! I just couldn’t see WHAT was written on it, because it was blurry. Mother took me to the optician today and they said I was short-sighted and needed glasses. I’m going to look ugly! Uglier even! Everyone is going to laugh at me! I hate everyone! I hate them all! I’ll just stay in bed for the rest of my life. This is not life.

4th November ’86

11.00
I’m ill today. Thank God. I had to vomit this morning and I couldn’t stand the sight of eggs today, so mother made me some porridge. There was blood on my bed, but I don’t know where it came from. Mother didn’t say much, except that it was all right. She was only angry that I had the window open. I’m sure Peter made me ill last night. He knocked on my window again. It was him the night before, too. I opened the window and he flew in. He wore tight green clothes and had both of his hands placed confidently on his waist. Like all the actors on mother’s photographs. He is a little bit older than I am and taller, but I like him.
“You’re a very pretty girl, so full of life”, he said.
I thanked him and he gave me my first kiss ever. I blushed!
“There is so much you haven’t seen!” he told me.
“Are you going to show me?” I asked.
He held my hand and led me to the window, as if he was going to take me away.
“Wait”, I said quietly. I was afraid to wake mother. “I can’t fly!”
Peter looked upset, as if he didn’t understand. “But where are your beautiful thoughts?”
I couldn’t think of any. I had no idea how to cheer him up, which made me feel really bad. “I don’t know. Maybe tomorrow.”
Finally he smiled again. “Maybe I can help you.”
Peter put me to bed and we cuddled. I don’t know what happened next, I must have fallen asleep in his arms.
Mother has been looking after me today. I didn’t want to talk to her about what happened, because it’s a secret. Peter would get angry and never talk to me again.
“Darling, there is something not right with you…”
“No, I’m ill…” I said to her, it was obvious, like she couldn’t see!
“I got you sanitary towels. I told you how to use them…”
“I know!”
She was making me feel more ill, I didn’t want to talk to her, so I didn’t listen, until she said: “I’m taking you to the doctor’s.”
“No! I’m only unwell!”
“It’s not just that, darling…”
It always stinks at the doctor’s! I get goose bumps all over my arms when I see all those people in white who look like ghosts! But the doctor I went to see was different; he asked me questions about me: what I do, what my hobbies are, what I eat, my friends…
I suddenly heard Peter whispering in the room: “Don’t tell our secret!”
I looked around in the room, forgot about the presence of the doctor and mother. They looked at me as if there was something wrong. The doctor’s beard made him look like a king from a fairy tale. I was thinking of Briar Rose’s father.
“What is life, doctor?” I asked.
He smiled, led me to the half opened window and threw his handkerchief out. It flew like a butterfly; the moment it fell, it flew back up again, wherever the wind was leading it to.

At last, I there was my beautiful thought.

20.45
Mother just wished me good night. She has tears in her eyes like a little child! I don’t know what’s wrong with her. I have to think about the handkerchief again that turned into a butterfly and I have to think about Chio-Chio San. I’m going to blindfold myself tonight before Peter teaches me to fly. Everything should be all right tonight, because I have my beautiful thought (and I won’t even tell you). I have to make sure mother won’t come in as I want to open my window.
Life, I know what it is!

–

Paula Cheung 2006

At the end of the day no one gets it anyway and I’m tired of losing my temper over shit like that. It always leads back to me being fucking “too nice” and stuff, but what’s missing is appreciation from the others. But do I fucking care? Nah, I don’t. Trust me, I do not, I just want to be nice and give people the assurance that I am thinking about them. This is why I still do it. This is why I call up or attempt to organize something…but frankly, I cannot be fucking bothered with it. I am not ready and I’m getting sick of pretending that I am ready. Nothing but lies and endless secrets upon me!

I’m sick of fucking explaining and of making useless effort. Nevertheless I seem to keep doing it, no matter what. Oh why! Is it pressure or maybe the fear of losing them all by growing apart? I don’t know. I am being very controversial ain’t I? I think it’s because I have loads of opinions that are not fixed.  But after all I am NOT the one that grows apart from people; it’s fucking THEM! And somehow I can’t deal with this fact. I’m gonna give up on the niceness, it’s too hard to be good to certain persons, especially when they don’t even see this (urrgh)niceness or when they don’t show that they give a shit.

The earth is heating up and I am, too, within. It’s a matter of time when I’ll be angry enough to drown everyone.  But I don’t want to eliminate winter. Why does everything I want to do have such a terrible side effect for fuck’s sake?

How I fucking hate my recent blog entries. Just fuck me already will you! Goddammit…

I said something very misogynistic yesterday. I said I would never go to a female gynecologist or psychiatrist. That’s nothing new, but it actually sounds evil when saying this out loudly. But come on, ladies, sticks and stones, eh?

Ever heard of people who can read your aura? I met a lady in England who was able to do tell whether you are surrounded by positive or negative energies. I regret that I never asked her what she saw in me.

It was exactly a year and two weeks ago when I last had sex. Rather depressing when thinking about it. I can’t even remember it that well, except that it was unemotional. And I remember a lot of red. Yes. Blood.  I used to be so ashamed of talking about this and it was the only thing that I tended to tell girls about and only two guys. My gynecologist said that there was nothing much he could do about, except to ice up the neck of my womb.  Ha, imagine me bearing a child. I think I would bleed to death, wouldn’t I? God, I am so NOT ashamed of talking about anything anymore. So what if people know everything about me? There are endless things that you certainly do NOT know about. I can go on forever. Anyway, just don’t ever talk about those things with me in person; except I start talking about them. Then it means I trust you fully. Sometimes. To be kissed by the kiss of death? I don’t think so, Johnny. Honesty indeed is the most offensive thing in the world, but there are endless secrets to be revealed. I hate secrets. If I could, I would reveal every single thing, unleash all secrets of the world, especially yours. So many friends are keeping shit behind my back; so much shit that I can’t be bothered anymore.

I also signed up on some online community to get singles to email me. I was curious, I wanted to see what it’d be like. You could say you’re looking for a relationship, affair, one night stand etc.  I ticked the last two and would get over fifty mails a week. Why did I do that? – Because I SUCK at looking for what I want; it’s easier for me to be found. The men who wrote to me were all twats. Some even sent me pictures of their dicks or pictures of them having sex. So that was gross. And they would say things like “Never fucked an Asian before.” Now how stupid is that? However, there were also nice ones who wanted to get to know me and asked stuff like “What are you currently reading?” or “Who’s you’re favourite writer?” I posted half naked pictures, which was the reason why I received responses from people. But at the end of the day I didn’t answer ANYONE. It just didn’t click. They were fucking Germans. What do I want from a German? After a few months I canceled my account on that page. Still masturbation’s no fun; it’s exhausting and I fall asleep during it, because I have no strength these days. The majority of my energy is used for work (aka stress) and sports. I think in the last thirty minutes I’ve yawned over fifty times, because I’m finding it hard to breathe properly. This is a sign of a panic attack, which I used to get very often when I was back in England. It’s happening again, because I’m dealing with more stress than usual. And this all thanks to “people”. People are no good. There is also this lump in my throat and pressure in my ears, due to suppressed anger. Someone fuck my ears, please.

Oh God, will people please just QUIT talking about ENGLAND! I don’t want to hear a FUCKING word about it anymore. Do NOT ask me!

I haven’t had a decent conversation since Dan and that was bloody nine months ago. And that was a conversation in the best language of all. German is making me fucking sick. Some German friends offered to speak English with me – no way. I only speak English with Brits or Americans. I don’t know why, but when I speak English with non-English natives, my English goes very bad. That’s probably because I unconsciously adapt myself to them. Terrible. Disgraceful. Degrading.

No day off this week, which is why I need to cancel whomever wanted to meet up with me tomorrow. This Sunday is mine. Don’t even dare to call. I want to see how Bunny Munro dies.

Dear Diary, I’ve reached this point again. It’s similar to the one in April, if not worse. The moment I started my new job, I stepped into a downward spiral. Yes, despite of the relief that I’m finally earning enough money to pay my fucking health insurance and rent. Though, since the new job my social anxiety has increased vehemently. My German has gone badly or I am simply too panicky to talk in public. I can’t control myself. I act so calmly towards everyone while inside I am a shaken can of coke. Everything is so hard, so fucking hard and it hurts. This calmness that I am showing is not good; it’s destroying me, it’s making me ill, but I can’t do anything about it. I’ve already been wondering WHY the hell am I so calm? If I carry on like this, I know I will do something very bad in the near future. If I don’t hurt other people I will hurt myself, won’t I? As simple as that I guess. I can’t express myself. I feel extremely scrutinized in the public world. I’ve become more irrational than I ever was. Sometimes I don’t even get why I do what I do. All I know is that I hate what I do. And I hate everyone around me, especially those who want something. How much more do I have to give? Give me something BACK for fuck’s sakes!  How often to they even think about me? This is the reason why I don’t care anymore; even if they disappeared forever. Would you resent me for that? (This does not refer to my mum, dad and sister.) I have a lump in my throat again and wish I was able to throw up on everyone’s shoes. It’s a terrible moment when realizing that those whom you trusted are not trustworthy at all, because by the looks of it, they never even trusted you in first place.
I had to catch up with some sleep last night and actually managed to sleep 11 hours. That did me well, but the worst was waking up with a delirious head and this numbness around my heart. I didn’t want to go to work today. Yesterday I had to do my first cashing up and it was the first morning that I had to open the shop on my own. I was literally sitting there for OVER an hour counting the money in the safe. And no I cannot count. Trust me, I cannot. I never was able to count. At the end of the day there were 100Euro missing in the safe. How I feel? How would you feel if your boss thinks that you might have stolen the money? She didn’t say anything and acted out the same old way, but I knew that she thinks that it is a possibility that I stole the money, because I am weird and difficult to access. That’s what almost everybody thinks about me whom I’m not close to, so it’s no surprise. Right now I hate that job, because it’s forcing me to suppress myself and everything that I feel inside. I never came across as determined and confident and it’s even worse now. Everybody knows that I don’t look into the person’s eyes when I talk to them, unless I trust them. I’d rather speak to the wall or to a pair of shoes. All those bloody people… What the fuck do they all want from me and why do they make me feel so disagreeable inside? No one has made me laugh recently and I’ve lost trust and faith in certain people. I don’t care either, as they don’t seem to care that much. I’m tired of being good to them. Why do I tell them so much anyways? Recently I noticed that I even lie to them. Am I becoming a liar? A Holden Caulfield-like liar, yes.
God I feel so numb. I don’t want to know how often I’ve written the word “feel” in this blog entry. But I can’t help it. I smoked 3 cigarettes in a row yesterday, it was supposed to be just two, but the day wouldn’t go away. And I know I did I say I want to quit by the end of the year. Good luck to me then.
Autumn seems to be over. What a shame really. I haven’t even sucked up its beauty entirely, yet. Everyday I realize that certain people I consider as close don’t actually know a single thing about me. They think I am the way I act. They never even tried to see what’s underneath. Does this mean they lack of interest? Some people are clever and would say this crappy saying to me: “Still waters run deep.”  They know there’s something about me, but they wouldn’t ask.
This spite is making me fatigued. Ever since I started that job my mind has gone delirious. I hate what it’s doing to me, but I particularly hate what I am doing to myself, uncontrollably. I’m doing my immune system no good and the fruits won’t help forever, I know it.
That was a nice cry just now. I feel better. But I’m over exhausted and my head has started to hurt. I hate the way my hair looks and the way I’ve been treated by people. It will go on like this if I don’t get out of their way. I need a teacher. This year was like a rollercoaster going backwards. Ten million miles backwards. At least I weigh 110lbs now, but unfortunately it doesn’t make me any happier.

I am keeping fit well good, but that’s not a reason to pat myself on the back. I mean it took me about two years to realize what I’d been doing wrong. I should’ve listened to my body in the first place, but instead I was way too focused on the head and heart thing. After all those years I have found out that I’ve been doing nothing but exploring myself. And I can’t believe that I am not even through yet.  But did you know that Saturday children are doomed to put their shoulder to the wheel? My mum never told me that I was born on a Saturday, but she felt from the beginning that it was a bad omen. I guess it’s just me who thinks that this is fine. Everyone is supposed to work hard. What are we if we were only to sit there staring holes in the air? What if we didn’t have to make any effort to get what we want or need? I dream of walking on Saturn’s rings; walking in circles until I start to puke. I feel like losing myself, but not in a bad way. I want to lose myself in a passionate way. The urge for change is still there – starving. I cannot just feed it with work, sleep and fruits. I want someone to make me laugh and unfortunately there is nobody with my type of humour. I used to be very uptight regarding humour and couldn’t even laugh at the jokes in the series Scrubs. I didn’t get it at first and still I’m not the most humorous person on earth. Lately I realized that I behave differently in front of everyone. Close friend or not, I cannot act out the way I am anymore. Somehow everyone seems so selfish; they hear what they want to hear. Everything you say seems so superfluous. It’s like talking to ghosts. There are times where I am scared of losing my opinions, because sometimes I myself feel they are superfluous. At the end of the day I keep them for writing purposes.

The name Neil Gaiman has been following me for years and only now I’ve become aware of him. I should’ve paid more attention since E.T.A. Hoffman’s Sandman or Watchmen, Stardust, Coraline, etc. I also wished I had paid more attention to Nick Cave before; the same with Bela Lugosi or other things that had impressed me in the past, which I never held on to and quickly forgot about. I remember the loneliness I used to feel when I was a teenager and the loneliness never EVER got nursed. Never. Not in Germany, or even in England. Not in Denmark. Nowhere. There was wishful thinking and there was the pretense of happiness. I did feel wanted and needed, but that is not enough. That’s just being taken for granted, nothing else, is it? Am I the only one who understands Miss Havisham? …Even though she did a mistake.

I’ve been dreaming about water and fire. Good news is I can handle both. I don’t seem to run away. But that’s because my family was there and needed to be saved. The water was black and the fire was silver. So weird. There is just one thing I cannot handle and that’s my anger. I dreamt of a gay person who was permanently infuriating me. He was jerking next to me and then joked about rubbing his semen on me. I saw it as a threat and eventually lost my temper when he rubbed it on my leg. That was one of the most random and disgusting dreams ever; more revolting than the human kebab that dreamt about.

I have been good. Recently I hear my mother laugh. It makes me feel so warm inside you cannot even imagine. I’m unable to tell her how much I want to support her and dad, except that I can only show them. There are things regarding my parents that I don’t want to talk about, but those things basically persuaded me to pay rent. I am glad they have realized that I am trying hard.

I was saying that Saturday children need to work hard in life. All my life I’ve been working hard on myself (and I’m not even there yet). But the real thing is still to come. I want it all and I’m ready to rip my arse off.