Love You, Barcelona. Love Yourself, Charmaine

Hello.

You were just talking about how Barcelona is struggling to cope with the influx of tourists and they're becoming more and more vocal about it. You arrive home and you check Facebook to find an article about a terror attack at La Rambla.

Hold on.

Isn't La Rambla that famous long street in Barcelona? Didn't Ky and I walk on that street?

A few quick swipes and articles, videos and updates were available on BBC and it confirmed that it's that same La Rambla I walked up and down for the duration of my stay in Barcelona.

Numb.

I felt really numb.

It's a familiar feeling but perhaps not as intense as the numbness I felt when I read about the London Bridge attack. However, it's the same numb. A kind of numbness that clenches your gut and releases it slowly so that it'll seep throughout your body without shocking you.

I hope the friendly uncle at Manna Gelats is safe.

~

I've had a rough week. Nothing major if you compare it to the tribulations of the world, but rough in my own terms.

I thought I was about to lose it completely once I got home (well, in the end I did. I was a dead log for an hour or so.), but upon discovering the incident in Barcelona, I felt odd. I felt a surge of questions in my mind and it's a similar set every time.

How am I still alive?

Was *insert shit incident that happened to me* really necessary? Why couldn't a better solution come up sooner?

Can I give up?

I've been struggling with the amount of stuff in the house since forever and I believe everyone who knows me within the last 3 years would know how much it has been and still is affecting me. It blew up majorly just a couple of days ago and this time, I know for sure I give up on my family. Middle fingers in the air for all three of you!!!

*If you know any place I can donate good condition stationery, storybooks, clothes and other miscellaneous things, do let me know. For now, I'm donating my books to Subang Parade.

Then there's managing expectations. I'm not really good at that. In fact, I'm really bad at it. Talking to my lecturer about what has been and still is plaguing me confirms the fact that I'm performing way below my own capabilities, but I really can't function without getting this issue done with, which SUCKS.

Said lecturer suggested I basically live in INTI and drink coffee HAHAHAHA. I wish I was a better student, I really do.

It broke my heart when my hunches were confirmed.

Recently, I also got the chance to do what I love and possibly get paid? Although not much. However, it made me realize I'm really not as good as I thought I was (good not meaning I'm good at doing something, but I thought I was passionate enough to be able to excel in it...) and I'm struggling with coping with the reality of it and although I'm less apologetic, I'm still quite harsh on myself and the amount of times I beat myself up is beyond my memory.

It has also been hammered into me recently, again, that I can't escape my past.

And I absolutely HATE IT.

I wish I could cut all the bad bits of my life out and just burn them.

I was quite proud of myself for being able to haul my lazy ass to school for the carnival but encountering a few individuals made me feel absolutely blergh. You know what's up ayeeeeee.

Heck. Even when one of the members of a newly debuted K-pop group that performed during the NIIED opening resembled yet another buntut lubang in HELP, my heart skipped a beat and I froze. I then proceeded to reach for my camera and snap photos of him. HAHAHA. So. Damn. Eerie. UGH. Then I encounter people who remind me of the latest wanker story I unfortunately got myself tangled in and I just wish I never need to interact with humans forever.

HA!

~

Did the Barcelona incident really made feel all that?

Not really, I've been feeling all that for a while now. It just made me do a proper evaluation with the whole take a deep breath and step back and look at the bigger picture process. That's the thing about tragedy, it makes you put things into perspective.

I used to freeze and shut down when shit goes down, but recently, I cry, I collect my shattered pieces, and I just walk on. Just. Walk. There's not even that little moment where I contemplate giving up because I know that isn't an option unless I miraculously die.

Dear Barcelona,

Although you were mildly racist, the warmth of your sun and few precious locals made up for it and I pray you'll be fine. I pray that you'll recover and that tourists won't get in the way of your life.

Love you.

Fly high, Catalonia.

loving one's self is tough business.