Face the truth, move on.

My favourite singer, James Blunt sang my heart out.

I need to move on, or at least I suppose to.

But what if, he is the one?


I Envy Those Who Can Confess With Confidence

Almost 4 months ago, I swallowed my dignity as a girl and pulled my guts to tell D
“I like you more than I should.”
Okay, now, we’re still good friends but I’m not getting any love more than that. And yes, I decided on me being undecided on us. Or maybe just me being undecided on us, maybe he already moved on? I don’t know.

Thought Catalog

I don’t know how people do this shit – this whole confessing business. To you people who are confident and expressive, I envy you, because often I feel like a person from the last century who can’t say what I think or feel without wanting to run headlong into a wall with embarrassment and flaming ears. I’ve never told my family what I feel about them because it’s just not how I grew up – the shock might drive them to their grave. Not my friends (although that I have probably done as I ask them to save my sorry neck for a perceived life-or-death situation), not anyone I’ve ever liked. But I probably told my dog I love him when he howls in protest at my male neighbor who keeps singing Taylor Swift songs in falsetto.

Fine, that doesn’t count.

You’d hear it a lot, though: people being so…

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“I’m sick and I need someone to cuddle me. “

“I’m sick and I need someone to cuddle me. “

“For guys, it means ‘I’m sick, I need someone to squeeze my boobs.’ For girls, it means ‘I’m sick I need someone to squeeze my balls.’ ” 

That was the conversations between me and fat bitch. She suggested me to go and tell D, kiss D or hug him in surprise. She planted the idea in my mind that this inception is haunting me. Now I can hardly resist the thought and I want that so much. I’m sure that will be comforting, ease my pain a bit.

I’m sick. Away from home. This time is in HK. The last time I was sick I was in Ghana, fighting off malaria. But now, I felt like there is a possible chance malaria come back again. Mild fever comes and goes, nausea, slight muscle pain, tiredness, headaches. They’re very much similar to malaria symptoms. Maybe I’m too stressed or something. But I don’t want to take chances. I’m gonna go for blood test this Wednesday just to be sure.

Slut day.

Since yesterday(or I should say the day before yesterday) I’ve not feeling so well, I guess the symptoms of malaria comes again. Shits. This is not good. Okay, now come back to topic. We’ve this welcome drinks thingy where everyone dresses like whores and sluts for an hour or two to takes shits of photos for whatsoever reasons. And yes I did slut up and I really looked different and pretty(I hope I am). And Miaomiao, the guy who I obsess with his cuteness, I managed to take some pictures with him. LIKE REALLY CUTE PICS ❤ ❤ ❤ He is tall, fair, not too lean or too bulky, but just nice the size for hugging. He is adorable, I love his smile and everyone knows I always have little crush on him. Even D knows about this, way before my confession to D. And yes they’re(pics) now all over facebook and I’m hoping to see D’s reactions towards those pictures. I want to know how he felt like.

And all I want now is someone to cuddle me, hug me, hold me close. I’m sick. Can someone hold me close and tell me “everything is gonna be alright.”?

Sometimes Being Single Isn’t Fun (Even When It’s A Choice)

Thought Catalog

Is it natural to want companionship? Or is it socially constructed? Perhaps it is both, and they both inform each other. I understand that we have now progressed to a society that can at least imagine that being unattached doesn’t have to mean misery. And it doesn’t. There are plenty of unattached happy people – young and old. I know this and you know this. But knowing this doesn’t always take away the temporary loneliness that you might feel on nights when you’ve been away from home for the better part of the day, and there is no one who left dinner waiting for you; no one to kiss you good night, and no one to fall asleep on the phone with.

I like to think of myself as being as “strong” as they come when it comes to being single. Granted, I am also as stubborn as a mule…

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4 Reasons Why Being Bisexual Is The Worst

Ohhh yeah. Problem problem =____=

Thought Catalog

Ohhhhhh bisexuality, why did you have to pick me? Before I start explaining to you why being bisexual can be extremely inconvenient and irritating, let me address a few common misconceptions:

  •  You’re not bisexual. You’re just confused. Alright sir or madam, now I’m sure between your infinite wisdom and the immense insight into the depths of my soul that you’ve received in the past three minutes we’ve been talking, you are qualified to tell me how confused or indecisive I am. Forget about the fact that society has been pressuring me to “just pick a side” for the past 10 years. Speaking of which…
  •  You cop-out; why don’t you just pick one already? Can you pick between How I Met Your Mother and The Voice on Monday nights? Well, maybe you can but I can’t. I flip that bitch back and forth like a mother fucker. Trying to “just pick…

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100th post and rant again.

I never see this coming so soon. I didn’t expect this. My 100th post on ‘Life of a veganwolf’.


It all started since this year’s March. It’s only six months ago. The idea of having a blog came from my suggestion to D, I told him to blog out his thoughts because his writings is beautiful and blogging seems like a viable option to him as a place to vent and rant given that during that point of his life he was a mess(or he is a mess now I can’t judge but he is in a better place now). So he ended up blogging anonymously online and he kept it away from me. But this didn’t last for long, as he kept promoting his blog while letting no one knows what is his blog’s name. And I was fueled by passion, paranoia and obsession of knowing what is he thinking and how is his life, I managed to find his blog by accident(or I am a good stalker I don’t know, yes it is by accident I googled the right term and I found it, in a middle of sea of blogs-I KNOW RIGHT? I AM A GOD~) Okay. Back to topic. And looking into his life(secret, dark, private thoughts of his) without his acknowledgements, I saw the real him. And I felt in love with his real sincere naked stripped self. It was a dark place where no one ever should be there, but I’m the one who saw it, read about it and I felt in love with it. It’s a weirdest thing I ever felt and I should be disgusted by him but in fact I’m not. I see his beautiful soul. And yeah. After reading those things and there was/is thousand thoughts and feelings I wanted to tell someone/him while I couldn’t, due to the explicit and sensitive nature, I have to keep this all to myself. And that was the day a ‘Life of a veganwolf’ born. ‘Veganwolf’, doesn’t make any sense isn’t it? How can a wolf be vegan?   This name is my nickname when I was small, I will explain later one day but it seems to be appropriate as a title isn’t it? Okay and since then, I rant and rant about life, love, relationship, him, people and everything and him again in this blog. Well, sometimes too much I guess. It turned 100 within 6 months. @@ Which is almost once every two days I post a blog or reblogged something~ Okay I think I rant too much. But this is somewhat appropriate given that no one will give me lecture after I posted anything on this blog or I should say this place is my safe heaven, a place that I can be myself and be the extreme ranter and no one will judge me( I see what you did there, you are judging me~XD) But anyway, this is for the best. This is the right way to vent out my hard feelings,  thoughts and shits and I find it therapeutic to do so. Therefore, I don’t see myself stop doing this any sooner.


I don’t see the point. I’m the nuisance. I’m the barrier to him. It seems like he’s pretty preoccupied with his life again. Like usual. And it seems like I’m the one who is trying to take up his time waste his time on nothing but meaningless midnight chats while interrupting his beauty sleep, which consequently causing him to skip/sleep in his morning class next day. Well, I constantly knowing the consequence of my actions on him, while I couldn’t help myself keep finding him at those odd hours. I always have this self-debate and it ends with this ‘screw it, I’m gonna find him no matter what.’  And here we go again, the cycle, I’ll be feeling guilty the next day and it repeats again no matter what. Somehow I always lack of self control. But if I ever stop finding him(insisting, ram into his room) he might just ‘drift off’, and I’ll be just another stranger. And I never want that. So as conclusion, SCREW IT I’M GONNA COME TO YOUR ROOM. *yikes =______=

A thousand stories.

I couldn’t understand. I’m puzzled. This might be due to my delayed mensuration.
The first time ever my m was late for more than 10days and it freaked me out. Due to stress? I don’t know. Maybe because of the antimalarial pills that I’d. Well, therefore I’m feeling like an emotional hormonal imbalance bitch or time-ticking-boom. I can feel the fatigue, my eyes are closing while I’ve napped for an hour or so this afternoon. Cramps all over. It’s not easy to be a woman. I don’t feel like doing anything.

I tried to look at him. He was sitting right across the table. I tried to make small talks and asked him about how he celebrated mid-autumn festival. He exclaimed with a pretty strong response while I can see he was upset about that day.

“No nothing special. I tried to make myself busy as ever.”

I wondered if that includes me, as I bothered him the night before that.

I tried to meet his gaze. We’ve exchanged glances. The look that he gave me. Like it used to be. Nothing changed. That familiar eyes tells a thousand stories.

“Tell me your stories.”

Sometimes it’s the place that reminds me of us.

Sometimes it’s the things that we shared reminds me of him.

Sometimes certain scents reminds me of D. The scent of his clothes that somehow almost resembles chemical or even disinfectant smell. Probably because he is a bit OCD about it.

Sometimes it’s some random quotes that he usually uses reminds me of him.

Sometimes it’s the lyric of the song reminds me of us- what we’ve and what we don’t have.

Those little things. It’s always about him.