8/30/2010, I flew to Singapore. Sitting on the plane, thinking nothing, both head and body is just an emptiness to the extreme, until today. Landing at the airport, going to the taxi place, holding the school logo for people to bring. When I arrived, I had to go around looking for Vietnamese speakers to find accommodation. "In the dorm?" I nodded. So at the dormitory, the next day i started going to school too.
The first time in Singapore was a nightmare. I was at home, originally a child who lay on his feet to watch a movie, picked up the television remote for dad, took it to his hand, and asked if I wanted to eat popcorn.
Suddenly, being dropped into a strange place, English was kind of fluttering, but: "I chose a school and a career for all of you and I just need you to go to school." Pouring boiling water into the package of noodles I don't even know, one day was painful, the other day I gnawed the whole spice up with plastic, and then poured the whole bowl into the thigh burns.
Studying in school, due to the rebellious teenage period, my grades went downhill, so I had too many things gaped. I struggled to study micro-macro and philosophy in English literature.
I should have been sad, must have suffered, but really, I was so panicked that I didn't feel anything. I didn't know anything, I didn't know where to start, and by the time I realized what was happening, more than a year had passed. In the first few days, I had to learn from washing my own hair, finding the difference between washing powder and softener, knowing how much a bunch of vegetables is. Very very much my first time.
My only comfort at that time was Tuan Jun. Quickly no one knew, I told my friends I was in Singapore and my friends thought I was joking. My only comfort at that time was Tuan Jun. Quickly no one knew, I told me I was in Sing and my friends thought I was joking.
Every night, I'm online, Tuan Jun is online again, Tuan Jun asks: "How is your day today?"
30/9/2010:
How was your day today?
1/10/2010:
It's normal.
How was your day today?
I'm normal.
10/2/2010:
How was your day today?
I'm normal.
October 3, 2010:
How was your day today?
I'm normal.
Yet every night Tuan Jun was online, right on time, still asking me those questions. [Every 4 hours every night] x [60 seconds a minute: 3 seconds a sentence] x [365 days a year] = 29,200 visiting questions to keep me alive.
Gradually I crawled out of the dorm bed, poked my feet down to brush my teeth, then found friends to practice dancing with.
Irony or good luck or something to come. As soon as I could walk on my own, I always fell into the adrenaline rush.
In the beginning, as stupid as an addict, I had nothing to do with it. Inhale gasoline, glue, even some sprays of baking cream. Whatever it takes for me to faint for a while. The law of Singapore just had stimulants to be executed, I did not know anyone, where to get good food to play.
Later, a bit less stupid, a little more money, I found candy, cocaine, LSD, mushrooms. I am addicted... ...
Well, I think so. Switching from stimulants because maybe it's time for me to drink less alcohol.
Some time ago, I read a research paper by psychologist Bruce K. Alexandre and colleagues at Simon Frasier University about the harm of heroin and its addiction. The researchers locked the mice in a cage, then put two cups of water in the cage. One cup of plain water and one cup of water mixed with heroin. These mice 10/10 times, will drink a glass of water mixed with heroin to death. Bottom Line: Heroin is a drug that can be lethal and highly addictive. But then, Bruce K. Alexandre found something so obvious for this experiment, so obvious that we didn't even look at it: These mice were locked up in a cage. People did this experiment again, but put the mice in another area, called the mouse paradise: There are toys, food, friends, physical activities, a fun space can create The only thing that is still the same is that of two glasses of plain water and heroin. The result: The mice still drank water from both cups, but none of them were addicted, neither died, and after a while they stopped drinking water with heroin.
The story here is that if heroin is the only option for creatures with no outlet, can we blame them? Not to get out of the cage of reality would rather be without reality? However, when it comes to the fact that real people are in this society, the addicts will be put in jail if discovered - essentially a different cage. If there is only one option, it is not an option.
was horrified when I woke up. I was afraid that when I woke up the medicine dissipated, only to see the bright sunlight piercing my face, I was sober and everything became so clear. Then it came alone, alone, the fear and the phobias. Sometimes I am crazy, what if the white empty house that's luxuriously decorated me bit by bit is a mental hospital? What if I actually didn't know anyone, all my friends who were doctors and nurses just pitied me so much that they still took me to buy lemonade and to play games? What about the Internet I rely on my whole life on, to be untrue, what if i'm writing on real walls, not Facebook? When I was born with schizophrenia and sometimes I was pitied, so there were people around and they were really just enduring me and my problems, so they called me special? I am afraid of the answer. The silence at night was so deafening, so resounding, I just wanted the voices in my mind to stop. I just want to be alone, I want to sleep without a dream, I just want to get out of my head.
I can not sleep. When I tell anyone about this, they will start to want to "fix" me. Which is to drink hot milk, which is to put the garlic under the pillow, which is to go acupuncture, smoking, watch hypnotic clips, and so on and so on. I am very angry. Nobody even asked me what I had tried, was there any way to help it, they just thought it was simply my thing, and just poured the solution onto my head. "I tried it all, everything was done, but I couldn't sleep!" When I say that, they do not believe. They don't believe it because they can't imagine how they would live without eight to ten precious hours of sleep every day, according to some expert's advice. I imagined them coming to a mountain, seeing a ravine, pouring two bottles of paste in, then squeezing their mouths away. They live without ever appreciating how little their problems are.
I never told anyone the real reason why I couldn't sleep. I often make up things like: "Probably because I drink too much coffee" or "Because I slept too much the previous night" so I can turn to another story. I am not a chronic sleeper, but a chronic nightmare.
I used to have nightmares when I was a kid, but when I started taking depression pills, I seemed to adding a color palette to the barbaric deer painting giraffes in my head. I was afraid of the impending night, afraid of the heavy sleep like a cloud over my head, I was wearing a raincoat, holding an umbrella, then the flood would pass me by.
My head was so tense but my body was always falling apart, I was overwhelmed. Lying in bed, I saw people walking around the room, sitting on my chest, breathing into my ever cold cold ears. I saw the rabbit jump over its head, the cat fluttering its tail to its feet was extremely upset. I see the whole Earth disappear at once, but I feel it all. If he died somewhere, his body went dry but his senses were functioning as usual, it would surely feel like this.
There was once I took a train from Milan to Paris, I was lying listening to music when I saw the sign that the train had arrived, when I was about to sit up, I realized that I was numb. I used all my strength that I thought I had, my God, i couldn't move, even a finger. I thought I was screaming loudly, but no sound escaped my throat, and I just stayed there until the ticket conductor saw me groaning and ran away, I was startled to get out. . The train station has already passed, I don't understand if I just dreamed or woke up, but I had to withdraw my wallet to pay more money for the crime of smuggling more sugar.
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Lỗi - Error 404 English Translation
Não Ficção"Finally, my autobiography book, Error 404 is out, after 2 years of work. It actually took me only 6 months to write 99% of the book, but couldn't write the ending for a long, long time. I wrote a book about a child who was sexually abused, unhappy...
