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♥ precious.
la bella vita;

Cara

loves: black and white photography. poetry. vintage stores. thunderstorms. good ambience. fairytales. disneyworld. black kohl and fuschia lipstick. red and purple skittles. turquoise beads. icing but not cakes. might-have-beens. the dandy warhols. within temptation. automatic loveletter. mediaeval baebes. troy. interview with a vampire. the oc. making 11:11 wishes. purple glitter. mermaids. my-little-ponies. magic.

expertise: melodramaticks. eyeliner. laughing. goodbyes. hanging in there.

♥ music on, world off.
shh.

soundtrack to life.

♥ scream(?).
live.

♥ past .
instant time travel

December 2007
January 2008
February 2008
March 2008
April 2008
May 2008
June 2008
July 2008
August 2008
September 2008
October 2008
November 2008
December 2008
January 2009
February 2009
March 2009
April 2009
May 2009
June 2009
July 2009
August 2009
September 2009
October 2009
November 2009
December 2009
January 2010
February 2010

♥ adieu .
set them free

AMANDA
ANDRE
ASH
DEB
ELEMM
07IP04!
08IP04!
JOSH
KAT
LISA
QIU
RENJEAN


♥ credits .
thankyouverymuch

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Thursday, April 24, 2008
hello, old friend. 12:17 AM

National Interschool Cross Country Championships, 2008.


I knew, as soon as the airhorn blared, that something was wrong.

This wasn't the way I was accustomed to running.
Usually I would be thinking swift, strong, sleek, powerful.
But it was different, this time. My legs were moving, but it felt like they were just kneading the air-- barely skimming the concrete. Hell, it felt as if I didn't have legs at all.

The white patches hit when I crossed the halfway mark. Everything started getting pale and fuzzy and I remember briefly entertaining the notion of slowing to a halt and resting-- but I discarded that notion as quickly as I had thought it.
And the last stretch-- oh God, the last stretch. People started passing me-- people I could usually pace with, or overtake, even; and then I realized that something was wrong.
My lungs were bursting, my legs were on fire, my throat felt like it was bleeding; and I still wasn't moving as fast as I should be.

cross the line.
cross the line.
cross the line.

turned into the last straight stretch and (desperation, now) opened my strides as much as I could. still not working, something was awfully wrong, why wasn't I moving?--

-- my leg gave way a few strides before the finish line, and I hit the ground.
cue for crowd to gasp collectively.
I remember a pale, dizzy kind of panic.
something was wrong.
Got up, lifted my leg to run again, (where was my bloody leg?) and fell again.
something was wrong.

cross the line.
cross the line.
cross the line.

picked myself up again and dragged myself (one. two. three.) over the finish line.

I can't remember what happened between the finish line and the marquee
but I found myself slumped against Amanda and being propped on a chair, heard anxious voices hovering around me.

opened my eyes and everything was too bright and too sepia; silhouettes moving in slow motion, couldn't make out the words they were saying.

then my lungs started tightening and it was the most harrowing experience ever,
"breathe, breathe!"
clung onto Mr Irwan's hand tightly and drew in deep, rattling breaths (not enough air)
prayed God help me; (never realized how precious air was)
dull panic and a kind of sinking realization, the kind of feeling I get in dreams when I'm dying and I know it, know it's hang on or die off and once you let go and give up then it's game over.

I remember hands trying to moisten my lips with water
and my voice (but too weak to be my voice) murmuring, "Amanda, my heart's too fast, it's too fast.",
twenty minutes after I had stopped running and still it was racing one, two, three, four
Mr Irwan yelling around for an inhaler and all the while I was trying to draw air into my lungs but it wouldn't let me and I closed my eyes because everything was spinning,
hands shaking me; "don't close your eyes, stay awake, stay awake..."

faded in and out

vaguely felt myself being laid down on a stretcher
my mum's voice in the distance and something burning my nose
caught words about "fibrillator" and "heart rate" and "hang on"
remember wondering rather dully where Qiu and Yan were and how come I couldn't hear their voices
something cold against my skin.

somehow I ended up in the backseat of my mum's car
head on Wenloong's lap, too sick and too giddy to move and covered with a red shawl
his voice in the distance, "don't go to sleep. hang in there, hang in there, don't go to sleep."

I remember being slumped against his shoulder and lying on the floor
feeling like something had just clawed its way into my insides

I don't remember much any more.

but at night I felt sick to my stomach
and it was awful when I was sick because I hadn't even eaten anything and there wasn't anything to throw up
bitter aftertaste in my mouth
vaguely remember dragging myself to bed and thinking please let's just finish this.



now I'm at home resting and the doctor will be monitoring me.
thank you to everyone who was there, everyone who contributed to the torrent of worried messages that flooded my inbox, everyone who was worried about me and-- well.
thank you to everyone. some more than the rest-- but nevertheless, everyone.


strangely,
I am not ashamed. or embarrassed. or humiliated.

I have realized how much I would be willing to do for this crazy, dazzling, agonizing, delirious, brilliant sport.

I gave what I could give.
I ran when it hurt too much to.



I crossed the line.



and that, in itself, is what runners live for.